notes from the underground- 第1部分

Notes　from　the　Underground

　　　　　　　　by　Feodor　Dostoevsky









PART　I



UNDERGROUND*　



*The　author　of　the　diary　and　the　diary　itself　are；　of　course；

imaginary。　　Nevertheless　it　is　clear　that　such　persons　as　the

writer　of　these　notes　not　only　may；　but　positively　must；　exist　in

our　society；　when　we　consider　the　circumstances　in　the　midst　of

which　our　society　is　formed。　　I　have　tried　to　expose　to　the　view

of　the　public　more　distinctly　than　is　commonly　done；　one　of　the

characters　of　the　recent　past。　　He　is　one　of　the　representatives

of　a　generation　still　living。　　In　this　fragment；　entitled

〃Underground；〃　this　person　introduces　himself　and　his　views；　and；

as　it　were；　tries　to　explain　the　causes　owing　to　which　he　has

made　his　appearance　and　was　bound　to　make　his　appearance　in　our

midst。　　In　the　second　fragment　there　are　added　the　actual　notes

of　this　person　concerning　certain　events　in　his　life。　AUTHOR'S

NOTE。





I



I　am　a　sick　man。。。。　I　am　a　spiteful　man。　　I　am　an　unattractive

man。　　I　believe　my　liver　is　diseased。　　However；　I　know　nothing　at

all　about　my　disease；　and　do　not　know　for　certain　what　ails　me。　

I　don't　consult　a　doctor　for　it；　and　never　have；　though　I　have　a

respect　for　medicine　and　doctors。　　Besides；　I　am　extremely

superstitious；　sufficiently　so　to　respect　medicine；　anyway　（I　am

well…educated　enough　not　to　be　superstitious；　but　I　am

superstitious）。　　No；　I　refuse　to　consult　a　doctor　from　spite。　

That　you　probably　will　not　understand。　　Well；　I　understand　it；

though。　　Of　course；　I　can't　explain　who　it　is　precisely　that　I　am

mortifying　in　this　case　by　my　spite：　I　am　perfectly　well　aware

that　I　cannot　〃pay　out〃　the　doctors　by　not　consulting　them；　I

know　better　than　anyone　that　by　all　this　I　am　only　injuring

myself　and　no　one　else。　　But　still；　if　I　don't　consult　a　doctor

it　is　from　spite。　　My　liver　is　bad；　welllet　it　get　worse！



I　have　been　going　on　like　that　for　a　long　timetwenty　years。　

Now　I　am　forty。　　I　used　to　be　in　the　government　service；　but　am

no　longer。　　I　was　a　spiteful　official。　　I　was　rude　and　took

pleasure　in　being　so。　　I　did　not　take　bribes；　you　see；　so　I　was

bound　to　find　a　recompense　in　that；　at　least。　（A　poor　jest；　but　I

will　not　scratch　it　out。　　I　wrote　it　thinking　it　would　sound　very

witty；　but　now　that　I　have　seen　myself　that　I　only　wanted　to　show

off　in　a　despicable　wayI　will　not　scratch　it　out　on　purpose！）　

When　petitioners　used　to　come　for　information　to　the　table　at

which　I　sat；　I　used　to　grind　my　teeth　at　them；　and　felt　intense

enjoyment　when　I　succeeded　in　making　anybody　unhappy。　　I　almost

did　succeed。　　For　the　most　part　they　were　all　timid　peopleof

course；　they　were　petitioners。　　But　of　the　uppish　ones　there　was

one　officer　in　particular　I　could　not　endure。　　He　simply　would

not　be　humble；　and　clanked　his　sword　in　a　disgusting　way。　　I

carried　on　a　feud　with　him　for　eighteen　months　over　that　sword。　

At　last　I　got　the　better　of　him。　　He　left　off　clanking　it。　　That

happened　in　my　youth；　though。　　But　do　you　know；　gentlemen；　what

was　the　chief　point　about　my　spite？　　Why；　the　whole　point；　the

real　sting　of　it　lay　in　the　fact　that　continually；　even　in　the

moment　of　the　acutest　spleen；　I　was　inwardly　conscious　with　shame

that　I　was　not　only　not　a　spiteful　but　not　even　an　embittered

