About the Wet Snow

I had been certain the day before that I should be the first to arrive. But it was not a question of being the first to arrive. Not only were they not there, but I had difficulty in finding our room. The table was not laid even. What did it mean? After a good many questions I elicited from the waiters that the dinner had been ordered not for five, but for six o’clock. This was confirmed at the buffet too. I felt really ashamed to go on questioning them. It was only twenty-five minutes past five. If they changed the dinner hour they ought at least to have let me know—that is what the post is for, and not to have put me in an absurd position in my own eyes and ... and even before the waiters. I sat down; the servant began laying the table; I felt even more humiliated when he was present. Towards six o’clock they brought in candles, though there were lamps burning in the room. It had not occurred to the waiter, however, to bring them in at once when I arrived. In the next room two gloomy, angry-looking persons were eating their dinners in silence at two different tables. There was a great deal of noise, even shouting, in a room further away; one could hear the laughter of a crowd of people, and nasty little shrieks in French: there were ladies at the dinner. It was sickening, in fact. I rarely passed more unpleasant moments, so much so that when they did arrive all together punctually at six I was overjoyed to see them, as though they were my deliverers, and even forgot that it was incumbent upon me to show resentment.

The day before, I had been certain I would be the first to arrive. But being first was not the issue. Not only were they absent, but I had trouble finding our room. The table was not even set. What did it mean? After asking many questions, I learned from the waiters that dinner had been ordered for six, not five. They confirmed this at the buffet too. I felt genuinely ashamed to keep questioning them. It was only twenty-five past five. If they had changed the dinner time, they should at least have let me know. That is what the post is for. They should not have made me feel ridiculous in my own eyes and ... and even in front of the waiters. I sat down, and the waiter began setting the table. I felt even more humiliated with him there. Around six, they brought in candles, though lamps were already burning in the room. Yet the waiter had not thought to bring the candles as soon as I arrived. In the next room, two gloomy, angry-looking people were eating dinner in silence at separate tables. A room farther away was very noisy, with people even shouting. I could hear a crowd laughing and some nasty little shrieks in French. There were ladies at the dinner. The whole thing was sickening, in fact. I had rarely spent such unpleasant moments. So when they all arrived together, promptly at six, I was overjoyed to see them. It was as though they had come to rescue me. I even forgot that I was supposed to show my resentment.

Zverkov walked in at the head of them; evidently he was the leading spirit. He and all of them were laughing; but, seeing me, Zverkov drew himself up a little, walked up to me deliberately with a slight, rather jaunty bend from the waist. He shook hands with me in a friendly, but not over-friendly, fashion, with a sort of circumspect courtesy like that of a General, as though in giving me his hand he were warding off something. I had imagined, on the contrary, that on coming in he would at once break into his habitual thin, shrill laugh and fall to making his insipid jokes and witticisms. I had been preparing for them ever since the previous day, but I had not expected such condescension, such high-official courtesy. So, then, he felt himself ineffably superior to me in every respect! If he only meant to insult me by that high-official tone, it would not matter, I thought—I could pay him back for it one way or another. But what if, in reality, without the least desire to be offensive, that sheepshead had a notion in earnest that he was superior to me and could only look at me in a patronising way? The very supposition made me gasp.

Zverkov came in at the head of the group. Clearly, he was the leader. He and all the others were laughing. But when Zverkov saw me, he straightened up a little and walked deliberately over to me, bowing slightly and rather jauntily from the waist. He shook my hand in a friendly, but not too friendly, way. He was as cautiously courteous as a General, as if offering his hand were a way of warding something off. I had imagined the opposite. I thought he would come in, break at once into his usual thin, shrill laugh, and start making his dull jokes and clever remarks. I had been preparing for them since the previous day. But I had not expected such condescension, such courtesy from a high official. So he felt himself unspeakably superior to me in every way! If he only meant to insult me by acting like a high official, I thought, it would not matter. I could pay him back one way or another. But what if that fool honestly believed he was superior to me and could only look down on me, without the slightest wish to offend me? The very thought made me gasp.

“I was surprised to hear of your desire to join us,” he began, lisping and drawling, which was something new. “You and I seem to have seen nothing of one another. You fight shy of us. You shouldn’t. We are not such terrible people as you think. Well, anyway, I am glad to renew our acquaintance.”

