III
I found two of my old schoolfellows with him. They seemed to bediscussing an important matter. All of them took scarcely any noticeof my entrance, which was strange, for I had not met them for years.Evidently they looked upon me as something on the level of a commonfly. I had not been treated like that even at school, though they allhated me. I knew, of course, that they must despise me now for my lackof success in the service, and for my having let myself sink so low,going about badly dressed and so on--which seemed to them a sign of myincapacity and insignificance. But I had not expected such contempt.Simonov was positively surprised at my turning up. Even in old days hehad always seemed surprised at my coming. All this disconcerted me: Isat down, feeling rather miserable, and began listening to what theywere saying.
They were engaged in warm and earnest conversation about a farewelldinner which they wanted to arrange for the next day to a comrade oftheirs called Zverkov, an officer in the army, who was going away to adistant province. This Zverkov had been all the time at school with metoo. I had begun to hate him particularly in the upper forms. In thelower forms he had simply been a pretty, playful boy whom everybodyliked. I had hated him, however, even in the lower forms, just becausehe was a pretty and playful boy. He was always bad at his lessons andgot worse and worse as he went on; however, he left with a goodcertificate, as he had powerful interests. During his last year atschool he came in for an estate of two hundred serfs, and as almost allof us were poor he took up a swaggering tone among us. He was vulgarin the extreme, but at the same time he was a good-natured fellow, evenin his swaggering. In spite of superficial, fantastic and sham notionsof honour and dignity, all but very few of us positively grovelledbefore Zverkov, and the more so the more he swaggered. And it was notfrom any interested motive that they grovelled, but simply because hehad been favoured by the gifts of nature. Moreover, it was, as itwere, an accepted idea among us that Zverkov was a specialist in regardto tact and the social graces. This last fact particularly infuriatedme. I hated the abrupt self-confident tone of his voice, hisadmiration of his own witticisms, which were often frightfully stupid,though he was bold in his language; I hated his handsome, but stupidface (for which I would, however, have gladly exchanged my intelligentone), and the free-and-easy military manners in fashion in the"'forties." I hated the way in which he used to talk of his futureconquests of women (he did not venture to begin his attack upon womenuntil he had the epaulettes of an officer, and was looking forward tothem with impatience), and boasted of the duels he would constantly befighting. I remember how I, invariably so taciturn, suddenly fastenedupon Zverkov, when one day talking at a leisure moment with hisschoolfellows of his future relations with the fair sex, and growing assportive as a puppy in the sun, he all at once declared that he wouldnot leave a single village girl on his estate unnoticed, that that washis DROIT DE SEIGNEUR, and that if the peasants dared to protest hewould have them all flogged and double the tax on them, the beardedrascals. Our servile rabble applauded, but I attacked him, not fromcompassion for the girls and their fathers, but simply because theywere applauding such an insect. I got the better of him on thatoccasion, but though Zverkov was stupid he was lively and impudent, andso laughed it off, and in such a way that my victory was not reallycomplete; the laugh was on his side. He got the better of me onseveral occasions afterwards, but without malice, jestingly, casually.I remained angrily and contemptuously silent and would not answer him.When we left school he made advances to me; I did not rebuff them, forI was flattered, but we soon parted and quite naturally. Afterwards Iheard of his barrack-room success as a lieutenant, and of the fast lifehe was leading. Then there came other rumours--of his successes in theservice. By then he had taken to cutting me in the street, and Isuspected that he was afraid of compromising himself by greeting apersonage as insignificant as me. I saw him once in the theatre, inthe third tier of boxes. By then he was wearing shoulder-straps. Hewas twisting and twirling about, ingratiating himself with thedaughters of an ancient General. In three years he had gone offconsiderably, though he was still rather handsome and adroit. Onecould see that by the time he was thirty he would be corpulent. So itwas to this Zverkov that my schoolfellows were going to give a dinneron his departure. They had kept up with him for those three years,though privately they did not consider themselves on an equal footingwith him, I am convinced of that.
Of Simonov's two visitors, one was Ferfitchkin, a Russianised German--alittle fellow with the face of a monkey, a blockhead who was alwaysderiding everyone, a very bitter enemy of mine from our days in thelower forms--a vulgar, impudent, swaggering fellow, who affected a mostsensitive feeling of personal honour, though, of course, he was awretched little coward at heart. He was one of those worshippers ofZverkov who made up to the latter from interested motives, and oftenborrowed money from him. Simonov's other visitor, Trudolyubov, was aperson in no way remarkable--a tall young fellow, in the army, with acold face, fairly honest, though he worshipped success of every sort,and was only capable of thinking of promotion. He was some sort ofdistant relation of Zverkov's, and this, foolish as it seems, gave hima certain importance among us. He always thought me of no consequencewhatever; his behaviour to me, though not quite courteous, wastolerable.
"Well, with seven roubles each," said Trudolyubov, "twenty-one roublesbetween the three of us, we ought to be able to get a good dinner.Zverkov, of course, won't pay."
"Of course not, since we are inviting him," Simonov decided.
"Can you imagine," Ferfitchkin interrupted hotly and conceitedly, likesome insolent flunkey boasting of his master the General's decorations,"can you imagine that Zverkov will let us pay alone? He will acceptfrom delicacy, but he will order half a dozen bottles of champagne."
"Do we want half a dozen for the four of us?" observed Trudolyubov,taking notice only of the half dozen.
"So the three of us, with Zverkov for the fourth, twenty-one roubles,at the Hotel de Paris at five o'clock tomorrow," Simonov, who had beenasked to make the arrangements, concluded finally.
"How twenty-one roubles?" I asked in some agitation, with a show ofbeing offended; "if you count me it will not be twenty-one, buttwenty-eight roubles."
It seemed to me that to invite myself so suddenly and unexpectedlywould be positively graceful, and that they would all be conquered atonce and would look at me with respect.
"Do you want to join, too?" Simonov observed, with no appearance ofpleasure, seeming to avoid looking at me. He knew me through andthrough.
It infuriated me that he knew me so thoroughly.
"Why not? I am an old schoolfellow of his, too, I believe, and I mustown I feel hurt that you have left me out," I said, boiling over again.
"And where were we to find you?" Ferfitchkin put in roughly.
"You never were on good terms with Zverkov," Trudolyubov added,frowning.
But I had already clutched at the idea and would not give it up.
"It seems to me that no one has a right to form an opinion upon that,"I retorted in a shaking voice, as though something tremendous hadhappened. "Perhaps that is just my reason for wishing it now, that Ihave not always been on good terms with him."
"Oh, there's no making you out ... with these refinements," Trudolyubovjeered.
"We'll put your name down," Simonov decided, addressing me. "Tomorrowat five-o'clock at the Hotel de Paris."
"What about the money?" Ferfitchkin began in an undertone, indicatingme to Simonov, but he broke off, for even Simonov was embarrassed.
"That will do," said Trudolyubov, getting up. "If he wants to come somuch, let him."
"But it's a private thing, between us friends," Ferfitchkin saidcrossly, as he, too, picked up his hat. "It's not an officialgathering."
"We do not want at all, perhaps ..."
They went away. Ferfitchkin did not greet me in any way as he wentout, Trudolyubov barely nodded. Simonov, with whom I was leftTETE-A-TETE, was in a state of vexation and p
erplexity, and looked atme queerly. He did not sit down and did not ask me to.
"H'm ... yes ... tomorrow, then. Will you pay your subscription now?I just ask so as to know," he muttered in embarrassment.
I flushed crimson, as I did so I remembered that I had owed Simonovfifteen roubles for ages--which I had, indeed, never forgotten, thoughI had not paid it.
"You will understand, Simonov, that I could have no idea when I camehere.... I am very much vexed that I have forgotten...."
"All right, all right, that doesn't matter. You can pay tomorrow afterthe dinner. I simply wanted to know.... Please don't..."
He broke off and began pacing the room still more vexed. As he walkedhe began to stamp with his heels.
"Am I keeping you?" I asked, after two minutes of silence.
