إن المراهق لابد أن يشعر باضطراب كبير وحيرة شديدة حين يرى أباه دنيئا منحطا ولاسيما حين يقارن سلوك أبيه بسلوك آباء آولاد آخرين هم رفاقه فيلاحظ ما بين السلوكين من تضاد وتناقض قد يقال له عندئذ على ما جرت به العادة المألوفة المبتذلة "لقد وهب لك الحياة وأنت دم من دمه فعليك أن تحبه" ولكن الفتى سيتساءل عندئذ على غير إرادة منه "فهل كان يحبني حين وهب لي الحياة ؟" وسيزداد اضطراب الفتى أثناء تأملاته وسيتابع تفكيره قائلا لنفسه "لا إنه لم يهب لي الحياة حبا بي أنا إنه لم يكن يعرفني بل إنه كان يجهل أذكر أنا أم أنثى في لحظة الخلق تلك في لحظات الهوى تلك التي لعل الخمرة هي التي كانت توقدها فلم يورثني إلا حب الشراب والميل إلى السكر تلك كانت نعمه وآلائه علي ..فلماذا يراد مني أن أحبه لا لسبب غير أنه ولدني مع أنه لم يكترث بي بعد ذلك في يوم من الأيام " قد تجدون هذا التفكير فظا قاسيا يا سادتي ولكن لا تطلبوا من عقل فتى مراهق أكثر مما يطيق "اطردوا الأمور الطبيعية من الباب تعود إليكم من النافذة" لنحاذر خاصة يا سادتي ..لنحاذر قبل كل شئ أن يسيطر علينا الخوف من "المعدن" و"الكبريت" ولنقض في الأمر يما توجبه قوانين العقل الإنسانية ، لا بما تفرضه التصورات الغيبية ، فما الذي تقرره عندئذ ؟ إليكم الأمر ..ليتقدم الابن إلى أبيه وليلق عليه في أناة وروية هذا السؤال ...قل لي يا أبي لماذا يجب علي أن أحبك ..فإذا كان الأب قادرا على أن يجيب عن هذا السؤال وأن يبرهن على أن من واجب ابنه أن يحبه كنا بصدد أسرة طبيعية سوية سليمة حقا ..أسرة قائمة لا على أوهام غيبية بل على وقائع واضحة التصور إنسانية الحدود أما في غير هذه الحالة أي إذا عجز الأب عن الإتيان بالبرهان المطلوب فقد انتهت تلك الأسرة ولم يعد من حق الأب أن يتصرف تصرف أب وأصبح يجوز للابن ويحق له أن ينظر إلى أبيه نظرته إلى غريب بل وإلى عدو !!
all men are divided into ‘ordinary’ and ‘extraordinary.’ Ordinary men have to live in submission, have no right to transgress the law, because, don’t you see, they are ordinary. But extraordinary men have a right to commit any crime and to transgress the law in any way, just because they are extraordinary.
إنه ينتمي إلى هذه الفئة من الغيورين الذين يتخيلون أفظع الأشياء متى ابتعدوا عن المرأة المحبوبة، ويعانون عذابا رهيبا من تصور "خيانتها" لهم أثناء غيابهم. ولكن ميتيا كان متى التقى بجروشنكا مرة أخرى مضطربا قلقا يائسا معذب النفس من يقينه بأنها خانته، لا يلبث أن يسترد شجاعته حين يرى وجهها الضاحك الرقيق المرح، فإذا هو يطرد من فكره كل شيء، ويشعر بالخجل من غيرته، ويلوم نفسه على قلة الثقة
Quiero ver con mis propios ojos a la cierva durmiendo junto al león, a la víctima besando a su verdugo. Sobre este deseo reposan todas las religiones, y yo tengo fe. Quiero estar presente cuando todos se enteren del porqué de las cosas. ¿Pero qué papel tienen en todo esto los niños? No puedo resolver esta cuestión. Todos han de contribuir con su sufrimiento a la armonía eterna, ¿pero por qué han de participar en ello los niños? No se comprende por qué también ellos han de padecer para cooperar al logro de esa armonía, por qué han de servir de material para prepararla. Comprendo la solidaridad entre el pecado y el castigo, pero esta no puede aplicarse a un niño inocente. Que este sea culpable de las faltas de sus padres es una cuestión que no pertenece a nuestro mundo y que yo no comprendo.
