"Notes from the Underground". Cry for Christ
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"Notes from the Underground"- the story of F.M.Dostoevsky, published in 1864. The story is told on behalf of a former official who lives in St. Petersburg. In terms of its problems, it foreshadows the ideas of existentialism.
Plot
"Notes" begins with the presentation of the intellectual "finds" of the protagonist. In the first quarter of the story, only a few biographical facts- that the hero received an inheritance, quit his job and completely stopped leaving his apartment, going underground. However, later in his notes, the hero talks about his life - about childhood without friends, about his "skirmish" (perceived only by him) with an officer, and two episodes of his life, which, assuming the truth of the notes, became the most significant and noticeable event in the hero's life. The first is a dinner with old school "comrades", at which he offended everyone, got angry, and even decided to challenge one of them to a duel. The second is the moral bullying of a prostitute from a brothel, to whom he at first, out of anger, tried to show all the abomination of her position, then, accidentally giving her his address, he himself suffered from her intolerable torment, which had its root in his anger and in the fact that he the image with which he tried to present himself to her had a striking discrepancy with his actual position. With all his might, trying to offend her a second time, with this action he ends his story about leaving the "underground", and on behalf of the editor of these notes it is added that the existing continuation of these notes is again an intellectual product of the hero - in fact, written above in a very distorted form.
Allegories
"Underground" is an allegorical image. The hero has nothing to do with revolutionary activity, since he considers the active will to be "stupid" and the mind to be weak-willed. After some hesitation, the "Underground Man" tends, rather, to an intelligent, reflective lack of will, although he envies people who do not reason, simply and insolently act.
Underground is another name for atomicity. Key phrase: "I am one, and they are all." The idea of personal superiority over others, no matter how insignificant life is, no matter how the intellectual grovels, is the quintessence of this confession of the Russian intellectual.
The hero, or rather the antihero, as he calls himself at the end, is unhappy and pitiful, but, while remaining human, he takes pleasure in torturing himself and others. This tendency of man, following Dostoevsky, Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, is discovered by modern psychology.
"Crystal Palace" is the personification of the future harmoniously arranged society, universal happiness based on the laws of reason. However, the hero is sure that there will be people who, for completely irrational reasons, will reject this universal harmony based on reason, rejected for the sake of unreasonable volitional self-assertion. “Eh, gentlemen, what kind of will there will be when it comes to arithmetic, when will there be only one twice two four in the course? Twice two and without my will four will be. Does such a will happen! "
Cultural reminiscences
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Literature
- A. On the function of the story-memory in "Notes from the Underground" by F. M. Dostoevsky // Language. Literature: Yazgulyam collection. 2.SPb., 1997.S. 100-106.
- Larangé Daniel S. Récit et foi chez Fédor M. Dostoïevski: contribution narratologique et théologique aux "Notes d" un souterain "(1864), Paris: L "Harmattan, 2002.
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Excerpt from Notes from the Underground
Whatever it was, but I think that someone laid a "pillow" for me ... Someone who believed that it was still too early for me to crash then. There were a lot of such "strange" cases in my, then still very short, life. Some happened and after that very quickly disappeared into oblivion, others for some reason were remembered, although they were not necessarily the most interesting. So, for some reason unknown to me, I very well remember the incident with the ignition of the fire.All the kids in the neighborhood (including me) loved to make bonfires. And especially when we were allowed to fry potatoes in them! .. It was one of our favorite delicacies, and we generally considered such a fire almost a real holiday! And how could anything else be compared to a burning, just fished out of a burning fire with sticks, a stunning smelling potato strewn with ash ?! I had to try very hard, wanting to remain serious, seeing our waiting, tensely concentrated faces! We sat around the fire, hungry Robinsons Crusoe as if we hadn't eaten for a month. And at that moment it seemed to us that nothing in this world could be tastier than that small, smoking ball slowly baking in our fire!
