Yesterday was Feb. 28. Nicholskoe.
I have written nothing. In the morning I worked badly. Received a letter from Chertkov and Ivan Michailovich and wrote to both. Walked and went to Safonovo. 191
This morning I thought of something which seemed to me important, namely:
i) I wiped away the dust in my room and walking around, came to the divan and could not remember whether I had dusted it or not. Just because these movements are customary and un-conscious I could not remember them and I felt that it was impossible to. So that if I dusted and forgot it, i.e., if I did an act unconsciously; then it is just the same as if it never existed. If some one conscious saw it, then perhaps it could be re-stored. But if no one saw it, or saw it uncon-sciously; if the whole complex life of many people pass along unconsciously, then that life is as if it had never existed. So that life life only ex-ists then, when it is lit by consciousness.
What, then, is this consciousness? What are the acts which are lit by consciousness? The acts which are lit by consciousness are those acts which
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we fulfil freely, i.e., fulfilling them we know that we might have acted otherwise. Therefore, con-sciousness is freedom. Without consciousness there is no freedom and without freedom there can be no consciousness (if we are subjected to violence and we have no choice as to how we should bear that violence, we do not feel the vio-lence).
Memory is nothing else than the consciousness of the past, of the past freedom. If I were un-able to dust or not to dust, I would not be con-scious of dusting, if I were not conscious of dust-ing, I would not have the choice of dusting or not dusting. If I did not have consciousness and free-dom, I would not remember the past, I would not unite it into one. Therefore the very basis of life is freedom and consciousness a freedom-con-sciousness.
(It seemed to me clearer when I was thinking.)
March i, Nicholskoe.
. . . To-day I could not write anything in the morning at all fell asleep. I took a walk both in the morning and in the evening. It was very pleasant.
I thought two things :
i) That death seems to me now just as a change: a discharge from a former post and an
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appointment to a new one. It seems that I am all worn out for the former post and I am no longer fit.
2) I thought about N as a good character for a drama; good-natured, clean, spoilt, loving pleas-ure but good, and incapable of conceiving a radi-cal moral requirement.
I also thought:
3) There is only one means for steadfastness and peace : love, love towards enemies.
Yes, here this problem was presented to me from a special, unexpected angle and how badly I was able to solve it. I must try harder. Help me, Father. March 2, Nlcholskoe. If I live.
March 2, Nicholskoe.
I am alive. Entirely well. To-day I wrote pretty well. In the evening after dinner I went to Shelkovo. It was a very pleasant walk in the moonlight.
Wrote a letter to Posha. Received a letter from Tregubov. He is irritated because they in-tercept the letters. But I am not vexed. I have understood that one has to pity them, and I pity truly. To-morrow we go. We have been here a whole month.
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Yesterday was March $rd. Moscow.
In the morning I did almost nothing. I stum-bled up against the historic course of art. I took a walk. After dinner I left. I arrived at 10.
March 4, Moscow.
Got up late. Handled my papers, wrote let-ters to Posha, Nakashidze. Went to the public library, took books. In the evening Dunaev and Boulanger were here. It is now late. I am go-ing to bed. S. is at a concert. March 5. Moscow. If I live.
Heavens, how many days I have skipped : To-day, March g. Moscow.
Out of the four days, I wrote two days on art and to-day pretty much. I wanted to write Hadji Murad very much and thought out something pretty well touching. A letter from Posha. Wrote to Chertkov and Koni about the terrible thing that happened to Miss Vietrov. 192 I am not going to write out what I have noted.
I am still in the same peaceful, because loving, mood. As soon as I feel like being hurt or wear-ied I remember God and that my work is only one, to love, not to think of that which will be and I feel better right away.
Tania is going to Yasnaya.
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To-day, March 15, Moscow.
Lived not badly. I see the end of the essay on art. Still the same peace. I thank God. I have just now written letters. It is evening. I am going into the tedious drawing-room.
To-day, April 4, Moscow.
Almost a month I have not written (20 days), and I have lived the time badly, because I worked little. Wrote all the time on art, became con-fused these last days. And now for two days I haven’t written.
I have not lost my peace, but my soul is troubled, still I am master of it. Oh, Lord! If only I could remember my mission, that through oneself must be manifested (shine) divinity. But the difficulty is, that if you remember that alone you will not live; and you must live, live energetically, and yet remember. Help me, Father.
I have prayed much lately that my life be bet-ter. But as it is, the consciousness of the lawless-ness of my life is shameful and depressing.
Yesterday I thought very well about Hadji Murad that in it the principal thing was to ex-press a deception of trust. How good it would have been, were it not for this deception. Also I am thinking more and more often of The Ap-peal.
I am afraid that the theme of art has occupied
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me lately for personal, selfish and bad reasons. Je m* entends.
During this time I made few notes and if I had been thinking about anything I have forgot-ten it.
1) The world which we know and represent for ourselves, is nothing else than laws of co-relation between our senses (sens), and there-fore, a miracle is a violation of these laws of co-relation, it therefore destroys our conception of the world. In the crudest form, it is thus : I know that water (not frozen) is always liquid. And its specific gravity is less than that of my body. My eyes, hearing, touch, demonstrate to me liquid water; and suddenly a man walks on this water. If he walked on the water, then it proves nothing, but only destroys my conception of water.
2) A very common mistake: To place the aim of life in the service of people and not in the service of God. Only in serving God, i.e., in do-ing that which He wants, can you be certain that you are not doing something vain and it is not impossible to choose whom you are to serve.
3) Church Christians do not want to serve God, but want God to serve them.
4) Shakespeare began to be valued when the moral criterion was lost.
5) (For The Appeal.) We are so entangled that every one of our steps in life is a participa-
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tion in evil : in violence, in oppression. We must not despair, but we must slowly disentangle our-selves from those nets in which we are caught; not to tear ourselves through, that would en-tangle us worse but to disentangle ourselves carefully.
6 )193
I am in a very bad physical condition, almost fever, and the black gloom that comes before, but up to now the spiritual is the stronger. Escorted Maude’s colony. 194 Ivan Michailovich is still free. 195 Everything is all right.
Apr. g. Moscow.
Have been ill. With calmness I thought that I would die. To-day I wrote well on Art. They have taken Ivan Michailovich. There was a search at Dunaev’s. 196 It is all right with the exiles. 197
Outwardly I am entirely calm, inwardly not en-tirely. It is enough to bear in mind that every-thing is for the good, and when I bear that in mind as I do now it is good.
To-day May 3. Yasnaya Polyana.
Almost a month I have made no entries. A bad and sterile month.
I cut out and burned that which I wrote in heat. 198
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To-day July 16. Y. P.
It is not one month that I have made no entries, but two and a half. I have lived through much, both the difficult and the good. 199 Have been ill. Very severe pains I think in the beginning of July. 200
I worked all this time on the essay on art, and the farther I get the better. I finished it and am correcting it from the beginning.
Masha married. 201 . . .
We do not quiet, moderate passion, the source of the greatest calamities, but kindle it with all our strength and then we complain that we suf-fer. . . .
Good letters from Chertkov. A Kiev peasant was here, Shidlovsky. 202
I feel that I am alone that my life not only does not interest any one, but that they are bored and ashamed that I continue to occupy myself with such trifles.
I thought during this time :
i) A type of woman there are men such also, but mostly it is women who are incapable of seeing themselves, as
