Liza Dyakonova diary of a Russian woman. Elizaveta Dyakonova - diary of a Russian woman
DYAKONOVA Elizaveta Alexandrovna (15.8.1874, Nerekhta - 29.8.1902, Tyrol, Austria, buried in Nerekhta) - author of the famous “Diary...” and journalistic works.
She was born into a poor merchant family. She studied at the Nerekhta Mariinsky Progymnasium. After the death of her father, a hereditary honorary citizen, in 1887 she and her family moved to Yaroslavl. She graduated from the Second Yaroslavl Gymnasium with a silver medal (1892). Despite the objections of the mother, who was opposed to her daughter receiving higher education, Elizabeth in 1895, secretly leaving home, entered the Higher Women's (Bestuzhev) Courses in St. Petersburg. Having become a student, she actively became involved in the women's movement and appeared in print with articles devoted to women's issues: “ Women's education", "Schools and brotherhood N.N. Neplyuev" and others.
In 1898, having completed the courses, she returned to Yaroslavl and worked on the commission of the Society for the Promotion of public education and dissemination of useful knowledge in the Yaroslavl province." The newspaper “Severny Krai” published sharp polemical articles “On nurturing love for home country" and "Do you need government money to notice surrounding objects." In the “Magazine for Everyone”, under the pseudonym E. Nerekhtskaya, she published the story “Why?”, approved by V. G. Korolenko.
In December 1900, Dyakonova went to Paris to enroll in the law faculty of the Sorbonne with the idea of “making an open road for women to enter the legal profession, just as it is already open in the medical and pedagogical fields.” After passing the exams for the second year in the spring of 1902, returning to her homeland, Dyakonova stopped in the Austrian city of Tyrol, where her life was cut short. Whether it was an accident or something else remains unclear.
Dyakonova’s diary, which made her name known, was published posthumously in an appendix to the World Herald magazine. Volume I appeared in print in 1905 (“The Diary of E. Dyakonova 1886−1895”). In 1904−05, two subsequent volumes were published. Volume II was dedicated to the Higher Women's Courses (1895−99). Volume III was called “Diary of a Russian Woman” (Paris, 1900−02). In 1912, letters, literary sketches, articles, and poems by Dyakonova were published in one voluminous volume along with diaries. The diary is the story of a living life: “... I wouldn’t want to die without leaving any trace on the earth... let at least part of my “I” be preserved in this diary...” Dyakonova describes in detail her childhood, the death of her father, and talks about difficult , sometimes painful relationships with his mother, about the lack of love and compassion in the house, about his loneliness, from which only books were salvation.
Dyakonova’s “Diary” is bright human document and a significant testimony to the women's movement in Russia, as she tries to comprehend life primarily in terms of the position of women in the family and in society. Final part The diary is dedicated to a short period of Dyakonova’s life abroad, it tells about her unrequited love for a French doctor. The story-diary ends with the suicide of the heroine, who says goodbye to her homeland and loved ones: “I have a soul, I have a will, and if an insignificant unit can, by what it does, eliminate at least one hundred millionth of the total amount of suffering, let this unit will do what his conscience dictates...” These lines, written six months before Dyakonova’s death, were the last.
The publication of Dyakonova's diary caused strong reactions in the press. V.V. Rozanov called it “one of the most attractive Russian books.” Many critics believed that if a future historian needed “a document to determine the mood of a Russian... intelligent girl on the verge of two centuries..., he would find it in Dyakonova’s diaries.”
Current page: 1 (book has 25 pages in total)
Dyakonova Elizaveta Alexandrovna
Diary of a Russian Woman
Elizaveta Dyakonova
Photo of a woman: Maria Bashkirtseva. Diary.
Elizaveta Dyakonova. Diary.
St. Petersburg: Kirtsideli, 2005.
OCR Lovetskaya T.Yu.
Diary of one of many
At the Higher Women's Courses
Diary of a Russian Woman
Appendixes to the diary of E. Dyakonova
I Last six months
About the women's issue
Tolstoy dies
II About the death of Elizaveta Dyakonova
Fragments of the introductory article by A. Dyakonov to the 1912 edition
Chronology
Diary of one of many
My small diary
Oh my God! What a day it was today! This day is important for me, because I received a good certificate - the fruit of my labors for two years. I am only eleven years old, I entered the second grade of the Nerekhta Mariinsky Women's Gymnasium. So, today, Saturday, the fate of 16 people was to be decided! Few of this number remained, only five or six, the rest left. After the distribution of awards and certificates, it was time to part ways. I vividly remember how we gathered in the washroom and everyone started crying. Only the teachers and the boss looked at this parting with indifference, and some of the audience mocked us. I was Mani’s friend, and when we said goodbye, we burst into tears so much that, it seems, we just stone man I would look at this picture with indifference. We are not the kind of girls to not cry for our friends, as teachers think! Dear friends, we all love each other, but maybe we will never see each other!
Mom (Alexandra Egorovna Dyakonova) says that I will be sent to study at the Orphanage in Yaroslavl. My grandmother lives there, I will be fine.
I haven't spoken to you for a long, long time, my dear little diary. A whole 2+ months. Such a time is very long for me, and yet I could not write, because I was afraid that my mother or governess would see. If they see it, it will be bad. After all, I write badly, they will laugh. But you have to write. Today is my birth, from now on I will write carefully every day or every week. Mommy will take me to the gymnasium tomorrow, I’ve already packed everything and am ready to go. Maybe I'll return home, I don't know. If I don’t come back, goodbye, dear Nerekhta, sisters and mother, house, garden and the Solonitsa River!
N.V. Don’t forget to make yourself a new notebook for your diary and sharpen your pencil...
Dear diary, I have been accepted into 4th grade! Mom is happy, but I don’t know whether to be happy or not. This morning I was brought here to the gymnasium. How boring it is without mom and grandma! Sisters and brothers are far away. I wasn't afraid of a lot of girls; on the contrary, it became easier for me, but still life without my mother is difficult and boring.
I met one 6th grade student, Manya L. She has big secret, which only Manya B. knew, and today I found out that she loves Manya D. Dear Marusya, we completely tormented her. Now she was angry with me, and I ran here to write.
