Notes from Underground: Compare Translations

I am a sick man . . . I am a wicked man. An unattractive man. I think my liver hurts. However, I don’t know a fig about my sickness, and am not sure what it is that hurts me. I am not being treated and never have been, though I respect medicine and doctors. What’s more, I am also superstitious I the extreme; well, at least enough to respect medicine. (I’m sufficiently educated not to be superstitious, but I am.) No, sir, I refuse to be treated out of wickedness. Now, you will certainly not be so good as to understand this. Well, sir, but I understand it. I will not, of course, be able to explain to you precisely who is going to suffer in this case from my wickedness; I know perfectly well that I will in no way “muck things up” for the doctors by not taking their treatment; I know better than anyone that by all this I am harming only myself and no one else. But still, if I don’t get treated, it is out of wickedness. My liver hurts; well, then let it hurt even worse!

I’m a sick man . . . a mean man. There’s nothing attractive about me. I think there’s something wrong with my liver. But, actually, I don’t understand a damn thing about my sickness; I’m not even too sure what it is that’s ailing me. I’m not under treatment and never have been, although I have great respect for medicine and doctors. moreover, I’m morbidly superstitious—enough, at least, to respect medicine. with my education I shouldn’t be superstitious, but I am just the same. No, I’d say I refuse medical help simply out of contrariness. I don’t expect you to understand that, but it’s so. Of course, I can’t explain whom I’m trying to fool this way. I’m fully aware that I can’t spite the doctors by refusing their help. I know very well that I’m harming myself and no one else. But still, it’s out of spite that I refuse to ask for the doctors’ help. So my liver hurts? Good, let it hurt even more!

I am ill; I am full of spleen and repellent. I conceive there to be something wrong with my liver, for I cannot even think for the aching of my head. Yet what my complaint is I do not know. Medicine I cannot, I never could, take, although for medicine and doctors I have much reverence. Also, I am extremely superstitious: which, it may be, is why I cherish such a respect for the medical profession. I am well-educated, and therefore might have risen superior to such fancies, yet of them I am full to the core.

Also, I have no real desire to be cured of my ill-humour. I suppose you cannot understand this? No, I thought not; but I can understand it, although it would puzzle me to tell you exactly whom I am vexed with. I only know that I do not choose to offend the doctors by telling them that I am unable to accept their treatment. Also, I know — better than any one else can do — that I alone am my worst enemy, and that I am my own worst enemy far more than I am anyone else’s. However, if I am not to be cured, so much the worse for me and my evil passions. If my liver is out of order, so much the worse for my liver.

I’m a sick man. . . . I’m an evil man. I’m an unattractive man. I think my liver is sick; it hurts. But I really don’t understand squat about my sickness, and I’m not sure what hurts inside me. I’m not being treated, and have never been treated, even though I have respect for medicine and doctors. I’m also extremely superstitions—in fact, so superstitious that I even have respect for medicine. (I’m sufficiently educated not to be superstitious, but I am superstitious.) No, gentlemen, it’s because I’m evil that I don’t want to receive treatment. You, on your part, probably can’t understand this. Well, sir, I understand it. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to explain to you who exactly I’m trying to annoy by being evil; I know perfectly well that the doctors don’t give a shit if I’m refusing their treatment; I know better than anyone that all this is hurting only me, nobody else. Nevertheless, if I’m not seeking treatment, it’s because I’m evil and angry. My liver is sick and it hurts—well, let it hurt even more!

I’m a sick man… I’m a malicious man. An unattractive man, I am. I think I’ve got something wrong with my liver. Still, I know damn an about my sickness and don’t know for sure what it is I’ve got something wrong with. I’m not having treatment and never have had treatment, though I do respect medical science and doctors. What’s more, I’m superstitious in the extreme too; well, enough at least to respect medical science. (I’m sufficiently educated not to be superstitious, but superstitious I am.) No, sirs, it’s out of malice I don’t want to have treatment. Now you probably won’t deign to understand that. Well, sirs, but I do understand. It stands to reason, won’t be able to explain to you precisely who it is I’ll be spiting with my malice in this instance; I know perfectly well that by riot having their treatment I won’t be able to ‘do the dirty’ in any way even on the doctors; I know better than anyone that I’ll harm just myself alone by all this and no one else. But all the same, if I’m not having treatment, then it’s out of malice. I’ve got something wrong with my liver, so let there go and be something even worse wrong with it!

