Chapter 17. The Unobtrusive Masquerade.

March 17, 2000

"…How curious it sometimes is to look from the shadows at what is happening in the light of the masquerade—continuously observing everything happening before my eyes in those moments, I, being conscious, unconsciously cultivated my own thoughts… yes, I cultivated, and did not plow, for in the moments described my nature was by no means deeply loosening the soil of the corresponding kind, but outwardly, superficially, the canvas of it prevailed!.. regarding those who are now located in this dimly lit hall of an unusually large country house: each of those present, being dressed in a mask with a certain emotion, was engaged in one action or another, but no one, of course, except me, was inactive here—some of those representatives of the human race were quenching their physical or metaphysical thirst with a tart substance of expensive alcohol, some of them were indulging in dancing under the extraordinarily gentle aromas of the melody of "Solvejg's Song" by Edvard Grieg, while some of them, with a special feeling, while remaining unemotional thanks to the mask, continuously transmitted certain thoughts, impulses, and messages in the form of barely distinguishable words to their attentive interlocutors… Everything in this place was alive and active, of course, except for me—then, when everyone was acting, I was only an observer, a contemplator, a thinker: even though my pose at this hour was somewhat different from Rodin's thinker, in my thoughts I was no less deep—deep and true in my own way. Like a motionless statue from the Carrara marble of the Trevi fountain, I looked at the people continuously bustling near me, while being unusually active inside my nature, even if my flesh was inactive now—at the very hour when I outwardly dispassionately studied the world around me, millions of deep processes were taking place inside me, including unusually sensual ones: in this Universe, stars were created and destroyed—in this Universe, I was the Creator, and accordingly I was at the same time everything and no one… Like all those present here at this hour, my appearance was also dressed in a very peculiar essence of a lifeless mask—just as I could not comprehend the emotions of other people, due to the corresponding influence of the masks, they were not able to determine the feelings that my nature also experienced at the specified time: laughter, sadness, joy, sorrow, happiness, hatred—all this was hidden from ordinary human eyes… but was it from those who were able to see and discern? Here, at the masquerade, there were no people now—there were masks, behind one or another being of which the true forms and facets of one or another spirit were hidden: the mask allows the soul and nature to be themselves—it allows them not to be ashamed to be who they really are, and accordingly, with its help, the true nature transcends the very formalities that human society binds us with, continuously imposing them as objective truth and the only possible reality for a prosperous existence. In masks, people, despite their anonymity, are true, for masks are not able to turn red or pale—they have no faces, names, or facial expressions: the one who wears a mask is the greatest and at the same time the most insignificant person, for a mask, despite a single face, is an all-likeness… When I am in a mask, despite the fact that I can show sincere feelings, it is impossible to identify my nature, and accordingly it is impossible to connect those feelings with a formally defined label, which is our name—neither the shades of the voice nor the tonalities of the eyes are able to betray their owner, for in our world they are as easy to change as the eternal, indestructible, and cornerstone social principles: only the one who truly has the ability to see is able to see through masks—only the one who is able to hear is able to hear the real voice of a person… Neither up close nor at a distance can you comprehend the one who is dressed in a mask, the one who is faceless and all-faced at the same time, for that mask is no more than an ether, no more than air: it personifies an exclusive fullness, but this fullness is characterized by emptiness… A mask! No more than a screen that hides, by opening, the true nakedness of a person's nature—no less than a chaotic combination of generally accepted formalities and rules of conduct that in the most direct way try to bind and subdue what is significantly greater than those perishable and ethereal fetters: these are attempts to limit the power of nature with the help of the power of concrete or to destroy the darkness of the night with the help of the light of street lamps… However, the mask is not the full essence of the appearance of those people present here now—the carnival outfits hide the social status and position of these people, but I already know perfectly well who exactly and why attends masquerades of the corresponding kind: those who do not think of money as a goal—those who think of money only as a means… Looking at this chaotic movement of the masquerade, I am more and more convinced that our life really is to a significant extent similar to its nature—everyone in this world wants to show themselves, to stand out, to be different from everyone else, while not in any way revealing their true essence to everyone: everyone, being strictly limited by certain rules, frantically yearns to show their own identity—the costume of each of them is the brightest personification of the degree of their egoism… No, our world is by no means an unobtrusive masquerade—it is a chaotically raging whirlpool! Our world is when you, experiencing the most exclusive kind of inspiration, wander through the night city late at night, contemplating at the same time the gentle variegation of countless myriads of stars, which produces in your soul unique facets of true human happiness from the one realization that you are in and live in the best of all existing worlds… and a few moments later, rudely calling out to you, cruel criminals mercilessly deprive you, in the form of a robbery, of a considerable amount of material values! This is what our world is! A world in which it is better not to see certain things—these things, phenomena, events are just the place for all kinds of masks, for they, intentionally or for no reason, but extremely bloodthirstily destroy sincere faith not only in a specific person, but in humanity as a whole… Not otherwise than intentionally opening the shutters of conversations, while being perfectly aware of the subject of the upcoming conversation with the masks in this hall, I, knowing the truth perfectly well, heard only, without seeing the external emotions of my interlocutors, but seeing their internal feelings, naive and poorly tailored lies—intentionally not showing the corresponding kind of knowledge and awareness of it to my interlocutors, I was rapidly comprehending the essence of what… to what extent these people are fallen: it is good that the mask and the carnival costume allowed me to hide a lot—here, among the limits of the masquerade, murderers commit murders with speeches, and robbers commit robberies with glances… Opening the true nature of a person, the mask, perhaps not at all wishing it, forces many to act—most of those who were here now had not been familiar with each other before this day, and if they were, it was only indirectly: perhaps, if the mask had not stolen their emotions, feelings, and thoughts, they would never have decided to have this communication—now, thanks to the corresponding location of a series of circumstances, they, tasting the spirit and aroma of real opportunities, did not dare and did not have the right to think. They acted—Fortune, in the guise of a masquerade, and in the guise of each mask, was incredibly favorable to them: this time must be used, for Fortune is a very wayward girl, whose mood is a weather vane on a windy day on the roof of a country house… A lot was also said here, in the folds, in the lacunas of the masquerade, about the war—I listened to these speeches and was more and more convinced of the correctness of my own position: to take someone's side in a war of people means to accept the rules and limitations of this world, to become a slave to the existing world order, and accordingly to consciously, in one's unconsciousness, put on an unusually heavy yoke of duties imposed by all governments… A lot was also said here about those who, in their opinion, are bad or good people—knowing the nature of most of those about whom the conversation was going on at the corresponding hour, my nature involuntarily, but silently pronounced the following phrase inside its flesh: every person, like Stevenson's work, is not only "Treasure Island", but also "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde"… Beauty, however, like unattractiveness, exists everywhere, just as it does not exist anywhere—Dante managed to see a kind of, but still beauty in hell, and Parny saw a kind of, but still unattractiveness in paradise…