Old Man Fedor Kuzmitch's Postmortem Notes is a story by Leo Tolstoy that he conceived by 1890, if not before, but was written late in life and left unfinished. The story is important, I think, because Tolstoy's endorsement of the Fedor Kuzmitch conspiracy theory (this phrase used in the technical sense) explains a lot about his portrayal of Alexander in the late sections, specifically the second epilogue, of
War and Peace. I'll post the story as I continue to get through it. For alternate translations, the Weiner translation can be read
here (page 189) and an unsourced alternative translation can be found on this
conspiracy website.
Old Man Fedor Kuzmitch's Postmortem Notes
Deceased January 20, 1864 in Siberia near Tomsk at Zaimke Hromova.
Old man Fedor Kuzmitch appeared in Siberia in the year of 1836 and lived in different places for twenty-seven years. Strange gossip followed him. Who is this hiding their name and rank? Is this not another Emperor Aleksandr the First? After his death, rumors and gossip again spread and intensified. And to that, not only the common people believed that this was really Aleksandr the First, but so did the higher circles, and even the royal family during the reign of Aleksandr the Third. Historian and scientist of Aleksandr's reign Shilder also believed this.
The reason for these rumors were, first-of-all, that Aleksandr died completely suddenly, with no pain before, nor serious disease. Secondly, he died away from all, in the quite remote place of Taganrog. Thirdly, when he was laid in the coffin, those who saw him said he had so changed that he could not have been recognized. Therefore, the coffin was closed and no one was shown the body. Fourthly, Aleksandr repeatedly said and wrote (especially often later in life) that he had only one wish: be rid of his situation and left in peace. Fifthly, from obscure circumstances, -- in the protocol description of the body of Aleksandr it was said his back and buttocks were purple, gray, and red in a way that could not be on a pampered body of an emperor. Touching the evidence that Kuzmitch was Aleksandr in hiding again the occasion was this: first the old man was, by height, by shape, and by appearance looked like the emperor. People (lackeys recognized Kuzmitch as Aleksandr) who had seen Aleksandr and his portraits found the similarity between them startling. And they were one in the same age and had the same stooping characteristics. Secondly, that Kuzmitch, posing himself as a non-remembering tramp, knew foreign languages and all the stately courtesy tricks accustomed to high positions. Thirdly, though the old man never revealed his name and title the expressions unwittingly bursting through betrayed his identity for the all people that he once stood higher than. And fourthly, before death he destroyed certain paperwork, and one piece of paper with strange coded signs with the initials of A and P. Fifthly, despite his devotion, the old man never fasted. When the bishop visited him again to persuade him to perform the Christian duty, the old man said, "If I would confess the truth about myself, the sky would be surprised, and if I said it again, I would surprise the earth." All guessed and doubts stopped being doubts and have becoming to the found notes of Kuzmitch. This note is the following and begins:
I
God save the invaluable friend Ivan Grigorovich* for this delightful refuge. I am not worth is godly kindness and mercy. I am calm here. The people walk here less and I am one with my criminal memories with the Lord. I will try to benefit from the solitude, so that I can describe my life in detail so that it may be instructive to people. I was born and spent 47 years of my life among the most terrible temptations and not only didn't resist against them, but reveled in them, tempted and seduced others, have sinned and forced others to sin. Yet God turned back to me. All the abominations of y life I tried to justify and place on others. Finally God has opened me to its horror and helped me get rid of that evil-I am full of it and fight with it-that I yet participated in. I survived many tortures that I subjected my soul to. I understand the whole of my sinfulness and need redemption (not faith in redemption, but redemption from current sin by suffering) and I will tell it in this place. Now I will again describe only the most important actions as I have from the time I left my situation, leaving instead of my body, a dead tortured soldier, and get started with my life from the beginning.
