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Часть текста: evening, Rodya," answered Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "the train was awfully late. But, Rodya, nothing would induce me to leave you now! I will spend the night here, near you..." "Don't torture me!" he said with a gesture of irritation. "I will stay with him," cried Razumihin, "I won't leave him for a moment. Bother all my visitors! Let them rage to their hearts' content! My uncle is presiding there." "How, how can I thank you!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna was beginning, once more pressing Razumihin's hands, but Raskolnikov interrupted her again. "I can't have it! I can't have it!" he repeated irritably, "don't worry me! Enough, go away... I can't stand it!" "Come, mamma, come out of the room at least for a minute," Dounia whispered in dismay; "we are distressing him, that's evident." "Mayn't I look at him after three years?" wept Pulcheria Alexandrovna. "Stay," he stopped them again, "you keep interrupting me, and my ideas get muddled.... Have you seen Luzhin?" "No, Rodya, but he knows already of our arrival. We have heard, Rodya, that Pyotr Petrovitch was so kind as to visit you today," Pulcheria Alexandrovna added somewhat timidly. "Yes... he was so kind... Dounia, I promised Luzhin I'd throw him downstairs and told him to go to hell...." "Rodya, what are you saying! Surely, you don't mean to tell us..." Pulcheria Alexandrovna began in alarm, but she stopped, looking at Dounia. Avdotya Romanovna was looking attentively at her brother, waiting for what would come next. Both of them had heard of the quarrel from Nastasya, so far as she had succeeded in understanding and reporting it, and were in painful perplexity and suspense. "Dounia," Raskolnikov continued with an effort, "I don't want that marriage, so at the first opportunity to-morrow you must refuse Luzhin, so that we...

2. Dostoevsky. Crimen y castigo (Spanish. Преступление и наказание). Primera parte. Capitulo II

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Часть текста: estaba en otra dependencia, pero hacía frecuentes apariciones en la sala. Cuando bajaba los escalones, eran sus botas, sus elegantes botas bien lustradas y con anchas vueltas rojas, lo que primero se veía. Llevaba una blusa y un chaleco de satén negro lleno de mugre, e iba sin corbata. Su rostro parecía tan cubierto de aceite como un candado. Un muchacho de catorce años estaba sentado detrás del mostrador; otro más joven aún servía a los clientes. Trozos de cohombro, panecillos negros y rodajas de pescado se exhibían en una vitrina que despedía un olor infecto. El calor era insoportable. La atmósfera estaba tan cargada de vapores de alcohol, que daba la impresión de poder embriagar a un hombre en cinco minutos. A veces nos ocurre que personas a las que no conocemos nos inspiran un interés súbito cuando las vemos por primera vez, incluso antes de cruzar una palabra con ellas. Esta impresión produjo en Raskolnikof el cliente que permanecía aparte y que tenía aspecto de funcionario retirado. Algún tiempo después, cada vez que se acordaba de esta primera impresión, Raskolnikof la atribuía a una especie de presentimiento. Él no quitaba ojo al supuesto funcionario, y éste no sólo no cesaba de mirarle, sino que parecía ansioso de entablar conversación con él. A las demás personas que estaban en la taberna, sin excluir al tabernero, las miraba con un gesto de desagrado, con una especie de altivo desdén, como a personas que considerase de una esfera y de una educación demasiado inferiores para que mereciesen que él les dirigiera la palabra. Era un hombre que había rebasado los cincuenta, robusto y de talla media. Sus escasos y grises cabellos coronaban un rostro de un amarillo verdoso,...

3. Dostoevsky. The Brothers Karamazov (English. Братья Карамазовы). Part II. Book IV. Lacerations. Chapter 5.A Laceration in the Drawing-Room

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Часть текста: Karamazov (English. Братья Карамазовы). Part II. Book IV. Lacerations. Chapter 5.A Laceration in the Drawing-Room Chapter 5 A Laceration in the Drawing-Room BUT in the drawing-room the conversation was already over. Katerina Ivanovna was greatly excited, though she looked resolute. At the moment Alyosha and Madame Hohlakov entered, Ivan Fyodorovitch stood up to take leave. His face was rather pale, and Alyosha looked at him anxiously. For this moment was to solve a doubt, a harassing enigma which had for some time haunted Alyosha. During the preceding month it had been several times suggested to him that his brother Ivan was in love with Katerina Ivanovna, and, what was more, that he meant "to carry her off from Dmitri. Until quite lately the idea seemed to Alyosha monstrous, though it worried him extremely. He loved both his brothers, and dreaded such rivalry between them. Meantime, Dmitri had said outright on the previous day that he was glad that Ivan was his rival, and that it was a great assistance to him, Dmitri. In what way did it assist him? To marry Grushenka? But that Alyosha considered the worst thing possible. Besides all this, Alyosha had till the evening before implicitly believed that Katerina Ivanovna had a steadfast and passionate love for Dmitri; but he had only believed it till the evening before. He had fancied, too, that she was incapable of loving a man like Ivan, and that she did love Dmitri, and loved him just as he was, in spite of all the strangeness of such a passion. But during yesterday's scene with Grushenka another idea had struck him. The word "lacerating," which Madame Hohlakov had just uttered, almost made him start, because half waking up towards daybreak that night he had cried out...

