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1Notes from the Underground
2
3FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY
4
5
6
7
8
9PART I
10
11Underground*
12          *The author of the diary and the diary itself
13     are, of course, imaginary.  Nevertheless it is clear
14     that such persons as the writer of these notes
15     not only may, but positively must, exist in our
16     society, when we consider the circumstances in
17     the midst of which our society is formed.  I have
18     tried to expose to the view of the public more
19     distinctly than is commonly done, one of the
20     characters of the recent past.  He is one of the
21     representatives of a generation still living.  In this
22     fragment, entitled "Underground," this person
23     introduces himself and his views, and, as it were,
24     tries to explain the causes owing to which he has
25     made his appearance and was bound to make his
26     appearance in our midst.  In the second fragment
27     there are added the actual notes of this person
28     concerning certain events in his life. --AUTHOR'S NOTE.
29
30
31
32I
33
34
35I am a sick man. ...  I am a spiteful man.  I am an unattractive man.  I
36believe my liver is diseased.  However, I know nothing at all about my
37disease, and do not know for certain what ails me.  I don't consult a doctor
38for it, and never have, though I have a respect for medicine and doctors. 
39Besides, I am extremely superstitious, sufficiently so to respect medicine,
40anyway (I am well-educated enough not to be superstitious, but I am
41superstitious).  No, I refuse to consult a doctor from spite.  That you
42probably will not understand.  Well, I understand it, though.  Of course, I
43can't explain who it is precisely that I am mortifying in this case by my
44spite: I am perfectly well aware that I cannot "pay out" the doctors by not
45consulting them; I know better than anyone that by all this I am only
46injuring myself and no one else.  But still, if I don't consult a doctor it is
47from spite.  My liver is bad, well--let it get worse!
48
49I have been going on like that for a long time--twenty years.  Now I am
50forty.  I used to be in the government service, but am no longer.  I was a
51spiteful official.  I was rude and took pleasure in being so.  I did not take
52bribes, you see, so I was bound to find a recompense in that, at least.  (A
53poor jest, but I will not scratch it out.  I wrote it thinking it would sound
54very witty; but now that I have seen myself that I only wanted to show off
55in a despicable way, I will not scratch it out on purpose!)
56
57When petitioners used to come for information to the table at which I
58sat, I used to grind my teeth at them, and felt intense enjoyment when I
59succeeded in making anybody unhappy.  I almost did succeed.  For the
60most part they were all timid people--of course, they were petitioners. 
61But of the uppish ones there was one officer in particular I could not
62endure.  He simply would not be humble, and clanked his sword in a
63disgusting way.  I carried on a feud with him for eighteen months over
64that sword.  At last I got the better of him.  He left off clanking it.  That
65happened in my youth, though.
66But do you know, gentlemen, what was the chief point about my spite?
67Why, the whole point, the real sting of it lay in the fact that continually,
68even in the moment of the acutest spleen, I was inwardly conscious with
69shame that I was not only not a spiteful but not even an embittered man,
70that I was simply scaring sparrows at random and amusing myself by it.  I
71might foam at the mouth, but bring me a doll to play with, give me a cup of
72tea with sugar in it, and maybe I should be appeased.  I might even be
73genuinely touched, though probably I should grind my teeth at myself afterwards
74and lie awake at night with shame for months after.  That was my way.
75
76I was lying when I said just now that I was a spiteful official.  I was
77lying from spite.  I was simply amusing myself with the petitioners and with
78the officer, and in reality I never could become spiteful.  I was conscious
79every moment in myself of many, very many elements absolutely opposite to
80that.  I felt them positively swarming in me, these opposite elements.
81I knew that they had been swarming in me all my life and craving
82some outlet from me, but I would not let them, would not let them,
83purposely would not let them come out.  They tormented me till I was
84ashamed: they drove me to convulsions and--sickened me, at last, how
85they sickened me!  Now, are not you fancying, gentlemen, that I am
86expressing remorse for something now, that I am asking your forgiveness
87for something?  I am sure you are fancying that ...  However, I assure you
88I do not care if you are. ...
89
90It was not only that I could not become spiteful, I did not know how to
91become anything; neither spiteful nor kind, neither a rascal nor an honest
92man, neither a hero nor an insect.  Now, I am living out my life in my
93corner, taunting myself with the spiteful and useless consolation that an
94intelligent man cannot become anything seriously, and it is only the fool
95who becomes anything.  Yes, a man in the nineteenth century must and
96morally ought to be pre-eminently a characterless creature; a man of
97character, an active man is pre-eminently a limited creature.  That is my
98conviction of forty years.  I am forty years old now, and you know forty
99years is a whole lifetime; you know it is extreme old age.  To live longer
100than forty years is bad manners, is vulgar, immoral.  Who does live
101beyond forty?  Answer that, sincerely and honestly I will tell you who do:
102fools and worthless fellows.  I tell all old men that to their face, all these
103venerable old men, all these silver-haired and reverend seniors!  I tell the
104whole world that to its face!  I have a right to say so, for I shall go on
105living to sixty myself.  To seventy!  To eighty!  ...  Stay, let me 
106take breath ...
107
108You imagine no doubt, gentlemen, that I want to amuse you.  You are
109mistaken in that, too.  I am by no means such a mirthful person as you
110imagine, or as you may imagine; however, irritated by all this babble (and
111I feel that you are irritated) you think fit to ask me who I am--then my
112answer is, I am a collegiate assessor.  I was in the service that I might have
113something to eat (and solely for that reason), and when last year a distant
114relation left me six thousand roubles in his will I immediately retired
115from the service and settled down in my corner.  I used to live in this
116corner before, but now I have settled down in it.  My room is a wretched,
117horrid one in the outskirts of the town.  My servant is an old country-
118woman, ill-natured from stupidity, and, moreover, there is always a nasty
119smell about her.  I am told that the Petersburg climate is bad for me, and
120that with my small means it is very expensive to live in Petersburg.  I
121know all that better than all these sage and experienced counsellors and
122monitors. ...  But I am remaining in Petersburg; I am not going away
123from Petersburg!  I am not going away because ... ech!  Why, it is
124absolutely no matter whether I am going away or not going away.
125
126But what can a decent man speak of with most pleasure?
127
128Answer: Of himself.
129
130Well, so I will talk about myself.
131
132
133
134II
135
136
137I want now to tell you, gentlemen, whether you care to hear it or not, why
138I could not even become an insect.  I tell you solemnly, that I have many
139times tried to become an insect.  But I was not equal even to that.  I swear,
140gentlemen, that to be too conscious is an illness--a real thorough-going
141illness.  For man's everyday needs, it would have been quite enough to
142have the ordinary human consciousness, that is, half or a quarter of the
143amount which falls to the lot of a cultivated man of our unhappy
144nineteenth century, especially one who has the fatal ill-luck to inhabit
145Petersburg, the most theoretical and intentional town on the whole
146terrestrial globe.  (There are intentional and unintentional towns.)  It
147would have been quite enough, for instance, to have the consciousness
148by which all so-called direct persons and men of action live.  I bet you
149think I am writing all this from affectation, to be witty at the expense of
150men of action; and what is more, that from ill-bred affectation, I am
151clanking a sword like my officer.  But, gentlemen, whoever can pride
152himself on his diseases and even swagger over them?
153
154Though, after all, everyone does do that; people do pride themselves
155on their diseases, and I do, may be, more than anyone.  We will not
156dispute it; my contention was absurd.  But yet I am firmly persuaded that
157a great deal of consciousness, every sort of consciousness, in fact, is a
158disease.  I stick to that.  Let us leave that, too, for a minute.  Tell me this:
159why does it happen that at the very, yes, at the very moments when I am
160most capable of feeling every refinement of all that is "sublime and
161beautiful," as they used to say at one time, it would, as though of design,
162happen to me not only to feel but to do such ugly things, such that ...
163Well, in short, actions that all, perhaps, commit; but which, as though
164purposely, occurred to me at the very time when I was most conscious
165that they ought not to be committed.  The more conscious I was of goodness
166and of all that was "sublime and beautiful," the more deeply I sank
167into my mire and the more ready I was to sink in it altogether.  But the
168chief point was that all this was, as it were, not accidental in me, but as
169though it were bound to be so.  It was as though it were my most normal
170condition, and not in the least disease or depravity, so that at last all desire
171in me to struggle against this depravity passed.  It ended by my almost
172believing (perhaps actually believing) that this was perhaps my normal
173condition.  But at first, in the beginning, what agonies I endured in that
174struggle!  I did not believe it was the same with other people, and all my
175life I hid this fact about myself as a secret.  I was ashamed (even now,
176perhaps, I am ashamed): I got to the point of feeling a sort of secret
177abnormal, despicable enjoyment in returning home to my corner on
178some disgusting Petersburg night, acutely conscious that that day I had
179committed a loathsome action again, that what was done could never be
180undone, and secretly, inwardly gnawing, gnawing at myself for it, tearing
181and consuming myself till at last the bitterness turned into a sort of
182shameful accursed sweetness, and at last--into positive real enjoyment!
183Yes, into enjoyment, into enjoyment!  I insist upon that.  I have spoken of
184this because I keep wanting to know for a fact whether other people feel
185such enjoyment?  I will explain; the enjoyment was just from the too
186intense consciousness of one's own degradation; it was from feeling
187oneself that one had reached the last barrier, that it was horrible, but that
188it could not be otherwise; that there was no escape for you; that you never
189could become a different man; that even if time and faith were still left
190you to change into something different you would most likely not wish to
191change; or if you did wish to, even then you would do nothing; because
192perhaps in reality there was nothing for you to change into.
193
194And the worst of it was, and the root of it all, that it was all in accord
195with the normal fundamental laws of over-acute consciousness, and
196with the inertia that was the direct result of those laws, and that
197consequently one was not only unable to change but could do absolutely
198nothing.  Thus it would follow, as the result of acute consciousness,
199that one is not to blame in being a scoundrel; as though that were
200any consolation to the scoundrel once he has come to realise that he
201actually is a scoundrel.  But enough. ...  Ech, I have talked a lot of
202nonsense, but what have I explained?  How is enjoyment in this to be
203explained?  But I will explain it.  I will get to the bottom of it!  That is why
204I have taken up my pen. ...
205
206I, for instance, have a great deal of AMOUR PROPRE.  I am as suspicious
207and prone to take offence as a humpback or a dwarf.  But upon my word I
208sometimes have had moments when if I had happened to be slapped in
209the face I should, perhaps, have been positively glad of it.  I say, in
210earnest, that I should probably have been able to discover even in that a
211peculiar sort of enjoyment--the enjoyment, of course, of despair; but in
212despair there are the most intense enjoyments, especially when one is
213very acutely conscious of the hopelessness of one's position.  And when
214one is slapped in the face--why then the consciousness of being rubbed
215into a pulp would positively overwhelm one.  The worst of it is, look at it
216which way one will, it still turns out that I was always the most to blame
217in everything.  And what is most humiliating of all, to blame for no fault
218of my own but, so to say, through the laws of nature.  In the first place, to
219blame because I am cleverer than any of the people surrounding me.  (I
220have always considered myself cleverer than any of the people surrounding
221me, and sometimes, would you believe it, have been positively
222ashamed of it.  At any rate, I have all my life, as it were, turned my eyes
223away and never could look people straight in the face.)  To blame, finally,
224because even if I had had magnanimity, I should only have had more
225suffering from the sense of its uselessness.  I should certainly have never
226been able to do anything from being magnanimous--neither to forgive,
227for my assailant would perhaps have slapped me from the laws of nature,
228and one cannot forgive the laws of nature; nor to forget, for even if it were
229owing to the laws of nature, it is insulting all the same.  Finally, even if I
230had wanted to be anything but magnanimous, had desired on the
231contrary to revenge myself on my assailant, I could not have revenged
232myself on any one for anything because I should certainly never have
233made up my mind to do anything, even if I had been able to.  Why
234should I not have made up my mind?  About that in particular I want to
235say a few words.
236
237
238
239III
240
241
242With people who know how to revenge themselves and to stand up for
243themselves in general, how is it done?  Why, when they are possessed, let
244us suppose, by the feeling of revenge, then for the time there is nothing
245else but that feeling left in their whole being.  Such a gentleman simply
246dashes straight for his object like an infuriated bull with its horns down,
247and nothing but a wall will stop him.  (By the way: facing the wall, such
248gentlemen--that is, the "direct" persons and men of action--are genuinely
249nonplussed.  For them a wall is not an evasion, as for us people who
250think and consequently do nothing; it is not an excuse for turning aside,
251an excuse for which we are always very glad, though we scarcely believe
252in it ourselves, as a rule.  No, they are nonplussed in all sincerity.  The
253wall has for them something tranquillising, morally soothing, final--
254maybe even something mysterious ... but of the wall later.)
255
256Well, such a direct person I regard as the real normal man, as his
257tender mother nature wished to see him when she graciously brought him
258into being on the earth.  I envy such a man till I am green in the face.  He
259is stupid.  I am not disputing that, but perhaps the normal man should be
260stupid, how do you know?  Perhaps it is very beautiful, in fact.  And I am
261the more persuaded of that suspicion, if one can call it so, by the fact that
262if you take, for instance, the antithesis of the normal man, that is, the
263man of acute consciousness, who has come, of course, not out of the lap
264of nature but out of a retort (this is almost mysticism, gentlemen, but I
265suspect this, too), this retort-made man is sometimes so nonplussed in
266the presence of his antithesis that with all his exaggerated consciousness
267he genuinely thinks of himself as a mouse and not a man.  It may be an
268acutely conscious mouse, yet it is a mouse, while the other is a man, and
269therefore, et caetera, et caetera.  And the worst of it is, he himself, his very
270own self, looks on himself as a mouse; no one asks him to do so; and that
271is an important point.  Now let us look at this mouse in action.  Let us
272suppose, for instance, that it feels insulted, too (and it almost always does
273feel insulted), and wants to revenge itself, too.  There may even be a
274greater accumulation of spite in it than in L'HOMME DE LA NATURE ET DE LA
275VERITE.  The base and nasty desire to vent that spite on its assailant rankles
276perhaps even more nastily in it than in L'HOMME DE LA NATURE ET DE LA
277VERITE.  For through his innate stupidity the latter looks upon his revenge
278as justice pure and simple; while in consequence of his acute consciousness
279the mouse does not believe in the justice of it.  To come at last to the
280deed itself, to the very act of revenge.  Apart from the one fundamental
281nastiness the luckless mouse succeeds in creating around it so many other
282nastinesses in the form of doubts and questions, adds to the one question
283so many unsettled questions that there inevitably works up around it a sort
284of fatal brew, a stinking mess, made up of its doubts, emotions, and of the
285contempt spat upon it by the direct men of action who stand solemnly
286about it as judges and arbitrators, laughing at it till their healthy sides
287ache.  Of course the only thing left for it is to dismiss all that with a wave
288of its paw, and, with a smile of assumed contempt in which it does not
289even itself believe, creep ignominiously into its mouse-hole.  There in its
290nasty, stinking, underground home our insulted, crushed and ridiculed
291mouse promptly becomes absorbed in cold, malignant and, above all,
292everlasting spite.  For forty years together it will remember its injury down
293to the smallest, most ignominious details, and every time will add, of
294itself, details still more ignominious, spitefully teasing and tormenting
295itself with its own imagination.  It will itself be ashamed of its imaginings,
296but yet it will recall it all, it will go over and over every detail, it will
297invent unheard of things against itself, pretending that those things
298might happen, and will forgive nothing.  Maybe it will begin to revenge
299itself, too, but, as it were, piecemeal, in trivial ways, from behind the
300stove, incognito, without believing either in its own right to vengeance,
301or in the success of its revenge, knowing that from all its efforts at revenge
302it will suffer a hundred times more than he on whom it revenges itself,
303while he, I daresay, will not even scratch himself.  On its deathbed it will
304recall it all over again, with interest accumulated over all the years
305and ...
306
307But it is just in that cold, abominable half despair, half belief, in that
308conscious burying oneself alive for grief in the underworld for forty years,
309in that acutely recognised and yet partly doubtful hopelessness of one's
310position, in that hell of unsatisfied desires turned inward, in that fever of
311oscillations, of resolutions determined for ever and repented of again a
312minute later--that the savour of that strange enjoyment of which I have
313spoken lies.  It is so subtle, so difficult of analysis, that persons who are a
314little limited, or even simply persons of strong nerves, will not understand
315a single atom of it.  "Possibly," you will add on your own account
316with a grin, "people will not understand it either who have never received
317a slap in the face," and in that way you will politely hint to me that I, too,
318perhaps, have had the experience of a slap in the face in my life, and so I
319speak as one who knows.  I bet that you are thinking that.  But set your
320minds at rest, gentlemen, I have not received a slap in the face, though it
321is absolutely a matter of indifference to me what you may think about it. 
322Possibly, I even regret, myself, that I have given so few slaps in the face
323during my life.  But enough ... not another word on that subject of such
324extreme interest to you.
325
326I will continue calmly concerning persons with strong nerves who do
327not understand a certain refinement of enjoyment.  Though in certain
328circumstances these gentlemen bellow their loudest like bulls, though
329this, let us suppose, does them the greatest credit, yet, as I have said
330already, confronted with the impossible they subside at once.  The impossible
331means the stone wall!  What stone wall?  Why, of course, the laws of
332nature, the deductions of natural science, mathematics.  As soon as they
333prove to you, for instance, that you are descended from a monkey, then it
334is no use scowling, accept it for a fact.  When they prove to you that in
335reality one drop of your own fat must be dearer to you than a hundred
336thousand of your fellow-creatures, and that this conclusion is the final
337solution of all so-called virtues and duties and all such prejudices and
338fancies, then you have just to accept it, there is no help for it, for twice
339two is a law of mathematics.  Just try refuting it.
340
341"Upon my word, they will shout at you, it is no use protesting: it is a
342case of twice two makes four!  Nature does not ask your permission, she
343has nothing to do with your wishes, and whether you like her laws or
344dislike them, you are bound to accept her as she is, and consequently all
345her conclusions.  A wall, you see, is a wall ... and so on, and so on."
346
347Merciful Heavens!  but what do I care for the laws of nature and
348arithmetic, when, for some reason I dislike those laws and the fact that
349twice two makes four?  Of course I cannot break through the wall by
350battering my head against it if I really have not the strength to knock it
351down, but I am not going to be reconciled to it simply because it is a stone
352wall and I have not the strength.
353
354As though such a stone wall really were a consolation, and really did
355contain some word of conciliation, simply because it is as true as twice
356two makes four.  Oh, absurdity of absurdities!  How much better it is to
357understand it all, to recognise it all, all the impossibilities and the stone
358wall; not to be reconciled to one of those impossibilities and stone walls if
359it disgusts you to be reconciled to it; by the way of the most inevitable,
360logical combinations to reach the most revolting conclusions on the
361everlasting theme, that even for the stone wall you are yourself somehow
362to blame, though again it is as clear as day you are not to blame in the
363least, and therefore grinding your teeth in silent impotence to sink into
364luxurious inertia, brooding on the fact that there is no one even for you to
365feel vindictive against, that you have not, and perhaps never will have, an
366object for your spite, that it is a sleight of hand, a bit of juggling, a card-
367sharper's trick, that it is simply a mess, no knowing what and no knowing
368who, but in spite of all these uncertainties and jugglings, still there is an
369ache in you, and the more you do not know, the worse the ache.
370
371
372
373IV
374
375
376"Ha, ha, ha!  You will be finding enjoyment in toothache next," you cry,
377with a laugh.
378
379"Well, even in toothache there is enjoyment," I answer.  I had toothache
380for a whole month and I know there is.  In that case, of course,
381people are not spiteful in silence, but moan; but they are not candid
382moans, they are malignant moans, and the malignancy is the whole
383point.  The enjoyment of the sufferer finds expression in those moans; if
384he did not feel enjoyment in them he would not moan.  It is a good
385example, gentlemen, and I will develop it.  Those moans express in the
386first place all the aimlessness of your pain, which is so humiliating to
387your consciousness; the whole legal system of nature on which you spit
388disdainfully, of course, but from which you suffer all the same while she
389does not.  They express the consciousness that you have no enemy to
390punish, but that you have pain; the consciousness that in spite of all
391possible Wagenheims you are in complete slavery to your teeth; that if
392someone wishes it, your teeth will leave off aching, and if he does not,
393they will go on aching another three months; and that finally if you are
394still contumacious and still protest, all that is left you for your own
395gratification is to thrash yourself or beat your wall with your fist as hard as
396you can, and absolutely nothing more.  Well, these mortal insults, these
397jeers on the part of someone unknown, end at last in an enjoyment which
398sometimes reaches the highest degree of voluptuousness.  I ask you,
399gentlemen, listen sometimes to the moans of an educated man of the
400nineteenth century suffering from toothache, on the second or third day
401of the attack, when he is beginning to moan, not as he moaned on the
402first day, that is, not simply because he has toothache, not just as any
403coarse peasant, but as a man affected by progress and European civilisation,
404a man who is "divorced from the soil and the national elements," as
405they express it now-a-days.  His moans become nasty, disgustingly malignant,
406and go on for whole days and nights.  And of course he knows
407himself that he is doing himself no sort of good with his moans; he knows
408better than anyone that he is only lacerating and harassing himself and
409others for nothing; he knows that even the audience before whom he is
410making his efforts, and his whole family, listen to him with loathing, do
411not put a ha'porth of faith in him, and inwardly understand that he might
412moan differently, more simply, without trills and flourishes, and that he is
413only amusing himself like that from ill-humour, from malignancy.  Well,
414in all these recognitions and disgraces it is that there lies a voluptuous
415pleasure.  As though he would say: "I am worrying you, I am lacerating
416your hearts, I am keeping everyone in the house awake.  Well, stay awake
417then, you, too, feel every minute that I have toothache.  I am not a hero
418to you now, as I tried to seem before, but simply a nasty person, an
419impostor.  Well, so be it, then!  I am very glad that you see through me.  It
420is nasty for you to hear my despicable moans: well, let it be nasty; here I
421will let you have a nastier flourish in a minute. ..."  You do not
422understand even now, gentlemen?  No, it seems our  development and our
423consciousness must go further to understand all the intricacies of this
424pleasure.  You laugh?  Delighted.  My jests, gentlemen, are of course in
425bad taste, jerky, involved, lacking self-confidence.  But of course that is
426because I do not respect myself.  Can a man of perception respect himself
427at all?
428
429
430
431V
432
433
434Come, can a man who attempts to find enjoyment in the very feeling of
435his own degradation possibly have a spark of respect for himself?  I am not
436saying this now from any mawkish kind of remorse.  And, indeed, I could
437never endure saying, "Forgive me, Papa, I won't do it again," not because
438I am incapable of saying that--on the contrary, perhaps just because I
439have been too capable of it, and in what a way, too.  As though of design I
440used to get into trouble in cases when I was not to blame in any way.  That
441was the nastiest part of it.  At the same time I was genuinely touched and
442penitent, I used to shed tears and, of course, deceived myself, though I
443was not acting in the least and there was a sick feeling in my heart at the
444time. ...  For that one could not blame even the laws of nature, though
445the laws of nature have continually all my life offended me more than
446anything.  It is loathsome to remember it all, but it was loathsome even
447then.  Of course, a minute or so later I would realise wrathfully that it was
448all a lie, a revolting lie, an affected lie, that is, all this penitence, this
449emotion, these vows of reform.  You will ask why did I worry myself with
450such antics: answer, because it was very dull to sit with one's hands
451folded, and so one began cutting capers.  That is really it.  Observe
452yourselves more carefully, gentlemen, then you will understand that it is
453so. I invented adventures for myself and made up a life, so as at least to
454live in some way.  How many times it has happened to me--well, for
455instance, to take offence simply on purpose, for nothing; and one knows
456oneself, of course, that one is offended at nothing; that one is putting it
457on, but yet one brings oneself at last to the point of being really offended. 
458All my life I have had an impulse to play such pranks, so that in the end I
459could not control it in myself.  Another time, twice, in fact, I tried hard to
460be in love.  I suffered, too, gentlemen, I assure you.  In the depth of my
461heart there was no faith in my suffering, only a faint stir of mockery, but
462yet I did suffer, and in the real, orthodox way; I was jealous, beside myself
463... and it was all from ENNUI, gentlemen, all from ENNUI; inertia overcame
464me.  You know the direct, legitimate fruit of consciousness is
465inertia, that is, conscious sitting-with-the-hands-folded.  I have referred
466to this already.  I repeat, I repeat with emphasis: all "direct" persons and
467men of action are active just because they are stupid and limited.  How
468explain that?  I will tell you: in consequence of their limitation they take
469immediate and secondary causes for primary ones, and in that way
470persuade themselves more quickly and easily than other people do that
471they have found an infallible foundation for their activity, and their
472minds are at ease and you know that is the chief thing.  To begin to act,
473you know, you must first have your mind completely at ease and no trace
474of doubt left in it.  Why, how am I, for example, to set my mind at rest?
475Where are the primary causes on which I am to build?  Where are my
476foundations?  Where am I to get them from?  I exercise myself in reflection,
477and consequently with me every primary cause at once draws after
478itself another still more primary, and so on to infinity.  That is just the
479essence of every sort of consciousness and reflection.  It must be a case of
480the laws of nature again.  What is the result of it in the end?  Why, just the
481same.  Remember I spoke just now of vengeance.  (I am sure you did not
482take it in.)  I said that a man revenges himself because he sees justice in it. 
483Therefore he has found a primary cause, that is, justice.  And so he is at
484rest on all sides, and consequently he carries out his revenge calmly and
485successfully, being persuaded that he is doing a just and honest thing.  But
486I see no justice in it, I find no sort of virtue in it either, and consequently
487if I attempt to revenge myself, it is only out of spite.  Spite, of course,
488might overcome everything, all my doubts, and so might serve quite
489successfully in place of a primary cause, precisely because it is not a
490cause.  But what is to be done if I have not even spite (I began with that
491just now, you know).  In consequence again of those accursed laws of
492consciousness, anger in me is subject to chemical disintegration.  You
493look into it, the object flies off into air, your reasons evaporate, the
494criminal is not to be found, the wrong becomes not a wrong but a
495phantom, something like the toothache, for which no one is to blame,
496and consequently there is only the same outlet left again--that is, to beat
497the wall as hard as you can.  So you give it up with a wave of the hand
498because you have not found a fundamental cause.  And try letting yourself
499be carried away by your feelings, blindly, without reflection, without a
500primary cause, repelling consciousness at least for a time; hate or love, if
501only not to sit with your hands folded.  The day after tomorrow, at the
502latest, you will begin despising yourself for having knowingly deceived
503yourself.  Result: a soap-bubble and inertia.  Oh, gentlemen, do you
504know, perhaps I consider myself an intelligent man, only because all my
505life I have been able neither to begin nor to finish anything.  Granted I am
506a babbler, a harmless vexatious babbler, like all of us.  But what is to be
507done if the direct and sole vocation of every intelligent man is babble,
508that is, the intentional pouring of water through a sieve?
