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Updated: June 6, 2025
Zverkov was talking all the time. I began listening. "And yet this Kolya, who has three thousand serfs, has not put in an appearance here tonight to see you off," I cut in suddenly. For one minute every one was silent. "You are drunk already." Trudolyubov deigned to notice me at last, glancing contemptuously in my direction. Zverkov, without a word, examined me as though I were an insect.
This Zverkov had been all the time at school with me too. I had begun to hate him particularly in the upper forms. In the lower forms he had simply been a pretty, playful boy whom everybody liked. I had hated him, however, even in the lower forms, just because he was a pretty and playful boy.
"Give over, gentlemen, it's out of place. Better let me tell you how I nearly got married the day before yesterday...." And then followed a burlesque narrative of how this gentleman had almost been married two days before. There was not a word about the marriage, however, but the story was adorned with generals, colonels and kammer-junkers, while Zverkov almost took the lead among them.
I dropped my eyes. Simonov made haste to fill up the glasses with champagne. Trudolyubov raised his glass, as did everyone else but me. "Your health and good luck on the journey!" he cried to Zverkov. "To old times, to our future, hurrah!" They all tossed off their glasses, and crowded round Zverkov to kiss him. I did not move; my full glass stood untouched before 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?" I wondered, grinding my teeth as I strode along the street, "for a scoundrel, a pig like that Zverkov! Of course I had better not go; of course, I must just snap my fingers at them. I am not bound in any way. I'll send Simonov a note by tomorrow's post...."
"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 been asked to make the arrangements, concluded finally. "How twenty-one roubles?"
Lieutenant Zverkov," I began, "let me tell you that I hate phrases, phrasemongers and men in corsets ... that's the first point, and there is a second one to follow it." There was a general stir. "The second point is: I hate ribaldry and ribald talkers. Especially ribald talkers! The third point: I love justice, truth and honesty."
Once only once they turned towards me, just when Zverkov was talking about Shakespeare, and I suddenly gave a contemptuous laugh.
Even in old days he had always seemed surprised at my coming. All this disconcerted me: I sat down, feeling rather miserable, and began listening to what they were saying. They were engaged in warm and earnest conversation about a farewell dinner which they wanted to arrange for the next day to a comrade of theirs called Zverkov, an officer in the army, who was going away to a distant province.
"We ought to turn him out," muttered Simonov. "Not a word, gentlemen, not a movement!" cried Zverkov solemnly, checking the general indignation. "I thank you all, but I can show him for myself how much value I attach to his words." "Mr. Ferfitchkin, you will give me satisfaction tomorrow for your words just now!" I said aloud, turning with dignity to Ferfitchkin. "A duel, you mean?
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