notes from the underground- 第25部分

come　not　to　hear　fine　sentiments；　but　to　love　me；　because　to　a

woman　all　reformation；　all　salvation　from　any　sort　of　ruin；　and

all　moral　renewal　is　included　in　love　and　can　only　show　itself　in

that　form。



I　did　not　hate　her　so　much；　however；　when　I　was　running　about　the

room　and　peeping　through　the　crack　in　the　screen。　　I　was　only

insufferably　oppressed　by　her　being　here。　　I　wanted　her　to

disappear。　　I　wanted　〃peace；〃　to　be　left　alone　in　my　underground

world。　　Real　life　oppressed　me　with　its　novelty　so　much　that　I

could　hardly　breathe。



But　several　minutes　passed　and　she　still　remained；　without

stirring；　as　though　she　were　unconscious。　　I　had　the

shamelessness　to　tap　softly　at　the　screen　as　though　to　remind

her。。。。She　started；　sprang　up；　and　flew　to　seek　her　kerchief；　her

hat；　her　coat；　as　though　making　her　escape　from　me。。。。Two　minutes

later　she　came　from　behind　the　screen　and　looked　with　heavy　eyes

at　me。　　I　gave　a　spiteful　grin；　which　was　forced；　however；　to

_keep　up　appearances_；　and　I　turned　away　from　her　eyes。



〃Good…bye；〃　she　said；　going　towards　the　door。



I　ran　up　to　her；　seized　her　hand；　opened　it；　thrust　something　in

it　and　closed　it　again。　　Then　I　turned　at　once　and　dashed　away　in

haste　to　the　other　corner　of　the　room　to　avoid　seeing；　anyway。。。。



I　did　mean　a　moment　since　to　tell　a　lieto　write　that　I　did　this

accidentally；　not　knowing　what　I　was　doing　through　foolishness；

through　losing　my　head。　　But　I　don't　want　to　lie；　and　so　I　will

say　straight　out　that　I　opened　her　hand　and　put　the　money　in

it。。。from　spite。　　It　came　into　my　head　to　do　this　while　I　was

running　up　and　down　the　room　and　she　was　sitting　behind　the

screen。　　But　this　I　can　say　for　certain：　though　I　did　that　cruel

thing　purposely；　it　was　not　an　impulse　from　the　heart；　but　came

from　my　evil　brain。　　This　cruelty　was　so　affected；　so　purposely

made　up；　so　completely　a　product　of　the　brain；　of　books；　that　I

could　not　even　keep　it　up　a　minutefirst　I　dashed　away　to　avoid

seeing　her；　and　then　in　shame　and　despair　rushed　after　Liza。　　I

opened　the　door　in　the　passage　and　began　listening。



〃Liza！　　Liza！〃　I　cried　on　the　stairs；　but　in　a　low　voice；　not

boldly。



There　was　no　answer；　but　I　fancied　I　heard　her　footsteps；　lower

down　on　the　stairs。



〃Liza！〃　I　cried；　more　loudly。



No　answer。　　But　at　that　minute　I　heard　the　stiff　outer　glass　door

open　heavily　with　a　creak　and　slam　violently；　the　sound　echoed　up

the　stairs。



She　had　gone。　　I　went　back　to　my　room　in　hesitation。　　I　felt

horribly　oppressed。



I　stood　still　at　the　table；　beside　the　chair　on　which　she　had　sat

and　looked　aimlessly　before　me。　　A　minute　passed；　suddenly　I

started；　straight　before　me　on　the　table　I　saw　。。。。　In　short；　I

saw　a　crumpled　blue　five…rouble　note；　the　one　I　had　thrust　into

her　hand　a　minute　before。　　It　was　the　same　note；　it　could　be　no

other；　there　was　no　other　in　the　flat。　　So　she　had　managed　to

fling　it　from　her　hand　on　the　table　at　the　moment　when　I　had

dashed　into　the　further　corner。



Well！　　I　might　have　expected　that　she　would　do　that。　　Might　I

have　expected　it？　　No；　I　was　such　an　egoist；　I　was　so　lacking　in

respect　for　my　fellow…creatures　that　I　could　not　even　imagine　she

would　do　so。　　I　could　not　endure　it。　　A　minute　later　I　flew　like

a　madman　to　dress；　flinging　on　what　I　could　at　random　and　ran

headlong　after　her。　　She　could　not　have　got　two　hundred　paces

away　when　I　ran　out　into　the　street。



It　was　a　still　night　and　the　snow　was　coming　down　in　masses　and

falling　almost　perpendicularly；　covering　the　pavement　and　the

empty　street　as　though　with　a　pillow。　　There　was　no　one　in　the

street；　no　sound　was　to　be　heard。　　The　street　lamps　gave　a

disconsolate　and　useless　glimmer。　　I　ran　two　hundred　paces　to　the

cross…roads　and　stopped　short。



Where　had　she　gone？　　And　why　was　I　running　after　her？



Why？　　To　fall　down　before　her；　to　sob　with　remorse；　to　kiss　her

feet；　to　entreat　her　forgiveness！　　I　longed　for　that；　my　whole

breast　was　being　rent　to　pieces；　and　never；　never　shall　I　recall

that　minute　with　indifference。　　Butwhat　for？　　I　thought。　

Should　I　not　begin　to　hate　her；　perhaps；　even　tomorrow；　just

because　I　had　kissed　her　feet　today？　　Should　I　give　her

happiness？　　Had　I　not　recognised　that　day；　for　the　hundredth

time；　what　I　was　worth？　　Should　I　not　torture　her？



I　stood　in　the　snow；　gazing　into　the　troubled　darkness　and

