Chapter 13 Second, rain and snow

I was only twenty-four years old then.At that time, my life was lonely, disorganized, and almost lonely.I didn't associate with anyone, avoided even talking to anyone, and retreated more and more into my shelter.In the office, I try not to even look at anyone, and I notice very clearly that my colleagues not only think I'm weird, but (I always feel this way) seem disgusted to look at me.I often wonder: Why does no one feel disgusted by others except me?There is a clerk in our office who is not only ugly and pockmarked, but even looks like a gangster.If I had such a dignified face, I wouldn't dare look up at anyone.There was also a man wearing a tattered uniform, and there was a foul smell around him.Yet neither of these two gentlemen was ashamed--neither disgraced by their rags, nor ashamed of their appearance and certain defects of character.It never occurred to any of them that others would find them disgusting when they saw them; even if they did, they didn't care, as long as it wasn't their boss who saw them that way.Now I am fully aware that due to my infinite vanity, I have very strict requirements on myself, so I am often very dissatisfied with myself to the point of loathing, so I impose this view of myself on myself. everyone.For example, I hated my face so much that I thought it was disgusting, and I even suspected that there was some kind of indecent expression on my face, so every time I went to work, I painfully tried to put it on. I had an air of independence, so that no one might suspect me of being obscene, and I had as much dignity as possible on my face. "Let it be plain," I thought, "but to make it dignified and expressive, above all it has to be very intelligent." But I know, painfully, that all these fine qualities are never expressed in my face. of.But the scariest thing was that I found this face extremely stupid.But as long as it looks smarter, I'm perfectly content.And even that, even with the shamelessly obscene look on my face, I agree, as long as my face is thought to be very smart at the same time.

Needless to say, I hated everyone in our office, from first to last, and I despised them all, yet at the same time I seemed afraid of them.Often, I would even suddenly think of them as higher than myself.At that time, I didn’t know why it suddenly became like this: I despised them for a while, and regarded them higher than myself for a while. If a decent person with a well-developed mind does not have infinitely strict requirements on himself, it is not possible to despise himself sometimes to the point of hatred. To this extent, it is impossible for this person to have vanity.But whether it be contempt or putting others above myself, I lower my eyes to almost everyone I meet.I even did this kind of experiment: Can I stand even if someone looks at me, and the result is always that I am the first to lower my eyes.It made me miserable, and it was driving me crazy.My fear of being ridiculed, to a morbid degree, made me slavishly conformist in all matters of appearance; eager to conform, with a deep-seated fear of strange dress, of anything out of the ordinary.But how can I stick to it?I am a sickly high-minded person, as is often the case with modern-day high-minded people.But they were all dull, like sheep in a flock.Maybe I'm the only one in the whole office who always feels like a coward and a slave; and I feel that way because I'm smart.But not only felt, but actually was: I was a coward and a slave.I have no shame in saying this.Every decent man of our time is and should be a coward and a slave.This is his normal state.I have no doubts about it.That's how he was made, and that's how he was arranged.And not only in this age, by some chance circumstance, but in any age, a decent man must be a coward and a slave.This is the natural law of all decent people in the world.If any one of them ventured to do something, let him not console himself with it, nor flatter himself with it: he would certainly be guilty of something else.This is the only and eternal end.Only jackasses and their bastards dare to show off, and even they have limits.Ignore them because they say nothing.

There was another circumstance that made me miserable at the time: specifically, that no one was like me, and I wasn't like anyone. "I am only one and they are all," I thought, and fell into thought. It can be seen that I was still a complete child at the time. And the opposite often happens: You know, I sometimes hate going to the office so much that I come home from get off work many times like I'm seriously ill.But then my mood would have sudden and unprovoked bouts of doubt and indifference (as I always do in fits and starts), and I would laugh at my paranoia and faultfinding, and blame myself for my romanticism.Either they don't want to talk to anyone, or they get to the point where they not only enjoy talking, but even want to make friends with them.All the nitpicking disappeared suddenly and for no reason.Who knows, maybe I've never been critical of others, it's just pretend, learned from books?I haven't solved this problem yet.Once I even became good friends with them completely, and visited their home, played cards, drank, talked about promotion... But please allow me to make a digression here.