I am a sick person . . . A spiteful one. An unattractive person, too. I think my liver is diseased. But I don’t give a damn about my disease and in fact I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. I do not seek treatment and have never sought treatment, though I respect medicine and doctors. Furthermore, I am superstitious to an extreme — well, only enough to respect medicine. (I am sufficiently educated that I shouldn’t be superstitious, but I am superstitious.) No, sir, I won’t seek treatment out of spite. And this, I supposed, you won’t deign to understand. Well, sir, I do understand it. Of course, in this case, I won’t be able to explain it to you, whom I season with my spite. I know perfectly well that I cannot ‘befoul’ the doctors with the fact that I’m not being treated by them; I know better than anyone that I am only harming myself with all this, and no one else. But nonetheless, if I do not seek treatment, it is out of spite. My little old liver is diseased — and may it be even more severely diseased!

I am a sick man. . . . I am a spiteful man. An unattractive man. I think that my liver hurts. But actually, I don’t know a damn thing about my illness. I am not even sure what it is that hurts. I am not in treatment and never have been, although I respect both medicine and doctors. Besides, I am superstitious in the extreme; well, at least to the extent of respecting medicine. (I am sufficiently educated not to be superstitious, but I am.) No, sir, I refuse to see a doctor simply out of spite. Now, that is something that you probably will fail to understand. Well, I understand it. Naturally, I will not be able to explain to you precisely whom I will injure in this instance by my spite. I know perfectly well that I am certainly not giving the doctors a “dirty deal” by not seeking treatment. I know better than anyone that I will only harm myself by this, and no one else. And yet, if I don’t seek a cure, it is out of spite. My liver hurts? Good, let it hurt still more!

I am a sick man . . . I am a nasty man. A truly unattractive man. I think there’s something wrong with my liver. But then again, I don’t understand a damn thing about my sickness, and I don’t know for sure what’s wrong with me. I’m not seeing a doctor about it and never have, even though I do have respect for medicine and doctors. What’s more, I am superstitious to the extreme; well, at least to the extent of respecting medicine. (I am sufficiently educated not to be superstitious, but I am.) No sir, it’s out of nastiness that I don’t want to see a doctor. you, my dear sir, probably don’t understand that. Well, I do. Of course, I can’t explain exactly who’ll be put in a pickle in this case by my nastiness; I know full well that I can in no way “foul up” even the doctors by not going to them for treatment; I know better than anyone that all this will harm just me alone and no one else. But, nonetheless, if I don’t get treatment, it’s from nastiness. My liver hurts, all right then—let it hurt even worse!

I am a sick man … I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I think there’s something wrong with my liver. But I don’t know a damn thing about my sickness and I don’t know for sure what’s wrong with me. I’m not seeing a doctor and have never consulted one, although I respect medicine and doctors. Besides, I’m also extremely superstitious; well, at least enough to respect medicine. (I am educated enough not to be superstitious, but I am.) No, sirs, I don’t consult a doctor out of spite. Now, that you certainly wouldn’t deign to understand. Well, with all due respect, I, on the other hand, understand. Of course, I can’t explain to you exactly who I’m spiting in this case; I know perfectly well there’s no way I could actually “revile” doctors by refusing to consult them. I know better than anyone that I will harm only myself and no one else with all of this. But all the same, if I do not consult a doctor, it is out of spite. My liver hurts—well, then, let it torment me even more!

