About the Wet Snow

It was some time, however, before I consented to recognise that truth. Waking up in the morning after some hours of heavy, leaden sleep, and immediately realising all that had happened on the previous day, I was positively amazed at my last night’s sentimentality with Liza, at all those “outcries of horror and pity.” “To think of having such an attack of womanish hysteria, pah!” I concluded. And what did I thrust my address upon her for? What if she comes? Let her come, though; it doesn’t matter.... But obviously, that was not now the chief and the most important matter: I had to make haste and at all costs save my reputation in the eyes of Zverkov and Simonov as quickly as possible; that was the chief business. And I was so taken up that morning that I actually forgot all about Liza.

But it took me some time to admit that truth. I woke up in the morning after several hours of heavy, leaden sleep. I immediately remembered everything that had happened the day before. I was absolutely amazed at my sentimentality with Liza the night before, at all those “outcries of horror and pity.” “To think I had such a fit of womanish hysteria, pah!” I concluded. And why had I insisted on giving her my address? What if she comes? Let her come, though. It doesn’t matter.... But obviously, that was not the main concern now. I had to hurry and save my reputation in the eyes of Zverkov and Simonov as quickly as possible, at all costs. That was the main thing. And I was so preoccupied that morning that I actually forgot all about Liza.

First of all I had at once to repay what I had borrowed the day before from Simonov. I resolved on a desperate measure: to borrow fifteen roubles straight off from Anton Antonitch. As luck would have it he was in the best of humours that morning, and gave it to me at once, on the first asking. I was so delighted at this that, as I signed the IOU with a swaggering air, I told him casually that the night before “I had been keeping it up with some friends at the Hôtel de Paris; we were giving a farewell party to a comrade, in fact, I might say a friend of my childhood, and you know—a desperate rake, fearfully spoilt—of course, he belongs to a good family, and has considerable means, a brilliant career; he is witty, charming, a regular Lovelace, you understand; we drank an extra ‘half-dozen’ and ...”

First, I had to repay Simonov immediately for what I had borrowed the day before. I decided on a desperate measure: I would borrow fifteen roubles from Anton Antonitch right away. Luckily, he was in an excellent mood that morning and gave me the money as soon as I asked. I was so delighted that I signed the IOU with a swagger and casually told him: “Last night I was out drinking with some friends at the Hôtel de Paris. We were giving a farewell party for a comrade, a childhood friend, you might say. And you know, he’s a real rake, terribly spoiled. Of course, he comes from a good family, has plenty of money and a brilliant career. He’s witty, charming, a real Lovelace, you understand. We drank another ‘half-dozen’ and ...”

And it went off all right; all this was uttered very easily, unconstrainedly and complacently.

And it went all right. All of this was said easily, without restraint and with self-satisfaction.

On reaching home I promptly wrote to Simonov.

As soon as I got home, I wrote to Simonov.

To this hour I am lost in admiration when I recall the truly gentlemanly, good-humoured, candid tone of my letter. With tact and good-breeding, and, above all, entirely without superfluous words, I blamed myself for all that had happened. I defended myself, “if I really may be allowed to defend myself,” by alleging that being utterly unaccustomed to wine, I had been intoxicated with the first glass, which I said, I had drunk before they arrived, while I was waiting for them at the Hôtel de Paris between five and six o’clock. I begged Simonov’s pardon especially; I asked him to convey my explanations to all the others, especially to Zverkov, whom “I seemed to remember as though in a dream” I had insulted. I added that I would have called upon all of them myself, but my head ached, and besides I had not the face to. I was particularly pleased with a certain lightness, almost carelessness (strictly within the bounds of politeness, however), which was apparent in my style, and better than any possible arguments, gave them at once to understand that I took rather an independent view of “all that unpleasantness last night”; that I was by no means so utterly crushed as you, my friends, probably imagine; but on the contrary, looked upon it as a gentleman serenely respecting himself should look upon it. “On a young hero’s past no censure is cast!”

