Dostoevsky wrote white nights. "White Nights" Dostoevsky analysis

Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky

White Nights

... Or was he created in order

To stay even for a moment

In the neighborhood of your heart?...

Iv. Turgeniev

NIGHT ONE

It was a wonderful night, such a night, which can only happen when we are young, dear reader. The sky was so starry, such a bright sky, that, looking at it, one involuntarily had to ask oneself: can all kinds of angry and capricious people live under such a sky? This is also a young question, dear reader, a very young one, but God bless you more frequently! .. Speaking of capricious and various angry gentlemen, I could not help but recall my well-behaved behavior all that day. From the very morning some amazing melancholy began to torment me. It suddenly seemed to me that everyone was leaving me, alone, and that everyone was retreating from me. It is, of course, everyone has the right to ask: who are these all? because I have been living in St. Petersburg for eight years already, and I have not been able to make a single acquaintance. But what do I need dating? I already know all of Petersburg; that's why it seemed to me that everyone was leaving me, when all of Petersburg got up and suddenly left for the dacha. I was afraid to be left alone, and for three whole days I wandered around the city in deep anguish, absolutely not understanding what was happening to me. If I go to Nevsky, if I go to the garden, if I wander along the embankment - not a single person from those whom I used to meet in the same place, at a certain hour, whole year. They don't know me, of course, but I know them. I know them briefly; I almost studied their faces - and admire them when they are cheerful, and mope when they are clouded. I almost made friends with an old man whom I meet every single day, at a certain hour, on the Fontanka. The physiognomy is so important, thoughtful; still whispering under his breath and waving his left hand, and in his right he has a long gnarled cane with a gold knob. Even he noticed me and takes a spiritual part in me. If it happens that I am not at the same place of the Fontanka at a certain hour, I am sure that the melancholy will attack him. That's why we sometimes almost bow to each other, especially when both are in good spirits. The other day, when we had not seen each other for two whole days and on the third day we met, we were already there and grabbed our hats, but fortunately we came to our senses in time, lowered our hands and walked beside each other with participation. I also know at home. When I walk, everyone seems to be running ahead of me into the street, looking at me through all the windows and almost saying: “Hello; how is your health? and, thank God, I am healthy, and a floor will be added to me in the month of May. Or: “How are you? and I'll be fixed tomorrow." Or: “I almost burned out and, moreover, got scared,” etc. Of these, I have favorites, I have short friends; one of them intends to be treated by an architect this summer. I’ll come in on purpose every day so that they don’t close up somehow, God save it! .. But I will never forget the story with one pretty light pink house. It was such a pretty little stone house, it looked at me so affably, it looked at its clumsy neighbors with such pride that my heart rejoiced when I happened to pass by. Suddenly, last week, I was walking down the street and, as I looked at my friend, I heard a plaintive cry: “They are painting me yellow!” Villains! barbarians! they spared nothing: no columns, no cornices, and my friend turned as yellow as a canary. I almost burst into bile over this occasion, and I still have not been able to see my mutilated poor man, who was painted in the color of the Celestial Empire.

So, you understand, reader, how I am familiar with all of Petersburg.

