Dostoevsky’s letters to his wife on the Poushkin Celebration of 1880 in Moscow, when he, on behalf of the Slav Charitable Society, delivered his famous speech[^1] of June 8, 1880, are published from the originals, found amongst Dostoevsky’s letters to his wife. The Department of the Central Archives took these letters from the State safes, together with other documents and materials relating to the works of Dostoevsky, in November 1921[^2]
F. M. Dostoevsky’s letters to Anna Gregorevna were kept by her in a buckram wallet which contained eleven medium-sized packets. Those on the Poushkin Celebration were in a special packet (the eleventh), on the front of which is inscribed in his wife’s handwriting a list of them and their dates.
In his wife’s own Notebook (one hundred and eighty-seven numbered pages), entitled by her, ‘Explanations of domestic affairs and instructions by Anna Gregorevna Dostoevsky in case of my death or of a serious illness—March 1902, and for the years following’ (on the binding of which is written, ‘en cas de ma mort ou une maladie grave’), she expresses on pp. 23-24, relating to ‘The Letters of the late Fiodor Mihailovich Dostoevsky to me from 1867-1880,’ the following wish:
‘Dostoevsky’s letters to me, as being of great literary and public interest, may be published after my death in a review or in book form. … If they cannot be published as a whole, then those relating to the Poushkin Celebration should be chosen.’
Anna Gregorevna defined the significance of these letters absolutely correctly. In them is a clear picture of those days when men of different views gathered together round Poushkin’s statue to give voice to their sincere opinion of those ideals for which Poushkin stood.
Dostoevsky reveals the struggle of the two irreconcilable tendencies of the social ideas and ideals of that period, and he points out his part in it and the significance of his own utterance. We see, too, the active and impatient party spirit of his contemporaries. On May 28-29, 1880, he writes to his wife:
‘Remain here I must and I have decided to remain… . The chief point is that I am needed here not only by the “Lovers of Russian Literature,” but by our whole party, by our whole idea, for which we have been fighting these thirty years. For the hostile party (Turgenev, Kovalevsky, and nearly the whole University) is quite determined to belittle Poushkin’s significance as the representative of the Russian nation, and thereby to deny the very nation itself.’
And further, explaining why his presence is absolutely necessary:
‘Against them, on our side, we have only Ivan Sergueyevich Aksakov (Yuriev and the rest have no weight), but Ivan Aksakov has grown rather out of date and Moscow is rather bored by him. Myself, however, Moscow has not heard nor seen, and it is in me alone that the people are interested. My voice will have weight, and thus our side will triumph. All my life I have been fighting for this; I can’t run away from the field of battle now. When Katkov, who on the whole is not a Slavophil, says to me: “You mustn’t go away, you can’t go away,” then, certainly, stay I must.’
Nobody thought, of course, of belittling Poushkin’s significance. It was a false deduction of Dostoevsky’s, due to his party bias and his belief that the real truth was only on the lips and in the consciousness of the men of his group. Without having yet seen Turgenev, or the other Westerners, Dostoevsky already held fast to that idea. Indeed, still further anticipating this difference of opinion, he wrote the following to K. P. Pobiedonoszev on May 19, 1880, before he left for Moscow:
‘I am obliged to go to Moscow for the unveiling of the Poushkin memorial. And it turns out, as I had foreseen, that I am going not for pleasure, but perhaps even for immediate unpleasantness. For the point at issue involves my most cherished and fundamental convictions. While still in Petersburg I heard that in Moscow there is a certain clique which is trying to proscribe opinions contrary to its own at the Anniversary, and that it fears certain reactionary words.’
P. Bartenev preserved the following curious touch in his Reminiscences (Russky Arkhiv, 1891, vol. ii. p. 97, note): ‘Although Dostoevsky’s speech was not known to any one before he delivered it, yet at one of the sittings of the Preparations Committee it was nearly decided not to allow Dostoevsky to read anything at the Poushkin Commemoration. Several members of the Committee insisted on his non-admittance, saying that Dostoevsky had insulted Turgenev at a public dinner in Petersburg, by asking the latter point-blank and so loud that all could hear, what he wanted from our students, thereby putting the famous friend of the young generation in an awkward and embarrassing position. But this time the majority of the members of the Committee did not permit this ostracism. The discussions, however, were fiery.’,
Dostoevsky, in his letter to his wife of June 5, refers to the friction among the parties, as something that, in his view, threatened trouble. ‘Ostrovsky, the local Jupiter, came up to me. Turgenev, very amiable, ran up. The other liberal groups, amongst them Plescheyev and even the lame Yazykov, bear themselves with reserve and almost haughtily, as if to say: You are a reactionary, but we are radicals. And, generally, complete dissension is already begun. I am afraid that all these different tendencies existing side by side for so many days may end in a fight.’
Behind the struggle between these social groups and their tendencies we discern the desire of the ambitious Dostoevsky for his own success. In his letter of May 27-28 he writes: ‘If my speech at the solemn opening is successful, then in Moscow (and therefore in all Russia) I shall henceforth be more famous as a writer, I mean famous in the sense in which Turgenev and Tolstoy have already won greatness.’
Dostoevsky’s speech had an extraordinary success. It was applauded equally by Aksakov, considered the leader of the Slavophils, and by Turgenev, the head of the Westerners.
Ivan Sergueyevich Aksakov in a letter to his wife (June 14, 1880), on the Moscow celebrations, thus sums up his impression of Dostoevsky’s fiery eloquence:
‘On the next day, June 8, Dostoevsky was to read (thus had we divided it between ourselves, knowing the similarity of our ideals); but seeing his nervous agitation I proposed that he should read first. He read, read masterfully, such a superb original thing, comprehending the national question still more widely and deeply than my article, and not merely in the form of a logical exposition, but in real and living images, with the art of a novelist; the impression was indeed overwhelming. I have never seen anything like it. It gripped everybody; both the public and all of us who sat on the platform, even, to a certain extent, Turgenev. (They cannot bear one another.) Dostoevsky’s success is a genuine portent. He completely overshadowed Turgenev and all his disciples. Hitherto Turgenev has been the idol of the younger generation; in all his public speeches there were subtle allusions of a vague radical kind, which created a furore. He has always subtly flattered the young; and the very day before, speaking of Poushkin, he praised Bielinsky, and gave us to understand that he also was very fond of Nekrasov, etc. But Dostoevsky went straight and defiantly to the point: he maintained that Bielinsky understood nothing of Tatyana [the heroine of Poushkin’s Eugene Oniegin]; put his finger straight on Socialism; gave the young a whole sermon: “humble thyself, proud man, cease to be a wanderer in foreign lands, seek the truth in thyself, not outward truth,” etc. Tatyana, whom Bielinsky (and all the new generation after him) called “a moral embryo” because she fulfilled her duty of faithfulness, Dostoevsky, on the contrary, exalted; and he put directly to the public the moral question: “Can personal happiness be created out of the unhappiness of another?”
‘It was indeed remarkable how the young men, of whom there were perhaps a thousand in the hall, took that speech. They all went into such raptures that one young man rushed up to Dostoevsky on the platform, and fell into a nervous swoon. There were present girl-students from Gerye’s school (an extreme Westerner), who only last year were wild about Turgenev. At the meeting they produced a laurel crown, from Heaven knows where, and presented it, amid universal applause, to Dostoevsky, for which they will probably have to pay dearly.