Generally speaking, among us Russians there have never been those stupid detached German Romantics, for whom nothing works, even if the world falls apart, and all France dies in barricades—they still stand. Don't move, don't even change for show, still sing their supernatural songs, so to speak, until they go to the coffin, because they are fools.But in Russia there are no fools; that is natural; that is why we are different from other countries.Therefore, there are no such people in our country who are purely detached from things.This is when our "admirable" political commentators and critics foolishly took people like Kostanjoglo and Uncle Pyotr Ivanovich as our ideals and looked for them everywhere, It is assumed that the same is true of our Romantics, that they are as detached as the German or French Romantics.On the contrary, the characteristics of our Romantics are completely different from those of European detached Romantics, and even diametrically opposed, and no European standard applies to our country (allow me to use the word "Romantics"-this is a ancient word, respectable and remarkable, and well-known).It is characteristic of our Romantics to know everything and see everything, and often see far better than the most intelligent people in our country; Walking around, giving way to everything, being polite to everyone; never missing a profitable and practical object (such as the distribution of public housing, the distribution of pensions, the promotion of military rank, etc.)-he is Gradually, through impassioned lecture notes and volume after volume of lyric poetry, he gradually saw this goal, while at the same time he kept "beauty and sublime" unswervingly in his heart, as if carefully wrapped in cotton. Protecting himself by the way like a pearl, even if, for example, even for the "beauty and nobility" in his heart.Our Romantic is a resilient man, and at the same time the most cunning of all cunning in our country, I can assure you, even from experience... All this, of course, on condition that the Romantic should very smart.Then again, what am I talking about!Romantics are always smart, I just want to say that although there are some Romantics in our country who are fools, but this does not count, and it is only because they are still in the prime of life. The Germans, meanwhile, have moved abroad, mostly in Weimar or the Black Forest, in order to better protect their pearls.For example, I really despise the job I have now, and I don't despise it only because I have to, because I work there myself, and I eat people's salary.And the result—note that I didn't spit it out after all.The Romantic in our country would rather go mad (which seldom happens, though) than spit on anything, unless he is too mad, to be regarded as a "Spanish man." "King" into a madhouse, or they would never let him go.But, you know, in our country it is only the sickly and the weak that go mad.As for the innumerable Romantics—all became high officials later on.These are really people who have the right and the wrong, and are slick and slick!It takes a lot of patience to be able to deal with many extremely contradictory feelings!I used to masturbate at the time, and it's still true today.That's why there are so many "flexible and stretchable people" in our country. They never lose their ideals even when they are most depressed; He is a notorious robber and thief, but he still respects his early ideals very much, and out of sincerity.Yes, sir, but the most notorious bastard in our country can be noble and sincere, and at the same time it doesn't prevent him from being a bastard.I repeat that from time to time among our Romantics there often appear such able con artists (I like to use the word "cons") who suddenly show such sensitivity to reality and knowledge of the actual situation that they The astonished boss and the general public were dumbfounded and speechless.

Their ability to be versatile and versatile is indeed amazing. Only God knows what this ability will become and how it will be trained in the future, and what it will bring us in the future?This thing is really not bad!I say this in no way out of a ridiculous patriotism or kvass patriotism.But I believe that you must think I am joking again.Who knows, maybe it's the other way around, which is to say, you guys believe that's what I really think.Anyway, gentlemen, I take both of your views as a compliment and am not very happy.Please excuse my digression. Needless to say, the friendship between me and my colleagues did not last long, and soon I quarreled with them. Since I was young and inexperienced at the time, I didn't even greet them when I saw them. It seemed like a clean break from now on. like.However, this has only happened to me once in total.Generally speaking, I have always been a person, a powerful and unconstrained style, a loner.

