"Silfida" by V. Odoevsky

I've recently read the story "Silfida" or "The Sylph" by Vladimir Odoevsky.

It's a pretty short story, I think it's only about 30 pages long or smth.

And at first it didn't seem like much to me, but as I kept reading and I got near the end of it, I really got touched by it.

Spoilers

I can't necessarily explain why, maybe in a way I relate to the character, but just the way he had his lover stolen from him, whether she was real or not (although I like to believe that she was), the way he reacted to it all, his speech and the anger that it was containing , the longing hidden under a mask of contentment..

It all just struck a chord somewhere in my soul. I've felt so much raw emotion in a few rows, more than I've maybe felt when talking to some people.

Even after I finished it, I just sat there for a while, maybe not necessarily thinking, but feeling.

I didn't know what to expect when I started reading, I've never read Odoevsky's work before, but I did enjoy it and I do recommend reading it. Who knows, maybe it will strike a chord in you too.

Or maybe not.

Edit: I'm leaving here the part that includes the speech I was talking about.

This is where I found this fragment translated in English: https://languagehat.com/odoevskys-sylph/ 

" – Then be satisfied with their praise and gratitude, but don’t expect
mine. No! Katia loves me, our estate is settled, the revenues are collected
on time – in a word, you gave me a happiness, but not mine: you got the
wrong size. You, such reasonable gentlefolk, are like the carpenter who
was ordered to make a case for some expensive physics instruments: he
didn’t measure it properly and the instruments wouldn’t go in – so what did
he do? The case was ready and beautifully polished. The tradesman re-
ground the instruments – a curve more here, a curve less there, and they
went into the box and fitted nicely. They were a pleasure to look at, but
there was one problem: the instruments were wrecked. Gentlemen! instru-
ments are not for cases, but cases are for instruments! Make the box
according to the instruments and not the instruments according to the box.

– What do you mean by that?

– You are very pleased that you have, what you call, cured me: that is to
say, blunted my perceptions, covered them with some impenetrable shell,
made them dead to any world except your box…. Wonderful! The instru-
ment fits, but it is wrecked: it had been made for a different purpose….
Now, when in the midst of the daily round I can feel my abdominal cavity
expanding by the hour and my head subsiding into animalistic sleep, I
recall with despair that time when, in your opinion, I was in a state of
madness, when a charming creature flew down to me from the invisible
world, when it opened to me sacraments which now I cannot even express,
but which were comprehensible to me… where is that happiness? Give it
back to me! "