a confession(忏悔录)-第2章

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good；　but　I　was　young；　passionate　and　alone；　completely　alone　when

I　sought　goodness。　　Every　time　I　tried　to　express　my　most　sincere

desire；　which　was　to　be　morally　good；　I　met　with　contempt　and

ridicule；　but　as　soon　as　I　yielded　to　low　passions　I　was　praised

and　encouraged。

　　　　　Ambition；　love　of　power；　covetousness；　lasciviousness；　pride；

anger；　and　revenge　　were　all　respected。

　　　　　Yielding　to　those　passions　I　became　like　the　grown…up　folk　and

felt　that　they　approved　of　me。　　The　kind　aunt　with　whom　I　lived；

herself　the　purest　of　beings；　always　told　me　that　there　was　nothing

she　so　desired　for　me　as　that　I　should　have　relations　with　a

married　woman：　　'Rien　ne　forme　un　juene　homme；　comme　une　liaison

avec　une　femme　comme　il　faut'。　　＇Footnote：　　Nothing　so　forms　a

young　man　as　an　intimacy　with　a　woman　of　good　breeding。＇　　Another

happiness　she　desired　for　me　was　that　I　should　become　an　aide…de…

camp；　and　if　possible　aide…de…camp　to　the　Emperor。　　But　the

greatest　happiness　of　all　would　be　that　I　should　marry　a　very　rich

girl　and　so　become　possessed　of　as　many　serfs　as　possible。

　　　　　I　cannot　think　of　those　years　without　horror；　loathing　and

heartache。　　I　killed　men　in　war　and　challenged　men　to　duels　in

order　to　kill　them。　　I　lost　at　cards；　consumed　the　labor　of　the

peasants；　sentenced　them　to　punishments；　lived　loosely；　and

deceived　people。　　Lying；　robbery；　adultery　of　all　kinds；

drunkenness；　violence；　murder　　there　was　no　crime　I　did　not

commit；　and　in　spite　of　that　people　praised　my　conduct　and　my

contemporaries　considered　and　consider　me　to　be　a　comparatively

moral　man。

　　　　　So　I　lived　for　ten　years。

　　　　　During　that　time　I　began　to　write　from　vanity；　covetousness；

and　pride。　　In　my　writings　I　did　the　same　as　in　my　life。　　to　get

fame　and　money；　for　the　sake　of　which　I　wrote；　it　was　necessary　to

hide　the　good　and　to　display　the　evil。　　and　I　did　so。　　How　often　in

my　writings　I　contrived　to　hide　under　the　guise　of　indifference；　or

even　of　banter；　those　strivings　of　mine　towards　goodness　which　gave

meaning　to　my　life！　　And　I　succeeded　in　this　and　was　praised。

　　　　　At　twenty…six　years　of　age　＇Footnote：　He　was　in　fact　27　at　the

time。＇　I　returned　to　Petersburg　after　the　war；　and　met　the　writers。　

They　received　me　as　one　of　themselves　and　flattered　me。　　And　before

I　had　time　to　look　round　I　had　adopted　the　views　on　life　of　the　set

of　authors　I　had　come　among；　and　these　views　completely　obliterated

all　my　former　strivings　to　improve　　they　furnished　a　theory　which

justified　the　dissoluteness　of　my　life。

　　　　　The　view　of　life　of　these　people；　my　comrades　in　authorship；

consisted　in　this：　that　life　in　general　goes　on　developing；　and　in

this　development　we　　men　of　thought　　have　the　chief　part；　and

among　men　of　thought　it　is　we　　artists　and　poets　　who　have　the

greatest　influence。　　Our　vocation　is　to　teach　mankind。　　And　lest

the　simple　question　should　suggest　itself：　What　do　I　know；　and　what

can　I　teach？　it　was　explained　in　this　theory　that　this　need　not　be

known；　and　that　the　artist　and　poet　teach　unconsciously。　　I　was

considered　an　admirable　artist　and　poet；　and　therefore　it　was　very

natural　for　me　to　adopt　this　theory。　　I；　artist　and　poet；　wrote　and

taught　without　myself　knowing　what。　　For　this　I　was　paid　money；　I

had　excellent　food；　lodging；　women；　and　society；　and　I　had　fame；

which　showed　that　what　I　taught　was　very　good。

　　　　　this　faith　in　the　meaning　of　poetry　and　in　the　development　of

life　was　a　religion；　and　I　was　one　of　its　priests。　　To　be　its

priest　was　very　pleasant　and　profitable。　　And　I　lived　a

considerable　time　in　this　faith　without　doubting　its　validity。　　But

in　the　second　and　still　more　in　the　third　year　of　this　life　I　began

to　doubt　the　infallibility　of　this　religion　and　to　examine　it。　　My

first　cause　of　doubt　was　that　I　began　to　notice　that　the　priests　of

this　religion　were　not　all　in　accord　among　themselves。　　Some　said：

We　are　the　best　and　most　useful　teachers；　we　teach　what　is　needed；

but　the　others　teach　wrongly。　　Others　said：　No！　we　are　the　real

teachers；　and　you　teach　wrongly。　　and　they　disputed；　quarrelled；

abused；　cheated；　and　tricked　one　another。　　There　were　also　many

among　us　who　did　not　care　who　was　right　and　who　was　wrong；　but　were

simply　bent　on　attaining　their　covetous　aims　by　means　of　this

activity　of　ours。　　All　this　obliged　me　to　doubt　the　validity　of　our

creed。

　　　　　Moreover；　having　begun　to　doubt　the　truth　of　the　authors'

