Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Sidor ...
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
Below is the raw OCR text
from the above scanned image.
Do you see an error? Proofread the page now!
Här nedan syns maskintolkade texten från faksimilbilden ovan.
Ser du något fel? Korrekturläs sidan nu!
This page has never been proofread. / Denna sida har aldrig korrekturlästs.
RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD 123
Poor mama felt herself in the wrong, yet innocent.
She felt hurt that after all her efforts to please every
one, every one should be angry precisely with her.
She began to ciy also. " You are always like that,
dissatisfied with everything. Father did as you wished,
allowed you to make the acquaintance of your ideal.
I have listened to his rudeness for a whole hour, and
now you blame us," she reproached her daughter,
weeping like a child herself.
In a word every one felt wretched; and this visit,
to which we had looked forward with such
expectations, for which we had made such preparations, left
behind it a very painful impression.
But five days later Dostoévsky came again, and this
time his visit was the height of success. Neither
mama nor my aunts were at home; my sister and I
were alone, and the ice thawed immediately. Feödor
Mikhailovitch took Aniuta by the hand, they sat down
side by side on the divan, and immediately began to
talk like old, intimate friends. The conversation no
longer dragged as on the last occasion, limping
painfully from one uninteresting subject to another.
Now both Aniuta and Dostoévsky seemed to be in
great haste to have their say, interrupted each other,
jested and laughed.
I sat there, taking no part in the conversation, with
my eyes fixed immovably on Feödor Mikhåilovitch,
eagerly drinking in all that he said. He seemed to
me now quite another man, quite young and very
simple, amiable, and clever. " He can’t be forty-three
already," I thought. "It is not possible that he is
three and a half times older than I, and more than
twice as old as my sister. And yet he is a great
writer. One can treat him just like a comrade." And
then I felt that he had become indescribably dear and
near to me.
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
