1 January, Chervlennaya1 Took the field with the division:2 cheerful and well.
6 January, Groznaya A stupid parade. Everyone drinks – especially my brother – and it’s very unpleasant for me. War is such an unjust and evil thing that those who wage it try to stifle the voice of conscience within them. Am I doing right? Oh God, teach me and forgive me if I’m doing wrong.
7 January The morning was a muddle; in the evening Knoring arrived drunk with Gesket and brought some porter; I had a lot to drink. Some officers of the Tenginsk regiment and some wenches turned up from somewhere. I got drunk. Yanovich was drunk and started trying to break my finger and said I was being a fool. The physical pain and the wine made me furious, and I called him a fool and a child. With tears in his voice and a childish3 he started saying rude things to me. I said I didn’t want us to abuse each other like troopers, and that the matter couldn’t end there.
8 January I told him this morning that I’d been drunk and apologised for what I’d said to him; but he was so ridiculous that he replied: ‘I pardon you; you were to blame.’ Tomorrow morning, as soon as I’ve said my prayers, I’ll ask him once more to apologise, regardless of who is there, and if he won’t, I’ll call him out. He’ll have the first shot and I won’t fire. I acted stupidly and badly. Yanovich is a good fellow, and I could do him a lot of harm by this affair. Nikolenka has left, but it was sad and painful for him to see this affair and not know how it would end. He’s an egoist; but still I love him and it worries me to have distressed him. Several times during these last two days I’ve thought of leaving the service; but on thinking it over carefully I see that I ought not to abandon the plan I’ve made – to go on the last expedition this year – in which, it seems to me, I’ll be killed or wounded. May God’s will be done! Oh Lord, do not forsake me. Teach me. Give me strength, resolution and wisdom.
9 January I’ve carried out my intention. Yanovich readily apologised. But if only people could know what an effort it cost me to approach him once again. […]
12 January […] I’ve planned a sketch: A ball and a brothel.4 My throat is sore, but I’m in good spirits.
21 January Wrote a little, but so carelessly, so superficially and so little, that it’s as good as worthless. My mental faculties are so blunted by this aimless and disorderly life and the company of people who don’t wish to, and can’t understand anything that’s at all serious or noble. I haven’t a bean, and this state of affairs makes me fear that people will think badly of me, and that suggests that I might actually do something bad. I don’t want to play cards any more; I don’t know how God can help. A fat lot of good the Caucasus is doing me when I’m leading such a life as this here. […]
20 February, Camp on the Kachkalykov ridge We marched from Groznaya to Kurinskoye without any action. Stayed there a couple of weeks, then camped on the Kachkalykov ridge. On the 16th there was an artillery action during the night, and on the 17th during the day. I behaved well.5 I’ve been winning at cards all this time, but now I haven’t a bean, although people owe me money. In that respect I’ve been too weak-willed, but in general I behaved well. Today Ogolin told me I would get a cross. God grant it – but only for Tula’s sake.
10 March‚ Camp by the river Gudermes Didn’t get a cross, but was confined to the guard room thanks to Olifer.6 And so service in the Caucasus has brought me nothing but difficulties, idleness and bad acquaintances … I must put a stop to it soon. […] The fact that I didn’t get a cross distressed me very much. Evidently I’m not lucky. But I confess, this foolish thing would have been a great consolation to me. […]
16 April, Starogladkovskaya Haven’t written my diary for a long time. Having arrived at Starogladkovskaya on 1 April, I’ve continued to live the same way as I lived on the expedition – like a gambler who’s afraid to count how much is chalked up against him. Lost 100 silver roubles effortlessly to Sulimovsky. Went unsuccessfully to Chervlennaya to get a medical certificate. Wanted to resign; but a false sense of shame at returning to Russia while still a cadet is definitely restraining me. I’ll wait for promotion, which is hardly likely – I’m already used to failures of all kinds. In Novogladkovskaya, if I didn’t sin on the Tuesday of Easter Week, it was only because God saved me. I want to get back into my old rut of solitude, orderliness, and good and wholesome thoughts and occupations. Help me, God! I’m now experiencing for the first time an exceedingly sad and painful feeling – regret at a youth wasted without profit or pleasure. And I feel that my youth has passed. It’s time to bid it farewell.
18 April Got up early, read something by Avdeyev called The Flying Dragon,7 and wrote reasonably well. The plan of my story is only now beginning to take clear shape. I think the story might be good if I can manage to get round its crude side skilfully. Still I’ve spent a lot of time idly through not being used to work. I’ve just had an explanation about money matters – unpleasant as always – with my brother. After dinner I went to see Yepishka and talked to Salamanida; her breasts have got ugly, but I still like her very much. However, anything young has a powerful effect on me; every woman’s naked foot, it seems to me, belongs to a beauty.
19 April (Easter Day) Didn’t go to church, and having broken my fast, ate some kulich8 which had been blessed. Did nothing all day. Played prisoners’ base9 with some officers and young lads; sent Vanyushka to Pakunka without success. Didn’t get drunk, nor did my brother, which pleased me very much. Alexeyev was particularly good-natured.
20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25 April Spent all these days almost the same way as the first: played prisoners’ base, admired the wenches and got drunk once at Zhukevich’s. Finished Christmas Night in rough. I’ll start correcting it. Today was a very unpleasant day. It started with my having diarrhoea in the morning, then nothing came from Kizlyar, then a horse was stolen. My present wishes are: to get a military cross and a commission on the spot, and for both my stories to be successful. […]
4, 5, 6, 7 May Nothing special. Received forty roubles for the story by post. Wrote quite a lot today, altered and shortened some of it and gave the story its final form. I must have a woman. Sensuality doesn’t give me a moment’s peace.
8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 May I’ve done nothing these seven days. Went to Kasatka’s – continued to drink in spite of the fact that I wanted to stop several times. My brother left today. I’ve received letters from Nekrasov, Seryozha and Masha – all about my writing, and flattering to my self-esteem. I’ve fully thought out my story Christmas Night. I want to set to and get back into the rut of an orderly life – reading, writing, orderliness and self-restraint. Because of the wenches I don’t have and the cross I won’t get, I live here wasting the best years of my life. Lord, grant me happiness!