Even now, I am filled with admiration when I remember the truly gentlemanly, good-humored, and candid tone of my letter. With tact and good manners, and above all without a single unnecessary word, I blamed myself for everything that had happened. I defended myself, “if I may really be allowed to defend myself,” by saying I was completely unaccustomed to wine. I claimed I had been drunk after the first glass. I said I had drunk it before they arrived, while waiting for them at the Hôtel de Paris between five and six o’clock. I especially begged Simonov’s pardon. I asked him to pass my explanations on to all the others, especially Zverkov. I said I “seemed to remember, as if in a dream” that I had insulted him. I added that I would have visited them all myself, but I had a headache. Besides, I could not face them. I was particularly pleased by the lightness, almost carelessness, of my style, though it stayed strictly within the bounds of politeness. Better than any possible argument, it immediately showed them that I had a rather independent view of “all that unpleasantness last night.” It showed them that I was by no means as utterly crushed as you, my friends, probably imagine. On the contrary, I viewed the affair as a gentleman with a calm respect for himself should. “A young hero’s past is beyond reproach!”

“There is actually an aristocratic playfulness about it!” I thought admiringly, as I read over the letter. “And it’s all because I am an intellectual and cultivated man! Another man in my place would not have known how to extricate himself, but here I have got out of it and am as jolly as ever again, and all because I am ‘a cultivated and educated man of our day.’ And, indeed, perhaps, everything was due to the wine yesterday. H’m!” ... No, it was not the wine. I did not drink anything at all between five and six when I was waiting for them. I had lied to Simonov; I had lied shamelessly; and indeed I wasn’t ashamed now.... Hang it all though, the great thing was that I was rid of it.

“There’s actually an aristocratic playfulness about it!” I thought admiringly as I reread the letter. “And it’s all because I’m an intellectual and cultured man! Another man in my place wouldn’t have known how to get out of it. But I’ve gotten out of it, and I’m as cheerful as ever again. And it’s all because I’m ‘a cultured and educated man of our time.’ And, really, perhaps it was all because of the wine yesterday. Hmm!” ... No, it wasn’t the wine. I hadn’t drunk anything between five and six, while I was waiting for them. I had lied to Simonov. I had lied shamelessly, and I wasn’t ashamed now either.... But damn it, the important thing was that I was rid of it.

I put six roubles in the letter, sealed it up, and asked Apollon to take it to Simonov. When he learned that there was money in the letter, Apollon became more respectful and agreed to take it. Towards evening I went out for a walk. My head was still aching and giddy after yesterday. But as evening came on and the twilight grew denser, my impressions and, following them, my thoughts, grew more and more different and confused. Something was not dead within me, in the depths of my heart and conscience it would not die, and it showed itself in acute depression. For the most part I jostled my way through the most crowded business streets, along Myeshtchansky Street, along Sadovy Street and in Yusupov Garden. I always liked particularly sauntering along these streets in the dusk, just when there were crowds of working people of all sorts going home from their daily work, with faces looking cross with anxiety. What I liked was just that cheap bustle, that bare prose. On this occasion the jostling of the streets irritated me more than ever, I could not make out what was wrong with me, I could not find the clue, something seemed rising up continually in my soul, painfully, and refusing to be appeased. I returned home completely upset, it was just as though some crime were lying on my conscience.

I put six roubles in the letter, sealed it, and asked Apollon to take it to Simonov. When Apollon learned there was money in the letter, he became more respectful and agreed to take it. Toward evening I went out for a walk. My head still ached and I felt dizzy after yesterday. But as evening fell and the twilight deepened, my impressions grew more and more confused, and so did my thoughts. Something deep in my heart and conscience was still alive and would not die. It made itself felt as a deep depression. For the most part, I pushed my way through the busiest shopping streets, along Myeshtchansky Street and Sadovy Street, and through Yusupov Garden. I had always especially liked wandering along those streets at dusk. Crowds of working people of all kinds would be heading home from their daily work, their faces tense with worry. What I liked was that cheap bustle, that bare prose. This time, the crowds jostling in the streets irritated me more than ever. I could not tell what was wrong with me or find a clue. Something seemed to keep rising painfully in my soul, refusing to be quieted. I came home completely upset. It was just as if I had a crime on my conscience.

