LITMIR.BIZ

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period of his life has been destroyed. Later, the brothers never mentioned their father in their letters; the subject was probably too painful to both of them. From certain sentences in the last letter before the murder of his father, we may infer that Dostoyevsky knew various circumstances of his life in the country. " Poor father t " he wrote to his brother Mihall, " what an extraordinary character. Ah I what mis-Portimes he has had I What a pity it is that I cannot console liim ! But do you know, our father has no idea of life. He has ived for fifty years, and has still tjie same idea of men as when le was thirty." As always, Dostoievsky's prescience made him Jivine the principal cause of his father's misfortunes. My p-andfather indeed lived all his life as a Lithuanian, and never joubled to study the Russian character. He paid dearly for lis ignorance.

      I have always thought that Dostoyevsky had his father in mind when he created the type of old Kara-mazov. It is not, certainly, an exact portrait. Fyodor Karamazov is a buffoon; my grandfather was always a dignified person. Karamazov was a profligate; Mihail Dostoyevsky loved his wife and was faithful to her. Old Karamazov forsook his sons, and took no interest in them; my grandfather gave his children a careful education. But certain traits are common to both. When creating the type of Fyodor Karamazov, Dostoyevsky perhaps remembered his father's avarice, which caused his young sons so much suffering and indignation at school, his drunkenness, and the physical disgust it provoked in his children. When he says that Aliosha Karamazov did not share this disgust, but pitied his unhappy father, Dostoyevsky probably recalls the moments of pity which succeeded to those of disgust in his own youthful heart. The great psychologist in embryo must have divined at times that his father was, after all, but a diseased and unhappy being. It must be understood that this likeness between my grandfather and the old Karamazov is merely a supposition on my part, for which there is no documentary evidence. Yet it may not be simply a coincidence that Dostoyevsky has given the name of Tchermashnia 27 to the village where old Karamazov sent his son Ivan just before his death. I am the more inclined to think this, because it is a tradition in our family that my father portrayed himself in the person of Ivan Karamazov. Thus did he conceive of himself at the age of twenty. It is curious to note Ivan's religious beliefs, his poem, The Grand Inquisitor, and his immense interest in the Catholic Church. It must not be forgotten that only some three or four generations intervened between Dostoyevsky and the Catholicism of his ancestors. The Catholic faith must have been still alive in his soul. It is still more curious to note that Dostoyevsky gave his own name, Fyodor, to old Karamazov, and made Smerdiakov say to Ivan : " You are the most like your father of all his sons." It is probable that Dostoyevsky was haunted all his life by the bloody spectre of his father, and that he analysed his own actions minutely, fearing that he might have inherited his father's vices. This was far from being the case; Dostoyevsky's character was totally different. He did not like wine, and it disagreed with him, as with all persons of nervous temperament. He was kind and affectionate to every one around him, and far from being suspicious, was rather simple and confiding. Dostoyevsky has often been reproached for his inability to keep money. He could never refuse those who asked him for it, and gave all he possessed to others. He was moved to do so by charity, but also, no doubt, by dread of developing the avarice of his father. He feared this the more, because he saw this vice reproduced in his sister Barbara, and gradually taking the form of a veritable mania. Dostoyevsky, no doubt, said to himself that avarice, that moral malady, was hereditary in his family, and that each of them might be attacked by it if he were not careful.