It was on one of these festive "potato-baking" evenings that my next "incredible" adventure happened with me. It was a quiet, warm summer evening, and it was starting to get dark. We gathered in someone's "potato" field, found a suitable place, brought in a sufficient number of branches and were already ready to light a fire, when someone noticed that we had forgotten the most important thing - matches. There was no limit to disappointment ... No one wanted to follow them, because we had gone quite far from home. We tried to light it in the old-fashioned way - rubbing a piece of wood on a piece of wood - but very soon even the most stubborn ones ran out of patience. And then suddenly one says:
- So we forgot that we have our "witch" here with us! Well, come on, light it up ...
I was often called "the witch" and on their part it was rather an affectionate nickname than an offensive one. Therefore, I was not offended, but, to be honest, I was very confused. To my great regret, I never lit fire and it somehow never crossed my mind to do this ... But this was almost the first time when they asked me for something and I, of course, was not going to miss this chances, and even more so, "hit your face in the mud."
I neither the slightest clue I didn't have what to do to make it “ignite” ... I just focused on the fire and really wanted it to happen. A minute passed, then another, but nothing happened ... The boys (and they are always and everywhere a little bit angry) began to laugh at me, saying that I can only "guess" what I need to ... I felt very offended - I honestly tried my best. But this, of course, did not interest anyone. They needed a result, but I just didn't have a result ...
To be honest, I still don't know what happened then. Maybe I just got a very strong indignation that they laughed at me so undeservedly? Or was a bitter childish resentment too powerful? One way or another, I suddenly felt as if my whole body had frozen (it would seem that it should have been the other way around?) And only inside the hands, with explosive jerks, a real “fire” pulsed ... I stood facing the fire and abruptly threw left hand forward ... An eerie roaring flame seemed to splash out of my hand right into the fire folded by the boys. Everyone screamed wildly ... and I woke up already at home, with a very strong cutting pain in my arms, back and head. The whole body was burning, as if I were lying on a hot brazier. I didn't want to move or even open my eyes.
Mom was horrified by my "trick" and accused me of "all worldly sins", and most importantly, of incontinence of the word given to her, which for me was worse than any all-consuming physical pain. I was very sad that this time she didn’t want to understand me and at the same time I felt unprecedented pride that I still “didn’t hit my face in the mud” and that I somehow managed to do what I did. expected.
Of course, all this now seems a little funny and childishly naive, but then it was very important for me to prove that I, perhaps, can be useful to someone in some way with all my, as they called, “things”. And that these are not my crazy inventions, but the real reality, which they now have to reckon with at least a little. If only everything could be so childishly simple ...
As it turned out, not only my mother was horrified by what I had done. Neighboring mothers, having heard from their children about what had happened, began to demand from them that they stay as far away from me as possible ... And this time I was really left almost completely alone. But since I was a very, very proud little man, I was never going to “ask” someone as a friend. But one thing is to show, and quite another is to live with it ...
I loved my friends, my street and everyone who lived on it. And I always tried to bring everyone at least some kind of joy and some kind of good. And now I was alone and it was only myself that was to blame, because I could not resist the most simple, harmless childish provocation. But what could I do if I myself was still quite a child at that time? True, a child who has now begun to gradually understand that not everyone in this world is worthy of proving something ... you prove, you will always understand correctly.
author Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky
I. Underground
I
I am a sick person ... I evil person... I'm an unattractive person. I think my liver is hurting. However, I don’t know a shit about my illness and I don’t know for sure what hurts. I am not treated and have never been treated, although I respect medicine and doctors. Besides, I am also superstitious to the extreme; well, at least enough to respect medicine. (I'm educated enough not to be superstitious, but I'm superstitious.) No, sir, I don't want to be treated out of anger. This is probably not something you deign to understand. Well, I understand. I, of course, will not be able to explain to you exactly whom I will annoy in this case with my anger; I know very well that I can’t "screw up" the doctors either by not treating them; I know better than anyone that with all this I will only harm myself and no one else. But all the same, if I am not being treated, it’s out of spite. The liver hurts, so let it hurt even more!