The thought that Liza was coming worried me continually. It seemed queer to me that of all my recollections of yesterday this tormented me, as it were, especially, as it were, quite separately. Everything else I had quite succeeded in forgetting by the evening; I dismissed it all and was still perfectly satisfied with my letter to Simonov. But on this point I was not satisfied at all. It was as though I were worried only by Liza. “What if she comes,” I thought incessantly, “well, it doesn’t matter, let her come! H’m! it’s horrid that she should see, for instance, how I live. Yesterday I seemed such a hero to her, while now, h’m! It’s horrid, though, that I have let myself go so, the room looks like a beggar’s. And I brought myself to go out to dinner in such a suit! And my American leather sofa with the stuffing sticking out. And my dressing-gown, which will not cover me, such tatters, and she will see all this and she will see Apollon. That beast is certain to insult her. He will fasten upon her in order to be rude to me. And I, of course, shall be panic-stricken as usual, I shall begin bowing and scraping before her and pulling my dressing-gown round me, I shall begin smiling, telling lies. Oh, the beastliness! And it isn’t the beastliness of it that matters most! There is something more important, more loathsome, viler! Yes, viler! And to put on that dishonest lying mask again! ...”

The thought that Liza was coming worried me constantly. It seemed strange that, of everything I remembered from yesterday, this troubled me most, almost as a separate matter. By evening, I had managed to forget everything else. I had put it all out of my mind and was still perfectly satisfied with my letter to Simonov. But I was not satisfied at all about Liza. It was as if she were my only worry. “What if she comes?” I kept thinking. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Let her come! Hmm! It’s awful that she should see how I live, for instance. Yesterday I seemed like such a hero to her, but now, hmm! It’s awful that I’ve let myself go so badly. The room looks like a beggar’s. And I actually went out to dinner in a suit like this! And there’s my imitation leather sofa with the stuffing sticking out. And my dressing gown, so torn it won’t cover me. She’ll see all of this, and she’ll see Apollon. That beast is sure to insult her. He’ll target her just to be rude to me. And of course I’ll panic, as usual. I’ll start bowing and scraping before her and pulling my dressing gown around me. I’ll start smiling and telling lies. Oh, how disgusting! And the disgusting part isn’t even what matters most! There’s something more important, more revolting, viler! Yes, viler! And to put on that dishonest, lying mask again! ...”

When I reached that thought I fired up all at once.

When I came to that thought, I suddenly got fired up.

“Why dishonest? How dishonest? I was speaking sincerely last night. I remember there was real feeling in me, too. What I wanted was to excite an honourable feeling in her.... Her crying was a good thing, it will have a good effect.”

“Why dishonest? How was I dishonest? I meant what I said last night. I remember I really felt it, too. I wanted to stir an honorable feeling in her.... It was good that she cried. Her crying will do her good.”

Yet I could not feel at ease. All that evening, even when I had come back home, even after nine o’clock, when I calculated that Liza could not possibly come, still she haunted me, and what was worse, she came back to my mind always in the same position. One moment out of all that had happened last night stood vividly before my imagination; the moment when I struck a match and saw her pale, distorted face, with its look of torture. And what a pitiful, what an unnatural, what a distorted smile she had at that moment! But I did not know then, that fifteen years later I should still in my imagination see Liza, always with the pitiful, distorted, inappropriate smile which was on her face at that minute.

Yet I could not feel at ease. Liza haunted me all evening, even after I returned home. Even after nine o’clock, when I knew she could not possibly come, she still haunted me. Worse still, I always pictured her in the same position. One moment from all that had happened the night before stood vividly in my mind. I struck a match and saw her pale, distorted face, with its look of torture. And what a pitiful, unnatural, distorted smile she had at that moment! But I did not know then that fifteen years later I would still picture Liza. I would always see her with the pitiful, distorted, inappropriate smile she had at that moment.

Next day I was ready again to look upon it all as nonsense, due to over-excited nerves, and, above all, as exaggerated. I was always conscious of that weak point of mine, and sometimes very much afraid of it. “I exaggerate everything, that is where I go wrong,” I repeated to myself every hour. But, however, “Liza will very likely come all the same,” was the refrain with which all my reflections ended. I was so uneasy that I sometimes flew into a fury: “She’ll come, she is certain to come!” I cried, running about the room, “if not today, she will come tomorrow; she’ll find me out! The damnable romanticism of these pure hearts! Oh, the vileness—oh, the silliness—oh, the stupidity of these ‘wretched sentimental souls!’ Why, how fail to understand? How could one fail to understand? ...”

