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-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RUSSIAN NOVELISTS ***

-

-

-

-

-

-                                  THE

-

-

-                           RUSSIAN NOVELISTS

-

-

-

-

-                                   BY

-

-                              E M DE VOGÜÉ

-

-

-                            _TRANSLATED BY_

-

-                          JANE LORING EDMANDS

-

-

-

-

-                                 BOSTON

-                          D. LOTHROP COMPANY

-

-                      FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS

-

-

-

-

-                            COPYRIGHT, 1887,

-                         BY D. LOTHROP COMPANY.

-

-

-

-

-                              ELECTROTYPED

-                    BY C. J. PETERS AND SON, BOSTON.

-

-

-

-

-                           TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.

-

-

-The spelling of Russian names is a matter of peculiar difficulty, and

-no fixed usage in regard to it has as yet been established. I have

-tried to follow the system presented in the Proceedings of the American

-Library Association for 1885, but it has been in some cases impossible

-for me to go back to the original Russian form as a starting-point.

-I have found it necessary to abridge M. de Vogüé’s work somewhat, in

-order to bring it within certain prescribed limits.

-

-                                                      J. L. E.

-

-

-

-

-                                PREFACE.

-

-

-In offering this book to the constantly increasing class of persons

-interested in Russian literature, I owe them a little explanation

-in regard to the unavoidable omissions in these essays, as well as

-to their object and aim. The region we are approaching is a vast,

-almost unexplored one; we can only venture upon some of its highways,

-selecting certain provinces, while we neglect others.

-

-This volume does not claim to give a complete history of Russian

-literature, or a didactic treatise upon it. Such a work does not yet

-exist in Russia, and would be premature even in France.

-

-My aim is quite a different one. To do justice to both the dead and the

-living, in a history of the literature of only the past hundred years,

-I should but accumulate a quantity of names foreign to our ears, and a

-list of works which have never been translated. The entire political

-and social history of the three preceding reigns should be written, to

-properly explain the last.

-

-It appears to me better to proceed as a naturalist would do in his

-researches in a foreign country. He would collect specimens peculiarly

-characteristic of the climate and soil, and choose from among them

-a few individual types which are perfectly developed. He draws our

-attention to them, as best revealing to us the actual and peculiar

-conditions of life in this particular corner of the earth.

-

-This is my plan. I shall briefly touch upon the earliest Russian

-literature, and show how it became subjected to foreign influences,

-from which it was finally emancipated in the present century.

-

-From this time, I am embarrassed in choosing from such a rich supply

-of material, but I shall confine myself to a few individual types.

-This method is, besides, even more legitimate in Russia than in more

-recently settled countries. If you go through one hundred different

-villages between St. Petersburg and Moscow, you will see that, in

-feature, bearing, and costume the people seem to be remarkably similar;

-so that a few portraits, chosen at random, will describe the whole

-race, both as to physical and moral traits.

-

-This series of studies is principally devoted to the four distinguished

-contemporary writers, already well known in Europe by their translated

-works. I have tried to show the man as well as his work; and both,

-as illustrating the Russian national character. Without paying much

-attention to the rules of literary composition, I have been glad to

-make use of everything which would help me to carry out my design:

-of biographical details, personal recollections, digressions upon

-points of historical and political interest, without which the moral

-evolutions of a country so little known would be quite unintelligible.

-There is but one rule to be followed; to use every means of

-illuminating the object you wish to exhibit, that it may be thoroughly

-understood in all its phases. To this end, I have used the method of

-comparison between the Russian authors and those of other countries

-more familiar to us, as the surest and most rapid one.

-

-Some persons may express surprise that it is of her novelists that I

-demand the secret of Russia.

-

-It is because poetry and romance, the modes of expression most

-natural to this people, are alone compatible with the exigencies of

-a press-censure which was formerly most severe, and is even now very

-suspicious. There is no medium for ideas save through the supple meshes

-of fiction; so that the fiction which shields yet conveys these ideas

-assumes the importance of a doctrinal treatise.

-

-Of these two leading forms of literature, the first, poetry, absorbed

-the early part of the present century; the other, the novel, has

-superseded poetry, and monopolized the attention of the whole nation

-for the last forty years.

-

-With the great name of Pushkin at the head of the list, the Russians

-consider the romantic period as the crowning point of their

-intellectual glory. I once agreed with them, but have had two motives

-for changing my opinion.

-

-In the first place, it would be quite useless to discuss works which

-we could not quote from; for the Russian poets have never been and

-never will be translated. The life and beauty of a lyric poem is in its

-arrangement of words and its rhythm; this beauty cannot be transferred

-into a foreign form. I once read a very admirable and exact Russian

-translation of Alfred de Musset’s “_Nights_”; it produced the same

-sensation as when we look upon a beautiful corpse; the soul had fled,

-like the divine essence which was the life of those charming verses.

-

-The task is yet more difficult when you attempt to transfer an idea

-from the most poetical language in Europe into one which possesses the

-least of that quality. Certain verses of Pushkin and Lermontof are the

-finest I know in any language. But in the fragment of French prose they

-are transferred into, you glean but a commonplace thought. Many have

-tried, and many more will continue to try to translate them, but the

-result is not worth the effort. Besides, it does not seem to me that

-this romantic poetry expresses what is most typical of the Russian

-spirit. By giving poetry the first rank in their literature, their

-critics are influenced by the _prestige_ of the past and the enthusiasm

-of youth; for the passage of time adds lustre to what is past, to the

-detriment of the present.

-

-A foreigner can perhaps judge more truly in this case; for distance

-equalizes all remote objects on the same plane. I believe that the

-great novelists of the past forty years will be of more service

-to Russia than her poets. For the first time she is in advance of

-Western Europe through her writers, who have expressed æsthetic forms

-of thought which are peculiarly her own. This is why I choose these

-romances as illustrative of the national character. Ten years’ study of

-these works has suggested to me many thoughts relative to the character

-of this people, and the part it is destined to fill in the domain of

-intellect. As the novelist undertakes to bring up every problem of the

-national life, it will not be a matter of surprise if I make use of

-works of fiction in touching upon grave subjects and in the weaving

-together of some abstract thoughts.

-

-We shall see the Russians plead the cause of realism with new

-arguments, and better ones, in my opinion, than those of their rivals

-in the West.

-

-This work is an important one, and is the foundation of all the

-contests of ideas in the civilized world; revealing, moreover, the most

-characteristic conceptions of our contemporaries.

-

-In all primitive literature, the classical hero was the only one

-considered worthy of attention, representing in action all ideas on

-religions, monarchical, social, and moral subjects, existing from time

-immemorial. In exaggerating the qualities of his hero, either for good

-or evil, the classic poet took for his model what he deemed should or

-should not be expected of him, rather than what such a character would

-be in reality.

-

-For the last century, other views have gradually prevailed.

-Observation, rather than imagination, has been employed. The writer

-constantly gives us a close analysis of actions and feelings, rather

-than the diversion and excitement of intrigues and the display of

-passions. Classic art was like a king who has the right to govern,

-punish, reward, and choose his favorites from an aristocracy, obliging

-them to adopt conventional rules as to manners, morals, and modes of

-speech. The new art tries to imitate nature in its unconsciousness,

-its moral indifference. It expresses the triumph of the masses over

-the individual, of the crowd over the solitary hero, of the relative

-over the absolute. It has been called natural, realistic; would the

-word democratic suffice to define it, or not? It would be short-sighted

-in us not to perceive that political changes are only episodes in the

-great and universal change which is taking place.

-

-Man has undertaken to explain the Universe, and perceives that the

-existence itself, the greatness and the dangers of this Universe are

-the result of the incessant accumulation of infinitesimal atoms.

-While institutions put the ruling of states into the hands of the

-multitude, science gave up the Universe to the control of the atoms

-of which it is composed. In the analysis of all physical and moral

-phenomena, the ancient theories as to their origin are entirely

-displaced by the doctrine of the constant evolution of microscopic and

-invisible beings. The moral sciences feel the shock communicated by

-the discoveries in natural science. The psychologist, who studies the

-secrets of the soul, finds that the human being is the result of a long

-series of accumulated sensations and actions, always influenced by its

-surroundings, as the sensitive strings of an instrument vary according

-to the surrounding temperature.

-

-Are not these tendencies affecting practical life as well, in the

-doctrines of equality of classes, division of property, universal

-suffrage, and all the other consequences of this principle, which are

-summed up in the word democracy, the watchword of our times? Sixty

-years ago, the tide of the stream of democracy ran high, but now

-the stream has become an ocean, which is seeking its level over the

-entire surface of Europe. Here and there, little islets remain, solid

-rocks upon which thrones still stand, occasional fragments of feudal

-governments, with a clinging remnant of caste privileges; but the most

-far-seeing of these monarchs and of these castes know well that the

-sea is rising. Their only hope is that a democratic organization may

-not be incompatible with a monarchical form; we shall find in Russia a

-patriarchal democracy growing up within the shadow of an absolute power.

-

-Literature, which always expresses the existing condition of society,

-could not escape this general change of base; at first instinctively,

-then as a doctrine, it regulated its methods and its ideals according

-to the new spirit. Its first efforts at reformation were awkward

-and uncertain; romanticism, as we know to-day, was but a bastard

-production. It was merely a reaction against the classic hero, but was

-still unconsciously permeated by the classic spirit. Men soon tired of

-this, and demanded of authors more sincerity, and representations of

-the world more conformable to the teachings of the positive sciences,

-which were gaining ground day by day. They demanded to know more of

-human life, of ideas, and the relations of human beings to each other.

-Then it was that realism sprung into existence, and was adopted by all

-European literature, and is still reigning, with the various shades

-of difference that we shall allude to. A path was prepared for it by

-the universal revolution I have spoken of; but a realization of the

-general causes of this revolution could alone give to literature a

-philosophical turn.

-

-These great changes in men’s ideas were thought to be due to the

-advancement in scientific knowledge, and the resulting freedom of

-thought, which for a time inaugurated the worship of reason. But

-beyond the circle of truth already conquered appeared new and unknown

-abysses, and man found himself still a slave, oppressed by natural

-laws, in bondage to his passions. Then his presumption vanished.

-He fell back into uncertainty and doubt. Better armed and wiser,

-undoubtedly, but his necessities increased with the means of satisfying

-them. Disenchanted, his old instincts came back to him; he sought a

-higher Power,―but could find none. Everything conspired to break up

-the traditions of the past; the pride of reason, fully persuaded of

-its own power, as well as the aggravating stubbornness of orthodoxy.

-By a strange contradiction, the pride of intelligence increased with

-universal doubt which shattered all opinions.

-

-All the Sages having declared that the new theories regarding the

-universe were contrary to religious explanations, pride refused to make

-further researches. The defenders of orthodoxy have done little to

-facilitate matters. They did not understand that their doctrine was the

-fountain-head of all progress, and that they turned that stream from

-its natural direction by opposing the discoveries of science and all

-political changes.

-

-The strongest proof of the truth of a doctrine is the faculty of

-accommodating itself to all human developments, without changing

-itself, because it contains the germ of all the developments. The

-remarkable power of religion over men arises from this faculty; when

-orthodoxy does not recognize this gift, it depreciates its own strength.

-

-By reason of this misunderstanding, the responsibility of which

-should be shared by all parties, it has taken a long time to come to

-a perception of this simple truth. The world has been for eighteen

-centuries in a state of fermentation, through the gospel. Bossuet, one

-of those rare spirits which prophesy truly, realized this. He said:

-

-“Jesus Christ came into the world to overthrow all that pride has

-established in it; thence it is that his policy is in direct opposition

-to that of the age.”

-

-But this constant, active work of the gospel, although formerly

-acknowledged, is now denied by many; this gives to realism the

-harshness of its methods. The realist should acknowledge the present,

-abiding influence of the spirit of the gospel in the world. He

-should, above all, possess the religious sentiment; it will give him

-the charity he needs. The spirit of charity loses its influence in

-literature the moment it withdraws from its true source.

-

-To sum up what realism should be, I must seek a general formula,

-which will express both its method and the extent of its creative

-power. I can find but one, and it is a very old one; but I know of none

-better, more scientific, or which approaches nearer the secret of all

-creation:―

-

-“And the Lord formed man of the dust of the ground.”―But, to complete

-the formula, and account for the dual nature of our humanity, we must

-add the text: “And breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and

-man became a living soul―”

-

-This divine spark, derived from the source of universal life, is the

-spirit, the active and mysterious and incomprehensible element of

-our being, which baffles all our explanations, and without which we

-are nothing. At the point where life begins, there do we cease to

-comprehend.

-

-The realist is groping his way, trying his experiments in the creations

-of his brain, which breathe the spirit of truth, and speak with at

-least the accent of sincerity and sympathy.

-

-

-

-

-                               CONTENTS.

