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White Nights
White Nights is a short story by Fyodor Dostoevsky that was published in 1848. Set in St. Petersburg, it is the story of a young man fighting his inner restlessness. A light and tender narrative, it delves into the torment and guilt of unrequited love. Both protagonists suffer from a deep sense of alienation that initially brings them together. A blend of romanticism and realism, the story appeals gently to the senses and feelings.
82 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1848
About the author
Fyodor Dostoevsky
3,215 books60.1k followersWorks, such as the novels
Crime and Punishment
(1866),
The Idiot
(1869), and
The Brothers Karamazov
(1880), of Russian writer Feodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky or Dostoevski combine religious mysticism with profound psychological insight.
Very influential writings of Mikhail Mikhailovich Bakhtin included Problems of Dostoyevsky's Works (1929),
Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky composed short stories, essays, and journals. His literature explores humans in the troubled political, social, and spiritual atmospheres of 19th-century and engages with a variety of philosophies and themes. People most acclaimed his Demons (1872).
Many literary critics rate him of the greatest of world literature and consider multiple highly influential masterpieces. They consider his Notes from Underground of the first existentialist literature. He also well acts as a philosopher and theologian.
(Russian: Фёдор Михайлович Достоевский) (see also Fiodor Dostoïevski)
Very influential writings of Mikhail Mikhailovich Bakhtin included Problems of Dostoyevsky's Works (1929),
Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky composed short stories, essays, and journals. His literature explores humans in the troubled political, social, and spiritual atmospheres of 19th-century and engages with a variety of philosophies and themes. People most acclaimed his Demons (1872).
Many literary critics rate him of the greatest of world literature and consider multiple highly influential masterpieces. They consider his Notes from Underground of the first existentialist literature. He also well acts as a philosopher and theologian.
(Russian: Фёдор Михайлович Достоевский) (see also Fiodor Dostoïevski)
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 23,669 reviews
October 18, 2008
This story, really a novella, is the one I use to introduce people to Dostoyevsky. If you like White Nights you will like Fyodor Mikailovich, I think, and if you don't you won't. In it we're introduced to a charming intelligent young man who lives on the edges of St. Petersburg life, a shy dreamer who spends almost all his time alone. The life of his observations and imagination is very full, however. He daydreams in 3d with vivid colors passionate intricate tales that engross him completely, to the point that an actual friend knocking on his door to say hello flusters him totally, leaving him nonplussed for the entire short awkward visit. Dostoyevsky, in his brilliant way makes me care deeply about our hero, and feel a total sense of identification with him.
One day, our protagonist meets an actual real-life girl, one whose temperment and situation in life are something like his. They become great friends immediately, something that has never happened to him before. The story takes off at this point, piling up so much light and darkness that I'm gasping for breath all the way through until the magnificent ending.
It's extraordinary the way Dostoyevsky can make all of us feel so much identification with his characters. I feel each time I read this story that he's plumbed the secret depths of my soul that not even I had any idea of. He slices me apart and puts me back together so that I'm somebody totally new after he's done. I feel as though he's writing about me and only me, through a century and a half of time travel and a thorough reading of my subconscious mind, and I do feel exposed by it.
My son's aunt who studied Russian literature in Russia says Dostoyevsky is evil, because he cuts us open and has a poke round our deepest selves with such complete and utter honesty. It's true he does see the whole of humanity, from our basest depravity to our highest divinity. But for me his truth is purifying, like a sacred flame, like the caress of a being who's both angel and demon at the same time. I do think Dostoyevsky is the greatest novelist of all in the whole history of western civilization.
One day, our protagonist meets an actual real-life girl, one whose temperment and situation in life are something like his. They become great friends immediately, something that has never happened to him before. The story takes off at this point, piling up so much light and darkness that I'm gasping for breath all the way through until the magnificent ending.
It's extraordinary the way Dostoyevsky can make all of us feel so much identification with his characters. I feel each time I read this story that he's plumbed the secret depths of my soul that not even I had any idea of. He slices me apart and puts me back together so that I'm somebody totally new after he's done. I feel as though he's writing about me and only me, through a century and a half of time travel and a thorough reading of my subconscious mind, and I do feel exposed by it.
My son's aunt who studied Russian literature in Russia says Dostoyevsky is evil, because he cuts us open and has a poke round our deepest selves with such complete and utter honesty. It's true he does see the whole of humanity, from our basest depravity to our highest divinity. But for me his truth is purifying, like a sacred flame, like the caress of a being who's both angel and demon at the same time. I do think Dostoyevsky is the greatest novelist of all in the whole history of western civilization.
April 12, 2023
White Nights by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
In a few pages, this story deals with many things like the ravings of a dreamy young man, the hopes of finding love, the moment of romantic waiting, and a failed love. Dostoyevsky creates a gentle atmosphere that evokes the romantic taste of that time. He is a great novelist who never ceased diving into the human soul and revealing its depths. It's a beautiful story and ends sadly.
Sadly beautiful.
In a few pages, this story deals with many things like the ravings of a dreamy young man, the hopes of finding love, the moment of romantic waiting, and a failed love. Dostoyevsky creates a gentle atmosphere that evokes the romantic taste of that time. He is a great novelist who never ceased diving into the human soul and revealing its depths. It's a beautiful story and ends sadly.
My God, a moment of bliss. Why, isn't that enough for a whole lifetime?
Sadly beautiful.
January 26, 2024
"You know, we thank some people for merely living at the same time as we do. I thank you for the fact that I met you, that I will remember you for all my life!'
--
Someone said "you think you know love and then you read white nights" and holy moly they were right.
The yearning! The hope! The unrequited love! A new favourite short story / novella for sure.
Two lonely people bond over a series of conversations, and find momentary bliss in one another’s company. It’s a quick read but one that lingers after the final page — it warmed and hurt my heart in equal measure.
Essential reading, with absolutely gorgeous quotes I will be thinking about for a very long time!!
4.75/5 rounded up ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
--
'If you ever fall in love, then may God grant you happiness with her! But I won't wish her anything, because she will be happy with you.'
--
Someone said "you think you know love and then you read white nights" and holy moly they were right.
The yearning! The hope! The unrequited love! A new favourite short story / novella for sure.
Two lonely people bond over a series of conversations, and find momentary bliss in one another’s company. It’s a quick read but one that lingers after the final page — it warmed and hurt my heart in equal measure.
Essential reading, with absolutely gorgeous quotes I will be thinking about for a very long time!!
4.75/5 rounded up ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
--
'If you ever fall in love, then may God grant you happiness with her! But I won't wish her anything, because she will be happy with you.'
April 6, 2018
يضجرني وصف تلك الرواية وتصنيفها على إنها رواية رومانسية حالمة؛ هذه ليست رواية عن الحب، هذه رواية عن الوحدة
April 14, 2024
depressed man gets friend zoned twice.
June 25, 2024
‘But how could you live and have no story to tell?’
Summer nights are for dreamers. The world opens itself up into lush landscapes teeming with life and the nights, so full of star light and mystery, seem as vast as the aspirations of first time lovers. Anything seems possible amidst the summer nights, as if the afterhours were a doorway that takes you into a fairy tale world where magic and mayhem await you. Such is the feeling permeating Fydor Dostoevsky’ White Nights, an early tale first published in 1848 of a nameless narrator coming to life and love under the white nights of St. Petersburg. ‘I am a dreamer,’ he tells us and embarks on a story that feels as if set in a dreamscape, softly pulling us through the four nights he spends talking with the young Nastenka whom he met sobbing upon a bridge. Over these few days the pair come to know each other fondly, and despite his promise to not fall in love with her as she is engaged to another man, our narrator can’t help but blissfully trip into romantic affection in what seems Doestoevksy’s portrayal and preference of altruistic love. Learning to look and live outward instead of inwardly dreaming, the narrator breaks from isolation and sees that although living towards dreams may go awry, having lived in the world is better than loneliness.
‘It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young, dear reader.’
I love a good story that takes place over the span of a mere few days, the type that reminds you how life seems to slow down with every moment elevated and vibrating with implied importance when you feel like you’ve stumbled into a narrative within your own life. A handful of days you feel you’ve occupied more than entire months. White Nights excellently embodies this and you feel, as the reader, the feverish excitement of the narrator as if it is running through your own veins and not his; a talent of Dostoevsky’s I first became enamored with long ago while reading Crime and Punishment is his ability to transpose the characters emotions onto you such was the intensity of guilt and anguish I felt alongside Raskolnikov as he sweated in his bed. I was also particularly empathetic to his account of feeling left behind and in a state of a ‘strange anguish,’ finding himself befriending his own city as he wandered the streets aimlessly. I recall a time when I had my own personal loneliness and sadness, spending summer days wandering my own city and finding a particular joy and camaraderie with the landscape one can only enter when out within it walking. The poets have written on this for centuries. Another phenomenon of walking and thinking, especially in summer, is that the whole world feels possible and that around any corner everything might change, fall into place, or trigger a story. And so this tale begins.
‘I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can't help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced.’
While perhaps not much occurs in this story, we also feel that it shifts the entirety of the narrators world, he who upon his first conversation with Nastenka admits ‘I will no longer think so badly of myself as I have done at times,’ simply because he had an experience with her. There is a real youthfulness blossoming on every page here with our narrator, somewhere in his twenties but feeling life already leaving him behind, and his loquacity is only matched by his awkwardness. Luckily she find him charming, sharing her own feelings of loneliness spending her days quite literally pinned to her grandmothers dress since the elder woman fears Nastenka will be taken off by a man (a bit on the nose but it works), and is more amused than bemused by his poetic way of rambling. Upon his first explanation of himself she remarks ‘You talk as though you were reading it out of a book.’ Its this sort of inability to temper one’s awkward excitement coupled with a penchant for poetic flourishing that first marks him as a dreamer, but also reminds me of the characters in early Knut Hamsun works, particularly Hunger when the narrator’s romantic prospects are dashed by the self sabotage of his grand speeches. Hunger always recalled Doestoevksy’s narrator from Notes from Underground and in White Nights we see Dostoevsky practicing the sort of long-winded storytelling he would later use for his underground man.
‘I don’t know how to be silent when my heart is speaking.’
A dreamer, our narrator tells us ‘is not a human being, but a creature of an intermediate sort.’ He lives his life dreaming but never truly living, inventing all sorts of wishes he can play out in his head but never actually having the experiences beyond imagination (perhaps one may see a dreamer as a sort of step-sibling to a reader). He casts himself as the ‘hero’ in his telling, just as in his dreaming, but is nothing but a spectator speculating. And while he has charmed himself with many fantasies of love and lovers, he has never truly known it firsthand and is beginning to regret occupying his time with what amounts to nothing.
At least with Nastenka he is experiencing life. She too has a story to tell, one of a man to whom she is promised to be wed upon his return to St. Petersberg yet he has been home a few days and has not come to her. Our dreamer, eager to please and to experience life, agrees to take a letter to him. In his dealings with Nastenka we see a sort of idyllic, altruistic purity to his love, one of a boy who puts her best interests before himself and she with no intent to deceive or use him. It feels very much like high school, doing something for your crush in a tale of unrequited love where, deep down, you know they will never be with you but you do it anyway.
It is, perhaps, what a youth would be snickered at by peers and teased for being ‘friend-zoned’, but we see that there is a sincerity here. We also see why the subtitle for this tale is ‘A sentimental story from the diary of a dreamer’ because it is indeed sentimental and tugs heartstrings that reverberate in the tune of nostalgia and young, doomed romance.
Of course our young narrator, against her wishes to not fall in love with her, does, but in her grief over the continued absence of her fiancée, she begins to bend her heart towards him as well. Why not, he clearly cares for her. The story takes a twist and we see our dreamer sad but not regretful, because he has experienced life. And life comes with loss as much as love, we just only hope the scales tip more towards sweetness when we tally up our total when the curtain falls for us. We leave the dreamer as he ponders if this one moment of happiness was worth it all.
‘My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of a man’s life?’
Doestoevsky forever holds a special place in my heart. While some authors tear out your heart, tear it to pieces and build you back stronger, Dostoevksy achieves the same results in a different way. He shows you inside your own heart and, in recognizing his words capturing inner feelings your own heart could never have expressed so eloquently, it begins to shake and vibrate in harmony with his ideas until it flies into pieces. Then he puts you back together, wiser and thankful for it. White Nights is a minor work yet it hits so soothingly and with all the bliss of a grand summer’s night. This is one for, as Kermit the Frog once sang, the lovers, the dreamers, and me.
5/5
‘[A]sk yourself again: what have you done with your best years, then? Where have you buried the best days of your life? Have you lived or not?’
Summer nights are for dreamers. The world opens itself up into lush landscapes teeming with life and the nights, so full of star light and mystery, seem as vast as the aspirations of first time lovers. Anything seems possible amidst the summer nights, as if the afterhours were a doorway that takes you into a fairy tale world where magic and mayhem await you. Such is the feeling permeating Fydor Dostoevsky’ White Nights, an early tale first published in 1848 of a nameless narrator coming to life and love under the white nights of St. Petersburg. ‘I am a dreamer,’ he tells us and embarks on a story that feels as if set in a dreamscape, softly pulling us through the four nights he spends talking with the young Nastenka whom he met sobbing upon a bridge. Over these few days the pair come to know each other fondly, and despite his promise to not fall in love with her as she is engaged to another man, our narrator can’t help but blissfully trip into romantic affection in what seems Doestoevksy’s portrayal and preference of altruistic love. Learning to look and live outward instead of inwardly dreaming, the narrator breaks from isolation and sees that although living towards dreams may go awry, having lived in the world is better than loneliness.
‘It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young, dear reader.’