4. Dostoevsky. The Crocodile (English. Крокодил)

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Часть текста: As Ivan Matveitch had already in his pocket his ticket for a tour abroad (not so much for the sake of his health as for the improvement of his mind), and was consequently free from his official duties and had nothing whatever to do that morning, he offered no objection to his wife's irresistible fancy, but was positively aflame with curiosity himself. "A capital idea!" he said, with the utmost satisfaction. "We'll have a look at the crocodile! On the eve of visiting Europe it is as well to acquaint ourselves on the spot with its indigenous inhabitants." And with these words, taking his wife's arm, he set off with her at once for the Arcade. I joined them, as I usually do, being an intimate friend of the family. I have never seen Ivan Matveitch in a more agreeable frame of mind than he was on that memorable morning-how true it is that we know not beforehand the fate that awaits us! On entering the Arcade he was at once full of admiration for the splendours of the building and, when we reached the shop in which the monster lately arrived in Petersburg was being exhibited, he volunteered to pay the quarter-rouble for me to the crocodile owner - a thing which had never happened before. Walking into a little room, we observed that besides the...

5. Dostoevsky. The Brothers Karamazov (English. Братья Карамазовы). Part II. Book IV. Lacerations. Chapter 2.At His Father"s

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Часть текста: appeared, was ill in bed in the lodge), told him in answer to his question that Ivan Fyodorovitch had gone out two hours ago. "And my father?" "He is up, taking his coffee," Marfa answered somewhat drily. Alyosha went in. The old man was sitting alone at the table wearing slippers and a little old overcoat. He was amusing himself by looking through some accounts, rather inattentively however. He was quite alone in the house, for Smerdyakov too had gone out marketing. Though he had got up early and was trying to put a bold face on it, he looked tired and weak. His forehead, upon which huge purple bruises had come out during the night, was bandaged with a red handkerchief; his nose too was swollen terribly in the night, and some smaller bruises covered it in patches, giving his whole face a peculiarly spiteful and irritable look. The old man was aware of this, and turned a hostile glance on Alyosha as he came in. "The coffee is cold," he cried harshly; "I won't offer you any. I've ordered nothing but a Lenten fish soup to-day, and I don't invite anyone to share it. Why have you come?" "To find out how you...

6. Dostoevsky. A Raw Youth (English. Подросток). Part I. Chapter III

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Часть текста: was no need: a higher consideration swallowed up all petty feelings, and one powerful emotion made up to me for everything. I went out in a sort of ecstasy. As I stepped into the street I was ready to sing aloud. To match my mood it was an exquisite morning, sunshine, people out walking, noise, movement, joyousness, and crowds. Why, had not that woman insulted me? From whom would I have endured that look and that insolent smile without instant protest however stupid it might be. I did not mind about that. Note that she had come expressly to insult me as soon as she could, although she had never seen me. In her eyes I was an "envoy from Versilov," and she was convinced at that time, and for long afterwards, that Versilov held her fate in his hands and could ruin her at once if he wanted to, by means of a certain document; she suspected that, anyway. It was a duel to the death. And yet--I was not offended! It was an insult, but I did not feel it. How should I? I was positively glad of it; though I had come here to hate her I felt I was beginning to love her. I don't know whether the spider perhaps does not hate the fly he has marked and is snaring. Dear little fly! It seems to me that the victim is loved, or at least may be loved. Here I love my enemy; I am delighted, for...

7. Dostoevsky. A Raw Youth (English. Подросток)

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Часть текста: so. . . . I know one thing for certain: I shall never again sit down to write my autobiography even if I live to be a hundred. One must be too disgustingly in love with self to be able without shame to write about oneself. I can only excuse myself on the ground that I am not writing with the same object with which other people write, that is, to win the praise of my readers. It has suddenly occurred to me to write out word for word all that has happened to me during this last year, simply from an inward impulse, because I am so impressed by all that has happened. I shall simply record the incidents, doing my utmost to exclude everything extraneous, especially all literary graces. The professional writer writes for thirty years, and is quite unable to say at the end why he has been writing for all that time. I am not a professional writer and don't want to be, and to drag forth into the literary market-place the inmost secrets of my soul and an artistic description of my feelings I should regard as indecent and contemptible. I foresee, however, with vexation, that it will be impossible to avoid describing feelings...

