THE POSSESSED
A monologue from the
novel by Fyodor Dostoevsky
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NOTE: This monologue is reprinted
from The Possessed. Trans. Constance Garnett. New York:
Macmillian Company, 1916. |
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PYOTR: Listen, when I set off to come here, I mean
here in the large sense, to this town, ten days ago, I made up
my mind, of course, to assume a character. It would have been
best to have done without anything, to have kept one's own character,
wouldn't it? There is no better dodge than one's own character,
because no one believes in it. I meant, I must own, to assume
the part of a fool, because it is easier to be a fool than to
act one's own character; but as a fool is after all something
extreme, and anything extreme excites curiosity, I ended by sticking
to my own character. And what is my own character? The golden
mean: neither wise nor foolish, rather stupid, and dropped from
the moon, as sensible people say here, isn't that it? Ah, you
agree—I'm very glad; I knew beforehand that it was your
own opinion. . . . You needn't trouble, I am not annoyed, and
I didn't describe myself in that way to get a flattering contradiction
from you—no, you're not stupid, you're clever. ... Ah! you're
smiling again! . . . I've blundered once more. You would not
have said "you're clever," granted; I'll let it pass
anyway. Passons, as papa says, and, in parenthesis, don't
be vexed with my verbosity. By the way, I always say a lot, that
is, use a great many words and talk very fast, and I never speak
well. And why do I use so many words, and why do I never speak
well? Because I don't know how to speak. People who can speak
well, speak briefly. So that I am stupid, am I not? But as this
gift of stupidity is natural to me, why shouldn't I make skilful
use of it? And I do make use of it. It's true that as I came
here, I did think, at first, of being silent. But you know silence
is a great talent, and therefore incongruous for me, and secondly
silence would be risky, anyway. So I made up my mind finally
that it would be best to talk, but to talk stupidly—that
is, to talk and talk and talk—to be in a tremendous hurry
to explain things, and in the end to get muddled in my own explanations,
so that my listener would walk away without hearing the end,
with a shrug, or, better still, with a curse. You succeed straight
off in persuading them of your simplicity, in boring them and
in being incomprehensible—three advantages all at once!
Do you suppose anybody will suspect you of mysterious designs
after that? Why, every one of them would take it as a personal
affront if anyone were to say I had secret designs. And I sometimes
amuse them too, and that's priceless. Why, they're ready to forgive
me everything now, just because the clever fellow who used to
publish manifestoes out there turns out to be stupider than themselves—that's
so, isn't it? From your smile I see you approve.
MORE
MONOLOGUES BY FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY |
