will let you have a nastier flourish in a minute. ..." You do not
understand even now, gentlemen? No, it seems our development and our
consciousness must go further to understand all the intricacies of this
pleasure. You laugh? Delighted. My jests, gentlemen, are of course in
bad taste, jerky, involved, lacking self-confidence. But of course that is
because I do not respect myself. Can a man of perception respect himself
at all?



V


Come, can a man who attempts to find enjoyment in the very feeling of
his own degradation possibly have a spark of respect for himself? I am not
saying this now from any mawkish kind of remorse. And, indeed, I could
never endure saying, "Forgive me, Papa, I won't do it again," not because
I am incapable of saying that--on the contrary, perhaps just because I
have been too capable of it, and in what a way, too. As though of design I
used to get into trouble in cases when I was not to blame in any way. That
was the nastiest part of it. At the same time I was genuinely touched and
penitent, I used to shed tears and, of course, deceived myself, though I
was not acting in the least and there was a sick feeling in my heart at the
time. ... For that one could not blame even the laws of nature, though
the laws of nature have continually all my life offended me more than
anything. It is loathsome to remember it all, but it was loathsome even
then. Of course, a minute or so later I would realise wrathfully that it was
all a lie, a revolting lie, an affected lie, that is, all this penitence, this
emotion, these vows of reform. You will ask why did I worry myself with
such antics: answer, because it was very dull to sit with one's hands