I love a good story that takes place over the span of a mere few days, the type that reminds you how life seems to slow down with every moment elevated and vibrating with implied importance when you feel like you’ve stumbled into a narrative within your own life. A handful of days you feel you’ve occupied more than entire months. White Nights excellently embodies this and you feel, as the reader, the feverish excitement of the narrator as if it is running through your own veins and not his; a talent of Dostoevsky’s I first became enamored with long ago while reading Crime and Punishment is his ability to transpose the characters emotions onto you such was the intensity of guilt and anguish I felt alongside Raskolnikov as he sweated in his bed. I was also particularly empathetic to his account of feeling left behind and in a state of a ‘strange anguish,’ finding himself befriending his own city as he wandered the streets aimlessly. I recall a time when I had my own personal loneliness and sadness, spending summer days wandering my own city and finding a particular joy and camaraderie with the landscape one can only enter when out within it walking. The poets have written on this for centuries. Another phenomenon of walking and thinking, especially in summer, is that the whole world feels possible and that around any corner everything might change, fall into place, or trigger a story. And so this tale begins.
‘I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can't help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced.’
While perhaps not much occurs in this story, we also feel that it shifts the entirety of the narrators world, he who upon his first conversation with Nastenka admits ‘I will no longer think so badly of myself as I have done at times,’ simply because he had an experience with her. There is a real youthfulness blossoming on every page here with our narrator, somewhere in his twenties but feeling life already leaving him behind, and his loquacity is only matched by his awkwardness. Luckily she find him charming, sharing her own feelings of loneliness spending her days quite literally pinned to her grandmothers dress since the elder woman fears Nastenka will be taken off by a man (a bit on the nose but it works), and is more amused than bemused by his poetic way of rambling. Upon his first explanation of himself she remarks ‘You talk as though you were reading it out of a book.’ Its this sort of inability to temper one’s awkward excitement coupled with a penchant for poetic flourishing that first marks him as a dreamer, but also reminds me of the characters in early Knut Hamsun works, particularly Hunger when the narrator’s romantic prospects are dashed by the self sabotage of his grand speeches. Hunger always recalled Doestoevksy’s narrator from Notes from Underground and in White Nights we see Dostoevsky practicing the sort of long-winded storytelling he would later use for his underground man.
‘I don’t know how to be silent when my heart is speaking.’
A dreamer, our narrator tells us ‘is not a human being, but a creature of an intermediate sort.’ He lives his life dreaming but never truly living, inventing all sorts of wishes he can play out in his head but never actually having the experiences beyond imagination (perhaps one may see a dreamer as a sort of step-sibling to a reader). He casts himself as the ‘hero’ in his telling, just as in his dreaming, but is nothing but a spectator speculating. And while he has charmed himself with many fantasies of love and lovers, he has never truly known it firsthand and is beginning to regret occupying his time with what amounts to nothing.
‘Because at moments like that I start to think that I am incapable of living a proper life, I seem already to have lost any sort of judgment, any apprehension of the real and actual; because after all, I have cursed my very self; because after my nights of fantasy come moments of sobriety which are appalling…after all one matures, outgrows one’s former ideals: they are shattered into dust and fragments; and if you have no other life, it behooves you to construct one from those same fragments.’
At least with Nastenka he is experiencing life. She too has a story to tell, one of a man to whom she is promised to be wed upon his return to St. Petersberg yet he has been home a few days and has not come to her. Our dreamer, eager to please and to experience life, agrees to take a letter to him. In his dealings with Nastenka we see a sort of idyllic, altruistic purity to his love, one of a boy who puts her best interests before himself and she with no intent to deceive or use him. It feels very much like high school, doing something for your crush in a tale of unrequited love where, deep down, you know they will never be with you but you do it anyway.
‘But to imagine that I should bear you a grudge, Nastenka! That I should cast a dark cloud over your serene, untroubled happiness; that by my bitter reproaches I should cause distress to your heart, should poison it with secret remorse and should force it to throb with anguish at the moment of bliss; that I should crush a single one of those tender blossoms which you have twined in your dark tresses when you go with him to the altar…. Oh never, never! May your sky be clear, may your sweet smile be bright and untroubled, and may you be blessed for that moment of blissful happiness which you gave to another, lonely and grateful heart!’
It is, perhaps, what a youth would be snickered at by peers and teased for being ‘friend-zoned’, but we see that there is a sincerity here. We also see why the subtitle for this tale is ‘A sentimental story from the diary of a dreamer’ because it is indeed sentimental and tugs heartstrings that reverberate in the tune of nostalgia and young, doomed romance.
Of course our young narrator, against her wishes to not fall in love with her, does, but in her grief over the continued absence of her fiancée, she begins to bend her heart towards him as well. Why not, he clearly cares for her. The story takes a twist and we see our dreamer sad but not regretful, because he has experienced life. And life comes with loss as much as love, we just only hope the scales tip more towards sweetness when we tally up our total when the curtain falls for us. We leave the dreamer as he ponders if this one moment of happiness was worth it all.
‘My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of a man’s life?’
Doestoevsky forever holds a special place in my heart. While some authors tear out your heart, tear it to pieces and build you back stronger, Dostoevksy achieves the same results in a different way. He shows you inside your own heart and, in recognizing his words capturing inner feelings your own heart could never have expressed so eloquently, it begins to shake and vibrate in harmony with his ideas until it flies into pieces. Then he puts you back together, wiser and thankful for it. White Nights is a minor work yet it hits so soothingly and with all the bliss of a grand summer’s night. This is one for, as Kermit the Frog once sang, the lovers, the dreamers, and me.
5/5
‘[A]sk yourself again: what have you done with your best years, then? Where have you buried the best days of your life? Have you lived or not?’
March 14, 2023
White Nights is a melancholy trip… It is an elegy of solitude… White nights… Sad days…
Returning home after purposelessly wandering the streets, the protagonist – a hopeless dreamer – unexpectedly encounters an unhappy crying girl and trying to comfort her, he sees her home… And he tells her about his life… And his life story is the story of his dreaming because he knows nothing else…
And she recounts him her naive life story too… And, of course, the dreamer falls in love… And, of course, his love is doomed…
Judging by the naivety of the narration the accidental encounter is just another dreamer’s reverie – no more than an amorous castle in the air…
Dreamers don’t need reality… They live in their dreams.
A strange anguish had tormented me since early morning. I suddenly had the impression that I had been left all alone, that everyone was shrinking away from me, avoiding me.
Returning home after purposelessly wandering the streets, the protagonist – a hopeless dreamer – unexpectedly encounters an unhappy crying girl and trying to comfort her, he sees her home… And he tells her about his life… And his life story is the story of his dreaming because he knows nothing else…
“There are, my dear Nastenka, in case you don’t know, some rather strange corners in Petersburg. It’s as if the sun that warms the rest of the city never shines on them, and instead another sun, especially designed for them, supplies them with a different light. In those corners, Nastenka, a life goes on quite unlike the one seething around us, a life that is possible in some far-away dreamland but certainly not here in our over-serious time. That life is a mixture of something out of pure fantasy ardently idealistic, with, alas, something bleak and dull and ordinary, not to say outright vulgar.”
And she recounts him her naive life story too… And, of course, the dreamer falls in love… And, of course, his love is doomed…
Judging by the naivety of the narration the accidental encounter is just another dreamer’s reverie – no more than an amorous castle in the air…
“And how effortlessly, how naturally the dreamer’s world of fantasy springs up! It looks so real and not at all like a mirage! In fact, sometimes he almost believes that his dream life is no figment of the imagination, no self-deception, no delusion, but something real, actual, existing.”
Dreamers don’t need reality… They live in their dreams.
June 10, 2017
خداى من، یک دقیقۀ تمامْ خوشبختى! آیا این نعمت براى سراسر زندگى یک انسان كافى نیست؟
شب های روشن
فئودور داستایوسکی
١.
مى گويند زنبور نر در تمام عمرش تنها يک بار با ملكه عشق ورزى مى كند، و بعد بى درنگ مى ميرد.
تصوّرش را بكن: در تمام عمر تنها يک بار لذّت عشق ورزى را مى چشد. تنها يک بار، امّا با ملكه. نخستين و در عين حال شكوهمندترين عشق ورزى، و بعد تمام. هدف زندگى اش همين است. بعد كه به هدف وجودى اش نائل شد، همچون ميوه اى رسيده از درخت فرو مى افتد.
٢.
در داستانی قدیمی که گوته آن را بازگو می کند، فیلسوفی الهی به نام "فاوست" با شيطان معامله اى می کند كه به موجب آن، در اين جهان شيطان به او خدمت کند، و در دوزخ او خادم شيطان شود، و از شيطان می خواهد تمام لذّات ممكن دنيوى را برايش مهيّا سازد.
اما محتواى قرارداد به همين جا ختم نمى شود. قرارداد بندى ديگر نيز دارد، بندى كه از جانب كسى كه قصدش لذّت جويى است، بى اندازه عجيب مى نمايد: فاوست با شيطان شرط مى كند هر گاه جان اندوهگينش از چيزى لذّتى حقيقى برد، همان لحظه جانش را بستاند.
٣.
مردن در لحظۀ سعادت. جاودانه كردن شادكامى.
کتاب
بزرگ ترین اشتباه یک هنرمند، خلق یک شاهکار است. وقتی یک شاهکار خلق می کنی، یوغ شاهکار تا ابد بر گردنت می ماند، صلیب شاهکار تا همیشه بر پشتت سنگینی می کند: مدام با شاهکارت مقایسه می شوی.
جناب داستایوسکی، هنوز تو را می پرستم، ولی به خاطر ابلهت، به خاطر جنایت و مکافاتت، نه به خاطر شب های روشنت.
شب های روشن
فئودور داستایوسکی
١.
مى گويند زنبور نر در تمام عمرش تنها يک بار با ملكه عشق ورزى مى كند، و بعد بى درنگ مى ميرد.
تصوّرش را بكن: در تمام عمر تنها يک بار لذّت عشق ورزى را مى چشد. تنها يک بار، امّا با ملكه. نخستين و در عين حال شكوهمندترين عشق ورزى، و بعد تمام. هدف زندگى اش همين است. بعد كه به هدف وجودى اش نائل شد، همچون ميوه اى رسيده از درخت فرو مى افتد.
٢.
در داستانی قدیمی که گوته آن را بازگو می کند، فیلسوفی الهی به نام "فاوست" با شيطان معامله اى می کند كه به موجب آن، در اين جهان شيطان به او خدمت کند، و در دوزخ او خادم شيطان شود، و از شيطان می خواهد تمام لذّات ممكن دنيوى را برايش مهيّا سازد.
اما محتواى قرارداد به همين جا ختم نمى شود. قرارداد بندى ديگر نيز دارد، بندى كه از جانب كسى كه قصدش لذّت جويى است، بى اندازه عجيب مى نمايد: فاوست با شيطان شرط مى كند هر گاه جان اندوهگينش از چيزى لذّتى حقيقى برد، همان لحظه جانش را بستاند.
٣.
مردن در لحظۀ سعادت. جاودانه كردن شادكامى.
کتاب
بزرگ ترین اشتباه یک هنرمند، خلق یک شاهکار است. وقتی یک شاهکار خلق می کنی، یوغ شاهکار تا ابد بر گردنت می ماند، صلیب شاهکار تا همیشه بر پشتت سنگینی می کند: مدام با شاهکارت مقایسه می شوی.
جناب داستایوسکی، هنوز تو را می پرستم، ولی به خاطر ابلهت، به خاطر جنایت و مکافاتت، نه به خاطر شب های روشنت.
August 4, 2021
Russian: Белые ночи = Bely Nochi = White nights, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
White Nights is a short story by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, originally published in 1848. The short story is divided into six sections: First Night, Second Night, Nastenka's Story, Third Night, Fourth Night, Morning.
First Night: The narrator describes his experience walking in the streets of St. Petersburg. He loves the city at night, and feels comfortable in it. He no longer feels comfortable during the day because all the people he is used to seeing are not there. He drew his emotions from them: if they were happy, he was happy; if they were despondent, he was despondent. ...
Second Night: On their second meeting, Nastenka seeks to find out more about him. He tells her that he has no history because he has spent his life utterly alone. When she presses him to continue, he suggests that he is of the type of the "dreamer". "'The dreamer'", he explains, "is not a human being, but a creature of an intermediate sort." He gives a long speech (in a style that anticipates that of the Underground Man in Notes from Underground), about his longing for companionship, leading Nastenka to comment "...you talk as if you were reading from a book". He begins to tell his story in the third person, calling himself "the hero". This "hero" is happy at the hour when all work ends and people walk about. He references Vasily Zhukovsky and mentions "The Goddess of Fancy". ...
Nastenka's Story: Nastenka tells the narrator her story. She grew up with her strict grandmother who gave her a largely sheltered upbringing. Her grandmother's pension being too small, they rent out their house to gain income. When their first lodger dies, he is replaced by a younger man. The young man begins a silent courtship with Nastenka, often giving her a book so that she may develop a reading habit. She takes a liking to the novels of Sir Walter Scott and Aleksandr Pushkin. ...
Third Night: The narrator gradually realizes that despite his assurance that their friendship would remain platonic, he has inevitably fallen in love with her. He nevertheless helps her by writing and posting a letter to her lover, and conceals his feelings for her. They await his reply to the letter or his appearance, but Nastenka grows restless at his absence and takes comfort in the narrator's friendship. ...
Fourth Night: Nastenka despairs because she knows that her lover is in Petersburg but hasn't contacted her. The narrator continues to comfort her, for which she is extremely grateful, leading him to break his resolve and confess his love for her. Nastenka is disoriented at first, and the narrator, realizing that they can no longer continue to be friends in the same manner, insists on never seeing her again. She urges him to stay, and suggests that their relationship might become romantic some day, but that she wants his friendship in her life. ...
Morning: The final section is a brief afterword about a letter he receives from Nastenka, in which she apologizes for hurting him and insists that she would always be thankful for his companionship. She also mentions that she will be married within a week and hopes that he will come. The narrator breaks into tears upon reading the letter. Matryona, his maid, interrupts his thoughts by telling him she has finished cleaning the cobwebs. ...