-

-        CHAPTER                                           PAGE

-

-             TRANSLATOR’S NOTE                               3

-

-             PREFACE                                         5

-

-          I. EPOCHS IN RUSSIAN LITERATURE                   19

-

-         II. ROMANTICISM.―PUSHKIN AND POETRY                44

-

-        III. THE EVOLUTION OF REALISM IN RUSSIA.―GOGOL      56

-

-         IV. TURGENEF                                       88

-

-          V. THE RELIGION OF ENDURANCE.―DOSTOYEVSKI        141

-

-         VI. NIHILISM AND MYSTICISM.―TOLSTOÏ               209

-

-

-

-

-                         THE RUSSIAN NOVELISTS.

-

-

-

-

-                               CHAPTER I.

-

-                     EPOCHS IN RUSSIAN LITERATURE.

-

-

-                                   I.

-

-Before studying those contemporary writers who alone will reveal to

-us the true Russian spirit and character, we must devote a little

-attention to their predecessors, in order to understand the Russian

-literature in its prolonged infancy, and its bearing upon that of

-the present day. We shall see how everything conspired to retard its

-development. Russian literature may be divided into four distinct

-epochs. The first, ending with the accession of Peter the Great, was in

-fact its mediæval age. In this epoch a wealth of national traditions

-had accumulated in its popular poetry and barbarous essays. The second

-period embraces the last century, from Peter the Great to Alexander

-I., and, although seemingly progressive, was the least fruitful

-one, because its literature was but a servile imitation of that of

-the Occident. The third, the short epoch of romanticism, produced a

-brilliant set of poets, whose works were of value to the general world

-of letters. But they were hot-house blooms, produced by a culture

-imported from abroad, and give but little idea of the true properties

-of their native soil.

-

-Forty years ago a new epoch began. Russia has finally produced

-something spontaneous and original. In the realistic novel, Russian

-genius has at last come to a realizing sense of its own existence; and,

-while bound indissolubly to the past, it already lisps and stammers

-the programme of its future. We shall see how this genius has soared

-from darkness and obscurity, acting already a part in history, although

-continually repressed by history’s cruel wrongs and injustice and its

-brusque changes of situation. We must recall too the intellectual

-origin of this race and its moral peregrinations, and then we can make

-more allowance for what there is of gloom, irresolution, and obscurity

-in its literature.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-The Russian people are afflicted with a national, a historical malady,

-which is partly hereditary, partly contracted during the course of its

-existence. The hereditary part is that proclivity of the Slavonic mind

-towards that negative doctrine which to-day we call Nihilism, and which

-the Hindu fathers called _Nirvâna_. In fact, if we would understand

-Russia well, we must recall to our minds what she has learned from

-ancient India.

-

-Many philosophers of the present day in Russia fully accept the

-doctrines of Buddha, and boast with pride of the purity of their Aryan

-blood, bringing forward many arguments in support of this claim. First,

-there is the fact that the physical type is very marked in families

-in which the Tartar blood has never mingled. Many a Moscow student or

-peasant from certain provinces might, except for his light complexion,

-easily pass in a street of Lahore or Benares for a native of the valley

-of the Ganges. Moreover, they have strong philological arguments. The

-old Slavonic dialect is declared by linguists to more nearly approach

-the Sanscrit than does the Greek of the very earliest epochs. The

-grammatical rules are identical. Speak of the _Vêda_ to any Russian

-peasant, and you will find he needs no explanation; the verb _vêdat_

-is one in constant use by him. If he should mention the word “fire,”

-it will be the original one used by his ancestors who worshipped that

-element. Numberless examples could be quoted to prove this close

-relation to the original Sanscrit; but this is still more strongly

-shown by an analytical study of the Russian mind and character.

-The Hindu type of mind may be easily recognized in the Slavonic

-intellectual type. By studying the revolutions of India one could

-easily understand possible convulsions in Russia. The most able authors

-state the Buddhist revolution to have arisen from a social rather than

-a religious reaction of the popular sentiment against the spirit of

-caste, against the fixed organizations of society. Like Christianity

-in the West, Buddhism was in the extreme East the revelation, the

-personification of charity and meekness, of moral and social freedom,

-which were to render life more tolerable to multitudes of human beings

-bowed under the yoke of an implacable theocracy.

-

-The best doctrines, in order to succeed, must permit certain

-exaggerations for the fanciful and imaginative, and tolerate certain

-errors which attract minds warped by prolonged sufferings. To the

-latter, Christianity offers asceticism; Buddhism promises them the joys

-of annihilation, the Nirvâna. Nihilism is the word invented by Burnouf

-as a translation of _Nirvâna_. Max Müller says that the Sanscrit

-word really means “the action of extinguishing a light by blowing it

-out.” Will not this definition explain Russian Nihilism, which would

-extinguish the light of civilization by stifling it, then plunge back

-into chaos.

-

-Undoubtedly, numerous and more recent causes have acted upon the

-national mind producing this peculiar state of discouragement, which in

-violent natures has developed into a furious desire to destroy every

-existing condition, because all are bad. Moreover, Christianity has

-lent a new formula to what there was of good in the old instincts. Its

-influence has been profound, accounting for the spirit of fraternity

-and self-sacrifice so admirable in this people. But I cannot help

-thinking that with this stolid race we must go back to the habits of

-thought of very ancient times in order to realize what their natural

-inclinations and difficulties would be.

-

-We shall now see how these have been aggravated or modified by a series

-of accidents. I know of no people which has been so overwhelmed by

-its own fate; like a river which has changed its course over and over

-again, or the life of one of those men who seem fated to begin several

-different careers in life and succeed in none.

-

-The Western nations have developed under much more favorable

-conditions. After the forced establishment and final withdrawal of

-Islamism, they enjoyed a long period of comparative peace, several

-centuries in which they could work out the problem of life. Constant

-revolutions and wars did not wholly throw them off the track which they

-had marked out for themselves from the outset.

-

-Russia, on the contrary, seems to have offered a free field for the

-most radical experiments, in which its poor people have been involved

-every two or three hundred years, just as they were well started in a

-new direction. Plunged into the most barbarous and heathenish anarchy,

-different tribes waged war there for two or three centuries after

-these had wholly ceased in France. Then Christianity came, but from a

-Byzantine, the least pure source; a vitiated Christianity, enervated

-by oriental corruption. The Russian people were fated to become wholly

-Greek in religion, laws, and government, thus commencing a new epoch in

-history. Would this germ of a new life have time to develop?

-

-Two hundred years after the baptisms at Kiev, Russia was overwhelmed by

-the Mongolian invasion. Asia returned to demand its prey and to seize

-the young Christian territory, which was already gravitating toward

-Europe. Pagans from the beginning, the Tartars became Mohammedans,

-remained wholly Asiatic, and introduced oriental customs among their

-Russian subjects. Not until the fifteenth century, when the Renaissance

-was dawning upon western Europe, did Russia begin to throw off this

-Tartar yoke. They freed themselves by a succession of strong efforts,

-but very gradually. The Crescent did not disappear from the Volga until

-1550, leaving behind it traces of the oriental spirit for all time.

-

-The Russian people were now crushed by an iron despotism, made up

-of Mongolian customs and Byzantine ceremonies. Just emancipated

-from foreign oppression, they were forced to cultivate the soil.

-Boris Godunof condemned them to serfdom, by which their whole social

-condition was changed in one day, with one stroke of the pen,―that

-unfortunate St. George’s day which the _muzhik_ would curse for three

-hundred years to come.

-

-In the next century Russia was invaded from the Occident. Poland

-obtained one-half of its territory and ruled at Moscow. The Poles were

-afterwards expelled, when the nation could take time to breathe and

-assert itself again. Naturally, it then turned toward Asia and its own

-traditions.

-

-Now appeared upon the scene a rough pilot in the person of Peter

-the Great, to guide the helm of this giant raft which was floating

-at random, and direct it toward Europe. At this epoch occurred the

-strangest of all the experiments tried by history upon Russia. To

-continue the figure, imagine a ship guided towards the West by the

-captain and his officers, while the entire crew were bent upon sailing

-for the East. Such was the strange condition of affairs for one

-hundred and fifty years, from the accession of Peter to the death of

-the Emperor Nicholas; the consequences of which condition are still

-observable. The sovereign and a few men he called to his aid abjured

-oriental life entirely, and became Europeans in ideas, politics,

-language, and dress. Little by little, the upper classes followed this

-example during the latter part of the last century.

-

-During the first half of the present one, the influence of Europe

-became still stronger, affecting administration, education, etc.,

-drawing a small part of the masses with it; but the nation remained

-stolid, rebellious, with its eyes turned toward the East, as were the

-prayers of their Tartar masters. Only forty years ago the Western light

-illumined the highest peaks alone, while the broad valleys lay buried

-in the shadows of a past which influences them still.

-

-This entire period presents a condition of affairs wholly unique. An

-immense population was led by a small class which had adopted foreign

-ideas and manners, and even spoke a strange language; a class which

-received its whole intellectual, moral, and political food and impetus

-from Germany, England, or France, as the case might be;―always from

-outside. The management of the land itself was frequently confided to

-foreigners―“pagans,” as the Russian peasants called them. Naturally,

-these foreigners looked upon this country as a vast field open to

-them for the collection of taxes and recruits; and whose destiny it

-was to furnish them with everything necessary in carrying out their

-projects,―their diplomatic combinations on the chess-board of all

-Europe.

-

-There were, of course, some exceptions―some attempts at restoring

-national politics and interior reform; but total ignorance of the

-country as well as of its language was the rule. Grandparents are still

-living in Russia, who, while they speak French perfectly, are quite

-incapable of speaking, or at least of writing, in the language of their

-grandchildren.

-

-Since the time of Catherine, a series of generations living in

-the Parisian elegance and luxury of the days of Louis XV., of the

-Empire, and the Restoration, have suffered with the French all their

-revolutionary shocks, shared in all their aspirations, been influenced

-by all their literature, sympathized in all their theories of

-administration and political economy;―and these do not even trouble

-themselves to know how a _muzhik_ of the provinces lives, or what he

-has to endure. These political economists do not even know how Russian

-wheat is raised, which Pushkin declares to grow differently from the

-English wheat.

-

-So the people, left to themselves, merely vegetated, and developed

-according to the obscure laws of their oriental nature. We can imagine

-what disorder would arise in a nation so formed and divided.

-

-In France, historical events have gradually formed a middle class; a

-natural connecting link between the two extremes of society. In Russia

-this middle class did not exist, and is still wanting, there being

-nothing to fill the intervening space. The whole depth of the abyss was

-realized by those Russians who became enlightened enough to understand

-the state of their country during the latter years of the reign of

-Alexander I.

-

-A national fusion was developed, as it usually is on the battle-fields,

-where the Russians fell side by side before the invader. This movement,

-however, was very gradual, and Russia was virtually divided into two

-distinct classes until the death of the Emperor Nicholas, when the

-necessity of a more orderly condition of affairs was universally felt,

-giving rise to a social revolution which resulted in the emancipation

-of the serfs.

-

-For the last quarter of a century, every conscientious and

-strong-minded man has worked to perform his part towards the common

-object: the establishment of a solid and united country. But they met

-with terrible obstacles; for they must abolish the past, heal all

-differences, and conciliate all parties.

-

-As a world travelling through space, drawn by opposite attractions, is

-divided, bursts asunder, one fragment rushing to join the distant star

-which calls it, while the greater portion of the planet continues to

-gravitate towards the nearer spheres; and as, in spite of all opposing

-forces, these two separated fragments of a world tend to re-unite, no

-matter what spaces divide them, or with what a shock they must meet,

-having acquired such increased velocity;―so was it with Russia, made

-up of so many dissimilar elements, attracted at different times by

-opposite poles; now tossed from Europe to Asia, and back again from

-Asia to Europe, and finally divided against itself.

-

-This condition is what I called the Russian national malady, which has

-plunged this people into the deepest discouragement and confusion.

-To historical misfortunes, we may add the peculiarities of soil and

-climate in which the Russian drama has been enacted. The severe,

-interminable winter interrupts man’s work and depresses his spirit.

-In the southern part, the scanty vegetation does not incite him to

-wrestle with nature and vie with her in energy and devotion. Is it

-not true that man’s mind is modelled according to the nature of his

-abiding-place? Must not a country having a limited horizon, and forms

-strongly and sharply defined, tend to the development of individuality,

-to clearness of conception, and persevering effort? The larger portion

-of Russia has nothing analogous to this; only, as Tacitus says, a

-“monotonous alternation of wild wood and reeking marsh.” (“_Aut silvis

-horrida, aut paludibus fœda_”); endless plains with no distinct

-horizon, no decisive outlines, only a mirage of snow, marsh, or sand.

-Everywhere the infinite, which confuses the mind and attracts it

-hopelessly. Tolstoï has well described it as “that boundless horizon

-which appeals to me so strongly.”

-

-The souls of this people must resemble those who sail on a long voyage;

-self-centered, resigned to their situation, with impulses of sudden,

-violent longing for the impossible. Their land is made for a tent-life,

-rather than for dwelling in houses; their ideas are nomadic, like

-themselves. As the winds bear the arctic cold over the plains from

-the White Sea to the Black, without meeting any resisting obstacle,

-so invasions, melancholy, famine, servitude, seize and fill these

-empty stretches rapidly and without hindrance. It is a land which is

-calculated to nourish the dim, hereditary, confused aspirations of the

-Russian heart, rather than those productions of the mind which give an

-impetus to literature and the arts.