How I escaped my subjection: In Taganroge I lived in the same partial madness these last twenty-four years. I, the greatest criminal, killer of fathers, killer of a hundred thousand people in wars, of which I was the cause, heinous libertine, the villain, believed what was said about me, counted myself savior of Europe, benefactor of humanity, the exceptionally perfect happy accident^ as Mistress Stahl¹ said about me. I counted myself so, yet God had not altogether left me dormat and naked and my conscience gnawed on me. Everything about me was no good, and I was to blame. I was the good one, and thus understood nothing. I approached God, prayed to the Orthodox God with Fotiem, the Catholic, the Protestant with Parrotom, the Illuminati with Kroudener, yet I only addressed people that were admired by me. I despise all people, but these despicable individuals, their opinion was important only for me. Only for their sake did I live and act. Alone, I was terrible; with my wife I was uglier. Restricted, deceitful, capricious, evil, consumptive, and all pretense, she worse than poisoned my life. We were supposed² to reside in our honeymoon³, but this was hell in all forms, artificial and terrible. One time I was especially nasty, I received a letter from Arakcheev about the homicide of his mistress. He described to me his desperate grief. And remarkably: his permanent thin flattery, not only flatter, but real canine-like loyalty, which began with father, when they were together, secret from grandmother, swore his canine-like loyalty, for which I loved him of all men. Although it is indecent to use the word "loved" for this cruel man, my connection with him was more than that. He not only participated in the homicide of my father, as did many others, he was party to my crimes and hatefulness. He not only participated, but was loyal to my father and was loyal to me. However, about this later.
I sleep badly. Strange to say, evil Nastasi was a murderous beauty (she was amazingly sensually beautiful) and caused lost in me. I could not sleep the whole night. Through that room lies the consumptive, hateful wife, unnecessarily angered me and tortured me more and more. The tortured memory about Mary (Nareshkinoy) tossing me for a worthless diplomat. See, and my father was destined to be jealous of Garaginem. Yet I was carried away by this memory, I didn't sleep the whole night. It has become dawn, so I raised the curtain wearing a white bathrobe and called the valet. Everyone was asleep. Wearing an overcoat, I went out on the street for an hour.
The sun had just raised over the sea on a fresh autumn day. The air made me feel better. The dark thoughts disappeared and went to those who played on the sunny sea. Not yet reaching the corner with the greenhouse, I heard the square drum and flute. I listened and understood that executions took place in this area. I, who had spent so much time authorizing this punishment, had never seen this spectacle. The strange case (it obviously had an evil influence) of the murdered sensual beauty Natase and dissected bodies of soldiers blended into one annoying feeling. I remembered the Semenovtsah and the military settlements, in which hundreds have been driven to death, and sudden strange thoughts came as I looked at this sight. This is how I became a civilian, so I could do this.
The nearer I walked, the more distinct I heard the drumming and flute. I could not see clearly without spectacles with my myopic eyes, but already say ranks of soldiers moving with the figure of the white backs. When I had gotten into the crowd of people, standing behind ranks and watching, I got out my spectacles to see everything that was going on. Tall people tied by hands with bayonets naked here and there already red with blood, a dissected white slouching back was walking through the street. This person was my double. The same height, the same stooping back, the same bald head, the same sideburns, without whiskers, the same cheekbones, the same mouth, though not smiling, but dropped down and curved screaming at the blows, the same blue eyes, not touching, caressing, but fearfully protruding and closing.
When I peered at the face of this person, I knew him. This was Strumensky, soldier of the left flank, a non-commissioned officer in the 3rd company of the Semenovskogo regiment, at the time the most famous of all the guards because of his similarity with me. He was jokingly called Aleksandr II. I knew that he was rebellious and the Semonovsam transferred him to the garrison and I understood that he was probably caught fleeing and was being punished here. I then knew how right this was. I stood enchanted, looking on this as this unhappy man walked and felt something in me was done. He suddenly noticed I was standing with the people and the audience was watching me--alone he avoided, with the others approaching. Obviously, I was found out. Having seen this, I turned and quickly went home. Drums were being beaten, flutes played, and everything went on. The main feeling I had was that I needed to sympathize with what was done to my double. If I didn't sympathize with him, I admit that what was done to him must have been done, and that I could not feel differently. But between that I felt; that if I didn't admit this was right and good, that I must recognize that my whole life, all of my affairs were bad and that what I needed to do, was what I wanted to long ago, leave everything and disappear. This sense overcame me; I fought with it, recognized what this was, this sad need. The place of this miserable but strange affairs, I was not sorry for him but instead wanted to stop the penalty only because I was afraid I'd be recognized, and went home. Soon the sound of the drums ceased, and returning home, as if I had been opened up. The affecting sense was there as I drank my tea and took a report from Volkonsky. Then the usual breakfast, the ordinary, habitual-heavily fake relations with the wife, then Dibich and a report affirming the intelligence of a secret society. In his time, describing the entire story of their life as God would, everything in detail. Now I'll tell only this and that in an externally calm way. But this continued only before a later dinner. After dinner, I went into the cabinet, lied down on the couch and instantly fell asleep.
