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The Dream of a Ridiculous Man

Written by Fyodor Dostoevsky

Translated by R.E. Parrish

Cover art by Jacki Chiu

I. I am a ridiculous man. Nowadays, they call me a madman. This would be an improvement of sorts, if I didnt remain just as ridiculous as ever in their eyes. But now I dont care, because now they are all dear to me, even when they laugh at me in fact, precisely then, they are all the dearer. I would laugh with them not at myself, but out of love for them, if it werent so heartbreaking for me even to look at them. Heartbreaking because they dont know the truth, and I do. Oh, how heavy it is to know this truth! But they dont understand. No, not at all. In the past, I was upset at seeming ridiculous. Or rather, not seeming, but being. I have always been ridiculous, and I know that, maybe, I have been since my very birth. It may have been at seven years old that I realized that I was ridiculous. Then I went to school, and then to university and I found that the more I studied, the more fully I comprehended my own ridiculousness. It seemed that all of the university-level sciences existed only to explain and prove to me, more and more as I delved further and further into study, that I was ridiculous. And as it went in the sciences, so it went in life. It grew in me, every year, this concept that I was the most ridiculous figure in every one of my relationships. Everyone always laughed at me. But they didnt know not one of them guessed that if there was one person on this earth aware of the fact that I was ridiculous, it was myself, and what vexed me more than anything was that they didnt know that. But it was my own fault I was
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always so proud that I never admitted it to anyone. This pride had grown within me over the years, and Im sure that if I had ever allowed myself to admit to anyone that I was ridiculous, I would have shot myself the very same evening. Oh, how I tortured myself in my youth, thinking that I might slip up and admit it to my classmates! But as I grew older, despite knowing more and more about my horrible quality, I became somehow calmer. I say somehow, because I still dont understand why. Maybe it was due to the strange hollowness growing in my soul, and which was becoming infinitely more pervasive by the day, the realization that absolutely anywhere in the world, it was all the same. For a long time, this idea had lurked in some corner of my mind, almost unseen, but last year, it suddenly and fully emerged. All of a sudden, I felt that it would be the same to me if the world continued to exist, or if it didnt. In fact, I began to feel that nothing existed at all. At first, I figured that some things must have existed in the past, but then I supposed that there hadnt been anything then, either, and that it only seemed so to us now. Little by little, I became convinced that there also wouldnt be anything in the future. Then, I stopped getting angry with people, and almost didnt take any notice of them. This was manifested in very small ways: for example, I would knock into people as I walked through the streets. And this wasnt because I was lost in thought what did I have to think about? I had simply stopped thinking altogether, because nothing mattered to me. It would have been nice if I could have answered any of my own questions; oh, but not a
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single one was answered, and I had so very many! But to me, everything was the same, nothing mattered, and thus all of my questions disappeared. And then, after that, I realized the truth. I realized this truth last November on the third of November, to be precise and from this time on, I remember every moment. It was a gloomy evening, the gloomiest possible evening. I returned home at eleven oclock at night, and I remember thinking that there couldnt possibly be a gloomier time of day. Even in a physical sense. The rain had been pouring all day, and it was the most cold and dreary rain I had ever seen. As I recall, it could even be called formidable it seemed to have some kind of explicit hostility to mankind. But suddenly, just before the eleventh hour, the rain stopped. In crept a horrible humidity, even greyer and colder than the rain had been, and there rose some kind of mist, from every stone on the street and from the furthest reaches of every alley. I suddenly thought that it would be more comforting if all the gas streetlights were extinguished, because when they were lit everything was illuminated and visibly miserable. I had barely eaten that day, and in the early evening, I had been sitting with a certain engineer and two other friends. I was sitting completely silent, and it seemed that I was boring them. They were talking about something in a defiant tone, and had seemed even to get worked up over it. But to them, too, everything was all the same, and I could see that they were only pretending to care. I had suddenly said to them: Gentlemen, you dont really care, do you? They hadn't been offended, but had simply