509
510
511
512VI
513
514
515Oh, if I had done nothing simply from laziness!  Heavens, how I should
516have respected myself, then.  I should have respected myself because I
517should at least have been capable of being lazy; there would at least have
518been one quality, as it were, positive in me, in which I could have believed
519myself.  Question:  What is he?  Answer:  A sluggard; how very pleasant it
520would have been to hear that of oneself!  It would mean that I was positively
521defined, it would mean that there was something to say about me. 
522"Sluggard"--why, it is a calling and vocation, it is a career.  Do not jest, it
523is so.  I should then be a member of the best club by right, and should find
524my occupation in continually respecting myself.  I knew a gentleman who
525prided himself all his life on being a connoisseur of Lafitte.  He considered
526this as his positive virtue, and never doubted himself.  He died, not simply
527with a tranquil, but with a triumphant conscience, and he was quite right,
528too.  Then I should have chosen a career for myself, I should have been a
529sluggard and a glutton, not a simple one, but, for instance, one with
530sympathies for everything sublime and beautiful.  How do you like that?  I
531have long had visions of it.  That "sublime and beautiful" weighs heavily
532on my mind at forty But that is at forty; then--oh, then it would have
533been different!  I should have found for myself a form of activity in keeping
534with it, to be precise, drinking to the health of everything "sublime and
535beautiful."  I should have snatched at every opportunity to drop a tear into
536my glass and then to drain it to all that is "sublime and beautiful."  I should
537then have turned everything into the sublime and the beautiful; in the
538nastiest, unquestionable trash, I should have sought out the sublime and
539the beautiful.  I should have exuded tears like a wet sponge.  An artist, for
540instance, paints a picture worthy of Gay.  At once I drink to the health of
541the artist who painted the picture worthy of Gay, because I love all that is
542"sublime and beautiful."  An author has written AS YOU WILL: at once I drink
543to the health of "anyone you will" because I love all that is "sublime and
544beautiful."
545
546I should claim respect for doing so.  I should persecute anyone who
547would not show me respect.  I should live at ease, I should die with
548dignity, why, it is charming, perfectly charming!  And what a good round
549belly I should have grown, what a treble chin I should have established,
550what a ruby nose I should have coloured for myself, so that everyone
551would have said, looking at me: "Here is an asset!  Here is something real
552and solid!"  And, say what you like, it is very agreeable to hear such
553remarks about oneself in this negative age.
554
555
556
557VII                              
558
559
560But these are all golden dreams.  Oh, tell me, who was it first announced,
561who was it first proclaimed, that man only does nasty things because he
562does not know his own interests; and that if he were enlightened, if his
563eyes were opened to his real normal interests, man would at once cease to
564do nasty things, would at once become good and noble because, being
565enlightened and understanding his real advantage, he would see his own
566advantage in the good and nothing else, and we all know that not one
567man can, consciously, act against his own interests, consequently, so to
568say, through necessity, he would begin doing good?  Oh, the babe!  Oh,
569the pure, innocent child!  Why, in the first place, when in all these
570thousands of years has there been a time when man has acted only from
571his own interest?  What is to be done with the millions of facts that bear
572witness that men, CONSCIOUSLY, that is fully understanding their real
573interests, have left them in the background and have rushed headlong on
574another path, to meet peril and danger, compelled to this course by
575nobody and by nothing, but, as it were, simply disliking the beaten track,
576and have obstinately, wilfully, struck out another difficult, absurd way,
577seeking it almost in the darkness.  So, I suppose, this obstinacy and
578perversity were pleasanter to them than any advantage. ...  Advantage!
579What is advantage?  And will you take it upon yourself to define with
580perfect accuracy in what the advantage of man consists?  And what if it so
581happens that a man's advantage, SOMETIMES, not only may, but even
582must, consist in his desiring in certain cases what is harmful to himself
583and not advantageous.  And if so, if there can be such a case, the whole
584principle falls into dust.  What do you think--are there such cases?  You
585laugh; laugh away, gentlemen, but only answer me: have man's advantages
586been reckoned up with perfect certainty?  Are there not some which not
587only have not been included but cannot possibly be included under any
588classification?  You see, you gentlemen have, to the best of my
589knowledge, taken your whole register of human advantages from the
590averages of statistical figures and politico-economical formulas.  Your
591advantages are prosperity, wealth, freedom, peace--and so on, and so
592on. So that the man who should, for instance, go openly and knowingly
593in opposition to all that list would to your thinking, and indeed mine,
594too, of course, be an obscurantist or an absolute madman: would not he?
595But, you know, this is what is surprising: why does it so happen that all
596these statisticians, sages and lovers of humanity, when they reckon up
597human advantages invariably leave out one?  They don't even take it into
598their reckoning in the form in which it should be taken, and the whole
599reckoning depends upon that.  It would be no greater matter, they would
600simply have to take it, this advantage, and add it to the list.  But the
601trouble is, that this strange advantage does not fall under any classification
602and is not in place in any list.  I have a friend for instance ...  Ech!
603gentlemen, but of course he is your friend, too; and indeed there is no
604one, no one to whom he is not a friend!  When he prepares for any
605undertaking this gentleman immediately explains to you, elegantly and
606clearly, exactly how he must act in accordance with the laws of reason and
607truth.  What is more, he will talk to you with excitement and passion of
608the true normal interests of man; with irony he will upbraid the short-
609sighted fools who do not understand their own interests, nor the true
610significance of virtue; and, within a quarter of an hour, without any
611sudden outside provocation, but simply through something inside him
612which is stronger than all his interests, he will go off on quite a different
613tack--that is, act in direct opposition to what he has just been saying
614about himself, in opposition to the laws of reason, in opposition to his
615own advantage, in fact in opposition to everything ...  I warn you that
616my friend is a compound personality and therefore it is difficult to blame
617him as an individual.  The fact is, gentlemen, it seems there must really
618exist something that is dearer to almost every man than his greatest
619advantages, or (not to be illogical) there is a most advantageous advantage
620(the very one omitted of which we spoke just now) which is more
621important and more advantageous than all other advantages, for the sake
622of which a man if necessary is ready to act in opposition to all laws; that
623is, in opposition to reason, honour, peace, prosperity--in fact, in opposition
624to all those excellent and useful things if only he can attain that
625fundamental, most advantageous advantage which is dearer to him
626than all.  "Yes, but it's advantage all the same," you will retort.  But excuse
627me, I'll make the point clear, and it is not a case of playing upon words. 
628What matters is, that this advantage is remarkable from the very fact that
629it breaks down all our classifications, and continually shatters every
630system constructed by lovers of mankind for the benefit of mankind.  In
631fact, it upsets everything.  But before I mention this advantage to you, I
632want to compromise myself personally, and therefore I boldly declare
633that all these fine systems, all these theories for explaining to mankind
634their real normal interests, in order that inevitably striving to pursue
635these interests they may at once become good and noble--are, in my
636opinion, so far, mere logical exercises!  Yes, logical exercises.  Why, to
637maintain this theory of the regeneration of mankind by means of the
638pursuit of his own advantage is to my mind almost the same thing ...
639as to affirm, for instance, following Buckle, that through civilisation
640mankind becomes softer, and consequently less bloodthirsty and less
641fitted for warfare.  Logically it does seem to follow from his arguments. 
642But man has such a predilection for systems and abstract deductions that
643he is ready to distort the truth intentionally, he is ready to deny the
644evidence of his senses only to justify his logic.  I take this example
645because it is the most glaring instance of it.  Only look about you: blood
646is being spilt in streams, and in the merriest way, as though it were
647champagne.  Take the whole of the nineteenth century in which Buckle
648lived.  Take Napoleon--the Great and also the present one.  Take North
649America--the eternal union.  Take the farce of Schleswig-Holstein ....
650And what is it that civilisation softens in us?  The only gain of civilisation
651for mankind is the greater capacity for variety of sensations--and
652absolutely nothing more.  And through the development of this many-
653sidedness man may come to finding enjoyment in bloodshed.  In fact,
654this has already happened to him.  Have you noticed that it is the most
655civilised gentlemen who have been the subtlest slaughterers, to whom
656the Attilas and Stenka Razins could not hold a candle, and if they are
657not so conspicuous as the Attilas and Stenka Razins it is simply because
658they are so often met with, are so ordinary and have become so familiar
659to us.  In any case civilisation has made mankind if not more bloodthirsty,
660at least more vilely, more loathsomely bloodthirsty.  In old days
661he saw justice in bloodshed and with his conscience at peace exterminated
662those he thought proper.  Now we do think bloodshed abominable
663and yet we engage in this abomination, and with more energy than ever. 
664Which is worse?  Decide that for yourselves.  They say that Cleopatra
665(excuse an instance from Roman history) was fond of sticking gold pins
666into her slave-girls' breasts and derived gratification from their screams
667and writhings.  You will say that that was in the comparatively barbarous
668times; that these are barbarous times too, because also, comparatively
669speaking, pins are stuck in even now; that though man has now learned
670to see more clearly than in barbarous ages, he is still far from having
671learnt to act as reason and science would dictate.  But yet you are fully
672convinced that he will be sure to learn when he gets rid of certain old
673bad habits, and when common sense and science have completely
674re-educated human nature and turned it in a normal direction.  You are
675confident that then man will cease from INTENTIONAL error and will, so to
676say, be compelled not to want to set his will against his normal interests. 
677That is not all; then, you say, science itself will teach man (though to my
678mind it's a superfluous luxury) that he never has really had any caprice
679or will of his own, and that he himself is something of the nature of a
680piano-key or the stop of an organ, and that there are, besides, things
681called the laws of nature; so that everything he does is not done by his
682willing it, but is done of itself, by the laws of nature.  Consequently we
683have only to discover these laws of nature, and man will no longer have
684to answer for his actions and life will become exceedingly easy for him. 
685All human actions will then, of course, be tabulated according to these
686laws, mathematically, like tables of logarithms up to 108,000, and
687entered in an index; or, better still, there would be published certain
688edifying works of the nature of encyclopaedic lexicons, in which everything
689will be so clearly calculated and explained that there will be no
690more incidents or adventures in the world.
691
692Then--this is all what you say--new economic relations will be
693established, all ready-made and worked out with mathematical exactitude,
694so that every possible question will vanish in the twinkling of an eye,
695simply because every possible answer to it will be provided.  Then
696the "Palace of Crystal" will be built.  Then ...  In fact, those will be
697halcyon days.  Of course there is no guaranteeing (this is my comment)
698that it will not be, for instance, frightfully dull then (for what will one
699have to do when everything will be calculated and tabulated), but on the
700other hand everything will be extraordinarily rational.  Of course boredom
701may lead you to anything.  It is boredom sets one sticking golden
702pins into people, but all that would not matter.  What is bad (this is my
703comment again) is that I dare say people will be thankful for the gold
704pins then.  Man is stupid, you know, phenomenally stupid; or rather he is
705not at all stupid, but he is so ungrateful that you could not find another
706like him in all creation.  I, for instance, would not be in the least
707surprised if all of a sudden, A PROPOS of nothing, in the midst of general
708prosperity a gentleman with an ignoble, or rather with a reactionary and
709ironical, countenance were to arise and, putting his arms akimbo, say to
710us all: "I say, gentleman, hadn't we better kick over the whole show and
711scatter rationalism to the winds, simply to send these logarithms to the
712devil, and to enable us to live once more at our own sweet foolish will!"
713That again would not matter, but what is annoying is that he would be
714sure to find followers--such is the nature of man.  And all that for the
715most foolish reason, which, one would think, was hardly worth mentioning:
716that is, that man everywhere and at all times, whoever he may
717be, has preferred to act as he chose and not in the least as his reason and
718advantage dictated.  And one may choose what is contrary to one's own
719interests, and sometimes one POSITIVELY OUGHT (that is my idea).  One's
720own free unfettered choice, one's own caprice, however wild it may be,
721one's own fancy worked up at times to frenzy--is that very "most
722advantageous advantage" which we have overlooked, which comes
723under no classification and against which all systems and theories are
724continually being shattered to atoms.  And how do these wiseacres know
725that man wants a normal, a virtuous choice?  What has made them
726conceive that man must want a rationally advantageous choice?  What
727man wants is simply INDEPENDENT choice, whatever that independence
728may cost and wherever it may lead.  And choice, of course, the devil
729only knows what choice.
730
731
732
733VIII
734
735
736"Ha! ha! ha!  But you know there is no such thing as choice in reality, say
737what you like," you will interpose with a chuckle.  "Science has succeeded
738in so far analysing man that we know already that choice and
739what is called freedom of will is nothing else than--"
740
741Stay, gentlemen, I meant to begin with that myself I confess, I was
742rather frightened.  I was just going to say that the devil only knows what
743choice depends on, and that perhaps that was a very good thing, but I
744remembered the teaching of science ... and pulled myself up.  And here
745you have begun upon it.  Indeed, if there really is some day discovered a
746formula for all our desires and caprices--that is, an explanation of what
747they depend upon, by what laws they arise, how they develop, what they
748are aiming at in one case and in another and so on, that is a real
749mathematical formula--then, most likely, man will at once cease to feel
750desire, indeed, he will be certain to.  For who would want to choose by
751rule?  Besides, he will at once be transformed from a human being into
752an organ-stop or something of the sort; for what is a man without desires,
753without free will and without choice, if not a stop in an organ?  What do
754you think?  Let us reckon the chances--can such a thing happen or not?
755
756"H'm!" you decide.  "Our choice is usually mistaken from a false view
757of our advantage.  We sometimes choose absolute nonsense because in
758our foolishness we see in that nonsense the easiest means for attaining a
759supposed advantage.  But when all that is explained and worked out on
760paper (which is perfectly possible, for it is contemptible and senseless to
761suppose that some laws of nature man will never understand), then
762certainly so-called desires will no longer exist.  For if a desire should come
763into conflict with reason we shall then reason and not desire, because it
764will be impossible retaining our reason to be SENSELESS in our desires, and
765in that way knowingly act against reason and desire to injure ourselves. 
766And as all choice and reasoning can be really calculated--because there
767will some day be discovered the laws of our so-called free will--so, joking
768apart, there may one day be something like a table constructed of them,
769so that we really shall choose in accordance with it.  If, for instance, some
770day they calculate and prove to me that I made a long nose at someone
771because I could not help making a long nose at him and that I had to do it
772in that particular way, what FREEDOM is left me, especially if I am a learned
773man and have taken my degree somewhere?  Then I should be able to
774calculate my whole life for thirty years beforehand.  In short, if this could
775be arranged there would be nothing left for us to do; anyway, we should
776have to understand that.  And, in fact, we ought unwearyingly to repeat to
777ourselves that at such and such a time and in such and such circumstances
778nature does not ask our leave; that we have got to take her as she is
779and not fashion her to suit our fancy, and if we really aspire to formulas
780and tables of rules, and well, even ... to the chemical retort, there's no
781help for it, we must accept the retort too, or else it will be accepted
782without our consent ...."
783
784Yes, but here I come to a stop!  Gentlemen, you must excuse me for being
785over-philosophical; it's the result of forty years underground!  Allow me to
786indulge my fancy.  You see, gentlemen, reason is an excellent thing, there's
787no disputing that, but reason is nothing but reason and satisfies only
788the rational side of man's nature, while will is a manifestation of the whole
789life, that is, of the whole human life including reason and all the impulses.
790And although our life, in this manifestation of it, is often worthless, yet
791it is life and not simply extracting square roots.  Here I, for instance,
792quite naturally want to live, in order to satisfy all my capacities for
793life, and not simply my capacity for reasoning, that is, not simply one
794twentieth of my capacity for life.  What does reason know?  Reason only
795knows what it has succeeded in learning (some things, perhaps, it will
796never learn; this is a poor comfort, but why not say so frankly?) and
797human nature acts as a whole, with everything that is in it, consciously
798or unconsciously, and, even if it goes wrong, it lives.  I suspect,
799gentlemen, that you are looking at me with compassion; you tell me
800again that an enlightened and developed man, such, in short, as the
801future man will be, cannot consciously desire anything disadvantageous
802to himself, that that can be proved mathematically.  I thoroughly agree, it
803can--by mathematics.  But I repeat for the hundredth time, there is one
804case, one only, when man may consciously, purposely, desire what is
805injurious to himself, what is stupid, very stupid--simply in order to have
806the right to desire for himself even what is very stupid and not to be
807bound by an obligation to desire only what is sensible.  Of course, this
808very stupid thing, this caprice of ours, may be in reality, gentlemen,
809more advantageous for us than anything else on earth, especially in
810certain cases.  And in particular it may be more advantageous than any
811advantage even when it does us obvious harm, and contradicts the
812soundest conclusions of our reason concerning our advantage--for in
813any circumstances it preserves for us what is most precious and most
814important--that is, our personality, our individuality.  Some, you see,
815maintain that this really is the most precious thing for mankind; choice
816can, of course, if it chooses, be in agreement with reason; and especially
817if this be not abused but kept within bounds.  It is profitable and sometimes
818even praiseworthy.  But very often, and even most often, choice is
819utterly and stubbornly opposed to reason ... and ... and ... do you
820know that that, too, is profitable, sometimes even praiseworthy?  Gentlemen,
821let us suppose that man is not stupid.  (Indeed one cannot refuse to
822suppose that, if only from the one consideration, that, if man is stupid,
823then who is wise?)  But if he is not stupid, he is monstrously ungrateful!
824Phenomenally ungrateful.  In fact, I believe that the best definition of
825man is the ungrateful biped.  But that is not all, that is not his worst
826defect; his worst defect is his perpetual moral obliquity, perpetual--from
827the days of the Flood to the Schleswig-Holstein period.  Moral obliquity
828and consequently lack of good sense; for it has long been accepted that
829lack of good sense is due to no other cause than moral obliquity.  Put it to
830the test and cast your eyes upon the history of mankind.  What will you
831see?  Is it a grand spectacle?  Grand, if you like.  Take the Colossus of
832Rhodes, for instance, that's worth something.  With good reason Mr.
833Anaevsky testifies of it that some say that it is the work of man's hands,
834while others maintain that it has been created by nature herself.  Is it
835many-coloured?  May be it is many-coloured, too: if one takes the dress
836uniforms, military and civilian, of all peoples in all ages--that alone is
837worth something, and if you take the undress uniforms you will never get
838to the end of it; no historian would be equal to the job.  Is it monotonous?
839May be it's monotonous too: it's fighting and fighting; they are fighting
840now, they fought first and they fought last--you will admit, that it is
841almost too monotonous.  In short, one may say anything about the history
842of the world--anything that might enter the most disordered imagination.
843The only thing one can't say is that it's rational.  The very word sticks
844in one's throat.  And, indeed, this is the odd thing that is continually
845happening: there are continually turning up in life moral and rational
846persons, sages and lovers of humanity who make it their object to live all
847their lives as morally and rationally as possible, to be, so to speak, a light
848to their neighbours simply in order to show them that it is possible to live
849morally and rationally in this world.  And yet we all know that those very
850people sooner or later have been false to themselves, playing some queer
851trick, often a most unseemly one.  Now I ask you: what can be expected of
852man since he is a being endowed with strange qualities?  Shower upon
853him every earthly blessing, drown him in a sea of happiness, so that
854nothing but bubbles of bliss can be seen on the surface; give him
855economic prosperity, such that he should have nothing else to do but
856sleep, eat cakes and busy himself with the continuation of his species, and
857even then out of sheer ingratitude, sheer spite, man would play you some
858nasty trick.  He would even risk his cakes and would deliberately desire
859the most fatal rubbish, the most uneconomical absurdity, simply to
860introduce into all this positive good sense his fatal fantastic element.  It is
861just his fantastic dreams, his vulgar folly that he will desire to retain,
862simply in order to prove to himself--as though that were so necessary--
863that men still are men and not the keys of a piano, which the laws of
864nature threaten to control so completely that soon one will be able to
865desire nothing but by the calendar.  And that is not all: even if man really
866were nothing but a piano-key, even if this were proved to him by natural
867science and mathematics, even then he would not become reasonable,
868but would purposely do something perverse out of simple ingratitude,
869simply to gain his point.  And if he does not find means he will contrive
870destruction and chaos, will contrive sufferings of all sorts, only to gain his
871point!  He will launch a curse upon the world, and as only man can curse
872(it is his privilege, the primary distinction between him and other animals),
873may be by his curse alone he will attain his object--that is,
874convince himself that he is a man and not a piano-key!  If you say that all
875this, too, can be calculated and tabulated--chaos and darkness and
876curses, so that the mere possibility of calculating it all beforehand would
877stop it all, and reason would reassert itself, then man would purposely go
878mad in order to be rid of reason and gain his point!  I believe in it, I
879answer for it, for the whole work of man really seems to consist in nothing
880but proving to himself every minute that he is a man and not a piano-key!
881It may be at the cost of his skin, it may be by cannibalism!  And this being
882so, can one help being tempted to rejoice that it has not yet come off, and
883that desire still depends on something we don't know?
884
885You will scream at me (that is, if you condescend to do so) that no one
886is touching my free will, that all they are concerned with is that my will
887should of itself, of its own free will, coincide with my own normal
888interests, with the laws of nature and arithmetic.
889
890Good heavens, gentlemen, what sort of free will is left when we
891come to tabulation and arithmetic, when it will all be a case of twice
892two make four?  Twice two makes four without my will.  As if free will
893meant that!
894
895
896
897IX
898
899
900Gentlemen, I am joking, and I know myself that my jokes are not
901brilliant,but you know one can take everything as a joke.  I am, perhaps,
902jesting against the grain.  Gentlemen, I am tormented by questions;
903answer them for me.  You, for instance, want to cure men of their old
904habits and reform their will in accordance with science and good sense. 
905But how do you know, not only that it is possible, but also that it is
906DESIRABLE to reform man in that way?  And what leads you to the conclusion
907that man's inclinations NEED reforming?  In short, how do you know
908that such a reformation will be a benefit to man?  And to go to the root of
909the matter, why are you so positively convinced that not to act against his
910real normal interests guaranteed by the conclusions of reason and arithmetic
911is certainly always advantageous for man and must always be a law
912for mankind?  So far, you know, this is only your supposition.  It may be
913the law of logic, but not the law of humanity.  You think, gentlemen,
914perhaps that I am mad?  Allow me to defend myself.  I agree that man is
915pre-eminently a creative animal, predestined to strive consciously for an
916object and to engage in engineering--that is, incessantly and eternally to
917make new roads, WHEREVER THEY MAY LEAD.  But the reason why he wants
918sometimes to go off at a tangent may just be that he is PREDESTINED to make
919the road, and perhaps, too, that however stupid the "direct" practical
920man may be, the thought sometimes will occur to him that the road
921almost always does lead SOMEWHERE, and that the destination it leads to is
922less important than the process of making it, and that the chief thing is to
923save the well-conducted child from despising engineering, and so giving
924way to the fatal idleness, which, as we all know, is the mother of all the
925vices.  Man likes to make roads and to create, that is a fact beyond dispute. 
926But why has he such a passionate love for destruction and chaos also?  Tell
927me that!  But on that point I want to say a couple of words myself.  May it
928not be that he loves chaos and destruction (there can be no disputing that
929he does sometimes love it) because he is instinctively afraid of attaining
930his object and completing the edifice he is constructing?  Who knows,
931perhaps he only loves that edifice from a distance, and is by no means in
932love with it at close quarters; perhaps he only loves building it and does
933not want to live in it, but will leave it, when completed, for the use of
934LES ANIMAUX DOMESTIQUES--such as the ants, the sheep, and so on.  Now the
935ants have quite a different taste.  They have a marvellous edifice of that
936pattern which endures for ever--the ant-heap.
937
938With the ant-heap the respectable race of ants began and with the ant-
939heap they will probably end, which does the greatest credit to their
940perseverance and good sense.  But man is a frivolous and incongruous
941creature, and perhaps, like a chess player, loves the process of the game,
942not the end of it.  And who knows (there is no saying with certainty),
943perhaps the only goal on earth to which mankind is striving lies in this
944incessant process of attaining, in other words, in life itself, and not in the
945thing to be attained, which must always be expressed as a formula, as
946positive as twice two makes four, and such positiveness is not life,
947gentlemen, but is the beginning of death.  Anyway, man has always been
948afraid of this mathematical certainty, and I am afraid of it now.  Granted
949that man does nothing but seek that mathematical certainty, he traverses
950oceans, sacrifices his life in the quest, but to succeed, really to find it,
951dreads, I assure you.  He feels that when he has found it there will be
952nothing for him to look for.  When workmen have finished their work
953they do at least receive their pay, they go to the tavern, then they are taken
954to the police-station--and there is occupation for a week.  But where can
955man go?  Anyway, one can observe a certain awkwardness about him
956when he has attained such objects.  He loves the process of attaining, but
957does not quite like to have attained, and that, of course, is very absurd.  In
958fact, man is a comical creature; there seems to be a kind of jest in it all. 
959But yet mathematical certainty is after all, something insufferable.  Twice
960two makes four seems to me simply a piece of insolence.  Twice two
961makes four is a pert coxcomb who stands with arms akimbo barring your
962path and spitting.  I admit that twice two makes four is an excellent thing,
963but if we are to give everything its due, twice two makes five is sometimes
964a very charming thing too.
965
966And why are you so firmly, so triumphantly, convinced that only the
967normal and the positive--in other words, only what is conducive to
968welfare--is for the advantage of man?  Is not reason in error as regards
969advantage?  Does not man, perhaps, love something besides well-being?
970Perhaps he is just as fond of suffering?  Perhaps suffering is just as great a
971benefit to him as well-being?  Man is sometimes extraordinarily, passionately,
972in love with suffering, and that is a fact.  There is no need to appeal
973to universal history to prove that; only ask yourself, if you are a man and
974have lived at all.  As far as my personal opinion is concerned, to care only
975for well-being seems to me positively ill-bred.  Whether it's good or bad, it
976is sometimes very pleasant, too, to smash things.  I hold no brief for
977suffering nor for well-being either.  I am standing for ... my caprice, and
978for its being guaranteed to me when necessary.  Suffering would be out of
979place in vaudevilles, for instance; I know that.  In the "Palace of Crystal" it
980is unthinkable; suffering means doubt, negation, and what would be the
981good of a "palace of crystal" if there could be any doubt about it?  And yet
982I think man will never renounce real suffering, that is, destruction and
983chaos.  Why, suffering is the sole origin of consciousness.  Though I did
984lay it down at the beginning that consciousness is the greatest misfortune
985for man, yet I know man prizes it and would not give it up for any
986satisfaction.  Consciousness, for instance, is infinitely superior to twice
987two makes four.  Once you have mathematical certainty there is nothing
988left to do or to understand.  There will be nothing left but to bottle up your
989five senses and plunge into contemplation.  While if you stick to
990consciousness, even though the same result is attained, you can at least flog
991yourself at times, and that will, at any rate, liven you up.  Reactionary as it
992is, corporal punishment is better than nothing.
993
994
995
996X
997
998
999You believe in a palace of crystal that can never be destroyed--a palace at
1000which one will not be able to put out one's tongue or make a long nose on
1001the sly.  And perhaps that is just why I am afraid of this edifice, that it is
1002of crystal and can never be destroyed and that one cannot put one's tongue
1003out at it even on the sly.
1004
1005You see, if it were not a palace, but a hen-house, I might creep into it
1006to avoid getting wet, and yet I would not call the hen-house a palace out
1007of gratitude to it for keeping me dry.  You laugh and say that in such
1008circumstances a hen-house is as good as a mansion.  Yes, I answer, if one
1009had to live simply to keep out of the rain.
