From The Happiness Diary: 1968

From The Happiness Diary (by Nicolae Steinhardt), transl. Gabriela Ailenei

1968: Outside a bakery, an old beggar, small, discreet. I give him 3 or 4 lei.

He takes off his hat, respectfully, and thanks me for a long while. Why, I don’t know – the memory of my father, the physical resemblance (small and stooping) – his gesture – so polite, the shame of being saluted by an old man for a few lei, the onslaught of images of prison in my memory, revelatory of the human condition’s wretchedness – but I burst out crying in the middle of the street, like a madman.

 

From The Happiness Diary: 1935

From The Happiness Diary (by Nicolae Steinhardt), transl. Gabriela Ailenei

1935: All those – scholars or ordinary folk – who are satisfied to accept, as answers to the big questions man asks about his purpose in the world, about the universe and life, about suffering and injustice, phrases like: the universe has and will always exist, life is a natural phenomenon, chance created everything, thought is the superior form of human consciousness, prove how very undemanding they are. These kinds of answers are stereotypical simplifications, and they’re the equivalent of: when you’re talking to me, you should shut up.

On the contrary, nothing is natural and everything is surprising and wondrous. Evolution is a mystery and a miracle. The questions that our conscience asks are mysteries. Nature and its implacable laws are a miracle. From all sides, mysteries besiege and assail us, uninterrupted and more persistent than cosmic rays.

And not even stupidity or indifference can constitute a strong enough magnetic field to protect us from them, the same way the earth’s magnetic field slightly amortizes the shock of cosmic mesons. Angst (or exaltation) will inevitably jolt every soul, even the most obtuse; in a prison cell, on the sick bed, at the moment of death, or all of a sudden on the street. Every event is anti-destiny.

Every work of art is anti-nature. Every decision is anti-nothingness. To love somebody is a mystery of faith. Love and forgiveness are not natural. Natural is the second principle of thermodynamics.

Shestov: the evolution of the universe is not in the least natural; it would be natural if there were absolutely nothing – no universe, no evolution.

 

From The Happiness Diary: 7 March 1960

From The Happiness Diary (by Nicolae Steinhardt), transl. Gabriela Ailenei

7 March 1960: I didn’t know. I had lived like an idiot, like a beast, like a blind man. In prison, toward dusk, I found what kindness was, heroism, dignity. Big words!

Empty words! Big and empty words for traitors and informers: big and priceless words and full of meaning when you feel their coolness in the depths of fire and you can taste their experimental charm.

Believe what you wish, I have no right to speak of absolute values, I only know one thing: that these big words and the qualities they represent were more precious in prison than shoelaces, thread, a piece of paper, or any forbidden object that could make its owner happy.

H.C. Wells in The Research Magnificent: two big forces: fear and aristocracy. Now I understand him. Fear must be defeated. In this world there is one thing, only one: courage. And the secret is to behave aristocratically. Only gentleness and kindness have grace.

I’m starting to realise that only character matters. Political convictions, philosophical opinions, social origins, religious faith, are nothing more than accidents: only character remains after all the filtrations produced by years of prison – or of life – after all the wear and fatigue.

 

From The Happiness Diary: 3 – 4 January 1960

From The Happiness Diary (by Nicolae Steinhardt), transl. Gabriela Ailenei

3 – 4 January 1960: „I don’t think it will be too long,” father says. „They’ll probably give you eight years. I’ll make sure to leave you money with Gica or another relative; the money from the sale of the radio, the cooker, the gas cylinder, the books – to have some money when you get out.” (He has no idea they confiscate the property of political prisoners.)

Monday morning I find myself calm. I wash, I shave, I dress, I check my little suitcase (full of rags). I wasn’t allowed to cry even once during the last three days. Father, who imposed the ban, didn’t cry either.

When I’m ready, I say goodbye. I’m very dejected. Father, however – in his pyjamas, small, chubby, cheerful – is all smiles and gives me last-minute advice, like a coach before a game; fast, without pausing for breath, like a man at a train station who wants to tell you everything, but only begins to speak when the train is pulling away.

„Did they tell you not to let me die like a dog? Well, if it’s like that, I’m not going to die at all. I’ll wait for you. Don’t you make a fool out of me,” he says. „Don’t be a gutless Jew, and don’t shit your pants.”

He kisses me vigorously, he takes me to the door, stands up straight and gives me a military salute.

„Go,” he says.

I climb down the stairs at normal pace, without looking back. I come out the apartment block. There are omens, signs: on the street – at first utterly deserted, even though it’s not early – a single person suddenly appears from around the corner; an MAI officer. I shiver.

 

From The Happiness Diary: Lucerne, 1938:

From The Happiness Diary (by Nicolae Steinhardt), transl. Gabriela Ailenei

Lucerne, 1938: I imagine Brahms composing his Symphony No 1 at night, in Vienna, toward the end of spring. The composer leaves the kafeehaus late and decides to walk home. He passes the Votivkirche.

It’s chilly. It rained. From time to time, you can hear, as it moves away, the distant sound of thunder. The last trams race past.

Around the composer, the melancholy of life gathers – its longings, fleeting happiness, everlasting beauty, nostalgia. It is especially because he knows he must die that a man’s soul is enchanted by so much evanescence and the world around him seems so solid.