2 January, Starogladkovskaya    Got up late, spent all morning writing the third chapter, His Past.1 It seems good; at least I wrote with enthusiasm. […]

Must copy into my diary only thoughts, information or notes relating to proposed works. When starting each work, look through the diary and copy out in a separate exercise book everything relating to it. Copy out rules from my diary each month. Recall each day and note down in pencil all infringements of the rules, and copy them into the diary.

4 January    Had intended to write The Novel of a Russian Landowner in the morning, and Notes of a Bombardier in the evening, to go shooting if the weather was good and to ask for money. Spent all morning writing The Novel of a Russian Landowner, but wrote so little and so unsatisfactorily that I went on with it from dusk till supper, but only made deletions. After dinner I read The Invalide.2 […]

5 January    […] I’m often held up when writing by the wish to insert some good or well expressed thought; therefore if a particular thought should prove difficult to insert somewhere, copy it down in the diary without being delayed by the wish to introduce it at one particular point. The thought will find its place of its own accord.

6 January In the morning ‘The Novel of a Russian Landowner’.    Copied out the fifth chapter, Ivan Churis, from the old exercise book in the morning, but used my cold as an excuse to be lazy. Walk till dinner. I’d only just gone out when I was summoned to dinner; after dinner I went for a walk, drank coffee and played with the boys. Write ‘Notes of a Bombardier’. Opened the exercise book, but wrote nothing, and chatted till supper with Chekatovsky about the men. Over supper we struck up a metaphysical conversation. After supper I had an enjoyable chat with Yepishka.

Impassivity – i.e. always the same, cool outlook on life – constitutes the wisdom of old men. […]

I met a morose soldier who had lost a leg, and asked why he had no cross. ‘Crosses are only given to those who groom their horses well,’ he said as he turned away. ‘And to those who cook a nice dish of porridge,’ some little boys who were following him added with a laugh. […]

Keep your clothes neat and tidy; it gives you self-confidence and composure in your bearings. […]

7 January    […] A Russian – or generally speaking any ordinary person – loves in a moment of danger to show that he feels, or actually does feel more fear of losing things entrusted to him or his own things, than of losing his life. […]

Yepishka and Gichik used to set off at twilight in stormy weather and ride till cock-crow. In order to find out where the auls and herds of horses were, Yepishka would howl like a wolf. When the dogs responded, they would ride up to the aul, catch the horses and drive them home. But often they got lost – and not to return home by dawn would have meant trouble – so then Yepishka would dismount and let his horse go on ahead, saying he would kill it if it led him astray. The horse would lead him back to the Cossack stanitsas, and then Gichik, having first tied the horses up in the underwood would ferry Yepishka across the river, and the latter would then drive the horses into the mountains, sell them for a tenth of their value, hide the banknotes in his boot-legs and return home. […]

8 January    In the morning ‘The Novel of a Russian Landowner’. Couldn’t get on with the writing somehow. Must follow the rule of cutting out and not adding. Dined early. Go for a walk. Went for a walk after dinner. In the evening write ‘Notes of a Bombardier’. Wrote quite a lot, but began late because of the cold. Lay on the stove for a couple of hours in the twilight. Must be alone. Nobody called. The terrible cold has been hindering me a lot for two days now.

Must write a rough draft without thinking about the right place for the thoughts or their correctness of expression. Copy it out a second time, cutting out everything superfluous and giving each thought its proper place. Copy it out a third time, concentrating on the correctness of expression.

Avoid censure and gossip.

Soldiers wear cloth chest-protectors.

Avoid any movement or expression which might hurt anyone. […]

12 January    In the morning go for a walk and get on with ‘The Novel of a Russian Landowner’. Got up very late. Warmed myself by the stove – almost poisoned myself with the fumes – but my cold got worse. Then Ogolin came and I wrote nothing. Go for a walk. Did so. After dinner, thoughts and rules. Got back home, lay on my bed and fell asleep. Woke up, opened my exercise book and thought about a basic idea, but didn’t write it down. In the evening ‘Notes of a Bombardier’. Opened my exercise book again but instead of writing, dreamed about the Turkish War and Kalafat.3 Learned at supper that I’ve been transferred to the 12th Brigade,4  and decided to go home.

Avoid all expenses incurred out of vanity.

The satisfaction of physical passions is only possible in the present. The satisfaction of mental passions (ambition, love of money) – in the future. The satisfaction of one’s conscience – in the past. […]

16 January    […] Remember that when preparing for success in anything it’s necessary to begin on the bottom rung. In the law courts – as a clerk.

I was struck today by the poetic beauty of the winter weather. In the sky a mist got up and the pale sun shone through it. On the roads the dung is beginning to thaw and there is a damp moisture in the air. […]

17 January    Revise ‘Boyhood’. In the morning I didn’t have time to say my prayers before the officers arrived. Went to chapel with them. Came back home and remembered I’d forgotten my rule for Saturdays5 and re-read my diary, took stock and copied out a few things. […]

Avoid unnecessary frankness.

Avoid the familiarity and favours of people you are not sure of.

In moments of indecision act promptly, and try to take the first step even though it may prove superfluous. […]

19 January, Shchedrinskaya6 (Tuesday)    Finish ‘Boyhood’ and leave. Did so. Got up early and wrote or was busy until the moment I left. Had a church service held – out of vanity. Alexeyev took leave of me very kindly. He and Zhukevich shed tears. Got as far as Shchedrinskaya. Re-read Boyhood and decided not to look at it again until I get home, but to write my ‘Caucasian’ Notes of a Bombardier on the journey.

Was very surprised yesterday by the fact that the rules which I’ve drawn up with such an effort have all been written – and much better too – in an ABC book; so it seems that my writing them down was useless – though not the rules themselves. My Franklin Journal is another matter. I must write out my chief faults and try to avoid them. Also write my thoughts down. So the only change in the manner of my occupations is that my exercise book of rules is to be replaced by the Franklin book.

