Clarissa by Samuel Richardson

"To give her a lowering sensibility; to bring her down from among the stars which her beamy head was surrounded by, that my wife so greatly above me, might not despise me, this was one of my reptile motives, owing to my more reptile enemy, and to my consciousness of inferiority to her! Yet she, from step to step, from distress to distress, to maintain her superiority; and, like the sun, to break out upon me with the greater refulgence for the clouds that I had continued to cast about her! And now to escape me thus! No power left me to repair the wrongs! No alleviation to my self-reproach! No dividing of blame with her!"

He felt his inferiority in his consciousness. One knows a noble person by the reaction we feel to them, they make us see what we lack.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

British classic. I decided to read what Dostoevsky read...200 hundred years ago. My goodness, such a long time. It is written all in letters-which leaves little room for imagery. The character Clarissa represents a very noble ideal, something that is so morally above everyone else. Yet, she was attracted, and even fell in love, with a "villain". She was attracted to the "forbidden". I still think she loved him when she died. Lovelace is very interesting. One can't help but pity him, and yet I admire his determination and passion- his sincere passion. It's really beautiful. And up until the end, he had thought he would marry her- always trying to make plans. He had such a selfish love- and yet, at the same time- a sincere one. But is such a sincere love, with all bad actions, real? A madman can be sincere in his love for blood, but that does not make it real...

I think I stumbled upon Lovelace in one of Dostoevsky's books- portraying him as a bad character. I actually admire him more than I admire Clarissa. She was too perfect...too noble, something that is not real. One has to be a little tainted, because it provides contrast in life. Noble people are so by nature, and therefore win over all just by existing. They personally do not have to do anything. As if a sort of divinity settled on their characters... Lovelace on the other hand, struggles like a real human being with passions that could not be quelled. He knew, consciously knew that he was a "bad" person, and so much more "inferior" than Clarissa. This knowledge drove him to do those things. Throughout life, there is less development in the noble person, than in the "bad", because they do not have to work to get to a certain point- they are already there. While, the already tainted people have to deal with the shame and guilt, and have to survive through it. This adds to a person much more; suffering. It is essential for the journey of man. Clarissa was tested and tested, and never failed. But maybe, her love for Lovelace could have been considered a sort of "failure", something she could not control. The only thing her noble spirit could not rein in. This makes the heroine a lot more interesting- why she fell in love with such a person.


Overall, amazing story. My first British classic, I believe.


--
Pub by Modern Library 1950

Home of the Gentry by Ivan Turgenev

"...as though a stranger had entered her pure, virginal world."

"...yet meanwhile their hearts were expanding, nothing was lost on them: for them the nightingale sang, the stares burned and the trees whispered softly, cradled in sleep by summer softness and summer warmth."

For them everything took place, as if the world was there for their own entertainment, their existence...

"...but no words can express what was happening in the pure soul of the girl; it was a secret for her; let it remain a secret for all and everyone. No one can know, no one has seen or will ever see how the seed summoned to life and fruition swells and ripens in the bosom of the earth."

"But what can one say about people who may still be living but have passed from walks of life, why return to them?...What did the two of them think, what did they feel? Who can know? Who can say? There are such moments in life, such feelings...one can best point to them- and pass by."

And they are meant to be passed by, admired from afar. Such is the nature of these "such feelings". They are not meant to be publicly unveiled and pinpointed, named and categorized. They are meant to be let free and remain a mystery.It makes me think about the mysteries of the human feelings, how complex they can possibly get. How sophisticated and yet so befuddling.

The people are just momentary ideas, and how then pass on to be something else. He says it so beautifully, we should let them be, let them live their lives in their sorrow as they fade off into time, where they'd rather be... along with their former emotions and feelings...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some people are not meant to share their happiness together, even though it would be justified, while others stay together and don't deserve it. Yet, they can live in those fleeting moments, and forever be united. The moments are immortal. Reminds me of White Nights by Dostoevsky; a sort of feeling- of blissful moments, and denouncing reality.