‘One must remember, too, that Dostoevsky has the reputation of a “mystic,” not a positivist, but a believer; here he even mentioned Christ. In a word, the triumph of our tendency in the person of Dostoevsky was complete, and all the speeches of the men of the so-called “forties” appeared mere rubbish. The excitement was so great that a long adjournment was necessary.’ (Russky Arkhiv, 1891, vol. ii. pp. 96-97)
Dostoevsky himself, still under the fresh impression of the ecstasy aroused by his fiery speech, believed in its great effect: ‘It is a great victory for our idea over the twenty-five years of delusions. … A complete, a most complete victory!’ (Letter to his wife, June 8)
In a letter written to Countess S. A. Tolstoy (the wife of Alexey K. Tolstoy, the poet), on June 13, 1880, the day after his return from Moscow, Dostoevsky relates similar curious details concerning the impression produced by his inspired speech:
‘Would you believe it … after my speech crowds of people in the audience wept, and embraced one another and vowed to one another henceforth to be better men. This was not a single case—I heard a number of accounts from persons even perfectly unknown to me, who crowded closely round me and spoke to me in frenzied tones (literally) of the impression my speech had made on them. Two greybeards came up to me and one of them said: “For twenty years we have been enemies and for twenty years we have done harm to one another; after your speech, we have now become reconciled, and have come to tell you.” They were perfect strangers to me. There were many such declarations, and I was so overwhelmed and exhausted that I myself was as ready to fall down in a swoon, just like the student whom his friends had at that moment brought to me and who through ecstasy fell before me on the floor in a swoon. … And what a lot of women came to me to the Loskutnaya Hotel (some did not give their names) with the sole object of pressing and kissing my hands, when left alone with me.’ (Viestnik Europa, No. 1, 1908, pp. 215-18)
Indeed, there was genuine ecstasy; there was a wave of impulse, and on the immediate wave men of various ‘faiths’ came together: all were seized by one feeling—the wise Turgenev, the well-balanced Annenkov, the calm Aksakov. But, of course, there was no complete reconciliation, no meeting of roads, no fusion of ideas. Victory there was, but a temporary one. It was impossible to fuse together the social and ideal currents, so different in their essence, represented by Turgenev and Dostoevsky, and the unprecedented days of unanimous rapture were short-lived. The Viestnik Europa was right in not trusting too much to this elated mood of reconciliation when it declared on the occasion of Dostoevsky’s speech that ‘the significance of Poushkin was estimated not so much in the spirit of calm historical criticism, as with an ecstatic feeling of worship, which corresponded to the mood of the moment. Dostoevsky even said that Poushkin was a prophet, and his poetry—the transformation of the future of Russia, when the Russian people will announce the truth to all mankind. With us, as we know, all public infatuations take the form of seizures which pass quickly away, leaving behind them at times a remarkably weak impression.’ All fused together, but did not really unite, in the seizure of enthusiasm for the mighty and profound speech of Dostoevsky, who manifested a width of outlook never attained by Turgenev. Dostoevsky’s speech, as Aksakov said, was an ‘event,’ but it was not the cement which could bind life together.,
The Liberal Press, immediately the speech was published, regarded it critically; and only a month later Dostoevsky himself had to undergo a feeling of disappointment with his contemporaries. While the raptures were still sounding, the Viestnik Europa ceased to share the general exultation and coldly observed: ‘We think that Dostoevsky’s statement of the future or even the present superiority of the Russian people over all the rest of the world, has, to begin with, the defect; it is an example, and by no means a new one, of national self-glorification.’ The attitude of the Otechestvennya Zapiski was still more severe. In that journal Gleb Ivanovich Uspensky, giving a hasty account of his impressions of the Poushkin Celebration, wrote: ‘Immediately after the speech M. Dostoevsky was rewarded not only with ovations, but with adoration,’ and he concluded his article thus: ‘It is difficult to understand one who in himself reconciles such contradictions, and it will not be surprising if his speech, when it appears in the press and is carefully read, produces a quite different impression.’,
And so it happened. Uspensky himself, after reading the published speech, answered it more resolutely in an article in the Otechestvennya Zapiski entitled ‘On the next day.’
‘In M. Dostoevsky’s words, the connection between the “wanderer” and the people is indissoluble; his purely national traits are indubitable; everything in him is national, everything is historically inevitable, according to law. Now, basing myself on these assertions, I reported Dostoevsky’s speech, as it was published in my Letter from Moscow, rejoicing not at the “universal bird in the hand” which M. Dostoevsky promises to the Russian people in the future, but only at this, that certain phenomena of Russian life are beginning to be cleared up in a human sense, being measured in “the scale of mankind,” not with maliciousness, as it has been in the past, but with a certain carefulness which has been lacking hitherto. But M. Dostoevsky, as it turns out, had a different design.