Again, again I haven’t written for a long time, dear diary! The very name diary comes from the word daily, but do I write every day? There’s a lot, a lot, a lot that needs to be written here, but there’s no time. All these days were full of doubts, anxiety for myself and for others, and joy, which, however, was not much... Why do my friends hide everything from me, everything? With you, my dear diary, you alone can I talk to! And I know that at least this makes me feel better. You are a secret for everyone, even for your mother...
New Year. We haven't met him, mom is behind lately Sometimes I’m happy, sometimes I’m not... Soon we are leaving to live from Nerekhta to Yaroslavl... Dad is very sick... God, what am I going to do there? Living another winter in the city is nothing but educational institution, but then what to do there in the summer? I'm so used to clean fresh air, and in Yaroslavl?! On these Christmastides, instead of having fun, you watch around you dissatisfied sisters, brothers, packing things and servants, always busy. Now more and more often we see rooms empty...
...Now they struck the bell three times, oh. Peter, our confessor, died. Yesterday someone else was buried. Lord, what is this? Why, why all these dead people, the fire, leaving their homeland? What I’m most afraid of is that my dad will suddenly die; the doctors say he won’t live longer than a week. I feel very sorry for him, I’m scared, I don’t know what... I don’t know what to do now? This packing of things, the sudden move - everything seems to me like a vague dream. I am aware of one thing: I will not see Nerekhta again, last time now at home...
Now they have removed dad. I cannot convey the feeling that took over me when I entered his room. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t, something was squeezing my throat. Having forgotten myself, I held the candle almost above my head, and my grandmother corrected me many times. How ashamed Nadya is, she stood in another room while the pope was being unctioned, and cried all the time. What kind of nerves are these inappropriately? It would be better to pray.
My God, why didn’t you take me to your place, because I’m the kind of person whose “loss does not hurt anyone, no one needs his memory,” the poems of Nikitin or Nekrasov involuntarily came to mind, I don’t know (“From a poem by I. Nikitin “A deep hole was dug with a spade...”).
Now that I am leaving, perhaps for a long time, from Nerekhta, I must give myself an account of how I spent Christmas. You can't say it's fun, and you can't say it's boring. It couldn’t be fun because we were getting ready to leave and dad was sick. It couldn’t have been boring because I was glad to see my sisters and brothers. It seemed that everyone was happy about my arrival, and for a day or two everything went well; but, God, what happened next! Fights, quarrels, tears, all this came into action. I often quarrel with Valya. Oh, this Valya! It seems to me that she is like a hook: to prick someone with a sarcastic word, to notice something, then to mock - these are the cute habits of my little sister. As for my other sister, Nadya, gossip, retellings of various city gossips, constitute her favorite sphere. Now that I have noticed all the bad sides of my sisters, I must say something about mine. I am terribly hot-tempered, impatient, stubborn, and with these three wonderful qualities I have to live among sisters whose characters are decidedly different from mine: they are both not hot-tempered, both are patient, but... both are stubborn, even, perhaps, more than me. Well, now can we say that I lived here cheerfully? No way. All the days, excluding the happy hours that I spent with my mother and in friendship with my sisters and brothers, were some kind of trouble, painful, stupid.
Goodbye, dear, dear Nerekhta, goodbye to all my friends, to all those places in which I spent the happiest moments of my life!..
Today is a year since Fr. died. Peter. How much has changed during this time! And I myself became not the same as before, but much worse. And how not to deteriorate your character, because you have to constantly be angry with your brothers and sisters. True, I was better before, now I keep contradicting my mother. But... it’s impossible not to object to her, because mom contradicts herself at every step.
My dear brothers are getting worse every day, especially Volodya, he is spoiling Sasha, I see it, I’m scared for Sasha and... I can’t do anything. Yes, I can’t do anything, because my mother forbade me to interfere in the children’s affairs. But you inevitably intervene when you see that their characters are getting worse every day. Let Volodya do what he wants, I don’t feel as sorry for him as I do for Sasha, he’s a beloved brother, and if he’s like Volodya, he’ll have a bad time. I don’t know why, I have the thought in my head that Sasha will go crazy sooner or later.
Since then, when I caress and teach Sasha, this thought constantly comes into my head, and I really want to cry.
I am afraid that my diary will not fall into the hands of my mother, what will happen then!.. (Here ends the “little diary” (note in the 1912 edition).)
I started keeping a diary when I was 11 years old, which means I’ve been doing this for about two years now, but damned laziness prevents me from writing: I kept a diary with such interruptions that I’m surprised by it myself. Today I wanted to quickly, quickly escape from our apartment to Nerekhta; I couldn’t sit still and ran until tired, as if someone was pushing me, from room to room. It was a good evening, I was reading. I just finished “Notes of an Extra Man” by Turgenev (This refers to I. Turgenev’s story “The Diary of an Extra Man,” to whose hero, Chulkaturin, death comes, as if in mockery, on April 1.). His last day, April 1st, made me think about dad. A year and 3.5 months have passed since his death, and I still can’t believe that he died. I and all of us never say “late dad,” but simply “dad,” as if he was always with us. Indeed, when I think about him, or look at his portrait in the living room, I feel that dad is alive, that he speaks and feels like us. Dad will never die; he is always with me, just like God.
Today an incident happened in the French class: Natalya Frantsevna punished an orange. Nastya U-voy had an orange; out of boredom, she took it out of her pocket, the orange, of course, went from hand to hand, everyone began to smell it and lick it. Finally, the mess was noticed by Nat. Fr., and after Nastya’s sad admission that the disorder was caused by an orange, the unfortunate man was dragged onto the table and solemnly covered with thick grammar. The orange remained in this position until the end of the class.
