Abroad with the Jimmies Part 20

His wife evidently does not share his own opinion of himself. She listened with obvious impatience to the conversation, then she drew Bee and Mrs. Jimmie aside, and they were soon in the midst of an animated discussion of the Rue de la Paix.

Tolstoy overheard s.n.a.t.c.hes of their talk without a sign of disapproval.

I have seen a big Newfoundland watch the graceful antics of a kitten with the same air of indifference with which Tolstoy regarded his wife's humanity and naturalness. Tolstoy takes himself with profound seriousness, but, in spite of his influence on Russia and the outside world, the great teacher has been unable to cure his wife's interest in millinery.

Nordau told me in Paris that Tolstoy was a combination of genius and insanity. Undoubtedly Tolstoy is actuated by a genuine desire to free Russia, but the idea was unmistakably imbedded in my mind that his Christianity was like Napoleon's description of a Russian. Scratch it and you would find Tartar fanaticism under it,--the fanaticism of the ascetic who would drive his own flesh and blood into the flames to save the soul of his domestics. This impression grew as I watched the att.i.tude of the countess toward her husband. What must a wife think of such a husband's views of marriage when she is the mother of thirteen of his children? What must she think of insincerity when he refuses to copyright his books because he thinks it wrong to take money for teaching, yet permits _her_ to copyright them and draw the royalties for the support of the family?

Her opinion of her famous husband lies beneath her manner, covered lightly by a charming and graceful impatience,--the impatience of a spoiled child.

When we got into the carriage I said:

"Well?"

"Well," said our friend the consul, who had not spoken during the interview, "he is the queerest man I ever met. But how he pumped you!"

"We are all 'copy' to him," said Jimmie. "He wanted information at first hand."

"Sometime he may succeed in convincing his daughter," said Mrs. Jimmie, "but never his wife. She knows him too well."

"Yet he seemed interested in you and Jimmie," said Bee, ruefully. Then more cheerfully, "but we're asked to come again!"

"We are living doc.u.ments; that's why."

"What do you think of him?" said Jimmie to me with a grin of comrades.h.i.+p.

"I don't know. My impressions have got to settle and be skimmed and drained off before I know."

"Well, we'll go to their reception anyway," said Bee, comfortably, with the air of one who had no problems to wrestle with.

"What are you going to wear?"

To be sure! That was the main question after all. What were we going to wear?

CHAPTER XII

AT ONE OF THE TOLSTOY RECEPTIONS

When we arrived the next evening, it was to find a curious situation.

The Countess Tolstoy and her daughter and young son, in European costume,--the countess in velvet and lace, and the little countess in a pretty taffeta silk,--were receiving their guests in the main salon, and later served them to a magnificent supper with champagne. The count, we were told, was elsewhere receiving his guests, who would not join us.

Later he came in, still in his peasant's costume, and refused all refreshment. He was exceedingly civil to all his guests, but signalled out the Americans in a manner truly flattering.

It was a charming evening, and we met agreeable people, but, although they stayed late, we remained, at Tolstoy's request, still later, and when the last guest had departed, we sat down, drawing our chairs quite close together after the manner of a cheerful family party.

After inquiring how we had spent our day, and giving us some valuable hints about different points of interest for the morrow, Tolstoy plunged at once into the conversation which had been broken off the day before.

It was evident that he had been thinking about our country, and was eager for more information.

"I became very well acquainted with your amba.s.sador, Mr. White, while he was in this country," he began. "I found him a man of wide experience, of great culture, and of much originality in thought. I learned a great deal about America from him. It must be wonderful to live in a country where there is no Orthodox Church, where one can wors.h.i.+p as one pleases, and where every one's vote is counted."

Jimmie coughed politely, and looked at me.

"It encourages individuality," he added. "Do you not find your own countrymen more individual than those of any other nation?" he added, addressing Jimmie directly for the first time.

"I think I do," said Jimmie, carefully weighing out his words as if on invisible scales. Jimmie is largely imbued with that absurd fear of a man who has written books, which is to me so inexplicable.

