FIRST NIGHT
I
t was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young,
dear reader. The sky was so starry, so bright that, looking at it, one could not
help asking oneself whether ill-humoured and capricious people could live
under such a sky. That is a youthful question too, dear reader, very youthful, but
may the Lord put it more frequently into your heart! . . . Speaking of capricious
and ill-humoured people, I cannot help recalling my moral condition all that day.
From early morning I had been oppressed by a strange despondency. It suddenly
seemed to me that I was lonely, that every one was forsaking me and going away
from me. Of course, any one is entitled to ask who “every one” was. For though I
had been living almost eight years in Petersburg I had hardly an acquaintance. But
what did I want with acquaintances? I was acquainted with all Petersburg as it
was; that was why I felt as though they were all deserting me when all Petersburg
packed up and went to its summer villa. I felt afraid of being left alone, and for
three whole days I wandered about the town in profound dejection, not knowing
what to do with myself. Whether I walked in the Nevsky, went to the Gardens or
sauntered on the embankment, there was not one face of those I 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 them intimately, I have almost made a
study of their faces, and am delighted when they are gay, and downcast when they
are under a cloud. I have almost struck up a friendship with one old man whom I
meet every blessed day, at the same hour in Fontanka. Such a grave, pensive
countenance; he is always whispering to himself and brandishing his left arm,
while in his right hand he holds a long gnarled stick with a gold knob. He even
notices me and takes a warm interest in me. If I happen not to be at a certain time
in the same spot in Fontanka, I am certain he feels disappointed. That is how it is
that we almost bow to each other, especially when we are both in good humour.
The other day, when we had not seen each other for two days and met on the
third, we were actually touching our hats, but, realizing in time, dropped our
hands and passed each other with a look of interest.
I know the houses too. As I walk along they seem to run forward in the streets
to look out at me from every window, and almost to say: “Good-morning! How do
you do? I am quite well, thank God, and I am to have a new storey in May,” or,