عنوانهای چاپ شده در ایران: «شبهای سپید»؛ «شبهای روشن»؛ «شبهای روشن و نازک دل»؛ نویسنده: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ انتشاراتیها: (سپهر، جامی، سرنا، کیانوش، روزگار، فردوس، ماهی، کوله پشتی، نکو روش در یزد، بهنود)؛ تاریخ نخستین خوانش: سال 1986میلادی
عنوان: شبهای سپید؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: مرتضی مقدم؛ تهران، سپهر؛ 1346؛ در 112ص؛ چاپ دیگر تهران، جامی، 1369، در186ص؛ چاپ دوم جامی 1383؛ در 188ص؛ چاپ سوم جامی 1385، شابک 9647468571؛ موضوع داستانهای نویسندگان روسیه - سده 19م
عنوان: شبهای سپید؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: محمد سلطانی؛ تهران، سرنا؛ 1370؛ در 273ص؛
عنوان: شبهای سپید؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: منصور حکیم جوادی؛ تهران، کیانوش، 1377؛ در 81ص؛ شابک 9649018654؛
عنوان: شبهای روشن: بخشی از خاطرات یک مرد رویایی؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: نسرین مجیدی؛ تهران، روزگار، 1389؛ در 136ص؛ شابک 9789643741631؛ چاپ دوم 1392؛
عنوان: شبهای روشن و نازک دل؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: قاسم کبیری؛ تهران، فردوس، 1384؛ در 176ص؛ شابک 9643201198؛ چاپ چهارم 1389؛ پنجم 1392؛ شابک 9789643204365؛
عنوان: شبهای روشن: یک داستان عاشقانه از خاطرات یک رویاپرداز؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم سروش حبیبی؛ مشخصات نشر تهران، ماهی، 1389، در 109ص، اندازه 12س.م در 5.16س.م، چاپ هشتم بهار 1392، چاپ نهم زمستان 1392؛ چاپ چهاردهم 1395؛
عنوان: شبهای روشن؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: هانیه چوپانی؛ تهران، کوله پشتی، 1390؛ در 80ص؛ شابک 9786005816044؛
عنوان: شبهای روشن (داستانهای کوتاه)؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: سیامک علایی؛ یزد، نکو روش، 1393؛ در 192ص؛ شابک 9786006952437؛
عنوان: شبهای سپید و داستانهای کوتاه؛ اثر: فئودور میخائیلوویچ داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: مهناز مهری؛ تهران، بهنود، 1396؛ در 573ص؛ شابک 9786007511183؛
همانند بسیاری از داستانهای «داستایفسکی»، «شبهای روشن» نیز، داستان یک راوی اول شخص بی نام و نشان است، که در شهر زندگی میکند؛ و از تنهایی رنج میبرد؛ راوی یک خیالباف است؛ او در ذهن خویش زندگی میکند، خیال میکند پیرمردی هماره از کنار او رد میشود، اما هرگزی با او حرف نمیزند، و یا ...، داستان شش بخش دارد
شب اول: راوی تجربههای خویش، از قدم زدن در خیابانهای سن «پطرزبورگ» را، بازگو میکند؛ عاشق شهر در شب است، زیرا در شب احساس آرامش میکند؛ او هنگام روز احساس راحتی نمیکند، زیرا همهٔ کسانی که عادت به دیدنشان در روز داشت، دیگر نبودند؛ اگر آنها شاد بودند، او شاد بود؛ اگر آنها اندوهگین بودند، او نیز اندوهگین میشد؛ هنگامیکه چهره های تازه میدید، احساس تنهایی میکرد؛ شخصیت اصلی همچنین خانه ها را میشناخت؛ هنگامیکه در خیابان قدم میزد، آنها با او سخن میگفتند، و برایش میگفتند چگونه نوسازی میشوند، با رنگ جدید دوباره نقاشی میشوند، یا تخریب میشوند؛ شخصیت اصلی، به تنهایی در یک آپارتمان کوچک، در «سن پترزبورگ» زندگی میکند، و تنها یک خدمتکار مسن، به نام «ماترونا» را دارد، که با او مصاحبت کند، او به بیان رابطه اش، با دختری جوان، به نام «ناستنکا (کوچک شده ی محبت آمیز آناستازیا)» میپردازد؛ نخستین بار او را در حالیکه به نرده ای تکیه داده، و گریه میکرد، میبیند؛ نگران میشود، و پیش خود میاندیشد، که آیا برود از او بپرسد: مشکل چیست یا نه، اما سرانجام خود را وادار میکند، تا به قدم زدن ادامه دهد؛ ...؛
شب ��وم: در دیدار دومشان، «ناستنکا» خودش را به راوی معرفی میکند، و آن دو با هم دوست میشوند؛ «ناستنکا» اظهار تعجب میکند، چرا که هرچه فکر میکند، میبیند چیزی از او نمیدانسته، او پاسخ میدهد، که او هیچ داستانی ندارد، زیرا همه ی عمرش را کاملاً تنها سپری کرده، وقتی «ناستنکا» به او فشار میآورد، تا در اینباره ادامه بدهد، واژه ی «خیالباف» که شخصیت اصلی خودش را، از آن دسته میداند، به میان میآید.؛ ...؛
ناستنکا: «ناستنکا» در بخش سوم، داستان خودش را، برای راوی بازگو میکند؛ او با مادربزرگ سختگیرش، که او را بسیار حفاظت شده بار آورده بود، زندگی میکرد؛ از آنجایی که پانسیون مادربزرگش، بسیار کوچک بود، آنها بخشی از خانه را، اجاره داده بودند، تا درآمدی به دست آورند؛ هنگامیکه مستاجر پیشین میمیرد، علیرغم خواست مادربزرگش، مردی جوانتر، نزدیک به سن و سال «ناستنکا» جایگزین مستاجر پیشین میشود؛ مرد جوان یک رابطه ی خاموش با «ناستنکا» آغاز میکند، اغلب کتابی به او میدهد، تا بلکه او عادت کتابخوانی را، در خود گسترش دهد؛ در نتیجه «ناستانکا» به کتابهای «سر والتر اسکات» و «الکساندر پوشکین» علاقمند میشود؛ یکروز مرد جوان، او و مادربزرگش را، به تئاتری که در آن نمایش «آرایشگر سِویل» اجرا میشده، دعوت میکند؛ در شبی که مستأجر جوان قرار است «سن پطرزبورگ» را، به قصد «مسکو» ترک کند، «ناستنکا» از دست مادربزرگش فرار، و او را ترغیب میکند تا با او ازدواج کند؛ ...؛
شب سوم: راوی اندک اندک متوجه میشود، که علیرغم تاکیدش بر اینکه دوستی آنها افلاطونی باقی میماند، او بی اختیار عاشق «ناستنکا» شده است؛ ولی او با اینحال، با نوشتن نامه ای، و فرستادن آن به معشوق «ناستنکا»، و پنهان کردن احساساتش نسبت به «ناستنکا»، به او یاری میکند؛ آنها به انتظار نامه، یا پیدا شدن او مینشینند؛ اما با گذر زمان «ناستنکا» از غیبت راوی بی قرار میشود؛ او خود را با دوستی راوی تسکین میدهد، بی آنکه از ژرفای احساسات او، نسبت به خود آگاه باشد، او میگوید که «من عاشق تو هستم از آنجا که عاشق من نشده ای…»؛ راوی که از طبیعت یک طرفهٔ عشقش نسبت به او رنج میبرد، متوجه میشود که همزمان، ناخودآگاه با او احساس غریبگی میکند؛ ...؛
شب چهارم: «ناستنکا» با اینکه میداند، معشوقش در «سن پطرزبورگ» است، از غیبت او و جواب نامه اش مایوس میشود؛ راوی به تسلی دادن او ادامه میدهد، «ناستنکا» بسیار قدردان است، و این باعث میشود راوی عزم خودش را میشکند، و عشقش به «ناستنکا» را اعتراف میکند؛ «ناستنکا» نخست سردرگم است، راوی که متوجه میشود دیگر نمیتوانند همانند گذشته، به دوستی اش با «ناستانکا» ادامه دهند، پافشاری میکند که دیگر او را نبیند؛ «ناستنکا» اما اصرار میکند که او بماند؛ آنها مشغول قدم زدن میشوند، و «ناستنکا» میگوید که شاید روزی رابطه ی آنها بتواند رنگ و بوی عاشقانه بگیرد، ولی او آشکارا، دوستی با راوی را میخواهد؛ راوی با این چشم انداز امیدوار میشود، تا اینکه در طی قدم زدنشان، از کنار مرد جوانی میگذرند، که میایستد، و آنها را صدا میزند؛ معلوم میشود که او همان معشوق «ناستنکا» است، و «ناستنکا» به آغوش او میپرد؛ «ناستنکا» عجالتاً برمیگردد، و راوی را میبوسد، اما سپس در طول شب، با عشقش به گام زدن میپردازد، و راوی را تنها و شکسته دل رها میکند؛ ...؛
و صبح: «شبهای من با صبحی به پایان رسیدند؛ هوا وحشتناک بود؛ قطره های باران به طرز غم انگیزی بر شیشه ی پنجره ام ضربه میزدند»؛ بخش پایانی تنها شامل یک پس گفتار خلاصه است، که به نقل نامه ای که «ناستنکا» به راوی مینویسد، و در آن از او به خاطر آزار او، عذرخواهی میکند، و میگوید که همیشه قدردان دوستی او خواهد بود؛ «ناستنکا» همچنین اشاره میکند، که کمتر از یک هفته ی دیگر ازدواج میکند، و امیدوار است که او در آن شرکت کند؛ هنگامیکه راوی نامه را میخواند، به گریه میافتد؛ رشته ی افکار راوی را «ماتریونا»، خدمتکارش، با گفتن اینکه «پاک کردن تار عنکبوتها تمام شده» پاره میکند؛ راوی متوجه میشود، که هرگز «ماتریونا» را به چشم یک پیرزن ندیده است؛ او بسیار پیرتر از همیشه به نظر میرسد؛ راوی به این میاندیشد، که آیا آینده اش، همیشه بدون همدم و عشق خواهد بود؛ با اینحال او مأیوس نمیشود: «ولی اینکه من هرگز نسبت به تو احساس نفرت کنم، ناستنکا! که من سایه ای تاریک بر شادمانی روشن و آرام تو بیندازم! که من دانه ای از آن شکوفه های ظریفی که بر موهای تیره ات میگذاری هنگامیکه با او در محراب قدم زنی را بشکنم! آه نه…؛ هرگز هرگز! آسمانت همیشه صاف باد، لبخند عزیزت همیشه روشن و خرسند باد، و همیشه خوشبخت باشی، به شکرانه ی آن لحظه ی رحمت و شادمانی، که به دیگر قلب تنها و قدرشناسی دادی …؛ خدای من، تنها یک لحظهٔ رحمت؟ آیا چنین لحظه ای تمام عمر مردی را کافی نیست؟»؛ ...؛
تاریخ نخستین خوانش 09/06/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 12/05/1400هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی
White Nights is a short story by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, originally published in 1848. The short story is divided into six sections: First Night, Second Night, Nastenka's Story, Third Night, Fourth Night, Morning.
First Night: The narrator describes his experience walking in the streets of St. Petersburg. He loves the city at night, and feels comfortable in it. He no longer feels comfortable during the day because all the people he is used to seeing are not there. He drew his emotions from them: if they were happy, he was happy; if they were despondent, he was despondent. ...
Second Night: On their second meeting, Nastenka seeks to find out more about him. He tells her that he has no history because he has spent his life utterly alone. When she presses him to continue, he suggests that he is of the type of the "dreamer". "'The dreamer'", he explains, "is not a human being, but a creature of an intermediate sort." He gives a long speech (in a style that anticipates that of the Underground Man in Notes from Underground), about his longing for companionship, leading Nastenka to comment "...you talk as if you were reading from a book". He begins to tell his story in the third person, calling himself "the hero". This "hero" is happy at the hour when all work ends and people walk about. He references Vasily Zhukovsky and mentions "The Goddess of Fancy". ...
Nastenka's Story: Nastenka tells the narrator her story. She grew up with her strict grandmother who gave her a largely sheltered upbringing. Her grandmother's pension being too small, they rent out their house to gain income. When their first lodger dies, he is replaced by a younger man. The young man begins a silent courtship with Nastenka, often giving her a book so that she may develop a reading habit. She takes a liking to the novels of Sir Walter Scott and Aleksandr Pushkin. ...
Third Night: The narrator gradually realizes that despite his assurance that their friendship would remain platonic, he has inevitably fallen in love with her. He nevertheless helps her by writing and posting a letter to her lover, and conceals his feelings for her. They await his reply to the letter or his appearance, but Nastenka grows restless at his absence and takes comfort in the narrator's friendship. ...
Fourth Night: Nastenka despairs because she knows that her lover is in Petersburg but hasn't contacted her. The narrator continues to comfort her, for which she is extremely grateful, leading him to break his resolve and confess his love for her. Nastenka is disoriented at first, and the narrator, realizing that they can no longer continue to be friends in the same manner, insists on never seeing her again. She urges him to stay, and suggests that their relationship might become romantic some day, but that she wants his friendship in her life. ...
Morning: The final section is a brief afterword about a letter he receives from Nastenka, in which she apologizes for hurting him and insists that she would always be thankful for his companionship. She also mentions that she will be married within a week and hopes that he will come. The narrator breaks into tears upon reading the letter. Matryona, his maid, interrupts his thoughts by telling him she has finished cleaning the cobwebs. ...