Chekhov Stories 2

My Life

Portrays how people are not sincere sometimes...and just do things for "kicks". Even if they are momentarily convinced that a certain thing is what they want, they'll soon change their minds. That is because of the way they've been brought up. Like the character Masha, she had had everything from the beginning. Anything she wanted, she instantly got. Chekhov stresses this. So then, she could afford to play with life, be rich, or play the part of the peasant.

"Our meeting, this marriage of ours, was only an episode of which this alive, richly endowed woman would have many in her life. All that was best in the world, as I've already said, was at her disposal and came to her perfectly gratis, and even ideas and fashionable intellectual trends served her her pleasure, diversifying her life, and I was merely a coachman who drove her from one enthusiasm to another. Now she no longer needed me, she would flutter off, and I would be left alone."

And yet, she did this without guilt, fully convinced she had done right, and that that life was what she really wanted. Superficial people. These people take everything lightly, as if life was sort of a game...now peasants, cannot afford to be superficial. Some they may very well be scoundrels, but not insecure people, at the core. Chekhov also emphasized this, that what the peasants most believed in was truth.

"However much the muzhik looks like a clumsy beast as he follows his plow, and however much he befuddles himself with vodka, still, on looking closer, you feel that there is in him something necessary and very important that is lacking, for instance, in Masha and the doctor- namely, he believes that the chief thing on earth is truth, and that his salvation and that of all people lies in truth alone, and therefore he loves justice more than anything else in the world."

It is also beautiful how he sees all this, sees the errors of his wife's judgment, her superficiality, and accepts it. He not only does that, but he still loves her, even though he knows that it doesn't make much of a difference. Truthful people do not think life is a game, but it's about survival. And through survival comes suffering, which is the only way to live life rightly. The only way to know God. For how does one know whether God exists, if they have no need for Him? That man, the main character, was closer to God than Masha, with all her religion...

Ariadne

"Of course, a woman's a woman and a man's a man, but can all that be as simple in our day as it was before the Flood, and can it be that I, a cultivated man endowed with a complex spiritual organisation, ought to explain the intense attraction I feel towards a woman simply by the fact that her bodily function is different from mine? Oh, how awful that would be! I want to believe that in his struggle with nature the genius of man has struggled with physical love too, as with an enemy, and that, if he has not conquered it, he has at least succeeded in tangling it in a net- work of illusions of brotherhood and love; and for me, at any rate, it is no longer a simple instinct of my animal nature as with a dog or a toad, but is real love, and every embrace is spiritualised by a pure impulse of the heart and respect for the woman. In reality, a disgust for the animal instinct has been trained for ages in hundreds of generations; it is inherited by me in my blood and forms part of my nature, and if I poetize love, is not that as natural in our day as my ear's not being able to move and my not being covered in fur? I fancy that's how the majority of civilised people look at it, so that the absence of the moral, poetic element in love is treated in these as a phenomenon, as a sign of atavism; they say it is a symptom of degeneracy, of many forms of insanity. It is true that, in poetizing love, love assumed in those qualities that are lacking in them, and that is a source of continual mistakes and continual miseries for us. But to my thinking it is better, even so; that is, it is better to suffer than to find complacency on the basis of woman being woman and man being man."

Marvelous! Poetical love is necessary, love cannot truly exist without it. It is as if love goes off into the spiritual realms by the help of this "poetizing". As if it develops and transforms into something that is beyond us, beyond our feelings and emotions, and penetrates into our souls.

"The pure, gracious images which my imagination, warmed by love, had cherished for so long, my plans, my hopes, my memories, my ideas of love and of woman- all now were jeering an putting out their tongues at me."

An example of a man's illusion of woman, and how he worshiped the concept of woman. These ideas seem positively absurd in reality. Reality easily proves us disillusioned people wrong. And how hard it is to get to the point of complete disillusionment! How hard our imaginations have to work to lie to our so-rational mind!