I’m a sick man . . . I’m a spiteful man. I’m an unattractive man. I think there’s something wrong with my liver. But I understand damn all about my illness and I can’t say for certain which part of me is affected. I’m not receiving treatment for it and never have, although I do respect medicine and doctors. What’s more, l’m still extremely superstitious — well, sufficiently to respect medicine. (I’m educated enough not to be superstitious, but I am superstitious.) Oh no, I’m refusing treatment out of spite. That’s something you probably can’t bring yourselves to understand. Well, I understand it. Of course, in this case I can’t explain exactly to you whom I’m trying to harm by my spite. I realize perfectly well that I cannot ‘besmirch’ the doctors by not consulting them. I know better than anyone that by all this I’m harming no one but myself. All the same, if I refuse to have treatment it’s out of spite. So, if my liver hurts, let it hurt even more!

I am a sick man…. I am an angry man. I am an unattractive man. I think there is something wrong with my liver. But I don’t understand the least thing about my illness, and I don’t know for certain what part of me is affected. I am not having any treatment for it, and never have had, although I have a great respect for medicine and for doctors. I am besides extremely superstitious, if only in having such respect for medicine. (I am well educated enough not to be superstitious, but superstitious I am.) No, I refuse treatment out of spite. That is something you will probably not understand. Well, I understand it. I can’t of course explain who my spite is directed against in this matter; I know perfectly well that I can’t ‘score off’ the doctors in any way by not consulting them; I know better than anybody that I am harming nobody but myself. All the same, if I don’t have treatment, it is out of spite. Is my liver out of order? — let it get worse!

I am a sick man . . . I am a spiteful man. I am an unpleasant man. I think my liver is diseased. However, I don’t know beans about my disease, and I am not sure what is bothering me. I don’t treat it and never have, though I respect medicine and doctors. Besides, I am extremely superstitious, let’s say sufficiently so to respect medicine. (I am educated enough not to be superstitious, but I am.) No, I refuse to treat it out of spite. You probably will not understand that. Well, but I understand it. Of course, I can’t explain to you just whom I am annoying in this case by my spite. I am perfectly well aware that I cannot “get even” with the doctors by not consulting them. I know better than anyone that I thereby injure only myself and no one else. But still, if I don’t treat it, it is out of spite. My liver is bad, well then—let it get even worse!

I am a sick man . . . . I am a spiteful man. No, I am not a pleasant man at all. I believe there is something wrong with my liver. however, I don’t know a damn thing about my liver; neither do I know whether there is anything really wrong with me. I am not under medical treatment, and never have been, though I do respect medicine and doctors. In addition, I am extremely superstitious, at least sufficiently so to respect medicine. (I am well educated enough not to be superstitious, but I am superstitious for all that.) The truth is, I refuse medical treatment out of spite. I don’t suppose you will understand that. Well, I do. I don’t expect I shall be able to explain to you who it is I am actually trying to annoy in this case by my spite; I realize full well that I can’t “hurt” the doctors by refusing to be treated by them; I realise better than any one that by all this I am only hurting myself and no one else. Still, the fact remains that if I refuse to be medically treated, it is only out of spite. My liver hurts me—well, let it damn well hurt—the more it hurts the better.

I am a sick man. . . . I am a spiteful man. I am a most unpleasant man. I think my liver is diseased. Then again, I don’t know a thing about my illness; I’m not even sure what hurts. I’m not being treated and never have been, though I respect both medicine and doctors. Besides, I’m extremely superstitious—well at least enough to respect medicine. (I’m sufficiently educated not to be superstitious; but I am, anyway.) No, gentlemen, it’s out of spite that I don’t wish to be treated. Now then, that’s something you probably won’t understand. Well, I do. Of course, I won’t really be able to explain to you precisely who will be hurt by my spite in this case; I know perfectly well that I can’t possibly “get even” with doctors by refusing their treatment; I know better than anyone that all this is going to hurt me alone, and no one else. Even so, if I refuse to be treated, it’s out of spite. My liver hurts? Good, let it hurt even more!