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laughed at me. They did this because I had said it without any note of reproach, because I didnt care about anything either. They could see it, and they had been amused by it. While I was out and about, thinking about the gas streetlamps, I glanced up at the sky. It was horribly dark, but one could clearly distinguish a patchwork of clouds, and between the clouds were scraps of bottomless black. Suddenly, I observed a little star in one of these black spots, and began to stare at it fixedly. This star gave me an idea: I resolved this night to kill myself. Two months previously, I had decided that I would kill myself, and even poor as I was, I had gone out and bought myself a beautiful revolver and had loaded it the very same day. But two months had passed, and the revolver had lain untouched in the box. But now because it was all the same to me, I wanted to pick a meaningful moment, for what reason Im not sure. And so, every night for two months, I would think on the way home, Tonight I will shoot myself . But I kept waiting for the right moment. And now, here, this star gave me the determination to actually kill myself that night, without fail. But why this little star gave me the idea I do not know. And here, while I was looking at the star, a little girl grabbed me by the elbow. The street was already empty, and there was no one else around. A little way off, a cabdriver was sleeping in his car. The girl was about eight years old, and was wearing a little kerchief and dress, all wet, but in particular I remember her little worn-out, broken shoes. They caught my eye more than anything else. She suddenly pulled me by the elbow and shouted. She wasnt crying, but was shouting some indistinguishable words
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she couldnt pronounce them very well, because she was shaking from the cold. She seemed very scared and finally cried desperately: Mommy! Mommy! I turned to face her, but didnt say anything, and then started to leave, but she ran up to me and pulled at me again, and in her voice was a tone, which in frightened children indicates despair. I know this sound. While she didnt say anything else, I understood that her mother was dying somewhere, or else something equally bad was happening, and she had been trying to call someone, to find something, in order to help her mother. But I didnt go with her, and indeed, I had an impulse to drive her off. At first, I told her to go find a policeman. But in response, she folded her hands and sobbingly, chokingly, ran beside me and wouldnt leave. At this, I stamped my foot and yelled at her. She cried softly: Sir, sir but suddenly left my side and rushed headlong across the street. There was another passerby walking there, and having seen this, she left me for him. I walked up to the fifth floor of my building. My apartment isnt really my own; I sublet a room from the real owners of the apartment. My room is poor and small, but has a semi- circular attic-window. I have an oilcloth couch, a table with books, two chairs and an armchair which is very old but still elegant. I sat down, lit a candle, and started to think. Nearby, in the other room, behind a partition, the usual uproar continued. It had been going strong for the last three days. In that room lived a retired captain, and right now he had guests over about six people of questionable reputation, drinking vodka and playing poker with old cards. The previous night,
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there had been a fight, and I know that two of them had dragged each other around by the hair for the longest time. The landlady wanted to complain, but she was terribly afraid of the captain. The other tenants in our apartment were one thin lady, from the regiment, who had three small children, who had been sickly even before their arrival here. And she and the children feared the captain to the point of fainting, and all night they would quake and cross themselves, and the smallest child would even have some kind of panic attack. This captain, I know for sure, occasionally stops passersby on Nevsky Avenue, and begs for money. They wouldnt take him back into the service, but the strange thing is (and this is why Im telling you about it), for the whole month, ever since he started living with us, the captain hasnt annoyed me in the slightest. Of course, I avoided him from the outset, and I know Ive bored him terribly from our first meeting, but no matter how loudly they scream behind that partition, and not matter how many of them there are, it doesnt faze me. I sit up all night and dont even really hear them I simply forget about them. Every night, I dont get to sleep before dawn, and havent been able to do so for a year already. All night, I sit in my armchair at the table and dont do anything. I only read during the day. I sit and dont even think, and yet, somehow, ideas still wander in, and I shoot them down at will. The candle burns all night. On the night in question, I sat at the table quietly, took out the revolver, and lay it in front of myself. As I lay it down, I remember asking myself: Is that so? and then immediately and affirmatively answered: So it is. That is, I meant to shoot myself. I remember thinking that I would definitely shoot myself
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on this night, but how long until then would I sit at the table that I didnt know. And, of course, I would have certainly ended up killing myself, if it hadnt been for that little girl.