It was interesting though, how he was willing to suffer and make mistakes, (which is ultimately what he did) and yet, he couldn't wait to be free of her. Is that perhaps because he didn't lover
anymore?

The Seagull

"One must depict life not as it is, and not as it ought to be, but as we see it in our dreams."
----
1. My Life- Pub. Everyman's Library
2. Ariadne- Pub. The Macmillan Co. 1916

The Diary of Writer by Dosteovsky

"It is curious how the most complete conceptions are being quite imperceptibly inoculated into the child who, being still incapable of connecting two thoughts, sometimes grasp the deepest phenomena of life. A learned German once stated that any child, upon completing the first three years of his life, has acquired a full third of ideas and knowledge with which, as an elder, he will be laid in his grave."

That is very interesting. It means that childhood is as important as any important period of discoveries in our lives. How much a child perceives and understands! It is something to be pure...they are closest to perfection... closest to nature. As if childhood is the transition between the realms we came from to this earthly life...

"More gifted and segregated children are always more reserved, and if they are joyous, it is invariably with a knack at leadership and bossing."

Those type of people seem very aggressive when they get older...Sometimes, a good chunk of the population seems that way.

"...since what is hypocrisy? - It is a ransom which vice is compelled to pay to virtue- which is an extremely comforting thought to him who wishes to remain vicious in practice but at the same time not to sever, in his soul, at least, with virtue. Oh, vice is very fond of paying ransom to virtue, and this is good; temporarily he should be satisfied with even that much- isn't this so?"

It is a line in between virtue and vice... Vice knows it is doing something wrong, but yet wants to live in the comfort of its continuation. It is good to have this "prick of the conscience" even up to this point. When one knows he is a hypocrite, there is still hope! But once the vice stops "paying ransom to virtue" and goes loose, the conscience will be buried underground.

"Indeed, we are all good fellows- except the bad ones of course."

:)

"Look attentively, and you will see that, in our case, first comes faith in an idea, in an ideal, while earthly goods come after."

Yes, first is the spiritual, the earthly goods are only a mere extra.

"The lad of our days, about whom so many controversial things are said, often adores a most naive paradox, sacrificing for it everything- the world, his fate, his very life; but his is due to only the fact that he regards his paradox as the truth. Here we are confronted with the lack of enlightenment. When light appears, different viewpoints will arise of their own accord; paradoxes will vanish, but the purity of heart, the thirst for sacrifice and exploit, which gleam in him so brightly, will not fade. And this is what really counts."

And it really is naive, to give up everything for faith. But is that not what humanity is made for? To believe in the unseen? In an ideal? Whether God or a philosophy...man is capable of an astounding determination when it comes to faith. And in the end, when all is said and done, this faith is what continues to glow.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It is so good to know Dostoevsky's thoughts! And I still haven't finished it, the library will only let me borrow it for so long...
There are such interesting stories in there though, such a treat!

Winter Notes on Summer Impressions by Dostoevsky

"It is a kind of biblical scene, something about Babylon, a kind of prophecy from the Apocalypse fulfilled before your very eyes. You feel that it would require a great deal of eternal spiritual resistance and denial not to succumb, not to surrender to the impression, not to bow down to to fact, and not to idolize Baal, that is, not to accept what is your ideal..."

I love the way he connect biblical scenes to society. A kind of god is the society for many people- and has been for so many centuries. Everyone bows down to mainstream society, and who does not is an "outcast". And yet, "Babylon" is very attractive, eye-catching... it is a sort of magnet to the needy and empty. Wonderful connection, such a treat! Just like the Great Inquisition.

"Fact weights heavily; the masses grow numb and wonder about like zombies of if skepticism arises, dismally and with a curse they seek salvation in something like Mormonism."

I thought that was rather funny, especially coming from Dostoevsky.

