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Yes, what would become of an axe there? Ivan cried suddenly, with a sort of savage and insistent obstinacy. What would become of an axe in space? Quelle idée! If it were to fall to any distance, it would begin, I think, flying round the earth without knowing why, like a satellite. The astronomers would calculate the rising and the setting of the axe, Gatzuk would put it in his calendar, thats all. You are stupid, awfully stupid, said Ivan peevishly. Fib more cleverly or I wont listen. You want to get the better of me by realism, to convince me that you exist, but I dont want to believe you exist! I wont believe it! But I am not fibbing, its all the truth; the truth is unhappily hardly ever amusing: I see you persist in expecting something big of me, and perhaps something fine. Thats a great pity, for I only give what I can Dont talk philosophy, you ass! Philosophy, indeed, when all my right side is numb and I am moaning and groaning. Ive tried all the medical faculty: they can diagnose beautifully, they have the whole of your disease at their finger-tips, but theyve no idea how to cure you. There was an enthusiastic little student here, You may die, said he, but youll know perfectly what disease you are dying off! And then what a way they have of sending people to specialists. We only diagnose, they say, but go to such-and-such a specialist, hell cure you. The old doctor who used to cure all sorts of disease has completely disappeared, I assure you, now there are only specialists and they all advertise in the newspapers. If anything is wrong with your nose, they send you to Paris: there, they say, is a European specialist who cures noses. If you go to Paris, hell look at your nose; I can only cure your right nostril, hell tell you, for I dont cure the left nostril, thats not my speciality, but go to Vienna, there theres a specialist who will cure your left nostril. What are you to do? I fell back on popular remedies, a German doctor advised me to rub myself with honey and salt in the bathhouse. Solely to get an extra bath I went, smeared myself all over and it did me no good at all. In despair I wrote to Count Mattei in Milan. He sent me a book and some drops, bless him, and, only fancy, Hoffs malt extract cured me! I bought it by accident, drank a bottle and a half of it, and I was ready to dance, it took it away completely. I made up my mind to write to the papers to thank him, I was prompted by a feeling of gratitude, and only fancy, it led to no end of a bother: not a single paper would take my letter. It would be very reactionary, they said, no one will believe it. Le diable nexiste point. Youd better remain anonymous, they advised me. What use is a letter of thanks if its anonymous? I laughed with the men at the newspaper office, its reactionary to believe in God in our days, I said, but I am the devil, so I may be believed in. We quite understand that, they said. Who doesnt believe in the devil? Yet it wont do, it might injure our reputation. As a joke, if you like. But I thought as a joke it wouldnt be very witty. So it wasnt printed. And do you know, I have felt sore about it to this day. My best feelings, gratitude, you for instance, are literally denied me simply from my social position. Philosophical reflections again? Ivan snarled malignantly. God preserve me from it, but one cant help complaining sometimes. I am a slandered man. You upbraid me every moment with being stupid. One can see you are young. My dear fellow, intelligence isnt the only thing! I have naturally a kind and merry heart. I also write vaudevilles of all sorts. You seem to take me for Hlestakov grown old, but my fate is a far more serious one. Before time was, by some decree which I could never make out, I was predestined to deny and yet I am genuinely good-hearted and not at all inclined to negation. No, you must go and deny, without denial theres no criticism and what would a journal be without a column of criticism? Without criticism it would be nothing but one hosannah. But nothing but hosannah is not enough for life, the hosannah must be tried in the crucible of doubt and so on, in the same style. But I dont meddle in that, I didnt create it, I am not answerable for it. Well, theyve chosen their scapegoat, theyve made me write the column of criticism and so life was made possible. We understand that comedy; I, for instance, simply ask for annihilation. No, live, I am told, for thered be nothing without you. If everything in the universe were sensible, nothing would happen. |
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