"Oh!" he said, starting, "that is--to be truthful--yes. I have to goand see someone ... not far from here," he added in an apologeticvoice, somewhat abashed.
"My goodness, why didn't you say so?" I cried, seizing my cap, with anastonishingly free-and-easy air, which was the last thing I should haveexpected of myself.
"It's close by ... not two paces away," Simonov repeated, accompanyingme to the front door with a fussy air which did not suit him at all."So five o'clock, punctually, tomorrow," he called down the stairsafter me. He was very glad to get rid of me. I was in a fury.
"What possessed me, what possessed me to force myself upon them?" Iwondered, grinding my teeth as I strode along the street, "for ascoundrel, a pig like that Zverkov! Of course I had better not go; ofcourse, I must just snap my fingers at them. I am not bound in anyway. I'll send Simonov a note by tomorrow's post...."
But what made me furious was that I knew for certain that I should go,that I should make a point of going; and the more tactless, the moreunseemly my going would be, the more certainly I would go.
And there was a positive obstacle to my going: I had no money. All Ihad was nine roubles, I had to give seven of that to my servant,Apollon, for his monthly wages. That was all I paid him--he had tokeep himself.
Not to pay him was impossible, considering his character. But I willtalk about that fellow, about that plague of mine, another time.
However, I knew I should go and should not pay him his wages.
That night I had the most hideous dreams. No wonder; all the evening Ihad been oppressed by memories of my miserable days at school, and Icould not shake them off. I was sent to the school by distantrelations, upon whom I was dependent and of whom I have heard nothingsince--they sent me there a forlorn, silent boy, already crushed bytheir reproaches, already troubled by doubt, and looking with savagedistrust at everyone. My schoolfellows met me with spiteful andmerciless jibes because I was not like any of them. But I could notendure their taunts; I could not give in to them with the ignoblereadiness with which they gave in to one another. I hated them fromthe first, and shut myself away from everyone in timid, wounded anddisproportionate pride. Their coarseness revolted me. They laughedcynically at my face, at my clumsy figure; and yet what stupid facesthey had themselves. In our school the boys' faces seemed in a specialway to degenerate and grow stupider. How many fine-looking boys cameto us! In a few years they became repulsive. Even at sixteen Iwondered at them morosely; even then I was struck by the pettiness oftheir thoughts, the stupidity of their pursuits, their games, theirconversations. They had no understanding of such essential things,they took no interest in such striking, impressive subjects, that Icould not help considering them inferior to myself. It was not woundedvanity that drove me to it, and for God's sake do not thrust upon meyour hackneyed remarks, repeated to nausea, that "I was only adreamer," while they even then had an understanding of life. Theyunderstood nothing, they had no idea of real life, and I swear thatthat was what made me most indignant with them. On the contrary, themost obvious, striking reality they accepted with fantastic stupidityand even at that time were accustomed to respect success. Everythingthat was just, but oppressed and looked down upon, they laughed atheartlessly and shamefully. They took rank for intelligence; even atsixteen they were already talking about a snug berth. Of course, agreat deal of it was due to their stupidity, to the bad examples withwhich they had always been surrounded in their childhood and boyhood.They were monstrously depraved. Of course a great deal of that, too,was superficial and an assumption of cynicism; of course there wereglimpses of youth and freshness even in their depravity; but even thatfreshness was not attractive, and showed itself in a certainrakishness. I hated them horribly, though perhaps I was worse than anyof them. They repaid me in the same way, and did not conceal theiraversion for me. But by then I did not desire their affection: on thecontrary, I continually longed for their humiliation. To escape fromtheir derision I purposely began to make all the progress I could withmy studies and forced my way to the very top. This impressed them.Moreover, they all began by degrees to grasp that I had already readbooks none of them could read, and understood things (not forming partof our school curriculum) of which they had not even heard. They tooka savage and sarcastic view of it, but were morally impressed,especially as the teachers began to notice me on those grounds. Themockery ceased, but the hostility remained, and cold and strainedrelations became permanent between us. In the end I could not put upwith it: with years a craving for society, for friends, developed inme. I attempted to get on friendly terms with some of my schoolfellows;but somehow or other my intimacy with them was always strained and soonended of itself. Once, indeed, I did have a friend. But I was alreadya tyrant at heart; I wanted to exercise unbounded sway over him; Itried to instil into him a contempt for his surroundings; I required ofhim a disdainful and complete break with those surroundings. Ifrightened him with my passionate affection; I reduced him to tears, tohysterics. He was a simple and devoted soul; but when he devotedhimself to me entirely I began to hate him immediately and repulsedhim--as though all I needed him for was to win a victory over him, tosubjugate him and nothing else. But I could not subjugate all of them;my friend was not at all like them either, he was, in fact, a rareexception. The first thing I did on leaving school was to give up thespecial job for which I had been destined so as to break all ties, tocurse my past and shake the dust from off my feet.... And goodnessknows why, after all that, I should go trudging off to Simonov's!
