No More Learning

and sing if I want to, yes, sing, for I have the right to
. . . to sing. . . . H'm! "

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.

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 realized 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.

"Friends," cried Zverkov getting up from the sofa, "let us all be off
now, _there_! "

"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.

"Zverkov, I beg your pardon," I said abruptly and resolutely.
"Ferfitchkin, yours too, and every one's, every one's: I have insulted
you all! "

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

It sent a sharp pang to my heart.

"No, it's not the duel I am afraid of, Ferfitchkin! I am ready to fight
you to-morrow, 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 agonizing 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 to-morrow, 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 any one 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 is setting off
to-morrow, 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 my 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
realize 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 some one were strangling it. After an
unnaturally prolonged wheezing there followed a shrill, nasty, and as it
were unexpectedly rapid, chime--as though some one 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 scrutinizing 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 realized 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 from 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?