"And they themselves know this and meanwhile avenge themselves against society as some kind of underground Mormons, Shakers, wanderers... We are surprised at the stupidity of going over the Shakers and becoming wanderers; we do not even suspect there is a secession from our social formulas; a stubborn, unconscious secession; an instinctive secession, no matter what the cost, for the sake of salvation; a secession from us made with disgust and horror. These millions of people, abandoned and driven away from the human feast, shoving and crushing each other in the underground darkness into which they have been thrown by their older brothers, gropingly knock at any gate whatsoever and seek entrance so they won't suffocate in the dark cellar. It is a final, desperate attempt to form their own group, their own crowd, and to separate themselves from everything, even from the human image, if only to be something of their own, if only to avoid being with us..."

Maybe this is an allusion to the biblical story of Joseph. That society, the "older brothers" throw out the ones who are different. But the ones thrown out, do the exact opposite of Joseph, they are scared and desperate to get out. So they seek something that looks like salvation, even though it may not be. They do not seek God, but just a way out of their "dark cellar"- anything that separates them from "us". It also reminds me of the "gnashing of teeth" prediction of the Judgment Day. How the ones thrown out of the wedding feast (human feast)bang on the entrance to be let in. I wonder, if they had not been rejected in the first place, would they still be so desperate to "separate...from us"? Would their conviction still be the same, or would they go on and drink the wine, enjoy the feast? Is it just an act of desperation, this seeking of salvation?

"Convinced to the point of stupefaction, these professors of religion have their own form of amusement missionary work. They go all over the earth, penetrate into the depths of Africa, to convert a single savage and forget about the millions of savages in London who have nothing to pay them."

Oh, the irony! Goodness. And even today, the same thing is happening. Take care of the "log in your own eye" first.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was a very entertaining book. Except his diary, this is the closest book that I would think his feelings are clearly to be seen. Very interesting man! I would love to travel to the exact places he went to, just for the sake of possibly seeing the same things he had seen. I wonder if my "impressions" would resemble his. Of course, that is a little obsessive...

Humiliated and Insulted by Dostoevsky

I must admit that the translation wasn't the best, it took me about a hundred pages to get used to the book; too modern. And the translator even said, that his translation could be compared to today's best sellers! What a shame, and even an insult. As if it could even compare to today's best sellers!

About the story: Very beautiful, although not quite as complex as his other works. I actually predicted the "riddle" so to speak, before the ending. Overall though, very beautiful. I could see where Dostoevsky's ideas came from, for his later books. Like the Adolescent, for isntance. It was about people who bury their real wishes, and react quite the opposite from what they really want; "out of spite". Which is also an idea from Notes form Underground. How they would suffer, just to "rub salt on the wounds" to make it worse. so that their suffering would increase. Like the father, Nelly, and sometimes Natasha. And even though Vanya was the one who was insulted themost, he still loved no matter what, even though it mean to be indifferent to his happiness. Beautiful message, although not so easily achieved in real life.

Dead Souls by Gogol

"Now it is with indifference that I approach any unknown estate, and with indifference that I gaze at its trite appearance; my chilled glance finds no refuge, I do not laugh, and that in which earlier days would have awakened a lively movement in my face, laughter and unceasing talk, now flits by, and my motionless lips preserve an impassive silence. Oh, my youth! Oh, my freshness!"



"But all the while he was sitting in his hard armchair, troubled by thoughts and sleeplessness, zealously giving what for to Nozdryov and all his kin, and the tallow candle glimmered before him, its wick long covered by a black cap of snuff, threatening to go out at any moment,and blind, dark night looked in his window, ready to turn blue with approaching dawn, and somewhere far away far-off roosters whistled to each other, and in a completely sleeping town, perhaps, a frieze gray coat plodded along somewhere, a wretch of unknown class and rank, who knows (alas!) one path only, all too well beaten by the devil-rag-care Russian people."