man；　that　I　was　simply　scaring　sparrows　at　random　and　amusing

myself　by　it。　　I　might　foam　at　the　mouth；　but　bring　me　a　doll　to

play　with；　give　me　a　cup　of　tea　with　sugar　in　it；　and　maybe　I

should　be　appeased。　　I　might　even　be　genuinely　touched；　though

probably　I　should　grind　my　teeth　at　myself　afterwards　and　lie

awake　at　night　with　shame　for　months　after。　　That　was　my　way。



I　was　lying　when　I　said　just　now　that　I　was　a　spiteful　official。　

I　was　lying　from　spite。　　I　was　simply　amusing　myself　with　the

petitioners　and　with　the　officer；　and　in　reality　I　never　could

become　spiteful。　　I　was　conscious　every　moment　in　myself　of　many；

very　many　elements　absolutely　opposite　to　that。　　I　felt　them

positively　swarming　in　me；　these　opposite　elements。　　I　knew　that

they　had　been　swarming　in　me　all　my　life　and　craving　some　outlet

from　me；　but　I　would　not　let　them；　would　not　let　them；　purposely

would　not　let　them　come　out。　　They　tormented　me　till　I　was

ashamed：　they　drove　me　to　convulsions　andsickened　me；　at　last；

how　they　sickened　me！　　　Now；　are　not　you　fancying；　gentlemen；

that　I　am　expressing　remorse　for　something　now；　that　I　am　asking

your　forgiveness　for　something？　　I　am　sure　you　are　fancying　that

。。。　However；　I　assure　you　I　do　not　care　if　you　are。。。。



It　was　not　only　that　I　could　not　become　spiteful；　I　did　not　know

how　to　become　anything；　neither　spiteful　nor　kind；　neither　a

rascal　nor　an　honest　man；　neither　a　hero　nor　an　insect。　　Now；　I

am　living　out　my　life　in　my　corner；　taunting　myself　with　the

spiteful　and　useless　consolation　that　an　intelligent　man　cannot

become　anything　seriously；　and　it　is　only　the　fool　who　becomes

anything。　　Yes；　a　man　in　the　nineteenth　century　must　and　morally

ought　to　be　pre…eminently　a　characterless　creature；　a　man　of

character；　an　active　man　is　pre…eminently　a　limited　creature。　

That　is　my　conviction　of　forty　years。　　I　am　forty　years　old　now；

and　you　know　forty　years　is　a　whole　lifetime；　you　know　it　is

extreme　old　age。　　To　live　longer　than　forty　years　is　bad　manners；

is　vulgar；　immoral。　　Who　does　live　beyond　forty？　　Answer　that；

sincerely　and　honestly　I　will　tell　you　who　do：　fools　and

worthless　fellows。　　I　tell　all　old　men　that　to　their　face；　all

these　venerable　old　men；　all　these　silver…haired　and　reverend

seniors！　　　I　tell　the　whole　world　that　to　its　face！　　　I　have　a

right　to　say　so；　for　I　shall　go　on　living　to　sixty　myself。　　To

seventy！　　　To　eighty！。。。　Stay；　let　me　take　breath　。。。



You　imagine　no　doubt；　gentlemen；　that　I　want　to　amuse　you。　　You

are　mistaken　in　that；　too。　　I　am　by　no　means　such　a　mirthful

person　as　you　imagine；　or　as　you　may　imagine；　however；　irritated

by　all　this　babble　（and　I　feel　that　you　are　irritated）　you　think

fit　to　ask　me　who　I　amthen　my　answer　is；　I　am　a　collegiate

assessor。　　I　was　in　the　service　that　I　might　have　something　to

eat　（and　solely　for　that　reason）；　and　when　last　year　a　distant

relation　left　me　six　thousand　roubles　in　his　will　I　immediately

retired　from　the　service　and　settled　down　in　my　corner。　　I　used

to　live　in　this　corner　before；　but　now　I　have　settled　down　in　it。　

My　room　is　a　wretched；　horrid　one　in　the　outskirts　of　the　town。　

My　servant　is　an　old　country…woman；　ill…natured　from　stupidity；

and；　moreover；　there　is　always　a　nasty　smell　about　her。　　I　am