I have already said that for three whole days I was tormented by anxiety, until I guessed the reason for it. And on the street it was bad for me (that one is gone, that one is gone, where did such and such go?) - and at home I was not myself. For two evenings I sought: what do I lack in my corner? Why was it so embarrassing to stay there? - and with bewilderment I examined my green smoky walls, the ceiling, hung with cobwebs, which Matryona bred with great success, reviewed all my furniture, examined each chair, thinking, is there a problem here? (because if at least one chair is not standing the same as it was yesterday, then I am not myself) looked out the window, and all in vain ... it was not at all easier! I even took it into my head to call on Matryona and immediately gave her a paternal reprimand for cobwebs and in general for slovenliness; but she only looked at me in surprise and walked away without answering a word, so that the web still hangs safely in place. Finally, only this morning I guessed what was the matter. E! Yes, they are running away from me to the dacha! Forgive me for the trivial word, but I was not in the mood for a high style ... because, after all, everything that was in St. Petersburg either moved or moved to the dacha; because every respectable gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab, before my eyes, immediately turned into venerable father a family who, after ordinary official duties, goes light into the depths of his family, to the dacha; because every passer-by now had a completely special look, which almost said to everyone he met: “We, gentlemen, are only here, in passing, but in two hours we will leave for the dacha.” If a window opened, on which at first thin fingers, white as sugar, drummed, and the head of a pretty girl stuck out, calling a peddler with pots of flowers, it immediately, immediately seemed to me that these flowers were bought only in this way, that is, not at all for in order to enjoy spring and flowers in a stuffy city apartment, and that very soon everyone will move to the dacha and take the flowers with them. Moreover, I had already made such progress in my new, special kind of discoveries, that I could already unmistakably, by one look, designate in which dacha someone lives. The inhabitants of the Kamenny and Aptekarsky islands or the Peterhof road were distinguished by the studied elegance of receptions, smart summer suits and excellent carriages in which they arrived in the city. The inhabitants of Pargolovo and farther away, at first glance, "inspired" with their prudence and solidity; the visitor to Krestovsky Island was notable for his imperturbably cheerful look. Did I manage to meet a long procession of draft cabs lazily walking with reins in their hands near carts loaded with whole mountains of all kinds of furniture, tables, chairs, Turkish and non-Turkish sofas and other household belongings, on which, in addition to all this, she often sat on the very top a wagon, a puny cook who cherishes her master's goods like the apple of her eye; if I looked at the boats, heavily laden with household utensils, gliding along the Neva or the Fontanka, to the Black River or the islands, the carts and boats were multiplied ten, lost in my eyes; it seemed that everything got up and set off, everything moved in whole caravans to the dacha; it seemed that all of Petersburg was threatening to turn into a desert, so that at last I felt ashamed, offended and sad: I had absolutely nowhere and no reason to go to the dacha. I was ready to leave with every cart, to leave with every gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab; but no one, decidedly no one, invited me; as if they had forgotten me, as if I really were a stranger to them!

I walked a lot and for a long time, so that I had already quite managed, as usual, to forget where I was, when suddenly I found myself at the outpost. In an instant, I felt cheerful, and I stepped behind the barrier, went between the sown fields and meadows, did not hear fatigue, but felt only with my whole body that some kind of burden was falling from my soul. All the passers-by looked at me so amiably that they almost bowed resolutely; everyone was so excited about something, every single one was smoking cigars. And I was glad, as never happened to me before. It was as if I suddenly found myself in Italy - nature struck me so strongly, a half-sick city dweller who almost suffocated in the city walls.

There is something inexplicably touching in our St. Petersburg nature, when, with the onset of spring, it suddenly shows all its might, all the powers bestowed on it by heaven, becomes pubescent, discharged, full of flowers ... Somehow involuntarily she reminds me of that stunted girl and an ailment, at which you sometimes look with pity, sometimes with a kind of compassionate love, sometimes you simply do not notice it, but which suddenly, for a moment, somehow inadvertently becomes inexplicably, wonderfully beautiful, and you, amazed, intoxicated , you involuntarily ask yourself: what force made these sad, thoughtful eyes shine with such fire? what caused the blood on those pale, emaciated cheeks? what poured passion over these tender features? Why is this chest heaving? what so suddenly called strength, life and beauty into the face of the poor girl, made him shine with such a smile, perk up with such sparkling, sparkling laughter? You look around, you are looking for someone, you guess ... But the moment passes, and perhaps tomorrow you will meet again the same thoughtful and absent-minded look, as before, the same pale face, the same humility and timidity in movements and even repentance, even traces of some kind of deadly longing and annoyance at a moment's infatuation ... And it's a pity for you that so soon, so irrevocably withered instantaneous beauty, that it flashed before you so deceptively and in vain - it's a pity because even you didn't have time to love her...

"White Nights": a summary of Dostoevsky's story

The hero of White Nights, on behalf of whom the story is being told, is a young man, a petty official, whose annual salary of only one thousand two hundred rubles is not enough to allow himself to get married. Such a poor serviceman, who has neither property nor connections in St. Petersburg, is a typical intellectual for Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky himself for some time led the life of a petty employee - when he worked as a draftsman in the St. Petersburg engineering team. During his life, Fedor Mikhailovich wrote about thirty works of art, in a third of them the main character is an official - probably because it was the type best known to the writer.

