Notes from Underground

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 begi

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 spi

"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 ca

"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, gri

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…"