And now, full mistress of the place, Come bold and free into my house.' 18

"And then we begin living happily ever after, go abroad, etc., etc." In short, I felt vile and would end by sticking my tongue out at myself.

"They won't even let the 'slut' come!" I thought. "They don't seem to allow them out much, especially in the evening" (for some reason it seemed certain to me that she must come in the evening, and precisely at seven o'clock). "Though she said she's not completely bound to them yet, she has some special privileges there; so - hm! Devil take it, she'll come, she's sure to come!

It was a good thing Apollon diverted me at that time with his rudeness. Drove me out of all patience! He was my thorn, a scourge visited upon me by Providence. He and I had been in constant altercation for several years on end, and I hated him. My God, how I hated him! I think I've never in my life hated anyone as I did him, especially at certain moments. He was an elderly, imposing man, who occupied himself part of the time with tailoring. I don't know why, but he despised me even beyond all measure and looked at me with an insufferable haughtiness. But then he looked at everyone with haughtiness. One glance at that pale-haired, slicked-down head, at the quiff he fluffed up on his forehead and oiled with vegetable oil, at that serious mouth forever pursed in a V - and you immediately sensed before you a being who never doubted himself. He was in the highest degree a pedant, and the most enormous pedant of any I've ever met on earth; and this was accompanied by a vanity perhaps befitting only Alexander of Macedon. He was in love with his every button, his every fingernail - absolutely in love, and he looked it! He treated me quite despotically, spoke extremely little with me, and if he chanced to let his eyes rest on me, he did so with a firm, majestically self-confident, and permanently mocking look, which sometimes drove me to fury. He fulfilled his duties with such an air as if he were bestowing the highest favor upon me. However, he did almost exactly nothing for me, and did not even consider himself obliged to do anything. There was no doubting that he considered me the most complete fool in the whole world, and if he "kept me around," it was solely because he could get his wages from me every month. He agreed to "do nothing" in my service for seven roubles a month. Many sins will be forgiven me for him. It sometimes reached such hatred that I'd be all but thrown into convulsions by his gait alone. But I loathed his lisp especially. His tongue was a bit longer than it should have been, or something like that, which caused him to be forever lisping and sissing, and he was apparently terribly proud of it, imagining that it lent him a great deal of dignity. He spoke softly, measuredly, placing his hands behind his back and looking down. He especially infuriated me when he'd start reading the Psalter behind his partition. I endured many a battle on account of that reading. But he liked terribly much to read in the evenings, in a soft, even voice, chanting as over a dead body. Curiously, that's how he ended up: he now hires himself out to read the Psalter over the deceased, and along with that he exterminates rats and makes shoe polish. But at the time I was unable to throw him out, as though he had combined chemically with my existence. Besides, he would not have agreed to leave me for anything. It was impossible for me to live in chambres garnies: 19 my apartment was my mansion, my shell, my case, in which I hid from all mankind, and Apollon, it seemed to me -devil knows why - belonged to that apartment, and for a whole seven years I was unable to throw him out.

To withhold his wages, for example, for as little as two or three days, was impossible. He'd make such a to-do that I wouldn't even know where to hide. But in those days I was so embittered against everyone that I resolved, who knows why or what for, to punish Apollon and not give him his wages for another two weeks. I had long been intending to do this, for two years or so - solely to prove to him that he dared not get so puffed up over me, and that if I wished I could always not give him his wages. I decided not to tell him about it and even to maintain a deliberate silence, in order to vanquish his pride and make him be the first to speak of his wages. Then I would take all seven roubles from the drawer, to show him that I had them and had deliberately set them aside, but that I "did not, did not, simply did not want to give him his wages, did not want to because that's how I wanted it, because such was 'my will as the master,' because he was irreverent, because he was a boor; but that if he asked reverently, perhaps I would relent and pay him; otherwise he'd have to wait another two weeks, wait three weeks, wait a whole month…"

But, angry though I was, the victory still went to him. I didn't even hold out for four days. He began with what he always began with on such occasions - for there had already been such occasions, or attempts (and, I will note, I knew it all beforehand, I knew his mean tactics by heart) - that is, he usually began by fixing me with an extremely stern look, not taking it off me for several minutes at a time, following me with his eyes especially when I came in or was leaving the house. If, for example, I held out and pretended not to notice these looks, he would proceed, silently as ever, to further tortures. Suddenly, for no reason at all, he would come softly and smoothly into my room while I was pacing about or reading, stop by the door, put one arm behind his back, thrust out one hip, and fix me with his eyes, no longer so much stern as altogether contemptuous. If I suddenly asked him what he wanted, he would make no reply, and go on staring at me point-blank for several seconds more; then, pressing his lips together in some special way, with a significant air, he would turn slowly on his heel and suddenly go to his room. About two hours later he would suddenly emerge again, and again appear before me in the same way. Sometimes, in my fury, I would no longer ask what he wanted, but simply raise my head abruptly and imperiously, and also begin staring point-blank at him. And so we'd stare at each other like that for about two minutes; finally, he would turn, slowly and pompously, and go away for another two hours.

If I refused to be brought to reason by all this and continued my rebellion, he would suddenly begin to sigh as he looked at me, sigh long and deeply, as if measuring with each sigh the full depth of my moral fall, and, of course, it would end at last with him overcoming me completely: I'd get furious, I'd shout, but with that which had been the whole point I'd be forced to comply.

This time, however, as soon as the usual "stern look" maneuvers began, I immediately lost my temper and fell on him in a fury. I was all too irritated to begin with.

"Stop!" I yelled in a frenzy, as he was turning, slowly and silently, one arm behind his back, to go to his room. "Stop! Come back! Come back, I tell you!" And I must have bellowed so unnaturally that he turned and began to study me even with a certain surprise. However, he still did not say a word, and it was this that infuriated me.

"How dare you come in here without permission and stare at me like that! Answer!"

But he, having looked at me calmly for about half a minute, again began to turn around.

"Stop!" I roared, running up to him, "don't move! So. Now answer: what did you come in here and stare for?"

"If there's something you want done direckly, it's my duty to see to it," he replied, again after some silence, lisping softly and measuredly, raising his eyebrows, and calmly shifting his head from one side to the other - and all that with horrifying composure.