Notes from the Underground

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  VII

  "Oh, hush, Liza! How can you talk about being like a book, when itmakes even me, an outsider, feel sick? Though I don't look at it as anoutsider, for, indeed, it touches me to the heart.... Is it possible,is it possible that you do not feel sick at being here yourself?Evidently habit does wonders! God knows what habit can do with anyone.Can you seriously think that you will never grow old, that you willalways be good-looking, and that they will keep you here for ever andever? I say nothing of the loathsomeness of the life here.... Thoughlet me tell you this about it--about your present life, I mean; herethough you are young now, attractive, nice, with soul and feeling, yetyou know as soon as I came to myself just now I felt at once sick atbeing here with you! One can only come here when one is drunk. But ifyou were anywhere else, living as good people live, I should perhaps bemore than attracted by you, should fall in love with you, should beglad of a look from you, let alone a word; I should hang about yourdoor, should go down on my knees to you, should look upon you as mybetrothed and think it an honour to be allowed to. I should not dareto have an impure thought about you. But here, you see, I know that Ihave only to whistle and you have to come with me whether you like itor not. I don't consult your wishes, but you mine. The lowestlabourer hires himself as a workman, but he doesn't make a slave ofhimself altogether; besides, he knows that he will be free againpresently. But when are you free? Only think what you are giving uphere? What is it you are making a slave of? It is your soul, togetherwith your body; you are selling your soul which you have no right todispose of! You give your love to be outraged by every drunkard!Love! But that's everything, you know, it's a priceless diamond, it'sa maiden's treasure, love--why, a man would be ready to give his soul,to face death to gain that love. But how much is your love worth now?You are sold, all of you, body and soul, and there is no need to strivefor love when you can have everything without love. And you know thereis no greater insult to a girl than that, do you understand? To besure, I have heard that they comfort you, poor fools, they let you havelovers of your own here. But you know that's simply a farce, that'ssimply a sham, it's just laughing at you, and you are taken in by it!Why, do you suppose he really loves you, that lover of yours? I don'tbelieve it. How can he love you when he knows you may be called awayfrom him any minute? He would be a low fellow if he did! Will he havea grain of respect for you? What have you in common with him? Helaughs at you and robs you--that is all his love amounts to! You arelucky if he does not beat you. Very likely he does beat you, too. Askhim, if you have got one, whether he will marry you. He will laugh inyour face, if he doesn't spit in it or give you a blow--though maybe heis not worth a bad halfpenny himself. And for what have you ruinedyour life, if you come to think of it? For the coffee they give you todrink and the plentiful meals? But with what object are they feedingyou up? An honest girl couldn't swallow the food, for she would knowwhat she was being fed for. You are in debt here, and, of course, youwill always be in debt, and you will go on in debt to the end, till thevisitors here begin to scorn you. And that will soon happen, don'trely upon your youth--all that flies by express train here, you know.You will be kicked out. And not simply kicked out; long before thatshe'll begin nagging at you, scolding you, abusing you, as though youhad not sacrificed your health for her, had not thrown away your youthand your soul for her benefit, but as though you had ruined her,beggared her, robbed her. And don't expect anyone to take your part:the others, your companions, will attack you, too, win her favour, forall are in slavery here, and have lost all conscience and pity herelong ago. They have become utterly vile, and nothing on earth isviler, more loathsome, and more insulting than their abuse. And youare laying down everything here, unconditionally, youth and health andbeauty and hope, and at twenty-two you will look like a woman offive-and-thirty, and you will be lucky if you are not diseased, pray toGod for that! No doubt you are thinking now that you have a gay timeand no work to do! Yet there is no work harder or more dreadful in theworld or ever has been. One would think that the heart alone would beworn out with tears. And you won't dare to say a