IV
Loskutnaya, Room 33, Moscow, May 27, 1880, 3 p.m.
My dear friend Anya, more news. When I arrived in Moscow, Yuriev and Lavrov saw me to the Loskutnaya, and I engaged there a room, No. 32, at three roubles per day. The next morning the manager of the hotel (a young man, apparently an educated man) came to me and in a gentle voice proposed that I should move to No. 33, the room opposite. As No. 33 was incomparably better than my No. 32, I instantly agreed and moved in. I only wondered to myself, how it was that such a nice room should go for the same price, three roubles; but since the manager said nothing about the price, but simply asked me to move in there, I concluded then that it also was three roubles.
Yesterday, the 26th, I dined at Yuriev’s, and Yuriev suddenly said that in the Town Hall I am registered as staying in the Loskutnaya, No. 33. I was surprised and asked him: ‘How does the Town Hall know?’ ‘But you are staying there at the expense of the Town Hall,’ Yuriev replied. I lifted up my voice at that; Yuriev replied resolutely that I could not do otherwise than accept accommodation from the Town Hall; that all the visitors are staying at the hotels at the expense of the City, that even Poushkin’s children and Poushkin’s nephew Pavlischev are staying at our hotel, all of them at the expense of the City; that by refusing to accept the hospitality of the City, I will offend them and it will be considered a scandal; that the City is proud to count men like myself among its guests, etc. etc. At last I decided that even if I did accept my lodging from the City I shall on no account accept board as well.
When I returned home, the manager came in again to ask me: Was I satisfied? Did I want anything? Was it quiet? All this with the most obsequious politeness. I instantly asked him: ‘Is it true that I am staying at the expense of the City of Moscow?’ — ‘Precisely so.’ — ‘And my board?’ — ‘All your board as well.’ — ‘But I do not want to!’ — ‘In that case you will offend not only the Town Hall, but the whole City of Moscow. The City is proud to have such guests, etc.’ — Anya, what shall I do now? I can’t refuse to accept it; there will be rumours about it; it will become an anecdote, a scandal, as though I had refused the hospitality of the whole City of Moscow, etc. Then in the evening I asked Lavrov and Yuriev,—and they were surprised at my scruples and simply say that I shall offend all Moscow, that people will remember it, that there will be gossip about it. So I see positively that I must accept their hospitality entire. But, how all this will worry me! — Now I shall deliberately go out to dine at a restaurant so as to reduce my bill as much as possible, seeing that the bill will be presented to the Town Hall. And I’ve already twice complained about the coffee and sent it back to have it boiled thicker. In the restaurant they will say: See how he plays the gentleman at other people’s expense. Twice I’ve asked in the office for stamps; when the bill is presented to the Mansion House, they will say: See, how he enjoyed himself! He even got his stamps at our expense! It is a great strain on me, but certain items I will certainly have put to my account. I believe this might be arranged. As a result, however long I stay in Moscow I shan’t have very great expenses.
(N.B. — Yesterday I received from (the booksellers) Soloviov, from Kishkin and from Priesnov 170 roubles altogether; you yourself will see the accounts when I come home. From the Central Shop and from the Morosovs I have not received anything yet.)
Yesterday at four o’clock in the afternoon Dolgorouky stated (definitely) that the unveiling of the memorial would take place on the 4th June and that Petersburg urgently desired it. A final telegram from Dolgorouky as to the exact day of the unveiling will arrive only to-morrow, but every one is firmly convinced that the opening will be on the 4th, and besides, letters to this effect have also been received from Petersburg. Delegations (a multitude) from various towns and organisations are waiting here and not going away. There is the greatest excitement. They positively won’t let me go away. I have decided now: I believe I’ll stay for certain if the opening takes place on the 4th. Then I’ll leave for Roussa, and on the 8th or 9th I shall be with you.
This morning Grigorovich called on me, also Yuriev; they began crying that my going away will be considered by all Moscow as an affectation; every one will be surprised; all Moscow keeps on inquiring whether I shall be present; that people will circulate stories about the whole affair. It will be said that I was so lacking in patriotism that I would not put aside my personal business for a higher object. For in the rehabilitation of the significance of Poushkin every one all over Russia sees a means for expressing the new change of convictions, of mentality, of tendencies. Two things stand in my way as a hindrance and torment my soul: the first is the Russky Viestnik and the obligation which I acknowledged a month ago to deliver the Karamazovs for the June number. If I come home on the 10th, what shall I be able to do in some ten days? Four days ago Lubimov said that a further postponement, till July, depended on Markevich; if he sent in some part of his novel, mine could be postponed; but if he does not, they can’t do it. An answer from Markevich will not come before the 10th of June. Thus, I am in the dark and anxious. I had thought of writing the Karamazovs here, but because of the continuous bustle, visits and invitations, it is almost impossible. The second reason which torments me is my longing to be with you: I have not had a single line from you up till now, and we had agreed that you would write care of Elena Pavlovna! What is the matter with you, tell me for the love of God! Why don’t you write? Are you well, safe? Are the children well? If you had written telling me whether to wait here or not till the unveiling I should be easy about it. You must have seen in the papers that the Empress was dead. Why didn’t you write then, foreseeing that I must certainly be in a difficult position. Every day, and yesterday in the rain, I’ve had a very long drive to Elena Pavlovna’s to inquire: Aren’t there any letters? There and back the cab fare is one rouble. Do write, write without fail.
But I believe I shall decide to remain here for certain. If only I could be sure of the date, otherwise what shall I do if they postpone it again? Yesterday, by a most pressing invitation, I was at an evening party at Lavrov’s. Lavrov, the publisher and the backer of the Russkaya Mysl, is my passionate, frenzied admirer, who has been feeding on my works for many years now. He himself is a very rich retired merchant. His two brothers deal in grain, but he has got out of the business and lives on his capital. He is thirty-three years old, a most sympathetic and sincere man, devoted to art and poetry. At the evening party about fifteen local men of letters and authors were present, a few also from Petersburg. My appearance there yesterday aroused enthusiasm. I did not intend remaining to supper, but, seeing that I should mortally offend all of them, I remained. The supper was like a grand dinner, luxuriously served, with champagne. After supper, champagne and cigars—75 roubles per hundred. (The dinner the other day was a subscription dinner, a very modest one, not more than 3 roubles a head, but all the luxuries, the flowers, turtle soup, cigars, the reception room itself, Lavrov himself contributed.) I came home about four in the morning. To-day Grigorovich told me that Turgenev, who has come back from visiting Leo Tolstoy, is ill, and that Tolstoy is almost deranged, and perhaps gone completely off his head. Annenkov too has returned; what will our meeting be like? Yuriev came here for my article just now, imploring me to give it without fail to the Russkaya Mysl. Zolotariov is coming (he sent a message). Only from you alone I receive no news. Anya, for the love of Christ, write to me at the addresses I gave you. Have you had all my letters? Up till now I have written every day. You, Anya, love to ask, Do I love you? And you yourself don’t miss me at all, and I miss you. How are the little ones? Only to hear a little word from them! It is not easy, almost another fortnight of being away from you. Good-bye for now, my darling, I kiss you ever so much. I kiss the children and bless them. If anything new happens, I shall write to-morrow.
Wholly your F. DOSTOEVSKY.
P.S. — In our hotel, besides myself, three others are also staying at the expense of the Mansion House: two professors from Kazan and Warsaw and Pavlischev, Poushkin’s own nephew.