Underground

Oh, if I had done nothing simply from laziness! Heavens, how I should have respected myself, then. I should have respected myself because I should at least have been capable of being lazy; there would at least have been one quality, as it were, positive in me, in which I could have believed myself. Question: What is he? Answer: A sluggard; how very pleasant it would have been to hear that of oneself! It would mean that I was positively defined, it would mean that there was something to say about me. “Sluggard”—why, it is a calling and vocation, it is a career. Do not jest, it is so. I should then be a member of the best club by right, and should find my occupation in continually respecting myself. I knew a gentleman who prided himself all his life on being a connoisseur of Lafitte. He considered this as his positive virtue, and never doubted himself. He died, not simply with a tranquil, but with a triumphant conscience, and he was quite right, too. Then I should have chosen a career for myself, I should have been a sluggard and a glutton, not a simple one, but, for instance, one with sympathies for everything sublime and beautiful. How do you like that? I have long had visions of it. That “sublime and beautiful” weighs heavily on my mind at forty But that is at forty; then—oh, then it would have been different! I should have found for myself a form of activity in keeping with it, to be precise, drinking to the health of everything “sublime and beautiful.” I should have snatched at every opportunity to drop a tear into my glass and then to drain it to all that is “sublime and beautiful.” I should then have turned everything into the sublime and the beautiful; in the nastiest, unquestionable trash, I should have sought out the sublime and the beautiful. I should have exuded tears like a wet sponge. An artist, for instance, paints a picture worthy of Gay. At once I drink to the health of the artist who painted the picture worthy of Gay, because I love all that is “sublime and beautiful.” An author has written As you will: at once I drink to the health of “anyone you will” because I love all that is “sublime and beautiful.”

Oh, if only I had done nothing simply because I was lazy! Heavens, how I would have respected myself then. I would have respected myself because at least I would have been capable of being lazy. At least I would have had one definite quality I could believe in. Question: What is he? Answer: A sluggard. How pleasant it would have been to hear that said about me! It would mean I had a definite identity. It would mean there was something to say about me. “Sluggard”: why, that is a calling, a vocation, a career. I’m not joking. It really is. I would have been entitled to join the best club. I would have spent my time continually respecting myself. I knew a gentleman who spent his whole life proud of being a connoisseur of Lafitte. He considered this his defining virtue and never doubted himself. He died with a conscience that was not merely peaceful but triumphant. And he was quite right, too. I would have chosen a career for myself. I would have been a sluggard and a glutton, but not just an ordinary one. I would have been one who appreciated everything sublime and beautiful, for instance. How do you like that? I have imagined it for a long time. That “sublime and beautiful” weighs heavily on my mind at forty. But that is at forty. Back then, oh, back then it would have been different! I would have found a fitting occupation for myself. To be precise, I would have drunk to the health of everything “sublime and beautiful.” I would have seized every chance to shed a tear into my glass. Then I would have drained it in a toast to all that is “sublime and beautiful.” I would have turned everything into the sublime and the beautiful. Even in the nastiest, most indisputable trash, I would have sought out the sublime and the beautiful. Tears would have poured out of me like water from a wet sponge. An artist, for instance, paints a picture worthy of Gay. I immediately drink to the health of the artist who painted the picture worthy of Gay. I do this because I love all that is “sublime and beautiful.” An author has written As you will: I immediately drink to the health of “anyone you will” because I love all that is “sublime and beautiful.”

I should claim respect for doing so. I should persecute anyone who would not show me respect. I should live at ease, I should die with dignity, why, it is charming, perfectly charming! And what a good round belly I should have grown, what a treble chin I should have established, what a ruby nose I should have coloured for myself, so that everyone would have said, looking at me: “Here is an asset! Here is something real and solid!” And, say what you like, it is very agreeable to hear such remarks about oneself in this negative age.

I would demand respect for doing so. I would hound anyone who refused to respect me. I would live comfortably and die with dignity. Why, it’s charming, perfectly charming! What a fine round belly I would grow, what a triple chin, what a ruby-red nose! Everyone would look at me and say: “Here is an asset! Here is something real and solid!” And say what you like, it’s very pleasant to hear such things said about yourself in this negative age.