Ha, ha, ha, ha! Here's a funny, stupid and sad adventure! Today, while going to the bathhouse, Nadya and I lost our galoshes! This incident caused a whole storm: mom read the notation, Al. Nick (Alexandra Nikolaevna, the Dyakonovs’ governess. She was 21 years old in 1888) said that only with the Dyakonovs could this kind of thing happen. Before dinner we decided together that this was a trick evil spirits; God's punishment for negligence in prayer. Nadya says that today she did not pray carefully, and if she does not pray well in the morning, then a misfortune will certainly happen; that if you laugh a lot, it is not good - I completely agree with this. I (here is a sinner) have been reading only three prayers since Christmas, and I decided to punish myself for negligence: sleep on the floor. Valya listened and said, “Fools, talk about how the imp stole your galoshes, I’ll leave.” Nadya and I decided that in every person there is a demon that tempts a person to do everything bad. But today I was in the bathhouse; clean - and suddenly sleep on a dirty floor! Today my mother left me without dinner for disobedience; this is useful: you need to eat as little as possible, now exams are coming soon. The kind Sasha the maid took pity on me: she left the cutlet and offered it to me; but I was afraid that my mother wouldn’t see and refused... I’ll eat it tomorrow, it’s in the closet!.. I argued with Volodya: he claims that he looks like his dad, I say - like his mother. The thought of dad comes to my mind more and more often; what if I die too? But there is a demon in me, he will push me straight into hell! Scary!
Hurray! moved to 6th grade! Everyone is happy, but I am most happy. In the gymnasium, thanks to the most terrible pig teacher N... found Katya E. in despair: she failed and, it seems, attempted suicide, but failed. Now they are watching her with all their eyes: she sits pale as death and does not understand anything. Student W. will probably die soon; she is consumptive and half... I can’t write: it’s scary to say what memorization of all kinds of textbooks has brought her to; Now she understands almost nothing, thinks nothing about her situation. And I’m very sorry for Margarita: I’ve become very close to her in recent days; now she has been expelled, and ahead is poverty, youth, despair and sadness, uselessness to loved ones and society.
The other day I was at a concert. They played Mendelssohn's prelude... It seemed to me that all the waves, southern and northern, merged into the meeting. First they started talking northern waves, reproaching the southern ones, and then the southern ones began to object to the northern ones. Things came to a head: the northern waves talked about the delights eternal snow and ice, and the southern ones sang about the beauty of the night, about the sun and stars reflected in sea water. Finally, the quiet waves of the rivers sailed into the Mediterranean Sea and told them about the lives of people. The waves made peace when they heard about the strife and cruelty of people and, uniting together, sang a hymn to God. This is what Mr. B's game seemed to be telling me.
Wow! How scared I was today: at about 4 o’clock a man comes and says: a man drowned in the Volga while drunk, a former janitor; According to signs, he turns out to be Alexandrina’s husband. Sasha ran to find out whether her husband was there or not, since the man could not vouch for the accuracy of the news. I came home. Thank God, my husband was there, safe and sound...
Everyone went to the dance today (Lisa attended dance lessons.). Alexandra Nikolaevna admires me, constantly tells her mother: “How cutely Liza dances, how graceful she is,” but she doesn’t believe it: this is just absurdity, Liza, clumsy, fast, sharp in all her movements, and suddenly... grace?! And where else - in dancing!? It's funny to me; After all, it seems that there is nothing good, beautiful, graceful in me, apparently I was born this way. Al. Nick. after dancing she asked me: “Well, Lisa, you can get carried away by dancing? what do you think now?” I hesitated to answer: I’ve never been interested in them before, but “no” didn’t come out of my mouth. - “I’ll look at you as if you were dancing at an Allegri (Lottery Ball).” “But will I really be,” I said in surprise, “after all, I don’t have any friends...” “They will be, I’ll introduce you to the high school students and students,” she answered decisively. “Here you go! - I thought, “until now I had not the slightest desire to meet any of them, I even thought about it with fear, but here ... well, Allegri will not come soon.”
Grandma arrived; I was so happy, as if I had gone to Nerekhta myself. She brought a huge basket of currants for cooking and eating.
Mom fell ill; There was a doctor who said that her illness would soon go away. My mother and I have no conflicts, and from our conversations only today I realized how much she has endured. It seems that my mother was raised simply, she was never energetic as a child, she grew up quietly, she went out as a girl - everything, as everyone else does, did and will do - where could she gain such knowledge, practicality, energy? Meanwhile, my mother, although she was nervous and not in good health, endured so much, conducted her affairs with such energy, defended her and our interests, that in surprise I could not utter a word while my mother was telling me everything. She says that when she got married, she relied only on herself, and not on dad, because his fortune was not great at all... And it’s strange: grandmother and all our relatives - everyone knows what mom did for us, they know what she wanted I had to endure it, and they talk about it as if it were the most ordinary thing. What if others had to do it? - then they would interpret, praise, extol almost to the skies. But our mother did everything, lost her health prematurely, upset her nerves - and our relatives looked at it as if this was how it should be. “They didn’t appreciate it from their own people, but strangers will appreciate it and understand what it cost me,” said my mother, and tears appeared in her eyes. “No more crying, Mom,” I answered, as usual, somewhat mockingly; but if only my mother knew what was happening inside me at that moment! I suddenly wanted to fall at her feet and madly pray for her for an entire eternity for what she did for us, to forgive her everything, everything, to look at her and not give her to anyone, to anyone... so that she would be all mine, all! It seems that if it were up to me, I would take one mother with me, take her somewhere, and pray, pray for her and for her endlessly!..
The other day there was an act at the gymnasium. Valya received the 2nd award. Mom was triumphant. It’s been a long time since anyone has pleased her with success: it’s been 2 years now. I would like to go with a reward just to make my mother happy. But don’t cross! Where should we sinners reach for a reward? I would like to receive it!
Study, study, ad infinitum: from 9 to 8 study, study, study and study! (Classes at the gymnasium lasted from 9 to 16 - Lisa is probably taking into account here the time spent on homework.) This is how time is spent. Nothing to say, good! I don’t even have time to keep a diary... Alexandra Nikolaevna is so gloomy; involuntarily it will be annoying: he teaches, teaches his sisters, diligently fills their heads with proportions and Slavic declensions, and the next day - 2 from Russian because Nadya did not know the very declination that she answered perfectly the day before. It’s strange: at home you know a lesson like “Our Father,” but at the gymnasium they’ll ask you—it’s as if your tongue has been lost, everything will be confused in your head: what was suggested, and what was explained, and what you learned—and remember what their name was! Eh, this is an unfortunate teaching, truly, unfortunate.