1010
1011But what is to be done if I have taken it into my head that that is not the
1012only object in life, and that if one must live one had better live in a
1013mansion?  That is my choice, my desire.  You will only eradicate it when
1014you have changed my preference.  Well, do change it, allure me with
1015something else, give me another ideal.  But meanwhile I will not take a
1016hen-house for a mansion.  The palace of crystal may be an idle dream, it
1017may be that it is inconsistent with the laws of nature and that I have
1018invented it only through my own stupidity, through the old-fashioned
1019irrational habits of my generation.  But what does it matter to me that it is
1020inconsistent?  That makes no difference since it exists in my desires, or
1021rather exists as long as my desires exist.  Perhaps you are laughing again?
1022Laugh away; I will put up with any mockery rather than pretend that I am
1023satisfied when I am hungry.  I know, anyway, that I will not be put off with
1024a compromise, with a recurring zero, simply because it is consistent with
1025the laws of nature and actually exists.  I will not accept as the crown of my
1026desires a block of buildings with tenements for the poor on a lease of a
1027thousand years, and perhaps with a sign-board of a dentist hanging out. 
1028Destroy my desires, eradicate my ideals, show me something better, and I
1029will follow you.  You will say, perhaps, that it is not worth your trouble;
1030but in that case I can give you the same answer.  We are discussing things
1031seriously; but if you won't deign to give me your attention, I will drop
1032your acquaintance.  I can retreat into my underground hole.
1033
1034But while I am alive and have desires I would rather my hand were
1035withered off than bring one brick to such a building!  Don't remind me
1036that I have just rejected the palace of crystal for the sole reason that one
1037cannot put out one's tongue at it.  I did not say because I am so fond of
1038putting my tongue out.  Perhaps the thing I resented was, that of all your
1039edifices there has not been one at which one could not put out one's
1040tongue.  On the contrary, I would let my tongue be cut off out of gratitude
1041if things could be so arranged that I should lose all desire to put it out.  It
1042is not my fault that things cannot be so arranged, and that one must be
1043satisfied with model flats.  Then why am I made with such desires?  Can I
1044have been constructed simply in order to come to the conclusion that all
1045my construction is a cheat?  Can this be my whole purpose?  I do not
1046believe it.
1047
1048But do you know what: I am convinced that we underground folk
1049ought to be kept on a curb.  Though we may sit forty years underground
1050without speaking, when we do come out into the light of day and break
1051out we talk and talk and talk ....
1052
1053
1054
1055XI
1056
1057
1058The long and the short of it is, gentlemen, that it is better to do nothing!
1059Better conscious inertia!  And so hurrah for underground!  Though I have
1060said that I envy the normal man to the last drop of my bile, yet I should
1061not care to be in his place such as he is now (though I shall not cease
1062envying him).  No, no; anyway the underground life is more advantageous.
1063There, at any rate, one can ...  Oh, but even now I am lying!  I
1064am lying because I know myself that it is not underground that is better,
1065but something different, quite different, for which I am thirsting, but
1066which I cannot find!  Damn underground!
1067
1068I will tell you another thing that would be better, and that is, if I
1069myself believed in anything of what I have just written.  I swear to you,
1070gentlemen, there is not one thing, not one word of what I have written that I
1071really believe.  That is, I believe it, perhaps, but at the same time I feel
1072and suspect that I am lying like a cobbler.
1073
1074"Then why have you written all this?" you will say to me.  "I ought to
1075put you underground for forty years without anything to do and then
1076come to you in your cellar, to find out what stage you have reached!  How
1077can a man be left with nothing to do for forty years?"
1078
1079"Isn't that shameful, isn't that humiliating?" you will say, perhaps,
1080wagging your heads contemptuously.  "You thirst for life and try to settle
1081the problems of life by a logical tangle.  And how persistent, how insolent
1082are your sallies, and at the same time what a scare you are in!  You talk
1083nonsense and are pleased with it; you say impudent things and are in
1084continual alarm and apologising for them.  You declare that you are
1085afraid of nothing and at the same time try to ingratiate yourself in our
1086good opinion.  You declare that you are gnashing your teeth and at the
1087same time you try to be witty so as to amuse us.  You know that your
1088witticisms are not witty, but you are evidently well satisfied with their
1089literary value.  You may, perhaps, have really suffered, but you have no
1090respect for your own suffering.  You may have sincerity, but you have no
1091modesty; out of the pettiest vanity you expose your sincerity to publicity
1092and ignominy.  You doubtlessly mean to say something, but hide your last
1093word through fear, because you have not the resolution to utter it, and
1094only have a cowardly impudence.  You boast of consciousness, but you
1095are not sure of your ground, for though your mind works, yet your heart is
1096darkened and corrupt, and you cannot have a full, genuine consciousness
1097without a pure heart.  And how intrusive you are, how you insist and
1098grimace!  Lies, lies, lies!"
1099
1100Of course I have myself made up all the things you say.  That, too, is
1101from underground.  I have been for forty years listening to you through a
1102crack under the floor.  I have invented them myself, there was nothing
1103else I could invent.  It is no wonder that I have learned it by heart and it
1104has taken a literary form ....
1105
1106But can you really be so credulous as to think that I will print all this
1107and give it to you to read too?  And another problem: why do I call you
1108"gentlemen," why do I address you as though you really were my readers?
1109Such confessions as I intend to make are never printed nor given to other
1110people to read.  Anyway, I am not strong-minded enough for that, and I
1111don't see why I should be.  But you see a fancy has occurred to me and I
1112want to realise it at all costs.  Let me explain.
1113
1114Every man has reminiscences which he would not tell to everyone,
1115but only to his friends.  He has other matters in his mind which he would
1116not reveal even to his friends, but only to himself, and that in secret.  But
1117there are other things which a man is afraid to tell even to himself, and
1118every decent man has a number of such things stored away in his mind. 
1119The more decent he is, the greater the number of such things in his
1120mind.  Anyway, I have only lately determined to remember some of my
1121early adventures.  Till now I have always avoided them, even with a
1122certain uneasiness.  Now, when I am not only recalling them, but have
1123actually decided to write an account of them, I want to try the experiment
1124whether one can, even with oneself, be perfectly open and not take
1125fright at the whole truth.  I will observe, in parenthesis, that Heine says
1126that a true autobiography is almost an impossibility, and that man is
1127bound to lie about himself.  He considers that Rousseau certainly told lies
1128about himself in his confessions, and even intentionally lied, out of
1129vanity.  I am convinced that Heine is right; I quite understand how
1130sometimes one may, out of sheer vanity, attribute regular crimes to
1131oneself, and indeed I can very well conceive that kind of vanity.  But
1132Heine judged of people who made their confessions to the public.  I write
1133only for myself, and I wish to declare once and for all that if I write as
1134though I were addressing readers, that is simply because it is easier for me
1135to write in that form.  It is a form, an empty form--I shall never have
1136readers.  I have made this plain already ...
1137
1138I don't wish to be hampered by any restrictions in the compilation of
1139my notes.  I shall not attempt any system or method.  I will jot things down
1140as I remember them.
1141
1142But here, perhaps, someone will catch at the word and ask me: if you
1143really don't reckon on readers, why do you make such compacts with
1144yourself--and on paper too--that is, that you won't attempt any system
1145or method, that you jot things down as you remember them, and so on,
1146and so on?  Why are you explaining?  Why do you apologise?
1147
1148Well, there it is, I answer.
1149
1150There is a whole psychology in all this, though.  Perhaps it is simply
1151that I am a coward.  And perhaps that I purposely imagine an audience
1152before me in order that I may be more dignified while I write.  There are
1153perhaps thousands of reasons.  Again, what is my object precisely in
1154writing?  If it is not for the benefit of the public why should I not simply
1155recall these incidents in my own mind without putting them on paper?
1156
1157Quite so; but yet it  is more imposing on paper.  There is something
1158more impressive in it; I shall be better able to criticise myself and improve
1159my style.  Besides, I shall perhaps obtain actual relief from writing. 
1160Today, for instance, I am particularly oppressed by one memory of a
1161distant past.  It came back vividly to my mind a few days ago, and has
1162remained haunting me like an annoying tune that one cannot get rid of. 
1163And yet I must get rid of it somehow.  I have hundreds of such reminiscences;
1164but at times some one stands out from the hundred and oppresses me.
1165For some reason I believe that if I write it down I should get rid of it.
1166Why not try?
1167
1168Besides, I am bored, and I never have anything to do.  Writing will be a
1169sort of work.  They say work makes man kind-hearted and honest.  Well,
1170here is a chance for me, anyway.
1171
1172Snow is falling today, yellow and dingy.  It fell yesterday, too, and a few
1173days ago.  I fancy it is the wet snow that has reminded me of that incident
1174which I cannot shake off now.  And so let it be a story A PROPOS of the
1175falling snow.
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180PART II
1181
1182A Propos of the Wet Snow
1183
1184
1185When from dark error's subjugation
1186My words of passionate exhortation
1187  Had wrenched thy fainting spirit free;
1188And writhing prone in thine affliction
1189Thou didst recall with malediction
1190  The vice that had encompassed thee:
1191And when thy slumbering conscience, fretting
1192  By recollection's torturing flame,
1193Thou didst reveal the hideous setting
1194  Of thy life's current ere I came:
1195When suddenly I saw thee sicken,
1196  And weeping, hide thine anguished face,
1197Revolted, maddened, horror-stricken,
1198  At memories of foul disgrace.
1199          NEKRASSOV
1200          (translated by Juliet Soskice).
1201
1202
1203
1204I
1205
1206
1207AT THAT TIME I was only twenty-four.  My life was even then gloomy, ill-
1208regulated, and as solitary as that of a savage.  I made friends with no one
1209and positively avoided talking, and buried myself more and more in my
1210hole.  At work in the office I never looked at anyone, and was perfectly
1211well aware that my companions looked upon me, not only as a queer
1212fellow, but even looked upon me--I always fancied this--with a sort of
1213loathing.  I sometimes wondered why it was that nobody except me
1214fancied that he was looked upon with aversion?  One of the clerks had a
1215most repulsive, pock-marked face, which looked positively villainous.  I
1216believe I should not have dared to look at anyone with such an unsightly
1217countenance.  Another had such a very dirty old uniform that there was
1218an unpleasant odour in his proximity.  Yet not one of these gentlemen
1219showed the slightest self-consciousness--either about their clothes or
1220their countenance or their character in any way.  Neither of them ever
1221imagined that they were looked at with repulsion; if they had imagined it
1222they would not have minded--so long as their superiors did not look at
1223them in that way.  It is clear to me now that, owing to my unbounded
1224vanity and to the high standard I set for myself, I often looked at myself
1225with furious discontent, which verged on loathing, and so I inwardly
1226attributed the same feeling to everyone.  I hated my face, for instance: I
1227thought it disgusting, and even suspected that there was something base
1228in my expression, and so every day when I turned up at the office I tried to
1229behave as independently as possible, and to assume a lofty expression, so
1230that I might not be suspected of being abject.  "My face may be ugly," I
1231thought, "but let it be lofty, expressive, and, above all, EXTREMELY
1232intelligent."  But I was positively and painfully certain that it was
1233impossible for my countenance ever to express those qualities.  And what was
1234worst of all, I thought it actually stupid looking, and I would have been quite
1235satisfied if I could have looked intelligent.  In fact, I would even have put
1236up with looking base if, at the same time, my face could have been
1237thought strikingly intelligent.
1238
1239Of course, I hated my fellow clerks one and all, and I despised them all,
1240yet at the same time I was, as it were, afraid of them.  In fact, it happened at
1241times that I thought more highly of them than of myself.  It somehow
1242happened quite suddenly that I alternated between despising them and
1243thinking them superior to myself.  A cultivated and decent man cannot be
1244vain without setting a fearfully high standard for himself, and without
1245despising and almost hating himself at certain moments.  But whether I
1246despised them or thought them superior I dropped my eyes almost every
1247time I met anyone.  I even made experiments whether I could face so and
1248so's looking at me, and I was always the first to drop my eyes.  This worried
1249me to distraction.  I had a sickly dread, too, of being ridiculous, and so had
1250a slavish passion for the conventional in everything external.  I loved to fall
1251into the common rut, and had a whole-hearted terror of any kind of
1252eccentricity in myself.  But how could I live up to it?  I was morbidly
1253sensitive as a man of our age should be.  They were all stupid, and as like
1254one another as so many sheep.  Perhaps I was the only one in the office who
1255fancied that I was a coward and a slave, and I fancied it just because I was
1256more highly developed.  But it was not only that I fancied it, it really was so. 
1257I was a coward and a slave.  I say this without the slightest embarrassment.
1258Every decent man of our age must be a coward and a slave.  That is his
1259normal condition.  Of that I am firmly persuaded.  He is made and constructed
1260to that very end.  And not only at the present time owing to some
1261casual circumstances, but always, at all times, a decent man is bound to
1262be a coward and a slave.  It is the law of nature for all decent people all over
1263the earth.  If anyone of them happens to be valiant about something, he
1264need not be comforted nor carried away by that; he would show the white
1265feather just the same before something else.  That is how it invariably and
1266inevitably ends.  Only donkeys and mules are valiant, and they only till
1267they are pushed up to the wall.  It is not worth while to pay attention to
1268them for they really are of no consequence.
1269
1270Another circumstance, too, worried me in those days: that there was no
1271one like me and I was unlike anyone else.  "I am alone and they are
1272EVERYONE," I thought--and pondered.
1273
1274From that it is evident that I was still a youngster.
1275
1276The very opposite sometimes happened.  It was loathsome sometimes
1277to go to the office; things reached such a point that I often came home ill. 
1278But all at once, A PROPOS of nothing, there would come a phase of
1279scepticism and indifference (everything happened in phases to me), and I
1280would laugh myself at my intolerance and fastidiousness, I would reproach
1281myself with being ROMANTIC.  At one time I was unwilling to speak
1282to anyone, while at other times I would not only talk, but go to the length
1283of contemplating making friends with them.  All my fastidiousness would
1284suddenly, for no rhyme or reason, vanish.  Who knows, perhaps I never
1285had really had it, and it had simply been affected, and got out of books.  I
1286have not decided that question even now.  Once I quite made friends with
1287them, visited their homes, played preference, drank vodka, talked of
1288promotions ....  But here let me make a digression.
1289
1290We Russians, speaking generally, have never had those foolish
1291transcendental "romantics"--German, and still more French--on whom
1292nothing produces any effect; if there were an earthquake, if all France
1293perished at the barricades, they would still be the same, they would not
1294even have the decency to affect a change, but would still go on singing
1295their transcendental songs to the hour of their death, because they are
1296fools.  We, in Russia, have no fools; that is well known.  That is what
1297distinguishes us from foreign lands.  Consequently these transcendental
1298natures are not found amongst us in their pure form.  The idea that they
1299are is due to our "realistic" journalists and critics of that day, always on
1300the look out for Kostanzhoglos and Uncle Pyotr Ivanitchs and foolishly
1301accepting them as our ideal; they have slandered our romantics, taking
1302them for the same transcendental sort as in Germany or France.  On the
1303contrary, the characteristics of our "romantics" are absolutely and directly
1304opposed to the transcendental European type, and no European
1305standard can be applied to them.  (Allow me to make use of this word
1306"romantic"--an old-fashioned and much respected word which has
1307done good service and is familiar to all.)  The characteristics of our
1308romantic are to understand everything, TO SEE EVERYTHING AND TO SEE IT
1309OFTEN INCOMPARABLY MORE CLEARLY THAN OUR MOST REALISTIC MINDS SEE IT; to
1310refuse to accept anyone or anything, but at the same time not to despise
1311anything; to give way, to yield, from policy; never to lose sight of a useful
1312practical object (such as rent-free quarters at the government expense,
1313pensions, decorations), to keep their eye on that object through all the
1314enthusiasms and volumes of lyrical poems, and at the same time to preserve
1315"the sublime and the beautiful" inviolate within them to the hour of
1316their death, and to preserve themselves also, incidentally, like some precious
1317jewel wrapped in cotton wool if only for the benefit of "the sublime
1318and the beautiful."  Our "romantic" is a man of great breadth and the
1319greatest rogue of all our rogues, I assure you ....  I can assure you from
1320experience, indeed.  Of course, that is, if he is intelligent.  But what am I
1321saying!  The romantic is always intelligent, and I only meant to observe
1322that although we have had foolish romantics they don't count, and they
1323were only so because in the flower of their youth they degenerated into
1324Germans, and to preserve their precious jewel more comfortably, settled
1325somewhere out there--by preference in Weimar or the Black Forest.
1326
1327I, for instance, genuinely despised my official work and did not openly
1328abuse it simply because I was in it myself and got a salary for it.  Anyway,
1329take note, I did not openly abuse it.  Our romantic would rather go out of
1330his mind--a thing, however, which very rarely happens--than take to
1331open abuse, unless he had some other career in view; and he is never
1332kicked out.  At most, they would take him to the lunatic asylum as "the
1333King of Spain" if he should go very mad.  But it is only the thin, fair people
1334who go out of their minds in Russia.  Innumerable "romantics" attain later
1335in life to considerable rank in the service.  Their many-sidedness is
1336remarkable!  And what a faculty they have for the most contradictory
1337sensations!  I was comforted by this thought even in those days, and I am of
1338the same opinion now.  That is why there are so many "broad natures" among
1339us who never lose their ideal even in the depths of degradation; and though
1340they never stir a finger for their ideal, though they are arrant thieves and
1341knaves, yet they tearfully cherish their first ideal and are extraordinarily
1342honest at heart.  Yes, it is only among us that the most incorrigible rogue
1343can be absolutely and loftily honest at heart without in the least ceasing to
1344be a rogue.  I repeat, our romantics, frequently, become such accomplished
1345rascals (I use the term "rascals" affectionately), suddenly display
1346such a sense of reality and practical knowledge that their bewildered superiors
1347and the public generally can only ejaculate in amazement.
1348
1349Their many-sidedness is really amazing, and goodness knows what it
1350may develop into later on, and what the future has in store for us.  It is not
1351a poor material!  I do not say this from any foolish or boastful patriotism. 
1352But I feel sure that you are again imagining that I am joking.  Or perhaps
1353it's just the contrary and you are convinced that I really think so.  Anyway,
1354gentlemen, I shall welcome both views as an honour and a special favour. 
1355And do forgive my digression.
1356
1357I did not, of course, maintain friendly relations with my comrades and
1358soon was at loggerheads with them, and in my youth and inexperience I
1359even gave up bowing to them, as though I had cut off all relations.  That,
1360however, only happened to me once.  As a rule, I was always alone.
1361
1362In the first place I spent most of my time at home, reading.  I tried to
1363stifle all that was continually seething within me by means of external
1364impressions.  And the only external means I had was reading.  Reading, of
1365course, was a great help--exciting me, giving me pleasure and pain.  But
1366at times it bored me fearfully.  One longed for movement in spite of
1367everything, and I plunged all at once into dark, underground, loathsome
1368vice of the pettiest kind.  My wretched passions were acute, smarting,
1369from my continual, sickly irritability I had hysterical impulses, with
1370tears and convulsions.  I had no resource except reading, that is, there was
1371nothing in my surroundings which I could respect and which attracted
1372me. I was overwhelmed with depression, too; I had an hysterical craving
1373for incongruity and for contrast, and so I took to vice.  I have not said all
1374this to justify myself ....  But, no!  I am lying.  I did want to justify
1375myself.  I make that little observation for my own benefit, gentlemen.  I don't
1376want to lie.  I vowed to myself I would not.
1377
1378And so, furtively, timidly, in solitude, at night, I indulged in filthy
1379vice, with a feeling of shame which never deserted me, even at the most
1380loathsome moments, and which at such moments nearly made me curse. 
1381Already even then I had my underground world in my soul.  I was
1382fearfully afraid of being seen, of being met, of being recognised.  I visited
1383various obscure haunts.
1384
1385One night as I was passing a tavern I saw through a lighted window
1386some gentlemen fighting with billiard cues, and saw one of them thrown
1387out of the window.  At other times I should have felt very much disgusted,
1388but I was in such a mood at the time, that I actually envied the gentleman
1389thrown out of the window--and I envied him so much that I even went
1390into the tavern and into the billiard-room.  "Perhaps," I thought, "I'll
1391have a fight, too, and they'll throw me out of the window."
1392
1393I was not drunk--but what is one to do--depression will drive a man
1394to such a pitch of hysteria?  But nothing happened.  It seemed that I was
1395not even equal to being thrown out of the window and I went away
1396without having my fight.
1397
1398An officer put me in my place from the first moment.
1399
1400I was standing by the billiard-table and in my ignorance blocking up
1401the way, and he wanted to pass; he took me by the shoulders and without a
1402word--without a warning or explanation--moved me from where I was
1403standing to another spot and passed by as though he had not noticed me.  I
1404could have forgiven blows, but I could not forgive his having moved me
1405without noticing me.
1406
1407Devil knows what I would have given for a real regular quarrel--a
1408more decent, a more LITERARY one, so to speak.  I had been treated like a
1409fly.  This officer was over six foot, while I was a spindly little fellow.  But
1410the quarrel was in my hands.  I had only to protest and I certainly would
1411have been thrown out of the window.  But I changed my mind and
1412preferred to beat a resentful retreat.
1413
1414I went out of the tavern straight home, confused and troubled, and the
1415next night I went out again with the same lewd intentions, still more
1416furtively, abjectly and miserably than before, as it were, with tears in my
1417eyes--but still I did go out again.  Don't imagine, though, it was coward-
1418ice made me slink away from the officer; I never have been a coward at
1419heart, though I have always been a coward in action.  Don't be in a hurry
1420to laugh--I assure you I can explain it all.
1421
1422Oh, if only that officer had been one of the sort who would consent to
1423fight a duel!  But no, he was one of those gentlemen (alas, long extinct!)
1424who preferred fighting with cues or, like Gogol's Lieutenant Pirogov,
1425appealing to the police.  They did not fight duels and would have thought
1426a duel with a civilian like me an utterly unseemly procedure in any
1427case--and they looked upon the duel altogether as something impossible,
1428something free-thinking and French.  But they were quite ready to
1429bully, especially when they were over six foot.
1430
1431I did not slink away through cowardice, but through an unbounded
1432vanity.  I was afraid not of his six foot, not of getting a sound thrashing and
1433being thrown out of the window; I should have had physical courage
1434enough, I assure you; but I had not the moral courage.  What I was afraid of
1435was that everyone present, from the insolent marker down to the lowest
1436little stinking, pimply clerk in a greasy collar, would jeer at me and fail to
1437understand when I began to protest and to address them in literary language.
1438For of the point of honour--not of honour, but of the point of
1439honour (POINT D'HONNEUR)--one cannot speak among us except in literary
1440language.  You can't allude to the "point of honour" in ordinary language. 
1441I was fully convinced (the sense of reality, in spite of all my romanticism!)
1442that they would all simply split their sides with laughter, and that the
1443officer would not simply beat me, that is, without insulting me, but would
1444certainly prod me in the back with his knee, kick me round the billiard-
1445table, and only then perhaps have pity and drop me out of the window.
1446
1447Of course, this trivial incident could not with me end in that.  I often
1448met that officer afterwards in the street and noticed him very carefully.  I
1449am not quite sure whether he recognised me, I imagine not; I judge from
1450certain signs.  But I--I stared at him with spite and hatred and so it went
1451on ... for several years!  My resentment grew even deeper with years.  At
1452first I began making stealthy inquiries about this officer.  It was difficult
1453for me to do so, for I knew no one.  But one day I heard someone shout his
1454surname in the street as I was following him at a distance, as though I
1455were tied to him--and so I learnt his surname.  Another time I followed
1456him to his flat, and for ten kopecks learned from the porter where he
1457lived, on which storey, whether he lived alone or with others, and so
1458on--in fact, everything one could learn from a porter.  One morning,
1459though I had never tried my hand with the pen, it suddenly occurred to
1460me to write a satire on this officer in the form of a novel which would unmask
1461his villainy.  I wrote the novel with relish.  I did unmask his villainy,
1462I even exaggerated it; at first I so altered his surname that it could easily be
1463recognised, but on second thoughts I changed it, and sent the story to the
1464OTETCHESTVENNIYA ZAPISKI.  But at that time such attacks were not the
1465fashion and my story was not printed.  That was a great vexation to me.
1466
1467Sometimes I was positively choked with resentment.  At last I determined
1468to challenge my enemy to a duel.  I composed a splendid, charming
1469letter to him, imploring him to apologise to me, and hinting rather
1470plainly at a duel in case of refusal.  The letter was so composed that if the
1471officer had had the least understanding of the sublime and the beautiful
1472he would certainly have flung himself on my neck and have offered me
1473his friendship.  And how fine that would have been!  How we should have
1474got on together!  "He could have shielded me with his higher rank, while I
1475could have improved his mind with my culture, and, well ... my ideas,
1476and all sorts of things might have happened."  Only fancy, this was two
1477years after his insult to me, and my challenge would have been a
1478ridiculous anachronism, in spite of all the ingenuity of my letter in
1479disguising and explaining away the anachronism.  But, thank God (to this
1480day I thank the Almighty with tears in my eyes) I did not send the letter to
1481him.  Cold shivers run down my back when I think of what might have
1482happened if I had sent it.
1483
1484And all at once I revenged myself in the simplest way, by a stroke of
1485genius!  A brilliant thought suddenly dawned upon me.  Sometimes on
1486holidays I used to stroll along the sunny side of the Nevsky about four
1487o'clock in the afternoon.  Though it was hardly a stroll so much as a series of
1488innumerable miseries, humiliations and resentments; but no doubt that
1489was just what I wanted.  I used to wriggle along in a most unseemly fashion,
1490like an eel, continually moving aside to make way for generals, for officers
1491of the guards and the hussars, or for ladies.  At such minutes there used to be
1492a convulsive twinge at my heart, and I used to feel hot all down my back at
1493the mere thought of the wretchedness of my attire, of the wretchedness and
1494abjectness of my little scurrying figure.  This was a regular martyrdom, a
1495continual, intolerable humiliation at the thought, which passed into an
1496incessant and direct sensation, that I was a mere fly in the eyes of all this
1497world, a nasty, disgusting fly--more intelligent, more highly developed,
1498more refined in feeling than any of them, of course--but a fly that was
1499continually making way for everyone, insulted and injured by everyone. 
1500Why I inflicted this torture upon myself, why I went to the Nevsky, I don't
1501know.  I felt simply drawn there at every possible opportunity.
1502
1503Already then I began to experience a rush of the enjoyment of which I
1504spoke in the first chapter.  After my affair with the officer I felt even more
1505drawn there than before: it was on the Nevsky that I met him most frequently,
1506there I could admire him.  He, too, went there chiefly on holidays,
1507He, too, turned out of his path for generals and persons of high rank, and
1508he too, wriggled between them like an eel; but people, like me, or even
1509better dressed than me, he simply walked over; he made straight for them
1510as though there was nothing but empty space before him, and never, under
1511any circumstances, turned aside.  I gloated over my resentment watching
1512him and ... always resentfully made way for him.  It exasperated me that
1513even in the street I could not be on an even footing with him.