You know it is sometimes very pleasant to take offense, isn't it? A man may know that nobody has insulted him, but that he has invented the insult for himself, has lied and exaggerated to make it picturesque, has caught at a word and made a mountain out of a molehill—he knows that himself, yet he will be the first to take offense, and will revel in his resentment till he feels great pleasure in it, and so pass to genuine vindictiveness. But get up, sit down, I beg you. All this, too, is deceitful posturing....
Raskolnikov went out in complete confusion. This confusion became more and more intense. As he went down the stairs, he even stopped short, two or three times, as though suddenly struck by some thought. When he was in the street he cried out, "Oh, God, how loathsome it all is! and can I, can I possibly… . No, it's nonsense, it's rubbish!" he added resolutely. "And how could such an atrocious thing come into my head? What filthy things my heart is capable of. Yes, filthy above all, disgusting, loathsome, loathsome!—and for a whole month I've been… ." But no words, no exclamations, could express his agitation. The feeling of intense repulsion, which had begun to oppress and torture his heart while he was on his way to the old woman, had by now reached such a pitch and had taken such a definite form that he did not know what to do with himself to escape from his wretchedness. He walked along the pavement like a drunken man, regardless of the passers-by, and jostling against them, and only came to his senses when he was in the next street. Looking round, he noticed that he was standing close to a tavern which was entered by steps leading from the pavement to the basement. At that instant two drunken men came out at the door, and abusing and supporting one another, they mounted the steps. Without stopping to think, Raskolnikov went down the steps at once. Till that moment he had never been into a tavern, but now he felt giddy and was tormented by a burning thirst. He longed for a drink of cold beer, and attributed his sudden weakness to the want of food. He sat down at a sticky little table in a dark and dirty corner; ordered some beer, and eagerly drank off the first glassful. At once he felt easier; and his thoughts became clear.
Our historical pastime is the direct satisfaction of inflicting pain. There are lines in Nekrassov describing how a peasant lashes a horse on the eyes, 'on its meek eyes,' everyone must have seen it. It's peculiarly Russian. He describes how a feeble little nag has foundered under too heavy a load and cannot move. The peasant beats it, beats it savagely, beats it at last not knowing what he is doing in the intoxication of cruelty, thrashes it mercilessly over and over again. 'However weak you are, you must pull, if you die for it.' The nag strains, and then he begins lashing the poor defenceless creature on its weeping, on its 'meek eyes.' The frantic beast tugs and draws the load, trembling all over, gasping for breath, moving sideways, with a sort of unnatural spasmodic action- it's awful in Nekrassov. But that only a horse, and God has horses to be beaten.
But I've still better things about children. I've collected a great, great deal about Russian children, Alyosha. There was a little girl of five who was hated by her father and mother, 'most worthy and respectable people, of good education and breeding.' You see, I must repeat again, it is a peculiar characteristic of many people, this love of torturing children, and children only. To all other types of humanity these torturers behave mildly and benevolently, like cultivated and humane Europeans; but they are very fond of tormenting children, even fond of children themselves in that sense. it's just their defencelessness that tempts the tormentor, just the angelic confidence of the child who has no refuge and no appeal, that sets his vile blood on fire. In every man, of course, a demon lies hidden- the demon of rage, the demon of lustful heat at the screams of the tortured victim, the demon of lawlessness let off the chain, the demon of diseases that follow on vice, gout, kidney disease, and so on."This poor child of five was subjected to every possible torture by those cultivated parents. They beat her, thrashed her, kicked her for no reason till her body was one bruise. Then, they went to greater refinements of cruelty- shut her up all night in the cold and frost in a privy, and because she didn't ask to be taken up at night (as though a child of five sleeping its angelic, sound sleep could be trained to wake and ask), they smeared her face and filled her mouth with excrement, and it was her mother, her mother did this. And that mother could sleep, hearing the poor child's groans! Can you understand why a little creature, who can't even understand what's done to her, should beat her little aching heart with her tiny fist in the dark and the cold, and weep her meek unresentful tears to dear, kind God to protect her? Do you understand that, friend and brother, you pious and humble novice? Do you understand why this infamy must be and is permitted? Without it, I am told, man could not have existed on earth, for he could not have known good and evil. Why should he know that diabolical good and evil when it costs so much? Why, the whole world of knowledge is not worth that child's prayer to dear, kind God'! I say nothing of the sufferings of grown-up people, they have eaten the apple, damn them, and the devil take them all! But these little ones! I am making you suffer, Alyosha, you are not yourself. I'll leave off if you like