The next day, I was ready to dismiss it all again as nonsense caused by overexcited nerves, and above all as exaggerated. I was always aware of that weakness of mine, and sometimes I was very afraid of it. “I exaggerate everything. That’s where I go wrong,” I told myself every hour. But all my thoughts ended with the same refrain: “Liza will very likely come anyway.” I was so uneasy that I sometimes flew into a rage. “She’ll come, she’s certain to come!” I cried, running around the room. “If not today, she’ll come tomorrow. She’ll find me out! The damnable romanticism of these pure hearts! Oh, the vileness, oh, the silliness, oh, the stupidity of these ‘wretched sentimental souls!’ Why, how could anyone fail to understand? How could anyone fail to understand? ...”

But at this point I stopped short, and in great confusion, indeed.

But at this point, I stopped short, utterly confused.

And how few, how few words, I thought, in passing, were needed; how little of the idyllic (and affectedly, bookishly, artificially idyllic too) had sufficed to turn a whole human life at once according to my will. That’s virginity, to be sure! Freshness of soil!

And how few, how very few words were needed, I thought in passing. How little idyllic talk had been enough to bend a whole human life to my will at once. And the idyllic talk was affected, bookish, and artificial, too. That’s virginity for you! Fresh soil!

At times a thought occurred to me, to go to her, “to tell her all,” and beg her not to come to me. But this thought stirred such wrath in me that I believed I should have crushed that “damned” Liza if she had chanced to be near me at the time. I should have insulted her, have spat at her, have turned her out, have struck her!

Sometimes I thought of going to her, “telling her all,” and begging her not to come to me. But the thought made me so angry that I believed I would have crushed that “damned” Liza if she had been near me then. I would have insulted her, spat at her, thrown her out, struck her!

One day passed, however, another and another; she did not come and I began to grow calmer. I felt particularly bold and cheerful after nine o’clock, I even sometimes began dreaming, and rather sweetly: I, for instance, became the salvation of Liza, simply through her coming to me and my talking to her.... I develop her, educate her. Finally, I notice that she loves me, loves me passionately. I pretend not to understand (I don’t know, however, why I pretend, just for effect, perhaps). At last all confusion, transfigured, trembling and sobbing, she flings herself at my feet and says that I am her saviour, and that she loves me better than anything in the world. I am amazed, but.... “Liza,” I say, “can you imagine that I have not noticed your love? I saw it all, I divined it, but I did not dare to approach you first, because I had an influence over you and was afraid that you would force yourself, from gratitude, to respond to my love, would try to rouse in your heart a feeling which was perhaps absent, and I did not wish that ... because it would be tyranny ... it would be indelicate (in short, I launch off at that point into European, inexplicably lofty subtleties a la George Sand), but now, now you are mine, you are my creation, you are pure, you are good, you are my noble wife.

One day passed, then another and another. She did not come, and I began to feel calmer. After nine o’clock, I felt especially bold and cheerful. Sometimes I even began to dream rather sweetly. For example, I imagined saving Liza simply by having her come to me and talking to her.... I help her grow and educate her. Finally, I notice that she loves me, loves me passionately. I pretend not to understand. I don’t know why I pretend, though. Perhaps it is just for effect. At last, overwhelmed, transformed, trembling and sobbing, she throws herself at my feet. She says I am her savior and that she loves me more than anything in the world. I am amazed, but.... “Liza,” I say, “can you imagine that I haven’t noticed your love? I saw it all, I sensed it. But I didn’t dare approach you first, because I had influence over you. I was afraid you would force yourself to return my love out of gratitude. I feared you would try to stir up a feeling in your heart that perhaps wasn’t there. I didn’t want that ... because it would be tyranny ... it would be insensitive (in short, at that point I launch into European, inexplicably lofty subtleties in the style of George Sand). But now, now you are mine. You are my creation. You are pure, you are good, you are my noble wife.

Then we begin living together, go abroad and so on, and so on. In fact, in the end it seemed vulgar to me myself, and I began putting out my tongue at myself.

Then we start living together, go abroad, and so on and so on. In the end, even I found it vulgar, and I started sticking my tongue out at myself.

