Notes From The Underground 93

Even in my underground dreams I did not imagine love except as a struggle. I began it always with hatred and end-ed it with moral subjugation, and afterwards I never knew what to do with the subjugated object. And what is there to wonder at in that, since I had succeeded in so corrupting myself, since I was so out of touch with ‘real life,’ as to have actually thought of reproaching her, and putting her to shame for having come to me to hear ‘fine sentiments”; and did not even guess that she had come not to hear fine senti-ments, 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 run-ning 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, with-out stirring, as though she were unconscious. I had the shamelessness to tap softly at the screen as though to re-mind 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 APPEAR-ANCES, 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 lie—to 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 sit-ting 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 min-ute—first 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.

to be contd..