-

-Nevertheless, we shall see how the persistent seed will develop under

-this severe sky and amid such untoward influences, saved by the eternal

-spring which exists in all human hearts of every climate.

-

-

-                                  II.

-

-The middle age of Russian literature, or the period ending with

-the accession of Peter the Great, produced first: ecclesiastical

-literature, comprising sermons, chronicles, moral and instructive

-treatises. Secondly: popular literature, consisting of epic poems,

-characteristic sonnets and legends. The former resembles that of

-western Europe, being in the same vein, only inferior to it.

-

-Throughout Christendom, the Church was for a long time the only

-educator; monk and scholar being almost synonymous words; while

-outside the pale of the Church all was barbarism. At first, the writer

-was a mere mechanical laborer, or Chinese scribe, who laboriously

-copied the Gospels and the ancient Scriptures. He was respected as

-possessing one of the arcana of life, and as specially gifted through

-a miracle from on high. Many generations of monks passed away before

-the idea occurred to these humble copyists to utilize their art in

-recording their own personal impressions. At first there were homilies,

-mere imitations of those of the Byzantine fathers; then lives of

-saints; and the legendary lore of the monastery of Kiev, the great

-centre of prayer and holy travail of the whole Slavonic world. Here

-originated the first approach to romance of that time, its Golden

-Legend, the first effort of the imagination towards the ideal which is

-so seductive to every human soul. Then came the chronicles of wars, and

-of their attendant and consequent evils. Nestor, the father of Russian

-history, noted down his impressions of what he saw, in a style similar

-to that of Gregory of Tours.

-

-From the thirteenth to the fifteenth century, these feeble germs of

-culture were nearly crushed out of existence by the Tartar invasion;

-and even the translation of the Bible into the Slavonic language was

-not accomplished until the year 1498.

-

-In 1518, Maximus, a Greek monk, who had lived in Florence with

-Savonarola, came to Moscow, bringing with him the first specimens of

-printing. He reformed the schools, and collected around him a group of

-men eager for knowledge. About this time the so-called civil deacons,

-the embryo of future _tchinovnism_,[A] began to assist the students of

-Latin and Greek in their translations.

-

-Father Sylvester also wrote the “Domostroi,” a treatise on morals

-and domestic economy; a practical encyclopædia for Russians of the

-sixteenth century.

-

-In the second half of this century Ivan the Terrible introduced

-printing into Russia. A part of the venerable building he erected at

-Moscow for a printing establishment is still standing. He tried to

-obtain from Germany skilful hands in the new art, but they were refused

-him. Each sovereign jealously guarded every master of the great secret,

-as they did good alchemists or skilful workers in metals.

-

-A Moscow student, Ivan Fedorof, cast some Slavonic characters, and used

-them in printing the Acts of the Apostles, in 1564. This is the most

-ancient specimen of typography in Russia. He, the first of Russian

-printers, was accused of heresy, and obliged to fly for his life. His

-wretched existence seemed a prophetic symbol of the destiny reserved

-for the development of thought in his native country. Fedorof took

-refuge with some magnates of Lithuania, and printed some books in

-their castles; but his patrons and protectors tore him from his beloved

-work, and forced him to cultivate the land. He wrote of himself:―“It

-was not my work to sow the grain, but to scatter through the earth

-food for the mind, nourishment for the souls of all mankind.” He fled

-to Lemberg, where he died in extreme poverty, leaving his precious

-treasure to a Jew.

-

-The seventeenth century produced a few specimens of secular literature.

-But it was an unfavorable time, a time of anxiety, of usurpations;

-and afterwards came the Polish invasion. When intellectual life again

-awoke, theological works were the order of the day; and even up to the

-time of Peter the Great, all the writers of note were theologians.

-

-The development of general literature in Russia was precisely analogous

-to that of Western Europe, only about two centuries later, the

-seventeenth century in Russia corresponding to the fifteenth in France.

-With popular literature, or folk-lore, however, the case is quite

-otherwise; nowhere is it so rich and varied as with the Slavonians.

-

-Nature and history seem to have been too cruel to this people. Their

-spirits rise in rebellion against their condition, and soar into that

-fantastic realm of the imagination, above and outside the material

-world; a realm created by the Divine Being for the renewal of man’s

-spirit, and giving him an opportunity for the play of his fancy.

-According to the poet Tutschef, “Our earthly life is bathed in dreams,

-as the earth by ocean’s waves.” Their songs and myths are the music

-of history, embracing their whole national life, and changing it into

-dreams and fancies. The Cossack fisher-folk have sung them upon their

-mighty rivers for more than eight centuries.

-

-When, in the future, Russia shall produce her greatest and truest

-poets, they have only to draw from these rich sources, an inexhaustible

-store. Never can they find better material; for the imagination of

-that anonymous author, the people, is the more sublime, and its heart

-more truly poetical, because of its great faith, simplicity, and many

-sorrows. What poem can compare with that description of the universe in

-a book, written in the fifteenth century, called “Book of the Dove”?―

-

-“The sun is the fire of love glowing in the Lord’s face; the stars fall

-from his mantle…. The night is dark with his thoughts; the break of day

-is the glance of his eye….”

-

-And where can the writers of the modern realistic Russian novel find

-tenderer touches or more sharply bitter allusions than in the old

-dramatic poem, “The Ascension of Christ”? Jesus, as he is about to rise

-to heaven, thus consoles the sorrowing crowd clustered around him:―

-

-“Weep not, dear brethren! I will give you a mountain of gold, a river

-of honey; I will leave you gardens planted with vines, fruits, and

-manna from heaven.” But the Apostle John interrupts him, saying:―

-

-“Do not give them the mountain of gold, for the princes and nobles

-will take it from them, divide it among themselves, and not allow our

-brothers to approach. If thou wishest these unfortunates to be fed,

-clothed, and sheltered, bestow upon them Thy Holy Name, that they may

-glorify it in their lives, on their wanderings through the earth.”

-

-The song of “The Band of Igor,” an epic poem, describing the struggle

-with the pagan hordes from the south-west, and supposed by some authors

-to have been inspired by Homer, is the most ancient, and the prototype

-of all others of the Middle Age. The soul of the Slavonic poet of this

-time is Christian only in name. The powers he believes in are those of

-nature and the universe. He addresses invocations to the rivers, to the

-sea, to darkness, the winds, the sun. The continual contrast between

-the beneficent Light and the evil Darkness recalls the ancient Egyptian

-hymns, which always describe the eternal contest between day and night.

-

-Pushkin says of the “Song of Igor,” the origin of which is much

-disputed among scholars: “All our poets of the eighteenth century

-together had not poetry enough in them to comprehend, still less to

-compose, a single couplet of this ‘Song of Igor.’”

-

-This epic poetry of Russia strikes its roots in the most remote

-antiquity of Asia, from Hindu and Persian myths, as well as from

-those of the Occident. It resembles the race itself in its growth

-and mode of development, oscillating alternately between the east

-and the west. Thus has the Russian mind oscillated between the two

-poles of attraction. In this period of its growth, it remembers and

-imitates more than it creates; but the foreign images it receives and

-reflects assume larger contours and more melancholy colors; a tinge of

-plaintiveness, as well as of brotherly love and sympathy.

-

-Not so with the period we now enter. Literature is now reduced to a

-restricted form, like the practice of an art, cultivated for itself

-and following certain rules. It is an edifice constructed by Peter the

-Great, in which the author becomes a servant of the state, with a set

-task like the rest of the government officials. All must study in the

-school of Western Europe, and must accomplish in the eighteenth century

-what France did in the sixteenth. Even the Slavonic language itself

-must suffer innovations and adopt foreign terms. Before this, all

-books were written in the Old Slavonic language of the church, which

-influenced also all scientific and poetical productions.

-

-The change which came about naturally in France, as the result of

-an intellectual revolution, for which the minds of the people were

-already ripe, was in Russia brought about by a single will; being the

-artificial work of one man who aroused the people from slumber before

-their time.

-

-A new style of literature cannot be called into being, as an army can

-be raised, or a new code of laws established, by an imperial order

-or decree. Let us imagine the Renaissance established in France by

-Philippe le Bel! Such an attempt was now made in Russia, and its

-unsatisfactory results are easily accounted for.

-

-Peter established an Academy of Science at St. Petersburg, sending its

-members abroad for a time at first to absorb all possible knowledge,

-and return to use it for the benefit of the Russian people. This custom

-prevailed for more than a century. The most important of these scholars

-was Lomonosof, the son of a poor fisherman of the White Sea. Having

-distinguished himself at school, he was taken up by the government and

-sent into Germany. Returning to supplant the German professors, whom

-he found established at St. Petersburg, he bequeathed to his country a

-quite remarkable epic poem on Peter the Great, called “La Pétriade,”

-for which his name is revered by his countrymen.

-

-The glorious reign of Catherine II. should have added something to

-the literary world. She was a most extraordinary woman. She wrote

-comedies for her own theatre at the Hermitage, as well as treatises on

-education for the benefit of her grandchildren, and would gladly have

-been able to furnish native philosophers worthy to vie with her foreign

-courtiers; but they proved mere feeble imitators of Voltaire. Kheraskof

-wrote the “Rossiade” and Sumarokof, called by his contemporaries the

-Russian Racine, furnished the court with tragedies. But two comedies,

-“Le Brigadier,” and “Le Mineur,” by Von Vizin, have more merit, and are

-still much read and highly appreciated. These form a curious satire on

-the customs of the time. But the name of Derzhavin eclipses all others

-of this epoch. His works were modelled somewhat after Rousseau and

-Lefranc de Pompignan, and are fully equal to them.

-

-Derzhavin had the good-fortune to live to a ripe old age, and in court

-life through several reigns; thus having the best of opportunities

-to utilize all striking events. Each new accession to the throne,

-victories, anniversaries, all contributed to inflate his national pride

-and inspire his muse.

-

-But his high-flown rhetoric is open to severe criticism, and his works

-will be chiefly valued as illustrative of a glorious period of Russian

-history, and as a memorial of the illustrious Catherine. Pushkin says

-of him:―

-

-“He is far inferior to Lomonosof.―He neither understood the grammar

-nor the spirit of our language; and in time, when his works will have

-been translated, we shall blush for him. We should reserve only a few

-of his odes and sketches, and burn all the rest.”

-

-Krylof, the writer of fables in imitation of La Fontaine, deserves

-mention. He had talent enough to show some originality in a style of

-literature in which it is most difficult to be original; and wrote with

-a rude simplicity characteristically Russian, and in a vein much more

-vigorous than that of his model.

-

-Karamzin inaugurated a somewhat novel deviation in the way of

-imitation. He was an enthusiastic admirer of Rousseau. He was poet,

-critic, political economist, novelist, and historian; and bore a

-leading part in the literature of the latter part of the eighteenth

-century and the beginning of the nineteenth; a time including the

-end of Catherine’s reign and the early part of Alexander’s. It was

-a transition period between the classic and romantic schools of

-literature. Karamzin might be called the Rousseau and the Chateaubriand

-of his country. His voluminous history of Russia is of great merit,

-although he is sufficiently blinded by his patriotism to cause him to

-present a too flattering picture of a most cruel despotism; so that

-his assertions are often challenged by later writers. But the work

-is of great value as a most conscientious compilation of events and

-quotations, and the only one written up to the last twenty years; and

-in this respect Karamzin has no rival.

-

-He owed his renown, before writing his history, to a few little

-romances of a sentimental turn. The romantic story of “La pauvre

-Lise” especially was received with a furor quite out of proportion to

-its merit. Its popularity was such that it became the inspiration of

-artists and of decorators of porcelain. Lakes and ponds innumerable

-were baptized with the name of _Lise_, in memory of her sad fate. Such

-enthusiasm seems incredible; but we can never tell what literary effort

-may be borne on to undying fame by the wheel of fashion!

-

-The successive efforts of these secondary writers have contributed much

-to form the language of Russian literature as it now exists; Karamzin

-for its prose, Derzhavin for its poetry. In less than one hundred years

-the change was accomplished, and the way prepared for Pushkin, who was

-destined to supply an important place in Russian literature.

-

-Karamzin’s part in politics was quite at variance with his position

-in the world of letters. Although an imitator of Rousseau, he set

-himself against the liberal ideas of Alexander. He was opposed to the

-emancipation of the serfs, and became the champion of the so-called

-_Muscovitism_, which, forty years later, became _Slavophilism_. He

-lived in Moscow, where the conservative element was strongest, acting

-in opposition to Speranski, the prime minister.

-

-In 1811, Karamzin wrote a famous paper, addressed to his sovereign,

-called, “Old and New Russia,” which so influenced Alexander’s

-vacillating mind that it gave the death-blow to Speranski. In this

-paper he says: “We are anticipating matters in Russia, where there are

-hardly one hundred persons who know how to spell correctly. We must

-return to our national traditions, and do away with all ideas imported

-from the Occident. No Russian can comprehend any limitation of the

-autocratic power. The autocrat draws his wisdom from a fountain within

-himself, and from the love of his people,” etc.