‘From the passages of his speech which I quoted, the reader could already get an occasional glimpse of the “omni” hare.[^3] Here and there, as if unintentionally, the word “perhaps” is stuck in; here and there is thrust, also as though accidentally, in the same breath, “for ever” and “for a long time.” Such hare leaps make it possible for the author gradually to turn all Poushkin’s “fantastic work” into the most ordinary doctrine of complete stagnation. Little by little, from hillock to hillock, by leaps and bounds, the “omni” hare reaches an impassable copse, in which his tail is no longer seen. At this point it appeared, for the reader somewhat imperceptibly, that Aleko [a Poushkin character], who, as we know, is a purely national type, is expelled by the people because he is not national. In the same way the national type of wanderer, Oniegin, is dismissed by Tatyana for the same reason. It turns out somehow that all these human-wanderer-national traits are negative traits. One more leap, and the “omni-human” man is transformed into “a blade of grass borne by the wind,” into a visionary uprooted from the soil. “Humble thyself”—cries the threatening voice—“happiness is not beyond the seas.” What does this all mean? What remains then of the “universal bird in the hand”?,
‘There remains Tatyana, the key and solution of all the “fantastic work.” It turns out that Tatyana is the very prophetic character for which all the commotion began. She is prophetic for this reason. Having driven away the “omni-human” Oniegin because he was uprooted from the soil, she lets herself be devoured by the old General (since she cannot build her personal happiness on the unhappiness of another) although she still loves the wanderer. Admirable: she sacrifices herself. But alas! it now appears that her sacrifice is not voluntary: “I am given unto another!” To be hired is to be sold. It turns out that her mother forced her to marry the old boy, and the old boy, married to a young girl, who did not want to marry him—the old boy could not help knowing it—is called in the speech an “honest man.” The speech does not say what the mother is like. Probably she, too, is a sort of “omni-human.” Behold to what a homily of forced and stupid and coarse sacrifice the author has been driven by his abundance of hare-leap ideas.’
The Slovo was still more severe. ‘The most surprising thing in Dostoevsky’s speech is that, having taken his audience off its guard by this “omni-humanity” and universality of the Russians, having obtained ovations for this conjuring trick which was not seen through at first, Dostoevsky most crudely and bitterly jeered at this “omni-human” Russian. We do not think that Dostoevsky can deny that he created a furore chiefly because it was extremely gratifying to his audience to know that they bear in their hearts the ideal of universality and omni-humanity, as their special and specific essence. In our view, neither the public nor Dostoevsky need much praise for this; for arrogating exclusively to themselves a quality so tremendous, which is inherent in all European peoples. It is unjust and extremely egotistical, just as egotistical, as, for instance, the denial of the rights of man to the peasants during the time of serfdom. The serf-owning landlords either completely deprived their peasants of many human qualities, or diminished those qualities to the utmost limit. And Dostoevsky (so it at first appeared) teaches Russian society to think of other people, as our landowners thought of their peasants. It actually appears, however, that Dostoevsky was sneering at the Russian aspirations to universality… .’,
Even Leontiev, the Conservative, as he calls himself in the preface to his article ‘On Universal Love,’ published in book form, replied to Dostoevsky’s speech with a long article, published in the Varshavsky Dnievnik (July-August 1880). ‘In my opinion,’ wrote Leontiev, ‘Dostoevsky’s speech is a fiery, inspired, red-hot speech, but its foundations are utterly false, for it is illegitimate to confound so rashly and crudely as Dostoevsky did, the objective love of the poet, the love of a fine taste that needs variety, many-sidedness, an antithesis and even a tragical struggle, with moral love, with the feeling of mercy and the aspiration towards universal, monotonous meekness.’
In its main theses Dostoevsky’s speech was most substantially criticised by the famous Petersburg professor Gradovsky (1841-89), jurist and publicist, a member of the staff of the Golos, in his article ‘Dream and Reality’ (Golos, June 25, 1880). In a serious and interesting article he controverts Dostoevsky’s theses, and gives, in contrast to Dostoevsky, a comprehensive interpretation of the type of ‘wanderer,’ created by the social conditions.