عنوانهای چاپ شده در ایران: «شبهای سپید»؛ «شبهای روشن»؛ «شبهای روشن و نازک دل»؛ نویسنده: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ انتشاراتیها: (سپهر، جامی، سرنا، کیانوش، روزگار، فردوس، ماهی، کوله پشتی، نکو روش در یزد، بهنود)؛ تاریخ نخستین خوانش: سال 1986میلادی
عنوان: شبهای سپید؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: مرتضی مقدم؛ تهران، سپهر؛ 1346؛ در 112ص؛ چاپ دیگر تهران، جامی، 1369، در186ص؛ چاپ دوم جامی 1383؛ در 188ص؛ چاپ سوم جامی 1385، شابک 9647468571؛ موضوع داستانهای نویسندگان روسیه - سده 19م
عنوان: شبهای سپید؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: محمد سلطانی؛ تهران، سرنا؛ 1370؛ در 273ص؛
عنوان: شبهای سپید؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: منصور حکیم جوادی؛ تهران، کیانوش، 1377؛ در 81ص؛ شابک 9649018654؛
عنوان: شبهای روشن: بخشی از خاطرات یک مرد رویایی؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: نسرین مجیدی؛ تهران، روزگار، 1389؛ در 136ص؛ شابک 9789643741631؛ چاپ دوم 1392؛
عنوان: شبهای روشن و نازک دل؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: قاسم کبیری؛ تهران، فردوس، 1384؛ در 176ص؛ شابک 9643201198؛ چاپ چهارم 1389؛ پنجم 1392؛ شابک 9789643204365؛
عنوان: شبهای روشن: یک داستان عاشقانه از خاطرات یک رویاپرداز؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم سروش حبیبی؛ مشخصات نشر تهران، ماهی، 1389، در 109ص، اندازه 12س.م در 5.16س.م، چاپ هشتم بهار 1392، چاپ نهم زمستان 1392؛ چاپ چهاردهم 1395؛
عنوان: شبهای روشن؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: هانیه چوپانی؛ تهران، کوله پشتی، 1390؛ در 80ص؛ شابک 9786005816044؛
عنوان: شبهای روشن (داستانهای کوتاه)؛ اثر: فئودور داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: سیامک علایی؛ یزد، نکو روش، 1393؛ در 192ص؛ شابک 9786006952437؛
عنوان: شبهای سپید و داستانهای کوتاه؛ اثر: فئودور میخائیلوویچ داستایوسکی؛ مترجم: مهناز مهری؛ تهران، بهنود، 1396؛ در 573ص؛ شابک 9786007511183؛
همانند بسیاری از داستانهای «داستایفسکی»، «شبهای روشن» نیز، داستان یک راوی اول شخص بی نام و نشان است، که در شهر زندگی میکند؛ و از تنهایی رنج میبرد؛ راوی یک خیالباف است؛ او در ذهن خویش زندگی میکند، خیال میکند پیرمردی هماره از کنار او رد میشود، اما هرگزی با او حرف نمیزند، و یا ...، داستان شش بخش دارد
شب اول: راوی تجربههای خویش، از قدم زدن در خیابانهای سن «پطرزبورگ» را، بازگو میکند؛ عاشق شهر در شب است، زیرا در شب احساس آرامش میکند؛ او هنگام روز احساس راحتی نمیکند، زیرا همهٔ کسانی که عادت به دیدنشان در روز داشت، دیگر نبودند؛ اگر آنها شاد بودند، او شاد بود؛ اگر آنها اندوهگین بودند، او نیز اندوهگین میشد؛ هنگامیکه چهره های تازه میدید، احساس تنهایی میکرد؛ شخصیت اصلی همچنین خانه ها را میشناخت؛ هنگامیکه در خیابان قدم میزد، آنها با او سخن میگفتند، و برایش میگفتند چگونه نوسازی میشوند، با رنگ جدید دوباره نقاشی میشوند، یا تخریب میشوند؛ شخصیت اصلی، به تنهایی در یک آپارتمان کوچک، در «سن پترزبورگ» زندگی میکند، و تنها یک خدمتکار مسن، به نام «ماترونا» را دارد، که با او مصاحبت کند، او به بیان رابطه اش، با دختری جوان، به نام «ناستنکا (کوچک شده ی محبت آمیز آناستازیا)» میپردازد؛ نخستین بار او را در حالیکه به نرده ای تکیه داده، و گریه میکرد، میبیند؛ نگران میشود، و پیش خود میاندیشد، که آیا برود از او بپرسد: مشکل چیست یا نه، اما سرانجام خود را وادار میکند، تا به قدم زدن ادامه دهد؛ ...؛
شب ��وم: در دیدار دومشان، «ناستنکا» خودش را به راوی معرفی میکند، و آن دو با هم دوست میشوند؛ «ناستنکا» اظهار تعجب میکند، چرا که هرچه فکر میکند، میبیند چیزی از او نمیدانسته، او پاسخ میدهد، که او هیچ داستانی ندارد، زیرا همه ی عمرش را کاملاً تنها سپری کرده، وقتی «ناستنکا» به او فشار میآورد، تا در اینباره ادامه بدهد، واژه ی «خیالباف» که شخصیت اصلی خودش را، از آن دسته میداند، به میان میآید.؛ ...؛
ناستنکا: «ناستنکا» در بخش سوم، داستان خودش را، برای راوی بازگو میکند؛ او با مادربزرگ سختگیرش، که او را بسیار حفاظت شده بار آورده بود، زندگی میکرد؛ از آنجایی که پانسیون مادربزرگش، بسیار کوچک بود، آنها بخشی از خانه را، اجاره داده بودند، تا درآمدی به دست آورند؛ هنگامیکه مستاجر پیشین میمیرد، علیرغم خواست مادربزرگش، مردی جوانتر، نزدیک به سن و سال «ناستنکا» جایگزین مستاجر پیشین میشود؛ مرد جوان یک رابطه ی خاموش با «ناستنکا» آغاز میکند، اغلب کتابی به او میدهد، تا بلکه او عادت کتابخوانی را، در خود گسترش دهد؛ در نتیجه «ناستانکا» به کتابهای «سر والتر اسکات» و «الکساندر پوشکین» علاقمند میشود؛ یکروز مرد جوان، او و مادربزرگش را، به تئاتری که در آن نمایش «آرایشگر سِویل» اجرا میشده، دعوت میکند؛ در شبی که مستأجر جوان قرار است «سن پطرزبورگ» را، به قصد «مسکو» ترک کند، «ناستنکا» از دست مادربزرگش فرار، و او را ترغیب میکند تا با او ازدواج کند؛ ...؛
شب سوم: راوی اندک اندک متوجه میشود، که علیرغم تاکیدش بر اینکه دوستی آنها افلاطونی باقی میماند، او بی اختیار عاشق «ناستنکا» شده است؛ ولی او با اینحال، با نوشتن نامه ای، و فرستادن آن به معشوق «ناستنکا»، و پنهان کردن احساساتش نسبت به «ناستنکا»، به او یاری میکند؛ آنها به انتظار نامه، یا پیدا شدن او مینشینند؛ اما با گذر زمان «ناستنکا» از غیبت راوی بی قرار میشود؛ او خود را با دوستی راوی تسکین میدهد، بی آنکه از ژرفای احساسات او، نسبت به خود آگاه باشد، او میگوید که «من عاشق تو هستم از آنجا که عاشق من نشده ای…»؛ راوی که از طبیعت یک طرفهٔ عشقش نسبت به او رنج میبرد، متوجه میشود که همزمان، ناخودآگاه با او احساس غریبگی میکند؛ ...؛
شب چهارم: «ناستنکا» با اینکه میداند، معشوقش در «سن پطرزبورگ» است، از غیبت او و جواب نامه اش مایوس میشود؛ راوی به تسلی دادن او ادامه میدهد، «ناستنکا» بسیار قدردان است، و این باعث میشود راوی عزم خودش را میشکند، و عشقش به «ناستنکا» را اعتراف میکند؛ «ناستنکا» نخست سردرگم است، راوی که متوجه میشود دیگر نمیتوانند همانند گذشته، به دوستی اش با «ناستانکا» ادامه دهند، پافشاری میکند که دیگر او را نبیند؛ «ناستنکا» اما اصرار میکند که او بماند؛ آنها مشغول قدم زدن میشوند، و «ناستنکا» میگوید که شاید روزی رابطه ی آنها بتواند رنگ و بوی عاشقانه بگیرد، ولی او آشکارا، دوستی با راوی را میخواهد؛ راوی با این چشم انداز امیدوار میشود، تا اینکه در طی قدم زدنشان، از کنار مرد جوانی میگذرند، که میایستد، و آنها را صدا میزند؛ معلوم میشود که او همان معشوق «ناستنکا» است، و «ناستنکا» به آغوش او میپرد؛ «ناستنکا» عجالتاً برمیگردد، و راوی را میبوسد، اما سپس در طول شب، با عشقش به گام زدن میپردازد، و راوی را تنها و شکسته دل رها میکند؛ ...؛
و صبح: «شبهای من با صبحی به پایان رسیدند؛ هوا وحشتناک بود؛ قطره های باران به طرز غم انگیزی بر شیشه ی پنجره ام ضربه میزدند»؛ بخش پایانی تنها شامل یک پس گفتار خلاصه است، که به نقل نامه ای که «ناستنکا» به راوی مینویسد، و در آن از او به خاطر آزار او، عذرخواهی میکند، و میگوید که همیشه قدردان دوستی او خواهد بود؛ «ناستنکا» همچنین اشاره میکند، که کمتر از یک هفته ی دیگر ازدواج میکند، و امیدوار است که او در آن شرکت کند؛ هنگامیکه راوی نامه را میخواند، به گریه میافتد؛ رشته ی افکار راوی را «ماتریونا»، خدمتکارش، با گفتن اینکه «پاک کردن تار عنکبوتها تمام شده» پاره میکند؛ راوی متوجه میشود، که هرگز «ماتریونا» را به چشم یک پیرزن ندیده است؛ او بسیار پیرتر از همیشه به نظر میرسد؛ راوی به این میاندیشد، که آیا آینده اش، همیشه بدون همدم و عشق خواهد بود؛ با اینحال او مأیوس نمیشود: «ولی اینکه من هرگز نسبت به تو احساس نفرت کنم، ناستنکا! که من سایه ای تاریک بر شادمانی روشن و آرام تو بیندازم! که من دانه ای از آن شکوفه های ظریفی که بر موهای تیره ات میگذاری هنگامیکه با او در محراب قدم زنی را بشکنم! آه نه…؛ هرگز هرگز! آسمانت همیشه صاف باد، لبخند عزیزت همیشه روشن و خرسند باد، و همیشه خوشبخت باشی، به شکرانه ی آن لحظه ی رحمت و شادمانی، که به دیگر قلب تنها و قدرشناسی دادی …؛ خدای من، تنها یک لحظهٔ رحمت؟ آیا چنین لحظه ای تمام عمر مردی را کافی نیست؟»؛ ...؛
تاریخ نخستین خوانش 09/06/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 12/05/1400هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی
January 13, 2023
شب های روشن می توانست یک اثر معمولی باشد ،یک کتاب با پایان خوش ، سرخوشانه و خوشحال . اما استاد داستایفسکی آن چرخش ناگهانی را وارد داستان می کند و شادی و خوشحالی را از قهرمان بی نام و نشان و خیالباف کتاب می گیرد و به او ثابت می کند که عمر شادی کوتاه است . قهرمان داستان بعد از دقایق کوتاه شادی با معشوق ، به همان اتاق قدیمی خود باز می گردد ، اتاقی که این بار خدمتکار آنرا به طور کامل تمیز کرده است و تار عنکبوت ها را هم پاک کرده ، اما عاشق شکست خورده دیگر اتاق را زشت ، خدمتکار را پیر و آینده را سرشار از تنهایی می بیند ولی او از معشوق بی وفا ناراحت نیست واز او نفرت ندارد ، قدردان همان یک لحظه شادی ایست و آنرا برای تمام عمر کافی می داند .
February 24, 2024
قال الحكيم بيدبا
لا تثق أبدا في كلام المرأة عند الغضب أو الفرح أو الحاجه أو التعب أو الملل أو السفر أو الـ ..... إنت فاضي و الا وراك حاجه :)
لحظات مسروقة من عمر الزمان نختلس فيها الفرح قبل أن يتلاعب بنا القدر من جديد
سوف تلهو بنا الحياة و تسخر
فتعال أحبك الأن أكثر
مسكين أيها البطل الذي لم أعرف اسمك و مسكينة أيضا يا ناستينكا فقد جمعتكما التعاسة و فرقكما الفرح و تبقت لكما الذكرى و العبرة و لنا القصة العبقرية التي لا توفيها الكلمات
August 19, 2021
*silent weeping*
“I am a dreamer; I have so little real life that I regard such moments as this one, now, to be so rare that I can’t help repeating these moments in my dreams. I will dream of you all night, for an entire week, all year long.”
“… he desires nothing, because he is above desire, because he has everything, because he is sated, because he himself is the artist of his life and he creates it for himself every hour to suit his latest whim.”
“…and what will there be for me to dream about when I have already been so happy in real life beside you!”
“ do you know that I now like to recall and visit at certain times places where I was once happy in my own way, I like to fashion my present so that it’s in harmony with the irrevocable past, and I often wonder like a shadow without need or purpose down cast and sad, through the alleys and streets of Petersburg? And what memories!”
“You know, we thank some people for merely living at the same time as we do. I thank you for the fact that I met you, but I will remember you for all my life!”
*not so silent weeping*
“I am a dreamer; I have so little real life that I regard such moments as this one, now, to be so rare that I can’t help repeating these moments in my dreams. I will dream of you all night, for an entire week, all year long.”
“… he desires nothing, because he is above desire, because he has everything, because he is sated, because he himself is the artist of his life and he creates it for himself every hour to suit his latest whim.”
“…and what will there be for me to dream about when I have already been so happy in real life beside you!”
“ do you know that I now like to recall and visit at certain times places where I was once happy in my own way, I like to fashion my present so that it’s in harmony with the irrevocable past, and I often wonder like a shadow without need or purpose down cast and sad, through the alleys and streets of Petersburg? And what memories!”
“You know, we thank some people for merely living at the same time as we do. I thank you for the fact that I met you, but I will remember you for all my life!”
*not so silent weeping*
March 12, 2017
Let me preface this review by announcing that I have never read anything that had put my thoughts and feelings as a dreamer so accurately as it has been put in this story!