pondered　this。



〃And　will　it　not　be　better？〃　I　mused　fantastically；　afterwards　at

home；　stifling　the　living　pang　of　my　heart　with　fantastic　dreams。　

〃Will　it　not　be　better　that　she　should　keep　the　resentment　of　the

insult　for　ever？　　Resentmentwhy；　it　is　purification；　it　is　a

most　stinging　and　painful　consciousness！　　Tomorrow　I　should　have

defiled　her　soul　and　have　exhausted　her　heart；　while　now　the

feeling　of　insult　will　never　die　in　her　heart；　and　however

loathsome　the　filth　awaiting　herthe　feeling　of　insult　will

elevate　and　purify　her。。。by　hatred。。。h'm！。。。perhaps；　too；　by

forgiveness。。。。　Will　all　that　make　things　easier　for　her　though？　

。。。〃



And；　indeed；　I　will　ask　on　my　own　account　here；　an　idle　question：

which　is　bettercheap　happiness　or　exalted　sufferings？　　Well；

which　is　better？



So　I　dreamed　as　I　sat　at　home　that　evening；　almost　dead　with　the

pain　in　my　soul。　　Never　had　I　endured　such　suffering　and　remorse；

yet　could　there　have　been　the　faintest　doubt　when　I　ran　out　from

my　lodging　that　I　should　turn　back　half…way？　　I　never　met　Liza

again　and　I　have　heard　nothing　of　her。　　I　will　add；　too；　that　I

remained　for　a　long　time　afterwards　pleased　with　the　phrase　about

the　benefit　from　resentment　and　hatred　in　spite　of　the　fact　that

I　almost　fell　ill　from　misery。



。　　　　　　。　　　　　　。　　　　　　。　　　　　　。



Even　now；　so　many　years　later；　all　this　is　somehow　a　very　evil

memory。　　I　have　many　evil　memories　now；　but。。。hadn't　I　better　end

my　〃Notes〃　here？　　I　believe　I　made　a　mistake　in　beginning　to

write　them；　anyway　I　have　felt　ashamed　all　the　time　I've　been

writing　this　story；　so　it's　hardly　literature　so　much　as　a

corrective　punishment。　　Why；　to　tell　long　stories；　showing　how　I

have　spoiled　my　life　through　morally　rotting　in　my　corner；

through　lack　of　fitting　environment；　through　divorce　from　real

life；　and　rankling　spite　in　my　underground　world；　would　certainly

not　be　interesting；　a　novel　needs　a　hero；　and　all　the　traits　for

an　anti…hero　are　_expressly_　gathered　together　here；　and　what

matters　most；　it　all　produces　an　unpleasant　impression；　for　we

are　all　divorced　from　life；　we　are　all　cripples；　every　one　of　us；

more　or　less。　　We　are　so　divorced　from　it　that　we　feel　at　once　a

sort　of　loathing　for　real　life；　and　so　cannot　bear　to　be　reminded

of　it。　　Why；　we　have　come　almost　to　looking　upon　real　life　as　an

effort；　almost　as　hard　work；　and　we　are　all　privately　agreed　that

it　is　better　in　books。　　And　why　do　we　fuss　and　fume　sometimes？　

Why　are　we　perverse　and　ask　for　something　else？　　We　don't　know

what　ourselves。　　It　would　be　the　worse　for　us　if　our　petulant

prayers　were　answered。　　Come；　try；　give　any　one　of　us；　for

instance；　a　little　more　independence；　untie　our　hands；　widen　the

spheres　of　our　activity；　relax　the　control　and　we。。。yes；　I　assure

you。。。we　should　be　begging　to　be　under　control　again　at　once。　　I

know　that　you　will　very　likely　be　angry　with　me　for　that；　and

will　begin　shouting　and　stamping。　　Speak　for　yourself；　you　will

say；　and　for　your　miseries　in　your　underground　holes；　and　don't

dare　to　say　all　of　usexcuse　me；　gentlemen；　I　am　not　justifying

myself　with　that　〃all　of　us。〃　　As　for　what　concerns　me　in

particular　I　have　only　in　my　life　carried　to　an　extreme　what　you

have　not　dared　to　carry　halfway；　and　what's　more；　you　have　taken

your　cowardice　for　good　sense；　and　have　found　comfort　in

deceiving　yourselves。　　So　that　perhaps；　after　all；　there　is　more

life　in　me　than　in　you。　　Look　into　it　more　carefully！　　Why；　we

don't　even　know　what　living　means　now；　what　it　is；　and　what　it　is

called？　　Leave　us　alone　without　books　and　we　shall　be　lost　and　in

confusion　at　once。　　We　shall　not　know　what　to　join　on　to；　what　to

cling　to；　what　to　love　and　what　to　hate；　what　to　respect　and　what

to　despise。　　We　are　oppressed　at　being　menmen　with　a　real

individual　body　and　blood；　we　are　ashamed　of　it；　we　think　it　a

disgrace　and　try　to　contrive　to　be　some　sort　of　impossible

generalised　man。　　We　are　stillborn；　and　for　generations　past　have

been　begotten；　not　by　living　fathers；　and　that　suits　us　better

and　better。　　We　are　developing　a　taste　for　it。　　Soon　we　shall

contrive　to　be　born　somehow　from　an　idea。　　But　enough；　I　don't

want　to　write　more　from　〃Underground〃。。。



＇The　notes　of　this　paradoxalist　do　not　end　here；　however。　　He

could　not　refrain　from　going　on　with　them；　but　it　seems　to　us

that　we　may　stop　here。＇











End