Today, while thinking of the fact that I’ve become fond of people whom I previously didn’t respect – my fellow officers – I remembered how strange Nikolenka’s affection for them had seemed to me. And I explained my change of view by the fact that in the Caucasian service and in many other close-knit circles of people one learns not to pick people out, but to see what is good even in the bad ones. […]

I have decided to make the following alterations in Boyhood.

(1) Shorten the chapter ‘On the Highroad’. (2) The Storm – simplify the expressions and cut out the repetitions. (3) Make Masha more respectable. (4) Combine The Bad Mark with The Fraction. (5) The Little Key – add what I found in the portfolio. (6) Alter Day-dreams about Mother. (7) Find a title for Keep on grinding and there’ll be flour. (8) Dubkov and Nekhlyudov – alter the beginning and add a description of ourselves and of our attitude during the conversation.7 […]

20 January, Stary Yurt    Got up early. Reached Nikolayevskaya and Stary Yurt. The news that I hadn’t got a cross distressed me very much; but strange to say – an hour later I had calmed down. Sulimovsky has obtained an escort for me, and I’m travelling tomorrow, non-stop. […]

21 January, Galyugayevskaya    […] Here is a fact which needs to be remembered more often. Thackeray spent thirty years preparing to write his first novel, but Alexandre Dumas writes two a week.

You shouldn’t show your writings to anyone before they are published. You’ll hear more harmful opinions than useful advice. […]

22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27 January    On the road. Was lost all night at Belogorodtsevskaya, 100 versts from Cherkassk, and the idea occurred to me of writing a story The Snowstorm.8 […]

I’m too sociable – I’m fond of people and because of this I waste time, relax my rules and sometimes forfeit people’s respect.

Nothing on the road cheered me so much and so reminded me of Russia as a baggage horse which laid back its ears and despite the speed of my sledge tried to overtake it at a gallop. […]

28, 29, 30, 31 January, 1, 2 February, Yasnaya Polyana    Was exactly two weeks on the road. The only striking thing that happened was the snowstorm. Behaved quite well. My mistakes were: (1) Weakness with other travellers, (2) Lying, (3) Cowardice, (4) Got angry a couple of times.

Nikolenka and Seryozha aren’t here, but there’s so much that I want to think about, to do and to feel, that I won’t write much in my diary.

2 February    Woke up late, talked to the headman and to Osip and found everything in better order than I expected. Walked round the estate. Felt unwell. Valeryan arrived. […]

3 February    Woke up early with a sore throat, despite which I rode to the mill and looked at a site for stables. Talked more and more about farming, sent a letter to Shchelin. They say I’ve been promoted.9 […]

4 February    […] The chief defect and peculiarity of my character is that I remained morally young for too long, and only now at the age of twenty-five am I beginning to acquire a man’s independent outlook on things which others acquire well before twenty. […]

5 February    […] Was lazy all day. Gave three roubles to a poor woman. Have twenty-six roubles thirty copecks left. Am 240 roubles in debt. […]

6 February    […] Events from 17 January to 6 February. Left for Stary Yurt on the 19th and learned of my failure to win a cross. Had a bad journey and lost my way for one memorable night. Arrived at Yasnaya on 2 February, tired and unwell; found my affairs in order but myself a back number, a better, but an older man. My brothers have gone to Moscow. Arsenyev is dead, Cherkassky and Neratov have cut their throats.10 Went to Tula on the 6th, finished my business with Gelke and learned about my promotion. Occupations. Finished ‘Boyhood’. Decided to put an end to copying out and classifying my rules. Thought up three rules necessary for success in life. Gave a lot of instructions, wrote a few letters but in general have rather lost the habit of orderliness and activity. […]

13 February, Yasnaya Polyana    Finished the business of the will11 on the 11th and set off at 10 o’clock; had a pleasant chat on the journey with Vergani12 and found all my brothers and the Perfilyevs at home. Mitenka made me sad, Seryozha made me happy. Got a letter from Nekrasov; he’s dissatisfied with Notes of a Billiard Marker. […]

16, 17, 18 February‚ Moscow    Don’t remember anything except that I reached Moscow. I’m physically and morally in disarray, and have spent too much money. […]

14 March 1854, Bucharest13    I’m beginning my diary in a new exercise book after nearly a month’s interval, during which I’ve felt and experienced so much that I haven’t had time to think, still less to make notes. From the Caucasus I went to Tula, saw my aunts, my sister and Valeryan, and learned of my promotion. All my three brothers and the Perfilyevs came to see me and took me off to Moscow. From Moscow I went to Pokrovskoye and said farewell there to my aunt Pelageya Ilinichna, Valeryan, Masha and Seryozha. These two farewells – especially the latter – were among the happiest moments of my life. From there I went to see Mitenka who, chiefly on my advice, has left Moscow, and the day before yesterday I arrived in Bucharest via Poltava, Kishinyov, etc. I have been happy all this time!

My official position here is uncertain and for the past week or so my health has been suspect again. Can this be the start of a new period of ordeals for me?

However, I myself am to blame; good fortune has spoiled me. I’ve let myself go and have much to reproach myself with from the day of my departure from Kursk right up to the present moment. It’s sad to have to believe that I’ve been as unable to bear good fortune as I was to bear misfortune. Today I’ll go to corps headquarters to see the commander of the division, make a few purchases, have a bit of a walk and go home to write letters and have dinner. After dinner I’ll do some work and towards evening go to the baths. In the evening I’ll stay at home and get on with Boyhood.

15 June    Exactly three months’ interval. Three months of idleness and a life which I can’t be satisfied with. I spent about three weeks with Scheidemann14 and regret that I didn’t stay. I would have got on with the officers and could have come to terms with the battery commander. Moreover the bad company and my latent resentment at my undistinguished position would have had a good effect on me. I would have been angry and bored, would have tried to raise myself morally above the position I was in, and would have become better – I would have worked.