II. You see: even though nothing mattered to me, I could still, for example, feel pain. If someone struck me, I would still feel it. And it was the same in a moral respect; if something horrible happened, I would still feel pity, just as I did back when things mattered. I did feel pity that evening. I should have helped that child. Why didnt I help that little girl? It was because of an idea that arose then, when she was pulling and calling at me I suddenly was confronted with a question that I couldnt answer. The question itself wasnt an important one, but I was vexed nonetheless. I was vexed because, having settled on killing myself that night, nothing should have mattered to me. Why, then, was it not all the same to me why did I feel pity for the girl? I remember pitying her very much, and in fact, even felt some kind of strange pain, which was altogether incredible for someone in my situation. I dont know how I could better describe this fleeting feeling, but it persisted until I got home and was sitting at the table, and I was irritated a feeling Id not felt in a long time. Reflection followed reflection. I finally concluded with clarity, that as long as I was a human being and as long as I was alive and existed, I could suffer, I could get angry, and I could feel shame for my behavior. Well, so be it. If I were to kill myself in, say, two hours, what would the little girl be to me, what of shame, or anything else? I would become nothing, absolutely nothing. And knowing this, that I will cease to exist, and that subsequently everything else will cease to exist, how could I feel the slightest bit of pity for the girl, or shame at my cruel action? Because I stamped my foot and
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shouted in a wild voice at that unfortunate child, as if to say Not only do I not feel pity, but even if I behave with inhumane cruelty, Im allowed, because two hours from now, all will be extinguished. Do you believe thats why I shouted? I am now almost completely convinced of it. It seemed clear that life and the world itself now depended on me. It could almost be said that the world seemed to exist for only me; if I shot myself, the world would cease to be, at least for me. Im not saying that there wouldnt be anything or anyone after myself, but perhaps, once I extinguished my own consciousness, the whole world would also be extinguished and become as a ghost, as a mere accessory of my own consciousness, because, maybe, all of this world and all of these people are only me myself. I remember, as I was sitting and deliberating, turning over all of these questions that swarmed in, one after another, I thought of something altogether new. A strange thought occurred to me that if previously I had lived on the moon or on Mars, and while there had committed the most revolting and disgraceful deed, and had been despised and dishonored for it, to such an extreme degree that is only experienced in dreams (or rather, nightmares). If after all of this, I found myself on Earth, retaining my memory of the deed and also knowing that I would never return to the planet, then, looking from the earth to the moon would it even matter? Should I feel shame for my action or not? These questions were idle and inconsequential, for the revolver was already lying in front of me, and I knew with all of my being that it would happen, but the questions still nagged at me, and for
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that, I was livid. I felt that I couldnt die without resolving this problem. Essentially, the little girl had saved me, because I delayed my own shooting with these questions. In the captains room, things were settling down: they had finished playing cards and were heading off to sleep, but were meanwhile grumbling and idly finishing the nights arguments. It was then that I suddenly fell asleep at the table in my armchair, which is completely out of character for me. That is to say, I nodded off unawares. Dreams, as it is known, are a very strange thing. Some are presented to the dreamer with appalling clarity, the details glimmering with the finish of fine jewelry, and others the dreamer jumps right through, almost without noticing them, as if, for instance, they were traveling through space and time. Dreams, it seems, are born not from reason, but from desire not from the head, but from the heart, but in dreams, what cunning tricks are played on the mind! What completely marvelous things can happen in dreams! For example, my brother died five years ago. Yet I sometimes see him in dreams; he participates in my affairs, and we are very invested, but in the dream, I am still cognizant of the fact that he is dead and buried. How then am I not surprised that he isnt dead and instead is here with me, alive and busy? Why does my mind perfectly accept all of this? But enough. I will proceed to my dream. Yes, I dreamt this dream, my dream of the third of November. They tease me now, and tell me that it was only a dream. But does it matter whether it was a dream or reality, when it is what made me aware of the
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Truth? Once you see the truth, you know it is the truth, and you know that there is not and could never be another truth, regardless of whether you had been awake or asleep when you learned it. Fine, let it be a dream. But this reality, which you hold in such high esteem, I had wanted to extinguish by my own suicide but my dream, my dream oh, it showed me a new, grand, powerful life! Listen.

