Well, how can one not welcome such a confession of Slavophile views in the auditorium of the Polytechnic Museum!

Involuntarily, lately, you have been thinking about the phenomena of the Western world. I will share my thoughts with You, dear and close to my soul Friend. I will not describe the West.

Is it necessary to describe the West? It has already been described many times. Who has not read about the speed of German trains, about the conveniences of foreign hotels, about the cleanliness of Berlin streets? No, I would like to overhear the sighs of the Western soul, the beating of the Western heart, to compare the Western soul with the Russian soul. Sometimes small impressions lead to big thoughts. Similar impressions fell to my lot, and I still think about them.

Letter Two. Slavism

In recent times, when the Slavic world has entered into a bloody struggle with the Teutonic world, I, my dear Friend, often recall one detail from my meetings with the Western Slavs. I have met with different Slavic nationalities, with different people and under different circumstances, but this detail, which I want to write to you about now, has been repeated constantly. What is the detail? I will tell you the facts.

On June 27, 1908, I left Salonika by rail to the north, to Belgrade. Thessaloniki and Macedonia were then - and how long ago it was! -Turkish. Turkish Railways is a great test of patience. Uskub... Still Turkey. In the evening we get to the Serbian border. To the right and left of the road, a ditch ran along a flat place. Border. Station "Ristovats". The train was changed. The Turks disappeared. The conductors in fezzes were left behind. As soon as they stepped on Serbian soil, it was as if their relatives were immediately blown away. It's just an amazing feeling: abroad, but you feel close, dear, your own. Even the area itself seems to resemble the native Central Russia with its hills and fields. But at one of the stations I decided to get boiling water. What did it turn out to be? With the Serbian bartender, we do not understand each other. "Water" is understandable to him, but "hot", especially "boiling water", is not told to him anything and he pours me cold water. I shake my head; Cold water is poured out. I try to descriptively explain what I need, but nothing comes of it. What to do here? At this time, one of the passengers comes to the buffet, and I have already moved away with a hopeless look. I heard the visitor talk to the bartender in German. It was a revelation for me. It did not even occur to me to try to speak German with a Serb. Without hesitation, I applied my discovery to the case and in a minute went to the carriage - I had boiling water in the kettle.

In Belgrade, I found myself as if in Russian society. Intelligent people speak fluent Russian, and our leaders and guides studied in Russian theological academies. However, there were misunderstandings in Belgrade on the basis of mutual misunderstanding. Once, at dinner, one of the clergymen decided to make a speech in Serbian in honor of the Russian guests. Alas! I did not understand anything from this speech. I was somehow ashamed, and sad thoughts involuntarily arose in my head. I met several seminarians in Belgrade and involuntarily remarked that I could only talk with high school students, where the Russian language was studied and where they study using Russian textbooks, and the younger seminarians are incomprehensible to me. When one of the latter came up to me and began to "pray for the evening", it took me a while to guess that he was inviting me to dinner. And in conversation with the Belgrade seminarians, they had to turn to the German language. One of the older pupils said the word "sladoled" in conversation. "What is it?" - I asked. "I don't know how to speak Russian." - "Well, and in German?" - "Gefrorenes". - "Ah, ice cream!"

Across the Danube from Belgrade lies Zemlin, from where Austrian cannons are now firing at the Serbian capital. Zemlin is already an Austrian possession. In this very Zemlin, I once started talking to a Serb. An Austrian Serb is no longer taught Russian at school. We tried to speak each in our own language - absolutely nothing came of it. It was no longer news to me that it was possible to communicate with a Serb in German. And so two Slavs are forced to resort to German speech to exchange thoughts. Now I can quite clearly imagine the sad expression on the face of my interlocutor when, at the end of the conversation, he said to me: "How sad that we Slavs are forced to speak German among ourselves.." Of course, I could only readily agree with him that this was sehr traurig [1]. Indeed, my heart was sad...

Almost on the same day I had to have a theological dispute with a Catholic Croat, a student from Zagreb; I argued to him that it was not at all appropriate for a Slav to be a Catholic. But how they had to debate! Almost half in German. What a fact again! A Slav (Croat) to a Slav (me) in German proves the advantages of Catholicism, the Latin alphabet for the Slavic language, etc.

В другой раз привелось мне несколько дней прожить в Праге. Оказалось, что и с чехами нужно говорить по-немецки. Здесь несравненно хуже, нежели в Белграде: по-русски совсем не говорят. Просто не могу забыть того неприятного чувства бессильной досады, которое невольно приходилось переживать все время пребывания в Праге. Прислуга в гостинице и ресторане, продавцы и продавщицы в магазинах, люди на улице - все ведь чехи, родные по крови славяне. Слышишь в их разговоре отдельные славянские слова, без особенного труда понимаешь чешские книги и газеты, а вздумаешь заговорить - будто завеса какая падает между нами, и сразу становимся как-то чуждыми друг другу. Скажешь или прочитаешь что-нибудь по-чешски - чехи улыбаются; не так произнес. И опять не могу забыть, как в Праге одна девица по-немецки объясняла мне, как нужно читать и правильно произносить чешские слова. Нужно, Друг мой, попасть в такой большой славянский центр, как Прага, чтобы почувствовать, насколько тяжело и неприятно по-немецки говорить со славянами.

Еще воспоминание, последнее. Русская граница. Калиш. Что сталось с ним теперь? Вокзал по русскому обычаю далеко от города. В омнибусе отправляюсь в город. Сидящая против меня полька обращается ко мне с вопросом, а я понимаю из ее вопроса только слово "пан". Что ж? Опять за немецкий язык - и друг друга поняли. Это уж в России! Поляки, ведь это - "поляне", по летописцу. Я, вероятно, "вятич". Неужели "поляне" с "вятичами" по-германски говорили?

Вот, Друг мой, Тебе ряд мелочных воспоминаний о встречах со славянами на Западе. Видишь - везде одна подробность: друг друга не понимаем и принуждены между собою говорить на языке чужой и враждебной славянству нации. Мелкая подробность, но заставляет меня порою крепко призадумываться. Да и одного ли меня? Помнится, покойный А.И. Введенский останавливался своим вниманием на этой вынужденной необходимости говорить со славянами по-немецки.

Что за странное явление? Язык наших врагов служит для нас средством общения и единения! Посмотри на этнографическую карту Австрии. "Лоскутная империя" сшита более чем наполовину из славянских кусков. Вот уж немецкая государственная власть соединяет славянские народности в одно политическое целое.

Разъединено славянство - вот что чувствуешь прежде всего и чувствуешь с болью сердечной.