Dostoevsky's "poor officials" are people of low status, their work is uninteresting and boring. None of them love her, they are waiting for the end of the working day, like schoolchildren. At the same time, these poor officials - like Dostoevsky himself and his friends - are not devoid of a poetic feeling in their souls, they are in the grip of beautiful and unrealizable dreams, and they need understanding friends to whom they could pour out their souls. Starting with the petty official Makar Devushkin, the hero of Dostoevsky's first work Poor People, who dreams of becoming a poet, this paradigm does not change. The hero of "White Nights" is also a "dreamer", he hates the service - he sleeps and sees how to escape from it. After the service, he wanders late into the night all alone and without any apparent purpose in the summer of St. Petersburg, over which there are white nights - he dreams of finding a friend who would listen to his cherished thoughts. At the same time, the houses come to life, from those with whom he is on friendly terms, the hero hears: “Hello; how is your health? and, thank God, I am healthy, and a second floor will be added to me in the month of May ”; “How is your health? and I’ll be repaired tomorrow, ”etc. These are the “conversations” that a young man conducts in the depths of his soul.

In this type of a lonely dreamer wandering around the city, the then readers - young Russian intellectuals - recognized themselves, and he aroused their sympathy.

And then one evening, this young man, hungry for a conversation with a "friend", suddenly accidentally meets Nastenka on the bank of the canal - a seventeen-year-old girl, pure and beautiful, who also needs a "friend".

In the same place and at the same evening hour they meet the next day, and the next. The young dreamer, who has never before met a person who would listen to him, with enthusiasm and tirelessly talks about his dreams, thoughts and feelings. Nastenka, as if dissolving in this monologue, having forgotten about everything in the world, sympathetically listens to his confessions.

In the end, she herself begins to talk about herself. She lives with her blind grandmother. Some time ago, a young tenant rented a room in their house, who promised to marry her. However, for some reason he had to leave for Moscow for a year. He promised to contact her as soon as he returned. And now a year has passed, she knows for sure that he is in St. Petersburg, but he does not appear in her house and does not even let her know about himself.

The dreamer, although he is passionately in love with Nastenka, like the elder brother of his younger sister, agrees to deliver Nastenka's letter to her lover. However, there is still no response from him. And then on the fourth evening, Nastenka, as if breaking with him, offers the Dreamer to settle in their house as a new tenant. The dreamer's happiness knows no bounds. But at that very moment, this very young man passes by their side like a black shadow. And then Nastenka immediately rushes into his arms.
At the very end of the story, the Dreamer, being in his room and in the gloomiest mood, receives a message from Nastenka, in which she calls the Dreamer her friend and brother. The dreamer promises to pray for her happiness and remembers the happy moments spent by her side. "Oh my God! A whole minute of bliss! Isn’t that enough even for the whole life of a human?” he exclaims.

"White Nights": analysis of Dostoevsky's story

"White Nights" is a story full of high lyrics, which I would like to call the urban version of "Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka". This is also a walk around St. Petersburg, this is also a “declaration of love”, characteristic of the young Dostoevsky.

In "White Nights" there is no taste of everyday life; although this is a love story, there are no doubts and jealousy. It's like a guide to how hot and pure love and unselfish friendship should be. If you look at the dirty love emotions described in The Brothers Karamazov, you will ask yourself the question: does the authorship of these two works belong to one person?

The love presented in "White Nights" is the same perfect love dreamed of by young Dostoevsky and his contemporaries, poor educated youths. For the sake of the woman you love, you are ready to be an errand boy, you are ready to sacrifice yourself and pray from afar for her happiness - such love, as if written off from novels for girls, appeared as the ideal of love. The Soviet literary critic Komarovich, answering the question why Dostoevsky bowed to such a sugary ideal, analyzes the ideological background of that time.

In the 40s years XIX v. Russian intellectual youth, including Dostoevsky himself, were fascinated by the French utopians, whose core belief was to become excellent donors, ready to give up themselves for the love of other people; they believed that self-sacrifice was the highest manifestation of love. These ideas sunk deep into Dostoevsky's soul, and they determined the type of love characteristic of him, to which he remained faithful from his youth until the end of his life (see: V. L. Komarovich, Dostoevsky's Youth).