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III. As Ive said, I fell asleep completely unawares, and even continued to reason with myself about these matters. Suddenly, I dreamt that I picked up my revolver and pointed it straight at my heart at my heart, and not at my head, even though Id previously specifically decided to shoot myself in the right temple. Guiding the gun to my chest, I waited a second or two. My candle, my table, and the wall before me suddenly began to shudder and sway. Quickly, I shot. In dreams, sometimes you fall from a great height, or you get cut or beaten, but you never really feel pain (unless youve actually managed to physically hurt yourself in bed, and then you usually wake up from it). Thus, in my dream: I didnt feel pain, but I imagined that with the gunshot, everything shook violently, and all light faded, and everything around me was horribly black. As if blind and dumb, I lay on something solid, stretched out, supine. I was completely unable to see or do even the slightest thing. People walked around my body and shouted; the captains boom, the landladys shriek, and after a short respite, I found myself in a closed coffin. I felt the trembling of the coffin walls around me and for the first time it really struck me that I was dead, completely dead, and I knew this and did not doubt it. I didnt see and I didnt move but I felt and I thought. So I quietly endured this situation, just as a dreamer must accept his surroundings as reality without quibbling.

And then I was buried in the earth. They all left and I was alone,
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perfectly alone. I didnt move. When I had been alive and had pondered what it would be like to be buried in a grave, I had always imagined it to be very damp and cold. And now I did feel it the coldness, especially in the tips of my toes, but I felt nothing else.

I lay unmoving, and strangely, didnt expect anything. I accepted without protest that the dead have nothing to await. But it was damp. I dont know how much time passed an hour, a few days, or week. But suddenly a drop of water fell from the ceiling of my grave onto my closed left eyelid. After a minute, a second drop fell, and after another minute, a third. A deep resentment began to burn in my heart, and I felt a jolt of physical pain. Its my wound, I realized, where I was shot And water kept dripping onto my face, minute after minute, right onto my closed eye. And I suddenly cried out, not with my voice, but with my entire being, to the master of all that was happening to me: Whoever you might be, if you do exist, if there is something more rational and fair than what is happening to me right now, please make it so! If you are punishing me for my senseless suicide with the disgrace and absurdity of my current existence, then know this there will never be any kind of grief worse than the contempt which I will silently bear for myself, even through a million years of martyrdom! I made my plea and fell quiet. For nearly a minute there was a deep silence, broken only by one drop falling, but I knew at that moment with inviolable certainty that everything was about to
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change. And then! My grave was opened I dont know how but it was the work of some dark and unknown being, and suddenly I found that we were in outer space. I could see again. It was the deep of night, and never before had there been such darkness! We flew through space, already far from earth. I didnt ask where I was being taken, my pride made me wait. I assured myself that I was not afraid, and thrilled myself with this assurance. I dont know how long we were flying I cant even imagine. It was like a dream, where you can jump arbitrarily through space and time with no regard to rules or reason, and you can linger unnaturally on the parts that your heart yearns for. I remember suddenly noticing a star. Is that Sirius? I asked, forgetting that Id resolved not to ask questions. No, this is the very star that you saw between those clouds back on earth, answered the being that was carrying me. I could tell that it had something resembling a human face. Strangely, I wasnt fond of this being, and in fact, I felt a profound aversion to it. I had expected complete nothingness after death, which is why I had shot myself, and yet now, here I was, in the hands of a creature that wasnt human, of course, but that was still living and sentient. And so, there is life beyond the grave! I thought with the strange syrupy giddiness of dreams. But deep in my heart, I remained
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unswayed. And if I must exist again, I thought, And if I must live again under the control of some greater power, this time I will not be conquered and humiliated. You know that I fear you, and you despise me for it, I blurted out to my companion, unable to hold back the outburst that doubled as a confession, and immediately felt embarrassment prick at my heart. He didnt answer me, but I felt that he didnt actually despise me, and wasnt laughing at me, and didnt even pity me, and that my journey had a goal which was unknown and mysterious and pertained only to me. Fear grew in my heart. Mutely and painfully, my silent companion transmitted something to me and it flowed through my entire being. We flew through richly dark and unknown space. I had long ago stopped seeing familiar constellations. I knew that there were stars in some heavenly spaces whose light took thousands or even millions of years to reach the earth. Maybe we had already flown through such spaces. I waited with an anguish that gnawed my heart. And suddenly I felt electrified with a feeling of recognition: I could see our sun! But I knew that this could not really be our sun, the sun that gave life to our earth, because we were an infinite distance from our actual sun, but I knew for some reason that this was a perfectly identical star to our sun an exact double. A sweet, beckoning feeling coursed through my bones: a double of the light of that sun that had given me life on earth now resounded in my heart and resurrected my spirit, and I felt life,
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my old life, like I hadnt since Id been in the grave. But if this sun is exactly the same as our sun, I cried, then where is the earth? And my companion indicated a star, sparkling in the dark with an emerald shine. We flew straight towards it. And if such repetitions are possible in the universe, is that a law of nature? And if that is an earth there, is it possible that it is just like our earth exactly the same, just as unhappy and poor as ours but very dear and beloved with such a painful love by even its most ungrateful children, like ours is? I cried, shaking with an uncontrollable, exuberant love for my native planet, which I had left. The image of that poor girl whom I had offended flashed before my eyes.