1514
1515"Why must you invariably be the first to move aside?" I kept asking
1516myself in hysterical rage, waking up sometimes at three o'clock in the
1517morning.  "Why is it you and not he?  There's no regulation about it;
1518there's no written law.  Let the making way be equal as it usually is when
1519refined people meet; he moves half-way and you move half-way; you pass
1520with mutual respect."
1521
1522But that never happened, and I always moved aside, while he did not
1523even notice my making way for him.  And lo and behold a bright idea
1524dawned upon me!  "What," I thought, "if I meet him and don't move on
1525one side?  What if I don't move aside on purpose, even if I knock up
1526against him?  How would that be?" This audacious idea took such a hold
1527on me that it gave me no peace.  I was dreaming of it continually, horribly,
1528and I purposely went more frequently to the Nevsky in order to picture
1529more vividly how I should do it when I did do it.  I was delighted.  This
1530intention seemed to me more and more practical and possible.
1531
1532"Of course I shall not really push him," I thought, already more good-
1533natured in my joy.  "I will simply not turn aside, will run up against him,
1534not very violently, but just shouldering each other--just as much as
1535decency permits.  I will push against him just as much as he pushes
1536against me."  At last I made up my mind completely.  But my preparations
1537took a great deal of time.  To begin with, when I carried out my plan I
1538should need to be looking rather more decent, and so I had to think of my
1539get-up.  "In case of emergency, if, for instance, there were any sort of
1540public scandal (and the public there is of the most RECHERCHE: the Countess
1541walks there; Prince D. walks there; all the literary world is there), I must
1542be well dressed; that inspires respect and of itself puts us on an equal
1543footing in the eyes of the society."
1544
1545With this object I asked for some of my salary in advance, and bought at
1546Tchurkin's a pair of black gloves and a decent hat.  Black gloves seemed to
1547me both more dignified and BON TON than the lemon-coloured ones which
1548I had contemplated at first.  "The colour is too gaudy, it looks as though one
1549were trying to be conspicuous," and I did not take the lemon-coloured
1550ones.  I had got ready long beforehand a good shirt, with white bone studs;
1551my overcoat was the only thing that held me back.  The coat in itself was a
1552very good one, it kept me warm; but it was wadded and it had a raccoon
1553collar which was the height of vulgarity.  I had to change the collar at any
1554sacrifice, and to have a beaver one like an officer's.  For this purpose I
1555began visiting the Gostiny Dvor and after several attempts I pitched upon a
1556piece of cheap German beaver.  Though these German beavers soon grow
1557shabby and look wretched, yet at first they look exceedingly well, and I
1558only needed it for the occasion.  I asked the price; even so, it was too
1559expensive.  After thinking it over thoroughly I decided to sell my raccoon
1560collar.  The rest of the money--a considerable sum for me, I decided to
1561borrow from Anton Antonitch Syetotchkin, my immediate superior, an
1562unassuming person, though grave and judicious.  He never lent money to
1563anyone, but I had, on entering the service, been specially recommended
1564to him by an important personage who had got me my berth.  I was
1565horribly worried.  To borrow from Anton Antonitch seemed to me monstrous
1566and shameful.  I did not sleep for two or three nights.  Indeed, I did
1567not sleep well at that time, I was in a fever; I had a vague sinking at my heart
1568or else a sudden throbbing, throbbing, throbbing!  Anton Antonitch was
1569surprised at first, then he frowned, then he reflected, and did after all lend
1570me the money, receiving from me a written authorisation to take from my
1571salary a fortnight later the sum that he had lent me.
1572
1573In this way everything was at last ready.  The handsome beaver replaced
1574the mean-looking raccoon, and I began by degrees to get to work.  It
1575would never have done to act offhand, at random; the plan had to be
1576carried out skilfully, by degrees.  But I must confess that after many efforts
1577I began to despair: we simply could not run into each other.  I made every
1578preparation, I was quite determined--it seemed as though we should run
1579into one another directly--and before I knew what I was doing I had
1580stepped aside for him again and he had passed without noticing me.  I
1581even prayed as I approached him that God would grant me determination.
1582One time I had made up my mind thoroughly, but it ended in my
1583stumbling and falling at his feet because at the very last instant when I
1584was six inches from him my courage failed me.  He very calmly stepped
1585over me, while I flew on one side like a ball.  That night I was ill again,
1586feverish and delirious.
1587
1588And suddenly it ended most happily.  The night before I had made up
1589my mind not to carry out my fatal plan and to abandon it all, and with
1590that object I went to the Nevsky for the last time, just to see how I would
1591abandon it all.  Suddenly, three paces from my enemy, I unexpectedly
1592made up my mind--I closed my eyes, and we ran full tilt, shoulder to
1593shoulder, against one another!  I did not budge an inch and passed him on
1594a perfectly equal footing!  He did not even look round and pretended not
1595to notice it; but he was only pretending, I am convinced of that.  I am
1596convinced of that to this day!  Of course, I got the worst of it--he was
1597stronger, but that was not the point.  The point was that I had attained my
1598object, I had kept up my dignity, I had not yielded a step, and had put
1599myself publicly on an equal social footing with him.  I returned home
1600feeling that I was fully avenged for everything.  I was delighted.  I was
1601triumphant and sang Italian arias.  Of course, I will not describe to you
1602what happened to me three days later; if you have read my first chapter
1603you can guess for yourself.  The officer was afterwards transferred; I have
1604not seen him now for fourteen years.  What is the dear fellow doing now?
1605Whom is he walking over?
1606
1607
1608
1609II
1610
1611
1612But the period of my dissipation would end and I always felt very sick
1613afterwards.  It was followed by remorse--I tried to drive it away; I felt too
1614sick.  By degrees, however, I grew used to that too.  I grew used to
1615everything, or rather I voluntarily resigned myself to enduring it.  But I
1616had a means of escape that reconciled everything--that was to find
1617refuge in "the sublime and the beautiful," in dreams, of course.  I was a
1618terrible dreamer, I would dream for three months on end, tucked away in
1619my corner, and you may believe me that at those moments I had no
1620resemblance to the gentleman who, in the perturbation of his chicken
1621heart, put a collar of German beaver on his great-coat.  I suddenly
1622became a hero.  I would not have admitted my six-foot lieutenant even if
1623he had called on me.  I could not even picture him before me then.  What
1624were my dreams and how I could satisfy myself with them--it is hard to
1625say now, but at the time I was satisfied with them.  Though, indeed, even
1626now, I am to some extent satisfied with them.  Dreams were particularly
1627sweet and vivid after a spell of dissipation; they came with remorse and
1628with tears, with curses and transports.  There were moments of such
1629positive intoxication, of such happiness, that there was not the faintest
1630trace of irony within me, on my honour.  I had faith, hope, love.  I
1631believed blindly at such times that by some miracle, by some external
1632circumstance, all this would suddenly open out, expand; that suddenly a
1633vista of suitable activity--beneficent, good, and, above all, READY MADE
1634(what sort of activity I had no idea, but the great thing was that it should
1635be all ready for me)--would rise up before me--and I should come out
1636into the light of day, almost riding a white horse and crowned with laurel. 
1637Anything but the foremost place I could not conceive for myself, and for
1638that very reason I quite contentedly occupied the lowest in reality.  Either
1639to be a hero or to grovel in the mud--there was nothing between.  That
1640was my ruin, for when I was in the mud I comforted myself with the
1641thought that at other times I was a hero, and the hero was a cloak for the
1642mud: for an ordinary man it was shameful to defile himself, but a hero
1643was too lofty to be utterly defiled, and so he might defile himself.  It is
1644worth noting that these attacks of the "sublime and the beautiful" visited
1645me even during the period of dissipation and just at the times when I was
1646touching the bottom.  They came in separate spurts, as though reminding
1647me of themselves, but did not banish the dissipation by their appearance. 
1648On the contrary, they seemed to add a zest to it by contrast, and were only
1649sufficiently present to serve as an appetising sauce.  That sauce was made
1650up of contradictions and sufferings, of agonising inward analysis, and all
1651these pangs and pin-pricks gave a certain piquancy, even a significance to
1652my dissipation--in fact, completely answered the purpose of an appetising
1653sauce.  There was a certain depth of meaning in it.  And I could hardly
1654have resigned myself to the simple, vulgar, direct debauchery of a clerk
1655and have endured all the filthiness of it.  What could have allured me
1656about it then and have drawn me at night into the street?  No, I had a lofty
1657way of getting out of it all.
1658
1659And what loving-kindness, oh Lord, what loving-kindness I felt at
1660times in those dreams of mine!  in those "flights into the sublime and the
1661beautiful"; though it was fantastic love, though it was never applied to
1662anything human in reality, yet there was so much of this love that one did
1663not feel afterwards even the impulse to apply it in reality; that would have
1664been superfluous.  Everything, however, passed satisfactorily by a lazy
1665and fascinating transition into the sphere of art, that is, into the beautiful
1666forms of life, lying ready, largely stolen from the poets and novelists and
1667adapted to all sorts of needs and uses.  I, for instance, was triumphant over
1668everyone; everyone, of course, was in dust and ashes, and was forced
1669spontaneously to recognise my superiority, and I forgave them all.  I was a
1670poet and a grand gentleman, I fell in love; I came in for countless
1671millions and immediately devoted them to humanity, and at the same
1672time I confessed before all the people my shameful deeds, which, of
1673course, were not merely shameful, but had in them much that was
1674"sublime and beautiful" something in the Manfred style.  Everyone
1675would kiss me and weep (what idiots they would be if they did not), while
1676I should go barefoot and hungry preaching new ideas and fighting a
1677victorious Austerlitz against the obscurantists.  Then the band would play
1678a march, an amnesty would be declared, the Pope would agree to retire
1679from Rome to Brazil; then there would be a ball for the whole of Italy at
1680the Villa Borghese on the shores of Lake Como, Lake Como being for
1681that purpose transferred to the neighbourhood of Rome; then would
1682come a scene in the bushes, and so on, and so on--as though you did not
1683know all about it?  You will say that it is vulgar and contemptible to drag
1684all this into public after all the tears and transports which I have myself
1685confessed.  But why is it contemptible?  Can you imagine that I am
1686ashamed of it all, and that it was stupider than anything in your life,
1687gentlemen?  And I can assure you that some of these fancies were by no
1688means badly composed ....  It did not all happen on the shores of Lake
1689Como.  And yet you are right--it really is vulgar and contemptible.  And
1690most contemptible of all it is that now I am attempting to justify myself to
1691you.  And even more contemptible than that is my making this remark
1692now.  But that's enough, or there will be no end to it; each step will be
1693more contemptible than the last ....
1694
1695I could never stand more than three months of dreaming at a time
1696without feeling an irresistible desire to plunge into society.  To plunge
1697into society meant to visit my superior at the office, Anton Antonitch
1698Syetotchkin.  He was the only permanent acquaintance I have had in my
1699life, and I wonder at the fact myself now.  But I only went to see him when
1700that phase came over me, and when my dreams had reached such a point
1701of bliss that it became essential at once to embrace my fellows and all
1702mankind; and for that purpose I needed, at least, one human being,
1703actually existing.  I had to call on Anton Antonitch, however, on
1704Tuesday--his at-home day; so I had always to time my passionate desire
1705to embrace humanity so that it might fall on a Tuesday.
1706
1707This Anton Antonitch lived on the fourth storey in a house in Five
1708Corners, in four low-pitched rooms, one smaller than the other, of a
1709particularly frugal and sallow appearance.  He had two daughters and
1710their aunt, who used to pour out the tea.  Of the daughters one was
1711thirteen and another fourteen, they both had snub noses, and I was
1712awfully shy of them because they were always whispering and giggling
1713together.  The master of the house usually sat in his study on a leather
1714couch in front of the table with some grey-headed gentleman, usually a
1715colleague from our office or some other department.  I never saw more
1716than two or three visitors there, always the same.  They talked about the
1717excise duty; about business in the senate, about salaries, about promotions,
1718about His Excellency, and the best means of pleasing him, and so
1719on. I had the patience to sit like a fool beside these people for four hours at
1720a stretch, listening to them without knowing what to say to them or
1721venturing to say a word.  I became stupefied, several times I felt myself
1722perspiring, I was overcome by a sort of paralysis; but this was pleasant and
1723good for me.  On returning home I deferred for a time my desire to
1724embrace all mankind.
1725
1726I had however one other acquaintance of a sort, Simonov, who was an
1727old schoolfellow.  I had a number of schoolfellows, indeed, in Petersburg,
1728but I did not associate with them and had even given up nodding to them
1729in the street.  I believe I had transferred into the department I was in
1730simply to avoid their company and to cut off all connection with my
1731hateful childhood.  Curses on that school and all those terrible years of
1732penal servitude!  In short, I parted from my schoolfellows as soon as I got
1733out into the world.  There were two or three left to whom I nodded in the
1734street.  One of them was Simonov, who had in no way been distinguished
1735at school, was of a quiet and equable disposition; but I discovered in him
1736a certain independence of character and even honesty I don't even
1737suppose that he was particularly stupid.  I had at one time spent some
1738rather soulful moments with him, but these had not lasted long and had
1739somehow been suddenly clouded over.  He was evidently uncomfortable
1740at these reminiscences, and was, I fancy, always afraid that I might take
1741up the same tone again.  I suspected that he had an aversion for me, but
1742still I went on going to see him, not being quite certain of it.
1743
1744And so on one occasion, unable to endure my solitude and knowing
1745that as it was Thursday Anton Antonitch's door would be closed, I
1746thought of Simonov.  Climbing up to his fourth storey I was thinking that
1747the man disliked me and that it was a mistake to go and see him.  But as it
1748always happened that such reflections impelled me, as though purposely,
1749to put myself into a false position, I went in.  It was almost a year since I
1750had last seen Simonov.
1751
1752
1753
1754III
1755
1756
1757I found two of my old schoolfellows with him.  They seemed to be
1758discussing an important matter.  All of them took scarcely any notice of
1759my entrance, which was strange, for I had not met them for years. 
1760Evidently they looked upon me as something on the level of a common
1761fly.  I had not been treated like that even at school, though they all hated
1762me. I knew, of course, that they must despise me now for my lack of
1763success in the service, and for my having let myself sink so low, going
1764about badly dressed and so on--which seemed to them a sign of my
1765incapacity and insignificance.  But I had not expected such contempt. 
1766Simonov was positively surprised at my turning up.  Even in old days he
1767had always seemed surprised at my coming.  All this disconcerted me: I
1768sat down, feeling rather miserable, and began listening to what they were
1769saying.
1770
1771They were engaged in warm and earnest conversation about a farewell
1772dinner which they wanted to arrange for the next day to a comrade of
1773theirs called Zverkov, an officer in the army, who was going away to a
1774distant province.  This Zverkov had been all the time at school with me
1775too.  I had begun to hate him particularly in the upper forms.  In the lower
1776forms he had simply been a pretty, playful boy whom everybody liked.  I
1777had hated him, however, even in the lower forms, just because he was a
1778pretty and playful boy.  He was always bad at his lessons and got worse and
1779worse as he went on; however, he left with a good certificate, as he had
1780powerful interests.  During his last year at school he came in for an estate
1781of two hundred serfs, and as almost all of us were poor he took up a
1782swaggering tone among us.  He was vulgar in the extreme, but at the same
1783time he was a good-natured fellow, even in his swaggering.  In spite of
1784superficial, fantastic and sham notions of honour and dignity, all but very
1785few of us positively grovelled before Zverkov, and the more so the more he
1786swaggered.  And it was not from any interested motive that they grovelled,
1787but simply because he had been favoured by the gifts of nature.  Moreover,
1788it was, as it were, an accepted idea among us that Zverkov was a
1789specialist in regard to tact and the social graces.  This last fact particularly
1790infuriated me.  I hated the abrupt self-confident tone of his voice, his
1791admiration of his own witticisms, which were often frightfully stupid,
1792though he was bold in his language; I hated his handsome, but stupid
1793face (for which I would, however, have gladly exchanged my intelligent
1794one), and the free-and-easy military manners in fashion in the "'forties."
1795I hated the way in which he used to talk of his future conquests of women
1796(he did not venture to begin his attack upon women until he had the
1797epaulettes of an officer, and was looking forward to them with impatience),
1798and boasted of the duels he would constantly be fighting.  I remember
1799how I, invariably so taciturn, suddenly fastened upon Zverkov,
1800when one day talking at a leisure moment with his schoolfellows of his
1801future relations with the fair sex, and growing as sportive as a puppy in
1802the sun, he all at once declared that he would not leave a single village
1803girl on his estate unnoticed, that that was his DROIT DE SEIGNEUR, and that if
1804the peasants dared to protest he would have them all flogged and double
1805the tax on them, the bearded rascals.  Our servile rabble applauded, but I
1806attacked him, not from compassion for the girls and their fathers, but
1807simply because they were applauding such an insect.  I got the better of
1808him on that occasion, but though Zverkov was stupid he was lively and
1809impudent, and so laughed it off, and in such a way that my victory was
1810not really complete; the laugh was on his side.  He got the better of me on
1811several occasions afterwards, but without malice, jestingly, casually.  I
1812remained angrily and contemptuously silent and would not answer him. 
1813When we left school he made advances to me; I did not rebuff them, for I
1814was flattered, but we soon parted and quite naturally.  Afterwards I heard
1815of his barrack-room success as a lieutenant, and of the fast life he was
1816leading.  Then there came other rumours--of his successes in the service.
1817By then he had taken to cutting me in the street, and I suspected
1818that he was afraid of compromising himself by greeting a personage as
1819insignificant as me.  I saw him once in the theatre, in the third tier of
1820boxes.  By then he was wearing shoulder-straps.  He was twisting and
1821twirling about, ingratiating himself with the daughters of an ancient
1822General.  In three years he had gone off considerably, though he was still
1823rather handsome and adroit.  One could see that by the time he was thirty
1824he would be corpulent.  So it was to this Zverkov that my schoolfellows
1825were going to give a dinner on his departure.  They had kept up with him
1826for those three years, though privately they did not consider themselves
1827on an equal footing with him, I am convinced of that.
1828
1829Of Simonov's two visitors, one was Ferfitchkin, a Russianised German
1830--a little fellow with the face of a monkey, a blockhead who was always
1831deriding everyone, a very bitter enemy of mine from our days in the lower
1832forms--a vulgar, impudent, swaggering fellow, who affected a most sensitive
1833feeling of personal honour, though, of course, he was a wretched
1834little coward at heart.  He was one of those worshippers of Zverkov who
1835made up to the latter from interested motives, and often borrowed money
1836from him.  Simonov's other visitor, Trudolyubov, was a person in no way
1837remarkable--a tall young fellow, in the army, with a cold face, fairly
1838honest, though he worshipped success of every sort, and was only capable
1839of thinking of promotion.  He was some sort of distant relation of
1840Zverkov's, and this, foolish as it seems, gave him a certain importance
1841among us.  He always thought me of no consequence whatever; his
1842behaviour to me, though not quite courteous, was tolerable.
1843
1844"Well, with seven roubles each," said Trudolyubov, "twenty-one
1845roubles between the three of us, we ought to be able to get a good dinner. 
1846Zverkov, of course, won't pay."
1847
1848"Of course not, since we are inviting him," Simonov decided.
1849
1850"Can you imagine," Ferfitchkin interrupted hotly and conceitedly, like
1851some insolent flunkey boasting of his master the General's decorations,
1852"can you imagine that Zverkov will let us pay alone?  He will accept from
1853delicacy, but he will order half a dozen bottles of champagne."
1854
1855"Do we want half a dozen for the four of us?" observed Trudolyubov,
1856taking notice only of the half dozen.
1857
1858"So the three of us, with Zverkov for the fourth, twenty-one roubles, at
1859the Hotel de Paris at five o'clock tomorrow," Simonov, who had been
1860asked to make the arrangements, concluded finally.
1861
1862"How twenty-one roubles?" I asked in some agitation, with a show of
1863being offended; "if you count me it will not be twenty-one, but
1864twenty-eight roubles."
1865
1866It seemed to me that to invite myself so suddenly and unexpectedly
1867would be positively graceful, and that they would all be conquered at
1868once and would look at me with respect.
1869
1870"Do you want to join, too?" Simonov observed, with no appearance of
1871pleasure, seeming to avoid looking at me.  He knew me through and through.
1872
1873It infuriated me that he knew me so thoroughly.
1874
1875"Why not?  I am an old schoolfellow of his, too, I believe, and I
1876must own I feel hurt that you have left me out," I said, boiling over again.
1877
1878"And where were we to find you?" Ferfitchkin put in roughly.
1879
1880"You never were on good terms with Zverkov," Trudolyubov added, frowning.
1881
1882But I had already clutched at the idea and would not give it up.
1883
1884"It seems to me that no one has a right to form an opinion upon that," I
1885retorted in a shaking voice, as though something tremendous had happened.
1886"Perhaps that is just my reason for wishing it now, that I have not
1887always been on good terms with him."
1888
1889"Oh, there's no making you out ... with these refinements,"
1890Trudolyubov jeered.
1891
1892"We'll put your name down," Simonov decided, addressing me.
1893"Tomorrow at five-o'clock at the Hotel de Paris."
1894
1895"What about the money?" Ferfitchkin began in an undertone, indicating
1896me to Simonov, but he broke off, for even Simonov was embarrassed.
1897
1898"That will do," said Trudolyubov, getting up.  "If he wants to come so
1899much, let him."
1900
1901"But it's a private thing, between us friends," Ferfitchkin said crossly,
1902as he, too, picked up his hat.  "It's not an official gathering."
1903
1904"We do not want at all, perhaps ..."
1905
1906They went away.  Ferfitchkin did not greet me in any way as he went
1907out, Trudolyubov barely nodded.  Simonov, with whom I was left TETE-A-TETE,
1908was in a state of vexation and perplexity, and looked at me queerly.
1909He did not sit down and did not ask me to.
1910
1911"H'm ... yes ... tomorrow, then.  Will you pay your subscription
1912now?  I just ask so as to know," he muttered in embarrassment.
1913
1914I flushed crimson, as I did so I remembered that I had owed Simonov
1915fifteen roubles for ages--which I had, indeed, never forgotten, though I
1916had not paid it.
1917
1918"You will understand, Simonov, that I could have no idea when I came
1919here ....  I am very much vexed that I have forgotten ...."
1920
1921"All right, all right, that doesn't matter.  You can pay tomorrow after the
1922dinner.  I simply wanted to know ....  Please don't ..."
1923
1924He broke off and began pacing the room still more vexed.  As he walked
1925he began to stamp with his heels.
1926
1927"Am I keeping you?" I asked, after two minutes of silence.
1928
1929"Oh!" he said, starting, "that is--to be truthful--yes.  I have to go and
1930see someone ... not far from here," he added in an apologetic voice,
1931somewhat abashed.
1932
1933"My goodness, why didn't you say so?" I cried, seizing my cap, with an
1934astonishingly free-and-easy air, which was the last thing I should have
1935expected of myself.
1936
1937"It's close by ... not two paces away," Simonov repeated, accompanying
1938me to the front door with a fussy air which did not suit him at all.  "So
1939five o'clock, punctually, tomorrow," he called down the stairs after me. 
1940He was very glad to get rid of me.  I was in a fury.
1941
1942"What possessed me, what possessed me to force myself upon them?" I
1943wondered, grinding my teeth as I strode along the street, "for a scoundrel,
1944a pig like that Zverkov!  Of course I had better not go; of course, I must
1945just snap my fingers at them.  I am not bound in any way.  I'll send
1946Simonov a note by tomorrow's post ...."
1947
1948But what made me furious was that I knew for certain that I should go,
1949that I should make a point of going; and the more tactless, the more
1950unseemly my going would be, the more certainly I would go.
1951
1952And there was a positive obstacle to my going: I had no money.  All I
1953had was nine roubles, I had to give seven of that to my servant, Apollon,
1954for his monthly wages.  That was all I paid him--he had to keep himself.
1955
1956Not to pay him was impossible, considering his character.  But I will
1957talk about that fellow, about that plague of mine, another time.
1958
1959However, I knew I should go and should not pay him his wages.
1960
1961That night I had the most hideous dreams.  No wonder; all the evening
1962I had been oppressed by memories of my miserable days at school, and I
1963could not shake them off.  I was sent to the school by distant relations,
1964upon whom I was dependent and of whom I have heard nothing since--
1965they sent me there a forlorn, silent boy, already crushed by their reproaches,
1966already troubled by doubt, and looking with savage distrust at
1967everyone.  My schoolfellows met me with spiteful and merciless jibes
1968because I was not like any of them.  But I could not endure their taunts; I
1969could not give in to them with the ignoble readiness with which they gave
1970in to one another.  I hated them from the first, and shut myself away from
1971everyone in timid, wounded and disproportionate pride.  Their coarseness
1972revolted me.  They laughed cynically at my face, at my clumsy
1973figure; and yet what stupid faces they had themselves.  In our school the
1974boys' faces seemed in a special way to degenerate and grow stupider.  How
1975many fine-looking boys came to us!  In a few years they became repulsive. 
1976Even at sixteen I wondered at them morosely; even then I was struck by
1977the pettiness of their thoughts, the stupidity of their pursuits, their games,
1978their conversations.  They had no understanding of such essential things,
1979they took no interest in such striking, impressive subjects, that I could
1980not help considering them inferior to myself.  It was not wounded vanity
1981that drove me to it, and for God's sake do not thrust upon me your
1982hackneyed remarks, repeated to nausea, that "I was only a dreamer,"
1983while they even then had an understanding of life.  They understood
1984nothing, they had no idea of real life, and I swear that that was what
1985made me most indignant with them.  On the contrary, the most obvious,
1986striking reality they accepted with fantastic stupidity and even at that time
1987were accustomed to respect success.  Everything that was just, but oppressed
1988and looked down upon, they laughed at heartlessly and shamefully.
1989They took rank for intelligence; even at sixteen they were already
1990talking about a snug berth.  Of course, a great deal of it was due to their
1991stupidity, to the bad examples with which they had always been surrounded
1992in their childhood and boyhood.  They were monstrously depraved.
1993Of course a great deal of that, too, was superficial and an
1994assumption of cynicism; of course there were glimpses of youth and
1995freshness even in their depravity; but even that freshness was not attractive,
1996and showed itself in a certain rakishness.  I hated them horribly,
1997though perhaps I was worse than any of them.  They repaid me in the
1998same way, and did not conceal their aversion for me.  But by then I did not
1999desire their affection: on the contrary, I continually longed for their
2000humiliation.  To escape from their derision I purposely began to make all
2001the progress I could with my studies and forced my way to the very top. 