15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22 May Twice had Kasatka. It’s bad. I’ve let myself go very much. I’ve given up the story10 and am writing Boyhood with the same enthusiasm with which I wrote Childhood. I hope it will be as good. My debts are all paid. A brilliant literary career is open to me; I ought to get a commission. I’m young and clever. It would seem there’s nothing else to wish for. I must work hard and restrain myself, and I may yet be very happy.
22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27 May Nothing special at all. Didn’t write much, but have finally thought out Boyhood, Youth and Early Manhood which I hope to finish. Today Alexeyev sent me a paper in which Brimmer promises to discharge me with a civil commission. When I think of my service I can’t help losing my temper. I haven’t decided on anything yet, although in accordance with my present view on life which is a continuation of the one I formed in Pyatigorsk, I oughtn’t to hesitate. I’ll think about it carefully. Still can’t get used to punctuality and orderliness, though I’m trying hard.
29 May […] Having looked through article 56, I’ve decided to leave the army and have asked Alexeyev about this. Went to Kasatka’s; a good thing she didn’t let me in.
23 June Haven’t written anything for nearly a month. Went to Vozdvizhenskaya during that time with my kunaks. Played cards and lost Sultan.11 Was almost taken prisoner,12 but on that occasion I behaved well, although too sentimentally. On getting back, I decided to spend a month here to finish Boyhood, but I’ve behaved in such a disorderly manner for a whole week that I’ve become very sad and depressed, as always happens when I’m dissatisfied with myself. Yesterday Grishka was saying that I was pale after the Chechens had nearly captured me, and that I didn’t dare to flog a Cossack who had struck a woman because he would have hit me back. All this so upset me that I had a very vivid and depressing dream and, on waking up late, read about how Aubrey endured his misfortune and how Shakespeare says that a man comes to know himself in misfortune.13 It suddenly became incomprehensible to me how I could have behaved so badly all this time. If I’m to wait for circumstances in which I can easily be virtuous and happy I shall wait for ever; I’m convinced of that. Wenches have led me astray. I’ll try to do good as far as I can, be energetic and certainly not act frivolously or do evil. I thank God for this frame of mind and I pray Thee – sustain it. I’ve done much evil of late; I’ve tried to talk wenches round, wasted money on trifles, wasted time I could have used to advantage, boasted, argued and got angry.
25 June Got a letter today from Seryozha in which he writes that Prince Gorchakov wanted to write about me to Vorontsov, and also a paper about my resignation. I don’t know how all this will end, but I intend to go to Pyatigorsk in a few days’ time. I lack perseverance and persistence in everything. As a result I’ve become unbearably repulsive to myself recently since I began to pay attention to myself. Had I persisted in the vainglorious mood in which I came here I would have been successful in the service and would have had reason to be satisfied with myself; had I persisted in the virtuous mood I was in in Tiflis, I could have despised my failures and once again been satisfied with myself. In small things and in great, this failing is destroying the happiness of my life. Had I persisted in my passion for women, I would have had successes and memories; had I persisted in abstention, I would have been at peace with myself and proudly so. This damned detachment has completely led me astray from the true path of goodness on which I had just made such a good start, and on which I want to start again in spite of everything because it is the best one. Lord, teach and instruct me!
I can’t write. I write too sluggishly and badly. But what is there for me to do except write? I’ve just been thinking over my position. Such a crowd of motley thoughts went round and round in my head that for a long time I couldn’t understand anything except that I was bad and unhappy. After that period of painful reflection, the following thoughts took shape in my head: the purpose of my life is known – goodness – which I owe to my subjects and to my fellow-countrymen; I owe it to the former because I own them, to the latter because I possess talent and intelligence. The latter duty I am able to fulfil now, but in order to fulfil the former I shall have to use all the means in my power.
The first thought I had was to draw up rules of life for myself, and now I’m returning to it perforce. But how much time have I wasted in vain! Perhaps God organised my life like this in order to give me more experience. I would hardly have understood my purpose so well had I been happy in satisfying my passions. To determine my actions in advance and to verify their performance was a good idea, and I return to it. As from this evening, whatever circumstances I am in, I give my word to do so every evening. False shame has often hindered me from doing so. I give my word to try and overcome it as much as possible. Be straightforward, even abrupt, but be frank with everyone – but not childishly, needlessly frank. Refrain from wine and women. The pleasure is so slight, so blurred, but the remorse is so great. Give yourself up completely to everything you do. Refrain from action in response to every strong feeling, but think carefully and then act resolutely, even if mistakenly. I didn’t finish my prayers today, having a guilty conscience about A …14 Wrote little and without reflection. Ate too much, fell asleep from laziness, stopped writing on account of Arslan Khan’s arrival. Boasted of my connection with the Gorchakovs. Insulted Yepishka for no apparent reason. Wanted to have women. Boasted about my writings to Groman, to whom I read Karl Ivanich’s Story.15
Tomorrow I must get up early and write Boyhood until dinner; after dinner go to the Ukrainians and look for a chance to do a good deed, then write The Diary of an Officer in the Caucasus or The Fugitive until tea.16 Go for a run. Write Boyhood or Rules for Life.
26 June […] Spent the greater part of the morning in experiments with revolving objects and was a child to do so. After dinner I went to the Ukrainians, but didn’t find a chance to do a good deed (disobeyed my conscience). Went several times to Yepishka’s; with regard to Salamanida things are making no progress, and Mikhayla, it seems, is determined to be on the watch. I’ve decided at all costs to have her. This enforced abstinence, it seems to me, gives me no rest and hinders my work; and the sin is petty, for the unnatural position in which fate has placed me excuses it. […]
29 June Behaved well in the morning, but after dinner I did nothing. The plan I had thought out so well for the Notes of an Officer in the Caucasus17 seemed bad to me, and I spent all the afternoon with the boys and Yepishka. Threw Grishka and Vaska into the water. Not a good thing. I must always write, whether well or badly. If you write, you get used to work and form your style, even though there is no direct advantage. But if you don’t write, you get distracted and do stupid things. One writes better on an empty stomach. After supper I did the rounds of all the wenches, but no luck anywhere. Tomorrow I must write from morning till evening, and use every means to get a wench.
