He fiercely opened his eyes wide and kept silent, finding no words to reply to this insolence.

And the man, standing before him, went on hoarsely, with animation, beastlike rolling his large, but dim and swollen, eyes: "You demand of us respect for you, you fool! How have you merited it?
Who are you?
A drunkard, drinking away the fortune of your father.

You savage! You ought to be proud that I, a renowned artist, a disinterested and faithful worshipper at the shrine of art, drink from the same bottle with you! This bottle contains sandal and molasses, infused with snuff-tobacco, while you think it is port wine.

It is your license for the name of savage and ass." "Eh, you jailbird!" roared Foma, rushing toward the artist.

But he was seized and held back.