Once I quite made friends with

them, visited their homes, played preference, drank vodka, talked of

promotions .... But here let me make a digression.

We Russians, speaking generally, have never had those foolish

transcendental "romantics"--German, and still more French--on whom

nothing produces any effect; if there were an earthquake, if all France

perished at the barricades, they would still be the same, they would not

even have the decency to affect a change, but would still go on singing

their transcendental songs to the hour of their death, because they are

fools. We, in Russia, have no fools; that is well known. That is what

distinguishes us from foreign lands. Consequently these transcendental

natures are not found amongst us in their pure form. The idea that they

are is due to our "realistic" journalists and critics of that day, always on the look out for Kostanzhoglos and Uncle Pyotr Ivanitchs and foolishly

accepting them as our ideal; they have slandered our romantics, taking

them for the same transcendental sort as in Germany or France. On the

contrary, the characteristics of our "romantics" are absolutely and directly opposed to the transcendental European type, and no European

standard can be applied to them. (Allow me to make use of this word

"romantic"--an old-fashioned and much respected word which has

done good service and is familiar to all.) The characteristics of our

romantic are to understand everything, TO SEE EVERYTHING AND TO SEE IT

OFTEN INCOMPARABLY MORE CLEARLY THAN OUR MOST REALISTIC MINDS SEE IT; to

refuse to accept anyone or anything, but at the same time not to despise

anything; to give way, to yield, from policy; never to lose sight of a useful

practical object (such as rent-free quarters at the government expense,

pensions, decorations), to keep their eye on that object through all the

enthusiasms and volumes of lyrical poems, and at the same time to preserve

"the sublime and the beautiful" inviolate within them to the hour of

their death, and to preserve themselves also, incidentally, like some precious

jewel wrapped in cotton wool if only for the benefit of "the sublime

and the beautiful." Our "romantic" is a man of great breadth and the

greatest rogue of all our rogues, I assure you .... I can assure you from

experience, indeed. Of course, that is, if he is intelligent. But what am I

saying! The romantic is always intelligent, and I only meant to observe

that although we have had foolish romantics they don't count, and they

were only so because in the flower of their youth they degenerated into

Germans, and to preserve their precious jewel more comfortably, settled

somewhere out there--by preference in Weimar or the Black Forest.

I, for instance, genuinely despised my official work and did not openly

abuse it simply because I was in it myself and got a salary for it. Anyway,

take note, I did not openly abuse it. Our romantic would rather go out of

his mind--a thing, however, which very rarely happens--than take to

open abuse, unless he had some other career in view; and he is never

kicked out. At most, they would take him to the lunatic asylum as "the

King of Spain" if he should go very mad. But it is only the thin, fair people

who go out of their minds in Russia. Innumerable "romantics" attain later

in life to considerable rank in the service. Their many-sidedness is

remarkable! And what a faculty they have for the most contradictory

sensations! I was comforted by this thought even in those days, and I am of

the same opinion now. That is why there are so many "broad natures" among

us who never lose their ideal even in the depths of degradation; and though

they never stir a finger for their ideal, though they are arrant thieves and

knaves, yet they tearfully cherish their first ideal and are extraordinarily

honest at heart. Yes, it is only among us that the most incorrigible rogue

can be absolutely and loftily honest at heart without in the least ceasing to

be a rogue. I repeat, our romantics, frequently, become such accomplished

rascals (I use the term "rascals" affectionately), suddenly display

such a sense of reality and practical knowledge that their bewildered superiors

and the public generally can only ejaculate in amazement.

Their many-sidedness is really amazing, and goodness knows what it

may develop into later on, and what the future has in store for us. It is not

a poor material! I do not say this from any foolish or boastful patriotism.

But I feel sure that you are again imagining that I am joking. Or perhaps

it's just the contrary and you are convinced that I really think so. Anyway,

gentlemen, I shall welcome both views as an honour and a special favour.

And do forgive my digression.

I did not, of course, maintain friendly relations with my comrades and

soon was at loggerheads with them, and in my youth and inexperience I

even gave up bowing to them, as though I had cut off all relations. That,

however, only happened to me once.