notes from the underground-第12章

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was　reading。　　Reading；　of　course；　was　a　great　helpexciting　me；

giving　me　pleasure　and　pain。　　But　at　times　it　bored　me　fearfully。　

One　longed　for　movement　in　spite　of　everything；　and　I　plunged　all

at　once　into　dark；　underground；　loathsome　vice　of　the　pettiest

kind。　　My　wretched　passions　were　acute；　smarting；　from　my

continual；　sickly　irritability　I　had　hysterical　impulses；　with

tears　and　convulsions。　　I　had　no　resource　except　reading；　that

is；　there　was　nothing　in　my　surroundings　which　I　could　respect

and　which　attracted　me。　I　was　overwhelmed　with　depression；　too；　I

had　an　hysterical　craving　for　incongruity　and　for　contrast；　and

so　I　took　to　vice。　　I　have　not　said　all　this　to　justify

myself。。。。　But；　no！　　I　am　lying。　　I　did　want　to　justify　myself。　

I　make　that　little　observation　for　my　own　benefit；　gentlemen。　　I

don't　want　to　lie。　　I　vowed　to　myself　I　would　not。



And　so；　furtively；　timidly；　in　solitude；　at　night；　I　indulged　in

filthy　vice；　with　a　feeling　of　shame　which　never　deserted　me；

even　at　the　most　loathsome　moments；　and　which　at　such　moments

nearly　made　me　curse。　　Already　even　then　I　had　my　underground

world　in　my　soul。　　I　was　fearfully　afraid　of　being　seen；　of　being

met；　of　being　recognised。　　I　visited　various　obscure　haunts。



One　night　as　I　was　passing　a　tavern　I　saw　through　a　lighted

window　some　gentlemen　fighting　with　billiard　cues；　and　saw　one　of

them　thrown　out　of　the　window。　　At　other　times　I　should　have　felt

very　much　disgusted；　but　I　was　in　such　a　mood　at　the　time；　that　I

actually　envied　the　gentleman　thrown　out　of　the　windowand　I

envied　him　so　much　that　I　even　went　into　the　tavern　and　into　the

billiard…room。　　〃Perhaps；〃　I　thought；　〃I'll　have　a　fight；　too；

and　they'll　throw　me　out　of　the　window。〃　　　　　　



I　was　not　drunkbut　what　is　one　to　dodepression　will　drive　a

man　to　such　a　pitch　of　hysteria！　　But　nothing　happened。　　It

seemed　that　I　was　not　even　equal　to　being　thrown　out　of　the

window　and　I　went　away　without　having　my　fight。



An　officer　put　me　in　my　place　from　the　first　moment。



I　was　standing　by　the　billiard…table　and　in　my　ignorance　blocking

up　the　way；　and　he　wanted　to　pass；　he　took　me　by　the　shoulders

and　without　a　wordwithout　a　warning　or　explanationmoved　me

from　where　I　was　standing　to　another　spot　and　passed　by　as　though

he　had　not　noticed　me。　　I　could　have　forgiven　blows；　but　I　could

not　forgive　his　having　moved　me　without　noticing　me。



Devil　knows　what　I　would　have　given　for　a　real　regular　quarrela

more　decent；　a　more　_literary_　one；　so　to　speak。　　I　had　been

treated　like　a　fly。　　This　officer　was　over　six　foot；　while　I　was

a　spindly　little　fellow。　　But　the　quarrel　was　in　my　hands。　　I　had

only　to　protest　and　I　certainly　would　have　been　thrown　out　of　the

window。　　But　I　changed　my　mind　and　preferred　to　beat　a　resentful

retreat。



I　went　out　of　the　tavern　straight　home；　confused　and　troubled；

and　the　next　night　I　went　out　again　with　the　same　lewd

intentions；　still　more　furtively；　abjectly　and　miserably　than

before；　as　it　were；　with　tears　in　my　eyesbut　still　I　did　go　out

again。　　Don't　imagine；　though；　it　was　cowardice　made　me　slink

away　from　the　officer；　I　never　have　been　a　coward　at　heart；

though　I　have　always　been　a　coward　in　action。　　Don't　be　in　a

hurry　to　laughI　assure　you　I　can　explain　it　all。



Oh；　if　only　that　officer　had　been　one　of　the　sort　who　would

consent　to　fight　a　duel！　　But　no；　he　was　one　of　those　gentlemen

（alas；　long　extinct！）　who　preferred　fighting　with　cues　or；　like

Gogol's　Lieutenant　Pirogov；　appealing　to　the　police。　　They　did

not　fight　duels　and　would　have　thought　a　duel　with　a　civilian

like　me　an　utterly　unseemly　procedure　in　any　caseand　they

looked　upon　the　duel　altogether　as　something　impossible；

something　free…thinking　and　French。　　But　they　were　quite　ready　to

bully；　especially　when　they　were　over　six　foot。



I　did　not　slink　away　through　cowardice；　but　through　an　unbounded