2 July […] Salamanida has gone away for good, and Fedosiya, with whom I seem to be in love, won’t agree on the pretext that I’m going away. Wrote a letter to Nikolenka. Tomorrow I must overcome my shame and take decisive action with regard to Fedosiya. Write Boyhood morning and evening.
5 July Got up late; wrote well, but not much. Spent all afternoon with the boys. I’m too frank, I’ve just been chatting about religion with Groman. Must write Boyhood tomorrow. Said nothing to Fedosiya despite the opportunities I had. Her face has been knocked about.
8 July Got up late. Began to write but couldn’t get on. I’m too dissatisfied with my aimless, disorderly life. Read Profession de foi du Vicaire Savoyard, and, as always when I read it, it awakens a great many sensible and noble thoughts in me. Yes, my chief misfortune is my great intelligence. Slept after dinner, played a bit with the boys and acted very badly in not only not stopping them, but giving them an occasion to abuse Yepishka.
I can’t prove to myself the existence of God; I can’t find a single sensible piece of evidence, and I find the concept unnecessary. It’s easier and simpler to understand the eternal existence of the whole world with its incomprehensibly beautiful order than a being who created it. The craving of a man’s body and soul for happiness is the only path to an understanding of the mysteries of life. When the craving of the soul comes into conflict with the craving of the body, the former should gain the ascendancy, for the soul is immortal, and so is the happiness which it obtains. The attainment of happiness is the soul’s course of development. The blemishes of the soul are noble aspirations which have been flawed. Vanity is the desire to be satisfied with oneself. Greed of gain is the desire to do more good. I don’t understand the necessity for God’s existence, but I believe in Him and ask Him to help me to understand Him.
9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 July (Pyatigorsk) Left Starogladkovskaya without the slightest regret. On the journey Arslan Khan sickened me to death. On arriving at Pyatigorsk I found Masha18 launched into local society. It hurts me to see it – not, I think, from envy, but because it was unpleasant for me to part with my conviction that she is exclusively the mother of a family. However, she is so naively sweet that even in the wretched society here she remains her noble self. Sent letters to Baryatinsky – a good one. Brimmer – a reasonably good one, and Moureau – a nasty one. Valeryan is sensible and honest, but he hasn’t that fine sense of nobility which is necessary in a man if I am to become friendly with him. The Baron19 is a good man. How is it that Valeryan and Nikolenka lack the tact to refrain from laughing at people’s manners and appearance when they themselves are so bad in these respects? In general I felt sad and depressed. I shan’t experience this feeling, I’m sure, when I see Seryozha, still less Tatyana Alexandrovna. Yesterday I was tempted by a gipsy beauty, but God saved me. […]
17 July […] The coldness of my relatives torments me. […]
18 July […] Why does nobody love me? I’m not a fool, not deformed, not an evil man, not an ignoramus. It’s incomprehensible. […]
23 July I’ve rewritten the first chapter20 reasonably well. Didn’t stay long at Masha’s. Work, work! How happy I feel when I’m working.
24 July Got up at 8, revised the first chapter and wrote nothing all day. Read Claude Genoux.21 Went to Masha’s, where it was very dull. Bulka is lost. Got a letter from Moureau: Brimmer has held up my discharge. Must get up early and write, without stopping over what seems weak, as long as it makes sense and runs smoothly. One can revise, but one can’t recover time wasted unprofitably.
25 July Worked all day, apart from three hours spent on the boulevard, but only rewrote one and a half chapters. The New View is forced, but The Storm is excellent.22 Chatted with Teodorina. My smile is uncertain; this sometimes disconcerts me. […]
27 July […] Read Turgenev’s A Sportsman’s Sketches, and it’s somehow difficult to write after him. I must write all day.
31 July Did nothing, went to the fair, bought a galled horse for twenty-four roubles, slept, went to the fair again, walked along the boulevard and took a wench to the Yermolov baths. Looks as if I’ll be ill. Tomorrow – exchange the horse and go to Zheleznovodsk. Twenty-five roubles for the horse, one-thirty – the wench, one – the cab, seventy – small items. Fifty-six roubles left.
4 August, Zheleznovodsk 1, 2, 3, 4 August Arrived at Zheleznovodsk, exchanged the horse, drank the first day with Felkersam and Valeryan. Teodorina is in love with me. […] How much company and books mean to me. With good people and bad people I’m quite a different person. […]
11 August, Zheleznovodsk […] Tried to touch Teodorina several times during the evening; she greatly excites me. I’ve got a sore throat. But tomorrow I’ll do some writing. Kasatka has rewarded me with a dose of mercury, which I’m very cross about.
12 August Did nothing all day on the pretext of illness. My throat really is worse and I’ve had a temperature all day so that my head refuses to work.
13 August Ill all day, read Madeleine23 and was bled.
26 August Did nothing. Decided to give up Boyhood, but to continue the novel and write the Caucasian stories.24 The cause of my idleness is that I can’t write with any enthusiasm. I’m expecting some happiness this month, and in general with the start of my twenty-sixth year. I want to force myself to be such as I consider a man ought to be. Youth is over. Now it’s time for work. […]
28 August, Pyatigorsk […] Began a Cossack story25 in the morning, then because of Nikolenka’s arrival and Teodorina’s departure and my birthday I went to the shooting-gallery, rode to the colony and took Masha to the boulevard. Didn’t enjoy it. Only work can afford me pleasure and profit. I’m going to bed to read.
10 September Did nothing, chatted with Masha, and made plans for our life together in Moscow. Idleness and the awareness of idleness torment me terribly. Tomorrow I’ll work, even though it’s rubbish, just to feel satisfied with myself, for a life of continual remorse is torture.
13 September Felt terribly melancholy in the morning; after dinner I went for a walk, called at Bukovsky’s and Klunnikov’s, and picked up a repulsive wench. Then got the idea for Notes of a Billiard Marker26 – wonderfully good. Wrote, went to see the assembly hall, then wrote Notes of a Billiard Marker again. It seems to me that I’m only now beginning to write with inspiration, and that’s the reason why it’s good.
