Notes from Underground

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

  Zverkov came at the head of them, obviously the leader. Both he and they were laughing; but on seeing me Zverkov assumed a dignified air, approached unhurriedly, bending slightly, as if coquettishly, at the waist, and gave me his hand benignly, but not very, with a certain cautious, almost senatorial politeness, as if by offering me his hand he were protecting himself from something. I had been imagining, on the contrary, that as soon as he walked in he would start laughing his former laugh, shrill, punctuated by little shrieks, and from the first there would be his flat jokes and witticisms. I had been preparing myself for them since the previous evening, but I by no means expected such down-the-nose, such excellential benignity. So he now fully considered himself immeasurably superior to me in all respects? If he simply wanted to offend me with this senatorial air, it was not so bad, I thought; I'd be able to get back at him somehow. But what if indeed, without any wish to offend me, the little idea had seriously crept into his sheep's noddle that he was immeasurably superior to me, and could look at me in no other way than patronizingly? The supposition alone left me breathless.

  "I learned with surprise of your wish to participate with us," he began, lisping and simpering and drawing the words out, something that had never happened with him before. "We somehow keep missing each other. You shy away from us.

  More's the pity. We're not so terrible as you think. Well, sir, in any case I'm gla-a-ad to rene-e-ew…"

  And he casually turned to place his hat on the windowsill.

  "Have you been waiting long?" asked Trudolyubov.

  "I arrived at exactly five o'clock, as I was appointed yesterday," I answered loudly and with an irritation that promised an imminent explosion.

  "Didn't you inform him that the time had been changed?" Trudolyubov turned to Simonov.

  "I didn't. I forgot," the latter answered, but without any repentance, and, not even apologizing to me, went to make arrangements for the hors d'oeuvres.

  "So you've been here for an hour already, ah, poor fellow!" Zverkov exclaimed derisively, because according to his notions it must indeed have been terribly funny. Following him, the scoundrel Ferfichkin broke up, in his scoundrelly voice, yelping like a little mutt. He, too, thought my situation terribly funny and embarrassing.

  "It's not funny in the least!" I cried to Ferfichkin, growing more and more irritated. "It's other people's fault, not mine. They neglected to inform me. It - it - it's… simply absurd."

  "Not only absurd, but something else as well," Trudolyubov grumbled, naively interceding for me. "You're too mild. Sheer discourtesy. Not deliberate, of course. But how is it that Simonov… hm!"

  "If that had been played on me," observed Ferfichkin,

  "I'd…"

  "But you should have ordered yourself something," Zverkov interrupted, "or just asked to have dinner without waiting."

  "You must agree that I could have done so without any permission," I snapped. "If I waited, it was…"

  "Let's be seated, gentlemen," cried the entering Simonov, "everything's ready; I can answer for the champagne, it's perfectly chilled…I didn't know your address, how was one to find you?" he suddenly turned to me, but again somehow without looking at me. He obviously had something against me. He must have changed his mind since yesterday.

  Everyone sat down; I, too, sat down. The table was round. Trudolyubov ended up on my left, Simonov on my right. Zverkov sat down across the table, and Ferfichkin next to him, between him and Trudolyubov.

  "So-o-o, you're… in the department?" Zverkov continued to occupy himself with me. Seeing that I was embarrassed, he seriously imagined I must be treated benignly and, so to speak, encouraged. "What, does he want me to throw a bottle at him or something?" I thought, furious. From lack of habit, I was becoming irritated with a somehow unnatural rapidity.

  "In the -y office," I answered curtly, staring at my plate.

  "And… you fffind it profffitable? Tell me, ple-e-ease, what wa-a-as it that made you leave your former position?"

  "It wa-a-a-as that I felt like leaving my former position," I drawled three times longer, now losing almost all control of myself. Ferfichkin snorted. Simonov looked at me ironically; Trudolyubov stopped eating and began studying me with curiosity.

  Zverkov winced, but declined to notice.

  "We-e-ell, and how's your keep?"

  "What keep?"

  "Your sssalary, that is."

  "Quite the examiner, aren't you!"