‘Above all it seems to us unproved,’ wrote Gradovsky, ‘that the “wanderers” have dissociated themselves from the very being of the Russian people, that they have ceased to be Russians. Up till now the bounds of their negation have not been in the least defined; the object of their negation has not been indicated. And until this is defined we have no right to pronounce a final verdict.
‘Still less have we the right to define them as “proud men,” and to see the cause of their estrangement in this sinning against the Holy Ghost.
‘Dostoevsky has expressed the “holy of holies” of his convictions, that which is at once both the strength and the weakness of the author of The Brothers Karamazov. In his words is contained a great religious ideal, a mighty preaching of personal morality, but there is not a hint even of social ideals.’,
Gradovsky’s criticisms were acute and irresistible. They made such a strong impression on Dostoevsky that he wrote his ‘Answer to Gradovsky,’ concerning which he writes to Pouzykovich on July 18, from Staraya Roussa:
‘On May 20 I went to Moscow for the Poushkin Celebration—suddenly came the death of the Empress. The Celebration was continually postponed until June 6 In Moscow I had not even the time to sleep,—I was so continuously busy and surrounded by new people. Then came the Celebration and then, literally exhausted, I returned to Staraya Roussa. There I immediately sat down to the Karamazovs, wrote three folios, sent them off, and without having any rest, wrote straight off a whole number of The Journal of an Author (containing my speech), so as to publish it separately, as the only number (of The Journal of an Author) for this year. In it are also my answers to my critics, above all to Gradovsky. A new and unexpected turn showed itself in our society at the Poushkin anniversary (after my speech). But they have thrown themselves at it to diminish it and destroy it, because of their fear of the new mood in society, a mood which they call reactionary. It has become necessary to re-establish things and I have written an article, so exasperating, so purposely severing all connection with them that now they will curse me in the Seven Councils. Thus,’ Dostoevsky concludes, ‘in the single month after my return from Moscow I have written altogether literally six printed folios. Now I am done for and almost ill’ (Moskovsky Sbornik, edited by S. Sharapov, Moscow, 1887).,
A day before this, on July 17, Dostoevsky wrote to Elena Alexandrovna Stakenschneider the following lines:
‘On June 11 I returned from Moscow to Roussa, terribly tired, but I sat down to the Karamazovs immediately and wrote in one gulp three folios. After sending this off, I began to read all that had been written about me and my Moscow speech in the papers—I had read nothing of it till then, as I was busy working—and I decided to reply to Gradovsky, that is, not so much to Gradovsky, as to publish our complete profession of faith all over Russia: for the momentous and grand, the utterly new turn in the life of our society which showed itself at the Poushkin anniversary, has been maliciously erased and mutilated. In the Press, especially the Petersburg Press, they have become literally frightened of the utterly new thing, unlike anything that has been before, which declared itself in Moscow. For it means that society does not want only to sneer at Russia, only to spit on her; it means that society persistently desires something different. The Westerners need to erase it all, to destroy, to sneer, to distort, and to reassure every one. There was nothing new in it; it was only the usual complacency after a good Moscow dinner. We fed famously. While still in Moscow I decided, after having published my speech in the Moscowskya Viedomosti, to bring out in Petersburg one single number of The Journal of an Author—the only number for this year—and to publish in it my speech and a short preface which occurred to me literally at the very moment when I stood on the platform, immediately after my speech, and Turgenev and Annenkov also, together with Aksakov and others, rushed up to embrace me and, pressing my hands, told me over and over again that I had written a work of genius. Alas! are they thinking the same of it now? The thought of how they are taking it, now the raptures are over, forms the theme of my preface. The preface and speech I sent off to Petersburg to the printers, and I already had the proofs when I suddenly made up my mind to write a new chapter for The Journal, a profession of faith, addressed to Gradovsky. It ran into two folios; I have written it and put my whole soul in it, and to-day, only to-day, I ‘ve sent it off to Moscow to the printers.’ (Russky Arkhiv, vol. iii. pp. 307-8, 1891),
Dostoevsky made still more bitter confession concerning contemporary criticisms of his speech in a letter to O. F. Miller (August 26, 1880): ‘You see how I have got it from nearly all our Press for my speech in Moscow: it ‘s as though I ‘d committed a theft, fraud, or forgery in a bank. Even on Yukhanzev (a notorious swindler of the time) they did not pour such filth as they ‘ve poured on me.’ (Dostoevski’s Biography, etc., Petersburg, 1883, p. 343)
ANNA GREGOREVNA DOSTOEVSKY*(During May and June, 1880, from Moscow, on the Poushkin Anniversary.)