14 September Finished the rough draft and in the evening I made a fair copy of a sheet. I’m writing with such enthusiasm that it’s even painful: my heart stops beating. I tremble when I take up the exercise book. Tomorrow Valeryan and Masha arrive. Teodorina is sulking, and I won’t go and see her any more.
18, 19 September Did nothing; began writing today but laziness overcame me; went to Smyshlyayev’s in the evening and wrote some poems.
Humour is only possible when a man is convinced that his inadequately or strangely expressed thoughts will be understood. It depends on one’s mood and still more on one’s audience or one’s instinctive opinion of one’s audience.
29 September In the morning I wrote a good chapter of Boyhood. After dinner I went riding from 6 to 8. Went to Aksinya’s. She’s pretty, but I don’t like her as much as before. Offered to take her with me. I think she’ll agree. For Grandmother’s Death27 I’ve thought up a characteristic trait of being religious and at the same time unwilling to pardon offences.
13 October, Starogladkovskaya Went shooting, wrote letters to Maslov and Barashkin. Killed two pheasants. Read a literary description of genius today,28 and this work aroused in me the conviction that I’m a remarkable person as far as abilities and eagerness for work are concerned. From today I’ll get down to it. In the morning I’ll write Boyhood, and after dinner and in the evening The Fugitive. Thoughts of happiness.
14 October Did nothing of what I’d intended, but was lazy and read. Wrote ¼ of a sheet of The Maid’s Room.29 Want to make it a rule, having once begun a thing, not to allow myself to do anything else; but so that thoughts which occur to me shouldn’t be lost, to note them down systematically in a book with the following subdivisions: (1) Rules, (2) Information, (3) Observations. Today for example: Observations: on singing and on Yepishka; Information: on the missions in North Ossetia and Georgia; and Rules: not to allow myself to be distracted by anything else before finishing the work I’ve started.
19 October […] Thank God, I’m satisfied with myself, but I experience a strange feeling of unrest while being externally and internally calm, as if someone were saying to me: ‘Look, you’re good now, but nobody except you knows it.’
23 October I woke up very late today and in the same dissatisfied mood. […] My bad mood and anxiety prevented me from working. I read Zhukova’s story Nadenka.30 Formerly it was enough to know that the author of a story was a woman for me not to read it, because nothing can be more ridiculous than a woman’s view of a man’s life which women often undertake to describe, while on the contrary a woman author has an enormous advantage in the woman’s sphere. Nadenka’s environment is very well described, but her person is too lightly and imprecisely sketched in, and it’s obvious that the author had no single idea to guide her.
I’m taking up my exercise book of Boyhood with a sort of hopeless aversion, like a workman compelled to labour at a thing which, in his opinion, is hopeless and no use at all. The work is going unsystematically, feebly and sluggishly.
When I’ve finished the last chapter I’ll have to revise it all from the beginning and make notes and do the final alterations in rough. Much will have to be altered: the character ‘I’ is colourless; the action is long drawn out, and too consistent in time but not consistent enough in thought. For example the device of describing past events in the middle of the action for the sake of the clarity and sharpness of the story has been sacrificed, given my division of the chapters. All during dinner and afterwards I couldn’t, and felt no need to overcome the apathetic boredom which had taken a hold on me. […]
‘Be content with the present!’ This rule which I read today struck me with extraordinary force. I vividly recalled all the occasions in my life when I hadn’t followed it, and it seemed to me very surprising that I hadn’t followed it. For example, in the most recent case of my own service, I wanted to be a count-cadet, a rich man with connections, a remarkable man, whereas the most useful and convenient thing for me would have been to be a soldier-cadet. How much of interest I could then have learned during this time, and how much unpleasantness I would have avoided. […]
24 October Got up earlier than yesterday and settled down to write the last chapter. A lot of thoughts had accumulated, but some insuperable aversion prevented me from finishing it. As in everything in life, so in writing too, the past conditions the future – it’s difficult to resume a neglected work enthusiastically, and therefore well. Thought about some changes in Boyhood, but didn’t make any. I must jot down some notes off-hand and simply begin to rewrite it.
Before dinner I read a criticism of a description of the war of 1799 between France and Russia,31 and after dinner went off without any particular enthusiasm to shoot at a range with Groman. The beautiful weather tempted me, and I went off shooting, and killed a hare and chased a jackal till late at night. After supper I played cards till 12 o’clock. How easily bad habits are formed! I’m already in the habit of playing after supper.
When reading a work, especially a purely literary one, the chief interest lies in the character of the author as expressed in the work. But there are works in which the author affects a point of view of his own, or changes it several times. The most agreeable are those in which the author tries, as it were, to hide his own personal view, and yet at the same time remains constantly true to it wherever it does show. The most insipid are those in which the view changes so often that it gets lost altogether.
Milyutin’s book seems very well constructed; in spite of the flattery I have often heard and the partial opinions of people who timidly prostrate themselves before everything to do with royalty, it seems to me that Paul I’s character, especially his political character, was really noble and chivalrous. […]
25 October […] I’m beginning to regret that I sent off Notes of a Billiard Marker too hastily. In content I could hardly have found much in it to alter or add to. But its form was not polished up quite carefully enough.
26 October Got up late and with all my limbs aching with fatigue. Worked reasonably well in the morning copying out Boyhood and getting it into shape, but was soon called to dinner, and after dinner, having read a little and sat with Alexeyev who came to see me, I did very little. When I might have worked before supper, in order to please Groman who had been invited to do some copying for me, I dictated and read to him. My illness keeps getting worse and it isn’t, it seems, the same kind as before.
Absence of body, passions, feelings, recollections and time (i.e. eternity), is that not the absence of any life at all? What comfort is there in a future life if it is impossible to imagine it?
The description of the struggle between good and evil in a man who is attempting to do, or has just done an evil act has always seemed to me unnatural. Evil is done easily and inconspicuously, and only much later does a man become horrified and amazed at what he has done.
The common people are so far above us by reason of their lives filled with toil and privations that it is somehow wrong for the likes of us to look for and describe what is bad in them. There is bad in them, but it would be better to say only what is good about them (as about the dead). This is the merit of Turgenev and the shortcoming of Grigorovich and his Fishermen.32 Who can be interested in the faults of this pathetic but worthy class? There is more good than bad in them; therefore it is more natural and more noble to look for the causes of the former than of the latter.