Besides, they won’t let her out, “the hussy!” I thought. They don’t let them go out very readily, especially in the evening (for some reason I fancied she would come in the evening, and at seven o’clock precisely). Though she did say she was not altogether a slave there yet, and had certain rights; so, h’m! Damn it all, she will come, she is sure to come!

Besides, they won’t let her out, “the hussy!” I thought. They don’t let the women go out easily, especially in the evening. For some reason, I imagined she would come in the evening, at exactly seven o’clock. Though she did say she wasn’t entirely a slave there yet and had certain rights. So, hmm! Damn it all, she will come. She’s sure to come!

It was a good thing, in fact, that Apollon distracted my attention at that time by his rudeness. He drove me beyond all patience! He was the bane of my life, the curse laid upon me by Providence. We had been squabbling continually for years, and I hated him. My God, how I hated him! I believe I had never hated anyone in my life as I hated him, especially at some moments. He was an elderly, dignified man, who worked part of his time as a tailor. But for some unknown reason he despised me beyond all measure, and looked down upon me insufferably. Though, indeed, he looked down upon everyone. Simply to glance at that flaxen, smoothly brushed head, at the tuft of hair he combed up on his forehead and oiled with sunflower oil, at that dignified mouth, compressed into the shape of the letter V, made one feel one was confronting a man who never doubted of himself. He was a pedant, to the most extreme point, the greatest pedant I had met on earth, and with that had a vanity only befitting Alexander of Macedon. He was in love with every button on his coat, every nail on his fingers—absolutely in love with them, and he looked it! In his behaviour to me he was a perfect tyrant, he spoke very little to me, and if he chanced to glance at me he gave me a firm, majestically self-confident and invariably ironical look that drove me sometimes to fury. He did his work with the air of doing me the greatest favour, though he did scarcely anything for me, and did not, indeed, consider himself bound to do anything. There could be no doubt that he looked upon me as the greatest fool on earth, and that “he did not get rid of me” was simply that he could get wages from me every month. He consented to do nothing for me for seven roubles a month. Many sins should be forgiven me for what I suffered from him. My hatred reached such a point that sometimes his very step almost threw me into convulsions. What I loathed particularly was his lisp. His tongue must have been a little too long or something of that sort, for he continually lisped, and seemed to be very proud of it, imagining that it greatly added to his dignity. He spoke in a slow, measured tone, with his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed on the ground. He maddened me particularly when he read aloud the psalms to himself behind his partition. Many a battle I waged over that reading! But he was awfully fond of reading aloud in the evenings, in a slow, even, sing-song voice, as though over the dead. It is interesting that that is how he has ended: he hires himself out to read the psalms over the dead, and at the same time he kills rats and makes blacking. But at that time I could not get rid of him, it was as though he were chemically combined with my existence. Besides, nothing would have induced him to consent to leave me. I could not live in furnished lodgings: my lodging was my private solitude, my shell, my cave, in which I concealed myself from all mankind, and Apollon seemed to me, for some reason, an integral part of that flat, and for seven years I could not turn him away.