Moscow, May 23-24, 1880
My dearest friend Anya, you can’t imagine how the news of the death of the Empress upset me. Peace to her soul, pray for her. I heard about it from the passengers in the train just after we left Novgorod. The thought struck me immediately that the Poushkin festivities might not take place. I even thought of returning home from Tchudov, but gave up the idea because I could not decide. I kept thinking ‘If there are no celebrations, then the memorial could be unveiled without celebrations, with just literary meetings and speeches.’ Only on the 23rd when I bought the Moscowskya Viedomosti as we left Tver, I read the announcement of Governor-General Dolgorouky, that the Sovereign had ordered the postponement of the unveiling of the memorial to another date. I thus arrived at Moscow without any object whatsoever. I think of leaving on Tuesday the 28th at 9 o’clock in the morning. Till then I shall, at least, avail myself of the opportunity now that I am in Moscow and get to know something. I shall also see Lubimov and have a talk with him about the whole idea, also Katkov. I shall go the round of the booksellers, etc. If only I can manage it all! I shall, at last, also learn all the ins and outs of these literary intrigues. I parted with Anna Nicolayevna in Tchudov; we kissed each other cordially. She promised to come back if it is at all possible. It was a hot day. Literally I did not sleep a wink and I was tired and completely done up when I arrived at Moscow about 10 o’clock (Moscow time).
At the station Yuriev, Lavrov, all the editorial staff and contributors of the Russkaya Mysl, Nicolay Aksakov, Barsov, and a dozen others were waiting to welcome me. We were introduced to one another. Immediately they asked me to come to Lavrov for a specially arranged supper. But I was so worn out by the journey, so unwashed, my linen, etc., so dirty that I refused. To-morrow, the 24th, at 2 o’clock, I shall go to see Yuriev. Lavrov said that the best and most comfortable hotel in Moscow was the ‘Loskutnaya’ (on the Tverskoy, close to the Square, close to the Church of Our Lady of Iversk), and he instantly rushed away and brought back with him a driver saying he was a cabman, but I don’t believe he was a cabman, but an expensive coachman or perhaps his own. When he put me down at the hotel, he refused any money, but I forced 70 kopecks on him. The ‘Loskutnaya’ is full up, but they found a room for me at three roubles per day, very decently furnished; but its windows face the court and a wall, so that I think it will be dark to-morrow. — I foresee that my speech cannot be published before I deliver it. It would be strange to publish it now. Thus, my journey will not pay for itself for the time being. It is now one o’clock in the morning. It is very hard to be without you three, without you and the dear children.
I kiss you all a great deal, first you, and then Lilya and Fedya. Give them a big kiss from me and tell them that I love them awfully. Probably I shall not have time to get anything from the booksellers, for they will hardly settle accounts in two days.
Good-bye for now. I wonder if I shall have a letter from you. Write care of Elena Pavlovna. I don’t think you can answer this letter, however, as I should not get it before the 29th, and on the 29th I want to be in Roussa. If you yourself have thought of writing to Elena Pavlovna, it would be splendid. If any misfortune happens (which God forbid) wire to me to the ‘Loskutnaya,’ on the Tverskoy, F. M. Dostoevsky. My room is No. 32 Once again I embrace all the three of you and kiss you many times. — Your F. Dostoevsky.,,
II
Loskutnaya, on the Tverskoy, Moscow, Sunday, May 25, 1880
My dear friend Anya, yesterday morning Lavrov, N. Aksakov, and a lecturer of the University called Zveriev, arrived on an official visit; they came to present their respects. The same morning I had to return visits to all three. It took a long time driving about. After that I went to Yuriev. A rapturous reception with embraces. I learned that they wanted to petition that the unveiling of the memorial should be put off to the autumn, in October instead of June or July, as the authorities seem inclined to suggest; but then the opening will be escamote, for no one will come.