Soon you will see everything, answered my companion, his words tinged with what might have been sadness. But we were fast approaching the planet. It began to expand in my field of vision. I could already distinguish an ocean, the shape of Europe and suddenly I felt a great and holy jealousy flicker to life in my heart. How can this repetition exist, and why should it? I love I can love only the earth that I left, which is stained with my blood, when I ungratefully shot myself in the heart. But I never, ever stopped loving this earth and even on this night when I was parted from it, I love it more than ever. Is there torment here on this new earth? On our earth, we may truly love only with
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torment and through suffering! We cannot love otherwise, and we know no other kind of love. I crave torment, in order to love. I yearn, I thirst to kiss the earth that I left with my own tears, and I dont want no, I wont accept life anywhere else! But my companion had already left me. I was suddenly and unexpectedly on the solid ground of this other earth, in the bright light of its sun, and it was as beautiful as paradise. I stood, it seemed, on one of the islands in what was analogous to our earths Greek archipelago. Oh, it was exactly like ours, only everything seemed more festive, with the air of a celebration of a long-awaited triumph. The gentle emerald sea lapped at the shore, seeming to kiss it with love, a visible love that seemed almost conscious. Tall, beautiful trees stood in luxurious blossom, and their countless little leaves welcomed me, rustling tenderly with affection. The grass shone bright with flowers. Flocks of birds criss-crossed the air and, not fearing me, perched on my shoulders and hands, flapping their wings merrily. And at last, I saw and I knew the people of this joyful earth. They came to me unguardedly, they surrounded me, they kissed me. The children of the sun, the children of their sun oh how they were lovely! Never on our earth had I seen such beauty in human beings. Only perhaps in our children, in their early childhood, could this be even remotely found, but only as a weak, watery reflection of this beauty. The eyes of this happy people shone with clarity. Their faces showed a complete and calm understanding of their world, but those same faces were so happy; in their words and expressions was a simple, childlike joy.
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Oh, immediately upon seeing these faces, I understood it all! This was an earth before the Fall, and these people were completely pure. They were living, right there and right then, in the land of legends, the paradise in which our ancestors supposedly lived before sin. These people, smiling blissfully, crowded around me caressed me. They brought me home with them and they all reassured me. Oh, they didn't ask me any questions, for they seemed to know everything already, and instead devoted all of their energies to coaxing the signs of my previous unhappiness from my face.

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IV. Well, dont you see? Well, yes, it was only a dream. But the love of these innocent people has remained with me even still, and I feel their love still flowing into me from wherever they are. I saw them myself, I knew them, I loved them, I suffered for them. Oh, I immediately knew, even then, that I would barely understand them at all. As a modern Russian progressive and a vile Petersburger, it seemed impossible to me that, these people who knew so much had no science like ours. But I quickly figured out that they gained and cultivated knowledge differently than we do on earth, and that their aspirations were also completely different from ours. They didnt desire anything and thus were at peace. They didnt seek complete knowledge of life like we do, because their lives were already full. But their knowledge was deeper and broader than ours, because while our science seeks to fully dissect and explain life in order to teach others how to live, these people simply knew how to live already. I understood this, but I could not understand their knowledge itself. They showed me their trees, but I could not grasp the degree of love they showed for them when they looked at the trees, it was as if they were talking to other sentient creatures. And you know, maybe it wouldn't even be wrong to say they truly were talking with the trees! Yes, they had found the language of the trees and I am convinced that the trees understood them. They looked at all of nature in such a way at the animals who cohabitated peacefully with them, conquered only by their love. They pointed to the stars and told me something about them which I couldn't understand, but it seemed to me that they even had some kind of
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connection with those heavenly points of light. Oh, these people did not try to make me understand them, they loved me even without that, but I knew that they, in turn, would also never understand me, and so I hardly ever told them anything about my earth. I merely kissed the ground on which these people lived and quietly worshipped them. They didn't object to this, and allowed me to adore them without any embarrassment, for they too loved much. They were not distressed when I tearfully kissed their feet with a fierce joy in my heart, upon learning that my love for them was reciprocated. I sometimes wondered how such perfect creatures did not offend someone as imperfect as myself - how did they not inspire jealousy or envy within me? Moreover, I wondered why (being a braggart and a liar) I did not try to impress them with my own knowledge, which they knew nothing of not even to try and improve their lives! The people of this earth were as happy and frisky as children. They wandered through their beautiful groves and forests, sang their beautiful songs, and ate tender meats, fruits from their trees, with honey from their forests and milk from their beloved animals. The work they did for food and clothing was brief and not taxing. They loved children and begat them, but I never saw in them the impulses of sinful voluptuousness that is the root of almost all of the problems on our earth. They rejoiced in the arrival of new children as new participants in their shared bliss. There was no strife or jealousy between them, and in fact, they couldn't even understand these concepts. Their children were the children of all, because their society functioned as one family.