First of all, I mostly read books at home.I want to use external feelings to suppress the urge that is constantly churning inside me.And this kind of foreign feeling can only be obtained by reading books.Reading works, though—it excites me, it makes me happy, and it makes me miserable.But sometimes it gets boring.I really wanted to be active, so I suddenly fell into the dark, the underground, the base-not fornication, but for prostitution and petty affairs.My passions, under the influence of my long and morbid stimulation, were intense and fiery.Once an attack occurs, it is like a hysterical attack, crying bitterly, accompanied by cramps.I have nowhere else to go but to read—that is to say, nothing in my surroundings deserves my respect and attracts me.In addition, I was filled with distress; a hysterical longing for contradiction and opposition arose, and I began to ask questions.You know, I didn't say all this to defend myself at all...but then again, no!I was wrong!Precisely in my own defense.Ladies and gentlemen, I am writing this to keep a record of this and to encourage myself.I don't want to lie.I promise.

I was always alone, at night, secretly, afraid, dirty, and ashamed, a shame that at such times developed into a curse.Even then, I already had a basement in my mind.I was terribly afraid of being seen, bumped into, recognized.I often go to all kinds of extremely suspicious places. Once, in the middle of the night, I was walking past a diner, and looking in through the lighted windows, I saw a gang of gentlemen fighting with pool cues at the pool table, and throwing one gentleman out of the window.At any other time I would have been disgusted; but then I envied the gentleman who was thrown out of the window, and envied him so much that I went into the billiard room of this little restaurant and thought: No, I'll fight it too, and maybe throw me out of the window too."

I'm not drunk, but what do you want me to do--you know, sometimes distress can make a man hysterical!But this time it ended in vain. It turned out that I couldn't even jump out of a window, so I had to leave without a fight. In the beginning, there, I was bridled by an officer. I was standing at the table, unknowingly blocking someone's way, and the officer was going to pass; he grabbed my shoulders, and without a word, without greeting or explanation, he took me from where I was standing. The place where he was standing was moved to another place, and then he walked away defiantly.I can forgive him even for beating me up, but how can I never forgive him for moving me from one place to another in spite of himself.

Who the hell knows how much I'm willing to pay for a serious, more formal, more respectable, and more (you can say) compliant quarrel!This guy treats me like a fly.The officer was about two feet ten inches tall, and I was thin and short.However, it was up to me to fight or not: if I protested, of course, I would be thrown out of the window.But I changed my mind and would rather... run away angrily. Embarrassed and apprehensive, I walked out of the tavern, went straight home, and continued to flirt the next day, but more timidly and withdrawn than before, as if doing so with tears in my eyes—but After all, I am continuing to search for flowers and ask willows.But don't think that I'm afraid of this officer because I'm a coward; I've never been a coward in my bones, though I'm constantly intimidated, gentlemen, don't laugh, I've got my say; There is a saying, please rest assured.