“I was surprised to hear you wanted to join us,” he began, speaking with a lisp and a drawl, both new to him. “You and I hardly seem to have seen each other. You avoid us. You shouldn’t. We’re not as terrible as you think. Anyway, I’m glad to see you again.”

And he turned carelessly to put down his hat on the window.

And he turned casually to put his hat down on the window.

“Have you been waiting long?” Trudolyubov inquired.

“Have you been waiting long?” Trudolyubov asked.

“I arrived at five o’clock as you told me yesterday,” I answered aloud, with an irritability that threatened an explosion.

“I arrived at five o’clock, as you told me to yesterday,” I replied aloud, sounding ready to explode with irritation.

“Didn’t you let him know that we had changed the hour?” said Trudolyubov to Simonov.

“Didn’t you tell him we changed the time?” Trudolyubov asked Simonov.

“No, I didn’t. I forgot,” the latter replied, with no sign of regret, and without even apologising to me he went off to order the hors d’œuvres.

“No, I didn’t. I forgot,” the other man replied, showing no regret. Without even apologizing to me, he went off to order the appetizers.

“So you’ve been here a whole hour? Oh, poor fellow!” Zverkov cried ironically, for to his notions this was bound to be extremely funny. That rascal Ferfitchkin followed with his nasty little snigger like a puppy yapping. My position struck him, too, as exquisitely ludicrous and embarrassing.

“So you’ve been here a whole hour? Oh, poor fellow!” Zverkov cried mockingly. He clearly thought this was extremely funny. That rascal Ferfitchkin followed with a nasty little snigger, like a puppy yapping. He, too, found my situation wonderfully ridiculous and embarrassing.

“It isn’t funny at all!” I cried to Ferfitchkin, more and more irritated. “It wasn’t my fault, but other people’s. They neglected to let me know. It was ... it was ... it was simply absurd.”

“It’s not funny at all!” I cried to Ferfitchkin, growing more irritated. “It wasn’t my fault. It was other people’s fault. They didn’t let me know. It was ... it was ... it was just absurd.”

“It’s not only absurd, but something else as well,” muttered Trudolyubov, naively taking my part. “You are not hard enough upon it. It was simply rudeness—unintentional, of course. And how could Simonov ... h’m!”

“It’s not just absurd. It’s something else too,” muttered Trudolyubov, naively taking my side. “You’re not being hard enough on it. It was simply rude, though unintentional, of course. And how could Simonov ... hmm!”

“If a trick like that had been played on me,” observed Ferfitchkin, “I should ...”

“If someone had played a trick like that on me,” said Ferfitchkin, “I would have ...”

“But you should have ordered something for yourself,” Zverkov interrupted, “or simply asked for dinner without waiting for us.”

“But you should have ordered something for yourself,” Zverkov interrupted, “or just asked for dinner without waiting for us.”

“You will allow that I might have done that without your permission,” I rapped out. “If I waited, it was ...”

“You’ll admit I could have done that without your permission,” I snapped. “If I waited, it was ...”

“Let us sit down, gentlemen,” cried Simonov, coming in. “Everything is ready; I can answer for the champagne; it is capitally frozen.... You see, I did not know your address, where was I to look for you?” he suddenly turned to me, but again he seemed to avoid looking at me. Evidently he had something against me. It must have been what happened yesterday.

“Let’s sit down, gentlemen,” Simonov called as he came in. “Everything is ready. I can assure you the champagne is perfectly chilled.... You see, I didn’t know your address. Where was I supposed to look for you?” He suddenly turned to me, but again he seemed to avoid looking at me. Clearly, he had something against me. It must have been because of what happened yesterday.

All sat down; I did the same. It was a round table. Trudolyubov was on my left, Simonov on my right, Zverkov was sitting opposite, Ferfitchkin next to him, between him and Trudolyubov.

Everyone sat down, and I did the same. The table was round. Trudolyubov was on my left, and Simonov was on my right. Zverkov sat opposite me. Ferfitchkin sat next to Zverkov, between him and Trudolyubov.

“Tell me, are you ... in a government office?” Zverkov went on attending to me. Seeing that I was embarrassed he seriously thought that he ought to be friendly to me, and, so to speak, cheer me up.

