of　design；　happen　to　me　not　only　to　feel　but　to　do　such　ugly
  things；　such　that　。。。　Well；　in　short；　actions　that　all；　perhaps；
  commit；　but　which；　as　though　purposely；　occurred　to　me　at　the
  very　time　when　I　was　most　conscious　that　they　ought　not　to　be
  committed。　　The　more　conscious　I　was　of　goodness　and　of　all　that
  was　〃sublime　and　beautiful；〃　the　more　deeply　I　sank　into　my　mire
  and　the　more　ready　I　was　to　sink　in　it　altogether。　　But　the　chief
  point　was　that　all　this　was；　as　it　were；　not　accidental　in　me；
  but　as　though　it　were　bound　to　be　so。　　It　was　as　though　it　were
  my　most　normal　condition；　and　not　in　the　least　disease　or
  depravity；　so　that　at　last　all　desire　in　me　to　struggle　against
  this　depravity　passed。　　It　ended　by　my　almost　believing　（perhaps
  actually　believing）　that　this　was　perhaps　my　normal　condition。
  But　at　first；　in　the　beginning；　what　agonies　I　endured　in　that
  struggle！　　　I　did　not　believe　it　was　the　same　with　other　people；
  and　all　my　life　I　hid　this　fact　about　myself　as　a　secret。　　I　was
  ashamed　（even　now；　perhaps；　I　am　ashamed）：　I　got　to　the　point　of
  feeling　a　sort　of　secret　abnormal；　despicable　enjoyment　in
  returning　home　to　my　corner　on　some　disgusting　Petersburg　night；
  acutely　conscious　that　that　day　I　had　committed　a　loathsome
  action　again；　that　what　was　done　could　never　be　undone；　and
  secretly；　inwardly　gnawing；　gnawing　at　myself　for　it；　tearing　and
  consuming　myself　till　at　last　the　bitterness　turned　into　a　sort
  of　shameful　accursed　sweetness；　and　at　lastinto　positive　real
  enjoyment！　　　Yes；　into　enjoyment；　into　enjoyment！　　　I　insist　upon
  that。　　I　have　spoken　of　this　because　I　keep　wanting　to　know　for　a
  fact　whether　other　people　feel　such　enjoyment？　　I　will　explain；
  the　enjoyment　was　just　from　the　too　intense　consciousness　of
  one's　own　degradation；　it　was　from　feeling　oneself　that　one　had
  reached　the　last　barrier；　that　it　was　horrible；　but　that　it　could
  not　be　otherwise；　that　there　was　no　escape　for　you；　that　you
  never　could　become　a　different　man；　that　even　if　time　and　faith
  were　still　left　you　to　change　into　something　different　you　would
  most　likely　not　wish　to　change；　or　if　you　did　wish　to；　even　then
  you　would　do　nothing；　because　perhaps　in　reality　there　was
  nothing　for　you　to　change　into。　　And　the　worst　of　it　was；　and　the
  root　of　it　all；　that　it　was　all　in　accord　with　the　normal
  fundamental　laws　of　over…acute　consciousness；　and　with　the
  inertia　that　was　the　direct　result　of　those　laws；　and　that
  consequently　one　was　not　only　unable　to　change　but　could　do
  absolutely　nothing。　　Thus　it　would　follow；　as　the　result　of　acute
  consciousness；　that　one　is　not　to　blame　in　being　a　scoundrel；　as
  though　that　were　any　consolation　to　the　scoundrel　once　he　has
  come　to　realise　that　he　actually　is　a　scoundrel。　　But　enough。。。。
  Ech；　I　have　talked　a　lot　of　nonsense；　but　what　have　I　explained？
  How　is　enjoyment　in　this　to　be　explained？　　But　I　will　explain　it。
  I　will　get　to　the　bottom　of　it！　　　That　is　why　I　have　taken　up　my
  pen。。。。
  I；　for　instance；　have　a　great　deal　of　amour　propre。　　I　am　as
  suspicious　and　prone　to　take　offence　as　a　humpback　or　a　dwarf。
  But　upon　my　word　I　sometimes　have　had　moments　when　if　I　had
  happened　to　be　slapped　in　the　face　I　should；　perhaps；　have　been
  positively　glad　of　it。　　I　say；　in　earnest；　that　I　should　probably
  have　been　able　to　discover　even　in　that　a　peculiar　sort　of
  enjoymentthe　enjoyment；　of　course；　of　despair；　but　in　despair
  there　are　the　most　intense　enjoyments；　especially　when　one　is
  very　acutely　conscious　of　the　hopelessness　of　one's　position。
  And　when　one　is　slapped　in　the　facewhy　then　the　consciousness
  of　being　rubbed　into　a　pulp　would　positively　overwhelm　one。　　The
  worst　of　it　is；　look　at　it　which　way　one　will；　it　still　turns　out
  that　I　was　always　the　most　to　blame　in　everything。　　And　what　is
  most　humiliating　of　all；　to　blame　for　no　fault　of　my　own　but；　so
  to　say；　through　the　laws　of　nature。　　In　the　first　place；　to　blame
  because　I　am　cleverer　than　any　of　the　people　surrounding　me。　（I
  have　always　considered　myself　cleverer　than　any　of　the　people
  surrounding　me；　and　sometimes；　would　you　believe　it；　have　been
  positively　ashamed　of　it。　　At　any　rate；　I　have　all　my　life；　as　it
  were；　turned　my　eyes　away　and　never　could　look　people　straight　in
  the　face。）　To　blame；　finally；　because　even　if　I　had　had
  magnanimity；　I　should　only　have　had　more　suffering　from　the　sense
  of　its　uselessness。　　I　should　certainly　have　never　been　able　to