Just now I read in the newspaper about students being overworked. It’s good to write that studying too much is harmful, but in reality nothing has changed. They write: exams are harmful to health, useless in relation to knowledge, you need to study less, prepare less homework at home - in a word - they write a lot, so much that if you printed all the notes about the study on separate sheets, you could wrap up twenty breakfasts.
What a sleepy kingdom! Weekdays - gymnasium, then lunch, tea, lessons and dinner. Holiday - absolutely no one does anything. And even if the sisters did something useful, it would all be nonsense; At least they are together, but I am still alone.
I don’t understand how it all turns out that I alone am the cause of all the evils and disasters in our house? There is nothing more false, worse than my current situation, both in the gymnasium and at home. But there, by at least, even though all the faces are familiar, here... really, I’m definitely among strangers. True, I sometimes feel very guilty towards my mother, I scold when I get very angry, I also punish the children when they are naughty - but are all these really such terrible things that they constantly nag me for all this? My only joy (so to speak) is books; I read and forget for at least two hours the whole chain of disputes, quarrels, reprimands, punishments, etc., which has entangled our house and does not allow anyone to get out of it.
Lord, my God, dear! If only you would clean me up quickly! Well, what kind of life is this, I’m so disgusted with it that I don’t know where to go! God by his law forbade killing oneself; If it were not a sin, I would now be in the water or under the rails. I don’t feel sorry for anyone, I don’t feel sorry for anything, just to die as soon as possible! Then the house will be quieter, mom won’t read lectures and upset her nerves, the sisters won’t scold, the house wouldn’t be a place to live, but a paradise. A memorial service would be served for me, it would be very fun for me, (I read, when a memorial service is sung, the soul of the deceased can be very happy (note by E. Dyakonova).) I would see my dad, I would see God, angels, saints... I would kiss my dad would be the same as when last days his life, if we were together. In general, if I died, it would be good! They say that those who are afraid of death die, and those who are not afraid live long; I’m not afraid of death (in my opinion, it’s very stupid to be afraid of something that would happen sooner or later), and I want to die, but death doesn’t come. Lord, Lord! Die quickly!
These days my mother has fallen ill, and I have a problem, although the most insignificant: last Thursday I spilled ink in the hall, and I was punished: stand for an hour at the column, and even my travel inkwell Duset (Probably a classy lady.) the nasty one took it for herself. Another incident: last Monday, the 17th, at 12 o’clock in the morning, the royal train crashed on the Kursk-Kharkov-Azov railway. 18 people were killed, but the entire royal family remained alive and unharmed. We had a thanksgiving prayer service on this occasion. Reading about the crash in the newspapers, one can involuntarily exclaim: marvelous are Your works, Lord! Many people were wounded and killed, but the Emperor and the entire family were safe and sound. Who dares to say now that there is no God?
Alexandra Nikolaevna - the best person in the world - is getting married. And what a fool I am: after all, when we were at the name day, the groom was sitting almost opposite me, but - apparently I have such an ability - I never see any of the men if I’m somewhere with friends; so I never saw him. Nadya says he is very handsome. When I asked Al. Nick, what kind of fiance is she, she answered somehow strangely: “Oh, he’s young, very handsome, he agrees with me in everything.” So he too - great good man. They are very similar to each other, like brother and sister. Besides all this, Al. Nick. told us news that was almost as joyful: she would stay and rehearse with us! My dear, my dear Alexandra Nikolaevna! This evening we didn’t even read, but worked and talked: it was as if we were saying goodbye to her; After the engagement, she will almost be a wife, and this seems so strange.
I saw Al today. Nick. I went to the gymnasium; I see a couple, cheerful, young, happy. “This is her,” I thought. But maybe it’s not her, maybe another young lady is walking arm in arm with the student. “This is so awkward,” suddenly came to me with the familiar pronunciation of the letter “l”; there is no doubt - she is! I walked along a different sidewalk; I walked, not daring to look at this happy couple, trying to walk so that they would not notice me, and I was so happy, so happy! When I read about love, I didn’t understand how they love, confess their love, make proposals; but everything seemed natural to me: it was a novel. And when I actually saw it, I began to understand how everything was done, although not quite yet. When Al. Nick. She told us that her soul was joyful and good, that everything seemed pleasant and cheerful, then I thought, this love is probably a good thing. I imagine myself in her place, only without a groom, of course, and not a bride, but simply: well, and I love I don’t know who, well, let’s say, the maid Sasha, or one of the pupils... and then everything begins to seem to me in pink light! Should I really fall in love with one of our people? The students are very pretty, they sing well, they are slender, because you can fall in love with them. And suddenly then I will be happy... only I don’t have the ability or skill for this, otherwise I would have tried.
Hooray! Today we didn't study again! For the health of the Emperor and Empress. Hooray! “God Save the Tsar” was sung, the director spoke, the manifesto was read; we screamed, shouted, pushed, pinched, even fought for joy. When they came to class afterwards to get ready to go home, everyone covered their ears and started yelling “hurray.” That was the noise! Lord, what a holiday it is this morning. The sun was shining so brightly, the hall was huge, and the Tsar from the portrait was looking at us so clearly, as if alive, and we were singing to him “God Save the Tsar.” Well, how can you not go crazy here?! It seems that I would give my whole life to see the Tsar!
Alexandra Nikolaevna refused her fiance! To refuse a person who was already engaged to her, who already had the right to her - I don’t know what it is!.. I feel that I can no longer look at her as before, it seems to me that in front of her stands the groom rejected by her. Of course, I will never tell anyone anything, but... Al still acted badly. Nick. A person must first of all be humane, and she acted mercilessly with her fiancé. She is now so cheerful, affectionate, she laughs all the time, even her face seems to be prettier; but I can’t, I can’t look straight at her. And three weeks ago I saw the two of them so happy...