My posting to the Staff15 came just at the time when I had quarrelled with the battery commander, and it flattered my vanity. My illness, during which I couldn’t even get back into my old rut of activity and honest work with goodness as its only aim, proved to me how far I had degenerated. The higher I rise in public opinion, the lower I fall in my own. I’ve had several women, told lies, boasted, and – most dreadful thing of all – I didn’t behave under fire in the way I hoped I would.

The siege of Silistria has been raised;16 I haven’t yet been in action; my position among my comrades and my superiors is good; despite the after effects of …17 and the sores my health is reasonably good, and morally speaking I have firmly resolved to devote my life to the service of my neighbour. For the last time I say to myself: ‘If three days pass without my doing anything of service to others, I shall kill myself.’

Help me, Lord.

Before dinner I’ll write letters to Seryozha and my aunts and to Volkonskaya if I have time. After dinner I’ll continue Notes of a Bombardier.

23 June    During the move from Silistria to Maia18 I went to Bucharest. I gambled and was obliged to borrow money. The position is humiliating for anyone, but especially for me. Wrote letters to my aunt, Mitya, Nekrasov and Oska.19 I still don’t know what to settle down to, and therefore I’m doing nothing. It seems it would be best to work on The Novel of a Russian Landowner.

24 June    Sat down to work in the morning, but did nothing, and was glad when Gorchakov20 came to interrupt me. After dinner at the General’s21 I read Béranger, went to the doctor who told me I would have to undergo an operation and have treatment for six weeks or so, and chatted till night fall with Shubin22 about our Russian serfdom. It’s true that serfdom is an evil but an extraordinarily nice evil.

25, 26, 27, 28, 29 June    Put off my operation from day to day waiting for a move to Bucharest, and have put it off here, waiting for lodgings and a doctor. There’s been action at Giurgevo23 in which I might have taken part if I’d been well. I’ve got no money, not a bean, and I’m in debt. […]

30 June    Was operated on today under chloroform – was a coward. Did nothing because I couldn’t. There’s hope that I’ll recover.

3 July    Read the whole day; my work simply refuses to make progress. Chatted with Prushinsky, Olkhin and Andropov in the evening. Stupidly lost Polinka’s24 portefeuille to Prushinsky and, despite his protestations, gave it to him. As soon as I’m on my own and think hard about myself, I can’t help going back to my original idea – that of self-improvement; but my chief mistake, and the reason why I wasn’t able to go quietly along that road, was that I confused self-improvement with perfection. One must first of all get a proper understanding of oneself and one’s defects and try to remedy them, and not set oneself the aim of perfection, which is not only impossible to attain from the low point at which I stand, but the mere conception of which destroys the hope of the possibility of attaining it. It’s the same as it was with my estate, my studies, literature and life. With my estate I wanted to attain perfection and forgot that it was necessary first of all to remedy the imperfections, of which there were too many; I wanted to make a correct division of my fields when I had nothing to manure or sow them with.

I must take myself as I am, and try to remedy those defects which can be remedied, and my good nature will lead me on towards the good without a notebook, which has been my nightmare for so long. Mine is one of those characters which desire, seek out and are receptive to all that is beautiful, and which for that very reason are incapable of being consistently good.

4 July    My chief defects are: (1) Superficiality (by which I mean irresolution, lack of perseverance and inconsistency). (2) An unpleasant, difficult character – irritability, excessive self-love and vanity. (3) The habit of idleness. […]

5 July    Read during tea, dinner and dessert, and spent all morning writing a single letter to my aunt, which I’ll send despite the fact that I don’t at all like the French style of it.25 From day to day it becomes more diffficult for me to express myself and to write in French; what need is there for this stupid custom of writing and speaking in a language one knows badly? And how much trouble, waste of time, obscurity of thought and imperfection in one’s native language result from this custom, and yet it has to be so!

In the evening I wrote a chapter or so of Notes of a Bombardier enthusiastically and reasonably well. Olkhin came to see me twice, which it’s completely unnecessary for me to note down, because I shan’t remember the wonderful expressions of stupidity which issued from his lips just because I note them down. Ate some fruit, despite my diarrhoea, and commissioned Olkhin to hire a piano for me – two breaches of good sense. My main defect is a lack of tolerance towards myself and others. This isn’t a rule but a thought, but there’s no reason why I shouldn’t note it down here. It will remind me some time hence of the moral state I was in on 5 July, 1854.

6 July    Spent all day reading Lermontov, Goethe and Alphonse Karr26 and couldn’t settle down to work. However often I say that I’m not ambitious, and however much I try to be sincere about it, le bout de l’oreille se montre malgré moi [the cloven hoof shows in spite of me]. It was unpleasant for me to learn today that Osip Serzhputovsky had been shell-shocked and that the Emperor had been informed about it. Envy … and over such a trivial thing, and of such a worthless fellow! […]

7 July    I lack modesty! That’s my great defect. What am I? One of four sons of a retired lieutenant-colonel, left an orphan at seven years of age in the care of women and strangers, having received neither a social nor an academic education and becoming my own master at the age of seventeen, without a large fortune, without any social position, and, above all, without any principles; a man who mismanaged his affairs to the last degree, who spent the best years of his life without purpose or pleasure, and who finally banished himself to the Caucasus to escape from his debts and above all his habits, and from there, by seizing on to connections which had existed between his father and the Commander-in-Chief of the army, was transferred to the army of the Danube at the age of twenty-six as an ensign, almost without means except his pay (because what means he has he must use to pay his outstanding debts), without patrons, without the ability to live in society, without knowledge of the service, without practical talents – but with enormous self-love! Yes, that is my social position. Let us see what sort of person I am.

