22–28 February 1886

What an unfathomable gulf lies between the Old and the New Testament! Read the psalms of David, and at first it is impossible to understand why they have taken such a high place from an artistic point of view; and, secondly, why they should stand beside the Gospels. David is altogether of this world. He divides the whole of humanity into two unequal portions: sinners (to which belong the greatest number) and the righteous, at whose head he places himself. In every psalm he calls down God’s wrath upon the sinner and His praise upon the righteous; yet the reward and the punishment are both worldly. The sinners shall be undone, and the righteous shall enjoy all the good things of this earthly life. How little that agrees with Christ’s teaching, who prayed for His enemies, and promised the good no earthly wealth, but rather the kingdom of heaven! What touching love and compassion for mankind lies in these words: ‘Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden’! In comparison with these simple words all the psalms of David are as nothing.

... At tea I read through Alexis Tolstoi’s St. John Chrysostom and The Sinner, which reduced me to tears. While in this agitation of spirit, into which any strong artistic enjoyment throws me, I received a telegram from the Conservatoire: ‘The Grand Duke is coming.’ So all plans go to the devil! Despair, irresolution, and even terror at the prospect of the journey. Went in and fed my landlady’s hungry dog. In the twilight I was overcome with insane depression. Played through my Second Suite, and was glad to find it not so bad as I had imagined.