I have been living this way for a long time - twenty years. Now I am forty. I used to serve, and now I don't. I was an evil official. I was rude and took pleasure in it. After all, I did not take bribes, so I had to reward myself at least with this. (Bad wit; but I won't cross it out. I wrote it thinking that it would come out very sharp; but now, as I saw myself that I only wanted to show off, I won't cross it out on purpose!) When they approached the table at which I was sitting I used to be petitioners for information - I gnashed my teeth at them and felt an inexorable pleasure when I managed to upset someone. Almost always succeeded. For the most part they were all timid people: it is well known that they were petitioners. But of the ferts, I especially hated one officer. He did not want to submit and thundered disgustingly with his saber. I had a war with him for a year and a half for this saber. I finally got it. He stopped rattling. However, this happened in my youth. But do you know, gentlemen, what was the main point of my anger? Yes, that was the whole thing, that was the most disgusting thing, that every minute, even at the moment of the strongest bile, I was shamefully aware that I was not only not evil, but not even an angry person, that I only frighten the sparrows in vain and amuse myself with it. I have foam at my mouth, but bring me some doll, give me some tea with sugar, I think I'll calm down. I’ll even be touched by my soul, even though I’ll probably grind my teeth at myself later and suffer from insomnia for several months from shame. This is my custom.
I lied to myself just now that I was an evil official. Out of anger, he lied. I was just playing pampering with both the petitioners and the officer, but in fact I could never become evil. Every minute I was aware of many, many very opposite elements. I felt that they swarmed in me, these opposite elements. I knew that they had been swarming in me all my life and were asking out of me, but I did not let them in, I didn’t let them in, I didn’t let them out on purpose. They tortured me to the point of shame; they drove me to convulsions and - they finally bothered me, how tired they were! Don't you think, gentlemen, that I now regret something in front of you, that I am asking you for forgiveness for something? .. I am sure that it seems to you ... But by the way, I assure you that I do not care if it seems ...
I was not only evil, but I didn’t even manage to become anything: not evil, not kind, not a scoundrel, not honest, not a hero, not an insect. Now I live in my corner, teasing myself with an evil and no consolation that clever man and cannot seriously become something, but only a fool becomes something. Yes, sir, an intelligent man of the nineteenth century must and is morally obliged to be a creature par excellence spineless; a man with character, a doer, a being for the most part limited. This is my forty-year conviction. I am now forty years old, but forty years is all life; because this is the deepest old age. To live further forty years is indecent, vulgar, immoral! Who lives more than forty years - answer sincerely, honestly? I'll tell you who lives: fools and scoundrels live. I will tell all the elders this in the eyes, all these venerable elders, all these silver-haired and fragrant elders! I'll tell the whole world in the eyes! I have the right to say that because I myself will live to be sixty. I'll live to seventy years! I will live up to eighty years! .. Wait! Let me take a breath ...
Probably you think, gentlemen, that I want to make you laugh? We made a mistake in this too. I am not at all such a merry person as you think, or as it may seem to you; however, if you, irritated by all this chatter (and I already feel that you are annoyed), take it into their head to ask me: who am I exactly? - then I will answer you: I am one collegiate assessor. I served so that there was something to eat (but only for this), and when last year one of my distant relatives left me six thousand rubles in a spiritual will, I immediately retired and settled in my corner. I have lived in this corner before, but now I have settled in this corner. My room is crappy, nasty, on the edge of town. My maid is a country woman, old, angry with stupidity, and besides, she always smells foul. They tell me that the Petersburg climate is becoming harmful to me and that it is very expensive to live in Petersburg with my paltry funds. I know all this, I know better than all these experienced and wise advisers and connoisseurs. But I remain in Petersburg; I will not leave Petersburg! That is why I will not leave ... Eh! but it’s all the same - I’ll leave or I don’t leave.
By the way: what can a decent person talk about with the greatest pleasure?
Answer: about yourself.
Well, I will also talk about myself.
REVIEW!
Recently I read the work of FM Dostoevsky "Notes from the Underground", it accidentally fell into my hands, and very helpful. So, "Notes" ...
The work was first published in the magazine "Epoch" (1864. № 1-2, 4) with the signature: Fyodor Dostoevsky. I will notice right away that the story refers to early period creativity, Dostoevsky was already known as a writer, but such famous works like Crime and Punishment, The Idiot was still in the works. And the hero of "Notes" became a new "anti-hero" literary world of those times. Criticism was not at all ready at that time for Dostoevsky's breakthrough vision and they tried to identify the ideology of the "underground" man with the worldview of the author himself, although this was completely wrong. Dostoevsky is a genius, it is difficult to understand him, but when through the centuries you read the history of "bygone days", as if blinding with light - how it turns out that the author thought correctly and what his thoughts were still relevant to this day, undoubtedly this is a contribution to national and world culture.
Prototype literary image"Underground man" - the commoners who made up in the 60s. XIX century. a social stratum, already relatively numerous and widely represented in society and the bureaucratic apparatus, although not at its highest levels. So, the hero has already passed 40 years and he is sitting in his gloomy St. Petersburg apartment and reflects: “I am now forty years old, and forty years is the whole life; because this is the deepest old age. It is indecent to live for more than forty years, vulgar, immoral! " He still reflects a lot, a lot during the first part of the story. In fact, the whole first part is his conversation with himself and with an imaginary audience. In the end, he asks himself: "for what, why, in fact, do I want to write?" - and comes to the conclusion that in this way he gets relief from his soul and escapes boredom ("I'm bored, but I constantly do nothing"). In the second part, he strikes at the memories of the events of his youth, which still haunt him, "crush" as he says. And in fact there is nothing to put pressure on, all his problems and "tragedies" were the result of his unsuccessful thinking strategies! But the author does not undertake to judge the strategies of thinking, Dostoevsky then had a different task. Here is such a composition: in the first part of "Underground" there are endless conclusions of the hero, who is only capable of that in this life, what to think, and in the second part "About wet snow" his autobiography, more precisely episodes from his youth, the beginning of a personal journey going nowhere.
Dostoevsky tried to explain the principle of constructing a story based on contrasts in a letter to his brother dated April 13, 1864: “You understand what a transition is in music,” he wrote. - Exactly so here. In the 1st chapter, apparently, chatter, but suddenly this chatter in the last 2 chapters is resolved by an unexpected catastrophe. "
So, what is the essence of that "chatter" of the lost underground man? Yes, in the fact that he himself drove himself into this position, but he constantly justifies himself and regrets himself. Throughout the story, he repeats the same thought "I am smart, I am smart, I am smart", he really was smart, his whole life consisted of reading books, he could not really think and think about anything! He divided all people into clever people and practical figures whom he called fools: “I consider such and such a direct person to be a real, normal person ... I envy such a person to the utmost bile. He is stupid, I don’t argue with you about this, but maybe normal person and must be stupid, why do you know? ". He had an even lower opinion of himself. Translated into modern language, the hero is a sociopath! Further there are all these deep, heart-breaking thoughts. What he just didn’t think about ... It was then that Dostoevsky's genius was revealed, how clearly he could paint all these spiritual and mental movements. One of his main ideas: human free will is the greatest value of life, life has no meaning without free will (in terms of theses and concepts that are close in some cases to philosophical ideas Kant, Schopenhauer, Stirner, the hero of Notes from the Underground asserts that the philosophical materialism of the enlighteners, the views of representatives of utopian socialism and positivists, as well as the absolute idealism of Hegel, inevitably lead to fatalism and denial of free will, which he puts above all).
