em, and in my youth and inexperience I
even gave up bowing to them, as though I had cut off all relations.
That, however, only happened to me once. As a rule, I was always alone.

In the first place I spent most of my time at home, reading. I tried
to stifle all that was continually seething within me by means of
external impressions. And the only external means I had was reading.
Reading, of course, was a great help--exciting me, giving me pleasure
and pain. But at times it bored me fearfully. One longed for movement
in spite of everything, and I plunged all at once into dark,
underground, loathsome vice of the pettiest kind. My wretched passions
were acute, smarting, from my continual, sickly irritability I had
hysterical impulses, with tears and convulsions. I had no resource
except reading, that is, there was nothing in my surroundings which I
could respect and which attracted me. I was overwhelmed with
depression, too; I had an hysterical craving for incongruity and for
contrast, and so I took to vice. I have not said all this to justify
myself.... But, no! I am lying. I did want to justify myself. I
make that little observation for my own benefit, gentlemen. I don't
want to lie. I vowed to myself I would not.

And so, furtively, timidly, in solitude, at night, I indulged in filthy
vice, with a feeling of shame which never deserted me, even at the most
loathsome moments, and which at such moments nearly made me curse.
Already even then I had my underground world in my soul. I was
fearfully afraid of being seen, of being met, of being recognised. I
visited various obscure haunts.

One night as I was passing a tavern I saw through a lighted window some
gentlemen fighting with billiard cues, and saw one of them thrown out
of the window. At other times I should have felt very much disgusted,
but I was in such a mood at the time, that I actually envied the
gentleman thrown out of the window--and I envied him so much that I
even went into the tavern and into the billiard-room. "Perhaps," I
thought, "I'll have a fight, too, and they'll throw me out of the
window."

I was not drunk--but what is one to do--depression will drive a man to
such a pitch of hysteria? But nothing happened. It seemed that I was
not even equal to being thrown out of the window and I went away
without having my fight.

An officer put me in my place from the first moment.

I was standing by the billiard-table and in my igno