Oh, if only the officer would go out and fight!But no, he belongs to the class of gentlemen (whoosh! Such gentlemen have long since disappeared) who would rather fight with a pool cue, or, like Gogol's Lieutenant Pirogov - complain to their superiors.But they would not go out to duels, and as for duels with us civil servants, they thought it was simply disgraceful—on the whole, they thought duels were some kind of magical, free-thinking, French thing, but They themselves often bully others, especially those who are tall and big. My timidity at this time was not because of cowardice, but because of boundless vanity.I'm not afraid of being tall and big, or that he'll beat me up and throw me out of the window; physical bravery, to be honest, I still have; but I'm missing a little mentally. brave.What I'm afraid of is that if I protest and reason with them in a gentle manner, all the people present, from the scoundrel who keeps score on the sidelines, to the stinking, acne-prone one, fawning on the sidelines Flattery, even the lowest lowly official whose collar seems to be dragged out of a frying pan, will feel baffled and laugh at me.Because if you want to talk about the concept of honor, you are not talking about the issue of honor, but about the concept of honor. So far, it is impossible to talk about it unless you use the standard language of gentleness.It is impossible to talk about the concept of honor in ordinary vernacular.I'm sure (I'm a bit realistic, despite my romanticism) that they'd laugh their ass off, and the officer wouldn't have simply (i.e., without insult) beaten me up and treated me Will kick and kick and drag me around the pool table, unless he shows mercy later and throws me out of the window.It goes without saying that such an insignificant matter cannot be dismissed lightly.Later, I often met this officer on the street, and I can remember him like that.I just don't know if he recognizes me.Presumably not; I can tell from certain signs.But I, I—I looked at him with loathing and resentment, and it went on like this...for years, O you!My hatred even increased with the years.I first quietly began to inquire about the officer.It's hard because I don't know anyone.But once I followed him from a distance, like a stalker, on the street, I heard someone call his name, so I knew what his last name was.Another time, I followed him all the way to his door, and spent ten kopeks to ask the porter where he lived, on which floor, alone, not with anyone, etc.—anyway. , I have found out everything that can be inquired from the gatekeeper.Once, early in the morning, although I have never liked to write, I suddenly wanted to describe this officer in a novel in the form of revelation and satire.I wrote this novel with great pride.I not only exposed, but even slandered; at first I changed his surname slightly so that people could recognize him at a glance, but after thinking twice, I changed it again and sent it to the Chronicle of the Fatherland.But it was not fashionable to publish literature at that time, so my novel was not published.I am very annoyed by this.Sometimes I just itch with hatred, and I can't breathe with hatred.I finally made up my mind to challenge my opponent to a duel.I wrote him a very beautiful and very touching letter, begging him to apologize to me; and if he refused to apologize, I hinted quite firmly to a duel.This letter is very beautifully written. If this officer knew a little about "beauty and nobility", he would definitely come to me, throw himself on me, put his arms around my neck, and promise him his friendship!It would be great if this could be done!We will shake hands and say goodbye!Become an irresistible friend!He'll use his eminence to protect me, and I'll use my culture, um, and... ideas to elevate him spiritually, and there's so much more to do!Come to think of it, it's been two years since he insulted me, and my letter of challenge is outrageously out of date, even though it's very cleverly written, explaining and glossing over why I've wasted my time as an afterthought.But, thank God (and I still thank God Almighty with tears), my letter was never sent.I shudder when I think of what a mess this letter will make if I actually send it.But suddenly...but suddenly I took revenge on him in the simplest and most genius way!I suddenly had a very brilliant idea.Every holiday, sometimes, I often go to Nevsky Prospekt at three o'clock and take a walk on the sunny side.That said, instead of going for a walk, I'm going to experience untold amounts of pain, humiliation, and anger, but that's about all I need.Like an eel, I dodged among passers-by in the ugliest way, constantly making way for others, now generals, now officers of the Guards cavalry and hussars, now ladies; At that moment, just thinking of the shabbiness of my clothes, and the shabbiness and vulgarity with which I dodged left and right, I felt cramps in my heart and fever in my back.A great pain, a continual, intolerable humiliation, arises at the very thought, and often the thought turns into a continual, immediate feeling that I am Before all these gentlemen and gentlemen there was nothing but a fly, a vile and vile fly--whose brains were greater than all men, whose thoughts were greater than all men, and whose manners were better than all men--it goes without saying. Yes, but the fly has to constantly give way to others, and everyone can damage it, and everyone can insult it.Why should I humiliate and suffer myself, why should I go to the Nevsky Prospect?I have no idea.But as soon as possible, I ran there as if attracted by something.