For some reason, I love the idea of describing an unknown man walking somewhere along an unknown path in the darkness. And making it so that he is not alone, but trods on the same path the "Russian people" all once traveled.


"It is easy for the reader to judge, looking down from his comfortable corner at the top, from which the whole horizon opens out, upon all that is going on below, where man can see only the nearest object. And in the world chronicle of mankind there are many whole centuries, which it would seem, even a child would not make now. What crooked, blind, narrow, impassable, far-straying paths mankind has chosen, striving to attain eternal truth, while a whole straight road lay open before it, like the road leading to a magnificent dwelling meant for a kind's mansion! Broader and more splendid than all other roads it is, lit by the sun and illuminated all nights by lamps, yet people have flowed past it in the blind darkness. So many times already though guided by a sense come down from heaven, they have managed to waver and go astray, have managed in broad daylight to get again into an impassable wilderness, have managed again to blow a blinding fog into each other's eyes, and, dragging themselves after marsh-lights, then managed finally to reach the abyss, only to ask one another in horror; where is the way out, where is the path? The current generation now sees everything clearly, it marvels at the errors, it laughs at the folly of its ancestors, not seeing that this chronicle is all overscored by divine fire, that every letter of it cries out, that from everywhere the piercing finger is pointing at it, at this current generation; but the current generation laughs and presumptuously,, proudly begins a series of new errors, at which their descendants will also laugh afterwards."

And yet maybe the men are destined to completely miss the obvious path. Why is that? Why is it that man has to deliberately go out of his way to err in such a tremendous way? This reminds me of the Tree of Life. Due to an apple, mankind fell. Well, the concept of the apple. We seem to be attracted to the forbidden, to the "darkness", and yet, we almost do it subconsciously. Why is humanity so weak? And why does it simply crave destruction? This cycle, over the centuries, with every fresh batch of humans, it continues on and on, until one century, nothing will be left. We will eat ourselves out, out of this environment, and most importantly, out of ourselves. Dostoevsky references this point a lot; that we are our own destruction, as if we are destined to cause our own death, purposefully yet subconsciously.

"Because it is time finally to give the poor virtuous man a rest, because the phrase "virtuous man" idly circulates on all lips; because the virtuous man has been turned into a horse, and there is no writer who has not driven him, urging him on with a whip and whatever else is handy; because the virtuous man has been so worn out that there is not even a ghost of any virtue left in him, but only skin and ribs instead of a body; because the virtuous man is not respected! No, it is time to hitch up a scoundrel. And so, let us hitch up a scoundrel!"

Again, I do enjoy how the concept of the "virtuous man" is alive, and living in our writing, in our minds.

"Everything transforms quickly in man; before you can turn around, a horrible worm has grown inside him, despotically drawing all life's juices to itself. And it happened more than once that some passion, not a broad but a paltry little passion for some petty thing, has spread through one born for better deeds, making him forsake great and sacred in paltry baubles. Numberless as the sands of the seas are the human passions, and no one resembles another, and all of them, base or beautiful, are at first obedient to man and only later become his dreaded rulers. Blessed is he who has chosen the most beautiful passion his boundless bliss grows tenfold with every hour and minute, and he goes deeper and deeper into infinite paradise of his soul. But there are passions that it is not for man to choose. They are born with him at the moment of his birth into this world., and he is not granted the power to refuse them. They are guided by a higher destiny, and they have in them something eternally calling, never ceasing throughout one's life. They are ordained to accomplish a great earthly pursuit: as a dark image, or as a bright apparition sweeping by, gladdening the world[ it makes no difference, both are equally forth for the good unknown to man."

It is interesting to see how a passion can change "what we were born to do", our destiny. And that we can even choose our passion, that it does not choose us. A passion that one is born with, could be even considered a sort of burden; "a dark image" that follows the begetter on and on throughout their life. It is as if one knows how they are going to die, but is unable to stop the inevitable. This "higher destiny" makes the ones chosen closer to the heavenlies that the rest; for it is divine. The forces of the universe, all move towards this one goal, and these chosen ones along with the tick-tock of time, move and breathe to bring it about, to complete a certain step for mankind. Through these chosen ones, mankind is able to glimpse the majesty of mystery, and how much there is to learn.