told　that　the　Petersburg　climate　is　bad　for　me；　and　that　with　my

small　means　it　is　very　expensive　to　live　in　Petersburg。　　I　know

all　that　better　than　all　these　sage　and　experienced　counsellors

and　monitors。。。。　But　I　am　remaining　in　Petersburg；　I　am　not　going

away　from　Petersburg！　　　I　am　not　going　away　because　。。。　ech！　　

Why；　it　is　absolutely　no　matter　whether　I　am　going　away　or　not

going　away。



But　what　can　a　decent　man　speak　of　with　most　pleasure？



Answer：　Of　himself。



Well；　so　I　will　talk　about　myself。





II



I　want　now　to　tell　you；　gentlemen；　whether　you　care　to　hear　it　or

not；　why　I　could　not　even　become　an　insect。　　I　tell　you　solemnly；

that　I　have　many　times　tried　to　become　an　insect。　　But　I　was　not

equal　even　to　that。　　I　swear；　gentlemen；　that　to　be　too　conscious

is　an　illnessa　real　thorough…going　illness。　　For　man's　everyday

needs；　it　would　have　been　quite　enough　to　have　the　ordinary　human

consciousness；　that　is；　half　or　a　quarter　of　the　amount　which

falls　to　the　lot　of　a　cultivated　man　of　our　unhappy　nineteenth

century；　especially　one　who　has　the　fatal　ill…luck　to　inhabit

Petersburg；　the　most　theoretical　and　intentional　town　on　the

whole　terrestrial　globe。　（There　are　intentional　and　unintentional

towns。）　It　would　have　been　quite　enough；　for　instance；　to　have

the　consciousness　by　which　all　so…called　direct　persons　and　men

of　action　live。　　I　bet　you　think　I　am　writing　all　this　from

affectation；　to　be　witty　at　the　expense　of　men　of　action；　and

what　is　more；　that　from　ill…bred　affectation；　I　am　clanking　a

sword　like　my　officer。　　But；　gentlemen；　whoever　can　pride　himself

on　his　diseases　and　even　swagger　over　them？



Though；　after　all；　everyone　does　do　that；　people　do　pride

themselves　on　their　diseases；　and　I　do；　may　be；　more　than　anyone。　

We　will　not　dispute　it；　my　contention　was　absurd。　　But　yet　I　am

firmly　persuaded　that　a　great　deal　of　consciousness；　every　sort

of　consciousness；　in　fact；　is　a　disease。　　I　stick　to　that。　　Let

us　leave　that；　too；　for　a　minute。　　Tell　me　this：　why　does　it

happen　that　at　the　very；　yes；　at　the　very　moments　when　I　am　most

capable　of　feeling　every　refinement　of　all　that　is　〃sublime　and

beautiful；〃　as　they　used　to　say　at　one　time；　it　would；　as　though

of　design；　happen　to　me　not　only　to　feel　but　to　do　such　ugly

things；　such　that　。。。　Well；　in　short；　actions　that　all；　perhaps；

commit；　but　which；　as　though　purposely；　occurred　to　me　at　the

very　time　when　I　was　most　conscious　that　they　ought　not　to　be

committed。　　The　more　conscious　I　was　of　goodness　and　of　all　that

was　〃sublime　and　beautiful；〃　the　more　deeply　I　sank　into　my　mire

and　the　more　ready　I　was　to　sink　in　it　altogether。　　But　the　chief

point　was　that　all　this　was；　as　it　were；　not　accidental　in　me；

but　as　though　it　were　bound　to　be　so。　　It　was　as　though　it　were

my　most　normal　condition；　and　not　in　the　least　disease　or

depravity；　so　that　at　last　all　desire　in　me　to　struggle　against

this　depravity　passed。　　It　ended　by　my　almost　believing　（perhaps

actually　believing）　that　this　was　perhaps　my　normal　condition。　

But　at　first；　in　the　beginning；　what　agonies　I　endured　in　that

struggle！　　　I　did　not　believe　it　was　the　same　with　other　people；

and　all　my　life　I　hid　this　fact　about　myself　as　a　secret。　　I　was

ashamed　（even　now；　per