From Yuriev I could not get any sensible account of the progress of the affair; he is a chaotic man, Repetilov in a new shape. [Repetilov—a character from Griboyedov’s play Sorrow through Intelligence.] Yet he is by no means a fool. (Intrigues there certainly were.) I mentioned, by the way, my article, and suddenly Yuriev said to me: ‘I didn’t ask for your speech’ (that is, for his magazine). Yet I remember that in his letters he did ask for it. The point is that Repetilov is sly: he does not want to take the speech now and pay for it. ‘In the autumn, you give it us in the autumn; to nobody else but us. We are the first to ask you, you see, and by that time you will have polished it more carefully.’ (As much as to say that he knows exactly it is not carefully polished now.) It ‘s true I immediately stopped talking about the speech and promised it for the autumn, but only in a general way. I disliked the business awfully. — Then I went to Madame Novikov; was received very graciously. After that — visits, then to Katkov: I found neither Katkov nor Lubimov at home. I went off to the booksellers. The two (Kashkins) have moved. They all promised to give me something on Monday. I wonder if they will. However, I am leaving on Monday and shall try to find out their new addresses. Afterwards I called on Aksakov. He is still in town, but I did not find him at home, but in the bank. Then, coming home, I dined. After this, at seven o’clock I drove to Katkov: I found both Katkov and Lubimov, was received very, very cordially, and I talked with Lubimov about the delivery of the Karamazovs. They insist very strongly on having it in June. (When I come back I shall have to work like the devil.) Afterwards I mentioned the speech, and Katkov pleaded with me to let him have it, that is, for the autumn. Being furious with Yuriev, I almost promised. So that now, should the Russkaya Mysl want the speech, I ‘ll make them pay through the nose for it, or it goes to Katkov. (The speech by that time can be made longer.)
From Katkov’s (where I upset a cup of tea over myself) I went to Varya. I found her in, and although it was about ten already we drove with her to Elena Pavlovna. Varya had just had a letter from brother Andrey (concerning the titles of nobility) to be handed over to me. I took the letter. Elena Pavlovna, as it turned out, had moved to another house; she has given up keeping apartments. We went to the new house to pay her a visit and found there Masha and Nina Ivanov (with whom Elena Pavlovna has made it up), and Khmyrov. The Ivanovs are going in a couple of days to ‘Dorovoye,’ Khmyrov is also going, as his wife is staying there with Vera Mihailovna. We sat there about an hour. Coming home, I found a letter, delivered in person by N. Aksakov and Lavrov: they invite me on the 25th (that is, to-day) to dinner and will call for me at 5 o’clock. The dinner is given by the contributors of the Russkaya Mysl, but others will be present as well. I think there will be between fifteen to thirty guests, from Yuriev’s hints (when I saw him). Apparently the dinner is being given to celebrate my visit, that is, in my honour; it will probably be in a restaurant. (All these young Moscow authors ardently long to make my acquaintance.) It is now after two o’clock. In two hours they will come here. My only trouble is, what to put on—a frock-coat or evening jacket? Now this is the whole bulletin. I have not asked Katkov for money, but I told Lubimov that I might need some in the summer. Lubimov answered that he would give it me the moment I asked for it. To-morrow I shall go the round of the booksellers. I ‘ll have to call on Elena Pavlovna to see if there is a letter from you; to be at Mashenka’s, who begged me to come, etc. After to-morrow, on Tuesday, the 27th, I am leaving for Roussa, but don’t yet know whether by the morning or afternoon train. I am afraid that to-morrow they won’t let me do much work: Yuriev roared all the while that he ‘must have a chat, a chat’ with me, etc. On the whole, I miss you very much, and my nerves are not right. I don’t think I shall write to you again unless something very special happens. Good-bye for now, darling. I kiss you a great deal and the children. Many kisses to Lilya and Fedya. I love you all very much. — Your F. Dostoevsky.,,,
P.S. — (May 25, 2 o’clock in the afternoon.)