I barely slept five minutes, as my entire body awoke as I heard the drum and flute, and the sound of he striking, the screaming of Strumensky and saw his suffering face and hopeless jerking along with the frowning faces of the soldiers and officers. This went on for a short time; I jumped up, buttoned my coat, gathered a hat and sword and left, saying I was going for a walk.
I knew where the military hospital was and went straight there. As always, everyone scrambled. The main doctor and chief of headquarters came running, out of breath. I said I wanted to pass by the chambers. In the second ward I saw the bald head of Strumensky. He lay face down, putting his head in his heads, pitifully moaning. "He was punished for escaping," was the report. I said, "Ah!" made my normal gesture for what I hear and approve of and walked past. On another day I sent to ask about Strumensky, I was told he communed and died.
This was the name day of my brother Mihail. There was a parade and a service. I said I was unwell after the travel to Crimea, and didn't go to mass. Again Dibich came and reported on the conspiracy in the 2nd army, what Count Bitt said before my travel to the Crimea, and reported on the non-commissioned officer Sherwood.
Here, only listening to Dibich's report, placing enormous importance on the conspiracy plans, I suddenly felt everyone's value, and all the force of the coup. They'd conspire to change the image of governance, introduce a constitution - what I had most wanted to do twenty years back. I butchered the constitution in Europe, and from what and to whom did it become better? What was the main reason for me to do this? The main reason was that all external life, all external affairs, all participation in them - whether I had already participated in them or not in rebuilding people's lives in Europe - was not important, not needed, and didn't concern me. I suddenly got that everyone else was not may affair. My affair - my soul. And everyone, my former desire, renunciation from the throne, with desire to surprise and sadden people and show them the greatness of my soul returned now, but returned with new force and complete sincerity, not for the people, but only for myself, for my soul. How all this passed me in my secular and brilliant circle of life was passed back to the facts of my youth, which caused my remorseful wish to leave completely, to go back without vanity, without thoughts of human glory, but for myself and God. Then this was an unclear wish, now this was impossible to continue the same life.
But how? Not to surprise people so that I'm praised, but, the need was opposite, to leave so that no one knew or were injured. This I was so glad for and so admired, I had begun to think about the means of executing it; all the forces of the mind and tricks that would lead to its execution.
With these remarkable affairs, executing my intention has become much easier than I expected. My intention was this: pretend to be ill and dying, persuade and bribe the doctor, put in my place the dying Strumensky and leave, run, and hiding my name.
Everything was done to its purpose, so that my intention would succeed. On the 9th I, as to my purpose, got sick with a fever. I was sick for about a week, in time my intention became stronger and stronger. On the 16th I got up and felt healthy.
On this day, I, as usual, shaved and thought, but cut my chin. The amount of blood made me feel bad and I fell. People came running and raised me up. I immediately understood that this may come in handy for executing my intention. Although I felt good, I pretended to be very fragile, laid up in bed and called deputy Villie. Villie would not go with the deception, but I hoped to bribe the young man. I opened my intention and the execution of my plan and proposed to give him 80,000 if he did everything I demanded. My plan was this: Strumensky, as I had known this morning was dead. I went to bed and pretended to be annoyed with everything and was with no one besides the bribed doctor. This same night, the doctor was to bring the body of Strumensky and put him in my place and declare my unexpected death. Surprisingly, everything was executed right as we thought. On the 17th of November I was ready.
The body of Strumensky was buried in a closed coffin with the greatest honors. My brother Nikolay entered upon the throne, and exiled the conspirators to hard labor in Siberia where I saw some of them again, despite their crimes being insignificant compared with mine. Their misery was as undeserved as my greatest joys, which I will tell about in this place.
Now standing by the coffin again as a seventy-two-year-old man, I understood the vanity of my former life and the significance of the life I lied as a drifter, and will tell the story of my terrible life.
