Nothing could have been more delightful than that day. We amused
ourselves like children. Annouchka was pleasing and artless. Gaguine
regarded her with pleasure. I left them a little later. When I reached
the middle of the Rhine I begged the boatman to let his boat drift down
the river. The old man rested on his oars, and the majestic river
carried us along. I looked about me, listened, and dreamed. Suddenly I
felt a weight at my heart. Astonished, I raised my eyes to the heavens,
but found no quiet there. Studded with stars, the entire heavens seemed
to be moving, palpitating, trembling; I leaned towards the river, but
down there in those cold and dark depths, there, too, were the stars
trembling and moving. Everything appeared incited by a restless
agitation, and my own trouble only increased it. I leaned upon the edge
of the boat. The sighing of the wind in my ears, the rippling of the
water, which made a wake behind the stern, irritated me, and the cold
air from over the water did not refresh me. A nightingale began to sing
near the river bank, and the sweetness of the melodious voice ran
through me like a delicious and burning poison. But they were not tears
from an excitement without cause; what I felt was not the confused
emotion of vague desires,--it was not that effervescence of the soul
which wished to clasp everything in its embrace, because it could
understand and love everything that exists; no, the thirst for happiness
was kindled in me. I did not yet venture to put it into words--but
happiness, happiness to satiety--that was what I wished, what I longed
for. Meanwhile, the boat kept on down the stream, and the old boatman
dozed on his oars.