After the Siberian exile, Fyodor Mikhailovich wrote "Humiliated and Insulted". In this work, he brought out a writer who is undoubtedly his self-portrait. And here, too, Dostoevsky gave the writer the role of a donor who makes every effort to establish a relationship between the woman he loves himself and another man, i.e. by his rival. Because he sacrifices himself, the writer experiences a special secret sweetness. It turns out that sacrificing oneself is proof of the purity of love.

In Siberia, Dostoevsky fell in love with Maria Isaeva, who was married. Subsequently, they married, but for some time their relationship developed within the framework of this love paradigm. Fyodor Mikhailovich quite seriously abandoned her in favor of the young teacher Nikolai Vergunov, who courted her.

In Winter Notes on Summer Impressions, Dostoevsky writes somewhat tediously about psychological aspects love and emphasizes that sacrifice that is not forced by anyone is the highest manifestation of love, that not the slightest manifestation of egoism should be allowed.

It is amazing that, despite the terrible ten-year exile and two marriages, Fyodor Mikhailovich still remained true to his youthful ideal of sacrificial love. The reason for this constancy is, in all likelihood, the fact that Dostoevsky's soul loved suffering, which implies a reverence for sacrificial love. As is clear from The Weak Heart, he bowed to the ideal of beautiful love-friendship, but was afraid of its implementation, he suffered from a kind of "phobia" in relation to the realization of a dream. When the Dreamer stands on the threshold of his happiness, a black shadow appears, and Nastenka leaves him. What is this if not the fear of realization? Dostoevsky wanted happiness, but he did not want it to come true.

Dostoevsky was not practical man which has a definite purpose and, under the influence of experience and circumstances, remakes itself anew. No, from the very beginning he has a certain dream or idea, he sees the world only through the prism of his dream, and this obsession attracts him.

The dreamer from "White Nights" bows before a wonderful friendship-love, and he finds a friend in the person of Nastenka. But this same admiration makes him sacrifice himself, and he is left alone. He is a prisoner of his ideas of friendship and love, and he cannot get out of this trap.

The hero of the story, the Dreamer (we never know his name), has been living in St. Petersburg for eight years, but has not managed to make a single acquaintance. He is 26 years old. Summer, everyone went to the country. The dreamer wanders around the city and feels abandoned, not meeting the people he used to see every day. Imperceptibly, he finds himself at the city outpost and goes further among the fields and meadows, feeling spiritual relief. Nature struck him, a half-sick city dweller. Petersburg nature in the spring reminds the hero of a stunted and sick girl who, for a moment, suddenly becomes inexplicably beautiful.

Returning home happy late in the evening, the Dreamer notices a woman - she is standing, bending over the parapet of the canal, and crying. The girl leaves quickly. The hero follows her, not daring to approach. A drunk molests the girl, and the Dreamer rushes to her aid. Then they go together. Dreamer delighted with unexpected meeting, tells the girl that tomorrow evening she will come to the canal again and will be waiting for her. The girl agrees to come, but warns Dreamer not to think that she is setting him up on a date. She jokingly warns him not to fall in love with her, she is only ready to be friends with him. Tomorrow they will meet. The hero is happy.

Night two

They meet. The girl asks the Dreamer to tell about himself. She herself lives with her blind grandmother, who started pinning her to her dress two years ago. So they sit all day long: the grandmother knits blindly, and the granddaughter reads a book to her. This has been going on for two years now. The girl asks the young man to tell his story. He tells her that he is a dreamer. There are such types in the hidden corners of St. Petersburg. In communication with people, they are lost, embarrassed, do not know what to talk about, but in private such a person is happy, he lives “his own special” life, he is immersed in dreams. What he just can’t imagine - friendship with Hoffmann, St. Bartholomew’s night, the battle of the Berezina and much, much more.

The dreamer is afraid that Nastenka (that’s the name of the girl, it turns out) will laugh at him, but she only asks him with timid participation: “Have you really lived like this all your life?” In her opinion, it is impossible to live like this. The hero agrees with her. He thanks Nastenka for giving him two evenings of real life. Nastenka promises him that she will not leave him. She tells her story. Nastya is an orphan, her parents died when she was very young. Grandma used to be rich. She taught her granddaughter French and

got her a teacher. From the age of fifteen, her grandmother “pins” her. My grandmother has her own house, and she rents out the mezzanine to the tenants.

