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loathsome the filth awaiting herthe feeling of insult will
elevate and purify her。。。by hatred。。。h'm！。。。perhaps； too； by
forgiveness。。。。 Will all that make things easier for her though？
。。。〃
And； indeed； I will ask on my own account here； an idle question：
which is bettercheap happiness or exalted sufferings？ Well；
which is better？
So I dreamed as I sat at home that evening； almost dead with the
pain in my soul。 Never had I endured such suffering and remorse；
yet could there have been the faintest doubt when I ran out from
my lodging that I should turn back half…way？ I never met Liza
again and I have heard nothing of her。 I will add； too； that I
remained for a long time afterwards pleased with the phrase about
the benefit from resentment and hatred in spite of the fact that
I almost fell ill from misery。
。 。 。 。 。
Even now； so many years later； all this is somehow a very evil
memory。 I have many evil memories now； but。。。hadn't I better end
my 〃Notes〃 here？ I believe I made a mistake in beginning to
write them； anyway I have felt ashamed all the time I've been
writing this story； so it's hardly literature so much as a
corrective punishment。 Why； to tell long stories； showing how I
have spoiled my life through morally rotting in my corner；
through lack of fitting environment； through divorce from real
life； and rankling spite in my underground world； would certainly
not be interesting； a novel needs a hero； and all the traits for
an anti…hero are _expressly_ gathered together here； and what
matters most； it all produces an unpleasant impression； for we
are all divorced from life； we are all cripples； every one of us；
more or less。 We are so divorced from it that we feel at once a
sort of loathing for real life； and so cannot bear to be reminded
of it。 Why； we have come almost to looking upon real life as an
effort； almost as hard work； and we are all privately agreed that
it is better in books。 And why do we fuss and fume sometimes？
Why are we perverse and ask for something else？ We don't know
what ourselves。 It would be the worse for us if our petulant
prayers were answered。 Come； try； give any one of us； for
instance； a little more independence； untie our hands； widen the
spheres of our activity； relax the control and we。。。yes； I assure
you。。。we should be begging to be under control again at once。 I
know that you will very likely be angry with me for that； and
will begin shouting and stamping。 Speak for yourself； you will
say； and for your miseries in your underground holes； and don't
dare to say all of usexcuse me； gentlemen； I am not justifying
myself with that 〃all of us。〃 As for what concerns me in
particular I have only in my life carried to an extreme what you
have not dared to carry halfway； and what's more； you have taken
your cowardice for good sense； and have found comfort in
deceiving yourselves。 So that perhaps； after all； there is more
life in me than in you。 Look into it more carefully！ Why； we
don't even know what living means now； what it is； and what it is
called？ Leave us alone without books and we shall be lost and in
confusion at once。 We shall not know what to join on to； what to
cling to； what to love and what to hate； what to respect and what
to despise。 We are oppressed at being menmen with a real
individual body and blood； we are ashamed of it； we think it a
disgrace and try to contrive to be some sort of impossible
generalised man。 We are stillborn； and for generations past have
been begotten； not by living fathers； and that suits us better
and better。 We are developing a taste for it。 Soon we shall
contrive to be born somehow from an idea。 But enough； I don't
want to write more from 〃Underground〃。。。
＇The notes of this paradoxalist do not end here； however。 He
could not refrain from going on with them； but it seems to us
that we may stop here。＇
End