"So, now you're drunk," Trudolyubov finally consented to notice me, casting a sidelong, contemptuous glance in my direction. Zverkov silently studied me as if I were a little bug. I lowered my eyes. Simonov hurriedly began pouring champagne.
Trudolyubov raised his glass; everyone did the same, except for me.
"Your health, and a good journey!" he cried to Zverkov. "To those old years, gentlemen, to our future! Hurrah!"
Everyone drank and fell to kissing Zverkov. I did not budge; the full glass stood untouched before me.
"You're not going to drink?" Trudolyubov, having lost all patience, roared, turning to me threateningly.
"I wish to make a speech on my own part, separately… and then I will drink, Mr Trudolyubov."
"Disgusting little stinker," Simonov growled.
I straightened up on my chair and feverishly took my glass, preparing for something extraordinary, and still not knowing myself precisely what I was going to say.
" Silence!" Ferfichkin called out in French. "Here comes all kinds of intelligence!" Zverkov listened very seriously, realizing what was going on.
"Lieutenant Zverkov, sir," I began, "let it be known to you that I hate phrases, phrase-mongers, and tight-fitting waists… That is the first point, and the second will follow forthwith."
Everyone stirred greatly.
"Second point: I hate gallantry and gallantizers. Especially gallantizers!
"Third point: I love truth, sincerity, and honesty," I went on almost mechanically, because I was already beginning to go numb with horror, unable to understand how I could be speaking this way… "I love thought, M'sieur Zverkov; I love true friendship, on an equal footing, and not… hm… I love… However, why not? I, too, shall drink to your health, M'sieur Zverkov. Charm the Circassian girls, shoot the enemies of the fatherland, and… and… To your health, M'sieur Zverkov!"
Zverkov rose from his chair, bowed to me, and said:
"Much obliged to you."
He was terribly offended, and even turned pale.
"Devil take it," roared Trudolyubov, banging his fist on the table.
"No, sir, it's a punch in the mug for that!" Ferfichkin shrieked.
"He ought to be thrown out!" Simonov growled.
"Not a word, gentlemen, not a move!" Zverkov cried solemnly, checking the general indignation. "I thank you all, but I myself am quite capable of proving to him how much I value his words."
"Mr Ferfichkin, tomorrow you will give me satisfaction for your present words!" I said loudly, pompously addressing Ferfichkin.
"You mean a duel, sir? At your pleasure," the man answered, but I must have been so ridiculous with my challenge, and it was so unsuited to my figure, that everyone, and finally even Ferfichkin, simply fell over laughing.
"Yes, drop him, of course! He's completely drunk now!" Trudolyubov said with loathing.
"I'll never forgive myself for putting him on the list!" Simonov growled again.
"Now's the time to up and hurl a bottle at them all," I thought, took the bottle, and… poured myself a full glass.
"… No, I'd better sit it out to the end!" I went on thinking. "You'd be glad, gentlemen, if I left. No chance of that. I'll purposely sit and drink to the end, as a sign that I attach not the slightest importance to you. I'll sit and drink, because this is a pot-house, and I paid good money to get in. I'll sit and drink, because I regard you as pawns, nonexistent pawns. I'll sit and drink… and sing, if I like, yes, sirs, and sing, because I have the right… to sing… hm."
But I did not sing. I simply tried not to look at any of them; I assumed the most independent attitudes and waited impatiently for them to start talking to me first. But, alas, they didn't. And, oh, how I wished, how I wished at that moment to make peace with them! It struck eight o'clock, and finally nine. They moved from the table to the sofa. Zverkov sprawled on the couch, placing one foot on a little round table. The wine was also transferred there. Indeed, he did stand them to three bottles of his own. He did not offer me any, of course. Everyone sat clustered around him on the sofa. They listened to him with all but reverence. One could see he was loved. "But why? Why?" I kept thinking to myself. From time to time they would get into drunken raptures and kiss each other. They talked about the Caucasus, about what true passion is, about gambling, about profitable posts in the service; about how big was the income of the hussar Podkharzhevsky, whom none of them knew personally, and rejoiced that it was very big; about the remarkable beauty and grace of Princess D-, whom none of them had ever even seen; finally it came to Shakespeare being immortal.
I was smiling contemptuously and pacing the other side of the room, directly opposite the sofa, along the wall, from the table to the stove and back. I wished with all my might to show that I could do without them; and yet I purposely clumped with my boots, coming down hard on the heels. But all in vain. They paid no attention. I had patience enough to pace like that, right in front of them, from eight o'clock to eleven, in one and the same space, from the table to the stove, and from the stove back to the table. "I'm just pacing, and no one can tell me not to." A waiter who kept coming into the room paused several times to look at me; my head was spinning from so much turning; at moments I thought I was delirious. I sweated and dried out three times in those three hours. Every once in a while a thought pierced my heart with the deepest, most poisonous pain: that ten years, twenty years, forty years would pass, and even after forty years I would still recall with revulsion and humiliation these dirtiest, most ridiculous, and most terrible minutes of my entire life. For a man to humiliate himself more shamelessly and more voluntarily was really impossible, I fully, fully understood that, and still I went on pacing from the table to the stove and back. "Oh, if you only knew what feelings and thoughts I'm capable of, and how developed I am!" I thought at moments, mentally addressing the sofa where my enemies were sitting. But my enemies behaved as if I were not even in the room. Once, once only, they turned to me - namely, when Zverkov began talking about Shakespeare, and I suddenly guffawed contemptuously. I snorted so affectedly and nastily that they all broke off the conversation at once and silently watched me for about two minutes, seriously, without laughing, as I paced along the wall from table to stove and paid no attention to them. But nothing came of it; they did not start talking to me, and after two minutes dropped me again. It struck eleven.
"Gentlemen," cried Zverkov, rising from the sofa, "now let us all go there."
"Right, right!" the others began to say.
I turned sharply to Zverkov. I was so worn out, so broken, that I had to finish it even if it killed me! I was in a fever; my hair, wet with sweat, stuck to my forehead and temples.
"Zverkov! I ask your forgiveness," I said, abruptly and resolutely, "yours too, Ferfichkin, and everyone's, everyone's, I've offended everyone!"
"Aha! So dueling's not your sport!" Ferfichkin hissed venomously.
A sharp pain went through my heart.
"No, I'm not afraid of a duel, Ferfichkin! I'm ready to fight you tomorrow, even after a reconciliation. I even insist on it, and you cannot refuse me. I want to prove to you that I'm not afraid of a duel. You'll have the first shot, and I'll shoot into the air."
"He's indulging himself," remarked Simonov.
"Downright crackbrained!" echoed Trudolyubov.
"Let us pass, why're you standing in the way!… What do you want?" Zverkov responded contemptuously. Their faces were red; their eyes were shiny: they had drunk a lot.
"I ask your friendship, Zverkov, I offended you, but…"
"Y-y-you? Offended m-m-me? I'll have you know, my dear sir, that you could never under any circumstances offend me!"
"That's enough out of you. Step aside!" Trudolyubov clinched. Lets go.
"Olympia's mine, gentlemen, it's agreed!" cried Zverkov.
"No objections! No objections!" they answered, laughing.
I stood there spat upon. The bunch noisily left the room. Trudolyubov struck up some stupid song. Simonov stayed behind for a tiny moment to tip the waiters. I suddenly went over to him.
"Simonov! Give me six roubles!" I said, resolutely and desperately.
He looked at me in extreme astonishment, his eyes somehow dull. He, too, was drunk.
"You want to go there with us, too?"