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108
SÖNYA KOVALÉVSKY
often been mentioned of låte at dinner during my
sister’s disputes with father. I knew that he was one
of the most prominent Russian authors; but how
came he to be writing to Aniuta, and what did it
mean? For one moment it flashed across my mind
that my sister might be fooling me in order
afterward to laugh at my credulity.
When I had finished the letter I looked at my
sister in silence, not knowing what to say. My sister
was evidently enraptured by my amazement.
"Do you understand, do you understand?" said
Aniuta at last, in a voice broken with joyful emotion.
" I wrote a story, and, without saying a word to any
one, I sent it to Dostoévsky. And, as you see, he
considers it good, and will print it in his journal.
And so my secret dream is fulfilled. Now I am a
Russian authoress," she almost shouted, in a burst of
irrepressible ecstasy.
In order to understand what that word "authoress"
signified to us, it must be remembered that we lived
in the depths of the countiy, far from any trace, even
the slightest, of literary life. Our family read a great
deal, and bought a great many new books. We and
all those about us regarded every book, every printed
word, as something that came to us from afar; from
some unknown, strange world which had nothing in
common with us. Strange as it may appear, it is
nevertheless a fact that, up to this time, neither my
sister or I had ever seen a single man who had
written so much as a single line. There was, it is true, in
our county town a teacher of whom it began suddenly
to be rumored that he wrote letters to the newspapers
about our county, and I remember with what
respectful awe every one began to treat him until it was
discovered at last that the letters had not been written
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