About the Wet Snow

“So this is it, this is it at last—contact with real life,” I muttered as I ran headlong downstairs. “This is very different from the Pope’s leaving Rome and going to Brazil, very different from the ball on Lake Como!”

“So this is it, this is it at last. Contact with real life,” I muttered as I rushed downstairs. “This is very different from the Pope leaving Rome and going to Brazil. It’s very different from the ball on Lake Como!”

“You are a scoundrel,” a thought flashed through my mind, “if you laugh at this now.”

“You’re a scoundrel,” I suddenly thought, “if you laugh at this now.”

“No matter!” I cried, answering myself. “Now everything is lost!”

“It doesn’t matter!” I cried, answering myself. “Now everything is lost!”

There was no trace to be seen of them, but that made no difference—I knew where they had gone.

There was no sign of them, but that made no difference. I knew where they had gone.

At the steps was standing a solitary night sledge-driver in a rough peasant coat, powdered over with the still falling, wet, and as it were warm, snow. It was hot and steamy. The little shaggy piebald horse was also covered with snow and coughing, I remember that very well. I made a rush for the roughly made sledge; but as soon as I raised my foot to get into it, the recollection of how Simonov had just given me six roubles seemed to double me up and I tumbled into the sledge like a sack.

A lone night sledge-driver stood by the steps in a rough peasant coat. He was dusted with wet snow, still falling, which seemed almost warm. It was hot and steamy. His little shaggy, spotted horse was covered in snow too, and was coughing. I remember that very well. I rushed toward the crudely made sledge. But as soon as I lifted my foot to climb in, I remembered how Simonov had just given me six roubles. The memory seemed to double me over, and I fell into the sledge like a sack.

“No, I must do a great deal to make up for all that,” I cried. “But I will make up for it or perish on the spot this very night. Start!”

“No, I have a lot to do to make up for all that,” I cried. “But I’ll make up for it tonight or die on the spot. Go!”

We set off. There was a perfect whirl in my head.

We set off. My head was spinning.

“They won’t go down on their knees to beg for my friendship. That is a mirage, cheap mirage, revolting, romantic and fantastical—that’s another ball on Lake Como. And so I am bound to slap Zverkov’s face! It is my duty to. And so it is settled; I am flying to give him a slap in the face. Hurry up!”

“They won’t get down on their knees and beg for my friendship. That’s an illusion, a cheap, disgusting, romantic fantasy. It’s another ball on Lake Como. So I have to slap Zverkov in the face! It’s my duty. So it’s settled. I’m rushing off to slap him in the face. Hurry up!”

The driver tugged at the reins.

The driver tugged at the reins.

“As soon as I go in I’ll give it him. Ought I before giving him the slap to say a few words by way of preface? No. I’ll simply go in and give it him. They will all be sitting in the drawing-room, and he with Olympia on the sofa. That damned Olympia! She laughed at my looks on one occasion and refused me. I’ll pull Olympia’s hair, pull Zverkov’s ears! No, better one ear, and pull him by it round the room. Maybe they will all begin beating me and will kick me out. That’s most likely, indeed. No matter! Anyway, I shall first slap him; the initiative will be mine; and by the laws of honour that is everything: he will be branded and cannot wipe off the slap by any blows, by nothing but a duel. He will be forced to fight. And let them beat me now. Let them, the ungrateful wretches! Trudolyubov will beat me hardest, he is so strong; Ferfitchkin will be sure to catch hold sideways and tug at my hair. But no matter, no matter! That’s what I am going for. The blockheads will be forced at last to see the tragedy of it all! When they drag me to the door I shall call out to them that in reality they are not worth my little finger. Get on, driver, get on!” I cried to the driver. He started and flicked his whip, I shouted so savagely.

