her furniture. " In the autumn, when you come back to Petersburg, I shall be able to find the money to redeem it," she said. " Just now the essential thing is to get away as soon as possible, and to remove your husband from the fatal influence of all those schemers."
Every bride is proud of her trousseau. She loves her pretty furniture, her silver, her dainty china and glass, even the resplendent pots and pans in her kitchen. They are the first things of her very own she has possessed. To ask her to part with them after three months among them as a model housekeeper is positively cruel. But to do my mother justice she did not hesitate for a moment, and hastened to follow my grandmother's wise advice. Her conjugal happiness was more to her than all the silver plate in the world. She begged her mother to carry out the transaction and send the money to her abroad. With the smaU sum my grandmother was able to give her at once, my mother hurried away her husband, who was also very glad to go. They started three days before Easter, which was contrary to all my mother's reUgious habits. She was so afraid of some fresh manoeuvre on the part of the Dostoyevsky family that she could only breathe freely when they had crossed the frontier. My mother would have been very much startled if some one had told her that day that she would not cross it again for four years.
XVII
TRAVELS IN EUROPE : FIRST PART
The wedding journey of my parents is described in detail in my mother's journal. I refer my readers to this book, which will be published at no distant date, and I will say but a few words concerning their Hfe abroad.
After resting at Vilna and Berlin, my parents went to Dresden, and stayed there for two months. They left Petersburg in one of those snow-storms which are so frequent in Russia in April; at Dresden they found the spring awaiting them. Here the trees were in blossom, the birds were singing, the sky was blue, all Nature seemed in holiday mood. This sudden change of climate made a great impression on my parents. They dined in the open air on the verandah at Bruhl's, listened to the music in the Grossen Garten, and explored the picturesque landscape of Saxon Switzerland. Their hearts expanded. Now that there were no longer any schemers to come between them, they understood each other much better than before. The sympathy they had felt for each other before marriage soon became love, and their real honeymoon began at last. My mother never forgot those enchanted months. Later, in her widowhood, when she was often obliged to go to Karlsbad or Wiesbaden to take the waters, she always completed her " cure " by spending a few weeks in Dresden. She visited all the places where she had been with my father, went to look at the pictures he had admired in the famous gallery, dined at the restaurants where they had taken their meals, and dreamed of the past, listening to the music in the Grossen Garten. She said that the weeks at Dresden were the happiest of all those she spent in Europe.
I could never understand this love of a young girl of nineteen for a man of forty-five, and I often asked my mother how she could have loved a husband more than double her age. " But he was young ! " she replied, smiling. " You can't imagine how young your father still was ! He would laugh and joke, and find amusement in everything, like a boy. He was much gayer, much more interesting than the yotmg men of that period, among whom it was the fashion to wear spectacles and to look like old professors of zoology."
It is true that the Lithuanians preserve their youth-fulness of mind till late in hfe. When they are past fifty they will often amuse themselves hke children; looking at them one says that in spite of years they will never grow old. This was the case with Dostoyevsky. He was fifty-nine when he died, but he was yoimg to the end. His hair never turned grey, but always kept its light brown colour. On the other hand, my mother inherited the Swedish character of her ancestors. Now Swedish women have one quality which distinguishes them from all the other women of Europe : they cannot criticise their husbands. They see their faults and try to correct them, but they never judge them. It seems to me that the Swedish women are, so far, the only ones who have realised the beautiful ideal of S. Paul, that husband and wife are one flesh. " How can one criticise one's husband ? " Swedes have answered indignantly, when I have discussed this national peculiarity. " He is too dear to be criticised." This was just my mother's point of view; her husband was too dear to be criticised. She preferred to love him, and after all this was the surest way of being happy with him. All her life she spoke of Dostoyevsky as an ideal man, and when she became a widow she brought her children up to worship their father.
In July, when it began to get very hot in Dresden, my parents left for Baden-Baden. It was an unfortunate idea; no sooner did my father see the roulette-tables again, than the gambling fever seized him like a disease. He played, lost, went through crises of exultation and of despair. My mother was greatly alarmed. When she had transcribed The Gambler she had not known that her husband had depicted himself in it. She wept and implored him to leave Baden-Baden; finally she succeeded in getting him away to Switzerland. When they arrived at Geneva the madness left my father, and he cursed his unhappy passion. My parents liked Geneva, and decided to spend the winter there. They did not wish to return to Petersburg; they were happy abroad, and they thought with horror of the intrigues of their relatives. My mother, moreover, was no longer able to take long journeys; she was enceinte, and this first pregnancy was not easy. She took a dislike to noisy hotels, and my father rented a small flat from two old maids, who were very kind to my mother. She spent most of her time in bed, only getting up to go and dine at the restaurant. After the meal she would come home and go to bed again, while her husband stayed to read the Russian and foreign newspapers. Now that he was living in Europe, he took a passionate interest in all European questions.62
62 His favourite newspaper was L'Indipendance Belge, which he often mentions in his works.
My parents led a very solitary life in Geneva. At the beginning of their stay in Switzerland they met a Russian friend, who often came to see them. When he left for Paris they did not seek any further acquaintances; they were preparing for the great event which was to transform their hves.
My little sister was born in February, and was named Sophie after my father's favourite niece, my Aunt Vera's daughter. Dostoyevsky was very happy; at last he tasted the delights of fatherhood, of which he had so long dreamt. " It is the greatest joy a man can know here on earth," he wrote to a friend. He was immensely interested in the baby, observed the soul which looked at him through the child's dim eyes, and declared that she recognised him and smiled at him. Alas ! his joy was short-lived.
My mother's first accouchement had caused her unusual suffering, and her anaemia had been much aggravated by it. She was unable to nurse the baby herself, and it was not possible to find a wet nurse at Geneva. The peasant women would not leave their homes, and ladies who wished to have their infants nursed were obUged to send them up into the mountains. My mother refused to part with her treasure, and determined to bring up little Sophie by hand. Like many first-born children, Sophie was very fragile. My mother knew little about the rearing of infants; the kind old maids who helped her with her charge knew even less. The poor baby vegetated for three months, and then left this troublous world for another.
The grief of my parents was overwhelming. My grandmother, who had just arrived from Petersburg to make the acquaintance of her new grandchild, comforted them as far as she could. Seeing that my mother spent all her time in the cemetery, sobbing on the little grave, my grandmother proposed that she should be taken away to Vevey. There the three spent a most melancholy summer. My mother was constantly escaping from the house, and going by steamer to Geneva, to take flowers to her little lost one. She would come back in tears; her health becametworse and worse. My father, for his part, was uneasy in Switzerland, A denizen of the plains, he was accustomed to vast horizons; the mountains round Lake Leman oppressed him. " They crush me, they dwarf my ideas," he would say; " I cannot write anything of value in this country."
My parents accordingly decided to spend