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There were almost no diseases, but there was death. Their elderly passed away peacefully, as if falling gently asleep, giving smiles and blessings to their loved ones, smiling serene good-byes. At these times, I never saw grief or tears, only an ecstatic love... but this ecstasy was somehow calm, contemplative. It seemed almost as if the living were still in contact with the deceased and that death itself could not disrupt the bond between them. They didn't seem to understand me when I asked them about eternal life, but it seemed that they wholeheartedly believed in it, so much that its existence wasn't even a question. They had no temples, but they had some sort of vital, living, and uninterrupted unity with the whole universe; they didn't have faith, they had knowledge that when their earthly joy reached its limit, then there would come for them both for the living and the dead an even more complete contact with the universe itself. They awaited this moment with joy, but not impatiently, not pining for it, but with a happy anticipation that they discussed with each other. In the evenings before going to sleep, they loved to sing in sweet and harmonious chorus. In these songs, they expressed all of the emotion of the past day, praised it, and bid it farewell. In song, they celebrated nature, the earth, the sea, the forest. They loved to write songs about each other and they praised one another like children; the songs were simple but came straight from their hearts and touched the heart of the listener. Not only their songs, but their entire lives, it seemed, were devoted to expressing love for one another. It was as if they were all in love with each other, but with a love that was wholesome and all-consuming. Some of their songs, solemn and ecstatic, I barely understood at
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all. I understood the words themselves but I could not fathom their importance. My mind couldn't grasp it, but the feeling of these songs was imbued in my heart more and more as time passed. I often told them that I must have has a presentiment of them back on my earth, an idea of this joy and glory which had manifested as a yearning anguish which would sometimes devolve into an intolerable grief, that I had felt them and their glory in the dreams of my heart and the visions of my mind, that I often could not look at a sunset on our earth without crying, that in my hatred of the people of our earth, I could not but end in misery why could I not hate them without loving them? Why did I always forgive them? In my love for them was agony: why, too, could I not love them without also hating them? They listened to me, but I saw that they could not comprehend what I was saying. But I didn't regret telling them about it; I could see that they did understand my sorrow over those I had left behind. Yes, when they looked at me with their faces full of love, I felt my own heart becoming innocent and honest just like theirs, and I didn't worry about not understanding them. A feeling of completeness and bliss enveloped my soul, and I worshipped them in silence. Oh, now they all laugh in my face and claim that I could not possibly have had such a detailed dream, that I simply dreamed a vague feeling and, when I awoke, created all of the details in a delirium. And when I said that maybe it really had happened god, how they laughed at me, what a joke I was to them! Oh yes, of course I was completely overcome by the mere feeling of that dream, and the feeling itself was the only thing that survived in my wounded heart: but the real imagery, the forms in my dream,
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that is, were filled with such harmony, and were so charming and beautiful and true , that upon waking, of course I wasn't able to truly convey them into our weak human words... so maybe they did become a bit fuzzy in my mind, and in my passionate need to convey what I had seen to my fellow man, maybe the overall story did become a bit distorted. But even still, how could I not believe that it was real and true? That world was a thousand times brighter and more joyful than I can possibly express. Let's say that it was a dream, and yet... well, how could it have been? You know, I will tell you a secret... there is something that proves that it wasn't a dream! And the reason is that something so horrible happened, something horrible but true... it could not be a dream. You say that it was a dream created by my own heart, and I counter with this: could my heart really be capable of dreaming up the atrocities that happened next? How could I possibly have invented that? Oh, judge for yourself ! The truth that I've hidden from you until now is this: I corrupted them all.