-

-This paper contained the germ of every future demand of the Muscovite

-party.

-

-Karamzin is the pioneer of the _Slavophile_ party, which would do away

-with all the reforms of Peter the Great, and reconstruct the original

-Russia as an ideal government, entirely free from any European ideas.

-As this political programme became a literary one, it is important to

-note its first appearance.

-

-Freemasonry, that embodiment of the spirit of mysticism, worked its

-way into Russia, brought from Sweden and Germany, during the reign of

-Catherine; and was at once taken up by the literary world, then led by

-Novikof. The greater part of the distinguished scholars and statesmen

-under Alexander, Karamzin among them, were interested in it, and spread

-through the country the philosophical works which deluged Europe.

-

-The French Revolution now broke out; and Catherine, becoming alarmed at

-the rapid spread of the new philosophy, ordered the lodges closed, had

-the suspicious books seized, and Novikof tried and condemned.

-

-But the new doctrines assumed greater force under Alexander, who

-encouraged them. The infatuation for this mysticism spread among all

-intelligent people. The state of mind of the upper classes has been

-faithfully depicted in the character of Pierre Bezushof, in “War and

-Peace,” the historical novel of Leon Tolstoï. (See the chapter which

-describes Pierre’s initiation into Freemasonry.) This condition of mind

-is not peculiar to the Russians. All Europe was obscured by it at the

-end of the eighteenth century; but in Russia it found free scope in

-the unsettled and confused state of affairs, where the thinking mind

-struggled against the influx of rationalism, while unwilling to accept

-the negative philosophy of the learned class. On this account, among

-others, the reign of Alexander I. presents a curious subject for study

-and contemplation. It offered a point of meeting for every new current

-of thought which agitated Russia, as well as for everything that had

-been repressed throughout the reign of Nicholas. The Masonic lodges

-insensibly became a moving power in politics, which led to the liberal

-conspiracy crushed out in 1825. A horror of the revolutionary ideas

-of France, and the events of 1812, had produced a great change in the

-Russian mind; besides, Russia, now temporarily estranged from France,

-became more influenced by Germany; which fact was destined to have a

-considerable effect upon their literature. During the whole of the

-eighteenth century, France tutored the Russian mind in imitation of the

-classics. It now became inculcated with the romanticism of Germany.

-

-

-FOOTNOTES:

-

-     [A] Official rank.

-

-

-

-

-                              CHAPTER II.

-

-                   ROMANTICISM.―PUSHKIN AND POETRY.

-

-Russia―all Europe, in fact―was now enjoying a period of peace. A

-truce of twenty-five years lay between the great political wars and the

-important social struggles to come. During these years of romanticism,

-so short and yet so full, between 1815 and 1840 only, all intelligent

-minds in Russia seemed given up to thought, imagination, and poetry.

-

-Everything in this country develops suddenly. Poets appear in numbers,

-just as the flowers of the field spring forth after the sun’s hot rays

-have melted the snow. At this time poetry seemed to be the universal

-language of men. Only one of this multitude of poets, however, is

-truly admirable, absorbing all the rest in the lustrous rays of his

-genius,―the glorious Pushkin.

-

-He was preceded by Zhukovski, who was born twenty years earlier, and

-who also survived him. No critic can deny that Zhukovski was the

-real originator of romanticism in Russian literature; or that he was

-the first one to introduce it from Germany. His works were numerous.

-Perfectly acquainted with the Greek language, his version of Homer is

-most admirable. He also wrote several poems in the style of Schiller,

-Goethe, and Uhland; and many compositions, ballads, etc., all in the

-German style. He touched upon many Russian subjects, themes which

-Pushkin afterwards took up. In fact, he was to Pushkin what Perugino

-was to Raphael; yet every Russian will declare that the new romanticism

-of that time dates from Pushkin, and is identified with him.

-

-Zhukovski was one of those timid spirits which are born to be

-satellites, even though they rise before the sun in the pale dawn; but

-they only shine with reflected light, and their lustre becomes wholly

-absorbed in the rays of the rising luminary which replaces them.

-

-

-                                   I.

-

-To realize the importance of the part the poets of this period were

-destined to play, we must remember what a very small part of the

-population of this vast country could be called the educated class.

-At the beginning of the century, the education of the Muscovite

-aristocracy was confided entirely to the Jesuits, who had been

-powerfully supported by the Emperor Paul. In 1811, Alexander I.

-replaced these foreign educators by native Russians, and founded the

-Lyceum of Tsarskoe-Selo, after the model of the Paris Lyceums.

-

-Students were admitted according to birth and merit only. Pushkin and

-Gortchakof were the two who most distinguished themselves. The course

-of study was rather superficial. The students were on intimate terms

-with the soldiers of the Imperial Guard, and quartered in the imperial

-palace with them. Politics, patriotism, poetry, all together fomented

-an agitation, which ended with the conspiracy of December, 1825.

-

-Pushkin was at once recognized as a master in this wild throng, and

-was already famous as a poet. The old Derzhavin cast his own mantle

-upon Pushkin’s shoulders and pronounced him his heir. Pushkin possessed

-the gift of pleasing; but to understand his genius, we must not lose

-sight of his origin. His maternal grandfather was an Abyssinian negro,

-who had been a slave in the Seraglio of Constantinople, was stolen and

-carried to Russia by a corsair, and adopted by Peter the Great, who

-made him a general, and gave him in marriage to a noble lady of the

-court. The poet inherited some of his grandfather’s features; his thick

-lips, white teeth, and crisp curly hair. This drop of African blood,

-falling amid Arctic snows, may account for the strong contrasts and

-exaggerations of his poetic nature, which was a remarkable union of

-impetuosity and melancholy.

-

-His youth was passed in a wild whirl of pleasure and excess. He

-incurred while still young the imperial anger, by having written

-some insolent verses, as well as by committing some foolish pranks

-with some of the saints’ images; and was banished for a time to the

-borders of the Black Sea, where, enchanted by the delicious climate and

-scenery, his genius developed rapidly.

-

-He returned not much the wiser, but with his genius fully matured at

-the age of twenty-five. For a few short years following his return,

-he produced his greatest masterpieces with astonishing rapidity, and

-died at thirty-seven in a duel, the victim of an obscure intrigue. He

-had married a very beautiful woman, who was the innocent cause of his

-death. Lending an ear to certain calumnies concerning her, he became

-furiously jealous, and fought the fatal duel with an officer of the

-Russian guard.

-

-While we lament his sad fate, we can but reflect that the approach of

-age brings sadness with it, and most of all to a poet. He died young,

-in the prime of life and in the plenitude of his powers, giving promise

-of future possible masterpieces, with which we always credit such

-geniuses.

-

-It is impossible to judge of this man’s works from a review of his

-character. Though his heart was torn by the stormiest passions, he

-possessed an intellect of the highest order, truly classic in the best

-sense of the word. When his talent became fully matured, form took

-possession of him rather than color. In his best poems, intellect

-presides over sentiment, and the soul of the artist is laid bare.

-

-To attempt to quote, to translate his precious words, would be a

-hopeless task. He himself said: “In my opinion, there is nothing more

-difficult, I might say impossible, than to translate Russian poetry

-into French; concise as our language is, we can never be concise

-enough.”

-

-In Latin one might possibly be able to express as many thoughts in as

-few words, and as beautifully. The charm vanishes with the translator’s

-touch; besides, the principal object of this book is to show how the

-peculiar type of Russian character is manifested in the works of the

-Russian writers. Neither do I think that Pushkin could aid us much in

-this study; although he was no servile imitator, like so many of his

-predecessors, it is none the less true that he drew his material from

-the great sources of European literature. He was educated from a child

-in French literature. His father knew Molière by heart, and his uncle

-was a great admirer of Béranger. When he entered the Lyceum he could

-scarcely speak his mother-tongue, but he had been fed with Voltaire

-from early childhood. His very first verses were written in French,

-and his first Russian rhymes were madrigals on the same themes. In the

-“Prisoner of the Caucasus,” written in 1824, we can feel the influence

-of Byron, whom he calls the “master of his thoughts.” Gradually he

-acquired more originality, but it is quite certain that but for Byron

-some of the most important of his poems, such as “Onyegin,” “The

-Bohemians,” several of his oriental poems, and even his admirable

-“Poltava,” would never have existed.

-

-During the latter years of his life, he had a passion for history,

-when he studied the historical dramas of Shakespeare. This he

-himself acknowledges in the preface to “Boris Godunof,” which is a

-Shakespearian drama on a Muscovite subject. In certain prose works he

-shows unmistakable proofs of the influence of Voltaire, as they are

-written in a style wholly dissimilar to anything in Russian prose.

-

-The _Slavophile_ party like to imagine that Pushkin, in his “Songs of

-the Western Slavs,” has evoked the ancient Russian spirit; while he has

-merely translated some French verses into Russian. We must acknowledge

-the truth that his works, with the exception of “Onyegin,” and a few

-others, do not exhibit any peculiar ethnical stamp. He is influenced at

-different times, as the case may be, by his contemporaries in Germany,

-England, and France. He expresses universal sentiments, and applies

-them to Russian themes; but he looks from outside upon the national

-life, like all his contemporaries in letters, artistically free from

-any influence of his own race. Compare his descriptions of the Caucasus

-with those of Tolstoï in “The Cossacks.” The poet of 1820 looks upon

-nature and the Orientals with the eye of a Byron or a Lamartine;

-while the observer of 1850 regards that spot of Asia as his ancestral

-mother-country, and feels that it partly belongs to him.

-

-We shall find that Pushkin’s successors possess none of his literary

-qualities. He is as concise as they are diffuse; as clear as they are

-involved. His style is as perfect, elegant, and correct as a Greek

-bronze; in a word, he has style and good taste, which terms cannot be

-applied to any of his successors in Russian literature. Is it taking

-away anything from Pushkin to remove him from his race and give him to

-the world and humanity at large? Because he was born in Russia, there

-is nothing whatever to prove that his works were thereby modified. He

-would have sung in the self-same way for England, France, or Italy.

-

-But, although he resembles his country so little, he served it well. He

-stirred its intellectual life more effectively than any other writer

-has done; and it is not too much to call him the Peter the Great of

-Russian literature. The nation gratefully recognizes this debt. To

-quote one of his own verses:―“The monument I have erected for myself

-is made by no mortal hand; and the grass will not have time to grow in

-the path that leads to it.”

-

-

-                                  II.

-

-Among the group of poets contemporaries of Pushkin only two are

-really worthy of mention, viz.: Griboyedof and Lermontof; but these

-two, although they died young, gave promise of great genius. The

-first of these left only one comedy, but that is the masterpiece of

-the Russian drama (“le Mal de Trop d’Esprit”). The author, unlike

-Pushkin, disdained all foreign literature, took pride in all the

-ancient Muscovite customs, and was Russian to the backbone. He painted

-the people and the peculiarities of his own country only, and so

-wonderfully well that his sayings have become proverbs. The piece is

-similar to the “Revizor” of Gogol, but, in my opinion, superior to it,

-being broader in spirit and finer in sentiment. Moreover, its satire

-never will grow old, for it is as appropriate to the present day as to

-the time for which it was written.

-

-Returning from Persia, where he had been sent as Russian minister to

-the Shah, he was murdered by a party of robbers, at the age of thirty

-four.

-

-Lermontof was the poet of the Caucasus, which he made the scene of all

-his poems. His short life of twenty-six years was spent among those

-mountains; and he was, like Pushkin, killed in a duel, just as he was

-beginning to be recognized as a worthy successor to him. Byron was

-also his favorite model, whom he, unhappily, strongly resembled in

-character. His most celebrated poem was “The Demon”; but he wrote many

-most picturesque and fascinating stanzas and short pieces, which are

-full of tenderness and melancholy. Though less harmonious and perfect

-than Pushkin’s, his verses give out sometimes a sadder ring. His prose

-is equal to his poetry, and many of his short sketches, illustrative of

-Caucasian life, possess a subtle charm.

-

-

-                                  III.

-

-Lermontof was the last and most extreme of the poets of the romantic

-period. The Byronic fever, now at its height, was destined soon to

-die out and disappear. Romanticism sought in history some more solid

-aliment than despair. A reaction set in; and writers of elegies and

-ballads turned their attention to historical dramas and the picturesque

-side of human life. From Byron they turned back to Shakespeare, the

-universal Doctor. Pushkin, in his “Boris Godunof,” and in the later

-poems of his mature period, devoted himself to this resurrection of

-the past; and his disciples followed in his wake. The rhetoric of the

-new school, not wholly emancipated from romanticism, was naturally

-somewhat conventional. But Pushkin became interested in journalism;

-and polemics, social reforms, and many other new problems arising,

-helped to make romanticism a thing of the past. The young schools of

-philosophy found much food for thought and controversy. The question

-of the emancipation of the serfs, raised in the court of Alexander I.,

-weighed heavily upon the national conscience. A suffering people cannot

-be fed upon rhetoric.

-

-In 1836, Tchadayef published his famous “Lettre Philosophique.” He

-was a man of the world, but a learned man and a philosopher. The

-fundamental idea of his paper was that Russia had hitherto been but

-a parasite, feeding upon the rest of Europe, and had contributed of

-itself nothing useful to civilization; had established no religious

-reforms, nor allowed any scope for free thought upon the leading

-questions of modern society. He said:―

-

-“We have in our blood a principle which is hostile to civilization.”

-

-These were strong sentiments coming from the mouth of a Russian; but

-they afterwards found many echoing voices, which never before had put

-such crude truths into words. Tchadayef was claimed by the liberals

-as their legitimate father, his “Lettre Philosophique” was made a

-political pamphlet, and he himself was regarded as a revolutionary

-leader.

-

-Just at this time, Kant, Schelling, and Hegel were translated,

-and a great many young Russians now studied rationalism at its

-fountain-heads, in the different German universities. The preceding

-generation, which had become intoxicated with sentiment, was followed

-by a generation devoted to metaphysics. This new hobby was ridden with

-the enthusiasm peculiar to the Russians, and hairs which in Germany

-were split into four parts were subdivided in Moscow into eight.

-

-A writer nourished on the new doctrines, and who soon became leader

-of the liberal school, appeared at this time, and exercised a strong

-influence upon literature. It was the critic Bielinski. He was,

-perhaps, the only critic of his country really worthy of the name. He

-left a voluminous work, a perfect encyclopædia of Russian literature;

-rich in wisdom and in ideas, giving a fine historical account of the

-ancient literature, and defining with rare sagacity the tendencies

-of the new. He threw down many old idols, and ridiculed the absurd

-confidence in the writers of the classic period. In spite of his

-admiration for Pushkin, he points out many of the weak points of

-romanticism, and seems to fully realize the intellectual necessities

-of his time. The great novelists of modern Russia have been encouraged

-by his advice, and he has certainly shown himself to be a critic in

-advance of his own time, and the only one Russia has produced. The

-first sketches and tales of Gogol revealed to Bielinski the birth of

-this new art. He declared the age of lyric poetry was past forever,

-and that the reign of Russian prose romance had begun. Everything has

-justified this great writer’s prophecy. Since the time of Pushkin,

-their literature has undergone wonderful developments. The novelists no

-longer draw from outside sources, but from the natal soil, and it is

-they who will show us what a rich verdure can be produced from under

-those Arctic snows.

-

-

-

-

-                              CHAPTER III.

-

-              THE EVOLUTION OF REALISM IN RUSSIA.―GOGOL.

-

-

-The first Russian tale or romance was published in 1799, but nothing

-of note appeared before 1840; although we have seen what success

-Karamzin obtained with his touching romances, especially with “La

-Pauvre Lise.” Several historical romances also appeared about this

-time, (1820), inspired, no doubt, by the unprecedented popularity and

-success of those of Sir Walter Scott. But lyric poetry and romanticism

-had not lost their influence, and even Pushkin’s little historical

-tales savor more of the classic period, and are rather works of the

-imagination than studies from real life. The historical and so-called

-popular novel, however, with its superhuman heroes, was now becoming

-tedious; and authors were already appearing who had begun to observe

-the life around them attentively, and to take pleasure in studying

-something outside of themselves. The same causes conspired to produce,

-almost simultaneously, three writers destined to accomplish the same

-task: Dickens in England, Balzac in France, and Gogol in Russia. Gogol

-developed his work more slowly than the others at first, but collected

-rich materials for his successors. He may be called the first of

-Russian prose writers; and we shall see by a study of his character

-and works, what a foundation he laid for future progress in prose

-literature in his country, and what stirring controversies his books

-called forth.

-

-

-                                   I.

-

-Gogol was a Cossack, from Little Russia or Ukraine. For Russian

-readers, that is quite enough to explain the peculiar qualities of his

-mind and its productions, which were characterized by keen but kindly

-satire, with a tinge of melancholy ever running through and underneath

-it. He is the natural product of the land which gave him birth. This

-frontier country is subject to the contending influences of both north

-and south. For a few short months the sun revels there and accomplishes

-an almost miraculous work―an oriental brilliancy of light by day, and

-soft, enchanting nights under a sky resplendent with stars. Magnificent

-harvests from the fertile soil ensure an easy, joyous life; all trouble

-and sadness vanish with the melting snow, and spirits rise to general

-gayety and enthusiasm.

-

-But the boundless spaces, the limitless horizons of these sunny plains

-overwhelm the spirit; one cannot long feel joyous in the presence of

-Infinity. The habit of thought becomes like that of the eye; is lost

-in space, develops an inclination to revery, which causes the mind to

-fall back upon itself, and the imagination is, so to speak, thrown

-inward.

-

-Winter transforms the Russian. Upon the Dnieper the winter is nearly

-as severe as on the Neva. There is nothing to check the icy winds from

-the north. Death comes suddenly to claim its reign. Both earth and man

-are paralyzed. Just as Ukraine was subjugated by the armies of Moscow,

-so it is taken possession of by the climate of Moscow. On this great

-battle-field nature carries out the plan of this country’s political

-history, the vicissitudes of which have no doubt contributed, as well

-as those of climate, to form its own peculiar physiognomy.

-

-Little Russia was at one time overrun by the Turks; and derived from

-its long association with them many oriental traits. Then it was

-subdued by Poland, which has transmitted something of its savage luxury

-to its vassal. Afterwards the Cossack leagues established there their

-republican spirit of independence. The traditions of this epoch are

-dearest of all to the heart of the Little Russian, who claims from

-them his inheritance of wild freedom and prowess. An ancient order

-of Cossack chivalry, the Zaporovian League, recruited from brigands

-and fugitive serfs, had always been in constant warfare, obeying no

-law but that of the sword. Families who were descended directly from

-this stock (Gogol’s was one of them) inherited this spirit of revolt,

-as well as wandering instincts, and a love of adventure and the

-marvellous. The complex elements of this character, which is more free,

-jovial, and prompt in action than that of the native of Russia proper,

-have strongly influenced the literature of Russia through Gogol, whose

-heart clung with tenacity to his native soil. In fact, the first half

-of his life’s work is a picture of life in Ukraine, with its legends.

-

-Gogol (Nikolai Vasilievitch) was born near Poltava in 1809, in the

-very heart of the Cossack country. His grandfather, who was his first

-teacher, was regimental scribe to the Zaporovian League.[B] The child

-listened from infancy to the tales of this grandfather, inexhaustible

-tales of heroic deeds during the great wars with Poland, as well

-as thrilling exploits of these Corsairs of the Steppes. His young

-imagination was fed with these stories, tragedies of military life, and

-rustic fairy-tales and legends, which are given to us almost intact

-in his “Evenings at the Farm,” and in his poem of “Taras Bulba.” His

-whole surroundings spoke to him of an age of fable not long past; of

-a primitive poetry still alive in the customs of the people. This

-condensed poetry reaches us after passing through two prisms; the

-recollections of old age, which recalls while it regrets the past;

-and the impressions of a child’s fancy, which is dazzled by what it

-hears. This was the first and perhaps the most profitable part of the

-young boy’s education. He was afterwards put into an institution,

-where he was taught Latin and other languages; but, according to his

-biographers, he never excelled in scholarship. He must have made up for

-lost time later on; for all his contemporaries speak of his extensive

-reading and his perfect familiarity with all the literature of the

-Occident.

-

-His letters written to his mother before leaving school show already

-the bent of his mind. Keen, observant, and satirical, his wit is

-sometimes exercised at the expense of his comrades. He already showed

-signs of a deeply religious nature, and was ambitious too of a great

-career. His high hopes are sometimes temporarily crushed by a sudden

-depression or feeling of discouragement, and in his letters he declaims

-against the injustice of men. He feels the pervading influence of

-the Byronism of that time. “I feel as if called,” cries the young

-enthusiast, “to some great, some noble task, for the good of my

-country, for the happiness of my fellow-citizens and of all mankind. My

-soul feels the presence of an angel from heaven, calling, impelling me

-towards the lofty aim I aspire to.”

-

-A Russian who lived under the rule of the Emperor Nicholas, and was

-eager to work for the happiness of his fellow-men, had no choice of

-means. He must enter the government service, and laboriously climb the

-steps of the administrative hierarchy, which appropriates to itself

-every force of the community and nation. Having completed his studies,

-Gogol set out for St. Petersburg. It was in the year 1829, and he was

-twenty years of age. With empty pockets, but rich in illusions, he

-approached the capital just as his Cossack ancestors had entered the

-cities they conquered; thinking he had only to walk boldly forward

-and claim everything he desired. But the future author, destined to

-play so prominent a part in the life and literature of his country,

-must now put aside his dreams and taste the stern reality of life. A

-few weeks’ experience taught him that the great capital was for him

-more of a desert than his native steppe. He was refused everything

-he applied for; for a provincial with no letters of introduction

-could expect nothing else. In a fit of despair, he determined to

-leave St. Petersburg. One day, having received a small sum from his

-mother, which she had saved to pay off a mortgage on their house,

-instead of depositing the money in a bank, he jumped on board a ship

-to go―somewhere, anywhere―forward, into the great world; like a

-child who had become imbued with the spirit of adventure, from reading

-Robinson Crusoe. He left the boat at her first landing-place, which

-was Lubeck. Having wandered about the city for three days, he returned

-to St. Petersburg, cured of his folly, and resigned to bear patiently

-whatever was in store for him.

-

-With great difficulty he obtained a modest position in an office

-connected with the government, where he only remained one year, but

-where he received impressions which were to haunt his whole future

-life. It was here that he studied the model of that wretched hero of

-his work, “Le Manteau,” in flesh and blood.

-

-Becoming weary of his occupation, he attempted acting, but his voice

-was not thought strong enough. He then became a tutor in families

-of the aristocracy of St. Petersburg; and finally was appointed to

-a professorship in the University. But although he made a brilliant

-opening address, his pupils soon complained that he put them to sleep,

-and he lost the situation. It was at this juncture that he took refuge

-in literature. He published at first a few modest essays in the leading

-journals, which attracted some attention, and Zhukovski had introduced

-him to Pushkin. Gogol has related with what fear and trembling he rung

-one morning at the door of the great poet. Pushkin had not yet risen,

-having been up all night, as his valet said. When Gogol begged to be

-excused for disturbing one so occupied with his literary labors, the

-servant informed him that his master had passed the night playing

-cards. What a disenchantment for an admirer of the great poet!

-

-But Gogol was warmly welcomed. Pushkin’s noble heart, too great for

-envy, enjoyed the success of others. His eager sympathy, lavish praise,

-and encouragement have produced legions of authors. Gogol, among them

-all, was his favorite. At first he advised him to write sketches

-descriptive of the national history and the customs of the people.

-Gogol followed his advice and wrote his “Evenings at a Farm near

-Dikanka.”[C]

-

-

-                                  II.

-

-This book is a chronicle of scenes of the author’s childhood; and all

-his love and youthful recollections of the country of the Cossacks are

-poured from his heart into this book.

-

-A certain old man, whose occupation is that of raising bees, is the

-story-teller of the party. He relates tales of Little Russia, so

-that we see it under every aspect; and gives glimpses of scenery,

-rustic habits and customs, the familiar dialogues of the people, and

-all sorts of legends, both terrible and grotesque. The gay and the

-supernatural are strangely blended in these recitals, but the gay

-element predominates; for Gogol’s smile has as yet no bitterness

-in it. His laugh is the hearty, frank laugh of the young Cossack

-who enjoys life. All this is related in racy, expressive language,

-full of words peculiar to Little Russia, curious local expressions,

-and those affectionate diminutives quite impossible to translate or

-express in a more formal language. Sometimes the author bursts forth

-in a poetical vein, when certain impressions or scenes of his native

-country float before his eyes. At the beginning of his “Night in

-May” is this paragraph:―“Do you know the beauty of the nights of

-Ukraine? The moon looks down from the deep, immeasurable vault, which

-is filled to overflowing and palpitating with its pure radiance. The

-earth is silver; the air is deliciously cool, yet almost oppressive

-with perfume. Divine, enchanting night! The great forest trees, black,

-solemn, and still, reposing as if oppressed with thought, throw out

-their gigantic shadows. How silent are the ponds! Their dark waters

-are imprisoned within the vine-laden walls of the gardens. The little

-virgin forest of wild cherry and young plum-trees dip their dainty

-roots timidly into the cold waters; their murmuring leaves angrily

-shiver when a little current of the night wind stealthily creeps in to

-caress them. The distant horizon sleeps, but above it and overhead all

-is palpitating life; august, triumphal, sublime! Like the firmament,

-the soul seems to open into endless space; silvery visions of grace and

-beauty arise before it. Oh! the charm of this divine night!

-

-“Suddenly life, animation, spreads through forest, lake, and steppe.

