Sniatynski says that if a man gets accustomed to put down
his thoughts and impressions it becomes gradually one of the most
delightful occupations of his life. If it should prove the contrary,
then the Lord have mercy on my diary; it would snap asunder like a
string too tightly drawn. I am ready to do much for my community; but
to bore myself for its sake, oh, no! I could not do it.
Nevertheless, I am resolved not to be discouraged by first
difficulties, and shall give it a fair trial. "Do not adopt any style;
do not write from a literary point of view," says Sniatynski. Easier
said than done. I fully understand that the greater the writer, the
less he writes in a purely literary style; but I am a _dilettante_,
and have no command over any style. I know from experience that to one
who thinks much and feels deeply, it often seems that he has only
to put down his thoughts and feelings in order to produce something
altogether out of the common; yet as soon as he sets to work he falls
into a certain mannerism of style and common phraseology; his thoughts
do not come spontaneously, and one might almost say that it is not the
mind that directs the pen, but the pen leads the mind into common,
empty artificiality. I am afraid of this for myself, for if I am
wanting in eloquence, literary simplicity, or picturesqueness, I am
not wanting in good taste, and my own style might become distasteful
to myself, and thereby render my task impossible.
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