Already at that time I began to experience the endless joy I have already described in the first chapter.After what happened to the officer, I was even more attracted to go there: I met him most on Nevsky Prospekt, and I stood by admiring him.He also usually goes there on holidays.Although he had to give way to generals and senior officials, he had to dodge left and right like a loach among them, but when he met people like us, even people with a slightly higher status than me, He went on a rampage; charged straight at them, as if there was a clearing before him, and would not give way for anything.Looking at his virtuous behavior, I feel really evil, but... every time I meet him, I have to angrily give way to him.What puzzles me is that I am not equal to him even on the street. "Why do you have to give way to him first?" Sometimes when I wake up at two o'clock in the middle of the night, I ask myself reluctantly like a crazy hysteria. "Why should you get out of the way instead of him? You know, there is no such law, there is no such regulation anywhere, is there? Even if it is half and half, treat each other as equals, as usual polite people meet each other It’s like that: He gives half, you give half, and you walk past each other politely.” But there was no such thing at all, and I still gave way to him in the end.But suddenly a strange thought came to my mind.I thought: "If you meet him... just don't give way to him, so what? If you don't give way to him, even if you have to push him away: so what will happen, ah?" This bold idea gradually controlled me , makes me unable to calm down.I kept fantasizing about it, and I went to the Nevsky Prospekt very often on purpose, in order to think more clearly what I was going to do and when.I am in a state of ecstasy.I feel more and more that this plan is feasible and achievable. "Of course, don't push him hard," I thought, and my heart softened when I was happy, "but simply don't dodge, hit him, but don't hit him very painfully, but brush shoulders However, shoulder to shoulder is just right; as much as he touches me, I touch him as much." I finally made up my mind.But the prep work took me a long time.First of all, you must be well-dressed when you put it into action, and you must take care of your appearance. "Just in case, say, there are crowds (the public here is all refined: the Countess, and all the poets of the literary world), one must dress better; this is enough to show and make us In the eyes of the upper class people are directly on a certain level of equality." With this in mind, I advanced a little salary and bought a pair of black gloves and a rather decent top hat at Churkin's.I was thinking of getting the lemon gloves at first, but I think the black ones look more stable and stylish. "The color is too harsh, it will appear that this person is too hypocritical", so I didn't buy the lemon color.As for a good shirt, with white bone collar and cuff-links, I had long since prepared; but the overcoat took me a long time.My overcoat was not a bad one, and was very warm; but it was a cotton coat with a raccoon collar, which seemed too slavish.Be sure to change the collar and make it tufted, like the officers do.For this reason, I went to Quanyechang several times, and I finally settled on a kind of cheap German flocking.This German flocking, although it wears out quickly, and is therefore very shabby, is at first even very handsome when first bought; and I, you know, need only use it once.I asked about the price: it was still expensive.After careful consideration, I decided to sell my raccoon collar first.But the deficit was still too great for me, so I decided to borrow from my chief, Anton Antonich Setochkin, a corporal, but a very serious and conscientious man, who never Lending money to other people, however, when I first started I was given a special recommendation by a dignitary who had confirmed me for my current position.I am in great pain.It seemed to me both absurd and shameful to borrow money from Anton Antonitch.I even didn't sleep well for two or three days, and besides, I usually didn't sleep much at that time, I was hot and cold; my heart seemed to be confused, or my heart suddenly began to beat wildly... Antonitch was surprised at first, then frowned, and after careful consideration, he finally lent me the money, but he made me write an IOU, which will be available from my account two weeks later. deducted from salary.And so, at last, everything fell into place: a beautiful tufted collar took the place of the unrefined raccoon collar, and I slowly set to work.If you can't come up, do it rashly; this matter must be done in every aspect, and it must be done very authentically, and it must be done slowly.But, to tell you the truth, after many attempts, I even began to despair: we couldn't collide—that's all!Didn't I prepare for it, didn't I have this plan-I was about to hit it, look at it-I took the initiative to give way to him again, and he walked away without seeing me at all.When I approached him, I even prayed, asking God to bless me and let me make up my mind.Once, I had made up my mind completely, only to end up crawling at his feet, because at the last moment, at only two inches away, I lost my courage suddenly.He walked towards me very calmly, and I rolled aside like a rubber ball.That night I fell ill again with fits of cold and heat, and talked nonsense.But suddenly everything ended too well.The night before I had made up my mind not to carry out my deadly plan, decided to let nothing happen, and with this purpose in mind, I went up to the Nevsky Prospekt for the last time, just to have a look--how can I not do it all? What about it?Suddenly, only three steps away from my enemy, I made up my mind unexpectedly, squinted my eyes, and thereupon—we bumped shoulder to shoulder!I didn't budge an inch, and walked over on equal footing with him!He didn't even look back, pretending not to notice; but he was just pretending, I'm sure.And I still believe in it to this day!I was at a disadvantage, of course; he was stronger than me, but that was not the problem.The point is that I achieved my goal, maintained my dignity, did not budge a step, and put myself in full social equality with him in the public eye.When I returned home, I felt that my revenge had been avenged.I am elated.I was triumphant and sang Italian arias.It goes without saying that I will not describe to you what happened to me three days later; and if you have read my first chapter, "The Basement," you will have guessed it yourself.The officer was transferred elsewhere; I haven't seen him now for thirteen or four years.How is he, my dear, now?Who is he rampagingly humiliating?