“Tell me, do you ... work in a government office?” Zverkov continued to pay attention to me. Seeing that I was embarrassed, he seriously thought he should be friendly and, so to speak, cheer me up.

“Does he want me to throw a bottle at his head?” I thought, in a fury. In my novel surroundings I was unnaturally ready to be irritated.

“Does he want me to throw a bottle at his head?” I thought furiously. In these unfamiliar surroundings, I was unusually quick to get irritated.

“In the N—— office,” I answered jerkily, with my eyes on my plate.

“In the N... office,” I answered haltingly, looking down at my plate.

“And ha-ave you a go-od berth? I say, what ma-a-de you leave your original job?”

“And do you have a go-od job? Tell me, what ma-a-de you leave your old job?”

“What ma-a-de me was that I wanted to leave my original job,” I drawled more than he, hardly able to control myself. Ferfitchkin went off into a guffaw. Simonov looked at me ironically. Trudolyubov left off eating and began looking at me with curiosity.

“What ma-a-de me was that I wanted to leave my original job,” I drawled even more than he did, hardly able to control myself. Ferfitchkin burst out laughing. Simonov gave me an ironic look. Trudolyubov stopped eating and looked at me curiously.

Zverkov winced, but he tried not to notice it.

Zverkov winced, but he tried not to notice it.

“And the remuneration?”

“And the pay?”

“What remuneration?”

“What payment?”

“I mean, your sa-a-lary?”

“I mean, your sa-a-lary?”

“Why are you cross-examining me?” However, I told him at once what my salary was. I turned horribly red.

“Why are you questioning me?” But I told him my salary right away. I turned terribly red.

“It is not very handsome,” Zverkov observed majestically.

“That’s not very decent,” Zverkov said grandly.

“Yes, you can’t afford to dine at cafés on that,” Ferfitchkin added insolently.

“Yes, you can’t afford to eat at cafés on that,” Ferfitchkin added rudely.

“To my thinking it’s very poor,” Trudolyubov observed gravely.

“I think it’s very poor,” Trudolyubov said seriously.

“And how thin you have grown! How you have changed!” added Zverkov, with a shade of venom in his voice, scanning me and my attire with a sort of insolent compassion.

“And how thin you’ve become! How you’ve changed!” Zverkov added, with a hint of venom in his voice. He looked me and my clothes over with a kind of insolent pity.

“Oh, spare his blushes,” cried Ferfitchkin, sniggering.

“Oh, don't embarrass him,” cried Ferfitchkin, snickering.

“My dear sir, allow me to tell you I am not blushing,” I broke out at last; “do you hear? I am dining here, at this cafe, at my own expense, not at other people’s—note that, Mr. Ferfitchkin.”

“My dear sir, I am not blushing,” I finally burst out. “Do you hear me? I’m eating here at this cafe with my own money, not someone else’s. Remember that, Mr. Ferfitchkin.”

“Wha-at? Isn’t every one here dining at his own expense? You would seem to be ...” Ferfitchkin flew out at me, turning as red as a lobster, and looking me in the face with fury.

“Wha-at? Isn’t everyone here paying for their own dinner? You seem to be ...” Ferfitchkin snapped at me. He turned as red as a lobster and stared furiously into my face.

“Tha-at,” I answered, feeling I had gone too far, “and I imagine it would be better to talk of something more intelligent.”

“Tha-at,” I replied, feeling I had gone too far, “and I think it would be better to talk about something more intelligent.”

“You intend to show off your intelligence, I suppose?”

“You’re planning to show off how smart you are, I suppose?”

“Don’t disturb yourself, that would be quite out of place here.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. That would be quite out of place here.”

“Why are you clacking away like that, my good sir, eh? Have you gone out of your wits in your office?”

“Why are you clacking away like that, sir? Have you lost your mind in your office?”

“Enough, gentlemen, enough!” Zverkov cried, authoritatively.

“Enough, gentlemen, enough!” Zverkov shouted firmly.

“How stupid it is!” muttered Simonov.

“How stupid!” Simonov muttered.

“It really is stupid. We have met here, a company of friends, for a farewell dinner to a comrade and you carry on an altercation,” said Trudolyubov, rudely addressing himself to me alone. “You invited yourself to join us, so don’t disturb the general harmony.”