It was actually a good thing that Apollon distracted me with his rudeness at that time. He drove me beyond all patience! He was the bane of my life, the curse Providence had laid on me. We had been quarreling constantly for years, and I hated him. My God, how I hated him! I believe I had never hated anyone as much as I hated him, especially at certain moments. He was an elderly, dignified man who worked part-time as a tailor. But for some unknown reason, he despised me more than I can say and looked down on me unbearably. Though, in fact, he looked down on everyone. One glance at his smoothly brushed blond hair and the tuft he combed up over his forehead, oiled with sunflower oil, was enough. One glance at his dignified mouth, pressed into the shape of a V, was enough too. You could see that you were facing a man who never doubted himself. He was a pedant to the extreme, the greatest pedant I had ever met on earth. And he had a vanity fit only for Alexander of Macedon. He was in love with every button on his coat, every fingernail. He was absolutely in love with them, and it showed! He was a complete tyrant in the way he treated me. He spoke very little to me. If he happened to glance at me, his look was firm, majestically self-confident, and always ironic. Sometimes it drove me into a fury. He did his work as if he were doing me the greatest favor. Yet he did hardly anything for me and did not even consider himself obliged to do anything. There was no doubt that he thought me the greatest fool on earth. The only reason “he did not get rid of me” was that he could collect wages from me every month. He agreed to do nothing for me for seven roubles a month. Many sins should be forgiven me for what I suffered from him. My hatred grew so intense that sometimes even the sound of his footsteps nearly sent me into convulsions. I especially loathed his lisp. His tongue must have been a little too long, or something like that. He lisped constantly and seemed very proud of it, imagining that it made him much more dignified. He spoke slowly and deliberately, with his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed on the ground. He especially maddened me when he read the psalms aloud to himself behind his partition. We had many battles over that reading! But he was terribly fond of reading aloud in the evenings. He read slowly, in an even, sing-song voice, as if reading over the dead. Interestingly, that is how he has ended up. He hires himself out to read the psalms over the dead. At the same time, he kills rats and makes shoe polish. But at that time I could not get rid of him. It was as if he were chemically combined with my existence. Besides, nothing would have persuaded him to leave me. I could not live in furnished lodgings. My apartment was my private place of solitude, my shell, my cave, where I hid from all mankind. And for some reason, Apollon seemed to me an essential part of that apartment. For seven years I could not turn him away.

To be two or three days behind with his wages, for instance, was impossible. He would have made such a fuss, I should not have known where to hide my head. But I was so exasperated with everyone during those days, that I made up my mind for some reason and with some object to punish Apollon and not to pay him for a fortnight the wages that were owing him. I had for a long time—for the last two years—been intending to do this, simply in order to teach him not to give himself airs with me, and to show him that if I liked I could withhold his wages. I purposed to say nothing to him about it, and was purposely silent indeed, in order to score off his pride and force him to be the first to speak of his wages. Then I would take the seven roubles out of a drawer, show him I have the money put aside on purpose, but that I won’t, I won’t, I simply won’t pay him his wages, I won’t just because that is “what I wish,” because “I am master, and it is for me to decide,” because he has been disrespectful, because he has been rude; but if he were to ask respectfully I might be softened and give it to him, otherwise he might wait another fortnight, another three weeks, a whole month....

For instance, it was impossible to be two or three days late paying his wages. He would have made such a fuss that I wouldn’t have known where to hide. But during those days I was so angry with everyone that I decided, for some reason and with some purpose, to punish Apollon. I would withhold the wages I owed him for a fortnight. I had been meaning to do this for a long time, for the past two years. I simply wanted to teach him not to put on airs with me. I also wanted to show him that I could withhold his wages if I chose. I planned to say nothing to him about it. In fact, I deliberately kept silent to wound his pride and force him to ask for his wages first. Then I would take the seven roubles out of a drawer. I would show him that I had deliberately set the money aside. But I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t, I simply wouldn’t pay him his wages. I wouldn’t pay him just because that was “what I wish,” because “I am master, and it is for me to decide.” I wouldn’t pay him because he had been disrespectful, because he had been rude. But if he asked respectfully, I might soften and give him the money. Otherwise, he could wait another fortnight, another three weeks, a whole month....

But angry as I was, yet he got the better of me. I could not hold out for four days. He began as he always did begin in such cases, for there had been such cases already, there had been attempts (and it may be observed I knew all this beforehand, I knew his nasty tactics by heart). He would begin by fixing upon me an exceedingly severe stare, keeping it up for several minutes at a time, particularly on meeting me or seeing me out of the house. If I held out and pretended not to notice these stares, he would, still in silence, proceed to further tortures. All at once, à propos of nothing, he would walk softly and smoothly into my room, when I was pacing up and down or reading, stand at the door, one hand behind his back and one foot behind the other, and fix upon me a stare more than severe, utterly contemptuous. If I suddenly asked him what he wanted, he would make me no answer, but continue staring at me persistently for some seconds, then, with a peculiar compression of his lips and a most significant air, deliberately turn round and deliberately go back to his room. Two hours later he would come out again and again present himself before me in the same way. It had happened that in my fury I did not even ask him what he wanted, but simply raised my head sharply and imperiously and began staring back at him. So we stared at one another for two minutes; at last he turned with deliberation and dignity and went back again for two hours.