vanity。　　I　was　afraid　not　of　his　six　foot；　not　of　getting　a　sound

thrashing　and　being　thrown　out　of　the　window；　I　should　have　had

physical　courage　enough；　I　assure　you；　but　I　had　not　the　moral

courage。　　What　I　was　afraid　of　was　that　everyone　present；　from

the　insolent　marker　down　to　the　lowest　little　stinking；　pimply

clerk　in　a　greasy　collar；　would　jeer　at　me　and　fail　to　understand

when　I　began　to　protest　and　to　address　them　in　literary　language。　

For　of　the　point　of　honournot　of　honour；　but　of　the　point　of

honour　（point　d'honneur）one　cannot　speak　among　us　except　in

literary　language。　　You　can't　allude　to　the　〃point　of　honour〃　in

ordinary　language。　　I　was　fully　convinced　（the　sense　of　reality；

in　spite　of　all　my　romanticism！）　that　they　would　all　simply　split

their　sides　with　laughter；　and　that　the　officer　would　not　simply

beat　me；　that　is；　without　insulting　me；　but　would　certainly　prod

me　in　the　back　with　his　knee；　kick　me　round　the　billiard…　table；

and　only　then　perhaps　have　pity　and　drop　me　out　of　the　window。　

Of　course；　this　trivial　incident　could　not　with　me　end　in　that。　

I　often　met　that　officer　afterwards　in　the　street　and　noticed　him

very　carefully。　　I　am　not　quite　sure　whether　he　recognised　me；　I

imagine　not；　I　judge　from　certain　signs。　　But　II　stared　at　him

with　spite　and　hatred　and　so　it　went　on　。。。　for　several　years！　

My　resentment　grew　even　deeper　with　years。　　At　first　I　began

making　stealthy　inquiries　about　this　officer。　　It　was　difficult

for　me　to　do　so；　for　I　knew　no　one。　　But　one　day　I　heard　someone

shout　his　surname　in　the　street　as　I　was　following　him　at　a

distance；　as　though　I　were　tied　to　himand　so　I　learnt　his

surname。　　Another　time　I　followed　him　to　his　flat；　and　for　ten

kopecks　learned　from　the　porter　where　he　lived；　on　which　storey；

whether　he　lived　alone　or　with　others；　and　so　onin　fact；

everything　one　could　learn　from　a　porter。　　One　morning；　though　I

had　never　tried　my　hand　with　the　pen；　it　suddenly　occurred　to　me

to　write　a　satire　on　this　officer　in　the　form　of　a　novel　which

would　unmask　his　villainy。　　I　wrote　the　novel　with　relish。　　I　did

unmask　his　villainy；　I　even　exaggerated　it；　at　first　I　so　altered

his　surname　that　it　could　easily　be　recognised；　but　on　second

thoughts　I　changed　it；　and　sent　the　story　to　the　Otetchestvenniya

Zapiski。　　But　at　that　time　such　attacks　were　not　the　fashion　and

my　story　was　not　printed。　　That　was　a　great　vexation　to　me。　

Sometimes　I　was　positively　choked　with　resentment。　　At　last　I

determined　to　challenge　my　enemy　to　a　duel。　　I　composed　a

splendid；　charming　letter　to　him；　imploring　him　to　apologise　to

me；　and　hinting　rather　plainly　at　a　duel　in　case　of　refusal。　　The

letter　was　so　composed　that　if　the　officer　had　had　the　least

understanding　of　the　sublime　and　the　beautiful　he　would　certainly

have　flung　himself　on　my　neck　and　have　offered　me　his　friendship。　

And　how　fine　that　would　have　been！　　How　we　should　have　got　on

together！　　He　could　have　shielded　me　with　his　higher　rank；　while

I　could　have　improved　his　mind　with　my　culture；　and；　well　。。。　my

ideas；　and　all　sorts　of　things　might　have　happened。　　Only　fancy；

this　was　two　years　after　his　insult　to　me；　and　my　challenge　would

have　been　a　ridiculous　anachronism；　in　spite　of　all　the　ingenuity

of　my　letter　in　disguising　and　explaining　away　the　anachronism。　

But；　thank　God　（to　this　day　I　thank　the　Almighty　with　tears　in　my

eyes）　I　did　not　send　the　letter　to　him。　　Cold　shivers　run　down　my

back　when　I　think　of　what　might　have　happened　if　I　had　sent　it。　

And　all　at　once　I　revenged　myself　in　the　simplest　way；　by　a

stroke　of　genius！　　A　brilliant　thought　suddenly　dawned　upon　me。　

Sometimes　on　holidays　I　used　to　stroll　along　the　sunny　side　of

the　Nevsky　about　four　o'clock　in　the　afternoon。　　Though　it　was

hardly　a　stroll　so　much　as　a　series　of　innumerable　miseries；

humiliations　and　resentments；　but　no　doubt　that　was　just　what　I

wanted。　　I　used　to　wriggle　along　in　a　most　unseemly　fashion；　like

an　eel；　continually　moving　aside　to　make