I find it difficult to see myself as Sashenka describes me, but I have faith in each of my blessed angel’s words. What a horrible picture it is of myself, to be sure! No wonder I was such a stranger to Sashenka. Absorbed as I was in my own sorrows, I failed to notice her tears; to each kind word I answered with a vicious growl—like a dog who had been deprived of a bone. How incredibly vain were my fears and my pride when I had lost my work! Other men might lose their work and have to beg, only I was too exalted for that! Other men might lose their children, only I must cry aloud and beat my breast! Other men might have their houses burnt and their property destroyed, and be subjected to all kinds of misfortunes, only I must be guarded sacredly against any ill wind! Other men might fight and suffer, while I, like a retired schoolmaster, must sit up at night to prepare my lessons, to moralise to unwilling ears, and to set the conduct marks. Here’s minus for you, Germany! Go into the corner! All you fools must stand in the corner! I’m the only sensible person among you, and I will sit in the cathedra and sing my own praises!
I wonder how Sashenka came to see it? What a dear she is! She says it’s so plain to anyone. If it is, what made me so blind? The same reason, no doubt, that prompts me to ask these useless questions. I see it all so clearly, yet will put marks of interrogation from force of habit. How stupid of me!
There seems nothing to which I can compare my present lightness of heart. I am afraid of nothing. Nothing in the world is terrible; I created my own terror. If the Germans come, what of it? If we must run away, we will run away; if we must die, we will die. Peter and Jena are dearer to me than ever, but even the thought of their death does not fill me with dread. I should mourn for them bitterly, no doubt, but I refuse to bow down to death, I refuse to invite her as my guest! Besides, the idea of death is ridiculous; those we love never die, Sashenka says.
Last night Fimotchka kept on calling me old man. It was “Well, old man” here, “well, old man” there, until Sashenka was quite hurt and rebuked her for it. I didn’t mind in the least; I knew she was only joking. I had a great desire, nevertheless, to see myself in the glass. Supposing it were true! I don’t look so old, really; no one would take me for more than forty-six, but there’s a something about the eyes and in my smile, and in my ever-ready tears. … But I have a good many years to live yet, and am as strong as most men. Fimotchka says my extensive exercise through the town must have hardened me a lot. I don’t mind her chaff.
We are all, except mother, delighted with our new home. It is hard to understand why the old lady was so grieved by the removal. She collapsed completely, and though this is the second day we have been here, she is lying on her bed with her face to the wall, dozing silently. When we burst the news on her suddenly about my having lost my work, little foreseeing how it would affect her, we grew quite alarmed at her condition. She turned pale, and trembled all over like a leaf. When all the furniture had been removed from the house, she still refused to leave her room, and wept when we led her away. Yesterday she summoned Sashenka, and speaking in a whisper, asked her to fetch Pavel. Sashenka said she would, of course, and fortunately, the poor old lady did not repeat her request. I have just looked in to see them. They are all asleep—mother, Sashenka, and the children. Nurse sleeps in Fimotchka’s drawing-room while Sashenka is here.
I managed to sell our spare furniture to advantage, and got that burden off my mind. Sashenka is to remain with us for another day, and then she goes back to the hospital. She offered to look out for some useful occupation for me. Can I ever express the respect I feel for her! She dragged me out from the bottomless pit into which I had fallen. …
Fimotchka came back from some friends, and finding me still up, sat with me for an hour talking about the horrors of the German invasion. From her pallor and disjointed womanly words I realised more than from the papers, with what horror and anxiety the German invasion is awaited by our capital and by the whole country. Oh, Lord, spare Russia! Spare her cities, her people, her houses and cottages! Spare us, not for what we deserve, oh, Lord, nor for our riches; have mercy on us for our ignorance and poverty, as you used to be merciful to the ignorant and poor when you walked on earth!
I can’t go to sleep. I want to be up and doing. My hands, hanging idly, irritate me. I should like to scrub the floor, if it had not been scrubbed already. I must send Sashenka back to the hospital tomorrow. I am quite well enough now, and we mustn’t put it off any longer than can be helped.
Oh, that my chest were thirty versts broad so that I could place it in front of a German gun as a shield for others!