I am ugly, awkward, untidy and socially uneducated. I am irritable, boring to other people, immodest, intolerant (intolérant) and bashful as a child. I am almost an ignoramus. What I know, I have somehow learned myself in snatches, piecemeal, unsystematically, and it amounts to very little. I am intemperate, irresolute, inconstant, stupidly vain and passionate like all people who lack character. I am not brave. I am unmethodical in life, and so lazy that idleness has become for me almost an insuperable habit. I am intelligent, but my intelligence has never yet been thoroughly tested by anything. I have neither practical, social nor business intelligence. I am honest, i.e. I love goodness and have made a habit of loving it; and when I deviate from it I am dissatisfied with myself and return to it with pleasure; but there are things which I love more than goodness – for example, fame. I am so ambitious, and this feeling has been so little satisfied, that as, between fame and virtue, I fear I might often choose the former if I had to make a choice.

Yes, I am not modest; and that is why I am proud at heart, but bashful and shy in society.

Wrote this page in the morning and read Louis Philippe.27 Began writing Notes of a Bombardier very late after dinner, and by evening had written quite a lot, despite the fact that Olkhin and Andropov came round to see me. After Andropov left I leaned on the balcony rail and gazed at my favourite street lamp which shines so wonderfully through the tree. Moreover, after the few storm clouds which had passed over and moistened the ground today, one large cloud remained covering the whole southern part of the sky, and there was a pleasant lightness and moisture in the air.

The landlady’s pretty daughter was reclining at her window, leaning like me on her elbows. A barrel-organ passed along the street, and when the sounds of a good old waltz receding further and further into the distance had completely died away, the girl gave a deep sigh, got up and quickly moved away from the window. I felt so sad, yet happy, that I couldn’t help smiling and long continued to look at my street lamp, whose light was sometimes obscured by the branches of the tree swaying in the wind, and at the tree itself, the fence and the sky, and all these things seemed to me even better than before. […]

8 July    In the morning I read and wrote a little. In the evening I did a bit more, but not only without enthusiasm, but even with a sort of insuperable laziness. Decided not to take the piano and replied to Olkhin that I had no money, at which he was no doubt offended, the more so since I signed myself simply ‘Entirely Yours’. Today I discovered still more poetic things in Lermontov and Pushkin: in the former The Dying Gladiator (that dream of home before he dies is wonderfully good) and in the latter, Yanko Marnavich,28 who accidently killed his friend. Having prayed long and earnestly in church he went home and lay down on his bed. Then he asked his wife whether she had seen anything from the window, and she replied that she hadn’t. He asked again, and then his wife said that she saw a light beyond the river. When he asked a third time, his wife said that she saw the light getting bigger and coming nearer. He died. It’s marvellous! But why? Try and explain poetic feeling after that!

9 July    Spent the morning and all the rest of the day, first writing Notes of a Bombardier which, by the way, I’ve finished, but which I’m so dissatisfied with that I can hardly avoid re-writing it all afresh or entirely abandoning it – abandoning not only Notes of a Bombardier, but abandoning literature altogether – because if a thing which seemed admirable as an idea turns out to be worthless in practice, the man who undertook it has no talent; and then reading Goethe, Lermontov and Pushkin. The first I don’t understand well and, however much I try, I can’t avoid seeing something ridiculous (du ridicule) in the German language. In the second, I found the beginning of Izmail Bey very good. Perhaps it seemed all the more so to me because I’m beginning to love the Caucasus with a deep, though posthumous love. That wild region in which two such completely opposite things as war and freedom are so strangely and poetically blended is really fine. In Pushkin I was struck by The Gipsies which, strangely enough, I hadn’t understood till now.

The motto of my diary should be ‘non ad probandum, sed ad narrandum’ [not to prove, but to narrate].

11 July    Re-read A Hero of Our Time, read Goethe, and only wrote a very little towards evening. Why? Laziness, irresolution, and a passion for looking at my moustaches and my fistulas – for which I give myself two reprimands. Today I entrusted my application for a transfer29 to Boborykin, who was here on his way to see the General. Another reprimand for having laughed at Olkhin in front of Boborykin.

11 July    In the morning Olkhin came to announce to me that he was going to Leovo and wanted to entrust his horses and belongings to me – which I got out of unwittingly by telling him that I had no money. In actual fact I’m in a most difficult financial position again: not a copeck at least till the middle of August, nothing in prospect from anywhere except for forage-money, and in debt to the doctor. Nothing in prospect, I say, because I received The Contemporary today and am convinced that my manuscripts are lying at the customs somewhere.30 I’ll sort this matter out when I’m well again. In the evening I had the chance to test my illusions about a return to the gay life. My landlady’s very pretty married daughter who has been foolishly flirting with me beyond all bounds had the same effect on me- however much I tried to force myself – as in the old days, i.e. I suffered terribly from bashfulness.

In the course of conversation with the doctor today, the stupid and unjust opinion I used to have about the Wallachians vanished – an opinion common to the whole army and borrowed by me from the fools I have hitherto kept company with. This people’s fate is sad and moving. Today I read Goethe and a play of Lermontov’s31 (in which I discovered much that was new and good) and Dickens’ Bleak House.32 This is the second day I’ve been trying to write poetry. We’ll see what comes of it. […]

12 July    Since morning I’ve felt heavy-headed and couldn’t force myself to work. Read The Contemporary all day. Esther (Bleak House) says that her prayer as a child consisted of the promises she had made to God (1) always to be industrious, (2) to be sincere, (3) to be contented and (4) to try to win the love of all around her. How simple, how sweet, how easy to accomplish and how great are those four rules.

13 July    My prayer. ‘I belive in one, almighty and good God, in the immortality of the soul, and in eternal retribution for our deeds; I wish to believe in the religion of my fathers and I respect it.’

‘Our Father’, etc. ‘For the repose and salvation of my parents.’ ‘I thank Thee, O Lord, for Thy mercies, for this and for that’ (here recall all the happiness that has been my lot). ‘I pray Thee, inspire me to good undertakings and thoughts, and grant me happiness and success in them. Help me to correct my faults; save me from sickness, suffering, quarrels, debts and humiliations.’