"But we have begun talking rather loudly, forgetting that our hero, asleep all the while his story was being told, is now awake and can easily hear his last name being repeated as of ten. He is a touchy man and does not like it when he is spoken of disrespectfully. The reader can hardly care whether Chichikov gets angry with him or not, but as fore the author, he mus tin no case quarrel with his hero: they still have many a road to travel together hand in hand; to big parts lie ahead- no trifling matter."

This quote is my favorite quote from all the Russian authors, that refer to the character in such a direct (and charming) manner. I have never this technique, if one can call it that, before I read this book. To have such an intimate relationship with the character that one has created, is to make the fictional world so much more real. It proves that these characters are but concepts that live and breathe throughout centuries, through humanity, from century to century. Chichikov can be your next door neighbor, or even you yourself. They are immortal, because by humanities existence, we make them so.

"And what Russian does not love fast driving? How can his soul, which yearns to get into a whirl, to carouse; to say sometimes:"Devil take it all!"- how can his soul not love it? Not love it when something ecstatically wondrous is felt in it? It seems an unknown force has taken you on its wing, and you are flying, and everything is flying: milestones go flying by, merchants come flying at you on the boxes of their kibitkes, the forest on both sides is flying by with its dark ranks of firs and pines, with axes chopping and crows cawing, the whole road is flying off no one knows where into the vanishing distance, and then is something terrible in this quick flashing, in which the vanishing object has no time to fix itself-only the sky overhead, and the light clouds, and the moon trying to break through, they alone seem motionless. Ah, troika! bird troika, who invented you? Surely you could only have been born among a brisk people, in a land that cares not for jokes, but sweeps smoothly and evenly over half of the world, and you can go on counting the miles until it all dances before your eyes."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dead Souls was really a masterpiece. Of course, as expected. Although...some parts were missing, poor Gogol just ended in mid sentence... It has taught me a lot. How to view the character as an idea, and the author is the creator. How to be frank about what we are doing, and saying this outright, referring to the reader directly, the character, even ourselves. Excuse me, but I do think Gogol is the most adorable out of all the Russian authors- if that is appropriate... I wish I could travel back in time and shee how funny he really was, such an "eccentric" was he! Hm, it must b ehighly offending to refer to full grown men (although dead) as cute...

Anyways- Chichikov was indeed a scoundrel! ... But aren't we all? Something to think about...

Marriage by Nikolai Gogol

"

Zhevakin: sir. Retired naval lieutenant. And allow me to ask,
With whom do I have the pleasure of conversing?

Omelet: Omelet, managing clerk.

Zhevakin: Not catching the last words. Yes, I also had a bite. Knew I had a good trip ahead of me, and it's a bit cool out. Ate a harring and a slice of bread.

Omelet: No, it seems you didn't understand me correctly. That's my name- Omelet.


Zhevakin; bowing: I beg your pardon. I'm a bit hard of hearing. I thought you said you'd eaten an omelet.

Omelet: What can i do? I considered asking teh general to let me change my name to Omeletson, but my relatives talked me out of it. Names that end in son make them think of son-of-a-bitch.


Zhevakin: Yes, it's like that sometimes. Our entire third squadron, all the officers and men- they all had peculiar names- Slopsov, Tipsykov, Lieutenant Spoilov. One midshipman, and a very good midshipman too, his name was simply Hole. "Hey you, Hole" The Captain would shout, "Come on over here!" And we always be kidding him- "Hey, you, you're such a little hole!" "
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I think this is Gogol's funniest piece. I was reading this in a quiet class, and had to keep myself from laughing... it's the funniest piece I've ever read in my life!