The second part, autobiographical, shows the whole wrong side of a person who has voluntarily sat in his cocoon all his life. This cocoon is truly terrible. Constant self-condemnation, bickering yourself, low self-esteem, fear of people, obsession with your low social status... My brain was almost blown apart by how much my own worldview is similar to the description of the base qualities of the hero! However, what is the tragedy of Dostoevsky? His hero deliberately took the path of debauchery, deliberately! And even his debauchery he calls sweetly "debauchery." Everything is written there in detail, how he walked, how he suffered, what he did mean and base. But it would seem that the man understood everything! As a result, he began to consider insulting a woman (a worker of a brothel) as his highest achievement in life! He broke her heart, one might say, gave false hope, and then cunningly insulted her. This is an achievement ... But how he dreamed at first that she would love him and he would love her, and how they would get married and be happy, he flew in his dreams. And then once, and threw out such a number. Yes, man completely closed himself in a cocoon and rotted himself in it.
Well, the conclusions ... What is the relevance of the work for us, contemporaries. Let's not be like that! Let the antihero remain in the book, that's what books are for, to teach us about life. Let's think less, fly in our dreams and dreams, it is better to be a “stupid” figure than to rot underground all our life. This underground is the "cocoon" that separates a person from reality. Enough chatting.
"Oh gentlemen, maybe that's why I consider myself as an intelligent person, because all my life I could neither start nor finish anything. Let, let me be a chatterbox, a harmless, annoying chatterbox, like all of us. But what can I do? , if the direct and only purpose of every intelligent person is chatter, that is, deliberate pouring from empty to empty. "
Speech by Angelica Filchenkova at the April readings "The works of F.M.Dostoevsky in the perception of readers of the XXI century" in 2011.
Dostoevsky's hero tells us about his life in the spiritual underground. The word "underground" carries something hidden, dark, cold and raw, and has several meanings. According to Dahl's dictionary, this is a space or a hole under the floor. But Dahl also points out that this word is associated with something bad, impure, mystical. "In fairy tales, in folklore, in legends, sharp-headed devils sit underground, "he notes.
Something unofficial and forbidden is also called the underground. Most often, the term "underground" is used in relation to art and literature. It can be assumed that the thoughts of Dostoevsky's underground man were also in a way unofficial, that is, not accepted, repulsed by other people.
By itself, the word underground as a designation state of mind did not exist before Dostoevsky. It can be assumed that the writer introduces it as a metaphor, relying on the signs of the underground in its direct meaning, on the feelings that it evokes, and on the associations associated with it.
Concept " underground man"appeared only after the creation of the notes. Dostoevsky first introduced the image of such a person, stirring up society. The underground man asked himself as a polemic with an extra person... He followed his ideology, which was dominated by the belief that "nothing is sacred" and "everyone is like that."
Brief description of the underground person.
Based on the descriptions Dostoevsky's underground man, some characteristics can be distinguished. This hero is forty years old and he is weak in spirit, unsure of himself, angry. This man is lost, not knowledgeable of faith... An underground person does not want to admit that he is wrong, despises the whole world, brings pain with him. Did he like being in his spiritual underground? Probably not. Departing from the truth, he torments himself. But the hero himself convinces the reader that he has always enjoyed suffering, anger, and groaning. "I am a sick person ... I am an evil person. I am an unattractive person" - this is how the hero of the notes says about himself, not at all embarrassed by such statements. On the contrary, he pronounces them with a share of delight and satisfaction, as if he wants to look like that in the eyes of others. The word "want" is key here, because in fact the hero only puts on a mask of anger, and then he does not manage to wear it correctly, which makes him very angry. "Yes, that was the whole thing, that was the most disgusting thing, that every minute, even at the moment of the strongest bile, I was shamefully aware that I was not only not evil, but even not an embittered person, that I only frighten the sparrows in vain and amuse myself with it. " In his words, one can clearly see the inconsistency, his delusions and wrong judgments about the world, and, unfortunately, he does not want to change them.
