But no, I did not beg Him; I felt that He did pardon me, since He granted me that moment of wonderful joy. I was praying, yet at the same time I felt that I could not, dared not pray. I thanked Him, not in words, but in thought… Scarcely an hour had passed, and I was listening to the voice of vice. I fell asleep dreaming of glory, of women: it was stronger than I. Never mind! I thank God for that moment of happiness: for showing me my pettiness and my greatness. I want to pray, but I do not know how; I want to understand, but I dare not. I abandon myself to Thy will!”[1]
The flesh was not conquered; not then, nor ever; the struggle between God and the passions of man continued in the silence of his heart. Tolstoy speaks in his Journal of the three demons which were devouring him:
1. The passion for gambling. Possible struggle.
2. Sensuality. Struggle very difficult.
3. Vanity. The most terrible of all.
At the very moment when he was dreaming of living for others and of sacrificing himself, voluptuous or futile thoughts would assail him: the image of some Cossack woman, or “the despair he would feel if his moustache were higher on one side than the other.”—“No matter!” God was there; He would not forsake him. Even the effervescence of the struggle was fruitful: all the forces of life were exalted thereby.
“I think the idea of making a journey to the
- ↑ Journal.
