He attached so much importance to his functions that he would deprive himself of sleep in order to attend the meetings of the society, which took place in the afternoon. Dostoyevsky had so accustomed himself to going to bed very late, that he was unable to sleep until five o'clock in the morning; but he always insisted on being called at eleven on the days of the meetings.
My father's biographers have often wondered why towards the end of his life he should have been so passionately interested in the Slav question, to which he had given so little thought in his youth. This ardour for the Slav cause awoke in Dostoyevsky after his long sojourn abroad. When Russians go to Europe for a few months they are generally dazzled by European civilisation; but when they remain for several years and study it methodically my compatriots are struck not so much by the culture of Europeans as by their senility. How old, how worn-out all the Germanic tribes of Franks, Anglo-Saxons and Teutons seem to them I The good qualities and the vices of these people are alike those of the aged. Their very children are born old. It is painful to listen to the anaemic reflections of these little old men and women with bare legs. Europeans do not perceive this, because they are always living together; but we, who come from a youthful country, see it very plainly. It is evident that in a few centuries the trembling hands of the Germans will no longer be able to hold aloft the torch of civiUsation handed to them by the dying Romans. The Slav race will pick up the fallen torch and in its turn give light to the world. The new world which all await impatiently will come from this race. True, the Germans themselves realise the urgent need of a new idea, and seek it feverishly, but they are incapable of finding it. We have lately witnessed one of these European attempts to make a new departure at last. For a whole winter we were regaled with talk of the League of Nations, which was to transform our planet into an earthly Paradise, and the result has been the conclusion of the most commonplace military treaty between France and England. The incapacity of the Germans to rejuvenate the world is easily explained; the whole of their culture is based upon the Latin civilisation of the ancient Romans, a civilisation magnificent, no doubt, but essentially pagan. Try as they may, the Germans will never free themselves from their aristocratic, feudal ideas. The Slavs, whose civilisation is more recent, knew nothing of the Latins. Their culture, received from the Orthodox Church of the East, was profoundly Christian from the beginning. We Slavs, a race of humble shepherds and modest husbandmen, have never had a feudal aristocracy. European capitalism is unknown among us. If by chance a Slav makes a great fortune, his children squander it. Their instinct tells them that capitalists are slaves, and they hasten to break the chains forged by unwise fathers. It would be easy for us to introduce into the world the new idea of Christian democracy which alone can calm the fever of socialist and anarchist agitation.
Dostoyevsky, foreseeing the great mission which will some day be entrusted to the Slavs, earnestly desired their union in preparation for this solemn moment. He dreamed of a confederation of all the Slav nations, a pacific confederation, guiltless of any designs of conquest, or any desire to enslave the Germanic races. Each Slav country to keep its independence, its laws, its institutions, its government, but all to unite in ideas, science, literature and art. Whereas the Germanic nations organised Olympic games in order to show each other the strength of their mailed fists, we Slavs would organise more intelligent Olympiads, assembling in turn in our various capitals to admire the pictures and statues of our artists, listen to the music of our composers, and hear readings from our poets and men of letters. Instead of exhausting ourselves in fratricidal wars as the unhappy Germans have done, we would help, encourage, and fraternise with our fellows. Before offering the new law of Christian democracy to the world, we would begin by showing other nations an example of brotherhood and equality. This consimimation seems very remote at present. The Slavs, but newly delivered from the yoke, are busy fixing the frontiers of their little states. They are right; before embarking on vast enterprises, it is well to consoUdate one's own dwelling. But when all these houses—Russian, Serbian, Czech and others—have been solidly built, the masons will lift up their heads and begin to work out the great destiny of their race.
And yet this Slav dream may be realised sooner than we think. The League of Nations, that last refuge of feudal Imperialism, may play a great part in the organisation of the Slav Confederation. The more tactless Europeans exasperate the Slavs, meddhng in their domestic affairs and trying to bend them to their will, the sooner will the Slavs begin to build up their fraternal union. The League of Nations will soon be confronted by a formidable Slav Confederation, which will be followed, logically and inevitably, by a Confederation of all the Germanic nations. The world is entering on a new phase of its civilisation. The ancient alliance between the countries of different races, the work of kings and diplomatists, has had its day. It was an anomaly, for the people in question generally hated each other the while they lavished compliments and marks of respect. The new confederations, based upon the fraternal sympathy of people of the same race, will be more durable. As they will be about equal in strength, these Slav, Germanic, Latin and Anglo-Saxon confederations will suppress war more surely than could a League of Nations, an antiquated expedient which was once adopted in Europe under the name of the Holy Alliance and lasted but a short time. When the Imperialistic countries feel the ground giving way beneath their feet, they league themselves together, hoping to arrest the popular movement by their united strength. Vain hope 1 We can combat men, but not ideas. The peoples of to-day desire above all things to be free and independent. They will suffer no tutelage, no matter under what form it may be proposed.
XXVII
COUNTESS ALEXIS TOLSTOY'S SALON
Among the literary salons of Petersburg frequented by Dostoyevsky in the last years of his life, the most remarkable was that of Countess Alexis Tolstoy, the widow of the poet Alexis Tolstoy. Her family was of Mongolian origin, and she had one of those incisive minds — " sharp as steel," as Dostoyevsky said—^which in Russia are only to be met with among persons of such descent. The Slav mind is slower, and needs long preliminary reflection before it can grasp a subject. The Countess was one of those inspiring women who are incapable of creating themselves but can suggest fine themes to writers. Her husband had a great respect for her intellect, and never pubhshed anything before consulting her. When she became a widow she settled in Petersburg. She was rich and had no children, but she was greatly attached to a niece whom she had brought up and married to a diplomatist. This diplomatist had been sent on a mission to Persia, and while awaiting his appointment to a more civilised post, the niece and her children made their home with the Countess. When Countess Tolstoy arrived in Petersburg she received all her husband's former comrades, the poets and novelists of his day, and sought to extend her literary circle. After meeting my father, she invited him to her house, and was charming to him. My father dined with her, went to her evening receptions, and was persuaded to read some chapters of The Brothers Karamazov aloud in her drawing-room before their publication. He got into the habit of going to see Countess Tolstoy during his afternoon walk, to talk over the news of the day with her. My mother, who was of a rather jealous disposition, made no objection to these visits, for at this time the Countess was past the age of seduction. Dressed always in black, with a widow's veil over her simply arranged grey hair, she sought to please only by her inteUigence and amiability. She rarely went out, and at four o'clock was always at home, ready to give Dostoyevsky his cup of tea. She was a highly educated woman, had read a great deal in all European languages, and often called my father's attention to some interesting article that had appeared in Europe. Dostoyevsky, absorbed in creative work, was unable to read as much as he would have liked to do. Count Alexis Tolstoy's health had been bad, and he had spent the greater part of his life abroad, making a great many foreign friends, with whom the Countess kept up a regular correspondence. They in their turn sent their friends who were visiting Petersburg to her, and they became famihar figxu-es in her salon. Conversing with them, Dostoyevsky remained in contact with Europe, which he had always considered his second fatherland. The pohshed amenity that reigned in the Countess' salon was an agreeable change from the vulgarity of other interiors. Some of his former friends of the Petrachevsky circle had made fortunes,