My dear Anya, I have broken open yesterday’s envelope so as to send a postscript. This morning Ivan Sergueyevich Aksakov came to me to beg me most insistently to remain here for the celebrations, since they will take place, according to everybody, before the 5th. He says that I ought not to go away, that I have no right to, that I have an influence on Moscow, and above all on the students and the younger generation as a whole; that my going off will injure the triumph of our convictions; that yesterday at dinner he had heard the draft of my speech and that convinced him finally that I must speak, and so on, and so on. On the other hand, he said to me that as delegate of the Slav Charitable Society I could not very well go away, since all delegates remain waiting here, in view of the rumour that the ceremony is coming off. He left, and immediately after came Yuriev (with whom I am dining to-day), and said the same. Prince Dolgorouky left to-day (the 25th) for Petersburg, and promised to send a telegram from Petersburg stating the exact day of the unveiling of the memorial. The telegram is expected not later than Wednesday, the 28th, but it may also come to-morrow. This is what I decided: to remain here and wait for the telegram about the day of the opening, and if the opening is really fixed between the first and fifth of June, then I shall remain. But if it be postponed, then I ‘ll leave for Roussa on the 28th or 29th, — this is what I said to Yuriev. The principal thing is that I can’t find out anything about Zolotariov. Yuriev promised to find out to-day and to come to me with news of him. Then in spite of being a delegate of the Slav Charitable Society I could go away, having charged Zolotariov to be present at the ceremony alone. (By the way, wreaths for the memorial are being charged to the delegates’ own account, and a wreath costs 50 roubles!) [Here four lines are struck out.] Then Yuriev began bothering me about publishing my speech in the Russkaya Mysl. Finally I told him frankly exactly how matters stood, namely, that I had almost promised it to Katkov. He was terribly excited and grieved; he apologised, maintained that I had not understood him right, that it had resulted in a misunderstanding; and when I let drop a hint that I am paid for my work, he said that Lavrov had instructed him to pay anything I might ask, i.e. even 400 or 500 roubles. It was at this point I told Yuriev that I had almost promised the article to Katkov. What I had in view was to ask him to put off the Karamazovs, and to make up for this, instead of the Karamazovs, he would have the speech on Poushkin. But now, if I let the Russkaya Mysl have my speech, it will look as if I am trying to get a postponement from Katkov with the express object of availing myself of that postponement in order to work for his enemy Yuriev. (Imagine, now, what a position I am in! But it is Yuriev himself who is to blame.) Katkov will be offended. True, Katkov won’t pay, for instance, 400 roubles (it is for the Karamazovs that he is giving 300 roubles; for the speech he may not give 300 roubles), so that the one or two hundred more from Yuriev would cover my staying here till the unveiling of the memorial. In a word, there ‘s a mass of worries and difficulties. How it will all end I don’t know, but I have decided meanwhile to remain here till the 28th. So that, if the unveiling of the memorial is not fixed before the 5th, I shall return to Roussa on the 29th or 30th, having arranged to publish my speech somewhere. (But try to write to me immediately; I again repeat my request.) Am I not to have a single line from you? Do write without fail to the addresses which I told you of yesterday in my letter (the one with the postscript). Telegraph, if you like.
Yuriev told me that a number of people called on him to-day to abuse him: why had he concealed yesterday’s dinner from them? Four students even came to him to ask for a place at the dinner. Among the others were Suhomlinov who is here now, Gatzuk, Viskovatov, and more of them. I ‘m off to the booksellers. Good-bye for now. I kiss you all once again. — Your F. Dostoevsky.,,
Yuriev has already got Ivan Aksakov’s speech on Poushkin. That is probably why they were so vague the day before yesterday. But having heard yesterday at the dinner what I was saying about Poushkin he probably decided that my article, too, is indispensable. Turgenev has also written an article on Poushkin.