‘Grant me to live and die in firm faith and hope in Thee, in love for others and from others, with a clear conscience, and with profit to my neighbour. Grant me to do good and shun evil: but whether good or evil befall me, may They holy will be done!’ […]

14 July    In the morning, apart from my usual reading of Goethe and some booklets that turned up, I got Zhdanov down on paper, but still haven’t decided about the personality of Velenchuk.33 They operated on my groin again today and again I had choloroform. The sensation wasn’t so unpleasant, but it was so strange – I heard the sound of the instruments, but didn’t feel pain. […]

15 July    The doctor woke me up early today, and thanks to that I wrote quite a lot in the morning – I kept revising the old material: the description of the soldiers. I also wrote a bit in the evening and read Verschwörung des Fiesko.34 I’m beginning to understand drama in general. Although I take a completely opposite path to the majority as far as it’s concerned, I like it as a means of providing me with new poetic enjoyment. […]

16 July    […] Bartolomey35 came round later, and I probably offended him a bit by saying that his pronunciation is bad. It’s time I stopped keeping company with the young, although I never did so really and truly, like the others; but the thing is that it’s now easier and more pleasant for me to be with old men than with very young people. […]

21 July, Sineşti36    Was woken up early this morning and taken to Sineşti. […] Forgot to note down yesterday the pleasure Schiller gave me with his Rudolf of Habsburg and some minor philosophical poems. The simplicity, picturesqueness and calm, truthful poetry of the former is delightful. In the second, what struck me – or as Bartolomey says, what ‘was inscribed on my heart’ – was the thought that to do anything great, one must direct all the strength of one’s soul to a single point.

24 July, Cureşti    In the morning Noverezhky, with a wry face, brought me back my application37 endorsed by Kryzhanovsky. All these petty unpleasantnesses have so upset me that I was decidedly out of sorts all day – lazy, apathetic, unable to set to work on anything, taciturn with people and bashful to the point of perspiration. I experienced this at Boborykin’s, first with Zybin, Friede and Balyuzek, and in the evening with Kryzhanovsky and Stolypin. I’m too honest to have dealings with these people.

It’s strange that I’ve only just noticed one of my chief defects: an inclination to show off all my superior qualities, which offends other people and arouses envy in them. In order to win people’s love one must, on the contrary, conceal everything in which one stands out from the rank and file. I’ve come to realise this too late. I won’t hand in my application until I’m in a position to keep horses, and I’ll employ all means to that end. Meanwhile I won’t have any other relations with people, except those required by the service. I reproach myself for laziness.

27 July    Spent the whole day here and saw no one except Tishkevich and the adjutants who all, it seems to me, try to avoid me as a disgracié. It’s absurd. I’m satisfied with my day except for my laziness and the two wenches at my landlady’s to whom I couldn’t resolve to say a word, and I walked around the house for two hours. Some thoughts came into my head, but I feel that my memory is becoming blunted; love and respect for, and confidence in my intelligence are disappearing, and I’m falling back in the world of ideas without in consequence making progress – as should be the case – in the practical world. One of the thoughts apropos of which this reflection came into my head was actually this – that to try to win the love of one’s neighbour is useless. […]

29 July    My improvement is progressing admirably. I feel how my relations with people of every sort are becoming easy and pleasant since I decided to be modest and became convinced that there is absolutely no need always to appear grand and infallible. I am very cheerful. God grant that my cheerfulness stems from me myself, as I think it does: from my desire to be pleasant to everyone, from modesty, slowness to take offence and being on guard against angry outbursts. If so I would always be cheerful and nearly always happy. In the morning I decided to stay at home and work, but I couldn’t get on with things and in the evening I couldn’t refrain from going out and gadding about. On the way back from supper Tishkevich and I stopped at a brothel and Kryzhanovsky caught us, which, I must confess, wasn’t at all pleasant. […]

1 August    Got up late and read Schiller all morning, but without pleasure or enthusiasm. After dinner, although I was in the mood to work, I wrote very little out of laziness. Spent all evening chasing after wenches. […]

12 Augusty Foksaný38    Began the morning well and did some work, but the evening! God, shall I never reform? Lost the rest of my money and lost three thousand roubles which I couldn’t pay. I’ll sell my horse tomorrow. […]

13 August    Woke up fairly early and worked well in the morning, but after dinner – apart from the excellent comedy Among Friends One Always Comes to Terms39 – I loafed about all evening. […]

15 August    Got up early and rode to Odobeşti.40 The journey was somehow not a success. Wrote little and very badly,41 slept, went to the races and spent the evening at home. I repeat what I’ve written before: I have three main defects: (1) lack of character, (2) irritability and (3) laziness, of which I must cure myself. […]

16 August    Got up about 7, wrote quite well but not much, had dinner, wrote a bit more, ran after a wench, stayed a while at Stolypin’s, then had a repulsive argument about original sin and so am going to bed in a bad mood. In the morning I shouted at Nikita – irritability. (1) Was lazy in Andropov’s presence. (2) Ran after a wench when I’d promised myself not to embrace anyone for at least a month, and then only for love – lack of character. (3) Argued heatedly – irritability. (4) Sum total: irritability, lack of character and laziness. The most important thing in life for me is to cure myself of these faults. From today I shall conclude my diary each day with this phrase.