I haven’t written for a long time, either because I was lazy or because I didn’t have time. I really love visiting my grandmother: it’s so quiet, quiet, good. In our house, if it’s quiet, then everything is somehow sleepy, but at grandma’s, silence has its own charm. Yesterday my grandmother told me about her life, about her mother, about Uncle Kolya. Now the whole life of our family is open to me. And, Lord, how many misfortunes my grandmother told me, and all of it is so good, natural, that, really, you will listen... It seems as if two families - both famous and respected - came together in order to combine their grief and suffering and double it by mom. Both grandmothers experienced a lot of grief in their lives, bearing it firmly; and my mother always managed to control herself: only twice in her life did I see in her something similar to despair and tears, but then she again became silent, patient...
Today a Frenchwoman scolded me and called me a smart girl, “capable of girls” because I translated m-me Stael for her. Amazing woman There was m-me Stael, it was not for nothing that they called her a genius. Nowadays there are no such people. How smart she was! At the age of seventeen, when our girls are just beginning to think about traveling, she was already publishing “Letters about J. J. Rousseau” (The work of Germaine de Stael (1766-1817) “Letters about the works and personality of J. J. Rousseau...” was published in 1788). Good at composing; Sometimes I want to write something myself, but I’m always too lazy, it still seems like I can’t.
Vacation is coming! You won’t walk home at 4 o’clock through dark streets, in mud and wind, in slush and frost. “Home, home,” the pupils joyfully repeat, running from class to dormitory, from dormitory to class. “Home, home!” - is heard everywhere, in all corners of the rooms of our huge educational institution. Here, all beaming with a smile, disheveled, with an apron on her side, the pupil runs. She has a whole pile of books and notebooks in her hands, it’s awkward for her to run, but she flies like an arrow, pushes her friends, suddenly stumbles upon the bed, and the whole burden crumbles. “What are you doing,” remarks the dissatisfied classy lady, “running like some kind of crazy person!” Look, where are your books? Shame on you!" But the pupil does not have the slightest shame, on the contrary: her face becomes even more joyful, and she responds to the reprimand: “Why, go home, Vera Alexandrovna!”
Over there, by the middle bed, is some kind of pupil. Gathered around her whole group: who puts on her scarf, who fastens the button, who ties the knot. Everything has already been collected, she is dressed, wrapped in a scarf, and the farewell begins. “Goodbye, Manya, dear, write, when you have time, for Christmas,” “Goodbye, Manka, goodbye, dear darling,” is heard around. And all, although they would be the most sworn enemies leaving, they consider it their duty to say goodbye.
I dreamed about my dad yesterday. I experience a strange feeling when I see him in a dream: I feel so good, it’s fun, but it’s as if I feel sorry for someone. They say that he is the one who reminds me to pray for him. This is true. When I don’t pray well or for a long time for my dad, I always dream about him, so affectionate and kind, so it’s a pity for me to dream.
Oh Lord, Lord! Have mercy on me, a sinner, forgive all my sins. After all, You forgive the sins of all people - forgive, Lord, the nasty, disgusting beast, at least one hundredth of its sins and transgressions. I would like to die, if not now, not now, then on August 15 next year, then I will be exactly 15 years old; I would like to die exactly at 6 o’clock in the morning, that is, at the hour when I was born; I would like to be buried in a spruce forest, where we often went for walks, they would plant a Christmas tree on the grave, but there is no need to put up a cross, you can cut a simple tree out of it; and if it’s not possible in a spruce forest, then let them bury me in the far corner of our cemetery, where the sun shines more often and longer. It is much better to die than to live! When I was at my father’s grave this summer, the sun was shining so brightly, it was so good that I would have died now, if only the sun was shining just above me, and it would have been so quiet in the cemetery...
I subscribed to the magazine “North” myself. It will be sent in my name, in short, I will have my own magazine. My hand was shaking when I wrote the address: Sun. S. Solovyov; (“Vsevolod Sergeevich Solovyov (1849-1903), writer. Founded and in 1888-1889 edited (together with P. P. Gnedich) the illustrated magazine “North.”) it seemed to me that it was the greatest audacity on my part to write to a person Moreover, to an unfamiliar, but also to a famous writer.
Today Al. Nick. She said that it was time for me to start studying properly, and not just studying, but everything in general. She said (I’m even ashamed to write, as if I’m praising myself) that I have all the data to be (I don’t know what kind of) person, that I am a unique, original being, not like others, and finally said: “I’m like... I talked to one young man about you, and we decided that you are not a pathetic mediocrity.” How ashamed I am to write all this, but I’m writing for myself, and therefore, adding anything from myself to the description of the conversation would be a lie to myself. Al. Nick. resolutely guesses my thoughts: she advised me to keep a diary, and so that it could be published later. Well, this is too much! Firstly, I almost never speak out in my diary, and secondly, my life is not interesting to everyone. “What are you preparing yourself for?” – Al asked me. Nick. Well, what can I answer to this? I really don’t intend to do anything yet, but I feel that home life I'll be sucked in so much that in one beautiful morning I’ll do something that... But I’ve stopped thinking about it now, and thank God...
For me to be an original person, not like other people, for something to come out of me - this, by your will, I could not even imagine. True, when I grow up, I will lead a completely different life, not like the lives of other people. For example, I really want to go to America, pass the captain’s exam there, get a command of some ship and go traveling; Well, I don’t imagine myself as an original person at all. And yet, after this conversation, something bright, joyful, good opened up before me; and the words “we must serve for the benefit of society,” which Al told me. Nick, I will never, ever forget. After all, I read that a Roman woman at the age of 14 put on a toga and became a full citizen; When do we get this right? – At 21, or when you get married. Strange!..
Happy New Year! Happy new happiness! It’s strange to say “with new happiness,” as if every new year brings it with it; whereas every year “new” misfortunes happen more and more often….