word, not half a wordwhen they drive you away from here; you will go away as though you wereto blame. You will change to another house, then to a third, thensomewhere else, till you come down at last to the Haymarket. There youwill be beaten at every turn; that is good manners there, the visitorsdon't know how to be friendly without beating you. You don't believethat it is so hateful there? Go and look for yourself some time, youcan see with your own eyes. Once, one New Year's Day, I saw a woman ata door. They had turned her out as a joke, to give her a taste of thefrost because she had been crying so much, and they shut the doorbehind her. At nine o'clock in the morning she was already quitedrunk, dishevelled, half-naked, covered with bruises, her face waspowdered, but she had a black-eye, blood was trickling from her noseand her teeth; some cabman had just given her a drubbing. She wassitting on the stone steps, a salt fish of some sort was in her hand;she was crying, wailing something about her luck and beating with thefish on the steps, and cabmen and drunken soldiers were crowding in thedoorway taunting her. You don't believe that you will ever be likethat? I should be sorry to believe it, too, but how do you know; maybeten years, eight years ago that very woman with the salt fish came herefresh as a cherub, innocent, pure, knowing no evil, blushing at everyword. Perhaps she was like you, proud, ready to take offence, not likethe others; perhaps she looked like a queen, and knew what happinesswas in store for the man who should love her and whom she should love.Do you see how it ended? And what if at that very minute when she wasbeating on the filthy steps with that fish, drunken anddishevelled--what if at that very minute she recalled the pure earlydays in her father's house, when she used to go to school and theneighbour's son watched for her on the way, declaring that he wouldlove her as long as he lived, that he would devote his life to her, andwhen they vowed to love one another for ever and be married as soon asthey were grown up! No, Liza, it would be happy for you if you were todie soon of consumption in some corner, in some cellar like that womanjust now. In the hospital, do you say? You will be lucky if they takeyou, but what if you are still of use to the madam here? Consumption isa queer disease, it is not like fever. The patient goes on hoping tillthe last minute and says he is all right. He deludes himself And thatjust suits your madam. Don't doubt it, that's how it is; you have soldyour soul, and what is more you owe money, so you daren't say a word.But when you are dying, all will abandon you, all will turn away fromyou, for then there will be nothing to get from you. What's more, theywill reproach you for cumbering the place, for being so long overdying. However you beg you won't get a drink of water without abuse:'Whenever are you going off, you nasty hussy, you won't let us sleepwith your moaning, you make the gentlemen sick.' That's true, I haveheard such things said myself. They will thrust you dying into thefilthiest corner in the cellar--in the damp and darkness; what willyour thoughts be, lying there alone? When you die, strange hands willlay you out, with grumbling and impatience; no one will bless you, noone will sigh for you, they only want to get rid of you as soon as maybe; they will buy a coffin, take you to the grave as they did that poorwoman today, and celebrate your memory at the tavern. In the grave,sleet, filth, wet snow--no need to put themselves out for you--'Let herdown, Vanuha; it's just like her luck--even here, she is head-foremost,the hussy. Shorten the cord, you rascal.' 'It's all right as it is.''All right, is it? Why, she's on her side! She was a fellow-creature,after all! But, never mind, throw the earth on her.' And they won'tcare to waste much time quarrelling over you. They will scatter thewet blue clay as quick as they can and go off to the tavern ... andthere your memory on earth will end; other women have children to go totheir graves, fathers, husbands. While for you neither tear, nor sigh,nor remembrance; no one in the whole world will ever come to you, yourname will vanish from the face of the earth--as though you had neverexisted, never been born at all! Nothing but filth and mud, howeveryou knock at
your coffin lid at night, when the dead arise, however youcry: 'Let me out, kind people, to live in the light of day! My lifewas no life at all; my life has been thrown away like a dish-clout; itwas drunk away in the tavern at the Haymarket; let me out, kind people,to live in the world again.'"