17 August, Tecuciu42    March from Fokşaný to Tecuciu; […] Had a good sleep at mid-day and read the wonderful comedy Poverty is no Crime43 […]

24 August    Rest day in Aslui.44 Today I experienced two strong, pleasant and profitable impressions. (1) Received a flattering letter about Boyhood from Nekrasov, which, as usual, raised my spirits and encouraged me to continue my work, and (2) read Z. T.45 How strange that I’ve only now become convinced that the higher you try to make yourself out to be to people, the lower you become in their opinion. La béquille de Sixte-Quint doit être le bâton de voyage de tout homme supérieur. [Sixtus V’s crutch should be the travelling staff of any superior being.]46 All truths are paradoxes. The direct deductions of reason are fallible; the absurd conclusions of experience are infallible. Today I censured Stolypin, was proud to get Nekrasov’s letter and was lazy. The most important thing for me is to cure myself of lack of character, irritability and laziness.

29 August    I’m very ill. I think it’s consumption. I’ve written nothing, but read Onkel Tom’s Hütte. The most important thing for me is to cure myself of laziness, irritability and lack of character.

11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16 September, Kishinyov47    […] The disembarkation near Sevastopol worries me.48 Self-assurance and effeminacy: these are the main, sad features of our army – common to all armies of states that are too big and strong. Must cure myself of laziness, irritability and lack of character.

Received Childhood and The Raid.49 Found much that is weak in the former. The temporary – in the present circumstances – aim of my life is to improve my character, put my affairs in order and make a career both in literature and in the service.

17 September    Behaved badly. Did nothing, ran after wenches in the evening, went out contrary to my intention. The plan to form a society interests me keenly.50 Must cure myself of laziness, lack of character and irritability.

23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30 September, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 October    The plan to form a society has changed into a plan for a journal51 – for most of the seven – but not for Friede and me. I’m not going away on account of the journal, but it’s making slow progress; I do little work and behave badly. Tomorrow the Grand Dukes are coming.52 Let that be a great occasion for me. I must write an article for the specimen number. […]

21 October    I’ve lived through a lot these last days. Affairs at Sevastopol still hang by a thread. The specimen number will be ready today, and I’m thinking again of moving. Stolypin, Serzhputovsky, Shubin and Boborykin are going or have gone. I’ve lost all my money at cards. […]

2 November, Odessa53    Since the landing of the Anglo-French troops we have had three engagements with them. The first was at Alma on 8 September in which the enemy attacked and defeated us; the second was Liprandi’s action on 13 September in which we attacked and were victorious, and the third was Dannenberg’s terrible action in which we attacked again and were beaten again. It was a treacherous, revolting business. The 10th and 11th divisions attacked the enemy’s left flank, drove them back and spiked thirty-seven guns. Then the enemy put forward 6,000 riflemen – only 6,000 against 30,000 – and we retreated, having lost about 6,000 brave men. And we had to retreat, because half our troops had no artillery owing to the roads being impassable, and – God knows why – there were no rifle battalions. Terrible slaughter! It will weigh heavy on the souls of many people! Lord, forgive them. The news of this action has produced a sensation. I’ve seen old men who wept aloud and young men who swore to kill Dannenberg. Great is the moral strength of the Russian people. Many political truths will emerge and evolve in the present difficult days for Russia. The feeling of ardent patriotism that has arisen and issued forth from Russia’s misfortunes will long leave its traces on her. These people who are now sacrificing their lives will be citizens of Russia and will not forget their sacrifice. They will take part in public affairs with dignity and pride, and the enthusiasm aroused in them by the war will stamp on them for ever the quality of self-sacrifice and nobility.

Among the useless sacrifices of that unfortunate action were Soymonov and Komstadius, who were killed. It is said of the first that he was one of the few honest and intelligent generals in the Russian army. The second I knew quite well: he was a member of our society and a would-be editor of our journal. His death more than anything else has impelled me to ask to go to Sevastopol. He made me feel somehow ashamed.

English ships continue to blockade Odessa. The sea, unfortunately, is calm. It is said that there was an action on the 27th – again indecisive – and that on the 3rd there will be an assault. I can’t get there before the 5th, but I have a feeling that I still won’t be too late.

3 November    In Odessa I was told of a touching incident. The adjutant to the general in charge went to the hospital at N, where the wounded men of the 4th corps from the Crimea were lying. ‘The Commander-in-Chief Prince Gorchakov’, he said to them, ‘has instructed me to thank you for your brave service and to find out …’ – ‘Hurrah!’ resounded feeble voices, one after another, from all the beds. A great and wonderful reward for Gorchakov for his efforts! Better than a portrait round the neck.54

The pilot on the ferry-boat at Nikolayev told me that on the 26th there had been an action in which Khomutov distinguished himself and allegedly captured a great number of prisoners and guns, but that of our 8,000 men only 2,000 returned on the 26th. An officer in Nikolayev confirmed these rumours. Nakhimov and Liprandi are said to have been wounded. The enemy have received reinforcements and are settling down in winter quarters. God knows what is true. The pilot also told me a story about a Cossack who caught a young English prince with a lassoo and took him to Menshikov. The young prince fired his pistol at the Cossack. ‘Hey, don’t shoot,’ said the Cossack. The prince fired again and again missed. ‘Hey, don’t fool about,’ said the Cossack. The prince fired a third time (these things are always done three times) and missed. Then the Cossack began to flog him with his whip. When the prince complained to Menshikov that the Cossack had beaten him, the Cossack said that he was teaching him to shoot: if he were a commander and couldn’t shoot straight, the Cossacks would disown him. Menshikov laughed. Generally speaking one hears more talk among the people about the English than about the French.

4, 5 November    (en route from Odessa to Sevastopol) In Nikolayev I couldn’t see a thing. I won’t write down the rumours because they all turned out to be nonsense. Since the 24th nothing has been undertaken except siege works.

I was taken by boat from Kherson to Oleshko. The pilot told us about the transport of the soldiers: how a soldier lay down in the pouring rain on the wet bottom of the boat and fell asleep; how an officer beat a soldier for scratching himself; and how a soldier shot himself during the crossing for fear of having overstayed his leave by two days and how he was thrown overboard without burial. Now the boatmen try to frighten one another as they pass the place on the river where the soldier was thrown overboard. ‘What was his company?’ they shout.