My dear Fyodor gets it, he really does!
A dreamer is someone who shuts himself from the rest of the world and loses himself in his own mind and dreams. His entire life has been like that. That is pretty much how he lived his life, and he does not mind it, not at all, he in fact, likes it.
“I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can't help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced. I am going to dream about you the whole night, the whole week, the whole year. I feel I know you so well that I couldn't have known you better if we'd been friends for twenty years. You won't fail me, will you? Only two minutes, and you've made me happy forever. Yes, happy. Who knows, perhaps you've reconciled me with myself, resolved all my doubts.
When I woke up it seemed to me that some snatch of a tune I had known for a long time, I had heard somewhere before but had forgotten, a melody of great sweetness, was coming back to me now. It seemed to me that it had been trying to emerge from my soul all my life, and only now.”
“A fresh dream-fresh happiness! A fresh rush of delicate, voluptuous poison! What is real life to him ! To his corrupted eyes we live, you and I, Nastenka, so torpidly, slowly, insipidly; in his eyes we are all so dissatisfied with our fate, so exhausted by our life"! And, truly, see how at first sight everything is cold, morose, as though ill-humoured among us. . . . Poor things! thinks our dreamer. And it is no wonder that he thinks it! Look at these magic phantasms, which so enchantingly, so whimsically, so carelessly and freely group before him in such a magic, animated picture, in which the most prominent figure in the foreground is of course himself, our dreamer, in his precious person.”
But suddenly and quite unexpectedly, life throws something at the dreamer, and he is quite thrilled about it. He starts to think that reality is not that bad after all― that it all finally makes sense, that maybe he does not need― not anymore, to make shelter from reality in his/her dreams. Reality― for once, has become better.
Soon enough though, the cruel realization comes to him, he realizes it is not meant to last. This whole thing was a mere interlude in his/her endless world of dreams.
The dreamer is not bitter, nor s/he is resentful. S/he accepts it. This little interlude has made his/her life.
“In the end, you feel that your much-vaunted, inexhaustible fantasy is growing tired, debilitated, exhausted, because you're bound to grow out of your old ideals; they're smashed to splinters and turn to dust, and if you have no other life, you have no choice but to keep rebuilding your dreams from the splinters and dust. But the heart longs for something different! And it is vain to dig in the ashes of your old fancies, trying to find even a tiny spark to fan into a new flame that will warm the chilled heart and bring back to life everything that can send the blood rushing wildly through the body, fill the eyes with tears--everything that can delude you so well!”
At the end, it all boils down to this trice; a single little moment of sober happiness.
“My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of a man’s life?”
I cannot express how much I absolutely loved and enjoyed reading this one, it definitely had become one of my all times favorites!
Highly recommended.
My dear Fyodor gets it, he really does!
A dreamer is someone who shuts himself from the rest of the world and loses himself in his own mind and dreams. His entire life has been like that. That is pretty much how he lived his life, and he does not mind it, not at all, he in fact, likes it.
“I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can't help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced. I am going to dream about you the whole night, the whole week, the whole year. I feel I know you so well that I couldn't have known you better if we'd been friends for twenty years. You won't fail me, will you? Only two minutes, and you've made me happy forever. Yes, happy. Who knows, perhaps you've reconciled me with myself, resolved all my doubts.
When I woke up it seemed to me that some snatch of a tune I had known for a long time, I had heard somewhere before but had forgotten, a melody of great sweetness, was coming back to me now. It seemed to me that it had been trying to emerge from my soul all my life, and only now.”
“A fresh dream-fresh happiness! A fresh rush of delicate, voluptuous poison! What is real life to him ! To his corrupted eyes we live, you and I, Nastenka, so torpidly, slowly, insipidly; in his eyes we are all so dissatisfied with our fate, so exhausted by our life"! And, truly, see how at first sight everything is cold, morose, as though ill-humoured among us. . . . Poor things! thinks our dreamer. And it is no wonder that he thinks it! Look at these magic phantasms, which so enchantingly, so whimsically, so carelessly and freely group before him in such a magic, animated picture, in which the most prominent figure in the foreground is of course himself, our dreamer, in his precious person.”
But suddenly and quite unexpectedly, life throws something at the dreamer, and he is quite thrilled about it. He starts to think that reality is not that bad after all― that it all finally makes sense, that maybe he does not need― not anymore, to make shelter from reality in his/her dreams. Reality― for once, has become better.
Soon enough though, the cruel realization comes to him, he realizes it is not meant to last. This whole thing was a mere interlude in his/her endless world of dreams.
The dreamer is not bitter, nor s/he is resentful. S/he accepts it. This little interlude has made his/her life.
“In the end, you feel that your much-vaunted, inexhaustible fantasy is growing tired, debilitated, exhausted, because you're bound to grow out of your old ideals; they're smashed to splinters and turn to dust, and if you have no other life, you have no choice but to keep rebuilding your dreams from the splinters and dust. But the heart longs for something different! And it is vain to dig in the ashes of your old fancies, trying to find even a tiny spark to fan into a new flame that will warm the chilled heart and bring back to life everything that can send the blood rushing wildly through the body, fill the eyes with tears--everything that can delude you so well!”
At the end, it all boils down to this trice; a single little moment of sober happiness.
“My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of a man’s life?”
I cannot express how much I absolutely loved and enjoyed reading this one, it definitely had become one of my all times favorites!
Highly recommended.
January 23, 2018
المراجعة بعد القراءة الثانية
فتح الباب وارتمى على السرير القذر في الغرفة القذرة ذات الجو القذر، ولكن كلّ هذا لا يهم. وضع يده تحت رأسه .. وأخذ ينظر إلى السطح الذّي إسودّ من دخان المصابيح الزيتية والموقد، وتدلت منه شباك العناكب .. ولكن كل هذا لا يهم . هو لا ينظر إلى السطح .. هو بالأحرى لا ينظر إلى أي شيء، فاليوم رحلت فتاة جاءت من عالم الأحلام وذهبت كحلم جميل، فتاة عرفها قبل أن يلتقي بها، تحدّث إليها وأخبرها بكل أسراره دون أن ينبس ببنت شفة، فتاة من هناك من أرضه فهو إنسان حالم والإنسان الحالم يعيش حياة طبيعية، عادية مثل الجميع ولكنه لا ينتمي إلى هذه الحياة فهو غريب عنها لأنه من هناك .. من أرض الأحلام.
رفع رأسه قليلا وتلفت يمنة ويسارا، وسرعان ما ارتسمت الدهشة على وجهه لأنّه لا يعلم كيف وصل إلى هنا ؟ وكيف استلقى هكذا ؟ وما فعل في الساعات الماضية ؟ .
لا يعلم شيئا ولا يعرف مصدر الوحل في قدميه ويده، جسده رجع غريزيا إلى البيت أماّ عقله فطار مع الحلم الجميل .. رجع إلى وضعه الأول واستلقى واضعا يده تحت رأسه .. تنهّد محاول إخراج نفس عالق داخل صدره .. نفس اختلط بأفكار وخواطر، هواجس ومشاعر لا يعرف كيف يرتبها ولا يعرف حتى كيف يقرأها .. مزيج أثقل على صدره فحاول إزاحة هذا العبء عبر التنفس ولكن لا جدوى .. الأمر عميق والمأساة كبيرة، فمشكلة الإنسان الحالم أنّه إذا أحب فإنه يحب بكل قوة وخيال، فيبني السيناريوهات المختلفة ويخترع ألاف المواقف كل يوم ويسأل ويجيب نفسه بنفسه، يهتم بالتفاصيل فيحبها وينظر إلى الحياة فيعشقها، يحب كل شيء ومن أجل لا شيء .. هكذا فقط تزهر الدنيا أمامه حتى وإن كانت ظروفه سوداء قاتمة، لأنه لا يرى الشكل فقط بل يتعداه إلى الجوهر عميقا.
التقى بها صدفة هنا في عالمنا الحقيقي .. عرفها منذ مدة هناك في عالم الأحلام .. ذهبت مع الآخر هنا في عالمنا الحقيقي .. بقيت كذكرى وحلم جميل هناك في عالم الأحلام، وما بين هنا وهناك .. حلم .. فمعرفة .. فصدفة .. فمعرفة .. فحب .. فوداع .. فحلم جميل .. وهو الآن على الفراش يصارع، لو نظرنا إليه لوجدناه هادئا تماما لا يرى فيه إلا صدر يعلو ويهبط ولكن لو اقتحمنا عقله لرأينا العجب، فوضى عارمة .. صراخ وضحك، حروب دامية، مشاعر جياشة، انفعالات وصراعات .. كل هذا وهو من الخارج جامد مثل جثة أو تمثال ..
ذكرى تلك اللحظة لم تغب عن باله، تلك الصيحة لا زال صداها يتردد في أذنه، عندما رأت ذلك الشاب قادما جرت ك��ا لم تجري من قبل ورمت نفسها وهو ينظر ويتأمل أدق التفاصيل .. استغرب من نفسه كيف تمكن من ذلك .. لاحظ كيف تحول خدها الوردي الغني بالدماء إلى الشحوب التام .. لاحظ كيف رمت بنفسها عليه دون أن تحسب حسابا للسقوط .. لاحظ كيف سارت إلى اللامكان .. وكيف سبقت خطاها جسدها .. رآها وهي تتلاشى وتذوب .. رباه ما أصعبها من لحظة.
حاول النوم ولكنه لم يستطع، وكيف يستطيع النوم وصدره أثقل من جسمه وأثقل من سريره؟ كيف يستطيع النوم وفي النوم أحلام وهو مصنوع من مادة الأحلام نفسها ؟ كيف يستطيع النوم وسحائب من الخيالات تمر تتبعها أعاصير من الأسئلة ؟ كيف يستطيع النوم والجسر ما بين العالم الحقيقي وعالم الأحلام قد تحطم فلم يعد يعرف أهو هنا أم هناك أم غير موجود نهائيا ؟
وجاء الفجر حاملا خيوطه الذهبية والنقية .. معلنا نهاية قصة .. نهاية مزيج بين الحب والأمل، بين الحلم والحقيقة .. جاء الفجر فناداه بطلنا وأوصاه أن يقول لها عندما يلتقيها أن تعيش بسعادة وهناء وأن تحب الحياة ما استطاعت إليها سبيلا .. وصرخ أن الحب يا فجر لا يموت في لحظة ولكنه يولد ويجيء في لحظة .. تباركت يا من خلقت الحب والجمال والسعادة والفرح ..
لحظة بكاملها من السعادة .. رباه هل تحتاج حياة إنسان إلى أكثر من هذا ؟
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المراجعة بعد القراءة الأولى
تعريف الأحلام والإنسان الحالم عند دوستويفسكي :
".. السلسلة التي لا نهاية لها من الأحلام الحارة، ولكن لعلك تسألينني عن موضوع أحلامه .. هو رسالة الشاعر المغمور في أول الأمر، المتوج بأكليل المجد بعد ذلك .. هو صداقته مع هوفمان، هو ليلة سان باترلمي، هو ديان فرونون، هو السلوك البطولي الذي أذهره إيفان فانسلسفيتش عند الإستلاء على قازان، هو كلارا موفباري، هو إيفي دينز، هو أحبار المجمع البابوي وأمامهم هوس، هو يقظة الموتى في " روبير الشيطان " . هو مينا وبراند، هو معلركة بريزينا، هو قراءة قصيدة عند الكونتيسة، هو دانتون، هو كليوباترا وغرامها، هو بيت كولومنا الصغير، هو ركن صغير تجلس إلى جانبه فيه مخلوقة حبيبة تصغي إلى كلامه في أمسية من أمسيات الشتاء فاغرة فاها، محملقة بعينيها الصغيرتين.."
تعريف الشعور الألم عند دوستويفسكي :
"..نشعر بألم الآخرين شعورا أعمق حين نكون أشقياء معذبين .. إن عاطفتنا تشتد عندئذ وتقوى "
فتح الباب وارتمى على السرير القذر في الغرفة القذرة ذات الجو القذر، ولكن كلّ هذا لا يهم. وضع يده تحت رأسه .. وأخذ ينظر إلى السطح الذّي إسودّ من دخان المصابيح الزيتية والموقد، وتدلت منه شباك العناكب .. ولكن كل هذا لا يهم . هو لا ينظر إلى السطح .. هو بالأحرى لا ينظر إلى أي شيء، فاليوم رحلت فتاة جاءت من عالم الأحلام وذهبت كحلم جميل، فتاة عرفها قبل أن يلتقي بها، تحدّث إليها وأخبرها بكل أسراره دون أن ينبس ببنت شفة، فتاة من هناك من أرضه فهو إنسان حالم والإنسان الحالم يعيش حياة طبيعية، عادية مثل الجميع ولكنه لا ينتمي إلى هذه الحياة فهو غريب عنها لأنه من هناك .. من أرض الأحلام.
رفع رأسه قليلا وتلفت يمنة ويسارا، وسرعان ما ارتسمت الدهشة على وجهه لأنّه لا يعلم كيف وصل إلى هنا ؟ وكيف استلقى هكذا ؟ وما فعل في الساعات الماضية ؟ .
لا يعلم شيئا ولا يعرف مصدر الوحل في قدميه ويده، جسده رجع غريزيا إلى البيت أماّ عقله فطار مع الحلم الجميل .. رجع إلى وضعه الأول واستلقى واضعا يده تحت رأسه .. تنهّد محاول إخراج نفس عالق داخل صدره .. نفس اختلط بأفكار وخواطر، هواجس ومشاعر لا يعرف كيف يرتبها ولا يعرف حتى كيف يقرأها .. مزيج أثقل على صدره فحاول إزاحة هذا العبء عبر التنفس ولكن لا جدوى .. الأمر عميق والمأساة كبيرة، فمشكلة الإنسان الحالم أنّه إذا أحب فإنه يحب بكل قوة وخيال، فيبني السيناريوهات المختلفة ويخترع ألاف المواقف كل يوم ويسأل ويجيب نفسه بنفسه، يهتم بالتفاصيل فيحبها وينظر إلى الحياة فيعشقها، يحب كل شيء ومن أجل لا شيء .. هكذا فقط تزهر الدنيا أمامه حتى وإن كانت ظروفه سوداء قاتمة، لأنه لا يرى الشكل فقط بل يتعداه إلى الجوهر عميقا.