We celebrated the New Year like probably no other family in the city... In the evening I came to my mother’s bedroom and said that it was already half past twelve. “Okay, call the children into the hall,” she said, lazily rising from the couch... “Please come into the hall!” – I opened the nursery door. There was noise, laughter and shouting, it was obviously fun; but at my words, everyone somehow became quiet, stopped playing cards, and, recovering and somehow closing their eyes as they walked, reached into the hall. There characters We were in this position: my mother was sitting upright on the sofa, leaning her elbow on the pillow: on her face, as always, I was able to notice almost nothing except fatigue and the desire to sleep; Nadya was sitting on an armchair against the wall, covering half her face with a scarf; Valya was placed diagonally from her on a chair; her face was lowered down, her lips twitched somehow mockingly and contemptuously; Volodya sat next to his mother on the sofa, fingering the buttons with his hands; Shurka was sitting on a chair near the sofa; “Mom put me in jail and I’m sitting, otherwise they’ll punish me,” his posture and face said. I was in front of the sofa. We all sat and were silent, everyone's faces gradually began to take on an expression of some kind of sleepiness, dullness. Mom was almost asleep, but kept glancing at the clock and quietly grumbling at Valya for something; finally, she looked at her watch for the last time, it was 11 minutes to 12. “Get up!” - she said; we all stood up mechanically. Mom crossed herself and we all began to pray; Before I had time to make even three crosses, the command came: “Let’s wait, it’s still early.” Everyone sat down again; time passed quickly, half a minute remained, and again everyone stood up and began to pray; We prayed for a long time. Mom got up from her knees, went to the table, took a glass, and so did we all. “Let’s clink glasses,” my mother said... A kind of stupor came over me. When I clinked glasses with my mother, I wanted to hug her, kiss her and sincerely congratulate her; but, looking at the cold, stupid, expressionless faces of my sisters, I abandoned my intention: it seemed impossible to kiss my mother in front of them. They began to disperse. In the nursery, I saw the sisters entering there with animated faces - they had already fulfilled a difficult duty...
She was born the first of five children on August 15 (27), 1874 in the poor merchant family of Alexander Dyakonov and his wife Alexandra, née Gorshkova, in the city of Nerekhta, Kostroma province. She studied at the Nerekhta Mariinsky Progymnasium. Father, hereditary honorary citizen, died in 1887, and the family moved to Yaroslavl. Lisa was placed in a girls' gymnasium at the Orphanage. Mother was a strict, capricious woman. Lisa, like her sister Valya and her brothers, read a lot, and early became acquainted with forbidden literature, which was brought by her brother’s tutor, a student at the Demidov Law Lyceum. After the death of their father, the children received their share of the inheritance; upon reaching adulthood, they had the right to dispose of the money at their own discretion.
After graduating from high school in 1891 with a silver medal, Elizaveta Dyakonova decided to enroll in the Higher Women's Courses. The mother was categorically against it. Only after reaching adulthood and showing “unfeminine” persistence, Elizaveta became a student of the Bestuzhev Women’s Courses in St. Petersburg. While studying on courses, the girl actively participates in public life.
After completing the course in 1899, Dyakonova was faced with the question of further activities. She decides to devote herself to jurisprudence, seeks an appointment with the Minister of Justice, but is refused: women are not allowed to practice law. In 1899-1900 he worked on the library commission of the Society for the Propagation primary education and other institutions in Yaroslavl. To receive a full-fledged legal education, in December 1900, Elizabeth went to France and entered the Sorbonne Faculty of Law.
But life abroad turned out to be too difficult: malnutrition, poor living conditions, worsening illness, and, on top of that, unrequited love. Doctors recommended that she return to her homeland. On the way to Russia in the mountains of the Austrian Tyrol on July 29 (August 11), 1902, her life was cut short. The contents of the last entries in the Diary suggested suicide to some readers, but Dyakonova’s brother categorically denied this. She was buried in Nerekhta.
Diary and creativity
In the 1890s, Dyakonova began publishing journalistic articles in newspapers: “On nurturing love for one’s native country”, “Do you need government money in order to notice surrounding objects”, “Isn’t it strange?”, “Schools and brotherhood of N.N. Neplyueva", "Women's education", "On the women's issue"); trying to write stories: “Why?” (“Magazine for everyone”, July 1900; approved by V. G. Korolenko), “Shot”, “Charity”, “Matchmaking”, “Under the fragrant branch of lilac” (received a silver medal at the competition of Parisian students).
From the age of 11 until the end of her life, Elizaveta Dyakonova kept a diary. Soon after her death, her brother collected all the notes, letters, poems, articles and published them under one cover in 1905. The book received many favorable responses and was reprinted 3 times before the revolution (the last time in 1912). Vasily Rozanov called the diary “a deeply national, Russian phenomenon”, “one of the most recent Russian books late XIX V.". The diary reflects the inner life of the author, and also gives an idea of the life of young people and students in the 1890s. In addition, this is a significant document of the women's movement in Russia and a bright literary work. Critics and readers often contrasted it with the diary of the artist Maria Bashkirtseva, where the heroine’s focus is not social life, and art and psychological experiences.
Editions of the diary
- Dyakonova E. A. Diary (1888-1895), vol. 1. - St. Petersburg: Printing house M. P. S. (T-va I. N. Kushnerev and Co.), 1905. - 332 p.
Dyakonova E. A. Diary. At the higher women's courses (1896-1899), vol. 2. - St. Petersburg: Printing house M. P. S. (T-va I. N. Kushnerev and Co.), 1905. - 300 p.
Dyakonova E. A. Diary of a Russian woman. Paris (1900-1902), vol. 3. - St. Petersburg: Printing house M. P. S. (T-va I. N. Kushnerev and Co.), 1905. - 242 p. - Dyakonova E. A. Diary of Elizaveta Dyakonova. 1886-1902. - Published by V. M. Sablin, 1912. - 838 p. (4th edition, supplemented, edited and with introductory articles by A. A. Dyakonov, Elizabeth’s brother; the book also contains literary sketches, poems, articles and letters.)
- Dyakonova E. A. Diary of a Russian woman. - Zakharov, 2004. - 480 p. - (Biographies and memoirs). - 3000 copies. - ISBN 5-8159-0398-1
- (with notes; the book includes some articles and letters; afterword by A. Etkind)
- Dyakonova E. A. Diary of a Russian woman. - M.: Publishing house International University in Moscow, 2006. - 672 p. - (Grain of Eternity). - 2000 copies. - ISBN 5-9248-0102-0 (the book also contains literary sketches, poems, articles)
I have a vague impression that I have already written here about this book, but a search turns up nothing.