In the old days I used to think that having once adopted a rule to be thorough and punctual in my occupations, I could follow it; then these frequently repeated and never accurately observed rules began to convince me that they were useless; but now I’m convinced that these fits, constantly getting weaker and then recurring again, constitute the normal condition of the periodic scrutiny of oneself.
One must accustom oneself always and in everything to write clearly and distinctly, otherwise one unconsciously conceals from oneself obscurity or inaccuracy of thought by unnatural turns of speech, crossings out and flourishes.
At dinner today there was talk about Pushchin,33 and such harshness is absolutely incomprehensible to me. How can a man sacrifice basic human feelings for comic effect?
Cyprus, which lies on the route from Smyrna to Jerusalem, is the birthplace of St George.
In the campaign of 1805, which ended with the Treaty of Vienna, the chief battles were Ulm, Wagram and Austerlitz.
Frugality differs from meanness by the fact that the former, having set limits however broad or narrow to one’s requirements, does not limit them any further, whereas meanness, without defining one’s requirements, always sacrifices them for the sake of acquisition.
Absalom was the son of David, took up arms against him with the Philistines, and was hung by his own hair. Had an astonishing dream today about Seryozha – a duel and some sweets.
26 October. Occupations for the day. Illness. About a future life. Struggle accompanying an evil act. Fishermen. Author’s view on the common people. Periodic scrutiny. Neatness and clarity of writing. About Pushchin. Cyprus. Campaign of 1805. Frugality and meanness. Absalom. Dream about Seryozha.
28, 29, 30, 31 October and 1 November, Khasav-Yurt34 – Spent 28 and 29 October in that conscious and depressed state of inactivity which arises from the unpleasant thought which constantly occupies me. […] On the 29th went shooting all day, chatted with Yepishka, played cards and read a biography of Schiller written by his wife’s sister.35 What is especially noticeable in it is the superficial view of a great man by a sentimental woman and a person too close to the poet, and therefore influenced by trifling domestic shortcomings, who had lost proper respect for the poet.
31 October […] I read The Captain’s Daughter and, alas, I must admit that Pushkin’s prose is now old-fashioned – not in its language, but in its manner of exposition. Now, quite rightly, in the new school of literature, interest in the details of feeling is taking the place of interest in the events themselves. Pushkin’s stories are somehow bare. […]
It is impossible to comply with the resolutions of one’s rational will merely as a result of the expression of it. It is necessary to use cunning against one’s passions. To do good is pleasant for everybody, but the passions often make us see it in a false light. And reason, if it acts directly, is powerless against the passions; it must try to make one passion act against another. Therein lies wisdom. […]
Schiller quite rightly considered that no genius can develop in isolation; that external stimuli – a good book or conversation – do more to promote thought than years of solitary toil. An idea must be born in company, but its elaboration and expression take place in solitude. […]
One of the main reasons for the mistakes made by our wealthy class is the fact that we take a long time to get used to the idea that we are grown up. Our whole life up to the age of twenty-five and sometimes beyond runs counter to that idea; quite the reverse of what happens in the peasant class where a youngster marries at fifteen and becomes complete master of himself. I have often been struck by the independence and assurance of a peasant lad who, in our class, even if he were a very clever boy, would still be a nonentity.
It’s strange that we all conceal the fact that one of the main springs of our life is money, as though it were shameful. Take novels, biographies, stories: they all try to avoid money matters, whereas that’s where the main interest (or if not the main, the most constant interest) of life lies and where a man’s character is best of all expressed.
There is a category of kind, noble people (though for the most part unfortunate in life, and not respected), who seem to live only in order to wait for an opportunity to sacrifice themselves for someone else or for honour’s sake, and who only live from the time that sacrifice begins.
I have often had occasion to be surprised at and to envy the sound and clear-cut outlook of people who have not read much.
To look over every work that has been completed in draft, striking out everything superfluous and adding nothing – that is the first process.
When reading a story by an English lady,36 I was struck by the naturalness of her way of writing – something which I lack, and to acquire which I must work hard and take note. […]
Self-confidence and assurance (aplomb)37 depend, not on occupying a brilliant position, but on success in one’s chosen path, however insignificant it may be. […]
There are people, such as myself and such as I try to portray in the hero of The Novel of a Russian Landowner, who feel that they must appear proud, and the more they try to assume an expression of indifference on their faces, the more haughty they appear.
I am often pulled up in a work of literature by routine methods of expression which are not quite correct, sound or poetic, but the habit of meeting them so often makes me write them myself. These ill-considered, conventional mannerisms in an author, the inadequacy of which one feels but which one forgives because of their frequent use, will be for posterity a proof of bad taste. To tolerate these mannerisms means to follow the times: to correct them means to be in advance of them.
2, 3 November […] Yesterday an argument arose between myself and some of the officers about the value of the conferment of titles; whereupon Zuyev, quite inconsistently, expressed envy of my title. At that moment the thought that he considered me vain about my title hurt my self-esteem; but now I’m heartily glad that he allowed me to notice this weakness in myself. How dangerous it is to trust thoughts that arise in the heat of an argument.
Always to live alone: that’s a valuable rule which I shall try to observe.
Almost every time I meet a new person I experience a painful feeling of disappointment. I imagine him to be like myself, and I apply that standard as I study him. Once and for all I must get used to the idea that I’m an exception; that I’m either in advance of my age or that I’m one of those incongruous, unaccommodating natures that are never satisfied. I must take a different standard (lower than my own) and measure people by it. I won’t be mistaken so often.
For a long time I deceived myself in imagining I had friends – people who understood me. Nonsense! I’ve never yet met a man who was morally as good as me, or who was willing to believe that I can’t remember one instance in my life when I wasn’t attracted by the good, and wasn’t prepared to sacrifice everything for it.
For that reason I don’t know any society in which I would be at ease. I always feel that the expression of my intimate thoughts will be regarded as falsehood, and that people won’t be able to sympathise with my personal interests.