I am a sick man … I’m a spiteful man. I’m an unattractive man. I think there is something wrong with my liver. But I cannot make head or tail of my illness and I’m not absolutely certain which part of me is sick. I’m not receiving any treatment, nor have I ever done, although I do respect medicine and doctors. Besides, I’m still extremely superstitious, if only in that I respect medicine. (I’m sufficiently well educated not to be superstitious, but I am.) No, it’s out of spite that I don’t want to be cured. You’ll probably not see fit to understand this. But I do understand it. Of course, I won’t be able to explain to you precisely whom I will harm in this instance by my spite; I know perfectly well that I cannot in any way ‘sully’ the doctors by not consulting them. I know better than anyone that in doing this I shall harm no one but myself. Anyway, if I’m not receiving medical treatment it’s out of spite. If my liver is hurting, then let it hurt all the more!

I ’m a sick man… a spiteful man… an unattractive man, that’s what I am. I suspect there’s something wrong with my liver. But I don’t understand a damn thing about my illness, nor do I know for sure what’s wrong with me. I’m not being treated for anything and never have been, though I respect doctors and medical science. Besides, I’m extremely superstitious, at least enough to have respect for medicine. (I’m sufficiently educated not to be superstitious, but I am superstitious.) It’s because I’m spiteful that I don’t want to have any treatment. Now that’s something you’re probably not inclined to understand. Alright, but I do understand it. I couldn’t of course explain to you who it is that I will actually hurt by my spite; I know perfectly well that I would be quite unable to foul things up for the doctors by not being treated by them; I’m aware, no one more so, that all this will harm only myself and nobody else. All the same, if I’m not being treated, it’s entirely out of spite. There’s something wrong with my liver – well, let it get worse!

I am a sick man.⁠ ⁠… I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don’t consult a doctor for it, and never have, though I have a respect for medicine and doctors. Besides, I am extremely superstitious, sufficiently so to respect medicine, anyway (I am well-educated enough not to be superstitious, but I am superstitious). No, I refuse to consult a doctor from spite. That you probably will not understand. Well, I understand it, though. Of course, I can’t explain who it is precisely that I am mortifying in this case by my spite: I am perfectly well aware that I cannot “pay out” the doctors by not consulting them; I know better than anyone that by all this I am only injuring myself and no one else. But still, if I don’t consult a doctor it is from spite. My liver is bad, well⁠—let it get worse!

Я человек больной… Я злой человек. Непривлекательный я человек. Я думаю, что у меня болит печень. Впрочем, я ни шиша не смыслю в моей болезни и не знаю наверно, что у меня болит. Я не лечусь и никогда не лечился, хотя медицину и докторов уважаю. К тому же я еще и суеверен до крайности; ну, хоть настолько, чтоб уважать медицину. (Я достаточно образован, чтоб не быть суеверным, но я суеверен). Нет-с, я не хочу лечиться со злости. Вот этого, наверно, не изволите понимать. Ну-с, а я понимаю. Я, разумеется, не сумею вам объяснить, кому именно я насолю в этом случае моей злостью; я отлично хорошо знаю, что и докторам я никак не смогу «нагадить» тем, что у них не лечусь; я лучше всякого знаю, что всем этим я единственно только себе поврежу и никому больше. Но все-таки, если я не лечусь, так это со злости. Печенка болит, так вот пускай же ее еще крепче болит!

[Google translation of this Russian version:] I am a sick man… I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I think my liver is hurting. Though, for that matter, I don’t understand a damn thing about my illness and don’t know for sure what is hurting. I don’t seek treatment and never have, even though I respect medicine and doctors. Besides, I am superstitious to the extreme—well, at least enough to respect medicine. (I am educated enough not to be superstitious, yet I am superstitious.) No, sir, I refuse treatment out of spite. That, most likely, is something you won’t quite grasp. Well, I do. Of course, I couldn’t explain to you exactly whom I’m spiting with this attitude; I know perfectly well that I can’t possibly “stick it” to the doctors by not seeing them; I know better than anyone that I’m only harming myself and no one else. But still, if I don’t seek treatment, it’s out of spite. My liver hurts—well, let it hurt even worse!