“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?
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 ambassador,
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 worship 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
classes 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?”
