NEW YORK
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1918
Printed in Great Britain
CONTENTS
| page | |
| White Nights | 1 |
| Notes fromUnderground— | |
| part i.underground | 50 |
| part ii. à propos of the wetsnow | 81 |
| A Faint Heart | 156 |
| A Christmas Tree and aWedding | 200 |
| Polzunkov | 208 |
| A Little Hero | 223 |
| Mr. Prohartchin | 258 |
a sentimental story from the diaryof a dreamer
FIRST NIGHT
It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possiblewhen we are young, dear reader. The sky was so starry, so bright that,looking at it, one could not help asking oneself whether ill-humouredand capricious people could live under such a sky. That is a youthfulquestion too, dear reader, very youthful, but may the Lord put it morefrequently into your heart!... Speaking of capricious and ill-humouredpeople, I cannot help recalling my moral condition all that day. Fromearly morning I had been oppressed by a strange despondency. It suddenlyseemed to me that I was lonely, that every one was forsaking me andgoing away from me. Of course, any one is entitled to ask who "everyone" was. For though I had been living almost eight years in PetersburgI had hardly an acquaintance. But what did I want with acquaintances? Iwas acquainted with all Petersburg as it was; that was why I felt asthough they were all deserting me when all Petersburg packed up and wentto its summer villa. I felt afraid of being left alone, and for threewhole days I wandered about the town in profound dejection, not knowingwhat to do with myself. Whether I walked in the Nevsky, went to theGardens or sauntered on the embankment, there was not one face of thoseI had been accustomed to meet at the same time and place all the year.They, of course, do not know me, but I know them. I know themintimately, I have almost made a study of their faces, and am delightedwhen they are gay, and downcast when they are under a cloud. I havealmost struck up a friendship with one old man whom I meet every blessedday, at the same hour in Fontanka. Such a grave, pensive countenance; heis always whispering to himself and brandishing his left arm, while inhis right hand he holds a long gnarled stick with a gold knob. He evennotices me and takes a warm interest in me. If I happen not to be at acertain time in the same spot in Fontanka, I am c