"Your country appeals to Russians, strongly," pursued the count, evidently bent upon drawing Jimmie out.

"I have often wondered why," said Jimmie. "It couldn't have been the wheat?"

"No, not entirely the wheat, although the news of your generosity spread like wildfire through all cla.s.ses of society, and served to open the hearts of the peasants toward America as they are opened toward no other country in the world. The word 'Amerikanski' is an _open sesame_ all through Russia. Have you noticed it?"

"Often," said Jimmie. "And often wondered at it. But that wheat was a small enterprise to gain a nation's grat.i.tude. It is the more surprising to us because it was not a national gift, but the result of the generosity and large-mindedness of a handful of men, who pushed it through so quietly and unostentatiously that millions of people in America to this day do not know that it was ever done, but over here we have not met a single Russian who has not spoken of it immediately."

"The Russians are a grateful people," observed Mrs. Jimmie, "but it seems a little strange to me to discover such ardent grat.i.tude among the n.o.bility for a.s.sistance which reached people hundreds of miles away from them, and in whose welfare they could have only a general interest, prompted by humanity."

"Ah! but madame, Russians are more keenly alive to the problem of our serfs than any other. Many of our wealthy people are doing all that they can to a.s.sist them, and, when a crisis like the famine comes, it is heart-breaking not to be able to relieve their suffering. Consequently, the sending of that wheat touched every heart."

"Then, too, we are not divided,--the North against the South, as you were on your negro question," said the little countess. "The peasant problem stretches from one end of Russia to the other."

"We are a diffuse people," I said. "Perhaps that is the result of our mixed blood and the individuality that you spoke of, but your books are so widely read in America that I believe people in the North are quite as well informed and quite as much interested in the problem of the Russian serf as in our own negro problem."

Bee gave me a look which in sign language meant, "And that isn't saying half as much as it sounds."

"Undoubtedly there is a strong point of sympathy between our two countries. Like you, we have many mixed strains of blood, and, though we are so much older, we have civilised more slowly, so that we are both in youthful stages of progress. Your great prairies correspond in a large measure to our steppes. America and Russia are the greatest wheat-growing countries in the world. Our internal resources are the only ones vast enough to support us without a.s.sistance from other countries."

"Is that true of Russia?" Jimmie cut in, his commercial instinct getting the better of his awe of Tolstoy. "Where would you get your coal?"

"True," said Tolstoy, "we could not do it as completely as you, and your very resources are one reason for our admiration of America."

"In case of war, now,--" went on Jimmie. He stopped speaking, and looked down in deep embarra.s.sment, remembering Tolstoy's hatred of war.

"Yes," said Tolstoy, kindly. "In case the whole civilised world waged war on the United States, I dare say you could still remain a tolerably prosperous people."

"At any rate," said Jimmie, recovering himself, "it would be a good many years before we would be a hungry nation, and, in the meantime, we could practically starve out the enemy by cutting off their food supply, and disable their fleets and commerce for want of coal, so there is hardly any danger, from the prudent point of view, of the world combining against us."

"If the diplomacy at Was.h.i.+ngton continues in its present trend, under your great President McKinley, your country will not allow herself to be dragged into the quarrels of Europe. We older nations might well learn a lesson from your present government."

"Oh!" I cried, "how good of you to say that. It is the first time in all Europe that I have heard our government praised for its diplomacy, and coming from you, I am so grateful."

Jimmie and the consul also beamed at Tolstoy's complimentary comment.

"Now, about your men of letters?" said Tolstoy. "It is some time since I have had such direct news from America. What are the great names among you now?"

At this juncture Countess Tolstoy drew nearer to Bee and Mrs. Jimmie, and our groups somewhat separated.

"Our great names?" I repeated. "Either we have no great names now, or we are too close to them to realise how great they are. We seem to be between generations. We have lost our Lowell, and Longfellow, and Poe, and Hawthorne, and Emerson, and we have no others to take their places."