Moved into lodgings yesterday. If I’m forced to spend a month here, I’m sure I’ll use it usefully. Already yesterday evening I felt that disposition towards genuine usefulness, the influence of which I experienced in Tiflis and Pyatigorsk. There’s no evil without good. Yesterday, at the thought that my nose might cave in, I imagined to myself what an enormous and beneficial stimulus that would give me in the direction of moral development. I pictured to myself so vividly how noble I would be, how devoted to the common good and how useful to it, that I almost wanted to experience what I used to call a calamity, justifying suicide.
However, this base thought, i.e. of suicide from the shame of being ugly, which I had heard expressed so well and eloquently by Islavin, I repeated without conviction. How often it happens that one repeats things without thinking about them, merely because they have been well expressed. […]
4 November […] There are some faces, especially those with shining eyes and broad, perspiring features, which, when animated, continually change their expression to such an extent that it is difficult to recognise them. […]
5 November […] I’m absolutely convinced that I’m bound to achieve fame; it’s actually because of this that I work so little: I’m convinced that I only need to have the wish to work upon the materials which I feel I have within me. […]
7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 November, Starogladkovskaya I’ve left almost half of Boyhood with Akrshevsky to copy out. Lost forty-two roubles to Sokovnin and left Khasav-Yurt owing about ten roubles. Visitors didn’t give me a moment’s rest there, with the result that I was thrown into complete confusion. I liked the fourteen-year-old girl who worked for the landlord very much. I’ve done hardly anything all these days. Since arriving in Starogladkovskaya I’ve been shooting once, solicited timidly and unsuccessfully for wenches and chatted with Yepishka and Olifer, whom I dislike very much. Borrowed twenty-five roubles from him. This morning I did such a vile thing that it made me come to my senses. […]
The laughter of people talking tête à tête has a completely different, more sincere and attractive character, than laughter in a large company.
To take firm resolutions of the will as rules for oneself in all matters is excessive, but in certain cases such rules are necessary.
I mustn’t touch a card, or ever watch people play.
There are thoughts whose applications are infinitely varied; therefore the more general the expression of such thoughts, the more food they provide for the mind and heart, and the more profoundly can they be felt.
I am replacing all the prayers which I have made up myself by the Lord’s Prayer alone. Any requests I can make to God are expressed more loftily and in a way more worthy of Him by the words ‘Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven’.
Abstract thoughts are nothing else but a man’s capacity in a certain state of mental activity to fix his attention on that activity without interrupting it and to transmit that state of mind to memory. There are thoughts which pass through the mind unnoticed; there are others which seem to leave a deeper trace, so that one involuntarily tries to grasp hold of them (such as the ones I am writing down). I sometimes forget the thought itself, but the trace it has made remains, and I feel that a remarkable thought has passed through my mind. […]
I have never made a declaration of love, but when I remember the terrible nonsense I talked to people I liked, with a subtle, meaningful smile, I blush at the mere recollection. The conversations one reads in our high society novels pour tout de bon [in all seriousness] are as like as two peas to what I said. […]
16 November […] There was a time when consciousness had developed in me to such an extent that it stifled reason, so that I could think of nothing but: ‘what am I thinking about?’
I’ve often been struck by the way people can find inner satisfaction in their own phrases, devoid of thoughts – in words alone. Perhaps at a certain stage of development the mind is sympathetic towards words, just as at a higher stage it is sympathetic towards thoughts. Yepishka says that in order to speak wisely one must first stand for a while ‘by the broom’, i.e. go away into the corner and think.
17, 18 November Got up early yesterday, but wrote little. Two chapters, ‘The Maid’s Room’ and ‘Boyhood’, which I’ve been unable for so long to put into final shape, held me up. Had dinner, played chess badly and boasted again. After dinner Lukashka announced that there would be a wench for me at dusk. I was stupid enough to give her the gold rouble she had been promised, and two silver roubles to him, although she turned out to be a repulsive old woman.
Got up late today. Wrote quite diligently, so that I finished ‘The Maid’s Room’ and ‘Boyhood’, though only in rough. In the evening Kochetovsky came and complained about Sulimovsky. I borrowed Karamzin’s history and read bits of it. The style is very good. The foreword38 aroused a host of good thoughts in me. Beat Alyoshka today. Although he was to blame, I’m dissatisfied with myself for having lost my temper. […]
Someone told Yepishka that I had had a man conscripted because he had killed my dog. Such a terrible slander always confirms me in the noble thought that to do good is the only way to be happy. If one looked at life from any other point of view whatsoever, such a slander would be enough to destroy all the happiness of life.
Some people seem to deceive themselves by trying to speak about their way of life in the past or in the future, but not in the present.
Nothing is such an obstacle to true happiness (which consists in a virtuous life) as the habit of expecting something from the future – whereas for true happiness, which consists in inner self-content, the future can give nothing, while the past gives everything.
The younger a man is the less he believes in goodness, despite the fact that he is more ready to believe in evil.
The specific gravity of a man’s body is heavier than the specific gravity of water. The air which fills the body of a live man equals this difference, so that (with movement) the specific gravity of a live man is about equal to that of water. When the stomach of a drowned man bursts, the air which filled the empty spaces of the body gives way to water and the body floats. All this is nonsense, and I still don’t understand the phenomenon of the floating of the body of a drowned man.
19, 20, 21, 22 November […] One of my chief and, for me, most unpleasant vices is lying. The motive for it is usually boasting – the desire to show myself off to advantage. Therefore, so as not to allow my vanity to reach a stage of development in which there is no time to stop and reflect, I set myself a rule: as soon as you feel the tickling sensation of self-love which precedes a desire to say something about yourself – reflect. Keep silent and remember that no fabrication can give you more weight in the sight of other people than the truth, which has a tangible and convincing character for everyone. Every time you feel vexation and anger, beware of all relations with people, especially those dependent on you. Avoid the company of people who like getting drunk, and don’t drink wine or vodka.
Avoid the company of women you can have easily, and try to exhaust yourself by physical labour when you feel strong desire. Note down every day, from today, violations of these rules.
Fashion is a means of attracting attention to oneself, and everyone (except the deformed and those with unpleasant, repulsive features) gains by it.
There is a belief among the common Russian people that a ‘black’ person (a brunette) cannot be good-looking, and black is even a synonym for bad: ‘black as a gipsy’.
