known by every man not engaged in special labor. In the second
place, the result was, that I had been in the habit of sitting down
to write when I had no inward impulse to write, and when no one
demanded from me writing, as writing, that is to say, my thoughts,
but when my name was merely wanted for journalistic speculation. I
tried to squeeze out of myself what I could. Sometimes I could
extract nothing; sometimes it was very wretched stuff, and I was
dissatisfied and grieved. But now that I have learned the
indispensability of physical labor, both hard and artisan labor, the
result is entirely different. My time has been occupied, however
modestly, at least usefully and cheerfully, and in a manner
instructive to me. And therefore I have torn myself from that
indubitably useful and cheerful occupation for my special duties
only when I felt an inward impulse, and when I saw a demand made
upon me directly for my literary work.

And these demands called into play only good nature, and therefore
the usefulness and the joy of my special labor. Thus it turned out,
that employment in those physical labors which are indispensable to
me, as they are to every man, not only did not interfere with my
special activity, but was an indispensable condition of the
usefulness, worth, and cheerfulness of that activity.

The bird is so constructed, that it is indispensable that it should
fly, walk, peek, combine; and when it does all this, it is satisfied
and happy,--then it is a bird. Just so man, when he walks, turns,
raises, drags, works with his fingers, with his eyes, with his ears,
with his tongue, with his brain,--only then is he satisfied, only
then is he a man.