Early next morning I roused myself and jumped out of bed withexcitement, as though it were all about to happen at once. But Ibelieved that some radical change in my life was coming, and wouldinevitably come that day. Owing to its rarity, perhaps, any externalevent, however trivial, always made me feel as though some radicalchange in my life were at hand. I went to the office, however, asusual, but sneaked away home two hours earlier to get ready. The greatthing, I thought, is not to be the first to arrive, or they will thinkI am overjoyed at coming. But there were thousands of such greatpoints to consider, and they all agitated and overwhelmed me. Ipolished my boots a second time with my own hands; nothing in the worldwould have induced Apollon to clean them twice a day, as he consideredthat it was more than his duties required of him. I stole the brushesto clean them from the passage, being careful he should not detect it,for fear of his contempt. Then I minutely examined my clothes andthought that everything looked old, worn and threadbare. I had letmyself get too slovenly. My uniform, perhaps, was tidy, but I couldnot go out to dinner in my uniform. The worst of it was that on theknee of my trousers was a big yellow stain. I had a foreboding thatthat stain would deprive me of nine-tenths of my personal dignity. Iknew, too, that it was very poor to think so. "But this is no time forthinking: now I am in for the real thing," I thought, and my heartsank. I knew, too, perfectly well even then, that I was monstrouslyexaggerating the facts. But how could I help it? I could not controlmyself and was already shaking with fever. With despair I pictured tomyself how coldly and disdainfully that "scoundrel" Zverkov would meetme; with what dull-witted, invincible contempt the blockheadTrudolyubov would look at me; with w
hat impudent rudeness the insectFerfitchkin would snigger at me in order to curry favour with Zverkov;how completely Simonov would take it all in, and how he would despiseme for the abjectness of my vanity and lack of spirit--and, worst ofall, how paltry, UNLITERARY, commonplace it would all be. Of course,the best thing would be not to go at all. But that was most impossibleof all: if I feel impelled to do anything, I seem to be pitchforkedinto it. I should have jeered at myself ever afterwards: "So youfunked it, you funked it, you funked the REAL THING!" On the contrary,I passionately longed to show all that "rabble" that I was by no meanssuch a spiritless creature as I seemed to myself. What is more, even inthe acutest paroxysm of this cowardly fever, I dreamed of getting theupper hand, of dominating them, carrying them away, making them likeme--if only for my "elevation of thought and unmistakable wit." Theywould abandon Zverkov, he would sit on one side, silent and ashamed,while I should crush him. Then, perhaps, we would be reconciled anddrink to our everlasting friendship; but what was most bitter andhumiliating for me was that I knew even then, knew fully and forcertain, that I needed nothing of all this really, that I did notreally want to crush, to subdue, to attract them, and that I did notcare a straw really for the result, even if I did achieve it. Oh, howI prayed for the day to pass quickly! In unutterable anguish I went tothe window, opened the movable pane and looked out into the troubleddarkness of the thickly falling wet snow. At last my wretched littleclock hissed out five. I seized my hat and, trying not to look atApollon, who had been all day expecting his month's wages, but in hisfoolishness was unwilling to be the first to speak about it, I slippedbetween him and the door and, jumping into a high-class sledge, onwhich I spent my last half rouble, I drove up in grand style to theHotel de Paris.
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