Music is the art of producing various states of mind in the imagination by means of a triple combination of sounds – in space, time and strength.
The majority of men demand from their wives qualities which they themselves don’t deserve.
Sermons are one of the best and simplest means of the religious education of our lower classes, if only preachers would sacrifice their self-esteem as authors for the sake of the benefit which a consistent, simple and clear exposition of Christian principles in the course of their sermons would provide, or if they would take pains in composing them.
When composing them it is necessary to avoid pomposity (which results in obscurity), as well as excessive simplicity which arouses doubts.
There is a belief among the common people that the presence of onlookers at a deathbed is agonising for the person dying, and that it makes it more difficult for the soul to leave the body (the same with childbirth).
The tone of a man I am talking to is always involuntarily reflected in me: if he speaks pompously, so do I; if he mumbles, so do I; if he is stupid, so am I; if he speaks French badly, so do I.
The common people are used to being spoken to in a language not their own, especially with religion which speaks to them in a language they respect all the more for not understanding it.
There are thoughts (such as these, for example) which have meaning in a general connection, but lose it altogether in isolation.
23 November39 to 1 December I’ve been out shooting several times, and killed some hares and pheasants. I’ve hardly read or written anything all these days. The expectation of a change in my life disturbs me;40 while the grey overcoat is so repulsive that it’s painful (morally) for me to put it on, which wasn’t so before. Yesterday Sultanov called in. Got a letter and a sword from Arslan Khan the day before yesterday. I’ve broken one of the rules I made – not to drink – every day. […]
Discipline is necessary for the existence of a military class and drill is necessary for the existence of discipline. Drill is a means of bringing men to a state of mechanical obedience by means of petty threats. As a result, the cruellest punishments don’t produce the sort of subordination which is produced by the drill-habit.
Modesty is often taken for weakness and irresolution; but when experience proves to people that they were mistaken, modesty imparts a new charm, strength and respect to a character.
(Schiller) For some people the fire of inspiration is transformed into a lamp to work by. Literary success which satisfies oneself is only achieved by working at every aspect of a subject. But the subject must be an elevated one for the work always to be pleasant.41
The more a man grows used to what is pleasant and refined, the more deprivations in life he stores up for himself. Of all such habits, deprivation of the habit of associating only with refined types of mind is the hardest to bear.
Vladimir was able to convert his people to the faith he had adopted only because he was on the same level of education as they were, though higher than them in social importance. The people trusted him. No ruler of an educated nation could have done the same.
In one of his stories Yepishka admirably expressed in a few words the Cossack view of the importance of women. ‘You, wife, are my slave – get on with your work’, a husband says to his wife, ‘I’m going off on a spree.’ […]
2 December […] There are two desires, the fulfilment of which can constitute a man’s true happiness – to be useful and to have a clear conscience.
Vanity results from, and is increased by moral disorder in a man’s soul. Previously I only understood this instinctively: I had a presentiment of the need for order in everything; only now do I really understand it. […]
I have decided, having finished Boyhood, to write some short stories, sufficiently brief for me to be able to think them out all at once, and of a sufficiently elevated and useful content for them not to weary or disgust me. Apart from that, I’ll draw up in writing in the evenings a plan for a big novel and sketch some scenes from it. […]
3 December Got up early but couldn’t begin anything. My Cossack story both pleases and displeases me. Read The History of the Russian State till dinner, and after dinner Olifer said in the presence of a copyist and a servant that I would be sure to squander all my estate. This rudeness or stupidity annoyed me. I promised myself not to go to dinner with that exceedingly unruly man before Alexeyev’s return and definitely to avoid all relations with him. […]
I have a great defect – an inability to narrate simply and easily the circumstances in a novel which connect the poetic scenes together. […]
I have been undecided which of four ideas to choose for a story: (1) The Diary of an Officer in the Caucasus‚42 (2) A Cossack Poem‚43 (3) A Hungarian Girl‚44 (4) A Man who Came to Grief.45 All four ideas are good. I’ll begin with the one that seems the least complicated, easiest and first in order of time – The Diary of an Officer in the Caucasus.
11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16 December […] Started Notes of a Bombardier46 yesterday, but have written nothing today. I’ve finished Karamzin’s History.
For some reason the idea of power is involuntarily associated for me with the shape of a hand – especially a beautiful one. Sometimes when looking at a beautiful hand one imagines: ‘What if I were to be dependent on that man?’ […]
Read Pisemsky’s story The Wood-Demon.47 What affected language and what an improbable subject! […]
As I was being shaved today I vividly imagined to myself how a mortal wound inflicted on an already wounded man must instantly change his state of mind – from desperation to gentleness. […]
Sulimovsky with his usual rudeness told me how Pistolkors is abusing me because of Rosenkranz;48 this greatly distressed me and cooled my ardour for literary work, but the announcement of The Contemporary’s plans for 1854 spurred me on to it again.49
17 December […] Read The History50 all day. […]
Ustryalov names as characteristics of the Russian people: devotion to their faith, bravery, and the belief in their own superiority over other peoples, as though these were not the general characteristics of all peoples, and as though the Russian people had no distinctive characteristics of its own. […]
Every historical fact needs to be explained in human terms, and routine historical expressions avoided.
As an epigraph to a work of history I would write: ‘I will conceal nothing.’ It’s not enough not to lie directly; one must try not to lie negatively – by keeping silent. […]
19, 20 December Wrote nothing yesterday, although I felt better. I’m worse today because of yesterday’s rashness, and wrote nothing all day again on the pretext of anxiety. Read the magazines and thought.
One thing which, so it seems, has compensated me for my month’s inactivity is the fact that the plan of The Novel of a Russian Landowner has clearly taken shape. Previously, while I sensed in advance the wealth of content and the beauty of the idea, I wrote haphazardly. I didn’t know what to select from the host of ideas and scenes to do with the subject. […]
Reading Karamzin’s51 philosophical foreword to the journal Morning Light which he published in 1777 and in which he says that the aim of the journal is the love of wisdom, the development of man’s mind, will and feeling by directing them towards virtue, I was surprised that we could have lost the idea of the one and only aim of literature – the moral aim – to such an extent that if you were to speak nowadays of the necessity for morality in literature, nobody would understand you. But really it would not be a bad thing in every work of literature – as in fables – to write a moral, expressing its aim. Morning Light published reflections on the immortality of the soul, the destiny of man, Phaedon, the life of Socrates, etc. Perhaps this was going to extremes, but nowadays we have gone to a worse extreme.