2002This impressed them.  Moreover, they all began by degrees to grasp that I
2003had already read books none of them could read, and understood things
2004(not forming part of our school curriculum) of which they had not even
2005heard.  They took a savage and sarcastic view of it, but were morally
2006impressed, especially as the teachers began to notice me on those
2007grounds.  The mockery ceased, but the hostility remained, and cold and
2008strained relations became permanent between us.  In the end I could not
2009put up with it: with years a craving for society, for friends, developed in
2010me. I attempted to get on friendly terms with some of my schoolfellows;
2011but somehow or other my intimacy with them was always strained and
2012soon ended of itself.  Once, indeed, I did have a friend.  But I was already
2013a tyrant at heart; I wanted to exercise unbounded sway over him; I tried to
2014instil into him a contempt for his surroundings; I required of him a
2015disdainful and complete break with those surroundings.  I frightened him
2016with my passionate affection; I reduced him to tears, to hysterics.  He was
2017a simple and devoted soul; but when he devoted himself to me entirely I
2018began to hate him immediately and repulsed him--as though all I
2019needed him for was to win a victory over him, to subjugate him and
2020nothing else.  But I could not subjugate all of them; my friend was not at
2021all like them either, he was, in fact, a rare exception.  The first thing I did
2022on leaving school was to give up the special job for which I had been
2023destined so as to break all ties, to curse my past and shake the dust from
2024off my feet ....  And goodness knows why, after all that, I should go
2025trudging off to Simonov's!
2026
2027Early next morning I roused myself and jumped out of bed with
2028excitement, as though it were all about to happen at once.  But I believed
2029that some radical change in my life was coming, and would inevitably
2030come that day.  Owing to its rarity, perhaps, any external event, however
2031trivial, always made me feel as though some radical change in my life
2032were at hand.  I went to the office, however, as usual, but sneaked away
2033home two hours earlier to get ready.  The great thing, I thought, is not to
2034be the first to arrive, or they will think I am overjoyed at coming.  But
2035there were thousands of such great points to consider, and they all
2036agitated and overwhelmed me.  I polished my boots a second time with
2037my own hands; nothing in the world would have induced Apollon to
2038clean them twice a day, as he considered that it was more than his duties
2039required of him.  I stole the brushes to clean them from the passage, being
2040careful he should not detect it, for fear of his contempt.  Then I minutely
2041examined my clothes and thought that everything looked old, worn and
2042threadbare.  I had let myself get too slovenly.  My uniform, perhaps, was
2043tidy, but I could not go out to dinner in my uniform.  The worst of it was
2044that on the knee of my trousers was a big yellow stain.  I had a foreboding
2045that that stain would deprive me of nine-tenths of my personal dignity.  I
2046knew, too, that it was very poor to think so.  "But this is no time for
2047thinking: now I am in for the real thing," I thought, and my heart sank.  I
2048knew, too, perfectly well even then, that I was monstrously exaggerating
2049the facts.  But how could I help it?  I could not control myself and was
2050already shaking with fever.  With despair I pictured to myself how coldly
2051and disdainfully that "scoundrel" Zverkov would meet me; with what
2052dull-witted, invincible contempt the blockhead Trudolyubov would look
2053at me; with what impudent rudeness the insect Ferfitchkin would snigger
2054at me in order to curry favour with Zverkov; how completely Simonov
2055would take it all in, and how he would despise me for the abjectness of
2056my vanity and lack of spirit--and, worst of all, how paltry, UNLITERARY,
2057commonplace it would all be.  Of course, the best thing would be not to
2058go at all.  But that was most impossible of all: if I feel impelled to do
2059anything, I seem to be pitchforked into it.  I should have jeered at myself
2060ever afterwards: "So you funked it, you funked it, you funked the REAL
2061THING!" On the contrary, I passionately longed to show all that "rabble"
2062that I was by no means such a spiritless creature as I seemed to myself. 
2063What is more, even in the acutest paroxysm of this cowardly fever, I
2064dreamed of getting the upper hand, of dominating them, carrying them
2065away, making them like me--if only for my "elevation of thought and
2066unmistakable wit."  They would abandon Zverkov, he would sit on one
2067side, silent and ashamed, while I should crush him.  Then, perhaps, we
2068would be reconciled and drink to our everlasting friendship; but what was
2069most bitter and humiliating for me was that I knew even then, knew fully
2070and for certain, that I needed nothing of all this really, that I did not really
2071want to crush, to subdue, to attract them, and that I did not care a straw
2072really for the result, even if I did achieve it.  Oh, how I prayed for the day
2073to pass quickly!  In unutterable anguish I went to the window, opened the
2074movable pane and looked out into the troubled darkness of the thickly
2075falling wet snow.  At last my wretched little clock hissed out five.  I seized
2076my hat and, trying not to look at Apollon, who had been all day
2077expecting his month's wages, but in his foolishness was unwilling to be
2078the first to speak about it, I slipped between him and the door and,
2079jumping into a high-class sledge, on which I spent my last half rouble, I
2080drove up in grand style to the Hotel de Paris.
2081
2082
2083
2084IV
2085
2086
2087I had been certain the day before that I should be the first to arrive.  But it
2088was not a question of being the first to arrive.  Not only were they not
2089there, but I had difficulty in finding our room.  The table was not laid
2090even.  What did it mean?  After a good many questions I elicited from the
2091waiters that the dinner had been ordered not for five, but for six o'clock.
2092This was confirmed at the buffet too.  I felt really ashamed to go on
2093questioning them.  It was only twenty-five minutes past five.  If they
2094changed the dinner hour they ought at least to have let me know--that is
2095what the post is for, and not to have put me in an absurd position in my
2096own eyes and ... and even before the waiters.  I sat down; the servant
2097began laying the table; I felt even more humiliated when he was present. 
2098Towards six o'clock they brought in candles, though there were lamps
2099burning in the room.  It had not occurred to the waiter, however, to bring
2100them in at once when I arrived.  In the next room two gloomy, angry-
2101looking persons were eating their dinners in silence at two different
2102tables.  There was a great deal of noise, even shouting, in a room further
2103away; one could hear the laughter of a crowd of people, and nasty little
2104shrieks in French: there were ladies at the dinner.  It was sickening, in fact. 
2105I rarely passed more unpleasant moments, so much so that when they did
2106arrive all together punctually at six I was overjoyed to see them, as though
2107they were my deliverers, and even forgot that it was incumbent upon me
2108to show resentment.
2109
2110Zverkov walked in at the head of them; evidently he was the leading
2111spirit.  He and all of them were laughing; but, seeing me, Zverkov drew
2112himself up a little, walked up to me deliberately with a slight, rather jaunty
2113bend from the waist.  He shook hands with me in a friendly, but not over-
2114friendly, fashion, with a sort of circumspect courtesy like that of a General,
2115as though in giving me his hand he were warding off something.  I had
2116imagined, on the contrary, that on coming in he would at once break into
2117his habitual thin, shrill laugh and fall to making his insipid jokes and
2118witticisms.  I had been preparing for them ever since the previous day, but I
2119had not expected such condescension, such high-official courtesy.  So,
2120then, he felt himself ineffably superior to me in every respect!  If he only
2121meant to insult me by that high-official tone, it would not matter, I
2122thought--I could pay him back for it one way or another.  But what if, in
2123reality, without the least desire to be offensive, that sheepshead had a
2124notion in earnest that he was superior to me and could only look at me in a
2125patronising way?  The very supposition made me gasp.
2126
2127"I was surprised to hear of your desire to join us," he began, lisping and
2128drawling, which was something new.  "You and I seem to have seen nothing of one
2129another.  You fight shy of us.  You shouldn't.  We are not such terrible
2130people as you think.  Well, anyway, I am glad to renew our acquaintance."
2131
2132And he turned carelessly to put down his hat on the window.
2133
2134"Have you been waiting long?" Trudolyubov inquired.
2135
2136"I arrived at five o'clock as you told me yesterday," I answered aloud,
2137with an irritability that threatened an explosion.
2138
2139"Didn't you let him know that we had changed the hour?" said
2140Trudolyubov to Simonov.
2141
2142"No, I didn't.  I forgot," the latter replied, with no sign of regret,
2143and without even apologising to me he went off to order the HORS D'OEUVRE.
2144
2145"So you've been here a whole hour?  Oh, poor fellow!" Zverkov cried
2146ironically, for to his notions this was bound to be extremely funny.  That
2147rascal Ferfitchkin followed with his nasty little snigger like a puppy yapping.
2148My position struck him, too, as exquisitely ludicrous and embarrassing.
2149
2150"It isn't funny at all!" I cried to Ferfitchkin, more and more irritated. 
2151"It wasn't my fault, but other people's.  They neglected to let me know.  It
2152was ... it was ... it was simply absurd."
2153
2154"It's not only absurd, but something else as well," muttered Trudolyubov,
2155naively taking my part.  "You are not hard enough upon it.  It was
2156simply rudeness--unintentional, of course.  And how could Simonov ... h'm!"
2157
2158"If a trick like that had been played on me," observed Ferfitchkin, "I
2159should ..."
2160
2161"But you should have ordered something for yourself," Zverkov interrupted,
2162"or simply asked for dinner without waiting for us."
2163
2164"You will allow that I might have done that without your permission,"
2165I rapped out.  "If I waited, it was ..."
2166
2167"Let us sit down, gentlemen," cried Simonov, coming in.  "Everything
2168is ready; I can answer for the champagne; it is capitally frozen ....  You
2169see, I did not know your address, where was I to look for you?" he
2170suddenly turned to me, but again he seemed to avoid looking at me. 
2171Evidently he had something against me.  It must have been what
2172happened yesterday.
2173
2174All sat down; I did the same.  It was a round table.  Trudolyubov was on
2175my left, Simonov on my right, Zverkov was sitting opposite, Ferfitchkin
2176next to him, between him and Trudolyubov.
2177
2178"Tell me, are you ... in a government office?" Zverkov went on
2179attending to me.  Seeing that I was embarrassed he seriously thought that
2180he ought to be friendly to me, and, so to speak, cheer me up.
2181
2182"Does he want me to throw a bottle at his head?" I thought, in a fury. 
2183In my novel surroundings I was unnaturally ready to be irritated.
2184
2185"In the N--- office," I answered jerkily, with my eyes on my plate.
2186
2187"And ha-ave you a go-od berth?  I say, what ma-a-de you leave your
2188original job?"
2189
2190"What ma-a-de me was that I wanted to leave my original job," I
2191drawled more than he, hardly able to control myself.  Ferfitchkin went off
2192into a guffaw.  Simonov looked at me ironically.  Trudolyubov left off
2193eating and began looking at me with curiosity.
2194
2195Zverkov winced, but he tried not to notice it. 
2196
2197"And the remuneration?"
2198
2199"What remuneration?"
2200
2201"I mean, your sa-a-lary?"
2202
2203"Why are you cross-examining me?" However, I told him at once what
2204my salary was.  I turned horribly red.
2205
2206"It is not very handsome," Zverkov observed majestically.
2207
2208"Yes, you can't afford to dine at cafes on that," Ferfitchkin
2209added insolently.
2210
2211"To my thinking it's very poor," Trudolyubov observed gravely.
2212
2213"And how thin you have grown!  How you have changed!" added
2214Zverkov, with a shade of venom in his voice, scanning me and my attire
2215with a sort of insolent compassion.
2216
2217"Oh, spare his blushes," cried Ferfitchkin, sniggering.
2218
2219"My dear sir, allow me to tell you I am not blushing," I broke out at
2220last; "do you hear?  I am dining here, at this cafe, at my own expense, not
2221at other people's--note that, Mr. Ferfitchkin."
2222
2223"Wha-at?  Isn't every one here dining at his own expense?  You would
2224seem to be ..."  Ferfitchkin flew out at me, turning as red as a lobster,
2225and looking me in the face with fury.
2226"Tha-at," I answered, feeling I had gone too far, "and I imagine it
2227would be better to talk of something more intelligent."
2228
2229"You intend to show off your intelligence, I suppose?"
2230
2231"Don't disturb yourself, that would be quite out of place here."
2232
2233"Why are you clacking away like that, my good sir, eh?  Have you gone
2234out of your wits in your office?"
2235
2236"Enough, gentlemen, enough!" Zverkov cried, authoritatively.
2237
2238"How stupid it is!" muttered Simonov.
2239
2240"It really is stupid.  We have met here, a company of friends, for a
2241farewell dinner to a comrade and you carry on an altercation," said
2242Trudolyubov, rudely addressing himself to me alone.  "You invited yourself
2243to join us, so don't disturb the general harmony."
2244
2245"Enough, enough!" cried Zverkov.  "Give over, gentlemen, it's out of
2246place.  Better let me tell you how I nearly got married the day before
2247yesterday ...."
2248
2249And then followed a burlesque narrative of how this gentleman had
2250almost been married two days before.  There was not a word about the
2251marriage, however, but the story was adorned with generals, colonels and
2252kammer-junkers, while Zverkov almost took the lead among them.  It was
2253greeted with approving laughter; Ferfitchkin positively squealed.
2254
2255No one paid any attention to me, and I sat crushed and humiliated.
2256
2257"Good Heavens, these are not the people for me!" I thought.  "And
2258what a fool I have made of myself before them!  I let Ferfitchkin go too far,
2259though.  The brutes imagine they are doing me an honour in letting me
2260sit down with them.  They don't understand that it's an honour to them
2261and not to me!  I've grown thinner!  My clothes!  Oh, damn my trousers!
2262Zverkov noticed the yellow stain on the knee as soon as he came in ....
2263But what's the use!  I must get up at once, this very minute, take my hat
2264and simply go without a word ... with contempt!  And tomorrow I can
2265send a challenge.  The scoundrels!  As though I cared about the seven
2266roubles.  They may think ....  Damn it!  I don't care about the seven
2267roubles.  I'll go this minute!"
2268
2269Of course I remained.  I drank sherry and Lafitte by the glassful in my
2270discomfiture.  Being unaccustomed to it, I was quickly affected.  My
2271annoyance increased as the wine went to my head.  I longed all at once to
2272insult them all in a most flagrant manner and then go away.  To seize the
2273moment and show what I could do, so that they would say, "He's clever,
2274though he is absurd," and ... and ... in fact, damn them all!
2275
2276I scanned them all insolently with my drowsy eyes.  But they seemed to
2277have forgotten me altogether.  They were noisy, vociferous, cheerful. 
2278Zverkov was talking all the time.  I began listening.  Zverkov was talking of
2279some exuberant lady whom he had at last led on to declaring her love (of
2280course, he was lying like a horse), and how he had been helped in this
2281affair by an intimate friend of his, a Prince Kolya, an officer in the
2282hussars, who had three thousand serfs.
2283
2284"And yet this Kolya, who has three thousand serfs, has not put in an
2285appearance here tonight to see you off," I cut in suddenly.
2286
2287For one minute every one was silent.  "You are drunk already."
2288Trudolyubov deigned to notice me at last, glancing contemptuously in my
2289direction.  Zverkov, without a word, examined me as though I were an insect.
2290I dropped my eyes.  Simonov made haste to fill up the glasses with champagne.
2291
2292Trudolyubov raised his glass, as did everyone else but me.
2293
2294"Your health and good luck on the journey!" he cried to Zverkov.  "To
2295old times, to our future, hurrah!"
2296
2297They all tossed off their glasses, and crowded round Zverkov to kiss
2298him.  I did not move; my full glass stood untouched before me.
2299
2300"Why, aren't you going to drink it?" roared Trudolyubov, losing patience
2301and turning menacingly to me.
2302
2303"I want to make a speech separately, on my own account ... and then
2304I'll drink it, Mr. Trudolyubov."
2305
2306"Spiteful brute!" muttered Simonov.  I drew myself up in my chair and
2307feverishly seized my glass, prepared for something extraordinary, though
2308I did not know myself precisely what I was going to say.
2309
2310"SILENCE!" cried Ferfitchkin.  "Now for a display of wit!"
2311
2312Zverkov waited very gravely, knowing what was coming.
2313
2314"Mr. Lieutenant Zverkov," I began, "let me tell you that I hate
2315phrases, phrasemongers and men in corsets ... that's the first point, and
2316there is a second one to follow it."
2317
2318There was a general stir.
2319
2320"The second point is: I hate ribaldry and ribald talkers.  Especially
2321ribald talkers!  The third point: I love justice, truth and honesty."  I went
2322on almost mechanically, for I was beginning to shiver with horror myself
2323and had no idea how I came to be talking like this.  "I love thought,
2324Monsieur Zverkov; I love true comradeship, on an equal footing and
2325not ... H'm ... I love ... But, however, why not?  I will drink your
2326health, too, Mr. Zverkov.  Seduce the Circassian girls, shoot the enemies
2327of the fatherland and ... and ... to your health, Monsieur Zverkov!"
2328
2329Zverkov got up from his seat, bowed to me and said:
2330
2331"I am very much obliged to you."  He was frightfully offended and
2332turned pale.
2333
2334"Damn the fellow!" roared Trudolyubov, bringing his fist down on
2335the table.
2336
2337"Well, he wants a punch in the face for that," squealed Ferfitchkin.
2338
2339"We ought to turn him out," muttered Simonov.
2340
2341"Not a word, gentlemen, not a movement!" cried Zverkov solemnly,
2342checking the general indignation.  "I thank you all, but I can show him
2343for myself how much value I attach to his words."
2344
2345"Mr.  Ferfitchkin, you will give me satisfaction tomorrow for your
2346words just now!" I said aloud, turning with dignity to Ferfitchkin.
2347
2348"A duel, you mean?  Certainly," he answered.  But probably I was
2349so ridiculous as I challenged him and it was so out of keeping with
2350my appearance that everyone including Ferfitchkin was prostrate with laughter.
2351
2352"Yes, let him alone, of course!  He is quite drunk," Trudolyubov said
2353with disgust.
2354
2355"I shall never forgive myself for letting him join us," Simonov
2356muttered again.
2357
2358"Now is the time to throw a bottle at their heads," I thought to myself.
2359I picked up the bottle ... and filled my glass ....  "No, I'd better sit
2360on to the end," I went on thinking; "you would be pleased, my friends, if I
2361went away.  Nothing will induce me to go.  I'll go on sitting here and
2362drinking to the end, on purpose, as a sign that I don't think you of the
2363slightest consequence.  I will go on sitting and drinking, because this is a
2364public-house and I paid my entrance money.  I'll sit here and drink, for I
2365look upon you as so many pawns, as inanimate pawns.  I'll sit here and
2366drink ... and sing if I want to, yes, sing, for I have the right to ... to
2367sing ...  H'm!"
2368
2369But I did not sing.  I simply tried not to look at any of them.  I assumed
2370most unconcerned attitudes and waited with impatience for them to
2371speak FIRST.  But alas, they did not address me!  And oh, how I wished, how
2372I wished at that moment to be reconciled to them!  It struck eight, at last
2373nine.  They moved from the table to the sofa.  Zverkov stretched himself
2374on a lounge and put one foot on a round table.  Wine was brought there. 
2375He did, as a fact, order three bottles on his own account.  I, of course, was
2376not invited to join them.  They all sat round him on the sofa.  They
2377listened to him, almost with reverence.  It was evident that they were fond
2378of him.  "What for?  What for?" I wondered.  From time to time they were
2379moved to drunken enthusiasm and kissed each other.  They talked of the
2380Caucasus, of the nature of true passion, of snug berths in the service, of
2381the income of an hussar called Podharzhevsky, whom none of them knew
2382personally, and rejoiced in the largeness of it, of the extraordinary grace
2383and beauty of a Princess D., whom none of them had ever seen; then it
2384came to Shakespeare's being immortal.
2385
2386I smiled contemptuously and walked up and down the other side of the
2387room, opposite the sofa, from the table to the stove and back again.  I tried
2388my very utmost to show them that I could do without them, and yet I
2389purposely made a noise with my boots, thumping with my heels.  But it
2390was all in vain.  They paid no attention.  I had the patience to walk up and
2391down in front of them from eight o'clock till eleven, in the same place,
2392from the table to the stove and back again.  "I walk up and down to please
2393myself and no one can prevent me."  The waiter who came into the room
2394stopped, from time to time, to look at me.  I was somewhat giddy from
2395turning round so often; at moments it seemed to me that I was in
2396delirium.  During those three hours I was three times soaked with sweat
2397and dry again.  At times, with an intense, acute pang I was stabbed to the
2398heart by the thought that ten years, twenty years, forty years would pass,
2399and that even in forty years I would remember with loathing and humiliation
2400those filthiest, most ludicrous, and most awful moments of my life. 
2401No one could have gone out of his way to degrade himself more shamelessly,
2402and I fully realised it, fully, and yet I went on pacing up and down
2403from the table to the stove.  "Oh, if you only knew what thoughts and
2404feelings I am capable of, how cultured I am!" I thought at moments,
2405mentally addressing the sofa on which my enemies were sitting.  But my
2406enemies behaved as though I were not in the room.  Once--only once--
2407they turned towards me, just when Zverkov was talking about Shakespeare,
2408and I suddenly gave a contemptuous laugh.  I laughed in such an
2409affected and disgusting way that they all at once broke off their conversation,
2410and silently and gravely for two minutes watched me walking up and
2411down from the table to the stove, TAKING NO NOTICE OF THEM.  But nothing
2412came of it: they said nothing, and two minutes later they ceased to notice
2413me again.  It struck eleven.
2414
2415"Friends," cried Zverkov getting up from the sofa, "let us all be off
2416now, THERE!"
2417
2418"Of course, of course," the others assented.  I turned sharply to
2419Zverkov.  I was so harassed, so exhausted, that I would have cut my throat
2420to put an end to it.  I was in a fever; my hair, soaked with perspiration,
2421stuck to my forehead and temples.
2422
2423"Zverkov, I beg your pardon," I said abruptly and resolutely.
2424"Ferfitchkin, yours too, and everyone's, everyone's: I have insulted you all!"
2425
2426"Aha!  A duel is not in your line, old man," Ferfitchkin
2427hissed venomously.
2428
2429It sent a sharp pang to my heart.
2430
2431"No, it's not the duel I am afraid of, Ferfitchkin!  I am ready to fight
2432you tomorrow, after we are reconciled.  I insist upon it, in fact, and you
2433cannot refuse.  I want to show you that I am not afraid of a duel.  You shall
2434fire first and I shall fire into the air."
2435
2436"He is comforting himself," said Simonov.
2437
2438"He's simply raving," said Trudolyubov.
2439
2440"But let us pass.  Why are you barring our way?  What do you want?"
2441Zverkov answered disdainfully.
2442They were all flushed, their eyes were bright: they had been
2443drinking heavily.
2444
2445"I ask for your friendship, Zverkov; I insulted you, but ..."
2446
2447"Insulted?  YOU insulted ME?  Understand, sir, that you never, under any
2448circumstances, could possibly insult ME."
2449
2450"And that's enough for you.  Out of the way!" concluded Trudolyubov.
2451
2452"Olympia is mine, friends, that's agreed!" cried Zverkov.
2453
2454"We won't dispute your right, we won't dispute your right," the others
2455answered, laughing.
2456
2457I stood as though spat upon.  The party went noisily out of the room. 
2458Trudolyubov struck up some stupid song.  Simonov remained behind for
2459a moment to tip the waiters.  I suddenly went up to him.
2460
2461"Simonov!  give me six roubles!" I said, with desperate resolution.
2462
2463He looked at me in extreme amazement, with vacant eyes.   He, too,
2464was drunk.
2465
2466"You don't mean you are coming with us?"
2467
2468"Yes."
2469
2470"I've no money," he snapped out, and with a scornful laugh he went
2471out of the room.
2472
2473I clutched at his overcoat.  It was a nightmare.
2474
2475"Simonov, I saw you had money.  Why do you refuse me?  Am I a
2476scoundrel?  Beware of refusing me: if you knew, if you knew why I am
2477asking!  My whole future, my whole plans depend upon it!"
2478
2479Simonov pulled out the money and almost flung it at me.
2480
2481"Take it, if you have no sense of shame!" he pronounced pitilessly, and
2482ran to overtake them.
2483
2484I was left for a moment alone.  Disorder, the remains of dinner, a
2485broken wine-glass on the floor, spilt wine, cigarette ends, fumes of drink
2486and delirium in my brain, an agonising misery in my heart and finally
2487the waiter, who had seen and heard all and was looking inquisitively into
2488my face.
2489
2490"I am going there!" I cried.  "Either they shall all go down on their
2491knees to beg for my friendship, or I will give Zverkov a slap in the face!"
2492
2493
2494
2495V
2496
2497"So this is it, this is it at last--contact with real life," I muttered as I ran
2498headlong downstairs.  "This is very different from the Pope's leaving Rome
2499and going to Brazil, very different from the ball on Lake Como!"
2500
2501"You are a scoundrel," a thought flashed through my mind, "if you
2502laugh at this now."
2503
2504"No matter!" I cried, answering myself.  "Now everything is lost!"
2505
2506There was no trace to be seen of them, but that made no difference--I
2507knew where they had gone.
2508
2509At the steps was standing a solitary night sledge-driver in a rough
2510peasant coat, powdered over with the still falling, wet, and as it were
2511warm, snow.  It was hot and steamy.  The little shaggy piebald horse was
2512also covered with snow and coughing, I remember that very well.  I made
2513a rush for the roughly made sledge; but as soon as I raised my foot to get
2514into it, the recollection of how Simonov had just given me six roubles
2515seemed to double me up and I tumbled into the sledge like a sack.
2516
2517"No, I must do a great deal to make up for all that," I cried.  "But I will
2518make up for it or perish on the spot this very night.  Start!"
2519
2520We set off.  There was a perfect whirl in my head.
2521
2522"They won't go down on their knees to beg for my friendship.  That is a
2523mirage, cheap mirage, revolting, romantic and fantastical--that's another
2524ball on Lake Como.  And so I am bound to slap Zverkov's face!  It is
2525my duty to.  And so it is settled; I am flying to give him a slap in the face. 
2526Hurry up!"
2527
2528The driver tugged at the reins.
2529
2530"As soon as I go in I'll give it him.  Ought I before giving him the slap
2531to say a few words by way of preface?  No. I'll simply go in and give it him.
2532They will all be sitting in the drawing-room, and he with Olympia on the
2533sofa.  That damned Olympia!  She laughed at my looks on one occasion
2534and refused me.  I'll pull Olympia's hair, pull Zverkov's ears!  No, better
2535one ear, and pull him by it round the room.  Maybe they will all begin
2536beating me and will kick me out.  That's most likely, indeed.  No matter!
2537Anyway, I shall first slap him; the initiative will be mine; and by the laws
2538of honour that is everything: he will be branded and cannot wipe off the
2539slap by any blows, by nothing but a duel.  He will be forced to fight.  And
2540let them beat me now.  Let them, the ungrateful wretches!  Trudolyubov
2541will beat me hardest, he is so strong; Ferfitchkin will be sure to catch hold
2542sideways and tug at my hair.  But no matter, no matter!  That's what I am
2543going for.  The blockheads will be forced at last to see the tragedy of it all!
2544When they drag me to the door I shall call out to them that in reality they
2545are not worth my little finger.  Get on, driver, get on!" I cried to the driver. 
2546He started and flicked his whip, I shouted so savagely.
2547
2548"We shall fight at daybreak, that's a settled thing.  I've done with the
2549office.  Ferfitchkin made a joke about it just now.  But where can I get
2550pistols?  Nonsense!  I'll get my salary in advance and buy them.  And
2551powder, and bullets?  That's the second's business.  And how can it all be
2552done by daybreak?  and where am I to get a second?  I have no friends. 
2553Nonsense!" I cried, lashing myself up more and more.  "It's of no consequence!
2554The first person I meet in the street is bound to be my second, just
2555as he would be bound to pull a drowning man out of water.  The most
2556eccentric things may happen.  Even if I were to ask the director himself to
2557be my second tomorrow, he would be bound to consent, if only from a
2558feeling of chivalry, and to keep the secret!  Anton Antonitch ...."