-The nightingale’s majestic trill resounds through the air; the moon

-seems to stop, embosomed in clouds, to listen. The little village

-on the hill is wrapt in an enchanted slumber; its cluster of white

-cottages gleam vividly in the moonlight, and the outlines of their low

-walls are sharply clear-cut against the dark shadows. All songs are

-hushed; silence reigns in the homes of these simple peasants. But here

-and there a twinkling light appears in a little window of some cottage,

-where supper has waited for a belated occupant.”

-

-Then, from a scene like this, we are called to listen to a dispute and

-quarrel between two soldiers, which ends in a dance. Now the scene

-changes again. The lady of the lake, the Fate lady, rises from her

-watery couch, and by her sorceries unravels the web of fortune. Again,

-between the uproarious bursts of laughter, the old story-teller heaves

-a melancholy sigh, and relates a bit of pathos,―for a vein of sadness

-is always latent in the gay songs and legends of this people. These

-sharp contrasts fill this work with life and color. The book excited

-considerable attention, and was the more welcome as it revealed a

-corner of Russia then hardly known. Gogol had struck the right chord.

-Pushkin, who especially enjoyed humor, lauded the work to the skies;

-and it is still highly appreciated by Russians.

-

-As for us, while we recognize its high qualities, the work does not

-wholly please us. Perhaps we are too old or morose to appreciate and

-enjoy these rustic jokes, and the comic scenes are perhaps a little

-coarse for our liking. It may be, too, that the enthusiastic readers

-of 1832 looked upon life with different eyes from ours; and that it

-is only the difference in time that biases our opinion. To them this

-book was wonderfully in advance of its time; to us it seems perhaps

-somewhat behind. Nothing is more difficult than to estimate what effect

-a work which is already old (especially if it be written in a foreign

-language) will produce on our readers of to-day. Are we amused by the

-legend of “La Dame Blanche”? Certainly we are, for everybody enjoys it.

-Then perhaps the “Ladies of the Lake” of Gogol’s book will be amusing.

-

-In 1834 Gogol published his “Evenings near Mirgorod,” including a

-veritable ghost story, terror-inspiring enough to make the flesh creep.

-

-The principal work of this period of the author’s career, however, and

-the one which established his fame, was “Taras Bulba,” a prose epic,

-a poetical description of Cossack life as it was in his grandfather’s

-time. Not every writer of modern epics has been so fortunate as Gogol;

-to live at a time when he could apply Homer’s method to a subject

-made to his hand; only repeating, as he himself said, the narratives

-of his grandfather, an actual witness and actor in this Iliad. It

-was scarcely more than half a century since the breaking-up of the

-Zaporovian camps of the corsairs and the last Polish war, in which

-Cossack and Pole vied with each other in ferocious deeds of valor,

-license, and adventure. This war forms the subject of the principal

-scenes of this drama, which also gives a vivid picture of the daily

-life of the savage republic of the Zaporovian Cossacks. The work is

-full of picturesque descriptions, and possesses every quality belonging

-to an epic poem.

-

-M. Viardot has given us an honest version of “Taras Bulba,” giving more

-actual information about this republic of the Dnieper than any of the

-erudite dissertations on the subject. But what is absolutely impossible

-to render in a translation is the marvellous beauty of Gogol’s poetic

-prose. The Russian language is undoubtedly the richest of all the

-European languages. It is so very clear and concise that a single word

-is often sufficient to express several different connected ideas,

-which, in any other language, would require several phrases. Therefore

-I will refrain from giving any quotations of these classic pages, which

-are taught in all the Russian schools.

-

-The poem is very unequal in some respects. The love passages are

-inferior and commonplace, and the scenes of passion decidedly hackneyed

-in style and expression. In regard to epic poems, the truth is that the

-mould is worn out; it has been used too long; although Guizot, one of

-the best judges of this sort of composition, said that in his opinion

-“Taras Bulba” was the only modern epic poem worthy of the name.

-

-Even the descriptions of scenery in “Taras” do not seem to us wholly

-natural. We must compare them with those of Turgenef to realize

-how comparatively inferior they are. Both were students and lovers

-of nature: but the one artist placed his model before his easel in

-whatever attitude he chose; while to the other she was a despotic

-mistress, whose every fancy he humbly obeyed. This can be readily

-understood by a comparison of some of their works. Although I am not

-fond of epics, I have called particular attention to “Taras Bulba,”

-knowing what pride the Russians take in the work.

-

-

-                                  III.

-

-In 1835, Nikolai Vasilievitch (Gogol) gave up his position in the

-University, and left the public service for good. “Now I am again

-a free Cossack!” he wrote at this time, which was the time of his

-greatest literary activity.

-

-His novels now show him groping after realism, rather than indulging

-his fancy. Among the unequal productions of the transition period, “Le

-Manteau” is the most notable one. A late Russian politician and author

-once said to me: “Nous sommes tous sortis du manteau de Gogol.”

-

-“Le Manteau” (as well as the “Revizor,” “Inspector-General”) was the

-outgrowth of his one year’s experience in the government offices; and

-the fulfilment of a desire to avenge his life of a galley slave while

-there. These works were his first blows aimed at the administrative

-power. Gogol had always had a desire to write for the stage; and

-produced several satirical comedies; but none of them, except the

-“Revizor,” had any success. The plot of the piece is quite simple.

-The functionaries of a provincial government office are expecting

-the arrival of an inspector, who was supposed to come incognito to

-examine their books and accounts. A traveller chances to alight at

-the inn, whom they all suppose to be the dreaded officer of justice.

-Their guilty consciences make them terribly anxious. Each one attacks

-the supposed judge, to plead his own cause, and denounce a colleague,

-slipping into the man’s hand a generous supply of propitiatory roubles.

-Amazed at first, the stranger is, however, astute enough to accept the

-situation and pocket the money. The confusion increases, until comes

-the crash of the final thunderbolt, when the real commissioner arrives

-upon the scene.

-

-The intention of the piece is clearly marked. The venality and

-arbitrariness of the administration are exposed to view. Gogol says, in

-his “Confessions of an Author”: “In the ‘Revizor,’ I tried to present

-in a mass the results arising from the one crying evil of Russia, as I

-recognized it in that year; to expose every crime that is committed in

-those offices, where the strictest uprightness should be required and

-expected. I meant to satirize the great evil. The effect produced upon

-the public was a sort of terror; for they felt the force of my true

-sentiments, my real sadness and disgust, through the gay satire.”

-

-In fact, the disagreeable effect predominated over the fun, especially

-in the opinion of a foreigner; for there is nothing of the French

-lightness and elegance of diction in the Russian style. I mean that

-quality which redeems Molière’s “Tartuffe” from being the blackest and

-most terrible of dramas.

-

-When we study the Russian drama, we can see why this form of art is

-more backward in that country than in any other. Poetry and romance

-have made more rapid strides, because they are taken up only by the

-cultivated class. There is virtually no middle class; and theatrical

-literature, the only diversion for the people, has remained in its

-infancy.

-

-There is an element of coarseness in the drollery of even the two

-masterpieces: the comedy by Griboyedof, “Le Mal de Trop d’Esprit,”

-and the “Revizor” by Gogol. In their satire there is no medium

-between broad fun and bitterness. The subtle wit of the French

-author ridicules without wounding; his keen witticism calls forth

-laughter; while the sharp, cutting satire of the Russian produces

-bitter reflection and regret. His drollery is purely national, and is

-exercised more upon external things and local peculiarities; while

-Molière rails at and satirizes humanity and its ways and weaknesses.

-I have often seen the “Revizor” performed. The amiable audience laugh

-immoderately at what a foreigner cannot find amusing, and which

-would be utterly incomprehensible to one not well acquainted with

-Russian life and customs. On the contrary, a stranger recognizes much

-more keenly than a Russian the undercurrent of pathos and censure.

-Administrative reform is yet too new in Russia for the public to

-be as much shocked as one would expect at the spectacle of a venal

-administration. The evil is so very old!

-

-Whoever is well acquainted with the Oriental character knows that their

-ideas of morality are broader, or, rather, more lax, than ours, because

-their ideas of the rights of the government are different. The root of

-these notions may be traced to the ancient principle of tribute money;

-the old claim of the powerful over the weak, whom they protect and

-patronize.

-

-What strikes us as the most astonishing thing in regard to this comedy

-is that it has been tolerated at all. We cannot understand, from

-what we know of the Emperor Nicholas, how he could have enjoyed such

-an audacious satire upon his government; but we learn that he himself

-laughed heartily, giving the signal for applause from his royal box.

-His relations with Gogol are very significant, showing the helplessness

-of the absolute power against the consequences of its own existence. No

-monarch ever did more to encourage talent, or in a more delicate way.

-Some one called his attention to the young author’s poverty.

-

-“Has he talent?” asked the Czar. Being assured that he had, the Emperor

-immediately placed the sum of 5000 roubles[D] at his disposition,

-saying, with the greatest delicacy: “Do not let your protégé know that

-the gift comes from me; he would be less independent in the exercise

-of his talents.” The Emperor continued therefore in future to supply

-him incognito, through the poet Zhukovski. Thanks to the imperial

-munificence, this incorrigible traveller could expatriate himself to

-his heart’s content, and get rest and refreshment for future labors.

-

-The year 1836 was a critical one for Gogol. He became ill in body

-and mind, and the melancholy side of his nature took the ascendency.

-Although his comedy had been a great success at St. Petersburg and

-at court, such a work could not but excite rancor and raise up

-enemies for its author. He became morbidly sensitive, and considered

-himself the object of persecution. A nervous disease, complicated

-with hypochondria, began to undermine his constitution. A migratory

-instinct, which always possessed him in any crisis of his life, now

-made him resolve to travel; “to fly,” as he said. But he never returned

-to his country for any length of time, and only at long intervals;

-declaring, as Turgenef did some years later, that his own country, the

-object of his studies, was best seen from afar.

-

-After travelling extensively, Gogol finally settled at Rome, where he

-formed a strong friendship with the painter Ivanof, who for twenty

-years had been in retirement in a Capuchin monastery, working upon

-his picture, which he never finished, “The Birth of Christ.” The two

-friends became deeply imbued with an ascetic piety; and from this time

-dates the mysticism attributed to Gogol. But before his mind became

-obscured he collected his forces for his last and greatest effort.

-He carried away with him from Russia the conception of this work,

-which excluded all other thoughts from his mind. It ruled his whole

-existence, as Goethe was for thirty years ruled by his “Faust.”

-

-Gogol gave Pushkin the credit of having suggested the work to him,

-which never was finished, but which he wrestled with until he finally

-succumbed, vanquished by it. Pushkin had spoken to him of his physical

-condition, fearing a premature death; and urged him to undertake a

-great work, quoting the example of Cervantes, whose works previous to

-“Don Quixote” would never have classed him among the great authors.

-He suggested a subject, which he said he never should have given to

-any other person. It was the subject of “Dead Souls.” In spite of the

-statement, I cannot help feeling that “Dead Souls” was inspired by

-Cervantes; for, on leaving Russia, Gogol had gone at once to Spain,

-where he studied the literature of that country diligently; especially

-“Don Quixote,” which had always been his favorite book. It furnished

-a theme just suited to his plan; the adventures of a hero impelled to

-penetrate into every strange region and into every stratum of society;

-an ingenious excuse for presenting to the world in a series of pictures

-the magic lantern of humanity. Both works proceed from a satirical and

-meditative mind, the sadness of which is veiled under a smile, and both

-belong to a style unique in itself, entirely original. Gogol objected

-to his work being called a romance. He called it a poem, and divided

-it into songs instead of chapters. Whatever title may be bestowed upon

-Cervantes’ masterpiece may just as appropriately be applied to “Dead

-Souls.”

-

-His “poem” was to be in three parts. The first part appeared in 1842;

-the second, unfinished and rudimentary, was burned by the author in a

-frenzy of despair; but after his death it was printed from a copy which

-escaped destruction. As to the third, it is perhaps interred with his

-bones, which repose in the cemetery at Moscow under the block of marble

-which bears his name.

-

-

-                                  IV.

-

-It is well known that the Russian peasants or serfs, “Souls” as they

-were popularly called, were personal property, and to be traded with

-in exactly the same way as any other kind of property. A proprietor’s

-fortune was reckoned according to the number of male serfs he owned.

-If any man owned, for instance, a thousand of them, he could sell or

-exchange them, or obtain loans upon them from the banks. The owner was,

-besides, obliged to pay taxes upon them at so much a head. The census

-was taken only at long intervals, during which the lists were never

-examined. The natural changes of population and increase by births

-being supposed to make up for the deaths. If a village was depopulated

-by an epidemic, the ruling lord and master sustained the loss,

-continuing to pay taxes for those whose work was done forever.

-

-Tchitchikof, the hero of the book, an ambitious and evil-minded rascal,

-made this proposition to himself: “I will visit the most remote corners

-of Russia, and ask the good people to deduct from the number on their

-lists every serf who has died since the last census was taken. They

-will be only too glad, as it will be for their interest to yield up

-to me a fictitious property, and get rid of paying the tax upon it. I

-shall have my purchases registered in due form, and no tribunal will

-imagine that I require it to legalize a sale of dead men. When I have

-obtained the names of some thousands of serfs, I shall carry my deeds

-to some bank in St. Petersburg or Moscow, and raise a large sum on

-them. Then I shall be a rich man, and in condition to buy real peasants

-in flesh and blood.”