At Oleshko I was detained for the night by a pretty and intelligent Cossack girl whom I kissed and fondled through a window. She came to me during the night. […]55 I would have pleasanter memories if I had stayed at the window. […]

Saw some French and English prisoners but didn’t manage to talk to them. The mere appearance of these people and the way they walk somehow filled me with the sad conviction that they are far superior to our troops. However, I only had for comparison some army transport men who were escorting them.

The driver who brought me here said that on the 24th we should have completely overcome the English had it not been for treachery.56 It’s sad and ridiculous. ‘The other day’, he said, ‘they brought an iron coach and six, probably meant for Menshikov.’ I also met some of our own wounded, a splendid lot; they are sorry for their commanders and say that they advanced to attack several times but couldn’t hold on because their left flank had been turned; they are glad to seize on to an unknown, and therefore for them very significant word, in order to explain their failure. It would be too sad for them to believe in treachery.

11 November, Sevastopol    I arrived on the 7th. All the rumours that tormented me on the way have proved to be nonsense. I’m attached to the 3rd light battery and live in the town itself. I’ve seen all our fortifications from a distance, and some nearby. To take Sevastopol is quite impossible – even the enemy are convinced of that, it seems – and in my opinion they are covering their retreat. The storm on 2 November put up to thirty vessels out of action – a sailing ship and three steamers. The company of the artillery officers in this brigade is the same as everywhere else. There is one person, very like Louisa Volkonskaya – I know that I’ll soon get tired of him and so I try to see him as little as possible so that that impression will last longer. Of the commanders here, Nakhimov, Totleben and Istomin appear to be decent people. Menshikov seems to me to be a good commander-in-chief, but unfortunately he began his military career with inferior forces against an enemy three times as strong and better armed. The troops on both sides had never been under fire, and so the numerical superiority was ten times more noticeable. Troops who have never been under fire can’t retreat; they run away.

20 November

23 November, Eski-Orda58    On the 16th I left Sevastopol for our position. On the journey I became more convinced than before that Russia must either fall or be completely transformed. Everything is topsy-turvy. The enemy are not prevented from reinforcing their camps, although this would have been very easy, while we, with inferior forces, with no expectation of help from anywhere, with generals like Gorchakov who have lost their senses and feelings and energy and without reinforcing ourselves stand facing the enemy and wait for the storms and bad weather which Nicholas the Miracle-Worker will send to drive the enemy away. The Cossacks want to plunder but not to fight; the hussars and uhlans suppose military worth to consist of drunkenness and debauchery, and the infantry – of robbery and making money. A sad state of affairs for the army and the country.

I spent a couple of hours chatting with French and English wounded. Every soldier is proud of his position and respects himself, for he feels himself to be an effective spring in the army machine. Good weapons and the skill to use them, youth, and general ideas about politics and the arts give them an awareness of their own worth. With us, stupid foot and arms drills, useless weapons, oppression, age, lack of education, and bad food and keep destroy the men’s last spark of pride, and even give them too high an opinion of the enemy.

In Simferopol I lost all my money at cards, and I’m now living with the battery in a Tatar village and only now experiencing the discomforts of life.

26 November    I’m living a carefree life, not forcing or restraining myself in anything; I go out shooting, listen, observe and argue. One thing is bad: I’m beginning to put myself, or to wish to put myself, above my comrades and they no longer like me so much. Here is some almost reliable news from Sevastopol. On the 13th there was a sortie against the enemy trenches opposite the 3rd, 4th and 5th bastions. The Yekaterinburg regiment took the trench opposite the 4th bastion by surprise, drove out and killed the enemy and withdrew with the loss of three men wounded. The officer commanding that detachment was presented to the Grand Duke Nikolay Nikolayevich. ‘So you were the hero of this action?’ the Grand Duke said to him. ‘Tell me what it was like.’ ‘When I left the bastion and began to approach the trench, the soldiers stopped and didn’t want to go on.’ ‘You can’t mean it,’ said the Grand Duke and walked away from him. ‘You ought to be ashamed,’ remarked Filosofov to him. ‘Clear off!’ concluded Menshikov. I’m sure the officer wasn’t lying, and I’m sorry he wasn’t more outspoken.

The sortie from the 3rd bastion was unsuccessful. The officer, on seeing the sentries, returned to the Admiral for instructions and gave the enemy time to prepare. I don’t know any details about the sortie from the 5th bastion. On the whole this news is not entirely trustworthy, but it’s more probable than the wild rumours about the capture of some thirty guns.

Liprandi has been appointed commander of the troops in Sevastopol. Thank God! Apart from the successes he has had in this campaign, he is well loved and popular – popular not for his foul language, but for his efficiency and intelligence. For good or ill, but to my great annoyance, lack of money keeps me here; otherwise I would now be on the south coast at Eupatoria or would have returned to Sevastopol.

7 December    On the 5th I went to Sevastopol with a platoon of soldiers to fetch some guns. There is much new. And all of it encouraging. Saken’s presence is apparent in everything. And not so much Saken’s presence as the presence of a new commander-in-chief who isn’t tired out, doesn’t change his mind too much and isn’t yet the prisoner of conjectures and expectations. Saken, as far as he can, spurs on his troops to make sorties (I say as far as he can, for only Menshikov can really spur them on by giving them immediate rewards – which he fails to do). Recommendations which come out three months later really mean nothing to a man awaiting death at any moment. But man is so foolishly constituted that while awaiting death he expects and loves rewards. Saken has built little trenches in front of the bastion. God knows whether it’s a good plan or not, but it shows energy. It is said that one such little trench of eight men has been captured [?],59 but the main thing is that to fetch the wounded from a trench during the day, others have to risk being wounded. These trenches are not connected with the bastions, and are further away from them than they are from the enemy’s works. Saken has organised a system for removing the wounded and has set up ambulance stations at all the bastions. Saken has had music played.