*This peasant village Krasnorecheanskogo Fedor Kuzmich encountered in his 39th year and which after different residences were built for Kuzmich on the side away from the road above, on a steep precipice. In this room Kuzmich started this note. L.H. Tolstoy.
^"un heureux hasard" in French. (I'm putting the French in the footnotes while moving the footnoted Russian in the main body.
1: Madame Staël
2: nous étions censés
3: lune de miel
Мy Life
12 December 1849.
Siberian Taiga, near Кrаsnоrеhinsка.
Today is my seventy-second birthday. Seventy-two-years ago I was born in Petersburg,
at the winter palace, in the chambers of my mother, the then empress — great Princess
Mary Fedorovni.
Tonight I slept pretty well. After yesterday’s ill health, I have become somewhat at ease.
The main thing is that I stopped sleeping in a spiritual state, and resumed the opportunity
to connect soul with God. Last night, I prayed in the dark. I clearly realized my position
in the world: I — all my life — there is something necessary to my being sent. This
necessary is both what I do and don’t do. When making it necessary, I promote and
benefit from total peace. When not doing this, I lose its goodness — not total goodness,
but my own, not depriving the world of good, which is intended by Him (that is, peace).
This is what I should do to others: perform his will with the freedom of my will. But if
he knows what I will, if everyone’s will is defined, is that freedom? I don’t know. Here,
I limit thoughts and start prayers, plain, child, and senile prayers: “Father, not my will,
but yours. Help me. Come and move into me.” Simply: “Lord, sorry and have mercy;
yes, Lord, sorry and have mercy, sorry and have mercy. Words cannot be said, but my
heart you know, while myself is mute.”
And I sleep good. I woke up, as always, by senile weaknesses, five times and saw and
dreamt about swimming in the sea and am surprised, as I stay up in the water, — so,
that I was not at all sinking into it: and the water was greenish, beautiful; and certain
people hinder me, and a woman on shore, but I naked, and not allowed go out. The
meaning of the dream: that my strength interferes with my body.
I got up before dawn and could not get the fire going long. I put on my robe and went
out onto the street. Because of the snow shower, the larch trees and pines blushed in
the red-orange dawn. Yesterday I chopped the firewood and everything flooded. Light
out. Eat soaked biscuit; oven full of water, shut the pipe and sat down to write.
I was born exactly seventy-two years ago, 12 December 1777, in Petersburg, at the
Winter Palace. My name was given, by the wish of my grandma, Aleksandr, — an
omen, as she said to me, so that I was the same as the great people, as Aleksandr the
Macedonian, and the same as the saints, as Aleksandr Nevskiy. I was baptized in a
week in the big church at the Winter Palace. Carried on a pillow by the Duchess of
Kurlyandskaya, with the blanket supported by the higher ranks, my godmother was
empress, and my godfather was the emperor of Austrian and king of Prussia. The room
I was put in was planned by my grandmother. I remember nothing of this, but know it
from stories.
In these extensive room there were three high windows, in the middle, among four
columns attached to the high ceiling, a velvet canopy with silk curtains to the floor.
Under the canopy sat an iron crib with a leather mattress pad and light English blanket.
Around the canopy a balustrade two arshin high — so that visitors could not come
close to it. In the room there were no furnishing, with only the nurse behind the canopy.
Every detail of my bodily upbringing was the deliberate plan of my grandmother. I was
prohibited from rocking, swaddled a special way, my legs were without stocking, bathed
at first in warm, then in cold water, and my clothes were special, put on the right away,
without seams and ties. As I only started to crawl, I was put on the carpet and provided
mostly for myself. One time I was told that grandmother often herself sat down on the
carpet and played with me. I remember nothing of this and do not remember my nurse.
My nurse was the wife of a gardener, a well-to-do fellow, Avdotya Petrova from Tsarkogo
Village. I don’t remember her. I had seen her in the first year, in the year 80 and she came
up to me in the garden and called me. This was when I had a good time with my first friend
Chartorizhskim and had sincere disgust to what was done at both yards, as with my miserable
father and my hated grandma. I was all people then, and not even bad people, with kind
aspirations. I was walking with Adamom by the park, when out of the side alleys came out
a well dressed woman, with an unusually kind, very white, enjoyable, smiling, and thrilled
face. She quickly came up to me and, falling on my lap, grabbed my arm, and kissed me.