“This really is stupid. We’re a group of friends gathered here for a farewell dinner for a comrade, and you’re arguing,” said Trudolyubov, rudely addressing me alone. “You invited yourself, so don’t spoil the harmony.”

“Enough, enough!” cried Zverkov. “Give over, gentlemen, it’s out of place. Better let me tell you how I nearly got married the day before yesterday....”

“Enough, enough!” cried Zverkov. “Stop, gentlemen, this is out of place. Let me tell you how I nearly got married two days ago....”

And then followed a burlesque narrative of how this gentleman had almost been married two days before. There was not a word about the marriage, however, but the story was adorned with generals, colonels and kammer-junkers, while Zverkov almost took the lead among them. It was greeted with approving laughter; Ferfitchkin positively squealed.

Then came a ridiculous story about how this gentleman had nearly gotten married two days earlier. Yet the story said nothing about the marriage. Instead, it was full of generals, colonels, and kammer-junkers, with Zverkov almost taking the lead among them. The story was greeted with approving laughter. Ferfitchkin practically squealed.

No one paid any attention to me, and I sat crushed and humiliated.

No one paid any attention to me, and I sat there, crushed and humiliated.

“Good Heavens, these are not the people for me!” I thought. “And what a fool I have made of myself before them! I let Ferfitchkin go too far, though. The brutes imagine they are doing me an honour in letting me sit down with them. They don’t understand that it’s an honour to them and not to me! I’ve grown thinner! My clothes! Oh, damn my trousers! Zverkov noticed the yellow stain on the knee as soon as he came in.... But what’s the use! I must get up at once, this very minute, take my hat and simply go without a word ... with contempt! And tomorrow I can send a challenge. The scoundrels! As though I cared about the seven roubles. They may think.... Damn it! I don’t care about the seven roubles. I’ll go this minute!”

“Good heavens, these aren't my kind of people!” I thought. “And what a fool I've made of myself in front of them! Still, I let Ferfitchkin go too far. The brutes think they're doing me an honor by letting me sit with them. They don't understand that it's an honor for them, not for me! I've gotten thinner! My clothes! Oh, damn my pants! Zverkov noticed the yellow stain on the knee as soon as he came in.... But what's the use! I must get up right now, grab my hat, and leave without a word ... with contempt! And tomorrow I can challenge one of them to a duel. The scoundrels! As if I cared about the seven roubles. They may think.... Damn it! I don't care about the seven roubles. I'll leave this minute!”

Of course I remained. I drank sherry and Lafitte by the glassful in my discomfiture. Being unaccustomed to it, I was quickly affected. My annoyance increased as the wine went to my head. I longed all at once to insult them all in a most flagrant manner and then go away. To seize the moment and show what I could do, so that they would say, “He’s clever, though he is absurd,” and ... and ... in fact, damn them all!

Of course I stayed. Embarrassed, I drank glass after glass of sherry and Lafitte. I wasn’t used to drinking, so the wine quickly affected me. As it went to my head, I grew more annoyed. Suddenly I longed to insult them all outrageously and then leave. I wanted to seize the moment and show what I could do, so that they would say, “He’s clever, though he is absurd,” and ... and ... in fact, damn them all!

I scanned them all insolently with my drowsy eyes. But they seemed to have forgotten me altogether. They were noisy, vociferous, cheerful. Zverkov was talking all the time. I began listening. Zverkov was talking of some exuberant lady whom he had at last led on to declaring her love (of course, he was lying like a horse), and how he had been helped in this affair by an intimate friend of his, a Prince Kolya, an officer in the hussars, who had three thousand serfs.

I stared rudely at each of them through sleepy eyes. But they seemed to have forgotten me altogether. They were loud and cheerful. Zverkov was talking nonstop, so I began to listen. He was talking about some lively woman he had finally persuaded to declare her love for him. (Of course, he was lying through his teeth.) He also told how a close friend had helped him in the affair. The friend was Prince Kolya, a hussar officer who owned three thousand serfs.

“And yet this Kolya, who has three thousand serfs, has not put in an appearance here tonight to see you off,” I cut in suddenly.

“And yet Kolya has three thousand serfs, and he hasn't shown up tonight to see you off,” I suddenly cut in.

For one minute every one was silent. “You are drunk already.” Trudolyubov deigned to notice me at last, glancing contemptuously in my direction. Zverkov, without a word, examined me as though I were an insect. I dropped my eyes. Simonov made haste to fill up the glasses with champagne.

Everyone was silent for a minute. “You’re already drunk.” Trudolyubov finally bothered to notice me, glancing at me with contempt. Zverkov said nothing, but studied me as if I were an insect. I looked down. Simonov hurried to fill the glasses with champagne.

Trudolyubov raised his glass, as did everyone else but me.

Trudolyubov raised his glass, and everyone else did too, except me.

“Your health and good luck on the journey!” he cried to Zverkov. “To old times, to our future, hurrah!”

“Here's to your health and a safe journey!” he cried to Zverkov. “To old times and our future, hurrah!”

They all tossed off their glasses, and crowded round Zverkov to kiss him. I did not move; my full glass stood untouched before me.

They all drained their glasses and crowded around Zverkov to kiss him. I did not move. My full glass stood untouched in front of me.

“Why, aren’t you going to drink it?” roared Trudolyubov, losing patience and turning menacingly to me.

“Why, aren’t you going to drink it?” Trudolyubov roared, losing patience and turning toward me menacingly.

“I want to make a speech separately, on my own account ... and then I’ll drink it, Mr. Trudolyubov.”

“I want to make my own speech separately ... and then I’ll drink it, Mr. Trudolyubov.”

“Spiteful brute!” muttered Simonov. I drew myself up in my chair and feverishly seized my glass, prepared for something extraordinary, though I did not know myself precisely what I was going to say.

“Spiteful brute!” Simonov muttered. I sat up straight in my chair and grabbed my glass feverishly, ready for something extraordinary. Though I didn't know exactly what I was going to say.

“Silence!” cried Ferfitchkin. “Now for a display of wit!”

“Quiet!” shouted Ferfitchkin. “Now for some wit!”

Zverkov waited very gravely, knowing what was coming.

Zverkov waited very seriously, knowing what was coming.

“Mr. Lieutenant Zverkov,” I began, “let me tell you that I hate phrases, phrasemongers and men in corsets ... that’s the first point, and there is a second one to follow it.”

“Mr. Lieutenant Zverkov,” I began, “I hate empty phrases, people who use them, and men in corsets ... That’s my first point. I have a second one to follow.”

There was a general stir.

There was a stir among everyone.

“The second point is: I hate ribaldry and ribald talkers. Especially ribald talkers! The third point: I love justice, truth and honesty.” I went on almost mechanically, for I was beginning to shiver with horror myself and had no idea how I came to be talking like this. “I love thought, Monsieur Zverkov; I love true comradeship, on an equal footing and not ... H’m ... I love ... But, however, why not? I will drink your health, too, Mr. Zverkov. Seduce the Circassian girls, shoot the enemies of the fatherland and ... and ... to your health, Monsieur Zverkov!”

“The second point is: I hate dirty talk and people who talk that way. Especially people who talk that way! The third point: I love justice, truth, and honesty.” I went on almost mechanically. I was beginning to shiver with horror myself, and I had no idea how I had come to talk like this. “I love thought, Monsieur Zverkov. I love true comradeship, on equal terms and not ... Hmm ... I love ... But, anyway, why not? I’ll drink to your health too, Mr. Zverkov. Seduce the Circassian girls, shoot the enemies of the fatherland and ... and ... to your health, Monsieur Zverkov!”

Zverkov got up from his seat, bowed to me and said:

Zverkov stood up, bowed to me, and said:

“I am very much obliged to you.” He was frightfully offended and turned pale.

“Thank you very much.” He was deeply offended and turned pale.

“Damn the fellow!” roared Trudolyubov, bringing his fist down on the table.

“Damn him!” roared Trudolyubov, slamming his fist on the table.

“Well, he wants a punch in the face for that,” squealed Ferfitchkin.

“Well, he deserves a punch in the face for that,” squealed Ferfitchkin.

“We ought to turn him out,” muttered Simonov.

“We should kick him out,” muttered Simonov.