“As soon as I go in, I’ll slap him. Should I say a few words before I slap him? No. I’ll just go in and slap him. They’ll all be sitting in the drawing room, and he’ll be on the sofa with Olympia. That damned Olympia! She once laughed at my looks and rejected me. I’ll pull Olympia’s hair and Zverkov’s ears! No, better to pull just one ear and drag him around the room by it. Maybe they’ll all start beating me and kick me out. That’s most likely, in fact. No matter! I’ll slap him first, anyway. I’ll be the one to strike first, and by the laws of honor, that’s everything. He’ll be branded, and no beating can wipe away the slap. Only a duel can do that. He’ll be forced to fight. So let them beat me now. Let them, the ungrateful wretches! Trudolyubov will beat me hardest because he’s so strong. Ferfitchkin is sure to grab me from the side and pull my hair. But no matter, no matter! That’s what I’m going for. At last, the idiots will be forced to see the tragedy of it all! When they drag me to the door, I’ll shout that none of them is really worth my little finger. Faster, driver, faster!” I shouted to the driver. He started and flicked his whip because I had shouted so savagely.

“We shall fight at daybreak, that’s a settled thing. I’ve done with the office. Ferfitchkin made a joke about it just now. But where can I get pistols? Nonsense! I’ll get my salary in advance and buy them. And powder, and bullets? That’s the second’s business. And how can it all be done by daybreak? and where am I to get a second? I have no friends. Nonsense!” I cried, lashing myself up more and more. “It’s of no consequence! The first person I meet in the street is bound to be my second, just as he would be bound to pull a drowning man out of water. The most eccentric things may happen. Even if I were to ask the director himself to be my second tomorrow, he would be bound to consent, if only from a feeling of chivalry, and to keep the secret! Anton Antonitch....”

“We’ll fight at daybreak. That’s settled. I’m done with the office. Ferfitchkin just joked about it. But where can I get pistols? Nonsense! I’ll get an advance on my salary and buy them. And powder and bullets? That’s the second’s job. But how can it all be done by daybreak? And where am I going to find a second? I have no friends. Nonsense!” I cried, working myself up more and more. “It doesn’t matter! The first person I meet in the street is bound to be my second. Just as he would be bound to pull a drowning man out of the water. The strangest things can happen. Even if I asked the director himself to be my second tomorrow, he would be bound to agree. If only out of a sense of chivalry, he would be bound to keep it secret too! Anton Antonitch....”

The fact is, that at that very minute the disgusting absurdity of my plan and the other side of the question was clearer and more vivid to my imagination than it could be to anyone on earth. But ....

The fact is, at that very moment, I could imagine the disgusting absurdity of my plan more clearly and vividly than anyone else on earth. I could also see the other side of the question more clearly. But ....

“Get on, driver, get on, you rascal, get on!”

“Move on, driver, move on, you rascal, move on!”

“Ugh, sir!” said the son of toil.

“Ugh, sir!” said the worker.

Cold shivers suddenly ran down me. Wouldn’t it be better ... to go straight home? My God, my God! Why did I invite myself to this dinner yesterday? But no, it’s impossible. And my walking up and down for three hours from the table to the stove? No, they, they and no one else must pay for my walking up and down! They must wipe out this dishonour! Drive on!

A sudden chill ran through me. Wouldn’t it be better ... to go straight home? My God, my God! Why did I invite myself to this dinner yesterday? But no, going home was impossible. What about the three hours I’d spent pacing between the table and the stove? No, they, and no one else, must pay for those three hours of pacing! They must make up for this humiliation! Drive on!

And what if they give me into custody? They won’t dare! They’ll be afraid of the scandal. And what if Zverkov is so contemptuous that he refuses to fight a duel? He is sure to; but in that case I’ll show them ... I will turn up at the posting station when he’s setting off tomorrow, I’ll catch him by the leg, I’ll pull off his coat when he gets into the carriage. I’ll get my teeth into his hand, I’ll bite him. “See what lengths you can drive a desperate man to!” He may hit me on the head and they may belabour me from behind. I will shout to the assembled multitude: “Look at this young puppy who is driving off to captivate the Circassian girls after letting me spit in his face!”

