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3 Stories - Madness in Diaries
3 Stories - Madness in Diaries
3 Stories - Madness in Diaries
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3 Stories - Madness in Diaries

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There is something about the number 3.

The Ancient Greeks believed 3 was the perfect number, and in China 3 has always been a lucky number, and they know a thing or two.

Most religions also have 3 this and 3 that and, of course, in these mo

LanguageEnglish
Publisher3 Stories
Release dateOct 1, 2024
ISBN9781836823155
3 Stories - Madness in Diaries
Author

Leo Tolstoy

Leo Tolstoy grew up in Russia, raised by a elderly aunt and educated by French tutors while studying at Kazen University before giving up on his education and volunteering for military duty. When writing his greatest works, War and Peace and Anna Karenina, Tolstoy drew upon his diaries for material. At eighty-two, while away from home, he suffered from declining health and died in Astapovo, Riazan in 1910.

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    3 Stories - Madness in Diaries - Leo Tolstoy

    3 Stories - Madness in Diaries

    There is something about the number 3.  

    The Ancient Greeks believed 3 was the perfect number, and in China 3 has always been a lucky number, and they know a thing or two. 

    Most religions also have 3 this and 3 that and, of course, in these more modern times, three’s a crowd may be too many, except when it’s a ménage à trois.  It seems good things usually come in threes.

    Whatever history and culture says WE think 3, a hat-trick of stories, is a great number to explore themes and literary avenues that classic authors were so adept at creating.

    From their pens to your ears. 

    Index of Contents

    Diary of a Lunatic by Leo Tolstoy

    The Diary of a God by Barry Pain

    Diary of a Madman by Nikolai Gogol

    Diary of a Lunatic by Leo Tolstoy

    This morning I underwent a medical examination in the government council room. The opinions of the doctors were divided. They argued among themselves and came at last to the conclusion that I was not mad. But this was due to the fact that I tried hard during the examination not to give myself away. I was afraid of being sent to the lunatic asylum, where I would not be able to go on with the mad undertaking I have on my hands. They pronounced me subject to fits of excitement, and something else, too, but nevertheless of sound mind. The doctor prescribed a certain treatment, and assured me that by following his directions my trouble would completely disappear. Imagine, all that torments me disappearing completely! Oh, there is nothing I would not give to be free from my trouble. The suffering is too great!

    I am going to tell explicitly how I came to undergo that examination; how I went mad, and how my madness was revealed to the outside world.

    Up to the age of thirty-five I lived like the rest of the world, and nobody had noticed any peculiarities in me. Only in my early childhood, before I was ten, I had occasionally been in a mental state similar to the present one, and then only at intervals, whereas now I am continually conscious of it.

    I remember going to bed one evening, when I was a child of five or six. Nurse Euprasia, a tall, lean woman in a brown dress, with a double chin, was undressing me, and was just lifting me up to put me into bed.

    I will get into bed myself, I said, preparing to step over the net at the bedside.

    Lie down, Fedinka. You see, Mitinka is already lying quite still, she said, pointing with her head to my brother in his bed.

    I jumped into my bed still holding nurse's hand in mine. Then I let it go, stretched my legs under the blanket and wrapped myself up. I felt so nice and warm! I grew silent all of a sudden and began thinking: I love nurse, nurse loves me and Mitinka, I love Mitinka too, and he loves me and nurse. And nurse loves Taras; I love Taras too, and so does Mitinka. And Taras loves me and nurse. And mother loves me and nurse, nurse loves mother and me and father; everybody loves everybody, and everybody is happy.

    Suddenly the housekeeper rushed in and began to shout in an angry voice something about a sugar basin she could not find. Nurse got cross and said she did not take it. I felt frightened; it was all so strange. A cold horror came over me, and I hid myself under the blanket. But I felt no better in the darkness under the blanket. I thought of a boy who had got a thrashing one day in my presence—of his screams, and of the cruel face of Foka when he was beating the boy.

    Then you won't do it any more; you won't! he repeated and went on beating.

    I won't, said the boy; and Foka kept on repeating over and over, You won't, you won't! and did not cease to strike the boy.

    That was when my madness came over me for the first time. I burst into sobs, and they could not quiet me for a long while. The tears and despair of that day were the first signs of my present trouble.

    I well remember the second time my madness seized me. It was when aunt was telling us about Christ. She told His story and got up to leave the room. But we held her back: Tell us more about Jesus Christ! we said.

    I must go, she replied.

    No, tell us more, please! Mitinka insisted, and she repeated all she had said before. She told us how they crucified Him, how they beat and martyred Him, and how He went on praying and did not blame them.

    Auntie, why did they torture Him?

    They were wicked.

    But wasn't he God?

    Be still—it is nine o'clock, don't you hear the clock striking?

    "Why did they beat Him? He had

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