window　and　I　went　away　without　having　my　fight。
  An　officer　put　me　in　my　place　from　the　first　moment。
  I　was　standing　by　the　billiard…table　and　in　my　ignorance　blocking
  up　the　way；　and　he　wanted　to　pass；　he　took　me　by　the　shoulders
  and　without　a　wordwithout　a　warning　or　explanationmoved　me
  from　where　I　was　standing　to　another　spot　and　passed　by　as　though
  he　had　not　noticed　me。　　I　could　have　forgiven　blows；　but　I　could
  not　forgive　his　having　moved　me　without　noticing　me。
  Devil　knows　what　I　would　have　given　for　a　real　regular　quarrela
  more　decent；　a　more　_literary_　one；　so　to　speak。　　I　had　been
  treated　like　a　fly。　　This　officer　was　over　six　foot；　while　I　was
  a　spindly　little　fellow。　　But　the　quarrel　was　in　my　hands。　　I　had
  only　to　protest　and　I　certainly　would　have　been　thrown　out　of　the
  window。　　But　I　changed　my　mind　and　preferred　to　beat　a　resentful
  retreat。
  I　went　out　of　the　tavern　straight　home；　confused　and　troubled；
  and　the　next　night　I　went　out　again　with　the　same　lewd
  intentions；　still　more　furtively；　abjectly　and　miserably　than
  before；　as　it　were；　with　tears　in　my　eyesbut　still　I　did　go　out
  again。　　Don't　imagine；　though；　it　was　cowardice　made　me　slink
  away　from　the　officer；　I　never　have　been　a　coward　at　heart；
  though　I　have　always　been　a　coward　in　action。　　Don't　be　in　a
  hurry　to　laughI　assure　you　I　can　explain　it　all。
  Oh；　if　only　that　officer　had　been　one　of　the　sort　who　would
  consent　to　fight　a　duel！　　But　no；　he　was　one　of　those　gentlemen
  （alas；　long　extinct！）　who　preferred　fighting　with　cues　or；　like
  Gogol's　Lieutenant　Pirogov；　appealing　to　the　police。　　They　did
  not　fight　duels　and　would　have　thought　a　duel　with　a　civilian
  like　me　an　utterly　unseemly　procedure　in　any　caseand　they
  looked　upon　the　duel　altogether　as　something　impossible；
  something　free…thinking　and　French。　　But　they　were　quite　ready　to
  bully；　especially　when　they　were　over　six　foot。
  I　did　not　slink　away　through　cowardice；　but　through　an　unbounded
  vanity。　　I　was　afraid　not　of　his　six　foot；　not　of　getting　a　sound
  thrashing　and　being　thrown　out　of　the　window；　I　should　have　had
  physical　courage　enough；　I　assure　you；　but　I　had　not　the　moral
  courage。　　What　I　was　afraid　of　was　that　everyone　present；　from
  the　insolent　marker　down　to　the　lowest　little　stinking；　pimply
  clerk　in　a　greasy　collar；　would　jeer　at　me　and　fail　to　understand
  when　I　began　to　protest　and　to　address　them　in　literary　language。
  For　of　the　point　of　honournot　of　honour；　but　of　the　point　of
  honour　（point　d'honneur）one　cannot　speak　among　us　except　in
  literary　language。　　You　can't　allude　to　the　〃point　of　honour〃　in
  ordinary　language。　　I　was　fully　convinced　（the　sense　of　reality；
  in　spite　of　all　my　romanticism！）　that　they　would　all　simply　split
  their　sides　with　laughter；　and　that　the　officer　would　not　simply
  beat　me；　that　is；　without　insulting　me；　but　would　certainly　prod
  me　in　the　back　with　his　knee；　kick　me　round　the　billiard…　table；
  and　only　then　perhaps　have　pity　and　drop　me　out　of　the　window。
  Of　course；　this　trivial　incident　could　not　with　me　end　in　that。
  I　often　met　that　officer　afterwards　in　the　street　and　noticed　him
  very　carefully。　　I　am　not　quite　sure　whether　he　recognised　me；　I
  imagine　not；　I　judge　from　certain　signs。　　But　II　stared　at　him
  with　spite　and　hatred　and　so　it　went　on　。。。　for　several　years！
  My　resentment　grew　even　deeper　with　years。　　At　first　I　began
  making　stealthy　inquiries　about　this　officer。　　It　was　difficult
  for　me　to　do　so；　for　I　knew　no　one。　　But　one　day　I　heard　someone
  shout　his　surname　in　the　street　as　I　was　following　him　at　a
  distance；　as　though　I　were　tied　to　himand　so　I　learnt　his
  surname。　　Another　time　I　followed　him　to　his　flat；　and　for　ten
  kopecks　learned　from　the　porter　where　he　lived；　on　which　storey；
  whether　he　lived　alone　or　with　others；　and　so　onin　fact；
  everything　one　could　learn　from　a　porter。　　One　morning；　though　I
  had　never　tried　my　hand　with　the　pen；　it　suddenly　occurred　to　me
  to　write　a　satire　on　this　officer　in　the　form　of　a　novel　which
  would　unmask　his　villainy。　　I　wrote　the　novel　with　relish。　　I　did
  unmask　his　villainy；　I　even　exaggerated　it；　at　first　I　so　altered
  his　surname　that　it　could　easily　be　recognised；　but　on　second
  thoughts　I　changed　it；　and　sent　the　story　to　the　Otetchestvenniya
  Zapiski。　　But　at　that　time　such　attacks　were　not　the　fashion　and
  my　story　was　not　printed。　　That　was　a　great　vexation　to　me。
  Sometimes　I　was　positively　choked　with　resentment。　　At　last　I
