notes from the underground- 第2部分

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

ashamed　（even　now；　perhaps；　I　am　ashamed）：　I　got　to　the　point　of

feeling　a　sort　of　secret　abnormal；　despicable　enjoyment　in

returning　home　to　my　corner　on　some　disgusting　Petersburg　night；

acutely　conscious　that　that　day　I　had　committed　a　loathsome

action　again；　that　what　was　done　could　never　be　undone；　and

secretly；　inwardly　gnawing；　gnawing　at　myself　for　it；　tearing　and

consuming　myself　till　at　last　the　bitterness　turned　into　a　sort

of　shameful　accursed　sweetness；　and　at　lastinto　positive　real

enjoyment！　　　Yes；　into　enjoyment；　into　enjoyment！　　　I　insist　upon

that。　　I　have　spoken　of　this　because　I　keep　wanting　to　know　for　a

fact　whether　other　people　feel　such　enjoyment？　　I　will　explain；

the　enjoyment　was　just　from　the　too　intense　consciousness　of

one's　own　degradation；　it　was　from　feeling　oneself　that　one　had

reached　the　last　barrier；　that　it　was　horrible；　but　that　it　could

not　be　otherwise；　that　there　was　no　escape　for　you；　that　you

never　could　become　a　different　man；　that　even　if　time　and　faith

were　still　left　you　to　change　into　something　different　you　would

most　likely　not　wish　to　change；　or　if　you　did　wish　to；　even　then

you　would　do　nothing；　because　perhaps　in　reality　there　was

nothing　for　you　to　change　into。　　And　the　worst　of　it　was；　and　the

root　of　it　all；　that　it　was　all　in　accord　with　the　normal

fundamental　laws　of　over…acute　consciousness；　and　with　the

inertia　that　was　the　direct　result　of　those　laws；　and　that

consequently　one　was　not　only　unable　to　change　but　could　do

absolutely　nothing。　　Thus　it　would　follow；　as　the　result　of　acute

consciousness；　that　one　is　not　to　blame　in　being　a　scoundrel；　as

though　that　were　any　consolation　to　the　scoundrel　once　he　has

come　to　realise　that　he　actually　is　a　scoundrel。　　But　enough。。。。

Ech；　I　have　talked　a　lot　of　nonsense；　but　what　have　I　explained？　

How　is　enjoyment　in　this　to　be　explained？　　But　I　will　explain　it。　

I　will　get　to　the　bottom　of　it！　　　That　is　why　I　have　taken　up　my

pen。。。。



I；　for　instance；　have　a　great　deal　of　amour　propre。　　I　am　as

suspicious　and　prone　to　take　offence　as　a　humpback　or　a　dwarf。　

But　upon　my　word　I　sometimes　have　had　moments　when　if　I　had

happened　to　be　slapped　in　the　face　I　should；　perhaps；　have　been

positively　glad　of　it。　　I　say；　in　earnest；　that　I　should　probably

have　been　able　to　discover　even　in　that　a　peculiar　sort　of

enjoymentthe　enjoyment；　of　course；　of　despair；　but　in　despair

there　are　the　most　intense　enjoyments；　especially　when　one　is

very　acutely　conscious　of　the　hopelessness　of　one's　position。　

And　when　one　is　slapped　in　the　facewhy　then　the　consciousness

of　being　rubbed　into　a　pulp　would　positively　overwhelm　one。　　The

worst　of　it　is；　look　at　it　which　way　one　will；　it　still　turns　out

that　I　was　always　the　most　to　blame　in　everything。　　And　what　is

most　humiliating　of　all；　to　blame　for　no　fault　of　my　own　but；　so

to　say；　through　the　laws　of　nature。　　In　the　first　place；　to　blame

because　I　am　cleverer　than　any　of　the　people　surrounding　me。　（I

have　always　considered　myself　cleverer　than　any　of　the　people

surrounding　me；　and　sometimes；　would　you　believe　it；　have　been

positively　ashamed　of　it。　　At　any　rate；　I　have　all　my　life；　as　it