-

-This proceeding offers great advantages to the author in attaining

-his ends. He enters, with his hero, all sorts of homes, and studies

-social groups of all classes. The demand the hero makes is one

-calculated to exhibit the intelligence and peculiar characteristics

-of each proprietor. The trader enters a house and makes the strange

-proposition: “Give me up the number of your dead serfs,” without

-explaining, of course, his secret motives. After the first shock of

-surprise, the man comprehends more or less quickly what is wanted of

-him, and acts from instinct, according to his nature. The simple-minded

-give willingly gratis what is asked of them; the distrustful are on

-their guard, and try to penetrate the mystery, and gain something for

-themselves by the arrangement; the avaricious exact an exorbitant

-price. Tchitchikof finds some wretches more evil than himself. The only

-case which never occurs is an indignant refusal, or a denunciation;

-the financier well knew how few scruples he should have to contend with

-in his fellow-countrymen.

-

-The enterprise supplied Gogol with an inexhaustible source of both

-comic and touching incidents and situations. The skilful author,

-while he apparently ignores, under an assumption of pleasantry, the

-lugubrious element in what he describes, makes it the real background

-of the whole narrative, so that it reacts terribly upon the reader.

-

-The first readers of this work, and possibly even the author himself,

-hardly appreciated the force of these contrasts; because they were

-so accustomed to the horrors of serfdom that an abuse of this nature

-seemed to them a natural proceeding. But with time the effect of the

-book increases; and the atrocious mockery of using the dead as articles

-of merchandise, which seems to prolong the terrors of slavery, from

-which death has freed them, strikes the reader with horror.

-

-The types of character created by Gogol in this work are innumerable;

-but that of the hero is the most curious of all, and was the outgrowth

-of laborious study. Tchitchikof is not a Robert Macaire, but rather a

-serious Gil Blas, without his genius. The poor devil was born under

-an unlucky star. He was so essentially bad that he carried on his

-enterprise without seeming to realize the enormous immorality of it.

-In fact, he was wronging no one, in his own opinion.

-

-Gogol makes an effort to broaden this type of character, and include in

-it a greater number of individuals; and we can see thereby the author’s

-intention, which is to show us a type, a collective image of Russia

-herself, irresponsible for her degradation, corrupted by her own social

-condition.

-

-This is the real, underlying theory of “Dead Souls,” and of the

-“Revizor,” as well as of Turgenef’s “Annals of a Sportsman.” In all

-the moralists of this time we recognize the fundamental sophistry of

-Rousseau, who poisoned the reasoning faculties of all Europe.

-

-At the end of the first part the author attempts a half-ironical,

-half-serious defence of Tchitchikof. After giving an account of his

-origin, he says: “The wise man must tolerate every type of character;

-he must examine all with attention, and resolve them into their

-original elements…. The passions of man are as numberless as the sands

-upon the sea-shore, and have no points of resemblance; noble or base,

-all obey man in the beginning, and end by obtaining terrible power

-over him…. They are born with him, and he is powerless to resist them.

-Whether sombre or brilliant, they will fulfil their entire career.”…

-

-From this analysis, this argument of psychological positivism, the

-writer, in a roundabout way, goes back ingeniously to the designs of

-Providence, which has ordered all for the best, and will show the right

-path out of this chaos.[E]

-

-What is after all most remarkable about the book is that it is the

-reservoir of all contemporary literature, the source of all future

-inventions.

-

-The realism, which is only instinctive in Gogol’s preceding works, is

-the main doctrine in “Dead Souls”; and of this he is fully conscious.

-The author thus apologizes for bringing the lower classes so constantly

-before the reader:―

-

-“Thankless is the task of the writer who dares reproduce what is

-constantly passing before the eyes of all, unnoticed by our distracted

-gaze: all the disgusting little annoyances and trials of our every-day

-lives; the ordinary, indifferent characters we must constantly meet

-and put up with. How they hinder and weary us! Such a writer will not

-have the applause of the masses; contemporary critics will consider

-his creations both low and useless, and will assign him an inferior

-place among those writers who scoff at humanity. He will be declared

-wanting in heart, soul, and talent. For his critic will not admit those

-instruments to be equally marvellous, one of which reveals the sun and

-the other the motions of invisible animalculæ; neither will he admit

-what depth of thought is required to make a masterpiece of a picture,

-the subject of which is drawn from the darker side of human life.”….

-

-Again, in one of his letters, he says:―

-

-“Those who have analyzed my powers as a writer have not discerned the

-important element of my nature, or my peculiar bent. Pushkin alone

-perceived it. He always said that I was especially endowed to bring

-into relief the trivialities of life, to analyze an ordinary character,

-to bring to light the little peculiarities which escape general

-observation. This is, I think, my strong point. The reader resents

-the baseness of my heroes; after reading the book he returns joyfully

-to the light of day. I should have been pardoned had I only created

-picturesque villains; their baseness is what will never be pardoned. A

-Russian shrinks before the picture of his nothingness.”

-

-We shall see that the largest portion of the later Russian novels were

-all generated by the spirit of this initiative book, which gives to the

-Slav literature its peculiar physiognomy, as well as its high moral

-worth. We find in many a passage in “Dead Souls,” breathing through the

-mask of raillery and sarcasm, that heavenly sentiment of fraternity,

-that love for the despised and pity for the suffering, which animate

-all Dostoyevski’s writing. In another letter he says:―

-

-“Pity for a fallen human creature is a strong Russian trait. There is

-no spectacle more touching than our people offer when they go to assist

-and cheer on their way those who are condemned to exile in Siberia.

-Every one brings what he can; provisions, money, perhaps only a few

-consoling words. They feel no irritation against the criminal; neither

-do they indulge in any exaggerated sentiment which would make a hero of

-him. They do not request his autograph or his likeness; neither do they

-go to stare at him out of curiosity, as often happens in more civilized

-parts of Europe. There is here something more; it is not that they

-wish to make excuses for the criminal, or wrest him from the hands of

-justice; but they would comfort him in his fallen condition; console

-him as a brother, as Christ has told us we should console each other.”

-

-In “Dead Souls,” the true sentiment is always masked, which makes it

-the more telling; but when the first part appeared, in 1842, it was

-received by some with stupefaction, by others with indignation. Were

-their countrymen a set of rascals, idiots, and poor wretches, without a

-single redeeming quality? Gogol wrote: “When I read the first chapters

-of my book to Pushkin, he was prepared to laugh, as usual whenever

-he heard anything of mine. But his brow soon clouded, and his face

-gradually grew serious. When I had finished, he cried, with a choking

-voice: ‘Oh, God! poor Russia!’”

-

-Many accused the writer of having judged his fellow-countrymen from a

-sick man’s point of view; and considered him a traducer of mankind.

-They reminded him that, in spite of the evils of serfdom and the

-corruption of the administration, there were still plenty of noble

-hearts and honest people in the empire of Nicholas. The unfortunate

-author found that he had written too strongly. He must now make

-explanations, publish public letters and prefaces imploring his readers

-to suspend their judgment until he produced the second part of the

-poem, which would counteract the darkness of the first. But such was

-not the case. No bright visions proceeded from the saddened brain of

-the caricaturist.

-

-However, every one read the work; and its effect has never ceased

-increasing as a personification of the Russia of former times. It

-has for forty years been the foundation of the wit of the entire

-nation. Every joke has passed into a proverb, and the sayings of its

-characters have become household words. The foreigner who has not read

-“Dead Souls” is often puzzled in the course of conversation, for he

-is ignorant of the family traditions and the ideal ancestors they are

-continually referring to. Tchitchikof, his coachman Seliphan, and their

-three horses are, to a Russian, as familiar friends as Don Quixote,

-Sancho, and Rosinante can be to a Spaniard.

-

-

-                                   V.

-

-Gogol returned from Rome in 1846. His health rapidly declined, and

-attacks of fever made any brain-work difficult for him. However, he

-went on with his work; but his pen betrayed the condition of his

-nerves. In a crisis of the disease he burned all his books as well as

-the manuscript of the second part of the poem. He now became absorbed

-in religious meditations; and, desiring to make a pilgrimage to the

-Holy Land, he published his last work, “Letters to my Friends,” in

-order to raise the necessary funds, and to “entreat their prayers

-for him,” as he said in his preface. These letters were written in a

-religious vein, but intermingled with literary arguments; and not one

-of his satirical works raised up for him so many enemies and such abuse

-as this religious treatise. It is difficult to account for the intense

-excitement it produced, and the lengthy arguments it called forth. The

-second half of the reign of Nicholas is a period but little understood.

-In the march of ideas of that time, there were already indications

-of the coming revolutionary movement among the young men, which was

-entirely opposed to the doctrines brought forward by Gogol. These

-contained a good deal of philosophy, as well as ancient truths, mingled

-with some new ideas, which are exactly those of the present day. But

-these, because they were new, were just what met with the strongest

-opposition; and he was now accused of taking upon himself the direction

-of consciences, and of arrogating to himself the right to do so by

-dint of his intellectual superiority. His letters present a curious

-combination of Christian humility and literary pride. He was declared

-to have fallen into mysticism; but any one who now reads his letters

-carefully cannot call him a mystic. The fact that he gave up writing

-to recover his health would only be considered at any other epoch

-reasonable and natural. Tolstoï, who has acted in a similar manner,

-protests against this epithet being applied to him. He, however,

-proposes to us a new theology, while Gogol clung to the established

-dogmas. Possibly what would have been called “mysticism” in 1840 would

-not have been looked upon as such two centuries earlier, any more than

-it is a half-century later.

-

-But what became of the poor author in the midst of the tempest he

-himself had raised? He went to Jerusalem and wandered for a time

-among its ancient ruins; hardly a wholesome sphere for a sick and

-morbid soul. Returning to Moscow, he was made welcome in the homes of

-friends. But the Cossack nature could not rest in any fixed spot. He

-had no money, for he had given everything he had to the poor. Since

-1844 the whole receipts from his works he gave to poor students. He

-brought with him only a small valise, which was crammed with newspaper

-articles, criticisms, and pamphlets written against him. This was all

-he possessed.

-

-A person who lived in a house which he often visited thus described

-him: “He was short, but the upper part of his body was too long; he

-walked with an uneven gait, was awkward and ungainly; his hair fell

-over his forehead in thick locks, and his nose was long and prominent.

-He conversed but little, and not readily. Occasionally a touch of

-his old gayety returned, especially when with children, whom he

-passionately loved. But he soon fell back into his hypochondria.” This

-description agrees with what Turgenef wrote of him, after his first

-visit to him. “There was a slight gleam of satire in his heavy eyes,

-which were small and dark. His expression was somewhat like that of a

-fox. In his general appearance there was something of the provincial

-schoolmaster.” Gogol had always been awkward and plain, which naturally

-produced in him a habitual timidity. This is perhaps why, according

-to his biographers, no woman ever crossed his path. We can therefore

-understand why he so rarely wrote of women.

-

-It is almost universally believed that he died from the effects of his

-excessive fastings and mortification of the flesh; but I have learned

-from reliable sources that an aggravation of his disease, with typhoid

-symptoms, caused his death. But little is known of his latter years. He

-aged rapidly, as Russians do, and ended his work at the time of life

-when others begin theirs. A mysterious fatality has attended nearly

-all the writers of his time, who have all died at about the age of

-forty. The children of Russia develop as her vegetation does. It grows

-quickly and matures young, but its magnificent growth is soon cut off,

-benumbed while still in perfection. At the age of thirty-three, after

-the publication of “Dead Souls,” the productive brain-power of Nikolai

-Vasilievitch was wellnigh ruined. At forty-three he died, on the 21st

-of February, 1852. The event of his death made but little sensation.

-The imperial favor had quite forgotten this writer. Even the governor

-of Moscow was criticized for putting on the regalia of his order to

-attend the funeral. Turgenef was exiled to his own distant estates as a

-punishment for having written a letter in which he called the deceased

-author “a great man.” Posterity, however, has ratified this title.

-Gogol may now be ranked, according to some critics, with the best

-English humorists; but I should place him rather between Cervantes and

-Le Sage. Perhaps it may be too soon to judge him. Should we appreciate

-“Don Quixote” now if Spanish literature had not been known for three

-hundred years? When we were children we laughed whenever an _alguazil_

-or an _alcalde_ was mentioned.

-

-Gogol introduces us to an untried world. I must warn the reader that

-he will at first find difficulties―the strangest customs; an array of

-characters not in any way connected; names as strange as the people

-who bear them. He must not expect the attractive style or class of

-subjects of Tolstoï and Dostoyevski. _They_ show us results, not

-principles; they tell of what we can better apprehend; for what they

-have studied is more common to all Europe. Gogol wrote of more remote

-times, and, besides, he and his work are thoroughly and exclusively

-Russian. To be appreciated by men of letters, then, his works must be

-admirably translated; which, unfortunately, has never yet been done.