— Father, your highness. God brought you here.
— Who are you?
— Your nurse, Avdotya, Dunyasha. I nursed you for eleven months and God brought you
to take a look.
I forcibly raised her, asked where she lived, and promised to stop by. This sweet situation1, her clean cabin; her honey daughter, a perfect Russian beauty, my milk sister, whose fiance was a courtier; her father, the gardener, the same smiling, as the wife, and a lot children, always smiling, — everything they had highlighted my darkness. “Here is real life, real happiness,” — thought I. — “Everything right and simple, clear, no politics, jealousy, or fighting.”
Right here this honey Dunyasha fed me. My primary nanny was German Sofya Ivanovna
Benkendorf, and my English nanny Gessler. Sofya Ivanovna Benkendorf, the German,
was fat, white, straight-nosed woman, a magnificent species, when she disposed of the
children, and surprisingly humiliated, bowed low crouching at, grandmother, which was
a head below her in height. She I related to in a special slavishly strict way. Then she
was Tsarina, in her broad skirts with her magnificent upright face, that suddenly was
done pretending to be a girl.
Praskovya Ivanovna (Gessler), an Englishwoman, was long-faced, redheaded, always
serious in an English way. But when she smiled, she outshone all, and was not allowed
to withhold her smiles. I liked her accuracy, evenness, purity, and solid softness. It
seemed to me, that she knew something, that neither mama, neither father, even grandma
herself knew.
Мother I remember at first as some kind of strange, sad, supernatural, and pretty vision.
Beautiful, smart, with brilliant diamonds, silk, lace and completely naked white hands,
she came into my room and with a somehow strange, alien, that I didn’t relate to, sad
expression on her face as she caressed me, took me on her stronger beautiful arms, and
brought everything to her more beautiful face, opened her thick odorous hair, and kissed
me and cried, and sometimes I even fell out of her hands during this foolishness.
Strange affairs: whether inspired by my grandmother, or the circumvention with my
mother, or I, with a child’s instinct, penetrated that the palace intrigue, which I was the
center, I did not sense love from others, not even sensing the love of my mom. There
was something was insistent felt in her treatment of me. She acted as if something showed through me, making her forget me, and I felt this.
1 intérieur
So this was. Grandmother took me away from my parents, so that I’d be transferred to
the throne, depriving her hated son, my miserable father. I, of course, long knew nothing
of this, but with the first days of consciousness I, not realizing, subjected my consciousness
to some kind of hostility, competition, a toy, and felt idleness and indifference to myself,
to my childish soul, not in need of the crown, but only in simple love. And this was not
something I got. Mother was always sad in my presence. One time she spoke about
something in German with Sofey Ivanovnoy, burst into tears and nearly ran out of the
room, having heard the steps of grandmother. Father, who sometimes went into our room
which I shared with brother, this father, my unhappy father, expressed everything more
and more resolutely than mother, his disappointment with me, restrained anger even.
I remember a time with my brother Konstantin when we were brought to the two
of them. Before the departure on the journey beyond the border in 1781. He suddenly
grabbed me by the hand and with scary eyes jumped up from the armchair and,
gasping for breath, spoke about something relating to grandmother and me. I didn’t
understand what, but remember the words:
—After 62 years everything possibly...1
I was scared and cried. Mother took my by the hands, began to kiss me, and then
brought me to him. He quickly blessed me and, knocking his high heels, nearly ran
out of the room. I got always got the value of this explosion. With mother, he rode
and travelled under the name count and countess North2. Grandmother wanted this and
he was afraid she would announce she had deprived his rights of the throne and I
recognized as heir...
My God, My God! And he cherished what ruined he and I bodily and spiritually.
Someone is knocking, so I recited the prayer: “In the name of the father and son.”
I said: “Amen.” I will unlock the scriptures and if God says so, I shall continue to
tomorrow.