  determined　to　challenge　my　enemy　to　a　duel。　　I　composed　a
  splendid；　charming　letter　to　him；　imploring　him　to　apologise　to
  me；　and　hinting　rather　plainly　at　a　duel　in　case　of　refusal。　　The
  letter　was　so　composed　that　if　the　officer　had　had　the　least
  understanding　of　the　sublime　and　the　beautiful　he　would　certainly
  have　flung　himself　on　my　neck　and　have　offered　me　his　friendship。
  And　how　fine　that　would　have　been！　　How　we　should　have　got　on
  together！　　He　could　have　shielded　me　with　his　higher　rank；　while
  I　could　have　improved　his　mind　with　my　culture；　and；　well　。。。　my
  ideas；　and　all　sorts　of　things　might　have　happened。　　Only　fancy；
  this　was　two　years　after　his　insult　to　me；　and　my　challenge　would
  have　been　a　ridiculous　anachronism；　in　spite　of　all　the　ingenuity
  of　my　letter　in　disguising　and　explaining　away　the　anachronism。
  But；　thank　God　（to　this　day　I　thank　the　Almighty　with　tears　in　my
  eyes）　I　did　not　send　the　letter　to　him。　　Cold　shivers　run　down　my
  back　when　I　think　of　what　might　have　happened　if　I　had　sent　it。
  And　all　at　once　I　revenged　myself　in　the　simplest　way；　by　a
  stroke　of　genius！　　A　brilliant　thought　suddenly　dawned　upon　me。
  Sometimes　on　holidays　I　used　to　stroll　along　the　sunny　side　of
  the　Nevsky　about　four　o'clock　in　the　afternoon。　　Though　it　was
  hardly　a　stroll　so　much　as　a　series　of　innumerable　miseries；
  humiliations　and　resentments；　but　no　doubt　that　was　just　what　I
  wanted。　　I　used　to　wriggle　along　in　a　most　unseemly　fashion；　like
  an　eel；　continually　moving　aside　to　make　way　for　generals；　for
  officers　of　the　guards　and　the　hussars；　or　for　ladies。　　At　such
  minutes　there　used　to　be　a　convulsive　twinge　at　my　heart；　and　I
  used　to　feel　hot　all　down　my　back　at　the　mere　thought　of　the
  wretchedness　of　my　attire；　of　the　wretchedness　and　abjectness　of
  my　little　scurrying　figure。　　This　was　a　regular　martyrdom；　a
  continual；　intolerable　humiliation　at　the　thought；　which　passed
  into　an　incessant　and　direct　sensation；　that　I　was　a　mere　fly　in
  the　eyes　of　all　this　world；　a　nasty；　disgusting　flymore
  intelligent；　more　highly　developed；　more　refined　in　feeling　than
  any　of　them；　of　coursebut　a　fly　that　was　continually　making　way
  for　everyone；　insulted　and　injured　by　everyone。　　Why　I　inflicted
  this　torture　upon　myself；　why　I　went　to　the　Nevsky；　I　don't　know。
  I　felt　simply　drawn　there　at　every　possible　opportunity。
  Already　then　I　began　to　experience　a　rush　of　the　enjoyment　of
  which　I　spoke　in　the　first　chapter。　　After　my　affair　with　the
  officer　I　felt　even　more　drawn　there　than　before：　it　was　on　the
  Nevsky　that　I　met　him　most　frequently；　there　I　could　admire　him。
  He；　too；　went　there　chiefly　on　holidays；　He；　too；　turned　out　of
  his　path　for　generals　and　persons　of　high　rank；　and　he　too；
  wriggled　between　them　like　an　eel；　but　people；　like　me；　or　even
  better　dressed　than　me；　he　simply　walked　over；　he　made　straight
  for　them　as　though　there　was　nothing　but　empty　space　before　him；
  and　never；　under　any　circumstances；　turned　aside。　　I　gloated　over
  my　resentment　watching　him　and　。。。　always　resentfully　made　way
  for　him。　　It　exasperated　me　that　even　in　the　street　I　could　not
  be　on　an　even　footing　with　him。
  〃Why　must　you　invariably　be　the　first　to　move　aside？〃　I　kept
  asking　myself　in　hysterical　rage；　waking　up　sometimes　at　three
  o'clock　in　the　morning。　　〃Why　is　it　you　and　not　he？　　There's　no
  regulation　about　it；　there's　no　written　law。　　Let　the　making　way
  be　equal　as　it　usually　is　when　refined　people　meet；　he　moves
  half…way　and　you　move　half…way；　you　pass　with　mutual　respect。〃
  But　that　never　happened；　and　I　always　moved　aside；　while　he　did
  not　even　notice　my　making　way　for　him。　　And　lo　and　behold　a
  bright　idea　dawned　upon　me！　　〃What；〃　I　thought；　〃if　I　meet　him
  and　don't　move　on　one　side？　　What　if　I　don't　move　aside　on
  purpose；　even　if　I　knock　up　against　him？　　How　would　that　be？〃
  This　audacious　idea　took　such　a　hold　on　me　that　it　gave　me　no
  peace。　　I　was　dreaming　of　it　continually；　horribly；　and　I
  purposely　went　more　frequently　to　the　Nevsky　in　order　to　picture
  more　vividly　how　I　should　do　it　when　I　did　do　it。　　I　was
  delighted。　　This　intention　seemed　to　me　more　and　more　practical
  and　possible。
  〃Of　course　I　shall　not　really　push　him；〃　I　thought；　already　more
  good…natured　in　my　joy。　　〃I　will　simply　not　turn　aside；　will　run
  up　against　him；　not　very　violently；　but　just　shouldering　each
  otherjust　as　much　as　decency　permits。　　I　will　push　against　him