And now they have a young tenant. He gives his grandmother and Nastenka novels by Walter Scott, works by Pushkin, invites Nastenka and his grandmother to the theater. Nastya is in love with a young tenant, and he begins to avoid her. And then one day the tenant tells his grandmother that he must leave for a year in Moscow. Nastenka, shocked by this news, decides to go with him. She goes up to the young man's room. He tells her that he is poor, cannot get married now, but when he returns from Moscow, they will get married. Exactly a year has passed, Nastenka found out that he had arrived three days ago, but everything did not come to her. The dreamer offers the girl to write him a letter, and he will pass it on. Nastenka agrees. It turns out that the letter has already been written, it remains only to take it to such and such an address.

Night three

The dreamer recalls his third date with Nastenka. He knows now that the girl does not love him. He took the letter. Nastenka came ahead of time, she is waiting for her beloved, she is sure that he will come. She is glad that Dreamer didn't fall in love with her. The hero is sad. Time goes by, but the tenant is still gone. Nastenka is hysterically excited. She tells the Dreamer: “You are so kind… I compared both of you. Why is he not you? Why is he not like you? He is worse than you, even though I love him more than you." The dreamer reassures Nastenka, assures her that the one she is waiting for will come tomorrow. He promises to visit him again.

night four

Nastenka thought that the Dreamer would bring her a letter, but he was sure that the Tenant had already come to the girl. But there is no letter, no Tenant himself. Nastenka says in despair that she will forget him. The dreamer declares his love for her. He would so want Nastenka to love him. He cries, Nastenka consoles him. She tells him that her love was a deception of feelings, imagination, that she is ready to marry the Dreamer, invites him to move to his grandmother's mezzanine. Both of them will work, they will be happy. It's time for Nastya to go home. And then the Tenant appears. Nastenka rushes to him. Dreamer watches them both leave.

Morning

The dreamer receives a letter from Nastenka. She asks his forgiveness, thanks him for his love, calls him her friend and brother. No, the Dreamer is not offended by Nastenka. He wishes her happiness. He had a whole minute of bliss… “Isn’t that enough even for the whole human life?..”

sentimental romance

From the memories of a dreamer

... Or was he created in order

To stay even for a moment

In the neighborhood of your heart? ..

Iv. Turgenev

night one

It was a wonderful night, such a night, which can only happen when we are young, dear reader. The sky was so starry, such a bright sky, that, looking at it, one involuntarily had to ask oneself: can all kinds of angry and capricious people live under such a sky? This is also a young question, dear reader, a very young one, but God bless you more frequently! .. Speaking of capricious and various angry gentlemen, I could not help but recall my well-behaved behavior all that day. From the very morning I was tormented by some amazing melancholy. It suddenly seemed to me that everyone was leaving me, alone, and that everyone was retreating from me. It is, of course, everyone has the right to ask: who are these all? because I've been living in St. Petersburg for eight years now and I haven't been able to make a single acquaintance. But what do I need dating? I already know all of Petersburg; that's why it seemed to me that everyone was leaving me, when all of Petersburg got up and suddenly left for the dacha. I was afraid to be left alone, and for three whole days I wandered around the city in deep anguish, absolutely not understanding what was happening to me. If I go to the Nevsky, if I go to the garden, if I wander along the embankment - not a single person from those whom I am used to meeting in the same place at a certain hour, for a whole year. They don't know me, of course, but I know them. I know them briefly; I almost studied their faces - and admire them when they are cheerful, and mope when they are clouded. I almost made friends with an old man whom I meet every single day, at a certain hour, on the Fontanka. The physiognomy is so important, thoughtful; still whispering under his breath and waving his left hand, and in his right he has a long gnarled cane with a gold knob. Even he noticed me and takes a spiritual part in me. If it happens that I am not at the same place of the Fontanka at a certain hour, I am sure that the melancholy will attack him. That's why we sometimes almost bow to each other, especially when both are in good spirits. The other day, when we had not seen each other for two whole days and on the third day we met, we were already there and grabbed our hats, but fortunately we came to our senses in time, lowered our hands and walked beside each other with participation. I also know at home. When I walk, everyone seems to be running ahead of me into the street, looking at me through all the windows and almost saying: “Hello; how is your health? and, thank God, I am healthy, and a floor will be added to me in the month of May. Or: “How are you? and I'll be fixed tomorrow." Or: “I almost burned out and, moreover, got scared,” etc. Of these, I have favorites, I have short friends; one of them intends to be treated by an architect this summer. I’ll come in on purpose every day so that they don’t heal somehow, God save it! .. But I will never forget the story of one pretty, light pink house. It was such a pretty little stone house, it looked at me so affably, it looked at its clumsy neighbors with such pride that my heart rejoiced when I happened to pass by. Suddenly, last week I was walking down the street, and as I looked at my friend, I heard a plaintive cry: “And they paint me yellow!” Villains! barbarians! they spared nothing: no columns, no cornices, and my friend turned as yellow as a canary. I almost burst into bile over this occasion, and I still have not been able to see my mutilated poor man, who was painted in the color of the Celestial Empire.

