IV
Staraya Roussa, May 19, 1880.
Deeply esteemed Konstantin Petrovich, as in past years, so once again I cannot miss the 21st without wishing you, sincerely and from my whole heart, all that is best, all that you wish for yourself on your birthday. May God grant you health above all, and then supreme success in your new labours! I send my message to your old flat and hope that the post-office knows your new address.
Before my departure from Petersburg (exactly a week ago) I intended to come to see you without fail in order to take leave of you for the whole summer, and to ask your parting blessing, which, for a particular reason, I very much needed. But the bustle and anxieties of my departure decided otherwise, and I could not get to you. I did not come to Roussa here for rest and peace: I have to go to Moscow for the unveiling of the Poushkin memorial, as a delegate of the Slav Charitable Society. 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 which might be said by others at the meetings of the ‘Lovers of Russian Literature,’ who have taken upon themselves the whole arrangement of the anniversary. But in fact I was invited by Yuriev, the President of the Society, and the Society itself (from their official notice) is going to speak at the opening. The papers even have already published rumours about certain intrigues. I have prepared my speech on Poushkin precisely in the most extreme spirit of my convictions (ours, I venture to say). Therefore I anticipate some kind of attack. But I will not be disconcerted and am not afraid. I must serve my work and shall speak without fear. The professors are paying court to Turgenev, who is becoming definitely a personal enemy of mine. (In the Viestnik Europa he let out some petty scandal about me concerning a certain happening, which never happened, thirty-five years ago.) But praise Poushkin and glorify Verochka I cannot. There, why should I trouble you with small-talk? But the real point is not the small-talk, but a public matter and a great one too, since Poushkin expresses precisely that idea, which we all (a tiny group as yet) serve. And this must be pointed out and expressed: that is just what is hateful to them [the Westerners]. Well, perhaps they will simply not allow me to speak my mind. In that case I shall publish my speech.
I firmly press your hand, deeply esteemed Konstantin Petrovich. On my return I shall sit down to finish the Karamazovs. All the summer I shall be in labour. But I do not grumble, I love this labour. From next year onward I have already decided I shall renew without fail The Journal of an Author. Then I shall again turn to you (as I have done before) for advice which, I ardently believe, you will not refuse me.
Meanwhile accept the assurance of my ardent devotion.—Your most humble servant, F. DOSTOEVSKY.
My wife congratulates you and scolds me because I have forgotten to mention her.