The Wives: The Women Behind Russia's Literary Giants (5 page)

Their isolation abroad compelled them to hold on to each other, and so, despite their immense differences and lack of means, the bond created during their travels would strengthen their marriage and make it indestructible. Anna’s naïveté and innate cheerfulness helped mend disagreements and avoid bitterness. In Berlin, after she ran away from Dostoevsky on Unter den Linden, she was soon worried that he might divorce her and send her home; telling him of her fears amused and softened him.

In Dresden, the Gallery became the magnet and focus of their spiritual lives: both were passionately interested in art; moreover, they could not afford other distractions. Dostoevsky first ran through the Gallery, bypassing other masterpieces, to his favorite painting, the
Sistine Madonna
by Rafael; Anna saw it for the first time. “No other painting had produced such a strong impression on me before,” she wrote. “What beauty, innocence, and sadness in her majestic face, and there is so much submission and so much suffering in her eyes! Fedya thinks her smile is sorrowful.”
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An eccentric Dostoevsky mounted a chair to look closer at the painting
(he was near-sighted). When a commissionaire reprimanded him, he got off; but as soon as he left, Dostoevsky resumed his position, remarking he did not care if the guard would throw him out since the man had “nothing but the soul of the lackey.” Although shocked, Anna left the room so as not to argue (“why blame the lackey whose job it is to keep order?”), and soon Dostoevsky joined her, satisfied he had seen the painting properly.
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Because Dostoevsky considered this Rafael painting “the highest manifestation of human genius,”
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he would stand in front of it for hours, lost in thought. Titian also gave him “intense pleasure: he could not take his eyes of
The Tribute Money
, moved by the image of the Savior. Anna shared his fascination with Biblical themes in the paintings by Murillo, Correggio, and Carracci, but also loved landscapes and Rembrandt’s self-portraits, particularly
Rembrandt and His Wife
.

At three o’clock, when the Gallery closed, they would dine at a nearby restaurant aptly named “Italian Village” (Italienisches Dorfchen), with huge windows overlooking both banks of the Elbe and a menu of cheap but enjoyable fare, which always included fish freshly caught in the river. The restaurant subscribed to foreign newspapers, including French, which Dostoevsky liked to read. But his habit of starting quarrels with waiters over tips and service filled Anna with apprehension whenever they went to restaurants, cafés, and shops; Dostoevsky would loudly complain about the quality of pies and other foods. He was obsessive in his dislike of the Germans, whom he abused as “stupid.” Although he spoke their language with difficulty, to Anna’s surprise he found the right words, and plenty of them when shouting insults. Anna was soon influenced to believe that German waiters were cheats and the passersby they asked for directions were “particularly dense of understanding.” But her ability to turn Dostoevskys’ quarrels into a joke assuaged him: usually sullen and uncommunicative, he was laughing and joking in Dresden. She learned to cope with his sudden and unpredictable mood changes, his suspicion, and his contempt: when he called her “damn vermin,” Anna would laugh spontaneously; her reaction puzzled and disarmed him. (Dostoevskys’ past as a
convict in Siberia might explain why he used strong language, but mainly it was his hot temper and irascibility: he could praise her one minute and insult her the next.) Occasionally, she would assume the blame to restore peace: “Of course, everything was my fault—but what does that matter, so long as we are no longer cross with one another?”
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Evenings were spent walking and drinking beer in Dresden’s Grossen Garten, where they liked to listen to the nightly brass band. Once, Dostoevsky started arguing with Anna when the band was playing the overture to Franz von Suppé’s operetta
Poet and Peasant
. To divert his thoughts, Anna begged him to listen carefully because of “how this opera was meant to impersonate
us
, that he was the poet, and I the peasant.… It really was like our quarrel. Two voices could be distinctly heard—that of the peasant, gentle, pleading, and insistent, and then that of the poet, screaming, refusing to listen to anything, and perpetually contradicting.” She then began to hum the peasant’s aria, improvising the text, “Fyodor, my darling, my sweetheart, forgive me, I beg you.…” Dostoevsky, joining in the fun, responded, “No, no, not for anything.…”
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Anna was a faithful and practical companion to Quixote (Dostoevsky), and he liked the idea.