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V. Yes, yes, that's how it ended, with me corrupting every last one of them! How exactly it came to pass, I'm not sure, I don't remember it clearly. My dream spanned millennia and only left me with one giant impression. The only thing I know for sure is that I was the reason for their fall. Like a malignant parasite, like an atom of plague that fells an entire kingdom, I infected this world that was so pure and sinless before my arrival. They learned how to lie, and fell in love with lying, and came to know beauty in lies. Oh it may have started innocently, with jokes, coquetry, romantic games, just like a little germ, but this germ of lying penetrated their hearts and it pleased them. Soon after, sensuality arose, and sensuality gave rise to jealousy, jealousy gave rise to cruelty... oh, I don't know, I don't understand how, but quickly, so very quickly, the first blood was spilled. They were surprised and horrified and split into factions over it. They formed unions, but only ever against one another. So began the reproaches and violent lessons to one another. They discovered shame, and shame brought them to virtue. The concept of honor was born, and every union raised their flag in the name of honor. They began to torture animals, and the animals fled into the forests and became hostile. They started to fight for separation, for isolation, for individuality between me and you. They started to speak in different languages. They discovered sorrow and took joy in it, they thirsted for agony and preached that truth could only be attained through suffering. Then science appeared. When they became hateful, that's when they started to speak of brotherhood and humanity, and to understand those ideals. When they became criminal, they invented justice and wrote
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entire law codes in order to preserve justice. And to ensure that the laws were minded, they set up a guillotine. They could just barely remember what they had lost they didn't want to believe that there had been a time when they had all been innocent and happy. They went so far as to laugh at the mere possibility of such happiness in the past and even called it a dream. They could not imagine this happiness in any definite forms or images, but this is the most strange and marvelous thing: although they had lost all faith in their own previous innocence and called it a fairy-tale, they also wanted it desperately. Like children, they fell to their knees before the idea. They deified it; they set up temples in honor of this desire, prayed to it their desire - but at the same time they had complete faith in the notion that it was impossible and unfeasible, and yet they adored and worshipped it with tears. Nevertheless, although I know that they could have returned to their previous and happy state which they had lost, if someone suddenly showed it to them and asked them if they wanted it back, they would certainly have refused. They answered me: We may be false, hateful, and unjust. We know this, and we cry about it, and we agonize over it and punish ourselves for it, maybe even worse than that merciful judge who will ultimately pass judgement on all of us and whose name we know not. But we have science and with it we will find this truth once again, and this time we will arrive at it consciously. Knowledge exists above feeling, and consciousness of life exists above life itself. Science grants us wisdom and wisdom allows us to create laws. For knowledge of the laws of happiness is more important than happiness itself.
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After that, every one of them began to love themselves more than anyone or anything else, and soon they knew no other way. They were so proud and protective of their own individualities that they tried to degrade and belittle each other, and made it the main pursuit of their lives. There appeared slavery, even voluntary slavery; the weak willingly obeyed the strong, and helped oppress those even weaker than themselves. There appeared saints who came to people with tears and talked to them about pride, about the old lost harmony, about their loss of shame. They were mocked and pelted with rocks. Holy blood gushed over the flagstones of churches. There appeared men who began to seriously consider how best to unify people, so that everyone, still loving themselves above all else, might live in something like an agreeable society and not interfere in each others' lives. Whole wars arose over this idea. Simultaneously and on each side, everyone fighting firmly believed that a reasonable society could be founded on science, wisdom, and a natural desire for self-preservation, but in order to speed up the realization of such a thing, the wise should first exterminate all of the unwise, who weren't capable of understanding this idea anyway and who would be a hindrance to its ultimate triumph. But this so-called natural desire for selfpreservation grew weaker, and there emerged proud men and sensualists who demanded all or nothing and in order to obtain it, they resorted to crime... and if that didn't pan out, to suicide. There appeared religions built around the cult of nothingness