What if they have me arrested? They won’t dare! They’ll be afraid of the scandal. And what if Zverkov despises me so much that he refuses to fight a duel? He’s sure to refuse, but in that case I’ll show them ... I’ll turn up at the posting station when he leaves tomorrow. I’ll grab him by the leg. I’ll pull off his coat as he gets into the carriage. I’ll sink my teeth into his hand. I’ll bite him. “See what lengths you can drive a desperate man to!” He may hit me on the head, and they may beat me from behind. I’ll shout to the crowd: “Look at this young puppy! He’s driving off to captivate the Circassian girls after letting me spit in his face!”

Of course, after that everything will be over! The office will have vanished off the face of the earth. I shall be arrested, I shall be tried, I shall be dismissed from the service, thrown in prison, sent to Siberia. Never mind! In fifteen years when they let me out of prison I will trudge off to him, a beggar, in rags. I shall find him in some provincial town. He will be married and happy. He will have a grown-up daughter.... I shall say to him: “Look, monster, at my hollow cheeks and my rags! I’ve lost everything—my career, my happiness, art, science, the woman I loved, and all through you. Here are pistols. I have come to discharge my pistol and ... and I ... forgive you. Then I shall fire into the air and he will hear nothing more of me....”

Of course, after that, everything will be over! The office will have vanished from the face of the earth. I’ll be arrested, put on trial, fired from my job, thrown in prison, and sent to Siberia. Never mind! In fifteen years, when they let me out of prison, I’ll trudge off to him, a beggar in rags. I’ll find him in some provincial town. He’ll be married and happy. He’ll have a grown-up daughter.... I’ll say to him: “Look, monster, at my hollow cheeks and my rags! I’ve lost everything because of you. My career, my happiness, art, science, the woman I loved, all of it. Here are pistols. I’ve come to fire my pistol and ... and I ... forgive you. Then I’ll fire into the air, and he’ll never hear from me again....”

I was actually on the point of tears, though I knew perfectly well at that moment that all this was out of Pushkin’s Silvio and Lermontov’s Masquerade. And all at once I felt horribly ashamed, so ashamed that I stopped the horse, got out of the sledge, and stood still in the snow in the middle of the street. The driver gazed at me, sighing and astonished.

I was actually close to tears, though I knew perfectly well that all this came from Pushkin’s Silvio and Lermontov’s Masquerade. Suddenly, I felt horribly ashamed. I was so ashamed that I stopped the horse, got out of the sledge, and stood still in the snow in the middle of the street. The driver stared at me in astonishment and sighed.

What was I to do? I could not go on there—it was evidently stupid, and I could not leave things as they were, because that would seem as though ... Heavens, how could I leave things! And after such insults! “No!” I cried, throwing myself into the sledge again. “It is ordained! It is fate! Drive on, drive on!”

What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t go on there. That was clearly stupid. But I couldn’t leave things as they were, because that would seem as though ... My God, how could I leave things as they were! After such insults! “No!” I cried, throwing myself back into the sleigh. “It’s meant to be! It’s fate! Drive on, drive on!”

And in my impatience I punched the sledge-driver on the back of the neck.

And in my impatience, I punched the sled driver in the back of the neck.

“What are you up to? What are you hitting me for?” the peasant shouted, but he whipped up his nag so that it began kicking.

“What are you doing? Why are you hitting me?” the peasant shouted. But he whipped his old horse until it began kicking.

The wet snow was falling in big flakes; I unbuttoned myself, regardless of it. I forgot everything else, for I had finally decided on the slap, and felt with horror that it was going to happen now, at once, and that no force could stop it. The deserted street lamps gleamed sullenly in the snowy darkness like torches at a funeral. The snow drifted under my great-coat, under my coat, under my cravat, and melted there. I did not wrap myself up—all was lost, anyway.