1 Après 62 tout est possible...
2 Comte and Comtesse du Nord
13 December.
Slept little and had bad dreams: some kind of woman, unpleasant, weak, pressed to me, and I’m not afraid of sinning with her, but afraid that she will see my wife. And that I will be reproached
again. Seventy-two years, and I am not free in everything... In reality I can deceive myself, but dreams gives you the truth in degrees of power. The more I see is again a confirmation of the poor
degrees of morality on which I stand, — sometimes I bring in crushed candy, some extraordinary candy, and we distangled them of moss and gave them out. But after distribution remains more
candy, and I choose them for myself, but here a boy like the son of a Turkish sultan, dark-eyed, unpleasant, reaches out for the candy, cap in their hands, and I pushing him away because I know
that it is much more characteristic of a child to eat the candy, and not giving it to him makes me feel no good, and at the entire time this is all I think.
The more strange the affairs, the more often they come true. Marya Martemyanovna came. Yesterday her ambassador came with the inquiry whether she may visit. I feel heavy during these
visits, but I know how upset she would be at my refusal. So she came. You could hear the skid from afar, as it squealed on the snow. And she is in a fur coat and scarf with bags of goodies and
it is so cold that I dress up in a robe. She brought pancakes, oil, and apples. She came to ask about her daughter in order to woo a rich widower. They submit very strongly to my foresight.
Everything that I say against myself, they attribute to my humility. I said what I always say, that chastity is the best marriage, but, on the word of Pavla, it is better marry, than kindle with desire.
With her came her son-in-law Nikanor Ivanovich, the son-in-law which has not ceased with his visits since asking to settle in my house.
Nikanor Ivanovich is a great temptation. I could not overcome my antipathy and aversion for him. “Lord, grant me maturity from my transgressions and to not condemn my brother.” But I
see every one of his sins, guess that they are with malice, see every one of his weaknesses and not could remove my antipathy for him, my brother, the same as I, with a divine beginning.
What do such feelings mean? I in my long life have not felt them in some time. But the stronger of my antipathy was toward Ludovik XVIII, with his belly, hunchbacked nose, nasty white
hands, with his self-confidence, audacity, stupidity (here I now already start to scold him), while my other antipathy — this Nikanor Ivanovich yesterday tortured me for two hours. Everything,
from the sound of his voice, his hair and fingernails, caused in me disgust. And I, explain gloomily to Mary Martemyanovne, lying, saying that I am sick. After they left, I prayed and after
my prayers calmed down. Thank you Lord, for being the one, the only one, that I need, in my power. I remember that Nikanor Ivanovich was a baby and will die, and also remember Ludovik
XVIII and know that he also died, and was spared, that Nikanora Ivanovicha was not always so, so that I could express good feelings to him.
Marya Martemyanovna brought me candlelight, and I can write in the evening. I went out into the yard. On the left a vivid star in the north shone with a surprising radiance. How good, how
good! So, I continue.
Father and mother left for overseas travel, and with brother Konstantinom, born two years after me, we passed the time with the lack of our parents with our grandmother. My brother was
named Konstantinom as a sign that he should be Greek emperor in Konstantinople.
Children all love, especially those which love and caress them. Grandmother caressed and praised me, and I loved her, despite her unpleasantly bad smell, which, despite her perfume, always
stood about her; especially when she took me on her lap. More unpleasant to me was her hand, clean, yellowish, shrivelled, with a certain sliminess, glassy looking, with fingers tucked far
inside, and unnaturally drawn in with naked fingernails. Her eyes were murky, tired, almost dead, that together with a smiling toothless serious mouth, but not an off-putting impression. I
attributed this expression in her eyes (about which I remember now with disgust) her work with her people, as I understand it, and I pitied her for this languid expression in her eyes. I saw
Potemkina two times. This curved, oblique, enormous, dark, sweaty, dirty person was terrible.
Especially terrible was that he was solely not afraid of grandmother and spoke to her in a crackling loud and bold voice, although he called me highness, caressed, and bothered me.
After him, someone I saw with her in my childhood, was Lanskoy. He was always with her, everyone noticed his, and everyone courted for them. The main thing was that the Empress
incessantly watched him. I did not understand, of course, then, that such was Lanskoy, and he I liked very much. I liked his buckle, liked his fitted tights and beautiful legs, and I liked
his fun, happy, toothless smile and diamonds, which glittered everywhere on him.