      27 As we have seen above, it was on his way to his property of Tchennashnia that my grandfather was murdered.

      The alcoholism of my grandfather ravaged the lives of nearly all his children. His eldest son Mihail and his youngest son Nicolai inherited his disease. My uncle Mihail, though he drank, was at least able to work; but the unhappy Nicolai, after a brilliant course of study, was never able to do anything, and remained a burden on his family all his life. My father's epilepsy, which caused him so much suffering, was probably due to the same causq. But the most miserable of the family was certainly my aunt Barbara. She married a well-to-do man, who left her considerable house-property in Moscow. The houses brought in a good income; my aunt's children were comfortably settled in life, and lacked nothing. She had therefore all that was necessary to ensure her comfort in her old age; but the unhappy woman was the victim of a sordid and diseased avarice. She opened her purse with a kind of despair; the smallest expenditure was torture to her. She finally dismissed her servants, to avoid paying their wages. She had no fires in her apartments and spent the winter wrapped in a cloak. She did no cooking; twice a week she went out and bought a httle bread and milk. There was a great deal of gossip in the district where she lived about her inexpUcable avarice. It was said that she must have a great deal of money, and that, Uke all misers, she kept it in her house. This gossip worked upon the mind of a young peasant, who acted as porter to my aunt's tenants. He came to an understanding with a vagabond who was prowhng about in the neighbourhood; one night they got into the poor mad woman's dwelhng and murdered her. The crime was committed long after my father's death.

      I conclude that my grandfather's alcoholism must have been hereditary, for his personal drunkenness could not have caused such disaster in our family. The disease persisted in my uncle Mihail's family; the second and third generation were victims to it. My aunt Barbara's son was so stupid that his folly verged on idiocy. My uncle Andrey's son, a young and brilliant savant, died of creeping paralysis. The whole Dostoyevsky family suffered from neurasthenia.

       IV

      FIRST STEPS

       Table of Contents

       When he had completed his studies at the Castle of the Engineers, Dostoyevsky obtained an appointment in the Department of Military Engineering. He did not keep it long and hastened to resign. His father was no longer there to force him to serve the State; he had no taste for military service, and longed more than ever to be a novelist. Young Grigorovitch followed his example. They determined to live together, set up in bachelors' quarters, and engaged a servant. Grigorovitch received money from his mother, who lived in the provinces. My father had an allowance from his guardian at Moscow, who sent him enough to live modestly. Unfortunately, my father always had very fantastic ideas concerning economy. All his life he was a Lithuanian Schliahtitch, who spent the money that was in his pocket without ever asking himself how he was to live the next day. Age failed to correct this. I remember a journey we made all together towards the end of his life, going to the Ukraine to spend the summer with my uncle Jean. We had to stay at Moscow a few days en route, and here, to the great indignation of my mother, Dostoyevsky insisted on putting up at the best hotel in the town, and took a suite of rooms on the first floor, whereas at Petersburg we had a very modest domicile. My mother protested in vain; she never succeeded in curing her husband of his prodigality. When we had relations coming to dinner on some family festival, my father always offered to go and buy the hors d'oeuvre, which play such an important part in a Russian dinner, the fruit, and the dessert. If my mother were imprudent enough to consent, Dos-toyevsky went to the best shops in the town and bought of all the good things he foimd there. I always smile when I read how Dmitri Karamazov bought provisions at Plotnikov's, before starting for Mokroe. I seem to see myself at Staraya-Russa, in that selfsame shop, where I sometimes went with my father, and observed with all the interest of a greedy child his original manner of providing for himself. When I went with my mother, she would come out carrying a modest parcel in her hand. When I accompanied my father, we left the shop empty-handed, but several small boys preceded or followed us to our house, gaily bearing big baskets and reckoning on a good tip. Like a true Schliahtitch, my father never asked himself whether he was rich or poor. Formerly, in Poland and in Lithuania, the native nobility starved at home, and arrived at all public gatherings in gilt coaches and magnificent velvet coats. They Uved crippled by debts, paying back only a tithe of what they had borrowed, never thinking of their financial position, amusing themselves, laughing and dancing. These racial defects take centuries to eradicate; many a descendant of Dostoyevsky's wiU yet have to suffer for the mad prodigality of their ancestors. There was, however, one important difference between my father and the Lithuanian Schliahtitchi. They thought only of living merrily, and cared little for others. He gave alms to all the poor he encountered, and was never able

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