The Lady with the Little Dog by Anton Chekhov

"In Oreanda they sat on a bench not far from church, looked down o the sea, and were silent. Yalta was barely visible through the morning mist, white clouds stood motionless on the mountaintops. The leaves of the trees did not stir, cicadas called, and the monotonous, dull noise of the sea, coming from below, spoke of the peace, of the eternal sleep that awaits us. So it had sounded below when neither Yalta nor Oreanda were there, so it sounded now and would go on sounding with the same dull indifference when we are no longer there. And in this constancy, in this utter indifference to the life and death of each of us there perhaps lies hidden the pledge of our eternal salvation, the unceasing perfection. Sitting beside the young woman, who looked so beautiful in the dawn, appeased and enchanted by the view of this magical decor- sea, mountains, clouds, the open sky- Gurov reflected that, essentially, if you thought of it, everything was beautiful in this world, everything except for what we ourselves think and do when we forget the higher goals of being and our human dignity."

This description here is incredible, how Chekhov portrays the "utter indifference" of the sea... how it has lived before, and will live after us. This utter indifference is such an important concept when it comes to nature, and nature's view towards humanity. They are indifferent to humans...and will easily live without us. This indifference makes nature the more mystifying, not having to depend on any living thing but their instinct. This utter indifference shall lead to perfection as Chekhov says, that if we become like nature, then we shall indeed be complete, for nature itself is complete, and therefore perfect.

Now, becoming like nature- not indifferent to our humanity, and become animals, but embracing the "higher goals and our human dignity". The height of humanity is to be the height of our nature, and therefore perfect. Our "salvation". Everything else is rotten humanity, that is not any good but to destroy the beautiful, and distort our purpose of achieving this goal.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is one of the best, if not the best of Chekhov's works.

The Torrents of Spring by Turgenev

"He felt that he could have stayed beyond the counter for an eternity, selling syrup and sweets, as long as that charming creature was peeping through the open door with eyes of friendly mockery, and the summer sunshine, penetrating the massed foliage of the chestnut tree in front of the window, was filling the whole room with the greenish gold of midday rays, midday shadows, and his heart was bathing in a delicious laziness, in carefree joy, in the sensation of youth, the first flush of youth."

Goodness once again! "Delicious laziness" is such a beautiful description of the summer days- the silent sun peeping through the trees, scattering light into the room...

"His soul was on fire."

"Everything within him burned, like a live coal from within a layer of ashes is suddenly brown."

"...and the trepidation of love, the first for love, cursed through his veins."

It is as if this love, this first loves, becomes part of the organism, flowing through the blood- the only thing that keeps us alive. This comparison stresses the effects of this first love.

"Now he no longer reasoned, no longer thought, calculated, or looked into the future. He had separated himself from his entire past, had bounded forward. He had broken the moorings attaching him to the dreary bank of his lonely, bachelor existence and plurged into the gay, seething, powerful torrent, caring little, not even asking where it was bearing him, or whether his frail bark would be dashed against a rock. There were no longer the gentle streams of the Uhland ballad that had so soothed him lately...these were powerful, irresistible waves. They sped on, and he with them."

I love the wonderful description here, of the drowning sensations, of something that cannot be helped. It is as if one is losing control- and caring not where the "torrent" leads, or whether one even stays alive. This irrationality cannot be explained by the rational mind, a mystery that will be forever hidden, except to the ones who take part of this torrent.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ending was extremely shocking...but yet it is very understandable, and makes it even more real. It reminds me of the story by Tolstoy- Walk in the Light...where something so virtuous can be so stained with the immoral, in such a crude matter... This new woman mocked the very essence of his previous infatuation, the pure love he had for the young girl. To me, it shows that this sort of "sin" towards this pure love, knows no bounds, has no rules, but to destroy what is good. A crude realization, that the good can be easily tainted- which makes it even more vile, only because of the fact that it used to be pure but is no more.