But angry as I was, he still got the better of me. I couldn’t hold out for four days. He began as he always did in such cases. There had been such cases before, and he had tried this before. (I knew all this in advance, I should add. I knew his nasty tactics by heart.) He would begin by staring at me very sternly for several minutes at a time. He did this especially when he met me or saw me out of the house. If I held out and pretended not to notice, he would move on to further tortures, still without speaking. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he would walk softly and smoothly into my room while I paced or read. He would stand in the doorway, one hand behind his back and one foot behind the other. Then he would stare at me with a look that was more than stern. It was utterly contemptuous. If I suddenly asked him what he wanted, he wouldn’t answer. He would keep staring at me for several seconds. Then he would purse his lips in a peculiar way, as if it meant a great deal. He would turn around slowly and deliberately go back to his room. Two hours later, he would come out and stand before me again in the same way. Sometimes I was so furious that I didn’t even ask what he wanted. Instead, I would simply raise my head sharply and imperiously and stare back at him. We would stare at each other for two minutes. At last, he would turn slowly and with dignity and go back to his room for another two hours.

If I were still not brought to reason by all this, but persisted in my revolt, he would suddenly begin sighing while he looked at me, long, deep sighs as though measuring by them the depths of my moral degradation, and, of course, it ended at last by his triumphing completely: I raged and shouted, but still was forced to do what he wanted.

If all this still failed to bring me to reason and I kept resisting, he would suddenly start sighing as he looked at me. His sighs were long and deep, as if he were measuring the depth of my moral degradation with them. And of course, he always ended up winning completely. I raged and shouted, but I was still forced to do what he wanted.

This time the usual staring manoeuvres had scarcely begun when I lost my temper and flew at him in a fury. I was irritated beyond endurance apart from him.

This time, the usual staring game had barely begun when I lost my temper and flew at him in a rage. Even apart from him, I was irritated beyond endurance.

“Stay,” I cried, in a frenzy, as he was slowly and silently turning, with one hand behind his back, to go to his room. “Stay! Come back, come back, I tell you!” and I must have bawled so unnaturally, that he turned round and even looked at me with some wonder. However, he persisted in saying nothing, and that infuriated me.

“Wait,” I cried wildly, as he slowly and silently turned to go to his room, one hand behind his back. “Wait! Come back, come back, I tell you!” I must have shouted so strangely that he turned around and even looked at me with some surprise. But he still said nothing, and his silence infuriated me.

“How dare you come and look at me like that without being sent for? Answer!”

“How dare you come in and look at me like that when I didn’t call for you? Answer me!”

After looking at me calmly for half a minute, he began turning round again.

After calmly looking at me for half a minute, he began turning around again.

“Stay!” I roared, running up to him, “don’t stir! There. Answer, now: what did you come in to look at?”

“Wait!” I roared, running up to him. “Don’t move! There. Now answer me: what did you come in to look at?”

“If you have any order to give me it’s my duty to carry it out,” he answered, after another silent pause, with a slow, measured lisp, raising his eyebrows and calmly twisting his head from one side to another, all this with exasperating composure.

“If you have an order for me, it’s my duty to carry it out,” he replied after another silent pause. He spoke slowly and deliberately, with a lisp. He raised his eyebrows and calmly turned his head from side to side. He did all this with infuriating composure.

“That’s not what I am asking you about, you torturer!” I shouted, turning crimson with anger. “I’ll tell you why you came here myself: you see, I don’t give you your wages, you are so proud you don’t want to bow down and ask for it, and so you come to punish me with your stupid stares, to worry me and you have no sus-pic-ion how stupid it is—stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! ...”

“That’s not what I’m asking you about, you torturer!” I shouted, my face turning red with anger. “I’ll tell you why you came here myself. You see, I haven’t paid your wages. You’re too proud to bow down and ask for them. So you come here to punish me with your stupid stares and make me worry. And you have no i-de-a how stupid that is. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! ...”

He would have turned round again without a word, but I seized him.

He would have turned around again without a word, but I grabbed him.

“Listen,” I shouted to him. “Here’s the money, do you see, here it is,” (I took it out of the table drawer); “here’s the seven roubles complete, but you are not going to have it, you ... are ... not ... going ... to ... have it until you come respectfully with bowed head to beg my pardon. Do you hear?”

