Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/145

Rh shop. I went back. I entered the shop, a bell tinkled above my head. The old woman looked at me, and it seemed to me that she guessed what I had in mind. Her glance struck me as sharp and inquisitive. I asked for a tea-cup, was a long time choosing, and kept on looking at the old woman. Yes, she's the one, I said to myself. I bought a cup at last, went out, but stood still in front of the shop. 'The old woman was watching me after a while she opened the door, stood on the threshold, looked about as if at random and then fixed me with a long stare. I went away as if disgraced. It struck me that this woman fancied I was a thief, a common pilfering thief. My prompting received its first blow; then on the next day the golden March sun, a hamper from my mother with washing, a loaf of bread and a page of her dear, honest Gothic script, dealt it the final one. I was cured of my fancies, but the book left a strong impression. I was humbled, reduced, and taken down to where other mortals were living. I began to judge them, not according to their faults and failings, but according to my own. Feeling myself as a component part of the whole, I judged from the part to the whole.

You have given Dostoyevsky credit for having preserved me from murder by his "Crime and Punishment." No, gentlemen, a hundred times