The hero of the notes himself tells that he has been living underground for a long time, almost all his life, and cannot and does not want to see another existence. Maybe this is one of the reasons for his fear and rejection of another life. But at the same time, his underground can be seen as an escape from difficulties and spiritual labor. After all, going down is easy, going up incredibly difficult. However, it is quite clear that no man is born underground, but leaves there voluntarily, following the conclusions drawn from his own life experience... And I want to figure out what exactly prompted Dostoevsky's hero to go down to the dark basement. Into the darkness, where he lost everything, even his name, leaving faith and light aspirations, thereby destroying himself spiritually.
The reasons for the underground.
From the narrative of this hero it is clear that initially he could have avoided his imprisonment underground. The spiritual underground engulfed the narrator, but not immediately, not in an instant. It grew and darkened over the years. His decision to hide in the dark was influenced by some social factors... First of all, they relate to his childhood. An underground man was born into a dysfunctional family, in which I have never seen affection and love. He grew up in mental cold, isolating himself from people. Over the years of childhood and adolescence, his heart froze. His family was a closed corner, where the boy grew up alone with his thoughts, more and more isolated from people. But he had to get out of there, perhaps against his will, to get an education. Not having received the necessary warmth in the family, he did not find it at school either, since the young men did not notice him and never offered friendship. This may be due to his inconsistency and bad hermit character. But the stereotype of his distress played a big role in the attitude of his peers towards him. The hero will always seem to be despised. It is possible that he also took this feeling out of the family. That is why, after graduating from school, the hero will say that studying at school for him was akin to hard labor. Without getting close to any of schoolmates, after the end educational institution he never communicated with any of them. But he could not forget these faces, he often returned to them, imagined who they were now, and offended, wanting recognition, he often dreamed that many years later they would accept him into their circle. And so that at this time respect, reverence and almost awe for the grown up underground man awaken in them. When he became an adult, a painful fear of the assessment of society, a thirst for warmth and recognition arose in him. At that time, he, accustomed to loneliness, deliberately runs away from people, although he dreams of being with them. "My life was even then gloomy, disorderly and wildly lonely." The underground man puts himself in a frame. "I didn't get along with anyone and even avoided talking and more and more huddled in my corner." This voluntary renunciation of the surrounding world will be the initial stage of the underground. Narrator with youthful years he harbored hatred and contempt for all people in himself, and from an early time he could not objectively evaluate himself. The whole world seemed to him rotten and worthless, he did not see joy and light, but not because they did not exist, but because he himself did not want to notice them. From everything that caught his eye, he pulled out the most disgusting, possibly nonexistent, in order to once again make sure of the veracity of his view of the world. The hero claims that he was forgotten and not noticed at all, as if he were a simple fly. "Obviously, I was considered something like the most common fly."
One of the reasons for this relationship between the narrator and people is his low self-esteem. He never evaluates his real life in any way positively, in it he seems to himself a wretched and worthless person, he saw himself as a hero only in his dreams. And in these dreams, he exalts himself to the skies. In life, no one noticed him, and if he noticed, then he did not allow unnecessary thoughts, without characterizing in any way. But the narrator with a sick self-esteem suspected everyone who looked at him in dark thoughts, insults, imagined contempt and hatred from the people around him. This is proved by the case of an officer who did not notice the main character in the tavern, who blocked his path. In his head, the hero nurtured the image of a brave, daring and respected person, but he could not real life to achieve even a small part of the plan. Therefore, he blamed society, finding it disgusting, full of stupidity and ignorance. "Of course, I hated all our clerical offices, from first to last, and despised all of them, and at the same time seemed to be afraid of them." The hero also praised his fear and weakness. He found all his thoughts correct, held them for holy truth. "Only donkeys and their bastards are brave, but even those up to the famous wall. You shouldn't pay any attention to them, because they mean absolutely nothing."
