Letter to Anna from Moscow (IX) - Fyodor Dostoevsky

IX

Loskutnaya, Room 33 Moscow, June 2–3, 1880, 2 a.m.

My dearest lovely friend Anyechka, yesterday evening I went off to Elena Pavlovna for your letter but received none; and to-day your two letters arrived at the Loskutnaya, one at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, the other in the evening. In a word, letters addressed to the Loskutnaya apparently reach here quicker than if sent to Elena Pavlovna. Kiss the children hard for their lovely messages at the end and buy them some sweets, without fail. Do you hear, Anya?—Even doctors prescribe sweets for children. — As to your remark that I do not love you much, I say it is sillyssimo. I think only of you and the children. And I see you in my dreams.

There has been a hubbub again here. Yesterday the Celebration was again suddenly postponed, but now it is definitely stated that the opening will be on the 6th. The wreaths are prepared by the Town Hall at 8 roubles each. I need two, which I shall order to-morrow. Zolotariov has not come yet. The train from Petersburg with various delegates for the Celebration is arriving here only the day after to-morrow.

Now to proceed: two days ago in the evening there was a consultation at Turgenev’s of nearly all participants in the Celebration (I was excluded), as to what precisely should be read, how the Celebration should be arranged, etc. I was told they met at Turgenev’s as though by chance. Grigorovich told me this as if to comfort me. Certainly, I myself would not have gone to Turgenev without a formal invitation from him; but the noodle Yuriev whom I haven’t seen for four days now, blabbed to me four days ago that there was going to be a gathering at Turgenev’s. Viskovatov thereupon told me that already three days ago he had received an invitation. Thus I was simply passed over. (Of course it is not Yuriev, it is the doing of Turgenev and Kovalevsky; Yuriev has only remained out of sight, and probably that is why he does not show himself.) And then yesterday morning, I was no sooner awake than enter Grigorovich and Viskovatov to inform me that the full programme of the Celebration and of the evening readings had been fixed at Turgenev’s. According to them there is to be music and a recital of the Poor Knight by the actor Samarin; the reading of the Poor Knight has been taken away from me, also the reading of the poem on the death of Poushkin (and it was just the poem I wanted to read). Instead of this I have been appointed to read Poushkin’s poem The Prophet. I shall probably not refuse to read The Prophet, but why have I not been officially informed? Then Grigorovich declared that I was requested to come to-morrow to the Hall of the Noblemen’s Assembly (close to here), where everything will be finally arranged. (It means then my opinion was not asked, and now I am told to come to the Noblemen’s Assembly to a general rehearsal; with the public present, and above all with the pupils of the secondary schools (free admission), as the rehearsal is arranged for them so that they too may hear. Thus I am placed in a most awkward position: they have settled things without me, never asked my consent beforehand to read the poems allotted to me, and yet I can’t help being at the rehearsal and reading to the young. It will be said: Dostoevsky did not want to read to the young. Finally, I am at a loss how to appear to-morrow: whether in a frock-coat like the public, or in full dress.

I was in a very bad way yesterday. I dined alone; in the evening I called on Anna Nicolayevna (Englehardt); her doctor was there (he is her friend, related to her even). I sat for half an hour, and they both walked back with me to my hotel. This morning Grigorovich and Viskovatov called again, and Grigorovich was very pressing that we three should dine together at the Hermitage, and then spend the evening in the Hermitage park. They went away, and I drove to Katkov, whom I had not called on for three days. There I chanced on Lubimov, who had just had a letter from Markevich promising to send in his novel for the June number! So that I may be easy on that score. It is a very good thing.

At Katkov’s there was news: he had only just received an official letter from Yuriev, as Chairman of the ‘Society of Lovers of Russian Literature’ (of which Society Katkov has been a member from times immemorial). Yuriev informed him that the invitation card for the celebrations had been sent to the Moscowskya Viedomosti by mistake, and that the Council of the Society for the arrangement of the celebrations had revoked the invitation, as contrary to the resolution of the Council, so that the invitation must be considered as not having been issued. The style of the letter was most dry and rude. Grigorovich assured me that Yuriev had been made to sign it, chiefly by Kovalevsky, but of course also by Turgenev. Katkov was evidently irritated. ‘Even without this I would not have gone,’ he said to me, as he showed me the letter. He wants to publish it as it stands in the Viedomosti. This is certainly quite odious, and the important thing is they had no right at all to act like that. It is abominable, and had I not been so much involved in the Celebration, I would perhaps break off my connection with them. — I will speak sharply to Yuriev about the whole affair.

Then I asked Katkov who was the best dentist here, and he mentioned Adelheim at the Kuzvetsky Most, saying that I should tell Adelheim that he, Katkov, had sent me to him. My little plate has broken down completely and hangs on a thread. I drove up to Adelheim and he put in a new one for five roubles. From him I went home, and together with Grigorovich and Viskovatov drove to the Hermitage, where we dined for a rouble each. Then the rain began. When it stopped for a little, we went out and the three of us got into a single cab and drove to the Hermitage park. On our way there it began raining. We arrived at the park soaked through and asked for tea in the restaurant. We bought one rouble tickets with admission to the Hermitage Theatre. The rain kept on. Grigorovich told all sorts of fibs, then we went into the theatre, to the second act: the opera Paul et Virginie was on,—theatre, orchestra, singers,—none of them bad, only the music is bad (in Paris it was performed several hundreds of times). Charming scenery for Act III. Without waiting for the end, we came out and each went home. At the Loskutnaya I found your second letter.

To-morrow’s rehearsal agitates me extremely. Grigorovich has promised to call for me, so that we can go there together. I got rather wet. On my journey here I caught a chill in my left arm, and it still rather aches. Yesterday morning I called on the bishops Alexey and on Nicolay (Yaponsky). I was very pleased to make their acquaintance. I sat there for about an hour; a countess was announced, and I left. I had a heart-to-heart talk with both. They said that my visit had done them great honour and given them happiness. They had read my works. So they appreciate who stands for God. Alexey blessed me ardently. He gave me the Host.

Good-bye for now, my darling. If I can, I shall write you to-morrow, too. I love you very much. A good kiss for the little ones. To Anna Nicolayevna my lowest bow, and kiss her little hand besides for me.

Wholly without division your F. DOSTOEVSKY.

(Postscript on the first page): But you are mistaken. My dreams are very bad ones. Listen: you keep on writing about the application to the nobility. Firstly, even if I could, I have no time, above all, this matter must be done from Petersburg, through people. I shall explain it all to you when we meet. I ’ll do it without fail in Petersburg. Here no applications will serve any purpose: I know it, I am firmly convinced.

(Postscript on the second page): I called on Ivan Aksakov—he is away in his country house. — Chayev is also in the country. I shall go to Muraviov if I find time. Once more wholly yours, loving you.