“Not a word, gentlemen, not a movement!” cried Zverkov solemnly, checking the general indignation. “I thank you all, but I can show him for myself how much value I attach to his words.”

“Not a word, gentlemen, and don’t move!” Zverkov cried solemnly, stopping the others from protesting. “I thank you all, but I can show him myself how much I value his words.”

“Mr. Ferfitchkin, you will give me satisfaction tomorrow for your words just now!” I said aloud, turning with dignity to Ferfitchkin.

“Mr. Ferfitchkin, you will fight me in a duel tomorrow for what you just said!” I said aloud, turning to Ferfitchkin with dignity.

“A duel, you mean? Certainly,” he answered. But probably I was so ridiculous as I challenged him and it was so out of keeping with my appearance that everyone including Ferfitchkin was prostrate with laughter.

“A duel, you mean? Certainly,” he answered. But I must have looked so ridiculous challenging him, and so unlike someone who would, that everyone, including Ferfitchkin, collapsed with laughter.

“Yes, let him alone, of course! He is quite drunk,” Trudolyubov said with disgust.

“Yes, of course, leave him alone! He’s completely drunk,” Trudolyubov said with disgust.

“I shall never forgive myself for letting him join us,” Simonov muttered again.

“I’ll never forgive myself for letting him join us,” Simonov muttered again.

“Now is the time to throw a bottle at their heads,” I thought to myself. I picked up the bottle ... and filled my glass.... “No, I’d better sit on to the end,” I went on thinking; “you would be pleased, my friends, if I went away. Nothing will induce me to go. I’ll go on sitting here and drinking to the end, on purpose, as a sign that I don’t think you of the slightest consequence. I will go on sitting and drinking, because this is a public-house and I paid my entrance money. I’ll sit here and drink, for I look upon you as so many pawns, as inanimate pawns. I’ll sit here and drink ... and sing if I want to, yes, sing, for I have the right to ... to sing ... H’m!”

“Now’s the time to throw a bottle at their heads,” I thought. I picked up the bottle ... and filled my glass.... “No, I’d better stay until the end,” I thought. “You’d be pleased, my friends, if I left. Nothing will make me leave. I’ll stay here and drink until the end, just to show how little you matter to me. I’ll stay and drink because this is a pub and I paid to get in. I’ll sit here and drink because I see you as nothing but pawns, lifeless pawns. I’ll sit here and drink ... and sing if I want to. Yes, sing, because I have the right to ... to sing ... Hm!”

But I did not sing. I simply tried not to look at any of them. I assumed most unconcerned attitudes and waited with impatience for them to speak first. But alas, they did not address me! And oh, how I wished, how I wished at that moment to be reconciled to them! It struck eight, at last nine. They moved from the table to the sofa. Zverkov stretched himself on a lounge and put one foot on a round table. Wine was brought there. He did, as a fact, order three bottles on his own account. I, of course, was not invited to join them. They all sat round him on the sofa. They listened to him, almost with reverence. It was evident that they were fond of him. “What for? What for?” I wondered. From time to time they were moved to drunken enthusiasm and kissed each other. They talked of the Caucasus, of the nature of true passion, of snug berths in the service, of the income of an hussar called Podharzhevsky, whom none of them knew personally, and rejoiced in the largeness of it, of the extraordinary grace and beauty of a Princess D., whom none of them had ever seen; then it came to Shakespeare’s being immortal.

But I did not sing. I simply tried not to look at any of them. I acted as unconcerned as possible and waited impatiently for them to speak first. But alas, they did not speak to me! And oh, how I wished, how I wished at that moment to make peace with them! The clock struck eight, and finally nine. They moved from the table to the sofa. Zverkov stretched out on a lounge and put one foot on a round table. Wine was brought over. He did, in fact, order three bottles at his own expense. Of course, I was not invited to join them. They all sat around him on the sofa. They listened to him almost reverently. Clearly, they were fond of him. “What for? What for?” I wondered. From time to time, they grew drunk and enthusiastic and kissed each other. They talked about the Caucasus, the nature of true passion, and comfortable positions in the service. They talked about the income of a hussar named Podharzhevsky. None of them knew him personally, but they were delighted by how large his income was. They talked about the extraordinary grace and beauty of a Princess D., though none of them had ever seen her. Then they came to the subject of Shakespeare’s immortality.