2559
2560The fact is, that at that very minute the disgusting absurdity of my plan
2561and the other side of the question was clearer and more vivid to my
2562imagination than it could be to anyone on earth.  But ....
2563
2564"Get on, driver, get on, you rascal, get on!"
2565
2566"Ugh, sir!" said the son of toil.
2567
2568Cold shivers suddenly ran down me.  Wouldn't it be better ... to go
2569straight home?  My God, my God!  Why did I invite myself to this dinner
2570yesterday?  But no, it's impossible.  And my walking up and down for three
2571hours from the table to the stove?  No, they, they and no one else must
2572pay for my walking up and down!  They must wipe out this dishonour!
2573Drive on!
2574
2575And what if they give me into custody?  They won't dare!  They'll be
2576afraid of the scandal.  And what if Zverkov is so contemptuous that he
2577refuses to fight a duel?  He is sure to; but in that case I'll show them ... I
2578will turn up at the posting station when he's setting off tomorrow, I'll
2579catch him by the leg, I'll pull off his coat when he gets into the carriage. 
2580I'll get my teeth into his hand, I'll bite him.  "See what lengths you can
2581drive a desperate man to!" He may hit me on the head and they may
2582belabour me from behind.  I will shout to the assembled multitude:
2583"Look at this young puppy who is driving off to captivate the Circassian
2584girls after letting me spit in his face!"
2585
2586Of course, after that everything will be over!  The office will have
2587vanished off the face of the earth.  I shall be arrested, I shall be tried, I
2588shall be dismissed from the service, thrown in prison, sent to Siberia. 
2589Never mind!  In fifteen years when they let me out of prison I will trudge
2590off to him, a beggar, in rags.  I shall find him in some provincial town.  He
2591will be married and happy.  He will have a grown-up daughter .... I shall
2592say to him: "Look, monster, at my hollow cheeks and my rags!  I've lost
2593everything--my career, my happiness, art, science, THE WOMAN I LOVED,
2594and all through you.  Here are pistols.  I have come to discharge my pistol
2595and ... and I ... forgive you.  Then I shall fire into the air and he will
2596hear nothing more of me ...."
2597
2598I was actually on the point of tears, though I knew perfectly well at that
2599moment that all this was out of Pushkin's SILVIO and Lermontov's MASQUERADE.
2600And all at once I felt horribly ashamed, so ashamed that I
2601stopped the horse, got out of the sledge, and stood still in the snow in the
2602middle of the street.  The driver gazed at me, sighing and astonished.
2603
2604What was I to do?  I could not go on there--it was evidently stupid,
2605and I could not leave things as they were, because that would seem as
2606though ... Heavens, how could I leave things!  And after such insults!
2607"No!" I cried, throwing myself into the sledge again.  "It is ordained!  It is
2608fate!  Drive on, drive on!"
2609
2610And in my impatience I punched the sledge-driver on the back of the neck.
2611
2612"What are you up to?  What are you hitting me for?" the peasant
2613shouted, but he whipped up his nag so that it began kicking.
2614
2615The wet snow was falling in big flakes; I unbuttoned myself, regardless
2616of it.  I forgot everything else, for I had finally decided on the slap, and
2617felt with horror that it was going to happen NOW, AT ONCE, and that NO FORCE
2618COULD STOP IT.  The deserted street lamps gleamed sullenly in the snowy
2619darkness like torches at a funeral.  The snow drifted under my great-coat,
2620under my coat, under my cravat, and melted there.  I did not wrap myself
2621up--all was lost, anyway.
2622
2623At last we arrived.  I jumped out, almost unconscious, ran up the steps
2624and began knocking and kicking at the door.  I felt fearfully weak,
2625particularly in my legs and knees.  The door was opened quickly as
2626though they knew I was coming.  As a fact, Simonov had warned them
2627that perhaps another gentleman would arrive, and this was a place in
2628which one had to give notice and to observe certain precautions.  It was
2629one of those "millinery establishments" which were abolished by the
2630police a good time ago.  By day it really was a shop; but at night, if one had
2631an introduction, one might visit it for other purposes.
2632
2633I walked rapidly through the dark shop into the familiar drawing-
2634room, where there was only one candle burning, and stood still in
2635amazement: there was no one there.  "Where are they?" I asked somebody. 
2636But by now, of course, they had separated.  Before me was standing a
2637person with a stupid smile, the "madam" herself, who had seen me
2638before.  A minute later a door opened and another person came in.
2639
2640Taking no notice of anything I strode about the room, and, I believe, I
2641talked to myself.  I felt as though I had been saved from death and was
2642conscious of this, joyfully, all over: I should have given that slap, I should
2643certainly, certainly have given it!  But now they were not here and ...
2644everything had vanished and changed!  I looked round.  I could not realise
2645my condition yet.  I looked mechanically at the girl who had come in: and
2646had a glimpse of a fresh, young, rather pale face, with straight, dark
2647eyebrows, and with grave, as it were wondering, eyes that attracted me at
2648once; I should have hated her if she had been smiling.  I began looking at
2649her more intently and, as it were, with effort.  I had not fully collected my
2650thoughts.  There was something simple and good-natured in her face, but
2651something strangely grave.  I am sure that this stood in her way here, and
2652no one of those fools had noticed her.  She could not, however, have been
2653called a beauty, though she was tall, strong-looking, and well built.  She
2654was very simply dressed.  Something loathsome stirred within me.  I went
2655straight up to her.
2656
2657I chanced to look into the glass.  My harassed face struck me as
2658revolting in the extreme, pale, angry, abject, with dishevelled hair.  "No
2659matter, I am glad of it," I thought; "I am glad that I shall seem repulsive
2660to her; I like that."
2661
2662
2663
2664VI
2665
2666
2667...  Somewhere behind a screen a clock began wheezing, as though
2668oppressed by something, as though someone were strangling it.  After an
2669unnaturally prolonged wheezing there followed a shrill, nasty, and as it
2670were unexpectedly rapid, chime--as though someone were suddenly
2671jumping forward.  It struck two.  I woke up, though I had indeed not been
2672asleep but lying half-conscious.
2673
2674It was almost completely dark in the narrow, cramped, low-pitched
2675room, cumbered up with an enormous wardrobe and piles of cardboard
2676boxes and all sorts of frippery and litter.  The candle end that had been
2677burning on the table was going out and gave a faint flicker from time to
2678time.  In a few minutes there would be complete darkness.
2679
2680I was not long in coming to myself; everything came back to my mind
2681at once, without an effort, as though it had been in ambush to pounce
2682upon me again.  And, indeed, even while I was unconscious a point
2683seemed continually to remain in my memory unforgotten, and round it
2684my dreams moved drearily.  But strange to say, everything that had
2685happened to me in that day seemed to me now, on waking, to be in the
2686far, far away past, as though I had long, long ago lived all that down.
2687
2688My head was full of fumes.  Something seemed to be hovering over
2689me, rousing me, exciting me, and making me restless.  Misery and spite
2690seemed surging up in me again and seeking an outlet.  Suddenly I saw
2691beside me two wide open eyes scrutinising me curiously and persistently. 
2692The look in those eyes was coldly detached, sullen, as it were utterly
2693remote; it weighed upon me.
2694
2695A grim idea came into my brain and passed all over my body, as a
2696horrible sensation, such as one feels when one goes into a damp and
2697mouldy cellar.  There was something unnatural in those two eyes,
2698beginning to look at me only now.  I recalled, too, that during those two
2699hours I had not said a single word to this creature, and had, in fact,
2700considered it utterly superfluous; in fact, the silence had for some reason
2701gratified me.  Now I suddenly realised vividly the hideous idea--
2702revolting as a spider--of vice, which, without love, grossly and shamelessly
2703begins with that in which true love finds its consummation.  For a long time
2704we gazed at each other like that, but she did not drop her eyes before mine
2705and her expression did not change, so that at last I felt uncomfortable.
2706
2707"What is your name?" I asked abruptly, to put an end to it.
2708
2709"Liza," she answered almost in a whisper, but somehow far from
2710graciously, and she turned her eyes away.
2711
2712I was silent.
2713
2714"What weather!  The snow ... it's disgusting!" I said, almost to myself,
2715putting my arm under my head despondently, and gazing at the ceiling.
2716
2717She made no answer.  This was horrible.
2718
2719"Have you always lived in Petersburg?" I asked a minute later, almost
2720angrily, turning my head slightly towards her.
2721
2722"No."
2723
2724"Where do you come from?"
2725
2726"From Riga," she answered reluctantly.
2727
2728"Are you a German?"
2729
2730"No, Russian."
2731
2732"Have you been here long?"
2733
2734"Where?"
2735
2736"In this house?"
2737
2738"A fortnight."
2739
2740She spoke more and more jerkily.  The candle went out; I could no
2741longer distinguish her face.
2742
2743"Have you a father and mother?"
2744
2745"Yes ... no ... I have."
2746
2747"Where are they?"
2748
2749"There ... in Riga."
2750
2751"What are they?"
2752
2753"Oh, nothing."
2754
2755"Nothing?  Why, what class are they?"
2756
2757"Tradespeople."
2758
2759"Have you always lived with them?"
2760
2761"Yes."
2762
2763"How old are you?"
2764
2765"Twenty."
2766"Why did you leave them?"
2767
2768"Oh, for no reason."
2769
2770That answer meant "Let me alone; I feel sick, sad."
2771
2772We were silent.
2773
2774God knows why I did not go away.  I felt myself more and more sick and
2775dreary.  The images of the previous day began of themselves, apart from
2776my will, flitting through my memory in confusion.  I suddenly recalled
2777something I had seen that morning when, full of anxious thoughts, I was
2778hurrying to the office.
2779
2780"I saw them carrying a coffin out yesterday and they nearly dropped
2781it," I suddenly said aloud, not that I desired to open the conversation, but
2782as it were by accident.
2783
2784"A coffin?"
2785
2786"Yes, in the Haymarket; they were bringing it up out of a cellar."
2787
2788"From a cellar?"
2789
2790"Not from a cellar, but a basement.  Oh, you know ... down below ... from
2791a house of ill-fame.  It was filthy all round ...  Egg-shells, litter ...
2792a stench.  It was loathsome."
2793
2794Silence.
2795
2796"A nasty day to be buried," I began, simply to avoid being silent.
2797
2798"Nasty, in what way?"
2799
2800"The snow, the wet."  (I yawned.)
2801
2802"It makes no difference," she said suddenly, after a brief silence.
2803
2804"No, it's horrid."  (I yawned again).  "The gravediggers must have sworn
2805at getting drenched by the snow.  And there must have been water in the grave."
2806
2807"Why water in the grave?" she asked, with a sort of curiosity, but
2808speaking even more harshly and abruptly than before. 
2809
2810I suddenly began to feel provoked.
2811
2812"Why, there must have been water at the bottom a foot deep.  You can't
2813dig a dry grave in Volkovo Cemetery."
2814
2815"Why?"
2816
2817"Why?  Why, the place is waterlogged.  It's a regular marsh.  So they
2818bury them in water.  I've seen it myself ... many times."
2819
2820(I had never seen it once, indeed I had never been in Volkovo, and had
2821only heard stories of it.)
2822
2823"Do you mean to say, you don't mind how you die?"
2824
2825"But why should I die?" she answered, as though defending herself.
2826
2827"Why, some day you will die, and you will die just the same as that
2828dead woman.  She was ... a girl like you.  She died of consumption."
2829
2830"A wench would have died in hospital ..."  (She knows all about it
2831already: she said "wench," not "girl.")
2832
2833"She was in debt to her madam," I retorted, more and more provoked
2834by the discussion; "and went on earning money for her up to the end,
2835though she was in consumption.  Some sledge-drivers standing by were
2836talking about her to some soldiers and telling them so.  No doubt they
2837knew her.  They were laughing.  They were going to meet in a pot-house
2838to drink to her memory."
2839
2840A great deal of this was my invention.  Silence followed, profound
2841silence.  She did not stir.
2842
2843"And is it better to die in a hospital?"
2844
2845"Isn't it just the same?  Besides, why should I die?" she added irritably.
2846
2847"If not now, a little later."
2848
2849"Why a little later?"
2850
2851"Why, indeed?  Now you are young, pretty, fresh, you fetch a high
2852price.  But after another year of this life you will be very different--you
2853will go off."
2854
2855"In a year?"
2856
2857"Anyway, in a year you will be worth less," I continued malignantly. 
2858"You will go from here to something lower, another house; a year later--
2859to a third, lower and lower, and in seven years you will come to a
2860basement in the Haymarket.  That will be if you were lucky.  But it would
2861be much worse if you got some disease, consumption, say ... and caught
2862a chill, or something or other.  It's not easy to get over an illness in your
2863way of life.  If you catch anything you may not get rid of it.  And so you
2864would die."
2865
2866"Oh, well, then I shall die," she answered, quite vindictively, and she
2867made a quick movement.
2868
2869"But one is sorry."
2870
2871"Sorry for whom?"
2872
2873"Sorry for life."
2874Silence.
2875
2876"Have you been engaged to be married?  Eh?"
2877
2878"What's that to you?"
2879
2880"Oh, I am not cross-examining you.  It's nothing to me.  Why are you
2881so cross?  Of course you may have had your own troubles.  What is it to
2882me?  It's simply that I felt sorry."
2883
2884"Sorry for whom?"
2885
2886"Sorry for you."
2887
2888"No need," she whispered hardly audibly, and again made a faint movement.
2889
2890That incensed me at once.  What!  I was so gentle with her, and she ....
2891
2892"Why, do you think that you are on the right path?"
2893
2894"I don't think anything."
2895
2896"That's what's wrong, that you don't think.  Realise it while there is still
2897time.  There still is time.  You are still young, good-looking; you might
2898love, be married, be happy ...."
2899
2900"Not all married women are happy," she snapped out in the rude
2901abrupt tone she had used at first.
2902
2903"Not all, of course, but anyway it is much better than the life here. 
2904Infinitely better.  Besides, with love one can live even without happiness. 
2905Even in sorrow life is sweet; life is sweet, however one lives.  But here what
2906is there but ... foulness?  Phew!"
2907
2908I turned away with disgust; I was no longer reasoning coldly.  I began to
2909feel myself what I was saying and warmed to the subject.  I was already
2910longing to expound the cherished ideas I had brooded over in my corner. 
2911Something suddenly flared up in me.  An object had appeared before me.
2912
2913"Never mind my being here, I am not an example for you.  I am,
2914perhaps, worse than you are.  I was drunk when I came here, though," I
2915hastened, however, to say in self-defence.  "Besides, a man is no example
2916for a woman.  It's a different thing.  I may degrade and defile myself, but I
2917am not anyone's slave.  I come and go, and that's an end of it.  I shake it off,
2918and I am a different man.  But you are a slave from the start.  Yes, a slave!
2919You give up everything, your whole freedom.  If you want to break your
2920chains afterwards, you won't be able to; you will be more and more fast in
2921the snares.  It is an accursed bondage.  I know it.  I won't speak of anything
2922else, maybe you won't understand, but tell me: no doubt you are in debt
2923to your madam?  There, you see," I added, though she made no answer,
2924but only listened in silence, entirely absorbed, "that's a bondage for you!
2925You will never buy your freedom.  They will see to that.  It's like selling
2926your soul to the devil ....  And besides ... perhaps, I too, am just as
2927unlucky--how do you know--and wallow in the mud on purpose, out of
2928misery?  You know, men take to drink from grief; well, maybe I am here
2929from grief.  Come, tell me, what is there good here?  Here you and I ...
2930came together ... just now and did not say one word to one another all
2931the time, and it was only afterwards you began staring at me like a wild
2932creature, and I at you.  Is that loving?  Is that how one human being
2933should meet another?  It's hideous, that's what it is!"
2934
2935"Yes!" she assented sharply and hurriedly.
2936
2937I was positively astounded by the promptitude of this "Yes."  So the
2938same thought may have been straying through her mind when she was
2939staring at me just before.  So she, too, was capable of certain thoughts?
2940"Damn it all, this was interesting, this was a point of likeness!" I thought,
2941almost rubbing my hands.  And indeed it's easy to turn a young soul
2942like that!
2943
2944It was the exercise of my power that attracted me most.
2945
2946She turned her head nearer to me, and it seemed to me in the darkness
2947that she propped herself on her arm.  Perhaps she was scrutinising me. 
2948How I regretted that I could not see her eyes.  I heard her deep breathing.
2949
2950"Why have you come here?" I asked her, with a note of authority
2951already in my voice.
2952
2953"Oh, I don't know."
2954
2955"But how nice it would be to be living in your father's house!  It's warm
2956and free; you have a home of your own."
2957
2958"But what if it's worse than this?"
2959
2960"I must take the right tone," flashed through my mind.  "I may not get
2961far with sentimentality."  But it was only a momentary thought.  I swear
2962she really did interest me.  Besides, I was exhausted and moody.  And
2963cunning so easily goes hand-in-hand with feeling.
2964
2965"Who denies it!" I hastened to answer.  "Anything may happen.  I am
2966convinced that someone has wronged you, and that you are more sinned
2967against than sinning.  Of course, I know nothing of your story, but it's not
2968likely a girl like you has come here of her own inclination ...."
2969
2970"A girl like me?" she whispered, hardly audibly; but I heard it.
2971
2972Damn it all, I was flattering her.  That was horrid.  But perhaps it was a
2973good thing ....  She was silent.
2974
2975"See, Liza, I will tell you about myself.  If I had had a home from
2976childhood, I shouldn't be what I am now.  I often think that.  However bad
2977it may be at home, anyway they are your father and mother, and not
2978enemies, strangers.  Once a year at least, they'll show their love of you. 
2979Anyway, you know you are at home.  I grew up without a home; and
2980perhaps that's why I've turned so ... unfeeling."
2981
2982I waited again.  "Perhaps she doesn't understand," I thought, "and,
2983indeed, it is absurd--it's moralising."
2984
2985"If I were a father and had a daughter, I believe I should love my
2986daughter more than my sons, really," I began indirectly, as though talking
2987of something else, to distract her attention.  I must confess I blushed.
2988
2989"Why so?" she asked.
2990
2991Ah!  so she was listening!
2992
2993"I don't know, Liza.  I knew a father who was a stern, austere man, but
2994used to go down on his knees to his daughter, used to kiss her hands, her
2995feet, he couldn't make enough of her, really.  When she danced at parties
2996he used to stand for five hours at a stretch, gazing at her.  He was mad over
2997her: I understand that!  She would fall asleep tired at night, and he would
2998wake to kiss her in her sleep and make the sign of the cross over her.  He
2999would go about in a dirty old coat, he was stingy to everyone else, but
3000would spend his last penny for her, giving her expensive presents, and it
3001was his greatest delight when she was pleased with what he gave her. 
3002Fathers always love their daughters more than the mothers do.  Some girls
3003live happily at home!  And I believe I should never let my daughters marry."
3004
3005"What next?" she said, with a faint smile.
3006
3007"I should be jealous, I really should.  To think that she should kiss
3008anyone else!  That she should love a stranger more than her father!  It's
3009painful to imagine it.  Of course, that's all nonsense, of course every
3010father would be reasonable at last.  But I believe before I should let her
3011marry, I should worry myself to death; I should find fault with all her
3012suitors.  But I should end by letting her marry whom she herself loved. 
3013The one whom the daughter loves always seems the worst to the father,
3014you know.  That is always so.  So many family troubles come from that."
3015
3016"Some are glad to sell their daughters, rather than marrying
3017them honourably."
3018
3019Ah, so that was it!
3020
3021"Such a thing, Liza, happens in those accursed families in which
3022there is neither love nor God," I retorted warmly, "and where there is no
3023love, there is no sense either.  There are such families, it's true, but I am
3024not speaking of them.  You must have seen wickedness in your own
3025family, if you talk like that.  Truly, you must have been unlucky.  H'm! ...
3026that sort of thing mostly comes about through poverty."
3027
3028"And is it any better with the gentry?  Even among the poor, honest
3029people who live happily?"
3030
3031"H'm ... yes.  Perhaps.  Another thing, Liza, man is fond of reckoning
3032up his troubles, but does not count his joys.  If he counted them up as he
3033ought, he would see that every lot has enough happiness provided for it. 
3034And what if all goes well with the family, if the blessing of God is upon it,
3035if the husband is a good one, loves you, cherishes you, never leaves you!
3036There is happiness in such a family!  Even sometimes there is happiness
3037in the midst of sorrow; and indeed sorrow is everywhere.  If you marry YOU
3038WILL FIND OUT FOR YOURSELF.  But think of the first years of married life with
3039one you love: what happiness, what happiness there sometimes is in it!
3040And indeed it's the ordinary thing.  In those early days even quarrels with
3041one's husband end happily.  Some women get up quarrels with their
3042husbands just because they love them.  Indeed, I knew a woman like that:
3043she seemed to say that because she loved him, she would torment him
3044and make him feel it.  You know that you may torment a man on purpose
3045through love.  Women are particularly given to that, thinking to themselves
3046'I will love him so, I will make so much of him afterwards, that it's
3047no sin to torment him a little now.' And all in the  house rejoice in the
3048sight of you, and you are happy and gay and peaceful and honourable ....
3049Then there are some women who are jealous.  If he went off
3050anywhere--I knew one such woman, she couldn't restrain herself, but
3051would jump up at night and run off on the sly to find out where he was,
3052whether he was with some other woman.  That's a pity.  And the woman
3053knows herself it's wrong, and her heart fails her and she suffers, but she
3054loves--it's all through love.  And how sweet it is to make up after quarrels,
3055to own herself in the wrong or to forgive him!  And they both are so happy
3056all at once--as though they had met anew, been married over again; as
3057though their love had begun afresh.  And no one, no one should know
3058what passes between husband and wife if they love one another.  And
3059whatever quarrels there may be between them they ought not to call in
3060their own mother to judge between them and tell tales of one another. 
3061They are their own judges.  Love is a holy mystery and ought to be hidden
3062from all other eyes, whatever happens.  That makes it holier and better. 
3063They respect one another more, and much is built on respect.  And if
3064once there has been love, if they have been married for love, why should
3065love pass away?  Surely one can keep it!  It is rare that one cannot keep it. 
3066And if the husband is kind and straightforward, why should not love last?
3067The first phase of married love will pass, it is true, but then there will
3068come a love that is better still.  Then there will be the union of souls, they
3069will have everything in common, there will be no secrets between them. 
3070And once they have children, the most difficult times will seem to them
3071happy, so long as there is love and courage.  Even toil will be a joy, you
3072may deny yourself bread for your children and even that will be a joy,
3073They will love you for it afterwards; so you are laying by for your future. 
3074As the children grow up you feel that you are an example, a support for
3075them; that even after you die your children will always keep your
3076thoughts and feelings, because they have received them from you, they
3077will take on your semblance and likeness.  So you see this is a great duty. 
3078How can it fail to draw the father and mother nearer?  People say it's a trial
3079to have children.  Who says that?  It is heavenly happiness!  Are you fond of
3080little children, Liza?  I am awfully fond of them.  You know--a little rosy
3081baby boy at your bosom, and what husband's heart is not touched, seeing
3082his wife nursing his child!  A plump little rosy baby, sprawling and
3083snuggling, chubby little hands and feet, clean tiny little nails, so tiny that
3084it makes one laugh to look at them; eyes that look as if they understand
3085everything.  And while it sucks it clutches at your bosom with its little
3086hand, plays.  When its father comes up, the child tears itself away from the
3087bosom, flings itself back, looks at its father, laughs, as though it were
3088fearfully funny, and falls to sucking again.  Or it will bite its mother's
3089breast when its little teeth are coming, while it looks sideways at her with
3090its little eyes as though to say, 'Look, I am biting!' Is not all that happiness
3091when they are the three together, husband, wife and child?  One can
3092forgive a great deal for the sake of such moments.  Yes, Liza, one must first
3093learn to live oneself before one blames others!"
3094
3095"It's by pictures, pictures like that one must get at you," I thought to
3096myself, though I did speak with real feeling, and all at once I flushed
3097crimson.  "What if she were suddenly to burst out laughing, what should I
3098do then?" That idea drove me to fury.  Towards the end of my speech I
3099really was excited, and now my vanity was somehow wounded.  The
3100silence continued.  I almost nudged her.
3101
3102"Why are you--" she began and stopped.  But I understood: there
3103was a quiver of something different in her voice, not abrupt, harsh and
3104unyielding as before, but something soft and shamefaced, so shamefaced
3105that I suddenly felt ashamed and guilty.
3106
3107"What?" I asked, with tender curiosity.
3108
3109"Why, you ..."
3110
3111"What?"
3112
3113"Why, you ... speak somehow like a book," she said, and again there
3114was a note of irony in her voice.
3115
3116That remark sent a pang to my heart.  It was not what I was expecting.
3117
3118I did not understand that she was hiding her feelings under irony,
3119that this is usually the last refuge of modest and chaste-souled people
3120when the privacy of their soul is coarsely and intrusively invaded, and
3121that their pride makes them refuse to surrender till the last moment
3122and shrink from giving expression to their feelings before you.  I ought
3123to have guessed the truth from the timidity with which she had repeatedly
3124approached her sarcasm, only bringing herself to utter it at last
3125with an effort.  But I did not guess, and an evil feeling took possession
3126of me.
3127
3128"Wait a bit!" I thought.
3129
3130
3131
3132VII
3133
3134
3135"Oh, hush, Liza!  How can you talk about being like a book, when it
3136makes even me, an outsider, feel sick?  Though I don't look at it as an
3137outsider, for, indeed, it touches me to the heart ....  Is it possible, is it
3138possible that you do not feel sick at being here yourself?  Evidently habit
3139does wonders!  God knows what habit can do with anyone.  Can you
3140seriously think that you will never grow old, that you will always be good-
3141looking, and that they will keep you here for ever and ever?  I say nothing
3142of the loathsomeness of the life here .... Though let me tell you this
3143about it--about your present life, I mean; here though you are young
3144now, attractive, nice, with soul and feeling, yet you know as soon as I
3145came to myself just now I felt at once sick at being here with you!  One
3146can only come here when one is drunk.  But if you were anywhere else,
3147living as good people live, I should perhaps be more than attracted by
3148you, should fall in love with you, should be glad of a look from you, let
3149alone a word; I should hang about your door, should go down on my
3150knees to you, should look upon you as my betrothed and think it an
3151honour to be allowed to.  I should not dare to have an impure thought
3152about you.  But here, you see, I know that I have only to whistle and you
3153have to come with me whether you like it or not.  I don't consult your
3154wishes, but you mine.  The lowest labourer hires himself as a workman,
3155but he doesn't make a slave of himself altogether; besides, he knows that
3156he will be free again presently.  But when are you free?  Only think what
3157you are giving up here?  What is it you are making a slave of?  It is your
3158soul, together with your body; you are selling your soul which you have
3159no right to dispose of!  You give your love to be outraged by every
3160drunkard!  Love!  But that's everything, you know, it's a priceless diamond,
3161it's a maiden's treasure, love--why, a man would be ready to give his
3162soul, to face death to gain that love.  But how much is your love worth
3163now?  You are sold, all of you, body and soul, and there is no need to strive
3164for love when you can have everything without love.  And you know there
3165is no greater insult to a girl than that, do you understand?  To be sure, I
3166have heard that they comfort you, poor fools, they let you have lovers of
3167your own here.  But you know that's simply a farce, that's simply a sham,
3168it's just laughing at you, and you are taken in by it!  Why, do you suppose
3169he really loves you, that lover of yours?  I don't believe it.  How can he
3170love you when he knows you may be called away from him any minute?
