The Journal of Leo Tolstoi (First Volume — 1895–1899) · 28

[143]

I skipped three days. To-day July 21. Y. P.

I am working well enough. I am even satisfied with my work. Though I change much. Everything has come to a head and has gained much. I have been reviewing everything again from the beginning.

The life around me is very wretched....

I do not know why: whether from the stomach or the heat or from excessive physical exercise—but in the evenings I feel very weak.

A good speech by Crookes as to how a microscopic man would look upon the world.[204]

Yesterday Novikov was here and he brought splendid notes by Michael Novikov.[205] Wrote letters: to Carus,[206] Ivan Michailovich. A letter from Evgenie Ivanovich.[207]

July 22. Y. P. If I live.

July 28. Y. P.

Six days that I haven’t written. Three or four days ago at night, I had an attack of cholera morbus and the day after I was absolutely ill and for two days I have been very weak and have written very poorly. To-day I am a little better.

The children were here: Iliushin’s family.[208] They are sweet grandchildren, especially Andrusha. Whatever notes I made, I will not write[144] out to-day. Longinov[209] was here, a friend of Mme. Annenkov’s and to-day Maude and Boulanger.

July 29. Y. P. If I live.

To-day Aug. 7. Y. P.

During this time a pile of guests[210]... two Germans, decadents; a naïve and a somewhat stupid one.... There were here: Novikov, the scribe, a very powerful man, and Bulakhov,[211] also a powerful one morally and intellectually. I live very badly, weakly. Very little goodness. To-day the Stakhoviches[212] and the Maklakovs[213] arrived also.

I continue to work on my essay on art and, strange to say, it pleases me. Yesterday and to-day I read it to Ginsburg, Sobolev, Kasatkin[214] and Goldenweiser. The impression it produces on them is exactly the same as it produces on me.

A letter from Crosby with a joyful letter from a Japanese.[215] From Chertkov good letters. The correspondence has been very neglected.

I am entirely alone and I weaken. I often say to myself that one must live serving, but when I enter life, though I do not exactly forget, yet I scatter myself.

I have written down much, but to-day I have no time to write it out.

[145]

Father, help me. I weaken.

I am going to write absolutely every day.

Aug. 8. Y. P. If I live.

A peasant was here who had his arm torn by a tree and amputated. He ploughs with a loop attached.

Aug. 9.

Stakhovich arrived. Read the essay. The tenth chapter is bad. I worked pretty much. Have written poor letters. I must write to Posha and to Ivan Michailovich.

There is noted in the book:

1) A servant makes life false and corrupt. As soon as you have servants, then you increase your wants, complicate life and make it a burden. Instead of joy when you do things yourself, you have vexation and the principal thing, you renounce the main duty of life; the fulfilment of the brotherhood of man.

2) The æsthetic and the ethical are two arms of one lever: to the extent that you lengthen and lighten one side, to that extent you shorten and make heavier the other side. As soon as a man loses his moral sense, he becomes particularly responsive to the æsthetic.

3) People know two Gods: one whom they want to force to serve them, demanding from[146] him by prayers the fulfilment of their desires, and another God, one whom we ought to serve, to the fulfilment of whose will, all our desires ought to be directed.

4) It is a common phenomenon that old people love to travel, to go far and to change places. Is it not a foreseeing and a readiness for the last journey?