creed　itself；　I　also　began　to　observe　its　priests　more　attentively；

and　I　became　convinced　that　almost　all　the　priests　of　that

religion；　the　writers；　were　immoral；　and　for　the　most　part　men　of

bad；　worthless　character；　much　inferior　to　those　whom　I　had　met　in

my　former　dissipated　and　military　life；　but　they　were　self…

confident　and　self…satisfied　as　only　those　can　be　who　are　quite

holy　or　who　do　not　know　what　holiness　is。　　These　people　revolted

me；　I　became　revolting　to　myself；　and　I　realized　that　that　faith

was　a　fraud。

　　　　　But　strange　to　say；　though　I　understood　this　fraud　and

renounced　it；　yet　I　did　not　renounce　the　rank　these　people　gave　me：

the　rank　of　artist；　poet；　and　teacher。　　I　naively　imagined　that　I

was　a　poet　and　artist　and　could　teach　everybody　without　myself

knowing　what　I　was　teaching；　and　I　acted　accordingly。

　　　　　From　my　intimacy　with　these　men　I　acquired　a　new　vice：

abnormally　developed　pride　and　an　insane　assurance　that　it　was　my

vocation　to　teach　men；　without　knowing　what。

　　　　　To　remember　that　time；　and　my　own　state　of　mind　and　that　of

those　men　（though　there　are　thousands　like　them　today）；　is　sad　and

terrible　and　ludicrous；　and　arouses　exactly　the　feeling　one

experiences　in　a　lunatic　asylum。

　　　　　We　were　all　then　convinced　that　it　was　necessary　for　us　to

speak；　write；　and　print　as　quickly　as　possible　and　as　much　as

possible；　and　that　it　was　all　wanted　for　the　good　of　humanity。　　And

thousands　of　us；　contradicting　and　abusing　one　another；　all　printed

and　wrote　　teaching　others。　　And　without　noticing　that　we　knew

nothing；　and　that　to　the　simplest　of　life's　questions：　What　is　good

and　what　is　evil？　we　did　not　know　how　to　reply；　we　all　talked　at

the　same　time；　not　listening　to　one　another；　sometimes　seconding

and　praising　one　another　in　order　to　be　seconded　and　praised　in

turn；　sometimes　getting　angry　with　one　another　　just　as　in　a

lunatic　asylum。

　　　　　Thousands　of　workmen　laboured　to　the　extreme　limit　of　their

strength　day　and　night；　setting　the　type　and　printing　millions　of

words　which　the　post　carried　all　over　Russia；　and　we　still　went　on

teaching　and　could　in　no　way　find　time　to　teach　enough；　and　were

always　angry　that　sufficient　attention　was　not　paid　us。

　　　　　It　was　terribly　strange；　but　is　now　quite　comprehensible。　　Our

real　innermost　concern　was　to　get　as　much　money　and　praise　as

possible。　　To　gain　that　end　we　could　do　nothing　except　write　books

and　papers。　　So　we　did　that。　　But　in　order　to　do　such　useless　work

and　to　feel　assured　that　we　were　very　important　people　we　required

a　theory　justifying　our　activity。　　And　so　among　us　this　theory　was

devised：　　〃All　that　exists　is　reasonable。　　All　that　exists

develops。　　And　it　all　develops　by　means　of　Culture。　　And　Culture　is

measured　by　the　circulation　of　books　and　newspapers。　　And　we　are

paid　money　and　are　respected　because　we　write　books　and　newspapers；

and　therefore　we　are　the　most　useful　and　the　best　of　men。〃　　This

theory　would　have　been　all　very　well　if　we　had　been　unanimous；　but

as　every　thought　expressed　by　one　of　us　was　always　met　by　a

diametrically　opposite　thought　expressed　by　another；　we　ought　to

have　been　driven　to　reflection。　　But　we　ignored　this；　people　paid

us　money　and　those　on　our　side　praised　us；　so　each　of　us　considered

himself　justified。

　　　　　It　is　now　clear　to　me　that　this　was　just　as　in　a　lunatic

asylum；　but　then　I　only　dimly　suspected　this；　and　like　all

lunatics；　simply　called　all　men　lunatics　except　myself。