This time was very fun. We travelled in Tsarskoe. We rolled down on the boat, were digging in the garden, walked, and rode on horses. Konstantin, fat, redheaded, little Bakn1, as his
grandmother called him, laughing at all his jokes, courage and inventions. He called us all names back, including Sofyu Ivanovnu and even grandmother.
An important development during this time was the death of Sofi Ivanovnee Benkendorf. It happened on an evening at Tsarckoe with grandmother. Sofya Ivanovna had only brought
us after dinner and said something, smiled, and suddenly her face became serious, she started to falter, leaned against the bed, slipped, and fell hard. People came running, taking us.
But on another day we knew that she had died. I cried for a long time, missing her, could not recover. Everything that I missed about Sofe Ivanovne, and did not miss about her, was
that people die, and that that is death. I could not understand this, could not believe it, that this was the fate of all people. I understood that then in my five-year-old childhood soul
rebelled against everything in significance issues such as death, that life ended in death. Those main issues, which come before all people and which we wish to seek, though not
finding, the answer and frivolously seek to suspend and forget. I made, as this specific child, and especially, in this part of the world, in which lived: I suspended myself from this
idea, death, life, as it will be to live and die, and it became scary to me.
Another important event in my communication with the death of Sofi Ivanovnee was our transition to male hands and the appointment
1 un petit Bacchus
as educator of Nikolaya Ivanovicha Saltekova. Not the Saltekova, which, in all likelihood, was our grandfather, but Nikolaya Ivanovicha, who served in our father’s court, a small
person with a great head, foolish face, and everlasting facial expression, which my little brother Kostya surprisingly submitted to. The transition to these male hands was a grief of
separation with the nice previous nanny, Praskovey Ivanovnoy, for me.
For people, not having the misfortune to be born in a tsarist family, I think, it is difficult to imagine all the perversions it has on the relationship with other people, which we
experienced, and I experienced. In the natural child’s sense of dependence on adults and seniors, instead of having gratitude for everything good, we were inspired to have
confidence in that we were substantively special, which not only satisfied all people, but everyone listened to our words, smiled to pay the price for everything good, and
rewarded and made people happy. We were really required to have courteous relationships with people, but my childhood instincts understood that this was only visibly and
was done not for them, not for those we must be courteous, but for ourselves, so our greatness continued to grow.
One solemn day, we, my two brothers, and Nikolay Ivanovich Saltekov, went to Nevskomu in a huge, tall barouche. We sit at the front with two powdered-wig lackeys in
costly red livery in the back. On the bright bright spring day, I was wearing an unbuttoned uniform, a white vest and on it a blue St. Andrew ribbon, and Kostya was dressed
the same; on our heads was a hat with feathers, which was so everyone would know to bow. People everywhere stopped, bowed, and some fled from us. «You’re welcome,”
— repeated Nikolay Ivanovich, — “to the right»1. We drove past the guardhouses, and the guard ran out.
This I always saw. I loved to soldier, and military exercises were in my childhood. We were inspired by our special grandmother, who believed in them least of all, — that
every person hurt and that we must remember this. But I knew that those who said this did not believe it.
I remember a time Sasha Golitsen played with me on bars, pushed me, and hurt me.
1 On vous salue... A droite
— How dare you!
— I did it accidentally. What’s the importance!
I felt blood surge to my heart from insult and malice. I complained about Nikolayu Ivanovichu, and I not was ashamed, when Golitsen requested my forgiveness.
Now it is pretty late. The candle is burning out. And I need to splice more torches, but the ax is dull and I can’t sharpen it, because I don’t know how.
December 16.
For three days I did not write. Was unwell and read the Gospels, but could not understand them myself and communicate with God as I had felt before. During the time I thought that a person may not
want. I’ve always wished and wished. Wished for victory over Napoleon, wished for peace in Europe, wished for the release of myself from the crown, and for everyone to will for the execution of
my plan, and when executed, I stopped being attracted to myself, as my wishes were not feasible, and I stopped wanting. Now that my will has been executed and I have been born anew, my wishes
keep going and going to the end. Now I wish for winter, it has arrived; I wished for solitude, have almost reached this, so now I want to describe his life and make this the best way, in order to bring
favor to people. And if it will be fulfilled or if it not will be fulfilled, it will appear as a new willingness. All life is this.