8. Dostoevsky. The Brothers Karamazov (English. Братья Карамазовы). Part III. Book IX. The Preliminary Investigation. Chapter 5.The Third Ordeal

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Часть текста: Clearly, precisely, distinctly, he described the feelings that troubled him during those moments in the garden when he longed so terribly to know whether Grushenka was with his father or not. But, strange to say, both the lawyers listened now with a sort of awful reserve, looked coldly at him, asked few questions. Mitya could gather nothing from their faces. "They're angry and offended," he thought. "Well, bother them!" When he described how he made up his mind at last to make the "signal" to his father that Grushenka had come, so that he should open the window, the lawyers paid no attention to the word "signal," as though they entirely failed to grasp the meaning of the word in this connection: so much so, that Mitya noticed it. Coming at last to the moment when, seeing his father peering out of the window, his hatred flared up and he pulled the pestle out of his pocket, he suddenly, as though of design, stopped short. He sat gazing at the wall and was aware that their eyes were fixed upon him. "Well?" said the investigating lawyer. "You pulled out the weapon and... and what happened then? "Then? Why, then I murdered him... hit him on the head and cracked his skull.... I suppose that's your story. That's it!" His eyes suddenly flashed. All his smothered wrath suddenly flamed up with extraordinary violence in his soul. "Our story?" repeated Nikolay Parfenovitch. Mitya dropped his eyes and was a long time silent. "My story, gentlemen? Well, was like this," he began softly. "Whether it was like this," he began softly. "Whether it was someone's tears, or my mother prayed to God, or a good angel kissed me at that instant, I don't know....

9. Dostoevsky. The Possessed (English. Бесы). Part I. Chapter II. Prince harry. Matchmaking

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Часть текста: he awaked his ten- or eleven-year-old friend at night, simply to pour out his wounded feelings and weep before him, or to tell him some family secret, without realising that this was an outrageous proceeding. They threw themselves into each other's arms and wept. The boy knew that his mother loved him very much, but I doubt whether he cared much for her. She talked little to him and did not often interfere with him, but he was always morbidly conscious of her intent, searching eyes fixed upon him. Yet the mother confided his whole instruction and moral education to Stepan Trofimovitch. At that time her faith in him was unshaken. One can't help believing that the tutor had rather a bad influence on his pupil's nerves. When at sixteen he was taken to a lyceum he was fragile-looking and pale, strangely quiet and dreamy. (Later on he was distinguished by great physical strength.) One must assume too that the friends went on weeping at night, throwing themselves in each other's arms, though their tears were not always due to domestic difficulties. Stepan Trofimovitch succeeded in reaching the deepest chords in his pupil's heart, and had aroused in him a vague sensation of that eternal, sacred yearning which some elect souls can never give up for cheap gratification when once they have tasted and known it. (There are some connoisseurs who prize this yearning more than the most complete satisfaction of it, if such were possible.) But in any case it was just as well that the pupil and the preceptor were, though none too soon, parted. For the first two years the lad used to come home from the lyceum for the holidays. While...

10. Dostoevsky. Notes from the Underground (English. Записки из подполья). Part II. Chapter IV

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Часть текста: post is for, and not to have put me in an absurd position in my own eyes and... and even before the waiters. I sat down; the servant began laying the table; I felt even more humiliated when he was present. Towards six o'clock they brought in candles, though there were lamps burning in the room. It had not occurred to the waiter, however, to bring them in at once when I arrived. In the next room two gloomy, angry- looking persons were eating their dinners in silence at two different tables. There was a great deal of noise, even shouting, in a room further away; one could hear the laughter of a crowd of people, and nasty little shrieks in French: there were ladies at the dinner. It was sickening, in fact. I rarely passed more unpleasant moments, so much so that when they did arrive all together punctually at six I was overjoyed to see them, as though they were my deliverers, and even forgot that it was incumbent upon me to show resentment. Zverkov walked in at the head of them; evidently he was the leading spirit. He and all of them were laughing; but, seeing me, Zverkov drew himself up a little, walked up to me deliberately with a slight, rather jaunty bend from the waist. He shook hands with me in a friendly, but not over- friendly, fashion, with a sort of circumspect courtesy like that of a General, as though...

Поиск по творчеству и критикеCлово "INDUCE"

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Cлово "INDUCE"