التقى بها صدفة هنا في عالمنا الحقيقي .. عرفها منذ مدة هناك في عالم الأحلام .. ذهبت مع الآخر هنا في عالمنا الحقيقي .. بقيت كذكرى وحلم جميل هناك في عالم الأحلام، وما بين هنا وهناك .. حلم .. فمعرفة .. فصدفة .. فمعرفة .. فحب .. فوداع .. فحلم جميل .. وهو الآن على الفراش يصارع، لو نظرنا إليه لوجدناه هادئا تماما لا يرى فيه إلا صدر يعلو ويهبط ولكن لو اقتحمنا عقله لرأينا العجب، فوضى عارمة .. صراخ وضحك، حروب دامية، مشاعر جياشة، انفعالات وصراعات .. كل هذا وهو من الخارج جامد مثل جثة أو تمثال ..
ذكرى تلك اللحظة لم تغب عن باله، تلك الصيحة لا زال صداها يتردد في أذنه، عندما رأت ذلك الشاب قادما جرت ك��ا لم تجري من قبل ورمت نفسها وهو ينظر ويتأمل أدق التفاصيل .. استغرب من نفسه كيف تمكن من ذلك .. لاحظ كيف تحول خدها الوردي الغني بالدماء إلى الشحوب التام .. لاحظ كيف رمت بنفسها عليه دون أن تحسب حسابا للسقوط .. لاحظ كيف سارت إلى اللامكان .. وكيف سبقت خطاها جسدها .. رآها وهي تتلاشى وتذوب .. رباه ما أصعبها من لحظة.
حاول النوم ولكنه لم يستطع، وكيف يستطيع النوم وصدره أثقل من جسمه وأثقل من سريره؟ كيف يستطيع النوم وفي النوم أحلام وهو مصنوع من مادة الأحلام نفسها ؟ كيف يستطيع النوم وسحائب من الخيالات تمر تتبعها أعاصير من الأسئلة ؟ كيف يستطيع النوم والجسر ما بين العالم الحقيقي وعالم الأحلام قد تحطم فلم يعد يعرف أهو هنا أم هناك أم غير موجود نهائيا ؟
وجاء الفجر حاملا خيوطه الذهبية والنقية .. معلنا نهاية قصة .. نهاية مزيج بين الحب والأمل، بين الحلم والحقيقة .. جاء الفجر فناداه بطلنا وأوصاه أن يقول لها عندما يلتقيها أن تعيش بسعادة وهناء وأن تحب الحياة ما استطاعت إليها سبيلا .. وصرخ أن الحب يا فجر لا يموت في لحظة ولكنه يولد ويجيء في لحظة .. تباركت يا من خلقت الحب والجمال والسعادة والفرح ..
لحظة بكاملها من السعادة .. رباه هل تحتاج حياة إنسان إلى أكثر من هذا ؟
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المراجعة بعد القراءة الأولى
تعريف الأحلام والإنسان الحالم عند دوستويفسكي :
".. السلسلة التي لا نهاية لها من الأحلام الحارة، ولكن لعلك تسألينني عن موضوع أحلامه .. هو رسالة الشاعر المغمور في أول الأمر، المتوج بأكليل المجد بعد ذلك .. هو صداقته مع هوفمان، هو ليلة سان باترلمي، هو ديان فرونون، هو السلوك البطولي الذي أذهره إيفان فانسلسفيتش عند الإستلاء على قازان، هو كلارا موفباري، هو إيفي دينز، هو أحبار المجمع البابوي وأمامهم هوس، هو يقظة الموتى في " روبير الشيطان " . هو مينا وبراند، هو معلركة بريزينا، هو قراءة قصيدة عند الكونتيسة، هو دانتون، هو كليوباترا وغرامها، هو بيت كولومنا الصغير، هو ركن صغير تجلس إلى جانبه فيه مخلوقة حبيبة تصغي إلى كلامه في أمسية من أمسيات الشتاء فاغرة فاها، محملقة بعينيها الصغيرتين.."
تعريف الشعور الألم عند دوستويفسكي :
"..نشعر بألم الآخرين شعورا أعمق حين نكون أشقياء معذبين .. إن عاطفتنا تشتد عندئذ وتقوى "
July 20, 2023
- دوستوفسكي يفجر ثقباً اسود داخلك اذا قرأته!!!....
- ما بين اليقظة والخيال... ذلك الجسر الذي ينسجه ويجعلك تركض عليه ذهاباً واياباً...
- فوضى مشاعر انسانية عاصفة وجياشة...
- زبدة الكلام في ختامها: "لحظة بكاملها من السعادة .. رباه هل تحتاج حياة إنسان إلى أكثر من هذا ؟"، وكم نركض بين ماضينا ومستقبلنا من اجل لحظة سعادة
- ما بين اليقظة والخيال... ذلك الجسر الذي ينسجه ويجعلك تركض عليه ذهاباً واياباً...
- فوضى مشاعر انسانية عاصفة وجياشة...
- زبدة الكلام في ختامها: "لحظة بكاملها من السعادة .. رباه هل تحتاج حياة إنسان إلى أكثر من هذا ؟"، وكم نركض بين ماضينا ومستقبلنا من اجل لحظة سعادة
April 10, 2018
Loneliness. We've all been there. Some of us may still be there but "My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of man's life?"
April 9, 2024
White Nights is an emotional story narrated by an unknown narrator, who is the protagonist. He tells his story of loneliness and unrequited love. The story deals with four nights and a day of his life in which he speaks of how his lonely life was changed forever by the meeting of a young woman and falling in love with her. The love remains unrequited as the young woman is already in love with another, but he is not angry nor he is in despair when he says "may you be forever blessed for that moment of bliss and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart! My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of a man's life."
Although the story is simply about a young man's loneliness and unrequited love, what is really amazing is the way his emotions and emotional struggle is described so masterfully by Dostoyevsky. This 'sentimental story from the diary of a dreamer' talks about a life of a loner, how he immersed in his imaginary and dream world to avoid the harsh reality of his loneliness; how his life is changed from dream to reality with the meeting of a young woman, as he falls in love and feels there is a dear heart who cares for him and that he is no longer alone; and how, when his love was not returned by the young woman, once again turn to a dream world from reality where he finds consolation in the moment of happiness he experienced as being enough to sustain for his whole life.
The entire writing is superbly done that the reader feels that Dostoyevsky is telling your own story. I believe, all the youth, irrespective of time, country, and culture, go through similar emotional stages that this young man in the story goes through. For this reason, the story feels so close to the reader's heart.
There is absolutely no word to describe the brilliance of Dostoyevsky. His perceptions, his vision, and his mastery in crafting his thoughts into beautifully written prose have made his undoubtedly the best Russian author of all time.
Although the story is simply about a young man's loneliness and unrequited love, what is really amazing is the way his emotions and emotional struggle is described so masterfully by Dostoyevsky. This 'sentimental story from the diary of a dreamer' talks about a life of a loner, how he immersed in his imaginary and dream world to avoid the harsh reality of his loneliness; how his life is changed from dream to reality with the meeting of a young woman, as he falls in love and feels there is a dear heart who cares for him and that he is no longer alone; and how, when his love was not returned by the young woman, once again turn to a dream world from reality where he finds consolation in the moment of happiness he experienced as being enough to sustain for his whole life.
The entire writing is superbly done that the reader feels that Dostoyevsky is telling your own story. I believe, all the youth, irrespective of time, country, and culture, go through similar emotional stages that this young man in the story goes through. For this reason, the story feels so close to the reader's heart.
There is absolutely no word to describe the brilliance of Dostoyevsky. His perceptions, his vision, and his mastery in crafting his thoughts into beautifully written prose have made his undoubtedly the best Russian author of all time.
March 18, 2018
ليكن الله في عون أولئك الذين يكتبون عن دوستويفسكي.. كيف أكتب عن ذاك الذي يكتب عن نفسي.. إنه لمن الغرور حقاً ما أفعله، ولكن لابد أن أكتب شيئاً :) لأجل صديقي دوستويفسكي لأجل ذلك الذي منحني حب الأدب وعشق التأمل في النفس و الحياة...
لنقرء هذه الإقتباس أولاً.. قرأته مراراً وها أنا أكتبه هنا أيضاً...
" بوركت يامن وهبت لحظة من هناء وسعادة لقلبي الممتن الذي يعيش في وحشة العزلة ! لحظة بكاملها بسعادة ؟ رباه !! هل تحتاج حياة الإنسان لأكثر من هذا ؟ "
الحالم كما يصوره دوستويفسكي، الحالم هنا كما يجب أن يكون.. إنه الإنسان المتشوق المرهف الى لحظة من سعادة ،إلى بريق أمل، بل إلى لحظة خاطفة تأخده الى عالمه حيث ينتمي.. ربما لا يحتاج الى أكثر من ذلك..
لا أدري لماذا أحسست أنني أنتمي إلى ذلك الحالم.. أحسست أنه أنا نفسي، أحاسيسه شعوره حياته أحلامه، كل شئ كأنه جزء من ذاتي وأنا جزء منه....
يقال أن الشخصية الحالمة هنا في هذه القصة هي أقرب الشخصيات إلى دوستويفسكي وأكثرها تأثيراً في نفسه بل أحبها إليه أيضاً.. لقد كتب هذه القصة بصميم قلبه بذاته بوجدانه بأحاسيسه ،، نثر فيه كلماته وتصوراته وعبقريته عن الحالم عن الحب، أن تكون إنساناً لا ينتمي إلى ما يحيط بك بتفكيرك وحلمك وإنسانيتك ، أن تكون مع الناس وأنت الغريب .. أن تجد أن الوحدة والعزلة هي الأقرب إليك من نفسك ومن وجودك أيضاً..
قصة قصيرة نوعاً ما، ولكنها تحوي الكثير من المعاني والأفكار والأشياء التي لا تُقال إلا بقلم دوستويفسكي.. أشياء مختزنة في القلب نعرف أنها موجودة ومخلوقة فينا ولكن نجهل الوصول إليها.. هذه القصة توصلنا إليها، بل وتعبر بنا إلى ما وراء الحلم..
شكراً دوستويفسكي......
February 1, 2024
actual rating: 3.5 stars
August 31, 2018
"نشعر بألم الآخرين شعورًا أعمق حين نكون أشقياء معذبين"
هذه الرواية هي أفض�� رد على تساؤل أم كلثوم الوجودي: "هو صحيح الهوى غلّاب؟".. دوستويفسكي لم يكتفِ بالرد الشفوي أو النظري في اثبات مشاعر القلب التي تغلب دائمًا، بل رد ردًا تطبيقيًا بوضع هذه المشاعر في يد القارئ ليؤكد ما يقول.
فيسكي ليس سوداويًا أو كئيبًا كما قد يرى البعض، بل واقعي فقط. هو أعلم بمشاعر البشر كما لو كان يعيش معاناتهم. كنت سأرى النوفيلا سخيفة إن انتهت نهاية سعيدة، حينما يصل الأمر للقلب ويصبح هو من يتحكم فيه فهذا يعني أن النتيجة معروفة: "وبدال ما أقول حرمت خلاص، بقول يارب زيدني كمان!"، هذا هو مقول القول.
"لحظة بأكملها من السعادة... رباه! هل تحتاج حياة إنسان إلى أكثر من هذا؟"
October 26, 2023
«Yo no puedo callar cuando el corazón me da gritos…»
Esta es sin ningún lugar a dudas, la más elevada y romántica historia del genial novelista ruso y una de las más recordadas de la literatura.
Luego de la exitosa publicación de "Pobres Gentes", su libro debut y del fracaso estrepitoso de su segundo libro "El Doble", ambos de 1846, Dostoievski siguió escribiendo cuentos y novelas. En su etapa inicial, entre 1846 y 1847 fueron apareciendo varios escritos que nos mostraron la temprana narrativa de Dostoievski muy inclinada hacia el amor y la compasión. El tratamiento al intercambio epistolar en "Pobres Gentes seguiría en otros relatos como "El señor Projarchin" y en la sufrida historia de "Nietochka Nezvánova", que apareciera ya en 1849.
"Noches Blancas" es el epitome del romanticismo en estado puro y una de las más claras muestras de amor, soledad y ensoñación y esto reside en que el Dostoievski más joven, exclamaba lo mismo que esa canción que dice "yo vengo a ofrecer mi corazón". Este Dostoievski se encuentra no muy lejos de experimentar las épocas más duras de su vida, como el arresto por integrar parte de un grupo revolucionario que conspiraba contra el Zar y su posterior simulacro de fusilamiento y prisión en Siberia durante cuatro años.
Sus tempranas lágrimas derramadas al leer poemas de Pushkin o apasionadas novelas de Goethe y Schiller forjarían una especial sensibilidad en su talento literario a la hora de escribir.
Pero este joven Fiódor de 1848 nos regala una pequeña nouvelle de cuatro noches y una mañana en la que un narrador sin nombre, un soñador del que podrán decir que es un soñador, pero no el único, se cruza con Nasténka y a partir de allí, su triste y solitaria vida girará hacia un instante supremo de felicidad como él declama al final, más allá de que su amor, independientemente de la carta de Nasténka no le es correspondido.
Su ingenuidad es digna de destacar, pero nos deja un cierto sinsabor puesto que a pocas páginas del final nos imaginamos otro destino para estos dos personajes.
No es la única vez que Dostoievski juega con amores no correspondidos. En otras dos novelas suyas sucede lo mismo entre dos de los personajes principales.