And I have come to the head, that if all of life is the birth of desires and joy of life in their performance, then that willingness would be peculiar to each person, every person, and always performed
or, rather, was approaching execution? And it has become clear to me that this would be for the person to wish for death. All life they would approach execution, this willingness; and this wish
would probably be fulfilled.
First this seemed strange to me. However, pondering, I suddenly saw that this was so and, and that this is the same, in approaching death, each person is making a reasonable wish. Wish not in death,
not mostly in death, but in part the movement of life, which leads to death. In the same motion this there is exemption from passions and temptation that is a spiritual beginning, which live in each
person. I felt this now, free from the parts that masked the essence of my soul, its unity with God, from God. I came to this unconsciously. However if I would place the highest good (and this is not
only possible, but is so and must be), I think would the highest good is exemption from passions, approximation to God, that everything would move me to death: old age and disease would execute
my single and main willingness. This I feel when I am healthy. But when I, as yesterday and the third day, have an ill stomach, I cannot have this feeling and, although I don’t resist death, could not
wish to approach it. Yes, there is such a state as spiritual sleep. Need to calmly wait.
I continued yesterday. The writing about my childhood, I am writing more by stories, and often then, what I was told about me, mixed up what I experienced, so that I don’t know sometimes, what I
survived and what I heard from people.
My life, everything, from my birth and to the present old age, I resemble terrain all covered in a thick fog, or even after the battle of Dresden, when everything was hidden, nothing seen, and suddenly
here and there islands open up, gaps1, in which you see neither people or things, with all parties surrounded by an impenetrable veil. These are my childhood’s memories. These gaps in my childhood
are only seldom, seldomly opening up among endless seas fog or smoke, then more and more often, but even now there is time, leaving nothing in recollections. In childhood they are extremely few,
and the farther back, the less.
I spoke about these gaps in a previous time: the death of Benkendorfshi, parting with parents, the mimicry of Kosti, but some of memories of that time now, when I think about the past, opens up before
me. So, for example, I don’t completely understand, when Kostya appeared, when we began to live together, and how long when lived together. When I was not more than seven, and Koste five years,
we after Vespers on the eve of Christmas went to sleep and, taking advantage that everyone came out from our rooms, connected in one crib. Kostya in only a shirt climbed over to me and started
some kind of fun playing, consisting in part slapping each
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1 des éclaircies
other by the naked body. and laughed at the belly pain and was very happy, when suddenly entered in his embroidered caftans, with orders, Nikolay Ivanovich with his huge powdered head and,
bulging eye, rushed at us with some kind of horror, which I in no way could explain myself, dispersed us and angrily promised to punish us and to complain to grandmother.
Another memorable moment, already some time later — I was about 9 years old, — this happened in Grandmother’s almost collision of Alekseya Grigorevicha Orlova with Potemkinem. This
was during trips with Grandmother to Crimea and our first travel to Moscow. As usual, Nikolay Ivanovich led us to grandmother. The big and stucco painted ceiling room was full people.
Grandmother always combed her hair combed up to her forehead and somehow skillfully and specially laid on the crown. She was sitting in a white powdery and gold toilette. Her maids were
standing above her and cleaned her head. She, smiling, watched us, continuing to speak with the big, tall, and wide general with the Andreevskaya ribbon and fearfully torn apart cheek from the
mouth to ear. This Orlov, person with scar1. I saw him for the first time here. About grandmother was Anderson, her lapdog. My favorite Mimi jumped up in the lap of my grandmother on its paws
and licked her face. We approached grandmother and kissed her white, chubby hand. Her hand flipped over, and the bent fingers caught my face and caressed. Despite her perfume, I felt the unpleasant
grandmother smell.
But she continued to look on the person with the scar and spoke with him.
— “He’s a good one,” — she said, pointing at me. — you’ve not met him before, count?.”
— “They’re both good,” — said the count, kissing my arm and then Kostinu.
— “Good, Good,2” — said the maid, putting on her head cap. This maid — Marya Stepanovna, — whitewashed, bruised, and a good natured woman, always caressed me.
— Where is my snuffbox? 3
Lanskoy approached, served an open snuffbox. Grandmother sniffed and smiled, looking on the approach of Matrenu Danilovno.
1 Le balafré
2 This is spoken with a German accent
3 Où est ma tabatière?