And, in any case, two times is two times. Worth it.
Publisher: Publishing House of the International University in Moscow
Series: Grain of Eternity
2006
Abstract: “Elizaveta Aleksandrovna Dyakonova (1874-1902) is the author of “The Diary of a Russian Woman” and journalistic works. Her “Diary” was called by V.V. Rozanov “a deeply national, Russian phenomenon,” “one of the most recent Russian books of the late 19th century.” c." The diary reflects the inner life of the author, and also gives an idea of the life of youth and students in the 1890s. In addition, this is a significant document of the women's movement in Russia and a brilliant literary work.
The author’s extraordinary character and literary talent were manifested in the utmost sincerity of introspection, an attempt to comprehend the peculiarities everyday life of that time.
The book is addressed to a wide range of readers."
Elizaveta Aleksandrovna Dyakonova was born the first of five children into a poor merchant family in the city of Nerekhta, Kostroma province. She studied at the Nerekhta Mariinsky Progymnasium. The father died in 1887, and the family moved to Yaroslavl. Lisa was placed in a girls' gymnasium at the Orphanage. Lisa, like her sister Valya and her brothers, read a lot, and early became acquainted with forbidden literature, which was brought by her brother’s tutor.
After graduating from high school in 1891 with a silver medal, Elizaveta Dyakonova decided to enroll in the Higher Women's Courses. The mother was categorically against it. Only after reaching adulthood and showing “unfeminine” persistence, Elizaveta became a student of the Bestuzhev Women’s Courses in St. Petersburg. While studying on courses, the girl actively participates in public life.
After completing the courses in 1899, Dyakonova was faced with the question of future activities. She decides to devote herself to jurisprudence, seeks an appointment with the Minister of Justice, but is refused: women are not allowed to practice law. In 1899-1900 he worked in the library commission of the Society for the Propagation of Primary Education and other institutions in Yaroslavl. To receive a full-fledged legal education, in December 1900, Elizabeth went to France and entered the Sorbonne Faculty of Law.
But life abroad turned out to be too difficult: malnutrition, poor living conditions, worsening illness, and, on top of that, unrequited love. Doctors recommended that she return to her homeland. On the way to Russia in the mountains of the Austrian Tyrol on July 29 (August 11), 1902, her life was cut short. The contents of the last entries in the Diary suggested suicide to some readers, but Dyakonova’s brother categorically denied this. She was buried in Nerekhta.
In the 1890s, Dyakonova began publishing journalistic articles in newspapers: “On nurturing love for one’s native country”, “Do you need government money in order to notice surrounding objects”, “Isn’t it strange?”, “Schools and brotherhood of N.N. Neplyueva", "Women's education", "On the women's issue"); trying to write stories: “Why?” (“Magazine for everyone”, July 1900; approved by V. G. Korolenko), “Shot”, “Charity”, “Matchmaking”, “Under the fragrant branch of lilac” (received a silver medal at the competition of Parisian students).
From the age of 11 until the end of her life, Elizaveta Dyakonova kept a diary. Soon after her death, her brother collected all the notes, letters, poems, articles and published them under one cover in 1905. The book received many favorable responses and was reprinted 3 times before the revolution (the last time in 1912). Vasily Rozanov called the diary “a deeply national, Russian phenomenon”, “one of the freshest Russian books of the late 19th century.” The diary reflects the inner life of the author, and also gives an idea of the life of young people and students in the 1890s. In addition, it is a significant document of the women's movement in Russia and a vibrant literary work. Critics and readers often contrasted it with the diary of the artist Maria Bashkirtseva, where the heroine’s focus is not on social life, but on art and psychological experiences.
My little diary
Literary sketches
Poems
At the Higher Women's Courses (1895-1899)
Diary of a Russian woman (Paris 1900-1902)
pp. 473-651
In general, if she had been able to study further in Russia, she would not have died so early. I can’t even imagine how the minister’s refusal crippled her. How much strength and perseverance was required for you to be allowed to STUDY. And they didn’t allow it. It's a woman.
Review:
“With great pleasure and interest (and with a pencil in hand) I read the diary of Elizaveta Dyakonova, a merchant’s daughter who lived in the second half of the nineteenth century. The first hundred pages are simple everyday notes of a twelve-year-old girl, somewhat prone to panache, anger and dissatisfaction with herself and others world. Her prayers to God are constantly heard on the pages of the diary, in which she asks him to take her to him, so as not to lead a boring and worthless life. But gradually, when she finishes school and begins to desperately wait for her to come of age (by the way, 21 years old!), In order to enroll in higher courses, the tone of the notes changes. In it, the hope of receiving a special education is increasingly heard, at the same time, the girl speaks very coolly about marriage, matchmakers and the eternal woman’s dream - to get married. With each chapter, her style changes, improves, There are already references to the idols of her time - actors, poets, writers, musicians, theatrical productions, about new acquaintances, about the social system. Yesterday's uptight and gloomy girl turns into an interesting woman...
Among other things, I especially liked the descriptions of pre-revolutionary life, way of thinking, educational institutions, students and teachers of that time. Although there was some female soul-searching, semi-philosophical reasoning and poses. And yet I highly recommend this book to all lovers of “everyday history.”
Elizaveta Dyakonova. Diary.
St. Petersburg: Kirtsideli, 2005.
OCR Lovetskaya T.Yu.
Diary of one of many
At the Higher Women's Courses
Diary of a Russian Woman
Appendixes to the diary of E. Dyakonova
I Last six months
About the women's issue
Tolstoy dies
II About the death of Elizaveta Dyakonova
Fragments of the introductory article by A. Dyakonov to the 1912 edition
Chronology
Diary of one of many
My little diary
Oh my God! What a day it was today! This day is important for me, because I received a good certificate - the fruit of my labors for two years. I am only eleven years old, I entered the second grade of the Nerekhta Mariinsky Women's Gymnasium. So, today, Saturday, the fate of 16 people was to be decided! Few of this number remained, only five or six, the rest left. After the distribution of awards and certificates, it was time to part ways. I vividly remember how we gathered in the washroom and everyone started crying. Only the teachers and the boss looked at this parting with indifference, and some of the audience mocked us. I was Mani’s friend, and when we said goodbye, we burst into tears so much that, it seems, only a stone man would look at this picture indifferently. We are not the kind of girls to not cry for our friends, as teachers think!<…>Dear friends, we all love each other, but maybe we will never see each other!