3171He would be a low fellow if he did!  Will he have a grain of respect for
3172you?  What have you in common with him?  He laughs at you and robs
3173you--that is all his love amounts to!  You are lucky if he does not beat
3174you.  Very likely he does beat you, too.  Ask him, if you have got one,
3175whether he will marry you.  He will laugh in your face, if he doesn't spit
3176in it or give you a blow--though maybe he is not worth a bad halfpenny
3177himself.  And for what have you ruined your life, if you come to think of
3178it?  For the coffee they give you to drink and the plentiful meals?  But with
3179what object are they feeding you up?  An honest girl couldn't swallow the
3180food, for she would know what she was being fed for.  You are in debt here,
3181and, of course, you will always be in debt, and you will go on in debt to
3182the end, till the visitors here begin to scorn you.  And that will soon
3183happen, don't rely upon your youth--all that flies by express train here,
3184you know.  You will be kicked out.  And not simply kicked out; long before
3185that she'll begin nagging at you, scolding you, abusing you, as though
3186you had not sacrificed your health for her, had not thrown away your
3187youth and your soul for her benefit, but as though you had ruined her,
3188beggared her, robbed her.  And don't expect anyone to take your part: the
3189others, your companions, will attack you, too, win her favour, for all are
3190in slavery here, and have lost all conscience and pity here long ago.  They
3191have become utterly vile, and nothing on earth is viler, more loathsome,
3192and more insulting than their abuse.  And you are laying down everything
3193here, unconditionally, youth and health and beauty and hope, and at
3194twenty-two you will look like a woman of five-and-thirty, and you will be
3195lucky if you are not diseased, pray to God for that!  No doubt you are
3196thinking now that you have a gay time and no work to do!  Yet there is no
3197work harder or more dreadful in the world or ever has been.  One would
3198think that the heart alone would be worn out with tears.  And you won't
3199dare to say a word, not half a word when they drive you away from here;
3200you will go away as though you were to blame.  You will change to
3201another house, then to a third, then somewhere else, till you come down
3202at last to the Haymarket.  There you will be beaten at every turn; that is
3203good manners there, the visitors don't know how to be friendly without
3204beating you.  You don't believe that it is so hateful there?  Go and look for
3205yourself some time, you can see with your own eyes.  Once, one New
3206Year's Day, I saw a woman at a door.  They had turned her out as a joke, to
3207give her a taste of the frost because she had been crying so much, and
3208they shut the door behind her.  At nine o'clock in the morning she was
3209already quite drunk, dishevelled, half-naked, covered with bruises, her
3210face was powdered, but she had a black-eye, blood was trickling from her
3211nose and her teeth; some cabman had just given her a drubbing.  She was
3212sitting on the stone steps, a salt fish of some sort was in her hand; she was
3213crying, wailing something about her luck and beating with the fish on the
3214steps, and cabmen and drunken soldiers were crowding in the doorway
3215taunting her.  You don't believe that you will ever be like  that?  I should be
3216sorry to believe it, too, but how do you know; maybe ten years, eight
3217years ago that very woman with the salt fish came here fresh as a cherub,
3218innocent, pure, knowing no evil, blushing at every word.  Perhaps she
3219was like you, proud, ready to take offence, not like the others; perhaps she
3220looked like a queen, and knew what happiness was in store for the man
3221who should love her and whom she should love.  Do you see how it
3222ended?  And what if at that very minute when she was beating on the filthy
3223steps with that fish, drunken and dishevelled--what if at that very
3224minute she recalled the pure early days in her father's house, when she
3225used to go to school and the neighbour's son watched for her on the way,
3226declaring that he would love her as long as he lived, that he would devote
3227his life to her, and when they vowed to love one another for ever and be
3228married as soon as they were grown up!  No, Liza, it would be happy for
3229you if you were to die soon of consumption in some corner, in some
3230cellar like that woman just now.  In the hospital, do you say?  You will be
3231lucky if they take you, but what if you are still of use to the madam here?
3232Consumption is a queer disease, it is not like fever.  The patient goes on
3233hoping till the last minute and says he is all right.  He deludes himself
3234And that just suits your madam.  Don't doubt it, that's how it is; you have
3235sold your soul, and what is more you owe money, so you daren't say a
3236word.  But when you are dying, all will abandon you, all will turn away
3237from you, for then there will be nothing to get from you.  What's more,
3238they will reproach you for cumbering the place, for being so long over
3239dying.  However you beg you won't get a drink of water without abuse:
3240'Whenever are you going off, you nasty hussy, you won't let us sleep with
3241your moaning, you make the gentlemen sick.'  That's true, I have heard
3242such things said myself.  They will thrust you dying into the filthiest
3243corner in the cellar--in the damp and darkness; what will your thoughts
3244be, lying there alone?  When you die, strange hands will lay you out, with
3245grumbling and impatience; no one will bless you, no one will sigh for
3246you, they only want to get rid of you as soon as may be; they will buy a
3247coffin, take you to the grave as they did that poor woman today, and
3248celebrate your memory at the tavern.  In the grave, sleet, filth, wet snow--
3249no need to put themselves out for you--'Let her down, Vanuha; it's just
3250like her luck--even here, she is head-foremost, the hussy.  Shorten the
3251cord, you rascal.'  'It's all right as it is.'  'All right, is it?  Why, she's
3252on her side!  She was a fellow-creature, after all!  But, never mind, throw the
3253earth on her.'  And they won't care to waste much time quarrelling over
3254you.  They will scatter the wet blue clay as quick as they can and go off to
3255the tavern ... and there your memory on earth will end; other women
3256have children to go to their graves, fathers, husbands.  While for you
3257neither tear, nor sigh, nor remembrance; no one in the whole world will
3258ever come to you, your name will vanish from the face of the earth--as
3259though you had never existed, never been born at all!  Nothing but filth
3260and mud, however you knock at your coffin lid at night, when the dead
3261arise, however you cry: 'Let me out, kind people, to live in the light of
3262day!  My life was no life at all; my life has been thrown away like a dish-
3263clout; it was drunk away in the tavern at the Haymarket; let me out, kind
3264people, to live in the world again.'"
3265
3266And I worked myself up to such a pitch that I began to have a lump in
3267my throat myself, and ... and all at once I stopped, sat up in dismay and,
3268bending over apprehensively, began to listen with a beating heart.  I had
3269reason to be troubled.
3270
3271I had felt for some time that I was turning her soul upside down and
3272rending her heart, and--and the more I was convinced of it, the more
3273eagerly I desired to gain my object as quickly and as effectually as
3274possible.  It was the exercise of my skill that carried me away; yet it was not
3275merely sport ....
3276
3277I knew I was speaking stiffly, artificially, even bookishly, in fact, I
3278could not speak except "like a book."  But that did not trouble me: I
3279knew, I felt that I should be understood and that this very bookishness
3280might be an assistance.  But now, having attained my effect, I was
3281suddenly panic-stricken.  Never before had I witnessed such despair!  She
3282was lying on her face, thrusting her face into the pillow and clutching it
3283in both hands.  Her heart was being torn.  Her youthful body was
3284shuddering all over as though in convulsions.  Suppressed sobs rent her
3285bosom and suddenly burst out in weeping and wailing, then she pressed
3286closer into the pillow: she did not want anyone here, not a living soul, to
3287know of her anguish and her tears.  She bit the pillow, bit her hand till it
3288bled (I saw that afterwards), or, thrusting her fingers into her dishevelled
3289hair, seemed rigid with the effort of restraint, holding her breath and
3290clenching her teeth.  I began saying something, begging her to calm
3291herself, but felt that I did not dare; and all at once, in a sort of cold
3292shiver, almost in terror, began fumbling in the dark, trying hurriedly to
3293get dressed to go.  It was dark; though I tried my best I could not finish
3294dressing quickly.  Suddenly I felt a box of matches and a candlestick with
3295a whole candle in it.  As soon as the room was lighted up, Liza sprang
3296up, sat up in bed, and with a contorted face, with a half insane smile,
3297looked at me almost senselessly.  I sat down beside her and took her
3298hands; she came to herself, made an impulsive movement towards me,
3299would have caught hold of me, but did not dare, and slowly bowed her
3300head before me. 
3301
3302"Liza, my dear, I was wrong ... forgive me, my dear," I began, but
3303she squeezed my hand in her fingers so tightly that I felt I was saying the
3304wrong thing and stopped.
3305
3306"This is my address, Liza, come to me."
3307
3308"I will come," she answered resolutely, her head still bowed.
3309
3310"But now I am going, good-bye ... till we meet again."
3311
3312I got up; she, too, stood up and suddenly flushed all over, gave a
3313shudder, snatched up a shawl that was lying on a chair and muffled
3314herself in it to her chin.  As she did this she gave another sickly smile,
3315blushed and looked at me strangely.  I felt wretched; I was in haste to get
3316away--to disappear.
3317
3318"Wait a minute," she said suddenly, in the passage just at the doorway,
3319stopping me with her hand on my overcoat.  She put down the candle in
3320hot haste and ran off; evidently she had thought of something or wanted
3321to show me something.  As she ran away she flushed, her eyes shone, and
3322there was a smile on her lips--what was the meaning of it?  Against my
3323will I waited: she came back a minute later with an expression that
3324seemed to ask forgiveness for something.  In fact, it was not the same face,
3325not the same look as the evening before: sullen, mistrustful and obstinate.
3326Her eyes now were imploring, soft, and at the same time trustful,
3327caressing, timid.  The expression with which children look at people they
3328are very fond of, of whom they are asking a favour.  Her eyes were a light
3329hazel, they were lovely eyes, full of life, and capable of expressing love as
3330well as sullen hatred.
3331
3332Making no explanation, as though I, as a sort of higher being, must
3333understand everything without explanations, she held out a piece of
3334paper to me.  Her whole face was positively beaming at that instant with
3335naive, almost childish, triumph.  I unfolded it.  It was a letter to her from
3336a medical student or someone of that sort--a very high-flown and
3337flowery, but extremely respectful, love-letter.  I don't recall the words
3338now, but I remember well that through the high-flown phrases there was
3339apparent a genuine feeling, which cannot be feigned.  When I had
3340finished reading it I met her glowing, questioning, and childishly
3341impatient eyes fixed upon me.  She fastened her eyes upon my face and
3342waited impatiently for what I should say.  In a few words, hurriedly,
3343but with a sort of joy and pride, she explained to me that she had been
3344to a dance somewhere in a private house, a family of "very nice people,
3345WHO KNEW NOTHING, absolutely nothing, for she had only come here
3346so lately and it had all happened ... and she hadn't made up her
3347mind to stay and was certainly going away as soon as she had paid her
3348debt..."  and at that party there had been the student who had danced
3349with her all the evening.  He had talked to her, and it turned out that he
3350had known her in old days at Riga when he was a child, they had played
3351together, but a very long time ago--and he knew her parents, but ABOUT THIS
3352he knew nothing, nothing whatever, and had no suspicion!  And the
3353day after the dance (three days ago) he had sent her that letter through
3354the friend with whom she had gone to the party ... and ... well, that
3355was all."
3356
3357She dropped her shining eyes with a sort of bashfulness as she finished.
3358
3359The poor girl was keeping that student's letter as a precious treasure,
3360and had run to fetch it, her only treasure, because she did not want me to
3361go away without knowing that she, too, was honestly and genuinely loved;
3362that she, too, was addressed respectfully.  No doubt that letter was destined
3363to lie in her box and lead to nothing.  But none the less, I am certain
3364that she would keep it all her life as a precious treasure, as her pride and
3365justification, and now at such a minute she had thought of that letter and
3366brought it with naive pride to raise herself in my eyes that I might see,
3367that I, too, might think well of her.  I said nothing, pressed her hand and
3368went out.  I so longed to get away ... I walked all the way home, in spite
3369of the fact that the melting snow was still falling in heavy flakes.  I was
3370exhausted, shattered, in bewilderment.  But behind the bewilderment the
3371truth was already gleaming.  The loathsome truth.
3372
3373
3374
3375VIII
3376
3377
3378It was some time, however, before I consented to recognise that truth. 
3379Waking up in the morning after some hours of heavy, leaden sleep, and
3380immediately realising all that had happened on the previous day, I was
3381positively amazed at my last night's SENTIMENTALITY with Liza, at all those
3382"outcries of horror and pity."  "To think of having such an attack of
3383womanish hysteria, pah!" I concluded.  And what did I thrust my address
3384upon her for?  What if she comes?  Let her come, though; it doesn't
3385matter ....  But OBVIOUSLY, that was not now the chief and the most
3386important matter: I had to make haste and at all costs save my reputation
3387in the eyes of Zverkov and Simonov as quickly as possible; that was the
3388chief business.  And I was so taken up that morning that I actually forgot
3389all about Liza.
3390
3391First of all I had at once to repay what I had borrowed the day before
3392from Simonov.  I resolved on a desperate measure: to borrow fifteen
3393roubles straight off from Anton Antonitch.  As luck would have it he was
3394in the best of humours that morning, and gave it to me at once, on the
3395first asking.  I was so delighted at this that, as I signed the IOU with a
3396swaggering air, I told him casually that the night before "I had been
3397keeping it up with some friends at the Hotel de Paris; we were giving a
3398farewell party to a comrade, in fact, I might say a friend of my childhood,
3399and you know--a desperate rake, fearfully spoilt--of course, he belongs
3400to a good family, and has considerable means, a brilliant career; he is
3401witty, charming, a regular Lovelace, you understand; we drank an extra
3402'half-dozen' and ..."
3403
3404And it went off all right; all this was uttered very easily,
3405unconstrainedly and complacently.
3406
3407On reaching home I promptly wrote to Simonov.
3408
3409To this hour I am lost in admiration when I recall the truly gentlemanly,
3410good-humoured, candid tone of my letter.  With tact and good-
3411breeding, and, above all, entirely without superfluous words, I blamed
3412myself for all that had happened.  I defended myself, "if I really may be
3413allowed to defend myself," by alleging that being utterly unaccustomed
3414to wine, I had been intoxicated with the first glass, which I said, I had
3415drunk before they arrived, while I was waiting for them at the Hotel de
3416Paris between five and six o'clock.  I begged Simonov's pardon especially;
3417I asked him to convey my explanations to all the others, especially to
3418Zverkov, whom "I seemed to remember as though in a dream" I had
3419insulted.  I added that I would have called upon all of them myself, but
3420my head ached, and besides I had not the face to.  I was particularly
3421pleased with a certain lightness, almost carelessness (strictly within the
3422bounds of politeness, however), which was apparent in my style, and
3423better than any possible arguments, gave them at once to understand that
3424I took rather an independent view of "all that unpleasantness last night";
3425that I was by no means so utterly crushed as you, my friends, probably
3426imagine; but on the contrary, looked upon it as a gentleman serenely
3427respecting himself should look upon it.  "On a young hero's past no
3428censure is cast!"
3429
3430"There is actually an aristocratic playfulness about it!" I thought
3431admiringly, as I read over the letter.  "And it's all because I am an
3432intellectual and cultivated man!  Another man in my place would not have
3433known how to extricate himself, but here I have got out of it and am as
3434jolly as ever again, and all because I am 'a cultivated and educated man
3435of our day.' And, indeed, perhaps, everything was due to the wine
3436yesterday.  H'm!" ...  No, it was not the wine.  I did not drink anything at
3437all between five and six when I was waiting for them.  I had lied to
3438Simonov; I had lied shamelessly; and indeed I wasn't ashamed now ....
3439Hang it all though, the great thing was that I was rid of it.
3440
3441I put six roubles in the letter, sealed it up, and asked Apollon to take it
3442to Simonov.  When he learned that there was money in the letter, Apollon
3443became more respectful and agreed to take it.  Towards evening I went out
3444for a walk.  My head was still aching and giddy after yesterday.  But as
3445evening came on and the twilight grew denser, my impressions and,
3446following them, my thoughts, grew more and more different and confused.
3447Something was not dead within me, in the depths of my heart and
3448conscience it would not die, and it showed itself in acute depression.  For
3449the most part I jostled my way through the most crowded business streets,
3450along Myeshtchansky Street, along Sadovy Street and in Yusupov Garden.
3451I always liked particularly sauntering along these streets in the dusk,
3452just when there were crowds of working people of all sorts going home
3453from their daily work, with faces looking cross with anxiety.  What I liked
3454was just that cheap bustle, that bare prose.  On this occasion the jostling
3455of the streets irritated me more than ever, I could not make out what was
3456wrong with me, I could not find the clue, something seemed rising up
3457continually in my soul, painfully, and refusing to be appeased.  I returned
3458home completely upset, it was just as though some crime were lying on
3459my conscience.
3460
3461The thought that Liza was coming worried me continually.  It seemed
3462queer to me that of all my recollections of yesterday this tormented me, as
3463it were, especially, as it were, quite separately.  Everything else I had quite
3464succeeded in forgetting by the evening; I dismissed it all and was still
3465perfectly satisfied with my letter to Simonov.  But on this point I was not
3466satisfied at all.  It was as though I were worried only by Liza.  "What if she
3467comes," I thought incessantly, "well, it doesn't matter, let her come!
3468H'm! it's horrid that she should see, for instance, how I live.  Yesterday I
3469seemed such a hero to her, while now, h'm!  It's horrid, though, that I have
3470let myself go so, the room looks like a beggar's.  And I brought myself to go
3471out to dinner in such a suit!  And my American leather sofa with the
3472stuffing sticking out.  And my dressing-gown, which will not cover me,
3473such tatters, and she will see all this and she will see Apollon.  That beast
3474is certain to insult her.  He will fasten upon her in order to be rude to me. 
3475And I, of course, shall be panic-stricken as usual, I shall begin bowing
3476and scraping before her and pulling my dressing-gown round me, I shall
3477begin smiling, telling lies.  Oh, the beastliness!  And it isn't the
3478beastliness of it that matters most!  There is something more important, more
3479loathsome, viler!  Yes, viler!  And to put on that dishonest lying mask
3480again! ..."
3481
3482When I reached that thought I fired up all at once.
3483
3484"Why dishonest?  How dishonest?  I was speaking sincerely last night.  I
3485remember there was real feeling in me, too.  What I wanted was to excite
3486an honourable feeling in her ....  Her crying was a good thing, it will
3487have a good effect."
3488
3489Yet I could not feel at ease.  All that evening, even when I had come
3490back home, even after nine o'clock, when I calculated that Liza could
3491not possibly come, still she haunted me, and what was worse, she came
3492back to my mind always in the same position.  One moment out of all that
3493had happened last night stood vividly before my imagination; the moment
3494when I struck a match and saw her pale, distorted face, with its look
3495of torture.  And what a pitiful, what an unnatural, what a distorted smile
3496she had at that moment!  But I did not know then, that fifteen years later I
3497should still in my imagination see Liza, always with the pitiful, distorted,
3498inappropriate smile which was on her face at that minute.
3499
3500Next day I was ready again to look upon it all as nonsense, due to over-
3501excited nerves, and, above all, as EXAGGERATED.  I was always conscious of
3502that weak point of mine, and sometimes very much afraid of it.  "I
3503exaggerate everything, that is where I go wrong," I repeated to myself
3504every hour.  But, however, "Liza will very likely come all the same," was
3505the refrain with which all my reflections ended.  I was so uneasy that I
3506sometimes flew into a fury: "She'll come, she is certain to come!" I cried,
3507running about the room, "if not today, she will come tomorrow; she'll
3508find me out!  The damnable romanticism of these pure hearts!  Oh, the
3509vileness--oh, the silliness--oh, the stupidity of these 'wretched sentimental
3510souls!' Why, how fail to understand?  How could one fail to
3511understand?  ..."
3512
3513But at this point I stopped short, and in great confusion, indeed.
3514
3515And how few, how few words, I thought, in passing, were needed; how
3516little of the idyllic (and affectedly, bookishly, artificially idyllic too) had
3517sufficed to turn a whole human life at once according to my will.  That's
3518virginity, to be sure!  Freshness of soil!
3519
3520At times a thought occurred to me, to go to her, "to tell her all," and
3521beg her not to come to me.  But this thought stirred such wrath in me that
3522I believed I should have crushed that "damned" Liza if she had chanced
3523to be near me at the time.  I should have insulted her, have spat at her,
3524have turned her out, have struck her!
3525
3526One day passed, however, another and another; she did not come and I
3527began to grow calmer.  I felt particularly bold and cheerful after nine
3528o'clock, I even sometimes began dreaming, and rather sweetly: I, for
3529instance, became the salvation of Liza, simply through her coming to me
3530and my talking to her .... I develop her, educate her.  Finally, I notice
3531that she loves me, loves me passionately.  I pretend not to understand (I
3532don't know, however, why I pretend, just for effect, perhaps).  At last all
3533confusion, transfigured, trembling and sobbing, she flings herself at my
3534feet and says that I am her saviour, and that she loves me better than
3535anything in the world.  I am amazed, but ....  "Liza," I say, "can you
3536imagine that I have not noticed your love?  I saw it all, I divined it, but I
3537did not dare to approach you first, because I had an influence over you and was
3538afraid that you would force yourself, from gratitude, to respond to my
3539love, would try to rouse in your heart a feeling which was perhaps absent,
3540and I did not wish that ... because it would be tyranny ... it would be
3541indelicate (in short, I launch off at that point into European, inexplicably
3542lofty subtleties a la George Sand), but now, now you are mine, you are my
3543creation, you are pure, you are good, you are my noble wife.
3544
3545     'Into my house come bold and free,
3546     Its rightful mistress there to be'."
3547
3548Then we begin living together, go abroad and so on, and so on.  In fact,
3549in the end it seemed vulgar to me myself, and I began putting out my
3550tongue at myself.
3551
3552Besides, they won't let her out, "the hussy!" I thought.  They don't let
3553them go out very readily, especially in the evening (for some reason I
3554fancied she would come in the evening, and at seven o'clock precisely). 
3555Though she did say she was not altogether a slave there yet, and had
3556certain rights; so, h'm!  Damn it all, she will come, she is sure to come!
3557
3558It was a good thing, in fact, that Apollon distracted my attention at that
3559time by his rudeness.  He drove me beyond all patience!  He was the bane
3560of my life, the curse laid upon me by Providence.  We had been squabbling
3561continually for years, and I hated him.  My God, how I hated him!
3562I believe I had never hated anyone in my life as I hated him, especially at
3563some moments.  He was an elderly, dignified man, who worked part of his
3564time as a tailor.  But for some unknown reason he despised me beyond all
3565measure, and looked down upon me insufferably.  Though, indeed, he
3566looked down upon everyone.  Simply to glance at that flaxen, smoothly
3567brushed head, at the tuft of hair he combed up on his forehead and oiled
3568with sunflower oil, at that dignified mouth, compressed into the shape of
3569the letter V, made one feel one was confronting a man who never doubted
3570of himself.  He was a pedant, to the most extreme point, the greatest
3571pedant I had met on earth, and with that had a vanity only befitting
3572Alexander of Macedon.  He was in love with every button on his coat,
3573every nail on his fingers--absolutely in love with them, and he looked it!
3574In his behaviour to me he was a perfect tyrant, he spoke very little to me,
3575and if he chanced to glance at me he gave me a firm, majestically self-
3576confident and invariably ironical look that drove me sometimes to fury. 
3577He did his work with the air of doing me the greatest favour, though he did
3578scarcely anything for me, and did not, indeed, consider himself bound to
3579do anything.  There could be no doubt that he looked upon me as the
3580greatest fool on earth, and that "he did not get rid of me" was simply that he
3581could get wages from me every month.  He consented to do nothing for me
3582for seven roubles a month.  Many sins should be forgiven me for what I
3583suffered from him.  My hatred reached such a point that sometimes his
3584very step almost threw me into convulsions.  What I loathed particularly
3585was his lisp.  His tongue must have been a little too long or something of
3586that sort, for he continually lisped, and seemed to be very proud of it,
3587imagining that it greatly added to his dignity.  He spoke in a slow, measured
3588tone, with his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed on the ground.  He
3589maddened me particularly when he read aloud the psalms to himself
3590behind his partition.  Many a battle I waged over that reading!  But he was
3591awfully fond of reading aloud in the evenings, in a slow, even, sing-song
3592voice, as though over the dead.  It is interesting that that is how he has
3593ended: he hires himself out to read the psalms over the dead, and at the
3594same time he kills rats and makes blacking.  But at that time I could not get
3595rid of him, it was as though he were chemically combined with my
3596existence.  Besides, nothing would have induced him to consent to leave
3597me. I could not live in furnished lodgings: my lodging was my private
3598solitude, my shell, my cave, in which I concealed myself from all mankind,
3599and Apollon seemed to me, for some reason, an integral part of that
3600flat, and for seven years I could not turn him away.
3601
3602To be two or three days behind with his wages, for instance, was
3603impossible.  He would have made such a fuss, I should not have known
3604where to hide my head.  But I was so exasperated with everyone during
3605those days, that I made up my mind for some reason and with some
3606object to PUNISH Apollon and not to pay him for a fortnight the wages that
3607were owing him.  I had for a long time--for the last two years--been
3608intending to do this, simply in order to teach him not to give himself airs
3609with me, and to show him that if I liked I could withhold his wages.  I
3610purposed to say nothing to him about it, and was purposely silent indeed,
3611in order to score off his pride and force him to be the first to speak of his
3612wages.  Then I would take the seven roubles out of a drawer, show him I
3613have the money put aside on purpose, but that I won't, I won't, I simply
3614won't pay him his wages, I won't just because that is "what I wish,"
3615because "I am master, and it is for me to decide," because he has been
3616disrespectful, because he has been rude; but if he were to ask respectfully
3617I might be softened and give it to him, otherwise he might wait another
3618fortnight, another three weeks, a whole month ....
3619
3620But angry as I was, yet he got the better of me.  I could not hold out for
3621four days.  He began as he always did begin in such cases, for there had
3622been such cases already, there had been attempts (and it may be observed
3623I knew all this beforehand, I knew his nasty tactics by heart).  He would
3624begin by fixing upon me an exceedingly severe stare, keeping it up for
3625several minutes at a time, particularly on meeting me or seeing me out of
3626the house.  If I held out and pretended not to notice these stares, he
3627would, still in silence, proceed to further tortures.  All at once, A PROPOS of
3628nothing, he would walk softly and smoothly into my room, when I was
3629pacing up and down or reading, stand at the door, one hand behind his
3630back and one foot behind the other, and fix upon me a stare more than
3631severe, utterly contemptuous.  If I suddenly asked him what he wanted,
3632he would make me no answer, but continue staring at me persistently for
3633some seconds, then, with a peculiar compression of his lips and a most
3634significant air, deliberately turn round and deliberately go back to his
3635room.  Two hours later he would come out again and again present
3636himself before me in the same way.  It had happened that in my fury I did
3637not even ask him what he wanted, but simply raised my head sharply and
3638imperiously and began staring back at him.  So we stared at one another
3639for two minutes; at last he turned with deliberation and dignity and went
3640back again for two hours.