Wet snow fell in large flakes. I unbuttoned my coat, ignoring the snow. I forgot everything else because I had finally decided to slap him. I felt with horror that it would happen now, at once, and that no force could stop it. The street lamps on the deserted street glowed dimly in the snowy darkness, like torches at a funeral. Snow drifted under my overcoat, my coat, and my cravat, and melted there. I did not cover myself up. All was lost anyway.

At last we arrived. I jumped out, almost unconscious, ran up the steps and began knocking and kicking at the door. I felt fearfully weak, particularly in my legs and knees. The door was opened quickly as though they knew I was coming. As a fact, Simonov had warned them that perhaps another gentleman would arrive, and this was a place in which one had to give notice and to observe certain precautions. It was one of those “millinery establishments” which were abolished by the police a good time ago. By day it really was a shop; but at night, if one had an introduction, one might visit it for other purposes.

At last we arrived. I jumped out, almost unconscious, ran up the steps, and began knocking and kicking at the door. I felt terribly weak, especially in my legs and knees. The door opened quickly, as though they knew I was coming. In fact, Simonov had warned them that another gentleman might arrive. At this place, you had to give notice and take certain precautions. It was one of those “millinery establishments” that the police shut down long ago. By day, it really was a shop. But at night, if you had an introduction, you could visit it for other purposes.

I walked rapidly through the dark shop into the familiar drawing-room, where there was only one candle burning, and stood still in amazement: there was no one there. “Where are they?” I asked somebody. But by now, of course, they had separated. Before me was standing a person with a stupid smile, the “madam” herself, who had seen me before. A minute later a door opened and another person came in.

I hurried through the dark shop into the familiar sitting room. Only one candle was burning. I stopped in amazement: no one was there. “Where are they?” I asked someone. But by now, of course, they had gone their separate ways. The “madam” herself stood before me with a stupid smile. She had seen me before. A minute later, a door opened and another person came in.

Taking no notice of anything I strode about the room, and, I believe, I talked to myself. I felt as though I had been saved from death and was conscious of this, joyfully, all over: I should have given that slap, I should certainly, certainly have given it! But now they were not here and ... everything had vanished and changed! I looked round. I could not realise my condition yet. I looked mechanically at the girl who had come in: and had a glimpse of a fresh, young, rather pale face, with straight, dark eyebrows, and with grave, as it were wondering, eyes that attracted me at once; I should have hated her if she had been smiling. I began looking at her more intently and, as it were, with effort. I had not fully collected my thoughts. There was something simple and good-natured in her face, but something strangely grave. I am sure that this stood in her way here, and no one of those fools had noticed her. She could not, however, have been called a beauty, though she was tall, strong-looking, and well built. She was very simply dressed. Something loathsome stirred within me. I went straight up to her.

Paying no attention to anything, I paced the room, and I think I talked to myself. I felt as if I had been saved from death, and the joy of it filled my whole body. I would have slapped him. I certainly, certainly would have! But now they were gone and ... everything had vanished and changed! I looked around. I still could not grasp my situation. I glanced mechanically at the girl who had come in. Her face was fresh, young, and rather pale, with straight, dark eyebrows. Her eyes were serious, almost questioning, and they attracted me at once. I would have hated her if she had been smiling. I began to look at her more closely, almost with effort. I had not fully collected my thoughts. There was something simple and good-natured about her face, but also something strangely serious. I am sure her seriousness was a disadvantage to her here, and none of those fools had noticed her. She could not, however, be called beautiful, though she was tall, strong-looking, and well built. She was dressed very simply. Something loathsome stirred inside me. I went straight up to her.

I chanced to look into the glass. My harassed face struck me as revolting in the extreme, pale, angry, abject, with dishevelled hair. “No matter, I am glad of it,” I thought; “I am glad that I shall seem repulsive to her; I like that.”

I happened to look in the mirror. My distressed face looked utterly revolting: pale, angry, and miserable, with messy hair. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad of it,” I thought. “I’m glad she’ll find me repulsive. I like that.”