were；　turned　my　eyes　away　and　never　could　look　people　straight　in

the　face。）　To　blame；　finally；　because　even　if　I　had　had

magnanimity；　I　should　only　have　had　more　suffering　from　the　sense

of　its　uselessness。　　I　should　certainly　have　never　been　able　to

do　anything　from　being　magnanimousneither　to　forgive；　for　my

assailant　would　perhaps　have　slapped　me　from　the　laws　of　nature；

and　one　cannot　forgive　the　laws　of　nature；　nor　to　forget；　for

even　if　it　were　owing　to　the　laws　of　nature；　it　is　insulting　all

the　same。　　Finally；　even　if　I　had　wanted　to　be　anything　but

magnanimous；　had　desired　on　the　contrary　to　revenge　myself　on　my

assailant；　I　could　not　have　revenged　myself　on　any　one　for

anything　because　I　should　certainly　never　have　made　up　my　mind　to

do　anything；　even　if　I　had　been　able　to。　　Why　should　I　not　have

made　up　my　mind？　　About　that　in　particular　I　want　to　say　a　few

words。





III



With　people　who　know　how　to　revenge　themselves　and　to　stand　up

for　themselves　in　general；　how　is　it　done？　Why；　when　they　are

possessed；　let　us　suppose；　by　the　feeling　of　revenge；　then　for

the　time　there　is　nothing　else　but　that　feeling　left　in　their

whole　being。　　Such　a　gentleman　simply　dashes　straight　for　his

object　like　an　infuriated　bull　with　its　horns　down；　and　nothing

but　a　wall　will　stop　him。　　（By　the　way：　facing　the　wall；　such

gentlementhat　is；　the　〃direct〃　persons　and　men　of　actionare

genuinely　nonplussed。　　For　them　a　wall　is　not　an　evasion；　as　for

us　people　who　think　and　consequently　do　nothing；　it　is　not　an

excuse　for　turning　aside；　an　excuse　for　which　we　are　always　very

glad；　though　we　scarcely　believe　in　it　ourselves；　as　a　rule。　　No；

they　are　nonplussed　in　all　sincerity。　　The　wall　has　for　them

something　tranquillising；　morally　soothing；　final；　maybe　even

something　mysterious　。。。　but　of　the　wall　later。）　　Well；　such　a

direct　person　I　regard　as　the　real　normal　man；　as　his　tender

mother　nature　wished　to　see　him　when　she　graciously　brought　him

into　being　on　the　earth。　　I　envy　such　a　man　till　I　am　green　in

the　face。　　He　is　stupid。　　I　am　not　disputing　that；　but　perhaps

the　normal　man　should　be　stupid；　how　do　you　know？　　Perhaps　it　is

very　beautiful；　in　fact。　　And　I　am　the　more　persuaded　of　that

suspicion；　if　one　can　call　it　so；　by　the　fact　that　if　you　take；

for　instance；　the　antithesis　of　the　normal　man；　that　is；　the　man

of　acute　consciousness；　who　has　come；　of　course；　not　out　of　the

lap　of　nature　but　out　of　a　retort　（this　is　almost　mysticism；

gentlemen；　but　I　suspect　this；　too）；　this　retort…made　man　is

sometimes　so　nonplussed　in　the　presence　of　his　antithesis　that

with　all　his　exaggerated　consciousness　he　genuinely　thinks　of

himself　as　a　mouse　and　not　a　man。　　It　may　be　an　acutely　conscious

mouse；　yet　it　is　a　mouse；　while　the　other　is　a　man；　and

therefore；　et　caetera；　et　caetera。　　And　the　worst　of　it　is；　he

himself；　his　very　own　self；　looks　on　himself　as　a　mouse；　no　one

asks　him　to　do　so；　and　that　is　an　important　point。　　



Now　let　us　look　at　this　mouse　in　action。　　Let　us　suppose；　for

instance；　that　it　feels　insulted；　too　（and　it　almost　always　does

feel　insulted）；　and　wants　to　revenge　itself；　too。　　There　may　even

be　a　greater　accumulation　of　spite　in　it　than　in　l'homme　de　la

nature　et　de　la　verite。　　The　base　and　nasty　desire　to　vent　that

spite　on　its　assailant　rankles　perhaps　even　more　nastily　in　it

