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Updated: June 15, 2025
Lyamshin positively shrieked with delight. Yulia Mihailovna frowned. Nikolay Stavrogin walked in. "Why, I was told that you were locked up?" he said aloud, addressing Stepan Trofimovitch before every one else. "No, it was a case of unlocking," jested Stepan Trofimovitch. "But I hope that what's happened will have no influence on what I asked you to do," Yulia Mihailovna put in again.
"How dare you knock like that in the middle of the night?" shouted Lyamshin, in a threatening voice, though he was numb with fear, when at least two minutes later he ventured to open the casement again, and was at last convinced that Shatov had come alone. "Here's your revolver for you; take it back, give me fifteen roubles." "What's the matter, are you drunk?
Now, at the time I write, I have good grounds for affirming that some of the lowest rabble of our town were brought in without tickets by Lyamshin and Liputin, possibly, too, by other people who were stewards like me. Anyway, some complete strangers, who had come from the surrounding districts and elsewhere, were present.
"Ech, we are not accustomed to constitutional methods yet!" remarked the major. "Mr. Lyamshin, excuse me, but you are thumping so that no one can hear anything," observed the lame teacher. "But, upon my word, Arina Prohorovna, nobody is listening, really!" cried Lyamshin, jumping up. "I won't play! I've come to you as a visitor, not as a drummer!"
He was in a perfect frenzy, desperate and perspiring. The two notes he had just given him were each for a rouble. Shatov had seven roubles altogether now. "Well, damn you, then, I'll come to-morrow. I'll thrash you, Lyamshin, if you don't give me the other eight." "You won't find me at home, you fool!" Lyamshin reflected quickly.
People like Lyamshin and Telyatnikov, like Gogol's Tentyotnikov, drivelling home-bred editions of Radishtchev, wretched little Jews with a mournful but haughty smile, guffawing foreigners, poets of advanced tendencies from the capital, poets who made up with peasant coats and tarred boots for the lack of tendencies or talents, majors and colonels who ridiculed the senselessness of the service, and who would have been ready for an extra rouble to unbuckle their swords, and take jobs as railway clerks; generals who had abandoned their duties to become lawyers; advanced mediators, advancing merchants, innumerable divinity students, women who were the embodiment of the woman question all these suddenly gained complete sway among us and over whom?
It weighed upon him that he had to hide it from his family; he was accustomed to tell his wife everything; and if his feverish brain had not hatched a new idea at that moment, a new plan of conciliation for further action, he might have taken to his bed like Lyamshin.
Merry and greedily inquisitive eyes were turned upon Semyon Yakovlevitch, as well as lorgnettes, pince-nez, and even opera-glasses. Lyamshin, at any rate, looked through an opera-glass. Semyon Yakovlevitch calmly and lazily scanned all with his little eyes. "Milovzors! Milovzors!" he deigned to pronounce, in a hoarse bass, and slightly staccato.
Then Lyamshin, who prided himself on playing the fool, took a bunch of grapes from the plate; another, laughing, followed his example, and a third stretched out his hand for the Chateau d'Yquem. But the head of police arriving checked him, and even ordered that the room should be cleared.
"One question, but answer it truly: are we the only quintet in the world, or is it true that there are hundreds of others? It's a question of the utmost importance to me, Pyotr Stepanovitch." "I see that from the frantic state you are in. But do you know, Liputin, you are more dangerous than Lyamshin?" "I know, I know; but the answer, your answer!" "You are a stupid fellow!
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