  And I worked myself up to such a pitch that I began to have a lump inmy throat myself, and ... and all at once I stopped, sat up in dismayand, bending over apprehensively, began to listen with a beating heart.I had reason to be troubled.

  I had felt for some time that I was turning her soul upside down andrending her heart, and--and the more I was convinced of it, the moreeagerly I desired to gain my object as quickly and as effectually aspossible. It was the exercise of my skill that carried me away; yet itwas not merely sport....

  I knew I was speaking stiffly, artificially, even bookishly, in fact, Icould not speak except "like a book." But that did not trouble me: Iknew, I felt that I should be understood and that this very bookishnessmight be an assistance. But now, having attained my effect, I wassuddenly panic-stricken. Never before had I witnessed such despair!She was lying on her face, thrusting her face into the pillow andclutching it in both hands. Her heart was being torn. Her youthfulbody was shuddering all over as though in convulsions. Suppressed sobsrent her bosom and suddenly burst out in weeping and wailing, then shepressed closer into the pillow: she did not want anyone here, not aliving soul, to know of her anguish and her tears. She bit the pillow,bit her hand till it bled (I saw that afterwards), or, thrusting herfingers into her dishevelled hair, seemed rigid with the effort ofrestraint, holding her breath and clenching her teeth. I began sayingsomething, begging her to calm herself, but felt that I did not dare;and all at once, in a sort of cold shiver, almost in terror, beganfumbling in the dark, trying hurriedly to get dressed to go. It wasdark; though I tried my best I could not finish dressing quickly.Suddenly I felt a box of matches and a candlestick with a whole candlein it. As soon as the room was lighted up, Liza sprang up, sat up inbed, and with a contorted face, with a half insane smile, looked at mealmost senselessly. I sat down beside her and took her hands; she cameto herself, made an impulsive movement towards me, would have caughthold of me, but did not dare, and slowly bowed her head before me.

  "Liza, my dear, I was wrong ... forgive me, my dear," I began, but shesqueezed my hand in her fingers so tightly that I felt I was saying thewrong thing and stopped.

  "This is my address, Liza, come to me."

  "I will come," she answered resolutely, her head still bowed.

  "But now I am going, good-bye ... till we meet again."

  I got up; she, too, stood up and suddenly flushed all over, gave ashudder, snatched up a shawl that was lying on a chair and muffledherself in it to her chin. As she did this she gave another sicklysmile, blushed and looked at me strangely. I felt wretched; I was inhaste to get away--to disappear.

  "Wait a minute," she said suddenly, in the passage just at the doorway,stopping me with her hand on my overcoat. She put down the candle inhot haste and ran off; evidently she had thought of something or wantedto show me something. As she ran away she flushed, her eyes shone, andthere was a smile on her lips--what was the meaning of it? Against mywill I waited: she came back a minute later with an expression thatseemed to ask forgiveness for something. In fact, it was not the sameface, not the same look as the evening before: sullen, mistrustful andobstinate. Her eyes now were imploring, soft, and at the same timetrustful, caressing, timid. The expression with which children look atpeople they are very fond of, of whom they are asking a favour. Hereyes were a light hazel, they were lovely eyes, full of life, andcapable of expressing love as well as sullen hatred.

  Making no explanation, as though I, as a sort of higher being, mustunderstand everything without explanations, she held out a piece ofpaper to me. Her whole face was positively beaming at that instantwith naive, almost childish, triumph. I unfolded it. It was a letterto her from a medical student or someone of that sort--a veryhigh-flown and flowery, but extremely respectful, love-letter. I don'trecall the words now, but I remember well that through the high-flownphrases there was apparent a genuine feeling, which cannot be feigned.When I had finished reading it I met her glowing, questioning, andchildishly impatient eyes fixed upon me. She fastened her eyes upon myface and waited impatiently for what I should say. In a few words,hurriedly, but with a sort of joy and pride, she explained to me thatshe had been to a dance somewhere in a private house, a family of "verynice people, WHO KNEW NOTHING, absolutely nothing, for she had onlycome here so lately and it had all happened ... and she hadn't made upher mind to stay and was certainly going away as soon as she had paidher debt..." and at that party there had been the student who haddanced with her all the evening. He had talked to her, and it turnedout that he had known her in old days at Riga when he was a child, theyhad played together, but a very long time ago--and he knew her parents,but ABOUT THIS he knew nothing, nothing whatever, and had no suspicion!And the day after the dance (three days ago) he had sent her thatletter through the friend with whom she had gone to the party ... and... well, that was all.

  She dropped her shining eyes with a sort of bashfulness as she finished.

  The poor girl was keeping that student's letter as a precious treasure,and had run to fetch it, her only treasure, because she did not want meto go away without knowing that she, too, was honestly and genuinelyloved; that she, too, was addressed respectfully. No doubt that letterwas destined to lie in her box and lead to nothing. But none the less,I am certain that she would keep it all her life as a precioustreasure, as her pride and justification, and now at such a minute shehad thought of that letter and brought it with naive pride to raiseherself in my eyes that I might see, that I, too, might think well ofher. I said nothing, pressed her hand and went out. I so longed toget away ... I walked all the way home, in spite of the fact that themelting snow was still falling in heavy flakes. I was exhausted,shattered, in bewilderment. But behind the bewilderment the truth wasalready gleaming. The loathsome truth.