Mom (Alexandra Egorovna Dyakonova) says that I will be sent to study at the Orphanage in Yaroslavl. My grandmother lives there, I will be fine.
I haven't spoken to you for a long, long time, my dear little diary. A whole 2+ months. Such a time is very long for me, and yet I could not write, because I was afraid that my mother or governess would see. If they see it, it will be bad. After all, I write badly, they will laugh. But you have to write. Today is my birth, from now on I will write carefully every day or every week. Mommy will take me to the gymnasium tomorrow, I’ve already packed everything and am ready to go. Maybe I'll return home, I don't know. If I don’t come back, goodbye, dear Nerekhta, sisters and mother, house, garden and the Solonitsa River!
N.V. Don’t forget to make yourself a new notebook for your diary and sharpen your pencil...
Dear diary, I have been accepted into 4th grade! Mom is happy, but I don’t know whether to be happy or not. This morning I was brought here to the gymnasium. How boring it is without mom and grandma! Sisters and brothers are far away. I wasn't afraid of a lot of girls; on the contrary, it became easier for me, but still life without my mother is difficult and boring.
I met a 6th grade student, Manya L. She has a big secret that only Manya B. knew, and today I found out that she loves Manya D. Dear Marusya, we completely tormented her. Now she was angry with me, and I ran here to write.
Again, again I haven’t written for a long time, dear diary! The very name diary comes from the word daily, but do I write every day? There’s a lot, a lot, a lot that needs to be written here, but there’s no time. All these days were full of doubts, anxiety for myself and for others, and joy, which, however, was not much... Why do my friends hide everything from me, everything? With you, my dear diary, you alone can I talk to! And I know that at least this makes me feel better. You are a secret for everyone, even for your mother...
New Year. We haven’t met him, mom has been either happy or not lately... Soon we are leaving to live from Nerekhta to Yaroslavl... Dad is very sick... God, what am I going to do there? Living in the city for another winter will do nothing except go to school, but then what to do there in the summer? I’m so used to clean fresh air, but in Yaroslavl?! On these Christmastides, instead of having fun, you watch around you dissatisfied sisters, brothers, packing things and servants, always busy. Now more and more often we see rooms empty...
...Now they struck the bell three times, oh. Peter, our confessor, died. Yesterday someone else was buried. Lord, what is this? Why, why all these dead people, the fire, leaving their homeland? What I’m most afraid of is that my dad will suddenly die; the doctors say he won’t live longer than a week. I feel very sorry for him, I’m scared, I don’t know what... I don’t know what to do now? This packing of things, the sudden move - everything seems to me like a vague dream. I am aware of one thing: I will not see Nerekhta again, the last time is now at home...
Now they have removed dad. I cannot convey the feeling that took over me when I entered his room. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t, something was squeezing my throat. Having forgotten myself, I held the candle almost above my head, and my grandmother corrected me many times. How ashamed Nadya is, she stood in another room while the pope was being unctioned, and cried all the time. What kind of nerves are these inappropriately? It would be better to pray.
My God, why didn’t you take me to your place, because I’m the kind of person whose “loss does not hurt anyone, no one needs his memory,” the poems of Nikitin or Nekrasov involuntarily came to mind, I don’t know (“From a poem by I. Nikitin “A deep hole was dug with a spade...”).
Now that I am leaving, perhaps for a long time, from Nerekhta, I must give myself an account of how I spent Christmas. You can't say it's fun, and you can't say it's boring. It couldn’t be fun because we were getting ready to leave and dad was sick. It couldn’t have been boring because I was glad to see my sisters and brothers. It seemed that everyone was happy about my arrival, and for a day or two everything went well; but, God, what happened next! Fights, quarrels, tears, all this came into action. I often quarrel with Valya. Oh, this Valya! It seems to me that she is like a hook: to prick someone with a sarcastic word, to notice something, then to mock - these are the cute habits of my little sister. As for my other sister, Nadya, gossip, retellings of various city gossips, constitute her favorite sphere. Now that I have noticed all the bad sides of my sisters, I must say something about mine. I am terribly hot-tempered, impatient, stubborn, and with these three wonderful qualities I have to live among sisters whose characters are decidedly different from mine: they are both not hot-tempered, both are patient, but... both are stubborn, even, perhaps, more than me. Well, now can we say that I lived here cheerfully? No way. All the days, excluding the happy hours that I spent with my mother and in friendship with my sisters and brothers, were some kind of trouble, painful, stupid.
Goodbye, dear, dear Nerekhta, goodbye to all my friends, to all those places in which I spent the happiest moments of my life!..
Today is a year since Fr. died. Peter. How much has changed during this time! And I myself became not the same as before, but much worse. And how not to deteriorate your character, because you have to constantly be angry with your brothers and sisters. True, I was better before, now I keep contradicting my mother. But... it’s impossible not to object to her, because mom contradicts herself at every step.
My dear brothers are getting worse every day, especially Volodya, he is spoiling Sasha, I see it, I’m scared for Sasha and... I can’t do anything. Yes, I can’t do anything, because my mother forbade me to interfere in the children’s affairs. But you inevitably intervene when you see that their characters are getting worse every day. Let Volodya do what he wants, I don’t feel as sorry for him as I do for Sasha, he’s a beloved brother, and if he’s like Volodya, he’ll have a bad time. I don’t know why, I have the thought in my head that Sasha will go crazy sooner or later.
Since then, when I caress and teach Sasha, this thought constantly comes into my head, and I really want to cry.
I am afraid that my diary will not fall into the hands of my mother, what will happen then!.. (Here ends the “little diary” (note in the 1912 edition).)