At night, while Dostoevsky was reading in bed, Anna lay beside him (“it’s my favorite spot, as in childhood behind my father’s back”
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). He would stay up until 2
A.M.,
when Anna would be already fast asleep, but he would wake her up to say good-night and for half an hour they kissed, laughed, and talked—the happiest time of the entire day: “I tell him my dreams and he shares his impressions of the day, and together we are terribly happy.”
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In June, invited to meet with a group of stenographers who used her method—the Gabelsberger System—Anna became the center of attention as the first Russian female stenographer. Professor Woldemar Zeibig, a librarian at the Royal Stenographic Institute, was a friend of her teacher, Olkhin, who wrote him about Anna, resulting in her cordial reception. She responded to the welcome with a few words of acknowledgement, but later regretted not
making a proper speech. When the following day
Dresdner Nachrichten
ran an article about her, Anna noticed “an expression of hostility” on Dostoevskys’ face. He made a scene when they happened to meet several stenographers during a walk, which led Anna to promptly distance herself from her professional circle and even from the kindly Zeibig with his Russian wife. (Zeibig would later write an essay “Women and Stenography.”) Her concern for Dostoevskys’ peace of mind always prevailed, requiring her to make sacrifices “to avoid any such complications in future.”
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Three weeks into their mostly blissful stay in Dresden, when reminiscing about their work on
The Gambler
, Dostoevsky mentioned trying his luck at roulette in Homburg. As he kept bringing up the idea, Anna felt that since “the thought of this trip fills his mind to the extinction of everything else, why not let him indulge in it?”
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Sensing that she was powerless to stop him from gambling, she did not oppose the trip. Her recent discovery that Dostoevsky continued to correspond with his old love, Suslova, bothered her more. Finding Suslova’s letter in Dostoevskys’ pocket, she read it on the sly, while dreading that the femme fatale might turn up in Dresden and his passion for her would return. “Lord, don’t send me such misery,” Anna wrote.
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(Suslova was unaware of Dostoevskys’ marriage and he eagerly informed her of all the circumstances in his reply, also describing Anna’s “extraordinary kind and clear character.”
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)

Upon arriving in Homburg, Dostoevsky quickly lost “everything, down to the last kopeck, to the last guilden.…”
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His daily letters to Anna were so muddled and anxious that he begged her, “Give me your word that you’ll never show anyone these letters.”
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He attributed his losses to their separation: although Anna wrote regularly, he missed her and dreaded, on those occasions when her letter was delayed in the mail, “that you were sick and dying.”
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Because Anna did not reproach him and only wrote to console, her letters were like “manna from heaven.”
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He instructed her to send more money “right away, the same day, the same minute, if possible.”
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Having just received a check from her mother, Anna was able to cover some of the losses, but felt more funds were needed:
“I wrote Mama, begging her to secretly pawn my fur coat and send some money.”
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In another letter, Dostoevsky explained his theory of playing roulette: he did not gamble for pleasure, but to pay off his pressing debts, and if he played coolly, with calculation, “THERE’S NO CHANCE of not winning.” He had noticed that the first half-hour always brought gain, so the trick was to get away immediately, but he was irresistibly drawn back to the tables and would continue to play, although he knew almost for certain he would lose.
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Upon reading this, Anna gathered “that Fedya, evidently, wants to stay longer and play. I wrote him at once that he can stay if he wishes.… Nothing is to be done and, perhaps, it’s necessary in order to get this silly idea about winning out of his head. I felt very sad.…”
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Dostoevsky played away the amount Anna sent him and was in agony over his losses and his deception: he also gambled away the money he asked her to send for his return. In all, he estimated that he lost more than 1,000 franks (350 rubles), “a crime” in their financial circumstances. Promising to ask for another loan from Katkov and to “triumph through work,” Dostoevsky dreaded Anna’s judgment. His pleading for another rescue and self-castigation would become a familiar tune:

Anya, dear, my dear, my friend, my wife, forgive me, don’t call me a scoundrel! I have committed a crime, I have lost everything that you sent, everything, everything down to the last kreuzer; I received it yesterday, and yesterday I lost it. Anya, how am I going to look at you now, what will you say about me now?
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When Dostoevsky, without his watch, returned to Dresden, the joy of their meeting was immense, despite his losses, of which he had to inform her in detail. The gambling trip only fueled his old passion, and he dreamed of spending several weeks in a roulette town, convinced he could win a fortune if she were with him and he did not have to hurry. He promised to remain “cold and
inhumanly
careful.” She was persuaded to travel with him to Baden-Baden, later realizing that his plan had a major flaw: “His success might have been complete—but only on condition that this system was applied by some cool-headed Englishman or German and not by such a nervous and impulsive person as my husband, who went into outermost limits in everything.”
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In Baden-Baden, a popular gambling spa where the couple spent five weeks, Anna lived the nightmare of Dostoevskys’ addiction—“an all-consuming passion, an elemental force against which even a strong character could not struggle.”
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They rented cheap furnished rooms over a blacksmith shop where the racket began at four in the morning. Anna, who at the start of her pregnancy suffered morning sickness, was perennially sleep-deprived, but lack of means prevented them from moving.

Dostoevskys’ gambling anxiety in Baden-Baden affected her more than it did in Homburg because she observed it at close quarters. Having to wait for Dostoevskys’ return (he insisted that as a respectable woman, she must not enter a casino), Anna trembled that there would not be enough money for meals and to pay the landlady.

Both decided that she should keep their funds so he would not play away everything, but in reality this meant that Dostoevsky would come back again pleading for more. His tearful scenes were more traumatic than losing money: he would throw himself on his knees before her, repenting, begging her to forgive him, and pleading for more funds. Anna feared that this would trigger an epileptic attack and would try to cheer him up, presenting their situation as not so hopeless. But eventually she had to give him the sum requested: “If I were to refuse him the money, he would go out of his mind.”
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When funds ran out, Dostoevsky would pawn their few possessions and his wedding present to Anna. “I took off my ear-rings and my brooch and looked at them a long, long time; to me it seemed as though I were saying good-bye to them.… Fyodor says he is ashamed of himself and it breaks his heart to take my things, especially when they are so precious to me, but that there is no help
for it.”
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Her earrings and a diamond and ruby brooch were lost in Baden-Baden to Dostoevskys’ compulsive gambling.

However, their misfortunes drew them closer: her unconditional love was the source of hope for Dostoevsky, who now depended on her as a child. “We talked together, and came to the conclusion that our love increased in proportion as our money dwindled, and, after all, that is the chief thing.”
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He told her she gave him many new feelings and thoughts and was influencing him to become a better man.
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When Dostoevsky happened to win at roulette, he came home with a bouquet of white and red roses, his pockets “crammed full” of packages of cheese, caviar, and
ryzhiki
, Anna’s favorite salted mushrooms. She was pleased he could remember her craving: “Was there ever such a man! What other husband in the world would have found the Russian
ryzhiki
for his wife in Baden-Baden? … Wasn’t it sweet of him, and haven’t I the dearest husband in the world?” He brought baskets of fruit and they feasted on apricots, cherries, and gooseberries. On such occasions, their wealth seemed fantastic to them, though they could not hold on to it.

In a letter to his friend, the poet Apollon Maikov, Dostoevsky described their tribulations during the four months abroad, adding that Anna “has turned out to be stronger and deeper than I knew her to be and imagined, and in many cases she has simply been a guardian angel for me; but at the same time there is much of the child and the twenty-year-old in her, which is wonderful and naturally
essential
, but to which I doubt that I have the energy and capacity to respond.”
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They were constantly “alone together,” hard enough for a young girl, and on top of it were his illness and growing debts.

The letter to Maikov was written in Geneva, the next stop in Anna and Dostoevskys’ travels; tickets were purchased with a check from her mother. Dostoevsky continued to gamble in Baden-Baden right up to the moment of their departure, with money meant for the journey, then pawned his ring for twenty francs. An hour before the train, he came in with a story of his losses. Anna, who had been
packing alone, was furious; nonetheless, she told him “not to give up, but help … to fasten the trunks.”
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