So, you understand, reader, how I am familiar with all of Petersburg.

Let's start with the fact that Dostoevsky immediately pointed out by the title of the work that the events take place in St. Petersburg, and besides, this title is a kind of symbol of the fantastic and unreality of the action. But in addition to the title itself, the story has two subtitles: " sentimental romance"and" From the Memoirs of a Dreamer. "They also tell us a lot. Firstly, about what the genre and storyline are, and secondly, that the narration will go in the first person. However, the question immediately arises: if a dreamer shares his memories, should he be fully trusted?

The main character of the story - who is he?

Why did the author decide to build the story here in the first person? Thus, Dostoevsky gives the story a certain character - we see a confession, or reflections in an autobiographical bias. Not without reason, many critics agree that the image of the main character resembles the author himself, who is still young. Although there is a version that a close friend of Dostoevsky became the prototype of the hero of the story, and he did not write about himself at all, but about the poet A. Pleshcheev.

It is important to note that the main character does not have a name. Yes, it is not named in any way, and in this way the author strengthened the connection with himself or his friend. In fact, many works show that Dostoevsky constantly thought about the image of a dreamer, and he even planned to sit down to write a novel, completely surrendering to this topic.

Analysis of the work "White Nights" implies a description of the protagonist. He is well educated, he has a lot of strength and he is young, but by nature he is quite timid. This is a lonely dreamer. He dreams of romance, and these thoughts take him away from reality. The dreamer does not think about everyday affairs and worries, performing them only out of habit, but in general he is a stranger in his environment, and the world around him is also completely alien.

In order to depersonalize his hero, Dostoevsky does not even write in detail what service he is in and what he basically does. He is not rich in friends, he never had a girlfriend. All this serves as a pretext for ridicule and the removal of people from it. And it seems to the dreamer himself that he is just a rumpled, dirty kitten, offended by everyone around, and he expects meanness from anyone.

Now let's talk a little about Nastenka - the girl that the author opposes to our dreamer. She is a sophisticated and romantic beauty, a kindred spirit. However, despite this, Nastenka is naive and even childish. Her feelings are sincere and cordial, she wants to defend her happiness, even if she has to take her lover and run away with him, using for this purpose the one she accidentally met. But the girl really needs support herself.

Other details of the "White Nights" analysis

The composition of the story "White Nights" is traditional. There are five chapters in the text, and only one is called "Morning", while the rest are called "Night". The romance of the white nights radically changed the thinking and feelings of the dreamer. When he met Nastenka and fell in love with her, he was saved from unreal dreams and felt that his life was filled with reality. Main character loves a girl purely and disinterestedly, he is even ready to make sacrifices for the sake of this love.

As an epilogue to the story, Dostoevsky uses the last chapter called "Morning". The epilogue is dramatic and exudes hope. Here comes a rainy gray morning, and all the best comes to an end. Beautiful white nights are behind, and loneliness is again next to the dreamer, but this is what is important in the analysis of the work "White Nights": the hero is not offended and not disappointed. He forgave the girl and blessed her.

One of Dostoevsky's most poetic stories, White Nights, is a beautiful utopia and a dream that if a person is honest and disinterested, he can become happy. And what a romantic atmosphere created thanks to the fantastic white nights of St. Petersburg!