I smiled contemptuously and walked up and down the other side of the room, opposite the sofa, from the table to the stove and back again. I tried my very utmost to show them that I could do without them, and yet I purposely made a noise with my boots, thumping with my heels. But it was all in vain. They paid no attention. I had the patience to walk up and down in front of them from eight o’clock till eleven, in the same place, from the table to the stove and back again. “I walk up and down to please myself and no one can prevent me.” The waiter who came into the room stopped, from time to time, to look at me. I was somewhat giddy from turning round so often; at moments it seemed to me that I was in delirium. During those three hours I was three times soaked with sweat and dry again. At times, with an intense, acute pang I was stabbed to the heart by the thought that ten years, twenty years, forty years would pass, and that even in forty years I would remember with loathing and humiliation those filthiest, most ludicrous, and most awful moments of my life. No one could have gone out of his way to degrade himself more shamelessly, and I fully realised it, fully, and yet I went on pacing up and down from the table to the stove. “Oh, if you only knew what thoughts and feelings I am capable of, how cultured I am!” I thought at moments, mentally addressing the sofa on which my enemies were sitting. But my enemies behaved as though I were not in the room. Once—only once—they turned towards me, just when Zverkov was talking about Shakespeare, and I suddenly gave a contemptuous laugh. I laughed in such an affected and disgusting way that they all at once broke off their conversation, and silently and gravely for two minutes watched me walking up and down from the table to the stove, taking no notice of them. But nothing came of it: they said nothing, and two minutes later they ceased to notice me again. It struck eleven.

I smiled contemptuously and paced along the other side of the room, opposite the sofa. I walked from the table to the stove and back again. I tried my hardest to show them I didn’t need them. Yet I deliberately made noise with my boots, thumping my heels. But it was no use. They paid no attention. I kept pacing in front of them from eight o’clock until eleven. I walked in the same place, from the table to the stove and back again. “I’m walking up and down because I want to, and no one can stop me.” The waiter came into the room and stopped from time to time to look at me. All that turning made me a little dizzy. At moments, I felt as if I were delirious. During those three hours, I was soaked with sweat three times and dried off again each time. At times, a thought stabbed my heart with sharp, intense pain. Ten years, twenty years, forty years would pass. Even after forty years, I would remember those moments with disgust and humiliation. They were the filthiest, most ridiculous, and most awful moments of my life. No one could have gone further out of his way to degrade himself so shamelessly. I understood that fully, fully, yet I kept pacing from the table to the stove. “Oh, if you only knew what thoughts and feelings I’m capable of, how cultured I am!” At moments, I directed that thought at the sofa where my enemies sat. But my enemies acted as though I weren’t in the room. Only once did they turn toward me. Zverkov was talking about Shakespeare when I suddenly gave a contemptuous laugh. My laugh was so affected and disgusting that they all stopped talking at once. For two minutes, they watched me in grave silence as I walked from the table to the stove, paying no attention to them. But nothing came of it. They said nothing, and two minutes later they stopped noticing me again. The clock struck eleven.

“Friends,” cried Zverkov getting up from the sofa, “let us all be off now, there!”

“Friends,” Zverkov cried, getting up from the sofa, “let's all go there now!”

“Of course, of course,” the others assented. I turned sharply to Zverkov. I was so harassed, so exhausted, that I would have cut my throat to put an end to it. I was in a fever; my hair, soaked with perspiration, stuck to my forehead and temples.

“Of course, of course,” the others agreed. I turned sharply to Zverkov. I was so distressed and exhausted that I would have cut my throat to end it all. I was feverish. My hair was soaked with sweat and stuck to my forehead and temples.

“Zverkov, I beg your pardon,” I said abruptly and resolutely. “Ferfitchkin, yours too, and everyone’s, everyone’s: I have insulted you all!”

“Zverkov, I’m sorry,” I said suddenly and firmly. “Ferfitchkin, I’m sorry to you too, and to everyone, everyone. I’ve insulted you all!”

“Aha! A duel is not in your line, old man,” Ferfitchkin hissed venomously.

“Aha! A duel isn't your thing, old man,” Ferfitchkin hissed venomously.

It sent a sharp pang to my heart.