3641
3642If I were still not brought to reason by all this, but persisted in my
3643revolt, he would suddenly begin sighing while he looked at me, long,
3644deep sighs as though measuring by them the depths of my moral degradation,
3645and, of course, it ended at last by his triumphing completely: I
3646raged and shouted, but still was forced to do what he wanted.
3647
3648This time the usual staring manoeuvres had scarcely begun when I lost
3649my temper and flew at him in a fury.  I was irritated beyond endurance
3650apart from him.
3651
3652"Stay," I cried, in a frenzy, as he was slowly and silently turning, with
3653one hand behind his back, to go to his room.  "Stay!  Come back, come
3654back, I tell you!" and I must have bawled so unnaturally, that he turned
3655round and even looked at me with some wonder.  However, he persisted in
3656saying nothing, and that infuriated me.
3657
3658"How dare you come and look at me like that without being sent for?
3659Answer!"
3660
3661After looking at me calmly for half a minute, he began turning
3662round again.
3663
3664"Stay!" I roared, running up to him, "don't stir!  There.  Answer, now:
3665what did you come in to look at?"
3666
3667"If you have any order to give me it's my duty to carry it out," he
3668answered, after another silent pause, with a slow, measured lisp, raising
3669his eyebrows and calmly twisting his head from one side to another, all
3670this with exasperating composure.
3671
3672"That's not what I am asking you about, you torturer!" I shouted,
3673turning crimson with anger.  "I'll tell you why you came here myself: you
3674see, I don't give you your wages, you are so proud you don't want to bow
3675down and ask for it, and so you come to punish me with your stupid
3676stares, to worry me and you have no sus-pic-ion how stupid it is--
3677stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! ..."
3678
3679He would have turned round again without a word, but I seized him.
3680
3681"Listen," I shouted to him.  "Here's the money, do you see, here it is," (I
3682took it out of the table drawer); "here's the seven roubles complete, but
3683you are not going to have it, you ... are ... not ... going ... to ...
3684have it until you come respectfully with bowed head to beg my pardon. 
3685Do you hear?"
3686
3687"That cannot be," he answered, with the most unnatural self-confidence.
3688
3689"It shall be so," I said, "I give you my word of honour, it shall be!"
3690
3691"And there's nothing for me to beg your pardon for," he went on, as
3692though he had not noticed my exclamations at all.  "Why, besides, you
3693called me a 'torturer,' for which I can summon you at the police-station
3694at any time for insulting behaviour."
3695
3696"Go, summon me," I roared, "go at once, this very minute, this very
3697second!  You are a torturer all the same!  a torturer!"
3698
3699But he merely looked at me, then turned, and regardless of my loud
3700calls to him, he walked to his room with an even step and without
3701looking round.
3702
3703"If it had not been for Liza nothing of this would have happened," I
3704decided inwardly.  Then, after waiting a minute, I went myself behind his
3705screen with a dignified and solemn air, though my heart was beating
3706slowly and violently.
3707
3708"Apollon," I said quietly and emphatically, though I was breathless,
3709"go at once without a minute's delay and fetch the police-officer."
3710
3711He had meanwhile settled himself at his table, put on his spectacles
3712and taken up some sewing.  But, hearing my order, he burst into a guffaw.
3713
3714"At once, go this minute!  Go on, or else you can't imagine what
3715will happen."
3716
3717"You are certainly out of your mind," he observed, without even
3718raising his head, lisping as deliberately as ever and threading his needle. 
3719"Whoever heard of a man sending for the police against himself?  And as
3720for being frightened--you are upsetting yourself about nothing, for
3721nothing will come of it."
3722
3723"Go!" I shrieked, clutching him by the shoulder.  I felt I should strike
3724him in a minute.
3725
3726But I did not notice the door from the passage softly and slowly open at
3727that instant and a figure come in, stop short, and begin staring at us in
3728perplexity I glanced, nearly swooned with shame, and rushed back to my
3729room.  There, clutching at my hair with both hands, I leaned my head
3730against the wall and stood motionless in that position.
3731
3732Two minutes later I heard Apollon's deliberate footsteps.  "There is
3733some woman asking for you," he said, looking at me with peculiar
3734severity.  Then he stood aside and let in Liza.  He would not go away, but
3735stared at us sarcastically.
3736
3737"Go away, go away," I commanded in desperation.  At that moment my
3738clock began whirring and wheezing and struck seven.
3739
3740
3741
3742IX
3743
3744
3745     "Into my house come bold and free,
3746     Its rightful mistress there to be."
3747
3748I stood before her crushed, crestfallen, revoltingly confused, and I believe
3749I smiled as I did my utmost to wrap myself in the skirts of my ragged
3750wadded dressing-gown--exactly as I had imagined the scene not long
3751before in a fit of depression.  After standing over us for a couple of minutes
3752Apollon went away, but that did not make me more at ease.  What made it
3753worse was that she, too, was overwhelmed with confusion, more so, in
3754fact, than I should have expected.  At the sight of me, of course.
3755
3756"Sit down," I said mechanically, moving a chair up to the table, and I
3757sat down on the sofa.  She obediently sat down at once and gazed at me
3758open-eyed, evidently expecting something from me at once.  This
3759naivete of expectation drove me to fury, but I restrained myself.
3760
3761She ought to have tried not to notice, as though everything had been as
3762usual, while instead of that, she ... and I dimly felt that I should make
3763her pay dearly for ALL THIS.
3764
3765"You have found me in a strange position, Liza," I began, stammering
3766and knowing that this was the wrong way to begin.  "No, no, don't
3767imagine anything," I cried, seeing that she had suddenly flushed.  "I am
3768not ashamed of my poverty ....  On the contrary, I look with pride on my
3769poverty.  I am poor but honourable ....  One can be poor and honourable,"
3770I muttered.  "However ... would you like tea? ...."
3771
3772"No," she was beginning.
3773
3774"Wait a minute."
3775
3776I leapt up and ran to Apollon.  I had to get out of the room somehow.
3777
3778"Apollon," I whispered in feverish haste, flinging down before him the
3779seven roubles which had remained all the time in my clenched fist, "here
3780are your wages, you see I give them to you; but for that you must come to
3781my rescue: bring me tea and a dozen rusks from the restaurant.  If you
3782won't go, you'll make me a miserable man!  You don't know what this
3783woman is .... This is--everything!  You may be imagining something ....
3784But you don't know what that woman is! ..."
3785
3786Apollon, who had already sat down to his work and put on his
3787spectacles again, at first glanced askance at the money without speaking
3788or putting down his needle; then, without paying the slightest attention to
3789me or making any answer, he went on busying himself with his needle,
3790which he had not yet threaded.  I waited before him for three minutes
3791with my arms crossed A LA NAPOLEON.  My temples were moist with sweat. 
3792I was pale, I felt it.  But, thank God, he must have been moved to pity,
3793looking at me.  Having threaded his needle he deliberately got up from
3794his seat, deliberately moved back his chair, deliberately took off his
3795spectacles, deliberately counted the money, and finally asking me over
3796his shoulder: "Shall I get a whole portion?" deliberately walked out of the
3797room.  As I was going back to Liza, the thought occurred to me on the
3798way: shouldn't I run away just as I was in my dressing-gown, no matter
3799where, and then let happen what would?
3800
3801I sat down again.  She looked at me uneasily.  For some minutes we 
3802were silent.
3803
3804"I will kill him," I shouted suddenly, striking the table with my fist so
3805that the ink spurted out of the inkstand.
3806
3807"What are you saying!" she cried, starting.
3808
3809"I will kill him!  kill him!" I shrieked, suddenly striking the table in
3810absolute frenzy, and at the same time fully understanding how stupid it
3811was to be in such a frenzy.  "You don't know, Liza, what that torturer is to
3812me. He is my torturer ....  He has gone now to fetch some rusks; he ..."
3813
3814And suddenly I burst into tears.  It was an hysterical attack.  How
3815ashamed I felt in the midst of my sobs; but still I could not restrain them.
3816
3817She was frightened.
3818
3819"What is the matter?  What is wrong?" she cried, fussing about me.
3820
3821"Water, give me water, over there!" I muttered in a faint voice, though
3822I was inwardly conscious that I could have got on very well without water
3823and without muttering in a faint voice.  But I was, what is called, PUTTING
3824IT ON, to save appearances, though the attack was a genuine one.
3825
3826She gave me water, looking at me in bewilderment.  At that moment
3827Apollon brought in the tea.  It suddenly seemed to me that this commonplace,
3828prosaic tea was horribly undignified and paltry after all that had
3829happened, and I blushed crimson.  Liza looked at Apollon with positive
3830alarm.  He went out without a glance at either of us.
3831
3832"Liza, do you despise me?" I asked, looking at her fixedly, trembling
3833with impatience to know what she was thinking.
3834
3835She was confused, and did not know what to answer.
3836
3837"Drink your tea," I said to her angrily.  I was angry with myself, but, of
3838course, it was she who would have to pay for it.  A horrible spite against
3839her suddenly surged up in my heart; I believe I could have killed her.  To
3840revenge myself on her I swore inwardly not to say a word to her all the
3841time.  "She is the cause of it all," I thought.
3842
3843Our silence lasted for five minutes.  The tea stood on the table; we did
3844not touch it.  I had got to the point of purposely refraining from beginning
3845in order to embarrass her further; it was awkward for her to begin
3846alone.  Several times she glanced at me with mournful perplexity.  I was
3847obstinately silent.  I was, of course, myself the chief sufferer, because I
3848was fully conscious of the disgusting meanness of my spiteful stupidity,
3849and yet at the same time I could not restrain myself.
3850
3851"I want to... get away ... from there altogether," she began, to break
3852the silence in some way, but, poor girl, that was just what she ought not to
3853have spoken about at such a stupid moment to a man so stupid as I was. 
3854My heart positively ached with pity for her tactless and unnecessary
3855straightforwardness.  But something hideous at once stifled all compassion
3856in me; it even provoked me to greater venom.  I did not care what
3857happened.  Another five minutes passed.
3858
3859"Perhaps I am in your way," she began timidly, hardly audibly, and was
3860getting up.
3861
3862But as soon as I saw this first impulse of wounded dignity I positively
3863trembled with spite, and at once burst out.
3864
3865"Why have you come to me, tell me that, please?" I began, gasping for
3866breath and regardless of logical connection in my words.  I longed to have
3867it all out at once, at one burst; I did not even trouble how to begin.  "Why
3868have you come?  Answer, answer," I cried, hardly knowing what I was
3869doing.  "I'll tell you, my good girl, why you have come.  You've come
3870because I talked sentimental stuff to you then.  So now you are soft as
3871butter and longing for fine sentiments again.  So you may as well know
3872that I was laughing at you then.  And I am laughing at you now.  Why are
3873you shuddering?  Yes, I was laughing at you!  I had been insulted just
3874before, at dinner, by the fellows who came that evening before me.  I
3875came to you, meaning to thrash one of them, an officer; but I didn't
3876succeed, I didn't find him; I had to avenge the insult on someone to get
3877back my own again; you turned up, I vented my spleen on you and
3878laughed at you.  I had been humiliated, so I wanted to humiliate; I had
3879been treated like a rag, so I wanted to show my power ....  That's what it
3880was, and you imagined I had come there on purpose to save you.  Yes?  You
3881imagined that?  You imagined that?"
3882
3883I knew that she would perhaps be muddled and not take it all in exactly,
3884but I knew, too, that she would grasp the gist of it, very well indeed.  And
3885so, indeed, she did.  She turned white as a handkerchief, tried to say
3886something, and her lips worked painfully; but she sank on a chair as
3887though she had been felled by an axe.  And all the time afterwards she
3888listened to me with her lips parted and her eyes wide open, shuddering
3889with awful terror.  The cynicism, the cynicism of my words overwhelmed
3890her ....
3891
3892"Save you!" I went on, jumping up from my chair and running up and
3893down the room before her.  "Save you from what?  But perhaps I am worse
3894than you myself.  Why didn't you throw it in my teeth when I was giving
3895you that sermon: 'But what did you come here yourself for?  was it to read
3896us a sermon?'  Power, power was what I wanted then, sport was what I
3897wanted, I wanted to wring out your tears, your humiliation, your
3898hysteria--that was what I wanted then!  Of course, I couldn't keep it up
3899then, because I am a wretched creature, I was frightened, and, the devil
3900knows why, gave you my address in my folly.  Afterwards, before I got
3901home, I was cursing and swearing at you because of that address, I hated
3902you already because of the lies I had told you.  Because I only like playing
3903with words, only dreaming, but, do you know, what I really want is that
3904you should all go to hell.  That is what I want.  I want peace; yes, I'd sell
3905the whole world for a farthing, straight off, so long as I was left in peace. 
3906Is the world to go to pot, or am I to go without my tea?  I say that the world
3907may go to pot for me so long as I always get my tea.  Did you know that, or
3908not?  Well, anyway, I know that I am a blackguard, a scoundrel, an egoist,
3909a sluggard.  Here I have been shuddering for the last three days at the
3910thought of your coming.  And do you know what has worried me particularly
3911for these three days?  That I posed as such a hero to you, and now
3912you would see me in a wretched torn dressing-gown, beggarly, loathsome.
3913I told you just now that I was not ashamed of my poverty; so you
3914may as well know that I am ashamed of it; I am more ashamed of it than
3915of anything, more afraid of it than of being found out if I were a thief,
3916because I am as vain as though I had been skinned and the very air
3917blowing on me hurt.  Surely by now you must realise that I shall never
3918forgive you for having found me in this wretched dressing-gown, just as I
3919was flying at Apollon like a spiteful cur.  The saviour, the former hero, was
3920flying like a mangy, unkempt sheep-dog at his lackey, and the lackey was
3921jeering at him!  And I shall never forgive you for the tears I could not help
3922shedding before you just now, like some silly woman put to shame!  And
3923for what I am confessing to you now, I shall never forgive you either!
3924Yes--you must answer for it all because you turned up like this, because I
3925am a blackguard, because I am the nastiest, stupidest, absurdest and most
3926envious of all the worms on earth, who are not a bit better than I am, but,
3927the devil knows why, are never put to confusion; while I shall always be
3928insulted by every louse, that is my doom!  And what is it to me that you
3929don't understand a word of this!  And what do I care, what do I care about
3930you, and whether you go to ruin there or not?  Do you understand?  How I
3931shall hate you now after saying this, for having been here and listening. 
3932Why, it's not once in a lifetime a man speaks out like this, and then it is in
3933hysterics!  ...  What more do you want?  Why do you still stand confronting
3934me, after all this?  Why are you worrying me?  Why don't you go?"
3935
3936But at this point a strange thing happened.  I was so accustomed to think
3937and imagine everything from books, and to picture everything in the
3938world to myself just as I had made it up in my dreams beforehand, that I
3939could not all at once take in this strange circumstance.  What happened
3940was this: Liza, insulted and crushed by me, understood a great deal more
3941than I imagined.  She understood from all this what a woman understands
3942first of all, if she feels genuine love, that is, that I was myself unhappy.
3943
3944The frightened and wounded expression on her face was followed first
3945by a look of sorrowful perplexity.  When I began calling myself a scoundrel
3946and a blackguard and my tears flowed (the tirade was accompanied
3947throughout by tears) her whole face worked convulsively.  She was on the
3948point of getting up and stopping me; when I finished she took no notice of
3949my shouting: "Why are you here, why don't you go away?" but realised
3950only that it must have been very bitter to me to say all this.  Besides, she
3951was so crushed, poor girl; she considered herself infinitely beneath me;
3952how could she feel anger or resentment?  She suddenly leapt up from her
3953chair with an irresistible impulse and held out her hands, yearning
3954towards me, though still timid and not daring to stir ....  At this point
3955there was a revulsion in my heart too.  Then she suddenly rushed to me,
3956threw her arms round me and burst into tears.  I, too, could not restrain
3957myself, and sobbed as I never had before.
3958
3959"They won't let me ... I can't be good!" I managed to articulate; then
3960I went to the sofa, fell on it face downwards, and sobbed on it for a quarter
3961of an hour in genuine hysterics.  She came close to me, put her arms
3962round me and stayed motionless in that position.  But the trouble was that
3963the hysterics could not go on for ever, and (I am writing the loathsome
3964truth) lying face downwards on the sofa with my face thrust into my nasty
3965leather pillow, I began by degrees to be aware of a far-away, involuntary
3966but irresistible feeling that it would be awkward now for me to raise my
3967head and look Liza straight in the face.  Why was I ashamed?  I don't
3968know, but I was ashamed.  The thought, too, came into my overwrought
3969brain that our parts now were completely changed, that she was now the
3970heroine, while I was just a crushed and humiliated creature as she had
3971been before me that night--four days before ....  And all this came into
3972my mind during the minutes I was lying on my face on the sofa.
3973
3974My God!  surely I was not envious of her then.
3975
3976I don't know, to this day I cannot decide, and at the time, of course, I
3977was still less able to understand what I was feeling than now.  I cannot get
3978on without domineering and tyrannising over someone, but ... there is
3979no explaining anything by reasoning and so it is useless to reason.
3980
3981I conquered myself, however, and raised my head; I had to do so
3982sooner or later ... and I am convinced to this day that it was just because
3983I was ashamed to look at her that another feeling was suddenly kindled
3984and flamed up in my heart ... a feeling of mastery and possession.  My
3985eyes gleamed with passion, and I gripped her hands tightly.  How I hated
3986her and how I was drawn to her at that minute!  The one feeling intensified
3987the other.  It was almost like an act of vengeance.  At first there was a
3988look of amazement, even of terror on her face, but only for one instant. 
3989She warmly and rapturously embraced me.
3990
3991
3992
3993X
3994
3995
3996A quarter of an hour later I was rushing up and down the room in
3997frenzied impatience, from minute to minute I went up to the screen and
3998peeped through the crack at Liza.  She was sitting on the ground with her
3999head leaning against the bed, and must have been crying.  But she did not
4000go away, and that irritated me.  This time she understood it all.  I had
4001insulted her finally, but ... there's no need to describe it.  She realised
4002that my outburst of passion had been simply revenge, a fresh humiliation,
4003and that to my earlier, almost causeless hatred was added now a
4004PERSONAL HATRED, born of envy ....  Though I do not maintain positively
4005that she understood all this distinctly; but she certainly did fully understand
4006that I was a despicable man, and what was worse, incapable of
4007loving her.
4008I know I shall be told that this is incredible--but it is incredible to be
4009as spiteful and stupid as I was; it may be added that it was strange I should
4010not love her, or at any rate, appreciate her love.  Why is it strange?  In the
4011first place, by then I was incapable of love, for I repeat, with me loving
4012meant tyrannising and showing my moral superiority.  I have never in my
4013life been able to imagine any other sort of love, and have nowadays come
4014to the point of sometimes thinking that love really consists in the right--
4015freely given by the beloved object--to tyrannise over her.
4016
4017Even in my underground dreams I did not imagine love except as a
4018struggle.  I began it always with hatred and ended it with moral subjugation,
4019and afterwards I never knew what to do with the subjugated object. 
4020And what is there to wonder at in that, since I had succeeded in so
4021corrupting myself, since I was so out of touch with "real life," as to have
4022actually thought of reproaching her, and putting her to shame for having
4023come to me to hear "fine sentiments"; and did not even guess that she had
4024come not to hear fine sentiments, but to love me, because to a woman all
4025reformation, all salvation from any sort of ruin, and all moral renewal is
4026included in love and can only show itself in that form.
4027
4028I did not hate her so much, however, when I was running about the
4029room and peeping through the crack in the screen.  I was only insufferably
4030oppressed by her being here.  I wanted her to disappear.  I wanted
4031"peace," to be left alone in my underground world.  Real life oppressed
4032me with its novelty so much that I could hardly breathe.
4033
4034But several minutes passed and she still remained, without stirring, as
4035though she were unconscious.  I had the shamelessness to tap softly at the
4036screen as though to remind her ....  She started, sprang up, and flew to
4037seek her kerchief, her hat, her coat, as though making her escape from
4038me ....  Two minutes later she came from behind the screen and looked
4039with heavy eyes at me.  I gave a spiteful grin, which was forced, however,
4040to KEEP UP APPEARANCES, and I turned away from her eyes.
4041
4042"Good-bye," she said, going towards the door.
4043
4044I ran up to her, seized her hand, opened it, thrust something in it and
4045closed it again.  Then I turned at once and dashed away in haste to the
4046other corner of the room to avoid seeing, anyway ....
4047
4048I did mean a moment since to tell a lie--to write that I did this
4049accidentally, not knowing what I was doing through foolishness, through
4050losing my head.  But I don't want to lie, and so I will say straight out that I
4051opened her hand and put the money in it ... from spite.  It came into my
4052head to do this while I was running up and down the room and she was
4053sitting behind the screen.  But this I can say for certain: though I did that
4054cruel thing purposely, it was not an impulse from the heart, but came
4055from my evil brain.  This cruelty was so affected, so purposely made up,
4056so completely a product of the brain, of books, that I could not even keep
4057it up a minute--first I dashed away to avoid seeing her, and then in
4058shame and despair rushed after Liza.  I opened the door in the passage and
4059began listening.
4060
4061"Liza!  Liza!" I cried on the stairs, but in a low voice, not boldly.
4062There was no answer, but I fancied I heard her footsteps, lower down
4063on the stairs.
4064
4065"Liza!" I cried, more loudly.
4066
4067No answer.  But at that minute I heard the stiff outer glass door open
4068heavily with a creak and slam violently; the sound echoed up the stairs.
4069
4070She had gone.  I went back to my room in hesitation.  I felt horribly
4071oppressed.
4072
4073I stood still at the table, beside the chair on which she had sat and
4074looked aimlessly before me.  A minute passed, suddenly I started; straight
4075before me on the table I saw ....  In short, I saw a crumpled blue five-
4076rouble note, the one I had thrust into her hand a minute before.  It was the
4077same note; it could be no other, there was no other in the flat.  So she had
4078managed to fling it from her hand on the table at the moment when I had
4079dashed into the further corner.
4080
4081Well!  I might have expected that she would do that.  Might I have
4082expected it?  No, I was such an egoist, I was so lacking in respect for my
4083fellow-creatures that I could not even imagine she would do so.  I could
4084not endure it.  A minute later I flew like a madman to dress, flinging on
4085what I could at random and ran headlong after her.  She could not have
4086got two hundred paces away when I ran out into the street.
4087
4088It was a still night and the snow was coming down in masses and falling
4089almost perpendicularly, covering the pavement and the empty street as
4090though with a pillow.  There was no one in the street, no sound was to be
4091heard.  The street lamps gave a disconsolate and useless glimmer.  I ran
4092two hundred paces to the cross-roads and stopped short.
4093
4094Where had she gone?  And why was I running after her?
4095
4096Why?  To fall down before her, to sob with remorse, to kiss her feet, to
4097entreat her forgiveness!  I longed for that, my whole breast was being rent
4098to pieces, and never, never shall I recall that minute with indifference. 
4099But--what for?  I thought.  Should I not begin to hate her, perhaps, even
4100tomorrow, just because I had kissed her feet today?  Should I give her
4101happiness?  Had I not recognised that day, for the hundredth time, what I
4102was worth?  Should I not torture her?
4103
4104I stood in the snow, gazing into the troubled darkness and pondered this.
4105
4106"And will it not be better?" I mused fantastically, afterwards at home,
4107stifling the living pang of my heart with fantastic dreams.  "Will it not
4108be better that she should keep the resentment of the insult for ever?
4109Resentment--why, it is purification; it is a most stinging and painful
4110consciousness!  Tomorrow I should have defiled her soul and have exhausted
4111her heart, while now the feeling of insult will never die in her heart,
4112and however loathsome the filth awaiting her--the feeling of insult will
4113elevate and purify her ... by hatred ... h'm! ... perhaps, too, by
4114forgiveness ....  Will all that make things easier for her though? ..."
4115
4116And, indeed, I will ask on my own account here, an idle question:
4117which is better--cheap happiness or exalted sufferings?  Well, which is better?
4118
4119So I dreamed as I sat at home that evening, almost dead with the pain
4120in my soul.  Never had I endured such suffering and remorse, yet could
4121there have been the faintest doubt when I ran out from my lodging that I
4122should turn back half-way?  I never met Liza again and I have heard
4123nothing of her.  I will add, too, that I remained for a long time afterwards
4124pleased with the phrase about the benefit from resentment and hatred in
4125spite of the fact that I almost fell ill from misery.
4126
4127.      .      .      .      .
4128
4129Even now, so many years later, all this is somehow a very evil memory. 
4130I have many evil memories now, but ... hadn't I better end my "Notes"
4131here?  I believe I made a mistake in beginning to write them, anyway I
4132have felt ashamed all the time I've been writing this story; so it's hardly
4133literature so much as a corrective punishment.  Why, to tell long stories,
4134showing how I have spoiled my life through morally rotting in my corner,
4135through lack of fitting environment, through divorce from real life, and
4136rankling spite in my underground world, would certainly not be interesting;
4137a novel needs a hero, and all the traits for an anti-hero are EXPRESSLY
4138gathered together here, and what matters most, it all produces an unpleasant
4139impression, for we are all divorced from life, we are all cripples,
4140every one of us, more or less.  We are so divorced from it that we feel at
4141once a sort of loathing for real life, and so cannot bear to be reminded of
4142it. Why, we have come almost to looking upon real life as an effort,
4143almost as hard work, and we are all privately agreed that it is better in
4144books.  And why do we fuss and fume sometimes?  Why are we perverse
4145and ask for something else?  We don't know what ourselves.  It would be
4146the worse for us if our petulant prayers were answered.  Come, try, give
4147any one of us, for instance, a little more independence, untie our hands,
4148widen the spheres of our activity, relax the control and we ... yes, I
4149assure you ... we should be begging to be under control again at once.  I
4150know that you will very likely be angry with me for that, and will begin
4151shouting and stamping.  Speak for yourself, you will say, and for your
4152miseries in your underground holes, and don't dare to say all of us--
4153excuse me, gentlemen, I am not justifying myself with that "all of us."  As
4154for what concerns me in particular I have only in my life carried to an
4155extreme what you have not dared to carry halfway, and what's more, you
4156have taken your cowardice for good sense, and have found comfort in
4157deceiving yourselves.  So that perhaps, after all, there is more life in me
4158than in you.  Look into it more carefully!  Why, we don't even know what
4159living means now, what it is, and what it is called?  Leave us alone without
4160books and we shall be lost and in confusion at once.  We shall not know
4161what to join on to, what to cling to, what to love and what to hate, what
4162to respect and what to despise.  We are oppressed at being men--men
4163with a real individual body and blood, we are ashamed of it, we think it a
4164disgrace and try to contrive to be some sort of impossible generalised
4165man.  We are stillborn, and for generations past have been begotten, not
4166by living fathers, and that suits us better and better.  We are developing a
4167taste for it.  Soon we shall contrive to be born somehow from an idea.  But
4168enough; I don't want to write more from "Underground."
4169
4170
4171[The notes of this paradoxalist do not end here, however.  He could not
4172refrain from going on with them, but it seems to us that we may stop
4173here.]