From his reasoning and ideas about himself and the world, it is clear in what darkness he lives. The underground man, despite his intelligence and knowledge, was completely lost... The hero deduced for himself a certain ideology, a principle of behavior, which, in his opinion, had to be guided. In his opinion, a person should have a feeling of free will: “His own, free and free will, - he said, - his own, even the wildest whim, his own fantasy, irritated sometimes even to the point of madness, - this is something everything is that very missed, the most profitable benefit, which does not fit into any classification, and from which all systems and theories are constantly scattered to hell. " His judgments clearly show how far he has departed from the truth. The underground man did not listen to the heart, he reasoned only with his mind, which prevented him from living fully. His soul was lost, he sought help in his sick mind, never turning to what could really save him, namely faith and love. The underground man completely forgot about God, and, probably, was not able to believe, because he thought rationally, twisted many unnecessary things in his mind, compound words forgetting the real, sincere. He often ridiculed the desire of society to fit all life phenomena under mathematical formulas, to explain by physical laws. But the hero himself personally tried to explain with his mind absolutely everything that was happening in his life, completely forgetting about the existence of heartfelt, emotional urges. He will forgive for his own terrible ignorance and delusion with his love.
Notes from the underground are not finished, they break off at the next life failure underground man, this time, probably the most significant in his life. Often, a spiritual underground appears as a result of a person's stay in an unfavorable social environment amid coldness, indifference, contempt, anger and a complete absence of warm feelings. But at this stage it is just being formed, and the named factors are external. Still, although with great difficulty, even being in such an atmosphere, one can resist and not fall into a spiritual basement. Big role in the growth of darkness, the man himself plays, embittered, hurt by injustice, the coldness of the world around him. He stands at an intersection and has the right to choose any path. The hero of the notes turned down the wrong road leading to the dead end of individualism. It is possible that a person would have been saved by choosing a different path, filled with love for his neighbor, kindness and faith in the highest justice. He needed love that would help warm both his soul and the souls of people in need of his help and warmth. But the hero closed his eyes to this possibility of salvation, doomed himself to mental anguish.
Angelica Filchenkova, from the "Student Works" section.
Fedor Dostoevsky
NOTES FROM THE UNDERGROUND
Part I
UNDERGROUND
I am a sick person ... I am an evil person. I'm an unattractive person. I think my liver is hurting. However, I don’t know a shit about my illness and I don’t know for sure what hurts. I am not treated and have never been treated, although I respect medicine and doctors. Besides, I am also superstitious to the extreme; well, at least enough to respect medicine. (I'm educated enough not to be superstitious, but I'm superstitious.) No, sir, I don't want to be treated out of anger. This is probably not something you deign to understand. Well, I understand. I, of course, will not be able to explain to you exactly whom I will annoy in this case with my anger; I know very well that I can’t "screw up" the doctors either by not treating them; I know better than anyone that with all this I will only harm myself and no one else. But all the same, if I am not being treated, it’s out of spite. The liver hurts, so let it hurt even more!
I have been living this way for a long time - twenty years. Now I am forty. I used to serve, and now I don't. I was an evil official. I was rude and took pleasure in it. After all, I did not take bribes, so I had to reward myself at least with this. (Bad wit; but I won't cross it out. I wrote it thinking that it would come out very sharp; but now, as I saw myself that I only wanted to show off, I won't cross it out on purpose!) When they approached the table at which I was sitting I used to be petitioners for information - I gnashed my teeth at them and felt an inexorable pleasure when I managed to upset someone. Almost always succeeded. For the most part, they were all timid people: as you know, they were petitioners. But of the ferts, I especially hated one officer. He did not want to submit and thundered disgustingly with his saber. I had a war with him for a year and a half for this saber. I finally got it. He stopped rattling. However, this happened in my youth. But do you know, gentlemen, what was the main point of my anger? Yes, that was the whole thing, that was the most disgusting thing, that every minute, even at the moment of the strongest bile, I was shamefully aware that I was not only not evil, but not even an angry person, that I only frighten the sparrows in vain and amuse myself with it. I have foam at my mouth, but bring me some doll, give me some tea with sugar, I think I'll calm down. I’ll even be touched by my soul, even though I’ll probably grind my teeth at myself later and suffer from insomnia for several months from shame. This is my custom.
