No More Learning

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. "

"He is comforting himself," said Simonov.

"He's simply raving," said Trudolyubov.

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

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

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

"Insulted? YOU insulted ME? Understand, sir, that you never, under
any circumstances, could possibly insult ME. "

"And that's enough for you. Out of the way! " concluded Trudolyubov.

"Olympia is mine, friends, that's agreed! " cried Zverkov.

"We won't dispute your right, we won't dispute your right," the others
answered, 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.

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

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

"You don't mean you are coming with us? "

"Yes. "

"I've no money," he snapped out, and with a scornful laugh he went out
of the room.

I clutched at his overcoat. 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 pulled out the money and almost flung it at me.

"Take it, if you have no sense of shame! " he pronounced pitilessly, and
ran to overtake 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 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! "



V

"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! "

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

"No 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.

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.

"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! "

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

"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! "

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.

"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. . . . "

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 . . . .

"Get on, driver, get on, you rascal, get on! "

"Ugh, sir! " said the son of toil.

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!

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! "

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. . . . "

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.

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! "

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. "



VI

. . . Somewhere behind a screen a clock began wheezing, as though
oppressed by something, as though someone were strangling it. After an
unnaturally prolonged wheezing there followed a shrill, nasty, and as
it were unexpectedly rapid, chime--as though someone were suddenly
jumping forward. It struck two. I woke up, though I had indeed not
been asleep but lying half-conscious.

It was almost completely dark in the narrow, cramped, low-pitched room,
cumbered up with an enormous wardrobe and piles of cardboard boxes and
all sorts of frippery and litter. The candle end that had been burning
on the table was going out and gave a faint flicker from time to time.
In a few minutes there would be complete darkness.

I was not long in coming to myself; everything came back to my mind at
once, without an effort, as though it had been in ambush to pounce upon
me again. And, indeed, even while I was unconscious a point seemed
continually to remain in my memory unforgotten, and round it my dreams
moved drearily. But strange to say, everything that had happened to me
in that day seemed to me now, on waking, to be in the far, far away
past, as though I had long, long ago lived all that down.

My head was full of fumes. Something seemed to be hovering over me,
rousing me, exciting me, and making me restless. Misery and spite
seemed surging up in me again and seeking an outlet. Suddenly I saw
beside me two wide open eyes scrutinising me curiously and
persistently. The look in those eyes was coldly detached, sullen, as it
were utterly remote; it weighed upon me.

A grim idea came into my brain and passed all over my body, as a
horrible sensation, such as one feels when one goes into a damp and
mouldy cellar. There was something unnatural in those two eyes,
beginning to look at me only now. I recalled, too, that during those
two hours I had not said a single word to this creature, and had, in
fact, considered it utterly superfluous; in fact, the silence had for
some reason gratified me. Now I suddenly realised vividly the hideous
idea--revolting as a spider--of vice, which, without love, grossly and
shamelessly begins with that in which true love finds its consummation.
For a long time we gazed at each other like that, but she did not drop
her eyes before mine and her expression did not change, so that at last
I felt uncomfortable.

"What is your name? " I asked abruptly, to put an end to it.

"Liza," she answered almost in a whisper, but somehow far from
graciously, and she turned her eyes away.

I was silent.

"What weather! The snow . . . it's disgusting! " I said, almost to
myself, putting my arm under my head despondently, and gazing at the
ceiling.

She made no answer. This was horrible.

"Have you always lived in Petersburg? " I asked a minute later, almost
angrily, turning my head slightly towards her.

"No. "

"Where do you come from? "

"From Riga," she answered reluctantly.

"Are you a German? "

"No, Russian. "

"Have you been here long? "

"Where? "

"In this house? "

"A fortnight. "

She spoke more and more jerkily. The candle went out; I could no
longer distinguish her face.

"Have you a father and mother? "

"Yes . . . no . . . I have. "

"Where are they? "

"There . . . in Riga. "

"What are they? "

"Oh, nothing. "

"Nothing? Why, what class are they? "

"Tradespeople. "

"Have you always lived with them? "

"Yes. "

"How old are you? "

"Twenty. "

"Why did you leave them? "

"Oh, for no reason. "

That answer meant "Let me alone; I feel sick, sad. "

We were silent.

God knows why I did not go away. I felt myself more and more sick and
dreary. The images of the previous day began of themselves, apart from
my will, flitting through my memory in confusion. I suddenly recalled
something I had seen that morning when, full of anxious thoughts, I was
hurrying to the office.

"I saw them carrying a coffin out yesterday and they nearly dropped
it," I suddenly said aloud, not that I desired to open the
conversation, but as it were by accident.

"A coffin? "

"Yes, in the Haymarket; they were bringing it up out of a cellar. "

"From a cellar? "

"Not from a cellar, but a basement. Oh, you know . . . down below . . .
from a house of ill-fame. It was filthy all round . . . Egg-shells,
litter . . . a stench. It was loathsome. "

Silence.

"A nasty day to be buried," I began, simply to avoid being silent.

"Nasty, in what way? "

"The snow, the wet. " (I yawned. )

"It makes no difference," she said suddenly, after a brief silence.

"No, it's horrid. " (I yawned again). "The gravediggers must have
sworn at getting drenched by the snow. And there must have been water
in the grave. "

"Why water in the grave? " she asked, with a sort of curiosity, but
speaking even more harshly and abruptly than before.

I suddenly began to feel provoked.

"Why, there must have been water at the bottom a foot deep. You can't
dig a dry grave in Volkovo Cemetery. "

"Why? "

"Why? Why, the place is waterlogged. It's a regular marsh. So they
bury them in water. I've seen it myself . . . many times. "

(I had never seen it once, indeed I had never been in Volkovo, and had
only heard stories of it. )

"Do you mean to say, you don't mind how you die? "

"But why should I die? " she answered, as though defending herself.

"Why, some day you will die, and you will die just the same as that
dead woman. She was . . . a girl like you. She died of consumption. "

"A wench would have died in hospital . . . " (She knows all about it
already: she said "wench," not "girl. ")

"She was in debt to her madam," I retorted, more and more provoked by
the discussion; "and went on earning money for her up to the end,
though she was in consumption. Some sledge-drivers standing by were
talking about her to some soldiers and telling them so. No doubt they
knew her. They were laughing. They were going to meet in a pot-house
to drink to her memory. "

A great deal of this was my invention. Silence followed, profound
silence. She did not stir.

"And is it better to die in a hospital? "

"Isn't it just the same? Besides, why should I die? " she added
irritably.

"If not now, a little later. "

"Why a little later? "

"Why, indeed? Now you are young, pretty, fresh, you fetch a high
price. But after another year of this life you will be very
different--you will go off. "

"In a year? "

"Anyway, in a year you will be worth less," I continued malignantly.
"You will go from here to something lower, another house; a year
later--to a third, lower and lower, and in seven years you will come to
a basement in the Haymarket. That will be if you were lucky. But it
would be much worse if you got some disease, consumption, say . . . and
caught a chill, or something or other. It's not easy to get over an
illness in your way of life. If you catch anything you may not get rid
of it. And so you would die. "

"Oh, well, then I shall die," she answered, quite vindictively, and she
made a quick movement.

"But one is sorry. "

"Sorry for whom? "

"Sorry for life. " Silence.