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and self-destruction, that preached the value of attaining perpetual calm in one's insignificance. At last, these people grew weary of their meaningless work, and suffering started to show in their faces, and these people proclaimed that suffering was beauty because only suffering had any meaning. They praised suffering in their songs. I walked among them, wringing my hands and weeping. But I loved them still, maybe even more than I did before, when their faces had not been full of suffering and when they had been innocent and so very beautiful. I loved the earth that they had defiled even more than the paradise it had been before, if only because it now contained sorrow. Alas, I had always loved sorrow, but only my own sorrow, only ever my own... and seeing them suffer, I cried, I felt pity for them, I stretched out my hands to them and in my despair I accused and despised myself for what had happened. I told them that I was the one responsible for it all, that I alone had brought them debauchery, infection, and lies! I pleaded with them, begged them to crucify me, I even taught them how to make a cross. I didn't have the strength to kill myself, but I wanted to take their pain from them, I thirsted for agony, I thirsted for every last drop of my own blood to be spilled in agony. But they only smiled at me and considered me a fool. They justified their situation to me and said that they had only received what they themselves had wanted, and there could not have been any other outcome. Then they suddenly announced to me that I had become dangerous to them and that they would
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throw me in a mad house if I didnt shut up. Then such a sorrow entered my soul that I felt like my heart was being gripped and I thought I would die, and then... then I awoke. It was morning. There was no daylight, it must have been around six oclock. I woke in the same chair, my candle melted down to a hard puddle. Everyone in the captains was asleep and everything was completely silent, which was rare in our building. At first, I jumped to my feet in utter surprise: nothing like this had ever happened to me before, not in the slightest! While I stood and arranged my thoughts, I caught sight of my revolver, still loaded but I quickly pushed it away from myself. Oh, now there was life, life! I raised my hands and cried out to eternal truth; not with speech, but with tears - delight, immeasurable delight rose up through my entire being. Yes, life and... I had to preach! Oh, I decided in that same minute to devote myself to preaching for the rest of my life! I'll go and preach, I want to preach - what? The truth! Because I saw it, saw it with my own eyes, in all its glory! And since then I have been preaching. Additionally, I love everyone who laughs at me, more than anyone else. Why this is, I do not know and I cant explain, but so be it. They say that I am confused, and if I am this way now, how will I be later on? Maybe its the truth, maybe I am confused and maybe it will get worse over time. And of course I will make many mistakes while learning to preach - what to do, how to phrase things... it is not
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an easy task. I see this clearly, but who doesnt make mistakes? But aside from that, I can see that we are all striving toward the same goal, from the wisest sage to the lowest burglar, but all through different paths. This is an old truth, but here is what is new: I cannot go too far wrong. Because I saw the truth, I saw it and I know that people can be beautiful and happy, and still be able to live on our earth. I refuse to believe that evil is the natural human state. They laugh at this faith that I have. But how could I not believe in it? I have seen the truth - I didnt make all this up by myself. I saw, I saw it and its living image will fill my soul forevermore. I have seen it in such complete perfection that I can not believe that it could be impossible for mankind. So how could I go wrong? I might slip, of course, maybe multiple times, and maybe speak about it in imperfect language, but not for long: the living image that I have seen will stay with me and correct me and guide me. Oh, I am cheerful, I am fresh of heart, and I will go on and on, even for a thousand years. You know, I was going to hide that I had corrupted them all, but that was a mistake - already my first mistake! But the truth whispered to me that I was lying and it protected me and guided me. But how will this paradise be realized? Im not sure because I dont yet know how to express exactly what it was in words. After
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my dream, it seems, I lost my words. All of the important ones, anyway. But nonetheless I will keep talking, untiringly, because I have seen it with my own eyes, even if I cant properly express what I saw. But the scoffers dont understand. They say it was a dream, a delirium, a hallucination! Eh! Surely thats wisdom! They are so full of pride. A dream? Whats a dream, anyway? Isnt our life just a dream? I will say more: Lets say this paradise never comes to pass (and I understand it may not). I will still go on preaching about it. And it is so simple: in only one day, in one hour, it could be arranged! Generally, love others as you do yourself, thats the main thing, and thats it - nothing else is necessary, and you will discover paradise at once. This is an old truth that has been repeated and read a billion times, and yet we do not practice it! Consciousness of life above life, knowledge of how to be happy over being happy - that is what I have to fight. And I will! If only we really wanted it, it would be ours. And I found that little girl. And I will go on, and I will go on.

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