Notes From The Underground | Page 8

the fact that twice two makes four? Of course I
cannot break through the wall by battering my head against it if I really have not the
strength to knock it down, but I am not going to be reconciled to it simply because it is a
stone wall and I have not the strength.
As though such a stone wall really were a consolation, and really did contain some word
of conciliation, simply because it is as true as twice two makes four. Oh, absurdity of
absurdities! How much better it is to understand it all, to recognise it all, all the
impossibilities and the stone wall; not to be reconciled to one of those impossibilities and
stone walls if it disgusts you to be reconciled to it; by the way of the most inevitable,
logical combinations to reach the most revolting conclusions on the everlasting theme,
that even for the stone wall you are yourself somehow to blame, though again it is as
clear as day you are not to blame in the least, and therefore grinding your teeth in silent
impotence to sink into luxurious inertia, brooding on the fact that there is no one even for
you to feel vindictive against, that you have not, and perhaps never will have, an object
for your spite, that it is a sleight of hand, a bit of juggling, a card- sharper's trick, that it is
simply a mess, no knowing what and no knowing who, but in spite of all these
uncertainties and jugglings, still there is an ache in you, and the more you do not know,
the worse the ache.

IV
"Ha, ha, ha! You will be finding enjoyment in toothache next," you cry, with a laugh.
"Well, even in toothache there is enjoyment," I answer. I had toothache for a whole
month and I know there is. In that case, of course, people are not spiteful in silence, but
moan; but they are not candid moans, they are malignant moans, and the malignancy is
the whole point. The enjoyment of the sufferer finds expression in those moans; if he did
not feel enjoyment in them he would not moan. It is a good example, gentlemen, and I
will develop it. Those moans express in the first place all the aimlessness of your pain,
which is so humiliating to your consciousness; the whole legal system of nature on which
you spit disdainfully, of course, but from which you suffer all the same while she does
not. They express the consciousness that you have no enemy to punish, but that you have
pain; the consciousness that in spite of all possible Wagenheims you are in complete
slavery to your teeth; that if someone wishes it, your teeth will leave off aching, and if he
does not, they will go on aching another three months; and that finally if you are still
contumacious and still protest, all that is left you for your own gratification is to thrash
yourself or beat your wall with your fist as hard as you can, and absolutely nothing more.
Well, these mortal insults, these jeers on the part of someone unknown, end at last in an
enjoyment which sometimes reaches the highest degree of voluptuousness. I ask you,
gentlemen, listen sometimes to the moans of an educated man of the nineteenth century
suffering from toothache, on the second or third day of the attack, when he is beginning
to moan, not as he moaned on the first day, that is, not simply because he has toothache,
not just as any coarse peasant, but as a man affected by progress and European
civilisation, a man who is "divorced from the soil and the national elements," as they
express it now-a-days. His moans become nasty, disgustingly malignant, and go on for
whole days and nights. And of course he knows himself that he is doing himself no sort
of good with his moans; he knows better than anyone that he is only lacerating and
harassing himself and others for nothing; he knows that even the audience before whom
he is making his efforts, and his whole family, listen to him with loathing, do not put a
ha'porth of faith in him, and inwardly understand that he might moan differently, more
simply, without trills and flourishes, and that he is only amusing himself like that from
ill-humour, from malignancy. Well, in all these recognitions and disgraces it is that there
lies a voluptuous pleasure. As though he would say: "I am worrying you, I am lacerating
your hearts, I am keeping everyone in the house awake. Well, stay awake then, you, too,
feel every minute that I have toothache. I am not a hero to you now, as I tried to seem
before, but simply a