“Silence! Listen!” he screamed out in his rage at being interrupted. “My spirit has never soared so high as now. In my narrow retreat I have but one fear: the literary criticism of the big magazines, and the gibes of our satirical papers. I fear that frivolous visitors, fools, envious persons, and nihilists generally, may hold me up to ridicule. But I will take measures. I await with impatience to-morrow’s expression of public opinion, and, above all, the criticisms in the newspapers. Be sure and tell me about the papers to-morrow. But enough; you are probably sleepy. Go home, and don’t think of what I said about criticism. I am not afraid of criticism, for it is in a critical position itself. It is sufficient to be wise and virtuous, and you are certain to be raised upon a pedestal. If you do not become Socrates you will become Diogenes, or perhaps both at once, and that is my future vocation as regards humanity.” “Your friend is von bery clefer man,” remarked the German to me in an undertone, as he came up to let me out; he had been listening attentively to all our conversation. “By the by,” said I; “so as not to forget;—how much would you take for your crocodile, in case any one should think of buying it?” Ivan Matvyèich, hearing this question, awaited the answer with interest. It was evident that he did not wish the German to take too little; at any rate, he uttered a very peculiar grunt when I put the question. At first the German would not even listen; he grew quite angry. “No man not shall to buy my own eigener crocodile!” he cried furiously, reddening like a boiled lobster. “I not vill ze crocodile to sell! I for ze crocodile von million thaler to take not vill! I von hondert treety thaler to-day from ze publikum take, and to-morrow ten tausend thaler take, and zen von hondert tausend thaler every day to take vill. I not vill sell.” Ivan Matvyèich even sniggered with pleasure. Controlling my indignation, coldly and calmly—for I was fulfilling the duty of a true friend—I suggested to the crazy German that his calculations were not altogether correct; that if he were to take 100,000 a day he would soon exhaust the population of St. Petersburg, and then would get no more money, that life and death are in God’s hands, that the crocodile might somehow burst, that Ivan Matvyèich might fall ill and die, &c., &c. The German meditated. “I to him from the apotheke drops vill bring,” he said, after thinking it over, “and your friend shall not die.” “Drops are all very well,” said I; “but also consider that a law-suit may be started. Ivan Matvyèich’s wife may demand her lawful husband. You intend to get rich, but do you intend to settle any pension upon Elyòna Ivànovna?” “No, vot for I intent?” exclaimed the German, sternly and decidedly. “No, vot for ve intent!” repeated the mother, angrily.