Here is a noble aim, and one within my powers – to edit a journal whose aim would be solely to disseminate (morally) useful works of literature, and for which works would only be accepted on condition that they were accompanied by a moral, the printing or non-printing of which to depend on the author’s wishes. Apart from the fact that polemics and the ridiculing of anything at all would without exception be excluded from such a journal, it would not conflict with other journals in the line it took. […]
Somebody said that a knowledge of painting is necessary to a poet. I understood this today when reading a wonderful article about an exhibition.52
For a work to be attractive, it is not enough for it to be governed by a single thought; it must be wholly imbued with a single feeling. That wasn’t so with my Boyhood.
21 December Health a bit better, but I can’t feel at ease yet. I’ll go to Kizlyar tomorrow if I’ve not completely recovered. Got a letter from Zuyev and one from Akrshevsky; he hasn’t done the copying and hasn’t returned Boyhood. This infuriates me. Boyhood is woefully weak – it lacks unity and the language is poor. Haven’t even read anything. Sultanov came and exchanged dogs. […]
29, 30, 31 December On the 29th went shooting all day and didn’t kill a thing. Yesterday I got on with The Novel of a Russian Landowner in the morning; in the evening I suffered from charcoal fumes and slept. This morning I got on with The Novel of a Russian Landowner, and in the evening went shooting and to the baths. After supper I wrote letters to Valeryan and Tatyana Alexandrovna.
Saw the New Year in writing letters and then prayed. Alyoshka has left. Received a letter from Valeryan and Masha which altered my feelings towards her.
The manner adopted by me from the very beginning of writing short chapters is the most suitable one.
Each chapter should express only one thought or only one feeling.
1 A village some twenty miles from Groznaya.
2 In a campaign against Shamil which lasted until the middle of March.
3 A word is missing in the manuscript.
4 The first mention of the unfinished story Christmas Night.
5 He was recommended for promotion as a result.
6 A George cross for which he had been recommended for his part in the winter campaign of 1852 and which he had not received because his papers releasing him from his official post in Tula had not arrived in time. Tolstoy was arrested on Olifer’s orders for not turning up for guard duty during an inspection.
7 Avdeyev’s novel which was published in Notes of the Fatherland in 1853 was in fact called The Fiery Dragon.
8 A rich Easter shortcake.
9 An open-air game in which two teams, one in each camp, try to capture each other.
10 Christmas Night.
11 His horse.
12 The incident has been fully described in Poltoratsky’s Memoirs, and Tolstoy may have drawn on it when writing A Captive in the Caucasus.
13 Charles Aubrey, the hero of Samuel Warren’s novel Ten Thousand a Year (1839), which appeared in Russian translation in Notes of the Fatherland in 1852 entitled Litigation. Nestor’s speech in Act I, Scene iii of Troilus and Cressida (‘In the reproof of chance Lies the true proof of men …’) is paraphrased by Aubrey.
14 Probably Alyoshka (Alexey Orekhov), Tolstoy’s man-servant.
15 From Childhood.
16 The original titles of The Wood-felling and The Cossack respectively.
17 A slight variant of the first title.
18 His sister.
19 Baron I. Y. Felkersam, a Cossack adjutant.
20 Of Boyhood.
21 Probably a slip of the pen for Claude Gueux, a novel by Victor Hugo.
22 Chapters 3 and 2 respectively of Boyhood.
23 Probably the novel by Paul de Kock.
24 To continue The Novel of a Russian Landowner and write The Wood-felling.
25 The Fugitive (the original title of The Cossacks).
26 The story is entitled Reminiscences of a Billiard Marker in the Letters. Tolstoy wrote the story in a few days and sent it to Nekrasov on 17 September.
27 Chapter 23 of Boyhood.
28 By Isaac Disraeli. Essays by him were published in translation in The Contemporary in 1853.
29 Chapter 18 of Boyhood.
30 M. S. Zhukova (1804–55), a minor woman author whose story Nadenka was published in The Contemporary in 1853.
31 A review of volumes 4 and 5 of D. A. Milyutin’s five-volume work A History of the War between Russia and France in the Reign of Paul I in 1799.
32 Grigorovich’s novel Fishermen was published in The Contemporary in 1853.
33 The reference is obscure. In the following paragraphs Tolstoy continues his recently adopted practice of noting down in his diary odd scraps of factual information – not always accurately, as for example his reference to Absalom taking up arms with the Philistines.
34 A stronghold some twenty-five miles south of Starogladkovskaya.
35 An abridged and unsatisfactory translation in The Contemporary of Karoline von Wolzogen’s Schillers Leben.
36 Probably not an ‘English’ lady; it is possible that Tolstoy was referring to Mrs Beecher Stowe, whose book Uncle Tom’s Cabin had just been published in The Contemporary.
37 In English in the original.
38 In the foreword to his twelve-volume History of the Russian State Karamzin attempted to define his views on history and its purpose.
39 Tolstoy wrote 23 October. His wife corrected it to November.
40 A reference to his promotion to officer rank and his impending posting to the Danube Army.
41 Culled by Tolstoy from the work referred to in Note 35.
42 One of the original titles of The Wood-felling.
43 The Cossacks, which was originally begun in verse form.
44 Nothing came of this idea.
45 The original title of Reduced to the Ranks (later published as Meeting a Moscow Acquaintance in the Detachment).
46 One of the original titles of The Wood-felling.
47 A story abounding in rare words and neologisms. Pisemsky is best known for his gloomy novel A Thousand Souls.
48 Because Tolstoy used him as the model for Rosenkranz in The Raid.
49 An editorial article announced that the journal’s plans for 1854 included the publication of a story by Tolstoy.
50 N. G. Ustryalov’s Russian History.
51 The foreword to Novikov’s monthly journal was in fact written by Novikov and not Karamzin.
52 An article in The Contemporary about an exhibition of manufactured goods held in Moscow in 1853.