Historical fiction; Russia -- Social conditions -- 1801-1917 -- Fiction
“If this ‘Explanation’ gets into anybody’s hands, and they have
patience to read it through, they may consider me a madman, or a
schoolboy, or, more likely, a man condemned to die, who thought it only
natural to conclude that all men, excepting himself, esteem life far
too lightly, live it far too carelessly and lazily, and are, therefore,
one and all, unworthy of it. Well, I affirm that my reader is wrong
again, for my convictions have nothing to do with my sentence of death.
Ask them, ask any one of them, or all of them, what they mean by
happiness! Oh, you may be perfectly sure that if Columbus was happy, it
was not after he had discovered America, but when he was discovering
it! You may be quite sure that he reached the culminating point of his
happiness three days before he saw the New World with his actual eyes,
when his mutinous sailors wanted to tack about, and return to Europe!
What did the New World matter after all? Columbus had hardly seen it
when he died, and in reality he was entirely ignorant of what he had
discovered. The important thing is life—life and nothing else! What is
any ‘discovery’ whatever compared with the incessant, eternal discovery
of life?
“But what is the use of talking? I’m afraid all this is so commonplace
that my confession will be taken for a schoolboy exercise—the work of
some ambitious lad writing in the hope of his work ‘seeing the light’;
or perhaps my readers will say that ‘I had perhaps something to say,
but did not know how to express it.’
“Let me add to this that in every idea emanating from genius, or even
in every serious human idea—born in the human brain—there always
remains something—some sediment—which cannot be expressed to others,
though one wrote volumes and lectured upon it for five-and-thirty
years. There is always a something, a remnant, which will never come
out from your brain, but will remain there with you, and you alone, for
ever and ever, and you will die, perhaps, without having imparted what
may be the very essence of your idea to a single living soul.
“So that if I cannot now impart all that has tormented me for the last
six months, at all events you will understand that, having reached my
‘last convictions,’ I must have paid a very dear price for them. That
is what I wished, for reasons of my own, to make a point of in this my
‘Explanation.’
“But let me resume.”
VI.
“I will not deceive you. ‘Reality’ got me so entrapped in its meshes
now and again during the past six months, that I forgot my ‘sentence’
(or perhaps I did not wish to think of it), and actually busied myself
with affairs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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