With Pauline N the period of passion in Dostoyevsky's life closed. It lasted altogether but ten years, from the age of thirty-three to that of forty-three. The African love of Maria Dmitrievna and the somewhat Oriental passion of Pauline N had left no very pleasant memories, and in his maturity my father returned to the Lithuanian ideals of his forefathers. He began to seek for a pure and chaste young girl, a virtuous woman, who would be a faithful life companion. His two later romances were romances of the affections, and not of the senses. Let us consider the first of these.
At the period in question a rich landowner, M. Korvin-Kronkovsky, was living in the heart of Lithuania. He belonged to the Lithuanian nobility, and claimed to be a descendant of Corvinus, the somewhat mythical King of heathen Lithuania. He was married and had two daughters whom he had educated very carefully. The younger of the two, Sophie, afterwards married M. Kovalevsky, and was Professor of Mathematics at the University of Stockholm, the first woman who had been admitted to such a position.55
55 At the time of which I am writing Sophie was but fourteen, and she played no part in Dostoyevsky's life.
The elder, Anna, a pretty girl of nineteen, preferred literature. She was a great admirer of my father's, and had read all his works. The novel Crime and Punishment made a great impression upon her. She wrote Dostoyevsky a long letter about it which pleased him very much. He rephed promptly, and a correspondence followed, which extended over some months. Anna then begged her father to take her to Petersburg that she might make the acquaintance of her favourite writer. The whole family arrived in Petersburg and took a furnished flat. They at once invited my father to visit them, and were charming to him. Dostoyevsky was often at their hospitable house, and finally made an offer of marriage to Anna Kronkovsky. He was a widower, and tired of living alone. Maria Dmitrievna had accustomed him to a well-kept home and the material comfort only a woman can give to a house. He longed for children, and recognised with terror that he was leaving the years of his youth behind him. He was not in love with Anna, but he liked her as a well-brought-up, lively and amiable girl. Her Lithuanian family pleased him. Mile. Kronkovsky, on her side, did not love my father, but she had a great admiration for his talent. She consented joyfully to become his wife, but their engagement was, nevertheless, very brief. Their political opinions differed widely. Dostoyevsky was becoming more and more a Russian patriot and a monarchist; Anna Ejonkovsky was a cosmopolite and an anarchist. As long as they talked literature, all was well; but as soon as they got on to political questions they began to quarrel and dispute. This often happens in Russia, where people have not yet learnt to talk politics calmly. The betrothed couple saw in time that their marriage would be an inferno, and they determined to break off their engagement. But they were not so ready to give up their friendship. After returning to the country, Anna continued to write to my father, and he replied as before. The following winter the Kronkovskys came to Petersburg again, and Dostoyevsky was once more a frequent visitor at their house. My father's affection for Mile. Kronkovsky was at bottom but a literary friendship as necessary to a writer as love itself. When Dostoyevsky became engaged to my mother, Anna Kronkovsky was the first to congratulate him heartily. Shortly after his marriage, she went abroad with her parents and met in Switzerland a Frenchman, M. J. , an anarchist like herself. They spent delightful hours together, destroying the whole world and reconstructing it on more harmonious lines. This occupation was so congenial to both that they ended by marrying. An opportunity for putting their anarchist theories into practice soon presented itself. The Franco-Prussian war broke out, Paris was besieged, and the Commune established. The two J 's took an active part in its proceedings. After having set fire to a precious art collection, which it was apparently necessary to destroy for the good of humanity, Madame J fled from Paris. Her husband was arrested and imprisoned. Moved by the despair of his daughter, who adored her husband, M. Korvin-Kronkovsky sold part of his estate and went to Paris, where he managed to procure his son-in-law's escape by spending 100,000 francs. For a long time the couple could not return to France. They settled at Petersburg, where Madame J continued to be my father's friend. Out of consideration for his former fiancie, Dostoyevsky received her Communard husband cordially, though he had nothing in common with him, Madame J in her turn became a friend of my mother's. Her only son, Georges J , was one of my childish playfellows.
I think my father portrayed Mile, Kronkovsky in Katia, Dmitri Karamazov's fiancee. Katia is not Russian; she is a true Lithuanian girl, proud, chaste, and holding lofty ideas as to family honour, sacrificing herself to save that of her father, faithful to her engagement and to her mission of saving Dmitri Karamazov by correcting the faults of his character. Russian girls are much simpler. Oriental passion or Slav pity triumphs over all other considerations with them.
XI I
DOSTOYEVSKY AS HEAD OF HIS FAMILY
About the time of the publication of my father's famous novel, Crime and Punishment, my uncle Miha'iTs affairs began to be much involved. The publication of the newspaper Vremya was prohibited on account of a political article which had been misunderstood by the Censorship. A few months later, Mihail Dostoyevsky obtained permission to bring out a new journal under the name Epoha, but, as often happens in Russia, the second venture was not so successful as the first, though my uncle secured the collaboration of the same writers. Epoha appeared for a few months, and finally became extinct for want of readers. It was a terrible blow for Mihail Dostoyevsky. His health, already undermined by alcoholism, gave way, and he died after a short illness. Like most of his compatriots, my uncle had hved lavishly, and had saved nothing, hoping to leave his children a newspaper which would bring in a handsome income. His sons were still very young, and had not finished their education. They could not therefore help their mother. My uncle left large debts. According to Russian law, these debts were cancelled by his death; his family, having inherited nothing, were not obhged to pay them. Every one was therefore greatly astonished when my father informed Mihail Dos-toyevsky's creditors that he considered himself responsible for all his brother's habilities, and that he was going henceforth to work hard in order to pay them off as soon as possible. He further promised his sister-in-law to support her and her four children until her sons could earn their living. My father's friends were very much alarmed when they heard of his resolve; they did their best to dissuade him from paying his brother's debts, for which he was not legally responsible. Dostoyevsky thought they were urging him to commit an infamous action. They failed to understand each other. My father's literary comrades argued as Russians, Dostoyevsky thought as a Lithuanian. Much as he had learnt to admire Russia, he continued to live after the Lithuanian tradition. Reverence for the family was one of the ideas derived by his forefathers from the Teutonic Knights. In their more chivalrous age the family was a larger conception than with us. All who bore the same name were considered as members, and were responsible one for the other. The honour of the family was their supreme ideal; men and women lived entirely for this-On the death of the father the eldest son became the head of the family and ruled it. In the event of his premature death, the second son took his place and inherited all his obligations. Not for nothing did Dostoyevsky admire the Gothic beauty of Cologne Cathedral; his own soul was Gothic ! He thought it quite a matter of course that he should sacrifice himself for his brother's family, and assume responsibility for all his debts. On their side, my father's friends naturally looked upon such conduct as fantastic, for in the Byzantine civilisation of Russia the idea of the family is almost nonexistent. People exert themselves more or less on behalf of their children, but they are generally indifferent to the fate of their brothers and sisters. " I did not incur these debts, why should I pay them ? " every Russian would have said in my father's place, and every Russian would have considered his determination romantic to the verge of absurdity. Far from thinking himself in any way ridiculous, my father took his duties as head of the family very seriously. If he sacrificed his life to the memory of his brother Mihail, he expected that his nephews and nieces, for their part, should look up to him as their guide and protector and follow his advice. This attitude exasperated my uncle's children. They were quite ready to hve at their uncle's expense, but were by no means inclined to obey him. They laughed at Dostoyevsky