En primer lugar en el magnífico "Humillados y Ofendidos", cuando en las líneas finales el personaje principal, Vania lee los ojos de Nastaha y declama: «Podríamos haber sido tan felices juntos», así también como en otra de sus primeras y desconocidas novelas, "La Patrona" de 1847, donde Dostoievski crea una historia en donde el triángulo Ordinov-Murin-Katerina oscila entre el delirio místico y el ardor amoroso y culmina con ese amor trunco con un tercero en discordia como en estos dos casos anteriores.
"Noches Blancas" es uno de los relatos más hermosos que podemos leer de Dostoievski y para ello debemos hacer lo mismo que el narrador: poner en juego el corazón apostando a que seguramente perdamos la partida.
Esta es sin ningún lugar a dudas, la más elevada y romántica historia del genial novelista ruso y una de las más recordadas de la literatura.
Luego de la exitosa publicación de "Pobres Gentes", su libro debut y del fracaso estrepitoso de su segundo libro "El Doble", ambos de 1846, Dostoievski siguió escribiendo cuentos y novelas. En su etapa inicial, entre 1846 y 1847 fueron apareciendo varios escritos que nos mostraron la temprana narrativa de Dostoievski muy inclinada hacia el amor y la compasión. El tratamiento al intercambio epistolar en "Pobres Gentes seguiría en otros relatos como "El señor Projarchin" y en la sufrida historia de "Nietochka Nezvánova", que apareciera ya en 1849.
"Noches Blancas" es el epitome del romanticismo en estado puro y una de las más claras muestras de amor, soledad y ensoñación y esto reside en que el Dostoievski más joven, exclamaba lo mismo que esa canción que dice "yo vengo a ofrecer mi corazón". Este Dostoievski se encuentra no muy lejos de experimentar las épocas más duras de su vida, como el arresto por integrar parte de un grupo revolucionario que conspiraba contra el Zar y su posterior simulacro de fusilamiento y prisión en Siberia durante cuatro años.
Sus tempranas lágrimas derramadas al leer poemas de Pushkin o apasionadas novelas de Goethe y Schiller forjarían una especial sensibilidad en su talento literario a la hora de escribir.
Pero este joven Fiódor de 1848 nos regala una pequeña nouvelle de cuatro noches y una mañana en la que un narrador sin nombre, un soñador del que podrán decir que es un soñador, pero no el único, se cruza con Nasténka y a partir de allí, su triste y solitaria vida girará hacia un instante supremo de felicidad como él declama al final, más allá de que su amor, independientemente de la carta de Nasténka no le es correspondido.
Su ingenuidad es digna de destacar, pero nos deja un cierto sinsabor puesto que a pocas páginas del final nos imaginamos otro destino para estos dos personajes.
No es la única vez que Dostoievski juega con amores no correspondidos. En otras dos novelas suyas sucede lo mismo entre dos de los personajes principales.
En primer lugar en el magnífico "Humillados y Ofendidos", cuando en las líneas finales el personaje principal, Vania lee los ojos de Nastaha y declama: «Podríamos haber sido tan felices juntos», así también como en otra de sus primeras y desconocidas novelas, "La Patrona" de 1847, donde Dostoievski crea una historia en donde el triángulo Ordinov-Murin-Katerina oscila entre el delirio místico y el ardor amoroso y culmina con ese amor trunco con un tercero en discordia como en estos dos casos anteriores.
"Noches Blancas" es uno de los relatos más hermosos que podemos leer de Dostoievski y para ello debemos hacer lo mismo que el narrador: poner en juego el corazón apostando a que seguramente perdamos la partida.
March 12, 2024
Dostoevsky tells the story of a lonely, dreamy young man who fights his loneliness with long, nocturnal walks on the banks of the Neva. During one of these walks, he meets Nastenka, a 17-year-old girl waiting for her fiancé, and decides to keep him company. The young man immediately falls in love and is already planning for the future, convinced that he has finally found great love.
I would not reveal anything about the plot of this short story, which I found romanticism sometimes exacerbated. I struggled to get into this novel, but I focused on his two tortured characters as soon as the dialogue began.
I would not reveal anything about the plot of this short story, which I found romanticism sometimes exacerbated. I struggled to get into this novel, but I focused on his two tortured characters as soon as the dialogue began.
October 14, 2024
the intense ramblings of a virgin
August 1, 2024
styl pisania dostojewskiego jest tak wyjatkowy i przesiakniety inteligencja, ze to miod na moje serce. obawiam sie, ze rzucilby mi on najgorsze ochlapy a i tak bylabym zachwycona, to autor tego typu. wspaniala i pelna romantycznych niuansow pozycja. mimo tego, ze watek romantyczny postepowal bardzo szybko,(co bylo wytlumaczalne ze wzgledu na specyficzne usposobienie glownego bohatera) to nie bylo to dla mnie negatywnem. jak ja nie jestem fanka historii milosnych, to kunszt i piekno uzytego jezyka zmiekczyl mi serce. bardzo, bardzo dobra ksiazka.
July 9, 2017
«The dreamer—if you want an exact definition—is not a human being, but a creature of an intermediate sort».
Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
"Ο ονειροπόλος των πεθαμένων ονείρων".
Οι Λευκές Νύχτες στην κυριολεξία εκφράζουν το λυκόφως στις φωτεινές νύχτες της Αγίας Πετρούπολης.
Ο ήλιος ποτέ δεν δύει τελείως για να δημιουργηθεί το απόλυτο ��κοτάδι. Ο ουρανός λάμπει με ένα ιδιαίτερο φως και αντανακλάται μέσα στον ποταμό Νέβα διαπερνώντας την πόλη.
Είναι το λυκόφως που βιώνουν τα μεσάνυχτα στην πόλη αυτή και αρχικά εκφράζει ρομαντισμό και αγάπη,παρά την ονειρική και κάπως τρομακτική εντύπωση που επινοείται.
Πρόκειται για μια τραγωδία της μοναξιάς.
Μια σύντομη και συγκλονιστική ιστορία δυο ανθρώπων που βιώνουν προσωπική και κοινωνική απομόνωση.
Ο ήρωας μας είναι ένας
"άνευ σημασίας",ταπεινός,τρυφερός,
ευγενικός και ολομόναχος άνδρας.
Ζει και εργάζεται στην Αγία Πετρούπολη.
Προτιμάει τη νύχτα που κρύβει καλά την απεγνωσμένη του ύπαρξη και τα όνειρα του.
Μέσα στην ρουτίνα και την κίνηση της ημέρας απλώς υπάρχει και λειτουργεί σαν υπνοβάτης ανάμεσα σε πολυάσχολους ανθρώπους,σε παρέες,σε συντροφικές διασκεδάσεις,σε οικογενειακές παραδόσεις.
Είναι πάντα μόνος. Πάντα απόμακρος παρατηρητής της ζωής των άλλων. Πάντα ονειροπαρμένος σε κόσμους αγάπης και ευτυχίας που χτίζει ο ίδιος και μέσα τους ζει πραγματικά.
Τα όνειρα του ειναι ο παράδεισος που τον κρατάει ζωντανό. Η πραγματικότητα είναι μια κόλαση που τον τυραννάει και τον καταθλίβει βασανιστικά.
Ο άνδρας αυτός είναι η ζωντανή ασημαντότητα της ανθρώπινης ύπαρξης. Είναι ένας προσαρμοσμένος στο όνειρο "ξένος"του αξεπέραστου Καμύ.
Ώσπου μια "λευκή νύχτα" γνωρίζει τυχαία μία επίσης μοναχική και απόμακρη γυναίκα. Είναι η πρώτη του γνωριμία με ανθρώπινη ύπαρξη στην πραγματική ζωή.
Την ερωτεύεται. Την αγαπάει βαθιά και απελπισμένα καθώς δίνει νόημα και αξία στην κενή του αιωνιότητα.
Απο τότε ο "ξένος" του ονείρου λατρεύει τις λευκές νύχτες. Αυτές του χάρισαν τον ήλιο και την αληθινή ευτυχία. Τη συντροφιά και την ελπίδα πως τα όνειρα του θα πραγματοποιηθούν.
Θα αγαπήσει με πάθος και λατρεία. θα αγαπηθεί βαθιά και παντοτινά. Θα ζήσει τον έρωτα του ρεαλιστικά και ιδεαλιστικά μακριά απο ψεύδη και φανταστικά οράματα.
Η αγάπη όμως παραμένει απρόθυμη απέναντι στον τραγικό "ξένο" μας. Και ενώ κλαίει απο ευτυχία και πληρότητα,έρχεται μια ειρωνική συστροφή της μοίρας που τον πετάει πάλι στο παγωμένο κενό της μοναξιάς.
Μόνο που τώρα η καταστροφή είναι προσωπική και καθολική.
Έζησε όλες κι όλες τέσσερις λευκές νύχτες στην απέναντι πλευρά.
Εκεί που θα μπορούσε να φτάσει το απόλυτο ρομαντικό του όραμα.
Μα η νομοτέλεια του πεπρωμένου τον ταυτίζει με την απόγνωση του περιθωρίου. Με την ολοκληρωτική παράνοια της λαμπερής του καταστροφής μέσα στις Λευκές Νύχτες.
Καλή ανάγνωση!
Πολλούς ασπασμούς.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
"Ο ονειροπόλος των πεθαμένων ονείρων".
Οι Λευκές Νύχτες στην κυριολεξία εκφράζουν το λυκόφως στις φωτεινές νύχτες της Αγίας Πετρούπολης.
Ο ήλιος ποτέ δεν δύει τελείως για να δημιουργηθεί το απόλυτο ��κοτάδι. Ο ουρανός λάμπει με ένα ιδιαίτερο φως και αντανακλάται μέσα στον ποταμό Νέβα διαπερνώντας την πόλη.
Είναι το λυκόφως που βιώνουν τα μεσάνυχτα στην πόλη αυτή και αρχικά εκφράζει ρομαντισμό και αγάπη,παρά την ονειρική και κάπως τρομακτική εντύπωση που επινοείται.
Πρόκειται για μια τραγωδία της μοναξιάς.
Μια σύντομη και συγκλονιστική ιστορία δυο ανθρώπων που βιώνουν προσωπική και κοινωνική απομόνωση.
Ο ήρωας μας είναι ένας
"άνευ σημασίας",ταπεινός,τρυφερός,
ευγενικός και ολομόναχος άνδρας.
Ζει και εργάζεται στην Αγία Πετρούπολη.
Προτιμάει τη νύχτα που κρύβει καλά την απεγνωσμένη του ύπαρξη και τα όνειρα του.
Μέσα στην ρουτίνα και την κίνηση της ημέρας απλώς υπάρχει και λειτουργεί σαν υπνοβάτης ανάμεσα σε πολυάσχολους ανθρώπους,σε παρέες,σε συντροφικές διασκεδάσεις,σε οικογενειακές παραδόσεις.
Είναι πάντα μόνος. Πάντα απόμακρος παρατηρητής της ζωής των άλλων. Πάντα ονειροπαρμένος σε κόσμους αγάπης και ευτυχίας που χτίζει ο ίδιος και μέσα τους ζει πραγματικά.
Τα όνειρα του ειναι ο παράδεισος που τον κρατάει ζωντανό. Η πραγματικότητα είναι μια κόλαση που τον τυραννάει και τον καταθλίβει βασανιστικά.
Ο άνδρας αυτός είναι η ζωντανή ασημαντότητα της ανθρώπινης ύπαρξης. Είναι ένας προσαρμοσμένος στο όνειρο "ξένος"του αξεπέραστου Καμύ.
Ώσπου μια "λευκή νύχτα" γνωρίζει τυχαία μία επίσης μοναχική και απόμακρη γυναίκα. Είναι η πρώτη του γνωριμία με ανθρώπινη ύπαρξη στην πραγματική ζωή.
Την ερωτεύεται. Την αγαπάει βαθιά και απελπισμένα καθώς δίνει νόημα και αξία στην κενή του αιωνιότητα.
Απο τότε ο "ξένος" του ονείρου λατρεύει τις λευκές νύχτες. Αυτές του χάρισαν τον ήλιο και την αληθινή ευτυχία. Τη συντροφιά και την ελπίδα πως τα όνειρα του θα πραγματοποιηθούν.
Θα αγαπήσει με πάθος και λατρεία. θα αγαπηθεί βαθιά και παντοτινά. Θα ζήσει τον έρωτα του ρεαλιστικά και ιδεαλιστικά μακριά απο ψεύδη και φανταστικά οράματα.
Η αγάπη όμως παραμένει απρόθυμη απέναντι στον τραγικό "ξένο" μας. Και ενώ κλαίει απο ευτυχία και πληρότητα,έρχεται μια ειρωνική συστροφή της μοίρας που τον πετάει πάλι στο παγωμένο κενό της μοναξιάς.
Μόνο που τώρα η καταστροφή είναι προσωπική και καθολική.
Έζησε όλες κι όλες τέσσερις λευκές νύχτες στην απέναντι πλευρά.
Εκεί που θα μπορούσε να φτάσει το απόλυτο ρομαντικό του όραμα.
Μα η νομοτέλεια του πεπρωμένου τον ταυτίζει με την απόγνωση του περιθωρίου. Με την ολοκληρωτική παράνοια της λαμπερής του καταστροφής μέσα στις Λευκές Νύχτες.
Καλή ανάγνωση!
Πολλούς ασπασμούς.
June 6, 2018
"All of a sudden it seemed to me as though I, the solitary one, had been forsaken by the whole world, and that the whole world would have nothing to do with me."
No doubt that at some point in our lives, each of us can relate to the sentiment expressed by the narrator of Dostoyevsky’s short story, White Nights. A lonely soul, a young man, wanders the streets of St. Petersburg musing over a city left emptied as the crowds flee to the countryside for their holidays. He, of course, has not received an invite to escape with the masses. Despite the fact that he makes it a habit to study the faces and emotions of others, not one person really knows or understands him. He is left behind as always. He is a dreamer and finds solace in his fantasies. I imagine the white nights of midsummer, when the sun continues to shine well into the night in the northern latitudes, make one feel even more acutely the pain of being alone, as his or her solitary figure is illuminated even more glaringly by the seemingly everlasting brilliance.