It’s wonderful how beautiful Sevastopol is. Two days ago I was extremely sad. I spent a couple of hours in a hospital ward for the allied wounded. Most of them had been struck off – dead or recovered – but the rest were convalescing. I found some five of them round an iron stove. French, English and Russians were laughing, chatting and playing cards, each one speaking his own language, and only the warders spoke some kind of strange jargon in their attempt to accommodate themselves to the foreign languages. […] When I went down to the shore the sun was already setting behind the English batteries, puffs of smoke were rising here and there and shots could be heard, the sea was calm and small boats and dinghies were scudding past the huge masses of ships; on the Grafskaya pier music was playing, and the sounds of trumpets and a familiar tune drifted across; Golitsyn and some other gentlemen were standing by the embankment leaning on the rails. It was wonderful! […]

It seems I shall soon be leaving. I can’t say whether I want to or not.

Notes

1 The third chapter of the first version of The Novel of a Russian Landowner.

2 I have used the French word in preference to the more usual, but misleading, Invalid, or the cumbersome Disabled Soldier. The Russian Invalide was an army newspaper founded in 1813 and continuing right up to 1917.

3 A small town on the Danube in Romania; at the time the focal point of military operations between the Turkish and Russian armies.

4 To No. 4 battery of the 12th artillery brigade of the Danube Army. This brigade was part of General Liprandi’s detachment which was besieging the Turkish fortified positions at Kalafat.

5 Namely to review on Saturdays everything done during that week.

6 A village on the left bank of the Terek north east of Groznaya, where Tolstoy stopped on his journey back to Yasnaya Polyana.

7 Not all these alterations were made.

8 The story based on that incident was written two years later.

9 To the rank of ensign for distinguished services in the campaign against the mountain tribesmen.

10 Prince Cherkassky committed suicide because of gambling losses; Tolstoy’s university contemporary, Neratov, for reasons unknown. Both were landowners in the province of Tula.

11 The will Tolstoy wrote before setting off for the war has not survived.

12 Mlle J. Vergani, a French governess – at first to Tolstoy’s sister, and in the 1850s to the Arsenyev family.

13 Tolstoy arrived in Bucharest on 12 March to await a posting.

14 The commander of No. 3 battery of the artillery brigade to which Tolstoy was attached, and who had occasion to reprimand Tolstoy for prolonging his stay in Bucharest – hence the reference to ‘coming to terms with the battery commander’.

15 After a short spell of service with the artillery brigade Tolstoy was transferred on 13 April to the staff of General Serzhputovsky, Commander of the Artillery of the Danube Army.

16 A Turkish stronghold on the right bank of the Danube which had been besieged by the Russians for several weeks.

17 The word has been deleted but is not difficult to guess.

18 A village to the north east of Bucharest where the Russian troops withdrew to after raising the siege of Silistria.

19 The son of General Serzhputovsky.

20 One of the two nephews of the Commander-in-Chief of the Danube Army.

21 General Serzhputovsky.

22 One of a small group of officers, including Tolstoy, who later planned to found a society and a journal to promote the spread of education among the troops. See entry for 17 September 1854.

23 An attempt by the Turks to force a crossing of the Danube at Giurgevo, on the left bank, was successfully resisted by the Russians.

24 The wife of V. S. Perfilyev and a second cousin of Tolstoy’s.

25 Letters, I, 39.

26 Referred to as ‘a witty writer’ in a draft version of Childhood, the French novelist is also mentioned in Boyhood and After the Ball.

27 Probably Dumas père’s Histoire de la vie politique et privée de Louis Philippe, 1852.

28 The second of the Songs of the Western Slavs.

29 To the Crimean Army.

30 The manuscripts of Boyhood and Notes of a Billiard Marker, which Tolstoy feared had been held up in transit from Romania.

31 Masquerade.

32 It was serialised in translation in The Contemporary in 1854.

33 Two soldiers portrayed in The Wood-felling.

34 A drama by Schiller. Tolstoy mistakenly wrote Viesko.

35 Evidently a young soldier who came to Tolstoy for advice on literature; reference is made elsewhere to their reading stories together.

36 Sineşti is to the north east of Bucharest; Cureşti (see entry for 24 July) has not been identified and is probably an error on Tolstoy’s part.

37 For a transfer to the Crimea.

38 A town in Moldavia on the borders of Wallachia.

39 By Ostrovsky.

40 A village to the west of Fokşaný, noted for its vineyards.

41 The Wood-felling.

42 A town about fifteen miles north east of Fokşaný.

43 By Ostrovsky.

44 Evidently a mistake for Vaslui, a town in Moldavia.

45 These initials have not been deciphered.

46 A reference to a saying about Pope Sixtus V who allegedly feigned illness before his election as Pope, but rapidly recovered and threw away his crutches soon afterwards.

47 Tolstoy reached Kishinyov on 9 September.

48 A reference to the landing of English, French and Turkish forces near Eupatoria in the Crimea on 2 September.

49 Offprints of his stories.

50 See Note 22.

51 Tolstoy and Friede were at first reluctant to give up the plan to found a society, but eventually agreed to collaborate with the other five in launching a journal. Tolstoy wrote an article for a specimen number, but the authorities refused permission for the journal to be published.

52 Nicholas I’s sons who had been sent to ‘raise the morale’ of the army.

53 Tolstoy left Kishinyov at the end of October and travelled to Sevastopol via Odessa, Nikolayev and Perekop.

54 A portrait of the Tsar set in diamonds; the highest possible award.

55 A passage here has been erased from the manuscript.

56 A reference to a rumour that the Commander-in-Chief Prince Menshikov had been guilty of treachery at the Battle of Inkerman.

57 A literal translation of an eight-line poem in two rhymed stanzas.

58 A Tatar village some four miles from Simferopol.

59 A conjectured reading.