  However, I told him straight out what my salary was. I was blushing terribly.

  "Not a fortune," Zverkov observed pompously.

  "No, sir, can't go dining in cafe-restaurants!" Ferfichkin added impudently.

  "In my opinion, it's even downright poor," Trudolyubov observed seriously.

  "And how thin you've grown, how changed… since…" Zverkov added, not without venom now, studying me and my attire with a sort of insolent regret.

  "Oh, come, stop embarrassing him," Ferfichkin exclaimed, tittering.

  "My dear sir, I'll have you know that I am not embarrassed," I finally exploded, "do you hear, sir! I am having dinner here, in a 'cafe-restaurant,' at my own expense, my own and no one else's, make a note of that, Monsieur Ferfichkin."

  "Wha-a-at? And who here is not dining at his own expense? If you mean to…" Ferfichkin fastened on, turning red as a lobster and staring me furiously in the face.

  "We-e-ell," I replied, feeling that I had gone too far, "I suppose we'd better occupy ourselves with more intelligent conversation."

  "So you intend to display your intelligence?"

  "Don't worry, that would be quite superfluous here."

  "You just keep cackling away, eh, my dear sir? Haven't lost your mind, by any chance, in that de pot ment of yours?"

  "Enough, gentlemen, enough!" Zverkov cried almightily.

  "How stupid this is!" growled Simonov.

  "Stupid indeed; we gathered as a company of friends to see a good school chum off on his journey, and you go keeping score," Trudolyubov began to speak, rudely addressing me alone. "You invited yourself yesterday, so don't disrupt the general harmony…"

  "Enough, enough," Zverkov shouted. "Stop, gentlemen, this won't do. Better let me tell you how I almost got married two days ago…"

  And there followed some lampoon about how the gentleman almost got married two days before. There was, however, not a word in it about marriage, but generals, colonels, and even court dignitaries kept flitting through the story, with Zverkov among them and all but at their head. Approving laughter began; Ferfichkin even let out little squeals.

  They all dropped me, and I sat crushed and annihilated.

  "Lord, is this any company for me!" I thought. "And what a fool I made of myself before them! However, I let Ferfichkin go too far. These oafs think they've done me an honor by giving me a place at their table; they don't realize that it's I, I, who am doing them an honor, and not they me! 'How thin! Such clothes!' Oh, cursed trousers! Zverkov has already noticed the yellow spot on the knee… But what's the point! Get up from the table, now, this minute, take your hat, and simply leave without saying a word… Out of scorn! And tomorrow, if they like, a duel. Scoundrels. Am I going to be sorry about seven roubles? Maybe they'll think… Devil take it! I'm not sorry about the seven roubles! I'm leaving this minute!…"

  Of course, I stayed.

  I drank Lafite and sherry by the glassful in my grief. From lack of habit I was quickly getting drunk, and as my drunkenness increased, so did my vexation. I suddenly wanted to insult them all in the boldest fashion, and only then leave. To seize the right moment and show myself; let them say: he's funny, but no dummy… and… and… in short, devil take them.

  I insolently looked around at them all with bleary eyes. But it was as if they had already forgotten me entirely… They were having a noisy, loud, merry time for themselves. Zverkov kept on talking. I began to listen. Zverkov was telling about some magnificent lady whom he had finally driven to a declaration (naturally he was lying like
a horse), and that he had been especially helped in this matter by his intimate friend, some princeling named Kolya, a hussar, owner of three thousand souls.

  "And yet there's no sign of this Kolya, owner of three thousand souls, at your farewell party," I suddenly butted in to the conversation. For a moment everyone fell silent.

  "So, now you're drunk," Trudolyubov finally consented to notice me, casting a sidelong, contemptuous glance in my direction. Zverkov silently studied me as if I were a little bug. I lowered my eyes. Simonov hurriedly began pouring champagne.

  Trudolyubov raised his glass; everyone did the same, except for me.

  "Your health, and a good journey!" he cried to Zverkov. "To those old years, gentlemen, to our future! Hurrah!"

  Everyone drank and fell to kissing Zverkov. I did not budge; the full glass stood untouched before me.