  do　anything　from　being　magnanimousneither　to　forgive；　for　my
  assailant　would　perhaps　have　slapped　me　from　the　laws　of　nature；
  and　one　cannot　forgive　the　laws　of　nature；　nor　to　forget；　for
  even　if　it　were　owing　to　the　laws　of　nature；　it　is　insulting　all
  the　same。　　Finally；　even　if　I　had　wanted　to　be　anything　but
  magnanimous；　had　desired　on　the　contrary　to　revenge　myself　on　my
  assailant；　I　could　not　have　revenged　myself　on　any　one　for
  anything　because　I　should　certainly　never　have　made　up　my　mind　to
  do　anything；　even　if　I　had　been　able　to。　　Why　should　I　not　have
  made　up　my　mind？　　About　that　in　particular　I　want　to　say　a　few
  words。
  III
  With　people　who　know　how　to　revenge　themselves　and　to　stand　up
  for　themselves　in　general；　how　is　it　done？　Why；　when　they　are
  possessed；　let　us　suppose；　by　the　feeling　of　revenge；　then　for
  the　time　there　is　nothing　else　but　that　feeling　left　in　their
  whole　being。　　Such　a　gentleman　simply　dashes　straight　for　his
  object　like　an　infuriated　bull　with　its　horns　down；　and　nothing
  but　a　wall　will　stop　him。　　（By　the　way：　facing　the　wall；　such
  gentlementhat　is；　the　〃direct〃　persons　and　men　of　actionare
  genuinely　nonplussed。　　For　them　a　wall　is　not　an　evasion；　as　for
  us　people　who　think　and　consequently　do　nothing；　it　is　not　an
  excuse　for　turning　aside；　an　excuse　for　which　we　are　always　very
  glad；　though　we　scarcely　believe　in　it　ourselves；　as　a　rule。　　No；
  they　are　nonplussed　in　all　sincerity。　　The　wall　has　for　them
  something　tranquillising；　morally　soothing；　final；　maybe　even
  something　mysterious　。。。　but　of　the　wall　later。）　　Well；　such　a
  direct　person　I　regard　as　the　real　normal　man；　as　his　tender
  mother　nature　wished　to　see　him　when　she　graciously　brought　him
  into　being　on　the　earth。　　I　envy　such　a　man　till　I　am　green　in
  the　face。　　He　is　stupid。　　I　am　not　disputing　that；　but　perhaps
  the　normal　man　should　be　stupid；　how　do　you　know？　　Perhaps　it　is
  very　beautiful；　in　fact。　　And　I　am　the　more　persuaded　of　that
  suspicion；　if　one　can　call　it　so；　by　the　fact　that　if　you　take；
  for　instance；　the　antithesis　of　the　normal　man；　that　is；　the　man
  of　acute　consciousness；　who　has　come；　of　course；　not　out　of　the
  lap　of　nature　but　out　of　a　retort　（this　is　almost　mysticism；
  gentlemen；　but　I　suspect　this；　too）；　this　retort…made　man　is
  sometimes　so　nonplussed　in　the　presence　of　his　antithesis　that
  with　all　his　exaggerated　consciousness　he　genuinely　thinks　of
  himself　as　a　mouse　and　not　a　man。　　It　may　be　an　acutely　conscious
  mouse；　yet　it　is　a　mouse；　while　the　other　is　a　man；　and
  therefore；　et　caetera；　et　caetera。　　And　the　worst　of　it　is；　he
  himself；　his　very　own　self；　looks　on　himself　as　a　mouse；　no　one
  asks　him　to　do　so；　and　that　is　an　important　point。
  Now　let　us　look　at　this　mouse　in　action。　　Let　us　suppose；　for
  instance；　that　it　feels　insulted；　too　（and　it　almost　always　does
  feel　insulted）；　and　wants　to　revenge　itself；　too。　　There　may　even
  be　a　greater　accumulation　of　spite　in　it　than　in　l'homme　de　la
  nature　et　de　la　verite。　　The　base　and　nasty　desire　to　vent　that
  spite　on　its　assailant　rankles　perhaps　even　more　nastily　in　it
  than　in　l'homme　de　la　nature　et　de　la　verite。　　For　through　his
  innate　stupidity　the　latter　looks　upon　his　revenge　as　justice
  pure　and　simple；　while　in　consequence　of　his　acute　consciousness
  the　mouse　does　not　believe　in　the　justice　of　it。　　To　come　at　last
  to　the　deed　itself；　to　the　very　act　of　revenge。　　Apart　from　the
  one　fundamental　nastiness　the　luckless　mouse　succeeds　in　creating
  around　it　so　many　other　nastinesses　in　the　form　of　doubts　and
  questions；　adds　to　the　one　question　so　many　unsettled　questions
  that　there　inevitably　works　up　around　it　a　sort　of　fatal　brew；　a
  stinking　mess；　made　up　of　its　doubts；　emotions；　and　of　the
  contempt　spat　upon　it　by　the　direct　men　of　action　who　stand
  solemnly　about　it　as　judges　and　arbitrators；　laughing　at　it　till
  their　healthy　sides　ache。　　Of　course　the　only　thing　left　for　it
  is　to　dismiss　all　that　with　a　wave　of　its　paw；　and；　with　a　smile
  of　assumed　contempt　in　which　it　does　not　even　itself　believe；
  creep　ignominiously　into　its　mouse…hole。　　There　in　its　nasty；
  stinking；　underground　home　our　insulted；　crushed　and　ridiculed
  mouse　promptly　becomes　absorbed　in　cold；　malignant　and；　above
  all；　everlasting　spite。　　For　forty　years　together　it　will
  remember　its　injury　down　to　the　smallest；　most　ignominious
  details；　and　every　time　will　add；　of　itself；　details　still　more
  ignominious；　spite