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And weeping； hide thine anguished face；
Revolted； maddened； horror…stricken；
At memories of foul disgrace。
N。A。NEKRASSOV （translated by Juliet Soskice）。
I
At that time I was only twenty…four。 My life was even then
gloomy； ill…regulated； and as solitary as that of a savage。 I
made friends with no one and positively avoided talking； and
buried myself more and more in my hole。 At work in the office I
never looked at anyone； and was perfectly well aware that my
companions looked upon me； not only as a queer fellow； but even
looked upon meI always fancied thiswith a sort of loathing。
I sometimes wondered why it was that nobody except me fancied
that he was looked upon with aversion？ One of the clerks had a
most repulsive； pock…marked face； which looked positively
villainous。 I believe I should not have dared to look at anyone
with such an unsightly countenance。 Another had such a very
dirty old uniform that there was an unpleasant odour in his
proximity。 Yet not one of these gentlemen showed the slightest
self…consciousnesseither about their clothes or their
countenance or their character in any way。 Neither of them ever
imagined that they were looked at with repulsion； if they had
imagined it they would not have mindedso long as their
superiors did not look at them in that way。 It is clear to me
now that； owing to my unbounded vanity and to the high standard I
set for myself； I often looked at myself with furious discontent；
which verged on loathing； and so I inwardly attributed the same
feeling to everyone。 I hated my face； for instance： I thought it
disgusting； and even suspected that there was something base in
my expression； and so every day when I turned up at the office I
tried to behave as independently as possible； and to assume a
lofty expression； so that I might not be suspected of being
abject。 〃My face may be ugly；〃 I thought； 〃but let it be lofty；
expressive； and； above all； _extremely_ intelligent。〃 But I was
positively and painfully certain that it was impossible for my
countenance ever to express those qualities。 And what was worst
of all； I thought it actually stupid looking； and I would have
been quite satisfied if I could have looked intelligent。 In
fact； I would even have put up with looking base if； at the same
time； my face could have been thought strikingly intelligent。
Of course； I hated my fellow clerks one and all； and I despised
them all； yet at the same time I was； as it were； afraid of them。
In fact； it happened at times that I thought more highly of them
than of myself。 It somehow happened quite suddenly that I
alternated between despising them and thinking them superior to
myself。 A cultivated and decent man cannot be vain without
setting a fearfully high standard for himself； and without
despising and almost hating himself at certain moments。 But
whether I despised them or thought them superior I dropped my
eyes almost every time I met anyone。 I even made experiments
whether I could face so and so's looking at me； and I was always
the first to drop my eyes。 This worried me to distraction。 I
had a sickly dread； too； of being ridiculous； and so had a
slavish passion for the conventional in everything external。 I
loved to fall into the common rut； and had a whole…hearted terror
of any kind of eccentricity in myself。 But how could I live up
to it？ I was morbidly sensitive as a man of our age should be。
They were all stupid； and as like one another as so many sheep。
Perhaps I was the only one in the office who fancied that I was a
coward and a slave； and I fancied it just because I was more
highly developed。 But it was not only that I fancied it； it
really was so。 I was a coward and a slave。 I say this without
the slightest embarrassment。 Every decent man of our age must be
a coward and a slave。 That is his normal condition。 Of that I
am firmly persuaded。 He is made and constructed to that very
end。 And not only at the present time owing to some casual
circumstances； but always； at all times； a decent man is bound to
be a coward and a slave。 It is the law of nature for all decent
people all over the earth。 If anyone of them happens to be
valiant about something； he need not be comforted nor carried
away by that； he would show the white feather just the same
before something else。 That is how it invariably and inevitably
ends。 Only donkeys and mules are valiant； and they only till
they are pushed up to the wall。 It is not worth while to pay
attention to them for they really are of no consequence。
Another circumstance； too； worried me in those days： that there
was no one like me and I was unlike anyone else。 〃I am alone and
they are _everyone_；〃 I thoughtand pondered。
From that it is evident that I was still a youngster。
The very opposite sometimes happened。 It was loathsome sometimes
to go to the office； things reached such a point that I often
came home ill。 But all at once； a propos of nothing； there would
come a phase of scepticism and indifference （everything happened
in phases to me）； and I would laugh myself at my intolerance and
fastidiousness； I would reproach myself with being _romantic_。
At one time I was unwilling to speak to anyone； while at other
times I would not only talk； but go to the length of
contemplating making friends with them。 All my fastidiousness
would suddenly； for no rhyme or reason； vanish。 Who knows；
perhaps I never had really had it； and it had simply been
affected； and got out of books。 I have not decided that question
even now。 Once I quite made friends with them； visited their
homes； played preference； drank vodka； talked of promotions。。。。
But here let me make a digression。
We Russians； speaking generally； have never had those foolish
transcendental 〃romantics〃German； and still more Frenchon
whom nothing produces any effect； if there were an earthquake； if
all France perished at the barricades； they would still be the
same； they would not even have the decency to affect a change；
but would still go on singing their transcendental songs to the
hour of their death； because they are fools。 We； in Russia； have
no fools； that is well known。 That is what distinguishes us from
foreign lands。 Consequently these transcendental natures are not
found amongst us in their pure form。 The idea that they are is
due to our 〃realistic〃 journalists and critics of that day；
always on the look out for Kostanzhoglos and Uncle Pyotr
Ivanitchs and foolishly accepting them as our ideal； they have
slandered our romantics； taking them for the same transcendental
sort as in Germany or France。 On the contrary； the
characteristics of our 〃romantics〃 are absolutely and directly
opposed to the transcendental European type； and no European
standard can be applied to them。 （Allow me to make use of this
word 〃romantic〃…an old…fashioned and much respected word which
has done good s