not of one man only: he is a composite portrait,
made up of all the vices which
flourish, full-
grown,
amongst the present
generation. You
will tell me, as you have told me before,
that no man can be so bad as this; and my
reply will be: "If you believe that such
persons as the villains of
tragedy and romance
could exist in real life, why can you not believe
in the
reality of Pechorin? If you admire fic-
tions much more terrible and
monstrous, why is
it that this
character, even if regarded merely as
a creature of the
imagination, cannot obtain
quarter at your hands? Is it not because there
is more truth in it than may be
altogether palat-
able to you?"
You will say that the cause of
morality gains
nothing by this book. I beg your
pardon. People
have been surfeited with sweetmeats and their
digestion has been ruined: bitter medicines,
sharp truths, are
therefore necessary. This must
not, however, be taken to mean that the author
has ever
proudly dreamed of becoming a reformer
of human vices. Heaven keep him from such im-
pertinence! He has simply found it entertaining
to
depict a man, such as he considers to be
typical of the present day and such as he has often
met in real life -- too often, indeed, unfortunately
both for the author himself and for you. Suffice
it that the disease has been
pointed out: how it
is to be cured -- God alone knows!
End