  "You're not going to drink?" Trudolyubov, having lost all patience, roared, turning to me threateningly.

  "I wish to make a speech on my own part, separately… and then I will drink, Mr Trudolyubov."

  "Disgusting little stinker," Simonov growled.

  I straightened up on my chair and feverishly took my glass, preparing for something extraordinary, and still not knowing myself precisely what I was going to say.

  " Silence!" Ferfichkin called out in French. "Here comes all kinds of intelligence!" Zverkov listened very seriously, realizing what was going on.

  "Lieutenant Zverkov, sir," I began, "let it be known to you that I hate phrases, phrase-mongers, and tight-fitting waists… That is the first point, and the second will follow forthwith."

  Everyone stirred greatly.

  "Second point: I hate gallantry and gallantizers. Especially gallantizers!

  "Third point: I love truth, sincerity, and honesty," I went on almost mechanically, because I was already beginning to go numb with horror, unable to understand how I could be speaking this way… "I love thought, M'sieur Zverkov; I love true friendship, on an equal footing, and not… hm… I love… However, why not? I, too, shall drink to your health, M'sieur Zverkov. Charm the Circassian girls, shoot the enemies of the fatherland, and… and… To your health, M'sieur Zverkov!"

  Zverkov rose from his chair, bowed to me, and said:

  "Much obliged to you."

  He was terribly offended, and even turned pale.

  "Devil take it," roared Trudolyubov, banging his fist on the table.

  "No, sir, it's a punch in the mug for that!" Ferfichkin shrieked.

  "He ought to be thrown out!" Simonov growled.

  "Not a word, gentlemen, not a move!" Zverkov cried solemnly, checking the general indignation. "I thank you all, but I myself am quite capable of proving to him how much I value his words."

  "Mr Ferfichkin, tomorrow you will give me satisfaction for your present words!" I said loudly, pompously addressing Ferfichkin.

  "You mean a duel, sir? At your pleasure," the man answered, but I must have been so ridiculous with my challenge, and it was so unsuited to my figure, that everyone, and finally even Ferfichkin, simply fell over laughing.

  "Yes, drop him, of course! He's completely drunk now!" Trudolyubov said with loathing.

  "I'll never forgive myself for putting him on the list!" Simonov growled again.

  "Now's the time to up and hurl a bottle at them all," I thought, took the bottle, and… poured myself a full glass.

  "… No, I'd better sit it out to the end!" I went on thinking. "You'd be glad, gentlemen, if I left. No chance of that. I'll purposely sit and drink to the end, as a sign that I attach not the slightest importance to you. I'll sit and drink, because this is a pot-house, and I paid good money to get in. I'll sit and drink, because I regard you as pawns, nonexistent pawns. I'll sit and drink… and sing, if I like, yes, sirs, and sing, because I have the right… to sing… hm."

  But I did not sing. I simply tried not to look at any of them; I assumed the most independent attitudes and waited impatiently for them to start talking to me first. But, alas, they didn't. And, oh, how I wished, how I wished at that moment to make peace with them! It struck eight o'clock, and finally nine. They moved from the table to the sofa. Zverkov sprawled on the couch, placing one foot on a little round table. The wine was also transferred there. Indeed, he did stand them to three bottles of his own. He did not offer me any, of course. Everyone sat clustered around him on the sofa. They listened to him with all but reverence. One could see he was loved. "But why? Why?" I kept thinking to myself. From time to time they would get into drunken raptures and kiss each other. They talked about the Caucasus, about what true passion is, about gambling, about profitable posts in the service; about how big was the income of the hussar Podkharzhevsky, whom none of them knew personally, and rejoiced that it was very big; about the remarkable beauty and grace of Princess D-, whom none of them had ever even seen; finally it came to Shakespeare being immortal.