than　in　l'homme　de　la　nature　et　de　la　verite。　　For　through　his

innate　stupidity　the　latter　looks　upon　his　revenge　as　justice

pure　and　simple；　while　in　consequence　of　his　acute　consciousness

the　mouse　does　not　believe　in　the　justice　of　it。　　To　come　at　last

to　the　deed　itself；　to　the　very　act　of　revenge。　　Apart　from　the

one　fundamental　nastiness　the　luckless　mouse　succeeds　in　creating

around　it　so　many　other　nastinesses　in　the　form　of　doubts　and

questions；　adds　to　the　one　question　so　many　unsettled　questions

that　there　inevitably　works　up　around　it　a　sort　of　fatal　brew；　a

stinking　mess；　made　up　of　its　doubts；　emotions；　and　of　the

contempt　spat　upon　it　by　the　direct　men　of　action　who　stand

solemnly　about　it　as　judges　and　arbitrators；　laughing　at　it　till

their　healthy　sides　ache。　　Of　course　the　only　thing　left　for　it

is　to　dismiss　all　that　with　a　wave　of　its　paw；　and；　with　a　smile

of　assumed　contempt　in　which　it　does　not　even　itself　believe；

creep　ignominiously　into　its　mouse…hole。　　There　in　its　nasty；

stinking；　underground　home　our　insulted；　crushed　and　ridiculed

mouse　promptly　becomes　absorbed　in　cold；　malignant　and；　above

all；　everlasting　spite。　　For　forty　years　together　it　will

remember　its　injury　down　to　the　smallest；　most　ignominious

details；　and　every　time　will　add；　of　itself；　details　still　more

ignominious；　spitefully　teasing　and　tormenting　itself　with　its

own　imagination。　　It　will　itself　be　ashamed　of　its　imaginings；

but　yet　it　will　recall　it　all；　it　will　go　over　and　over　every

detail；　it　will　invent　unheard　of　things　against　itself；

pretending　that　those　things　might　happen；　and　will　forgive

nothing。　　Maybe　it　will　begin　to　revenge　itself；　too；　but；　as　it

were；　piecemeal；　in　trivial　ways；　from　behind　the　stove；

incognito；　without　believing　either　in　its　own　right　to

vengeance；　or　in　the　success　of　its　revenge；　knowing　that　from

all　its　efforts　at　revenge　it　will　suffer　a　hundred　times　more

than　he　on　whom　it　revenges　itself；　while　he；　I　daresay；　will　not

even　scratch　himself。　　On　its　deathbed　it　will　recall　it　all　over

again；　with　interest　accumulated　over　all　the　years　and　。。。　But

it　is　just　in　that　cold；　abominable　half　despair；　half　belief；　in

that　conscious　burying　oneself　alive　for　grief　in　the　underworld

for　forty　years；　in　that　acutely　recognised　and　yet　partly

doubtful　hopelessness　of　one's　position；　in　that　hell　of

unsatisfied　desires　turned　inward；　in　that　fever　of　oscillations；

of　resolutions　determined　for　ever　and　repented　of　again　a　minute

laterthat　the　savour　of　that　strange　enjoyment　of　which　I　have

spoken　lies。　　It　is　so　subtle；　so　difficult　of　analysis；　that

persons　who　are　a　little　limited；　or　even　simply　persons　of

strong　nerves；　will　not　understand　a　single　atom　of　it。　

〃Possibly；〃　you　will　add　on　your　own　account　with　a　grin；　〃people

will　not　understand　it　either　who　have　never　received　a　slap　in

the　face；〃　and　in　that　way　you　will　politely　hint　to　me　that　I；

too；　perhaps；　have　had　the　experience　of　a　slap　in　the　face　in　my

life；　and　so　I　speak　as　one　who　knows。　　I　bet　that　you　are

thinking　that。　　But　set　your　minds　at　rest；　gentlemen；　I　have　not

received　a　slap　in　the　face；　though　it　is　absolutely　a　matter　of

indifference　to　me　what　you　may　think　about　it。　　Possibly；　I　even

regr