I lied to myself just now that I was an evil official. Out of anger, he lied. I was just playing pampering with both the petitioners and the officer, but in fact I could never become evil. Every minute I was aware of many, many very opposite elements. I felt that they swarmed in me, these opposite elements. I knew that they had been swarming in me all my life and were asking out of me, but I did not let them in, I didn’t let them in, I didn’t let them out on purpose. They tortured me to the point of shame; they drove me to convulsions and - they finally bothered me, how tired they were! Don't you think, gentlemen, that I now regret something in front of you, that I am asking you for forgiveness for something? .. I am sure that it seems to you ... But by the way, I assure you that I do not care if it seems ...
I was not only evil, but I didn’t even manage to become anything: not evil, not kind, not a scoundrel, not honest, not a hero, not an insect. Now I live in my corner, teasing myself with an evil and consolation for nothing, that an intelligent person cannot seriously become something, but only a fool becomes something. Yes, sir, an intelligent man of the nineteenth century must and is morally obliged to be a creature par excellence spineless; a man with character, a doer, a being for the most part limited. This is my forty-year conviction. I am now forty years old, but forty years is all life; because this is the deepest old age. To live further forty years is indecent, vulgar, immoral! Who lives more than forty years - answer sincerely, honestly? I'll tell you who lives: fools and scoundrels live. I will tell all the elders this in the eyes, all these venerable elders, all these silver-haired and fragrant elders! I'll tell the whole world in the eyes! I have the right to say that because I myself will live to be sixty. I'll live to seventy years! I will live up to eighty years! .. Wait! Let me take a breath ...
Probably you think, gentlemen, that I want to make you laugh? We made a mistake in this too. I am not at all such a merry person as you think, or as it may seem to you; however, if you, irritated by all this chatter (and I already feel that you are annoyed), take it into their head to ask me: who am I exactly? - then I will answer you: I am one collegiate assessor. I served so that there was something to eat (but only for this), and when last year one of my distant relatives left me six thousand rubles in a spiritual will, I immediately retired and settled in my corner. I have lived in this corner before, but now I have settled in this corner. My room is crappy, nasty, on the edge of town. My maid is a country woman, old, angry with stupidity, and besides, she always smells foul. They tell me that the Petersburg climate is becoming harmful to me and that it is very expensive to live in Petersburg with my paltry funds. I know all this, I know better than all these experienced and wise advisers and pokers (1). But I remain in Petersburg; I will not leave Petersburg! That is why I will not leave ... Eh! but it’s all the same - I’ll leave or I don’t leave.
By the way: what can a decent person talk about with the greatest pleasure?
Answer: about yourself.
Well, I will also talk about myself.
Now I would like to tell you, gentlemen, whether you wish or did not wish to hear this, why I have not even managed to become an insect. I will solemnly tell you that many times I have wished to become an insect. But even that was not meritorious. I swear to you, gentlemen, that being too aware is a disease, a real, complete disease. For human use, ordinary human consciousness would be too sufficient, that is, half, a quarter less than the portion that goes to the share developed person our unfortunate nineteenth century and, moreover, having the great misfortune of dwelling in Petersburg, the most abstract and willful city in all the globe... (There are deliberate and unintentional cities). It would be perfectly sufficient, for example, to have such a consciousness on which all the so-called direct people and figures live. I bet you think that I am writing all this out of the force, in order to sharpen things about the leaders, and even out of the force of bad taste I rattle my saber, like my officer. But, gentlemen, who can be proud of their own illnesses, and even force them to do so?