“Listen,” I shouted at him. “Here’s the money. Do you see it? Here it is.” (I took it out of the table drawer.) “All seven roubles are here. But you’re not going to get them. You ... are ... not ... going ... to ... get them until you come respectfully, with your head bowed, and beg my pardon. Do you hear me?”

“That cannot be,” he answered, with the most unnatural self-confidence.

“That can’t be,” he replied with the most unnatural confidence.

“It shall be so,” I said, “I give you my word of honour, it shall be!”

“It will be so,” I said. “I give you my word of honor, it will be!”

“And there’s nothing for me to beg your pardon for,” he went on, as though he had not noticed my exclamations at all. “Why, besides, you called me a ‘torturer,’ for which I can summon you at the police-station at any time for insulting behaviour.”

“And I have nothing to apologize to you for,” he went on, as though he had not noticed my outbursts at all. “Besides, you called me a ‘torturer.’ I can have you summoned to the police station at any time for insulting me.”

“Go, summon me,” I roared, “go at once, this very minute, this very second! You are a torturer all the same! a torturer!”

“Go, call me,” I roared. “Go now, this very minute, this very second! You are still a torturer! A torturer!”

But he merely looked at me, then turned, and regardless of my loud calls to him, he walked to his room with an even step and without looking round.

But he only looked at me, then turned and walked steadily to his room. He ignored my loud calls and never looked back.

“If it had not been for Liza nothing of this would have happened,” I decided inwardly. Then, after waiting a minute, I went myself behind his screen with a dignified and solemn air, though my heart was beating slowly and violently.

“If it hadn’t been for Liza, none of this would have happened,” I thought. After waiting a minute, I went behind his screen myself, looking dignified and solemn. My heart was beating slowly and violently, though.

“Apollon,” I said quietly and emphatically, though I was breathless, “go at once without a minute’s delay and fetch the police-officer.”

“Apollon,” I said quietly but firmly, though I was out of breath, “go get the police officer right now. Don’t delay for a minute.”

He had meanwhile settled himself at his table, put on his spectacles and taken up some sewing. But, hearing my order, he burst into a guffaw.

Meanwhile, he had settled at his table, put on his glasses, and started sewing. But when he heard my order, he burst out laughing.

“At once, go this minute! Go on, or else you can’t imagine what will happen.”

“Go right now! Go on, or you can’t imagine what will happen.”

“You are certainly out of your mind,” he observed, without even raising his head, lisping as deliberately as ever and threading his needle. “Whoever heard of a man sending for the police against himself? And as for being frightened—you are upsetting yourself about nothing, for nothing will come of it.”

“You’re clearly out of your mind,” he said, without even looking up. He was threading his needle, lisping as deliberately as ever. “Who ever heard of a man calling the police on himself? And as for being scared, you’re worrying for nothing. Nothing will come of it.”

“Go!” I shrieked, clutching him by the shoulder. I felt I should strike him in a minute.

“Go!” I screamed, grabbing him by the shoulder. I felt I would hit him in a moment.

But I did not notice the door from the passage softly and slowly open at that instant and a figure come in, stop short, and begin staring at us in perplexity I glanced, nearly swooned with shame, and rushed back to my room. There, clutching at my hair with both hands, I leaned my head against the wall and stood motionless in that position.

But I did not notice the door from the hallway opening softly and slowly just then. A figure came in, stopped short, and stared at us in confusion. I glanced over, nearly fainted with shame, and rushed back to my room. There, I clutched my hair with both hands and leaned my head against the wall. I stood there without moving.

Two minutes later I heard Apollon’s deliberate footsteps. “There is some woman asking for you,” he said, looking at me with peculiar severity. Then he stood aside and let in Liza. He would not go away, but stared at us sarcastically.

Two minutes later, I heard Apollon’s measured footsteps. “Some woman is asking for you,” he said, looking at me with an oddly stern expression. Then he stepped aside and let Liza in. But he refused to leave and stared at us sarcastically.

“Go away, go away,” I commanded in desperation. At that moment my clock began whirring and wheezing and struck seven.

“Go away, go away,” I ordered in desperation. Just then, my clock whirred and wheezed, then struck seven.