One night, however, becomes different from all others as the narrator embarks on an adventure of sorts by saving a solitary young woman from pursuit by a drunken gentleman. A friendship strikes up as the two share their stories with one another. The young man is thankful for the newly discovered companionship and proclaims: "Oh, bless you, bless you a thousand times, my dear, for not having turned away from me at first, for making it possible for me to say that for at least two evenings in my life I have really lived!"
The story is quite compelling, and certainly one that is very relatable. Loneliness and unrequited love are indeed universal experiences. What I love about reading Dostoyevsky is how penetrating his observance of human emotion. However, at times I find his writing to be overly sentimental, as is the case here. I don’t like my romance with too much syrup. In fact, I’m more of a light, whipped cream kind of gal, forget the syrup altogether. I think this is a great place to start if one would like to try reading this author, before jumping into one of his rather weighty tomes. It will give you a nice feel for his style, although from what I understand this is one of his earliest works. According to the notes in my copy: “Dostoevsky was to re-write this story in his true manner of creative artist and thinker seventeen years later under the title Notes from the Underground.” I believe I have a copy of that title as well, so I think it would be interesting to make a comparison of the two pieces.
No doubt that at some point in our lives, each of us can relate to the sentiment expressed by the narrator of Dostoyevsky’s short story, White Nights. A lonely soul, a young man, wanders the streets of St. Petersburg musing over a city left emptied as the crowds flee to the countryside for their holidays. He, of course, has not received an invite to escape with the masses. Despite the fact that he makes it a habit to study the faces and emotions of others, not one person really knows or understands him. He is left behind as always. He is a dreamer and finds solace in his fantasies. I imagine the white nights of midsummer, when the sun continues to shine well into the night in the northern latitudes, make one feel even more acutely the pain of being alone, as his or her solitary figure is illuminated even more glaringly by the seemingly everlasting brilliance.
One night, however, becomes different from all others as the narrator embarks on an adventure of sorts by saving a solitary young woman from pursuit by a drunken gentleman. A friendship strikes up as the two share their stories with one another. The young man is thankful for the newly discovered companionship and proclaims: "Oh, bless you, bless you a thousand times, my dear, for not having turned away from me at first, for making it possible for me to say that for at least two evenings in my life I have really lived!"
The story is quite compelling, and certainly one that is very relatable. Loneliness and unrequited love are indeed universal experiences. What I love about reading Dostoyevsky is how penetrating his observance of human emotion. However, at times I find his writing to be overly sentimental, as is the case here. I don’t like my romance with too much syrup. In fact, I’m more of a light, whipped cream kind of gal, forget the syrup altogether. I think this is a great place to start if one would like to try reading this author, before jumping into one of his rather weighty tomes. It will give you a nice feel for his style, although from what I understand this is one of his earliest works. According to the notes in my copy: “Dostoevsky was to re-write this story in his true manner of creative artist and thinker seventeen years later under the title Notes from the Underground.” I believe I have a copy of that title as well, so I think it would be interesting to make a comparison of the two pieces.
June 5, 2014
نام این کتاب از پدیده ای فیزیکی در نیمکره شمالی زمین وام گرفته شده که باعث پدید آمدن شب هایی نیمه روشن (مانند سپیده فجر) در تابستان می شود.شب های روشن داستان چهارشب زندگی راوی در شهر پترزبورگ است که تمام عمر 26 ساله خود را تا آن زمان به تنهایی گذرانده است.راوی شخصیتی احساسی و خیال پرداز دارد و در عین تنهایی،دوستان زیادی دارد.ساختمان های قدیمی شهر و پیرمردی که تنها با او ارتباط چشمی دارد!و ناگهان در یک شب با دختری گریان روبرو می شودو...
تا جایی که اطلاع دارم،دو فیلم با اقتباس از این داستان ساخته شده است.نسخه ایتالیایی با نام شب های سفید(محصول سال 1957،به کارگردانی لوکینو ویسکونتی)و نسخه ایرانی همنام با داستان( محصول سال 1381، به کارگردانی فرزاد موئتمن و نقش آفرینی مهدی احمدی و هانیه توسلی).با خواندن داستان ناخودآگاه داستان را با فیلم موئتمن مقایسه می کردم.کارگردان ایرانی با هنر خاصی به داستان شاخ و برگ افزوده که محتوا و ظرافت فیلم را دو چندان کرده است.در بسیاری موارد،"استاد" فیلم ایرانی در مقایسه با راوی داستان نسخه اصلی،پخته می نماید.همچنین استاد ادبیات بودن،کتابخانه استاد،نحوه برخورد با کتاب ها،با انسان ها،ساختمان ها و تنهایی اش،باعث جذابیت شخصیت استاد برای مخاطب می شود.به عبارت دیگر شخصیت استاد تا حدودی تحسین برانگیز و قابل تامل است،در حالی که راوی داستان داستایوفسکی شخصیتی ترحم برانگیز است.این تفاوت در هنگام فروش کتابخانه در آن روز پاییزی توسط استاد به اوج می رسد.تحول درونی در استاد بارزتر از راوی داستان اصلی می باشد،استاد در شروع و پایان فیلم شعری از فرخ سیستانی می خواند و تفاوت در صدا و لحن استاد حکایت از تحول عمیق درونی وی دارد
تا جایی که اطلاع دارم،دو فیلم با اقتباس از این داستان ساخته شده است.نسخه ایتالیایی با نام شب های سفید(محصول سال 1957،به کارگردانی لوکینو ویسکونتی)و نسخه ایرانی همنام با داستان( محصول سال 1381، به کارگردانی فرزاد موئتمن و نقش آفرینی مهدی احمدی و هانیه توسلی).با خواندن داستان ناخودآگاه داستان را با فیلم موئتمن مقایسه می کردم.کارگردان ایرانی با هنر خاصی به داستان شاخ و برگ افزوده که محتوا و ظرافت فیلم را دو چندان کرده است.در بسیاری موارد،"استاد" فیلم ایرانی در مقایسه با راوی داستان نسخه اصلی،پخته می نماید.همچنین استاد ادبیات بودن،کتابخانه استاد،نحوه برخورد با کتاب ها،با انسان ها،ساختمان ها و تنهایی اش،باعث جذابیت شخصیت استاد برای مخاطب می شود.به عبارت دیگر شخصیت استاد تا حدودی تحسین برانگیز و قابل تامل است،در حالی که راوی داستان داستایوفسکی شخصیتی ترحم برانگیز است.این تفاوت در هنگام فروش کتابخانه در آن روز پاییزی توسط استاد به اوج می رسد.تحول درونی در استاد بارزتر از راوی داستان اصلی می باشد،استاد در شروع و پایان فیلم شعری از فرخ سیستانی می خواند و تفاوت در صدا و لحن استاد حکایت از تحول عمیق درونی وی دارد
January 26, 2024
Doestoevsky gave all the awkward men who have never felt the touch of a woman representation and that's all that matters
February 13, 2019
There is a sea of emotions raging beneath what seems to be Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s uncomplicated story White Nights. It talks about dreams, loneliness, failure, chance love, chivalry, and tears. How can a soul escape from a life of loneliness and unhappiness? At moments of absolute despair, dreaming may seem the only way to survive. I know and can truthfully testify to that because I am a dreamer myself. The unnamed narrator of Dostoyevsky’s love story comes to tell us of his solitude and pain. He begins talking to himself about how is being abandoned in Petersburg by everybody who is leaving for the summer.
He has no friends, he is unknown with no connections, and we only hear him when he talks about his city that he seems to know so well.
Thus, how else could he escape this life that entangles him within the city but denies him the comfort of human connections? Only dreaming of a life where he would correct everything that is wrong with his life.
He dreams of friends and soul mates and all that is possible if only it were all true. Could a chance encounter with a distressed lady bring him forth all his heartfelt desires? Could he live out his dream or must they simply remain only dreams?
What else could Dostoyevsky create for our enigmatic dreamer but a whimsical encounter that will lead him to moments of bliss but nevertheless will throw him again in his solitary life despairing over his unrequited love? He tells us about this dreamer, that represent each of us in our moments of anguish and melancholy. Who has not escape so, running away from what we cannot solve? Perhaps I have the soul of a poet, but I understand our unknown protagonist and fell for him reading Dostoyevsky’s breathtaking beautiful prose. We only have to remember to come back to our mundane life and leave those marvelous moments of fantasy and not brush aside reality altogether as the author’s hero seems to have done. Otherwise, we risk loneliness greater than we faced before wrapping ourselves in a shroud as if it were death itself.
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.
He has no friends, he is unknown with no connections, and we only hear him when he talks about his city that he seems to know so well.
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, “How are you? I am being redecorated to-morrow;” or, “I was almost burnt down and had such a fright,” and so on.
Thus, how else could he escape this life that entangles him within the city but denies him the comfort of human connections? Only dreaming of a life where he would correct everything that is wrong with his life.
I am a dreamer; I have so little real life that I look upon such moments as this now, as so rare, that I cannot help going over such moments again in my dreams. I shall be dreaming of you all night, a whole week, a whole year.
He dreams of friends and soul mates and all that is possible if only it were all true. Could a chance encounter with a distressed lady bring him forth all his heartfelt desires? Could he live out his dream or must they simply remain only dreams?
May your sky be clear, may your sweet smile be bright and untroubled, and may you be blessed for that moment of blissful happiness which you gave to another, lonely and grateful heart!
My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of a man's life?
What else could Dostoyevsky create for our enigmatic dreamer but a whimsical encounter that will lead him to moments of bliss but nevertheless will throw him again in his solitary life despairing over his unrequited love? He tells us about this dreamer, that represent each of us in our moments of anguish and melancholy. Who has not escape so, running away from what we cannot solve? Perhaps I have the soul of a poet, but I understand our unknown protagonist and fell for him reading Dostoyevsky’s breathtaking beautiful prose. We only have to remember to come back to our mundane life and leave those marvelous moments of fantasy and not brush aside reality altogether as the author’s hero seems to have done. Otherwise, we risk loneliness greater than we faced before wrapping ourselves in a shroud as if it were death itself.
I don’t know why I suddenly pictured my room grown old like Matrona. The walls and the floors looked discoloured, everything seemed dingy; the spiders’ webs were thicker than ever. I don’t know why, but when I looked out of the window it seemed to me that the house opposite had grown old and dingy too, that the stucco on the columns was peeling off and crumbling, that the cornices were cracked and blackened...
January 25, 2018
Well, at this moment, I'm supposed to be reading Clockwork Angel because I don't want to be a judgmental snob and form an opinion without even reading the book. Or this kind of book. BUT, I found White Nights, lost on my bookshelves. I think it was fate; I don't usually believe in fate, even though I don't have any proof to disbelieve in it but also no faith to really believe in it, so I'm sort of floating in the middle. However, in this particular moment, I think fate spoke to me. And oh my... Dostoyevsky, what the hell are you doing to me? Yes, addressing to a dead person, here. But this man is always talking to my soul, wherever that thing is. I can always relate to his narrators (they're all so sociable and happy with no problems whatsoever) or some of his other characters. This author described human nature in such a unique way. What a talent to explore the essence of people, from a psychological and philosophical point of view, including the social, political and religious context, of course. He's the whole package.
White Nights is a novella told by an unnamed narrator who goes for a walk every day and knows everybody by sight; he never talked to any of those people. He even imagines conversations with St. Petersburg's buildings. That's how lonely he feels. He's too shy to have any sort of human contact, so he just dreams about it. Until he meets Nastenka, a lonely young girl with a painful story, and they become friends. For the first time, talking-to-buildings guy had someone to spend time with, to talk about anything.
Anyway, this novel ends in such a way that shows you what a pure soul this lonely man had. A truly unselfish ending. I even forgot the fact that this man seemed too damn needy. I personally don't like a person that desperate for some human contact. You can be desperate, but don't show it that much... don't expose yourself that much, because most of the times, the other person doesn't deserve it. And you let it all out, you share your story and let them see your heart, for nothing. And that might be the cheesiest thing I ever wrote, but it is true.
Despite all that, I loved it. If you know what it's like to live in a love-hate relationship with solitude and to have this one single moment of true happiness repeating itself in your mind, night after night, then you will love it too.
Dostoyevsky had an exceptionally brilliant way to describe his characters, their inner processes, feelings, thoughts, and if you can relate to any of them, or find them remotely familiar, well my friend, you're stuck with them. You won't forget those people. Ever.
Lucky us.
*Note: Yeah, I never finished Clockwork Angel... - Apr, 2014
** Also on my blog.
White Nights is a novella told by an unnamed narrator who goes for a walk every day and knows everybody by sight; he never talked to any of those people. He even imagines conversations with St. Petersburg's buildings. That's how lonely he feels. He's too shy to have any sort of human contact, so he just dreams about it. Until he meets Nastenka, a lonely young girl with a painful story, and they become friends. For the first time, talking-to-buildings guy had someone to spend time with, to talk about anything.
Anyway, this novel ends in such a way that shows you what a pure soul this lonely man had. A truly unselfish ending. I even forgot the fact that this man seemed too damn needy. I personally don't like a person that desperate for some human contact. You can be desperate, but don't show it that much... don't expose yourself that much, because most of the times, the other person doesn't deserve it. And you let it all out, you share your story and let them see your heart, for nothing. And that might be the cheesiest thing I ever wrote, but it is true.
Despite all that, I loved it. If you know what it's like to live in a love-hate relationship with solitude and to have this one single moment of true happiness repeating itself in your mind, night after night, then you will love it too.
Dostoyevsky had an exceptionally brilliant way to describe his characters, their inner processes, feelings, thoughts, and if you can relate to any of them, or find them remotely familiar, well my friend, you're stuck with them. You won't forget those people. Ever.
Lucky us.
*Note: Yeah, I never finished Clockwork Angel... - Apr, 2014
** Also on my blog.
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