  I was smiling contemptuously and pacing the other side of the room, directly opposite the sofa, along the wall, from the table to the stove and back. I wished with all my might to show that I could do without them; and yet I purposely clumped with my boots, coming down hard on the heels. But all in vain. They paid no attention. I had patience enough to pace like that, right in front of them, from eight o'clock to eleven, in one and the same space, from the table to the stove, and from the stove back to the table. "I'm just pacing, and no one can tell me not to." A waiter who kept coming into the room paused several times to look at me; my head was spinning from so much turning; at moments I thought I was delirious. I sweated and dried out three times in those three hours. Every once in a while a thought pierced my heart with the deepest, most poisonous pain: that ten years, twenty years, forty years would pass, and even after forty years I would still recall with revulsion and humiliation these dirtiest, most ridiculous, and most terrible minutes of my entire life. For a man to humiliate himself more shamelessly and more voluntarily was really impossible, I fully, fully understood that, and still I went on pacing from the table to the stove and back. "Oh, if you only knew what feelings and thoughts I'm capable of, and how developed I am!" I thought at moments, mentally addressing the sofa where my enemies were sitting. But my enemies behaved as if I were not even in the room. Once, once only, they turned to me - namely, when Zverkov began talking about Shakespeare, and I suddenly guffawed contemptuously. I snorted so affectedly and nastily that they all broke off the conversation at once and silently watched me for about two minutes, seriously, without laughing, as I paced along the wall from table to stove and paid no attention to them. But nothing came of it; they did not start talking to me, and after two minutes dropped me again. It struck eleven.

  "Gentlemen," cried Zverkov, rising from the sofa, "now let us all go there."

  "Right, right!" the others began to say.

  I turned sharply to Zverkov. I was so worn out, so broken, that I had to finish it even if it killed me! I was in a fever; my hair, wet with sweat, stuck to my forehead and temples.

  "Zverkov! I ask your forgiveness," I said, abruptly and resolutely, "yours too, Ferfichkin, and everyone's, everyone's, I've offended everyone!"

  "Aha! So dueling's not your sport!" Ferfichkin hissed venomously.

  A sharp pain went through my heart.

  "No, I'm not afraid of a duel, Ferfichkin! I'm ready to fight you tomorrow, even after a reconciliation. I even insist on it, and you cannot refuse me. I want to prove to you that I'm not afraid of a duel. You'll have the first shot, and I'll shoot into the air."

  "He's indulging himself," remarked Simonov.

  "Downright crackbrained!" echoed Trudolyubov.

  "Let us pass, why're you standing in the way!… What do you want?" Zverkov responded contemptuously. Their faces were red; their eyes were shiny: they had drunk a lot.

  "I ask your friendship, Zverkov, I offended you, but…"

  "Y-y-you? Offended m-m-me? I'll have you know, my dear sir, that you could never under any circumstances offend me!"

  "
That's enough out of you. Step aside!" Trudolyubov clinched. Lets go.

  "Olympia's mine, gentlemen, it's agreed!" cried Zverkov.

  "No objections! No objections!" they answered, laughing.

  I stood there spat upon. The bunch noisily left the room. Trudolyubov struck up some stupid song. Simonov stayed behind for a tiny moment to tip the waiters. I suddenly went over to him.

  "Simonov! Give me six roubles!" I said, resolutely and desperately.

  He looked at me in extreme astonishment, his eyes somehow dull. He, too, was drunk.

  "You want to go there with us, too?"

  "Yes!"

  "I have no money!" he snapped, grinned scornfully, and started out of the room.

  I seized him by his overcoat. It was a nightmare.

  "Simonov! I saw you had money, why do you refuse me? Am

  I a scoundrel? Beware of refusing me: if you knew, if you knew why I'm asking! Everything depends on it, my whole future, all my plans…"

  Simonov took out the money and almost flung it at me.

  "Take it, if you're so shameless!" he said pitilessly, and ran to catch up with them.

  I remained alone for a moment. Disorder, leftovers, a broken wine glass on the floor, spilt wine, cigarette butts, drunkenness and delirium in my head, tormenting anguish in my heart, and, finally, the servant, who had seen everything and heard everything, and kept peeking curiously into my eyes.

  "There!" I cried out. "Either they'll all fall on their knees, embrace my legs, and beg for my friendship, or… or I'll slap Zverkov's face!"

  V