I felt a sharp pain in my heart.

“No, it’s not the duel I am afraid of, Ferfitchkin! I am ready to fight you tomorrow, after we are reconciled. I insist upon it, in fact, and you cannot refuse. I want to show you that I am not afraid of a duel. You shall fire first and I shall fire into the air.”

“No, Ferfitchkin, I’m not afraid of the duel! I’m ready to fight you tomorrow, after we make up. In fact, I insist on the duel, and you can’t refuse. I want to show you that I’m not afraid of a duel. You’ll shoot first, and I’ll shoot into the air.”

“He is comforting himself,” said Simonov.

“He’s comforting himself,” said Simonov.

“He’s simply raving,” said Trudolyubov.

“He’s just raving,” said Trudolyubov.

“But let us pass. Why are you barring our way? What do you want?” Zverkov answered disdainfully.

“But let us through. Why are you blocking our way? What do you want?” Zverkov replied scornfully.

They were all flushed, their eyes were bright: they had been drinking heavily.

They were all flushed, and their eyes were bright. They had been drinking heavily.

“I ask for your friendship, Zverkov; I insulted you, but ...”

“I want to be your friend, Zverkov. I insulted you, but ...”

“Insulted? You insulted me? Understand, sir, that you never, under any circumstances, could possibly insult me.”

“Insulted? You insulted me? You need to understand, sir, that you could never insult me, under any circumstances.”

“And that’s enough for you. Out of the way!” concluded Trudolyubov.

“And that’s enough for you. Get out of the way!” Trudolyubov concluded.

“Olympia is mine, friends, that’s agreed!” cried Zverkov.

“Olympia is mine, friends, that’s settled!” shouted Zverkov.

“We won’t dispute your right, we won’t dispute your right,” the others answered, laughing.

“We won’t question your right, we won’t question your right,” the others replied, laughing.

I stood as though spat upon. The party went noisily out of the room. Trudolyubov struck up some stupid song. Simonov remained behind for a moment to tip the waiters. I suddenly went up to him.

I stood there as if someone had spat on me. The group left the room noisily. Trudolyubov started singing some stupid song. Simonov stayed behind for a moment to tip the waiters. I suddenly went up to him.

“Simonov! give me six roubles!” I said, with desperate resolution.

“Simonov! Give me six roubles!” I said, with desperate determination.

He looked at me in extreme amazement, with vacant eyes. He, too, was drunk.

He stared at me in utter amazement, his eyes blank. He was drunk too.

“You don’t mean you are coming with us?”

“You’re not coming with us, are you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve no money,” he snapped out, and with a scornful laugh he went out of the room.

“I have no money,” he snapped. He laughed scornfully and left the room.

I clutched at his overcoat. It was a nightmare.

I grabbed his coat. It was a nightmare.

“Simonov, I saw you had money. Why do you refuse me? Am I a scoundrel? Beware of refusing me: if you knew, if you knew why I am asking! My whole future, my whole plans depend upon it!”

“Simonov, I saw that you had money. Why won’t you lend it to me? Am I a scoundrel? Be careful about refusing me. If you only knew, if you only knew why I’m asking! My whole future and all my plans depend on it!”

Simonov pulled out the money and almost flung it at me.

Simonov pulled out the money and almost threw it at me.

“Take it, if you have no sense of shame!” he pronounced pitilessly, and ran to overtake them.

“Take it, if you have no shame!” he said mercilessly, then ran to catch up with them.

I was left for a moment alone. Disorder, the remains of dinner, a broken wine-glass on the floor, spilt wine, cigarette ends, fumes of drink and delirium in my brain, an agonising misery in my heart and finally the waiter, who had seen and heard all and was looking inquisitively into my face.

I was left alone for a moment. There was disorder, the remains of dinner, a broken wineglass on the floor, spilled wine, and cigarette ends. My brain was clouded by alcohol and delirium, and my heart was filled with agonizing misery. Finally, there was the waiter, who had seen and heard everything and was looking curiously into my face.

“I am going there!” I cried. “Either they shall all go down on their knees to beg for my friendship, or I will give Zverkov a slap in the face!”

“I’m going there!” I cried. “Either they’ll all get down on their knees and beg for my friendship, or I’ll slap Zverkov in the face!”