-We must leave him, therefore, in Russia, where all the new authors of

-any distinction recognize in him their father and master. They owe

-to him their very language. Although Turgenef’s is more subtile and

-harmonious, its originator has more life, variety, and energy.

-

-One of the last sentences that fell from his pen, in his “Confessions

-of an Author,” was this:―

-

-“I have studied life as it really is―not in dreams of the imagination;

-and thus have I come to a conception of Him who is the source of all

-life.”

-

-

-FOOTNOTES:

-

-     [B] _Zaporovian_ commonwealth, so-called from

-          “_Zaporozhtsi_,” meaning those who live beyond the

-          rapids.

-

-     [C] “Veillées dans un hameau près de Dikanka.”

-

-     [D]  About $4000.

-

-     [E]  The quotation of this paragraph in full should be

-          given here, in order to obtain a clear understanding

-          of Gogol’s thought; but the French translator has

-          omitted too much.

-

-

-

-

-                              CHAPTER IV.

-

-                               TURGENEF.

-

-

-                                   I.

-

-While the name of Gogol was temporarily lost in oblivion during

-the years preceding the Crimean war, his spirit was shedding its

-ripening influences upon the thinking minds of his country. I know of

-no parallel example in the history of literature, of an impulse so

-spontaneous and vigorous as this. Every author of note since 1840 has

-belonged to the so-called “school of nature.” The poets of 1820 had

-drawn their inspiration from their own personality. The novel-writers

-of 1840 found theirs in the spirit of humanity, which might be called

-social sympathy.

-

-Before studying the great writers of this epoch, we must take note

-of the elements which produced them, and glance for a moment at the

-curious movement which ripened them.

-

-Russia could not escape the general fermentation of 1848; although this

-immense country seemed to be mute, like its frozen rivers, an intense

-life was seething underneath. The rivers are seemingly motionless for

-six months of the year; but under the solid ice is running water, and

-the phenomena of ever-increasing life. So it was with the nation. On

-the surface it seemed silent and inert under the iron rule of Nicholas.

-But European ideas, creeping in, found their way under the great walls,

-and books passed from hand to hand, into schools, literary circles, and

-even into the army.

-

-The Russian Universities were then very insufficient. Their best

-scholars quitted them unsatisfied, and sought more substantial

-nourishment in Germany. Besides, it being the fashion to do so, there

-was also a firm conviction that this was really necessary. The young

-men returned from Berlin or Göttingen crammed with humanitarian

-philosophy and liberal notions; armed with ideas which found no

-response in their own country, full, as it was, of malcontents and

-fault-finders. These suspicious missionaries from western Europe were

-handed over to the police, while others continued to study in the

-self-same school. These young fellows, returning from Germany with

-grapes from the promised land, too green as yet for their countrymen,

-formed a favorite type with authors. Pushkin made use of it, and

-Turgenef afterwards gave us some sketches from nature made during his

-stay in Berlin. On their return, these students formed clubs, in which

-they discussed the foreign theories in low and impassioned voices,

-and initiated their companions who had remained at home. These young

-thinkers embraced a transcendental philosophy, borrowed from Hegel,

-Stein, and Feuerbach, as well as from Saint-Simon, Fourier and Proudhon

-in France. These metaphysics, of course, were a mask which covered more

-concrete objects and more immediate interests. Two great intellectual

-schools divided Russia, and took the place of political parties.

-

-The _Slavophile_ party adhered to the views of Karamzin and protested

-against the unpatriotic blasphemies of Tchadayef. For this party

-nothing whatever existed outside of Russia, which was to be considered

-the only depository of the true Christian spirit, and chosen to

-regenerate the world.

-

-In opposition to these Levites, the liberal school of the West

-had appeared; a camp of Gentiles, which breathed only of reforms,

-audacious arguments, and coming revolutions; liberalism developing

-into radicalism. But, as all social and political discussions were

-prohibited in Russia, these must be concealed under the disguise of

-philosophy, and be expressed in its hieroglyphics. The metaphysical

-subtleties in these literary debates did little to clear up the

-obscurity of the ideas themselves, which are very difficult to unravel

-and comprehend. In attempting to understand the controversies in Russia

-at this time, you feel as if watching the movements of a complicated

-figure in the ballet; where indistinct forms are seen moving behind a

-veil of black gauze, intended to represent clouds, which half conceal

-the dancers.

-

-The liberals of 1848 carried on the ideas of the revolutionaries of

-December, 1825; as the Jacobins developed those of the Girondists.

-But the difference between the ideals of the two generations is very

-marked, showing the march of time and of ideas. The revolutionists of

-1825 were aristocrats, who coveted the elegant playthings fashionable

-in London and Paris―a charter and a Parliament. They were ambitious

-to place their enormous, unwieldy country under a new and fragile

-government. They played the conspirator like children, but their game

-ended tragically; for they were all exiled to Siberia or elsewhere.

-

-When this spirit awoke twenty years after, it had dreamed new dreams.

-This time it aimed at the entire remodelling of our poor old world. The

-Russians now embraced the socialist and democratic ideas of Europe;

-but, in accepting these international theories, they did not see how

-inapplicable they were to Russia at this time. Penetrated as they

-were with the rationalistic and irreligious spirit of the eighteenth

-century, they have nothing in common with the grave sympathy of such

-men as Dostoyevski and Tolstoï. These are realists that love humanity;

-but the others were merely metaphysicians, whose love for humanity has

-changed into hatred of society.

-

-Every young writer of the “school of nature” produced his socialistic

-romance, bitterly satirical, and showing the influence of George Sand

-and Eugène Sue. But an unsuccessful conspiracy headed by Petrachevski

-put an end temporarily to this effervescence of ideas. Russia became

-calm again, while every sign of intellectual life was pitilessly

-repressed, not to stir again until after the death of the Emperor

-Nicholas. The most violent of the revolutionists had secured their

-property in foreign lands; and all authors were either condemned or

-exiled. Many of them followed Petrachevski to Siberia. Turgenef was

-among the most fortunate, having been exiled to his own estates in the

-country. The _Slavophile_ party itself did not wholly escape punishment

-and exile. Even the long beards, which formed a part of their patriotic

-programme, had no better fate than their writings. All were forbidden

-to wear them. The government now suppressed all the scientific missions

-and pilgrimages to the German Universities, which had produced such bad

-results. While Peter the Great drove his subjects out of the Empire to

-breathe the air of Europe, Nicholas forced his to remain within it.

-Passports could only be obtained with great difficulty, and at the

-exorbitant price of 500 roubles. In every University and seminary of

-learning in the Empire, the teaching of philosophy was forbidden, as

-well as the classics; and all historical publications were subject to

-a severe control, which was almost equivalent to a prohibition. There

-were now but seven small newspapers printed in all Russia, and these

-were filled with the most insignificant facts. The wars in Hungary

-and in the East were hardly alluded to. The first article of any

-consequence appeared in 1857. The absurd severity exercised towards the

-press furnished material for a long and amusing article in the leading

-journal. The word _liberty_ was underscored wherever and in whatever

-sense it occurred, as the word _King_ was, during the reign of Terror

-in France.

-

-These years of “terror” have since furnished much amusement for the

-Russians; but those who passed through them, warmed by the enthusiasm

-and illusions of youth, have always retained, together with the

-disinclination to express themselves frankly, a vein of pathos

-throughout their writings. Besides, the liberty granted to authors in

-the reign of Alexander II. was only a relative one; which explains

-why they returned instinctively to novel-writing as the only mode

-of expression which permitted any undercurrent of meaning. In this

-agreeable form we must seek for the ideas of that time on philosophy,

-history, and politics; for which reason I have dwelt on the importance

-of studying the Russian novelists attentively. In their romances, and

-only in them, shall we find a true history of the last half-century of

-their country, and form a just idea of the public for which the works

-were written.

-

-This people’s way of reasoning and their demands are peculiar to

-themselves. In France, we expect of a romance what we expect of any

-work of art, according to the degree of civilization we have reached;

-something to afford us a refined amusement; a diversion from the

-serious interests of life; merely a passing impression. We read books

-as a passing pedestrian looks at a picture displayed in some shop

-window, casually, on his way to his business. They regard the masters

-of their language quite otherwise in Russia. What for us is a temporary

-gratification is to them the soul’s daily bread; for they are passing

-through the golden age of their literature. Their authors are the

-guides of the race, almost the creators of their language; their poets

-are such according to the ancient and full sense of the word―_vates_,

-poet, prophet.

-

-In Russia, the small educated class have perhaps surpassed us in

-cultivation; but the lower classes are just beginning to read with

-eagerness, faith, and hope; as we read Robinson Crusoe at twelve years

-of age. Their sensitive imaginations are alive to the full effect these

-works are calculated to produce. Journalism has not scattered their

-ideas and lessened their power of attention. They draw no comparisons,

-and therefore believe.

-

-_We_ consider “Fathers and Sons,” and “War and Peace” merely novels.

-But to the merchant of Moscow, the son of the village priest, the

-country proprietor, either of these works is almost like a national

-Bible, which he places upon the shelf holding the few books which

-represent to him an encyclopædia of the human mind. They have the

-importance and signification for him that the story of Esther had for

-the Jews, and the adventures of Ulysses for the Athenians.

-

-Our readers will pardon these general considerations, which seemed

-to us necessary before approaching the three most prominent figures

-of this period, which we choose from among many others as the most

-original of the two groups they divide into. Dostoyevski will represent

-to us the opinions of the _Slavophile_ or national school; Turgenef

-will show us how many can remain thoroughly Russian without breaking

-off their connections with the rest of Europe; and how there can be

-realists with a feeling for art and a longing to attain a lofty ideal.

-He belonged to the liberal party, which claims him as its own; but this

-great artist, gradually freeing himself from all bounds, soars far

-above the petty bickerings of party strife.

-

-

-                                  II.

-

-Turgenef’s talent, in the best of his productions, draws its

-inspiration directly from his beloved father-land. We feel this in

-every page we read. This is probably why his contemporaries long

-preferred him to any of his rivals. In letters, as well as in politics,

-the people instinctively follow the leaders whom they feel belong to

-them; and whose spirit and qualities, even whose failings, they share

-in common. Ivan Sergievitch Turgenef possessed the dominant qualities

-of every true Russian: natural kindness of heart, simplicity, and

-resignation. With a remarkably powerful brain, he had the heart of a

-child. I never met him without realizing the true meaning of the gospel

-words, ‘poor in spirit’; and that that quality can be the accompaniment

-of a scientific mind and the soul of an artist. Devotion, generosity,

-brotherly love, were perfectly natural to him. Into the midst of our

-busy and complicated civilization he seemed to drop down as if from

-some pastoral tribe of the mountains; and to carry out his ideas under

-our sky as naturally as a shepherd guides his flocks in the steppe.

-

-As to his personal appearance, he was tall, with a quiet dignity in

-his manner, features somewhat coarse; and his finely formed head and

-searching glance brought to mind some Russian patriarch of the peasant

-class; only ennobled and transfigured by intellectual cultivation,

-like those peasants of old who became monks and perhaps saints. He

-gave me the impression of a person possessing the native frankness of

-the peasant, while endowed with the inspiration of genius; and who had

-reached a high intellectual elevation without having lost anything of

-his natural simplicity and candor. Such a comparison could not, surely,

-offend one who so loved his people!

-

-Now, when the time has come to speak of his work, my heart fails me,

-and I feel disposed to throw down my pen. I have spoken of his virtues;

-why should we say more, or dwell upon the brilliant qualities of his

-mind, adding greater eulogies? But those who know him well are few,

-and they will soon die and be forgotten. We must then try to show to

-others what that great heart has left of itself in the works of his

-imagination. These are not few, and show much persevering labor. The

-last complete edition of his works comprises not less than ten volumes:

-romances, novels, critical and dramatic essays. The most notable of

-these have been carefully translated into French, under the direction

-of the author himself; and no foreigner’s work has ever been as much

-read and appreciated in Paris as his.

-

-The name of Turgenef was well known, and had acquired a literary

-reputation in Paris, at the beginning of the present century; for a

-cousin of the author’s, Nikolai Ivanovitch (Turgenef), after having

-distinguished himself in the government service under Alexander I.,

-was implicated in the conspiracy of December, 1825, and exiled by the

-Emperor Nicholas. He spent the remainder of his life in Paris, where

-he published his important work, “Russia and the Russians.” He was a

-distinguished man and an honest thinker, if perhaps a little narrow,

-and one of the most sincere of those who became liberals after 1812.

-Faithful to his friends who were exiled to Siberia, he became their

-advocate, and also warmly pleaded the cause of the emancipation of the

-serfs; so that his young cousin continued a family tradition when he

-gave the death-blow to slavery with his first book.

-

-Turgenef was born in 1818, on the family estate in Orel, and his early

-years were passed in this solitary place, in one of those “Nests of

-Nobles” which are so often the scene of his novels. According to the

-fashion of that time, he had both French and German tutors, which were

-considered a necessary appendage in every nobleman’s household. His

-mother-tongue was held in disrepute; so his first Russian verses were

-read in secret, with the help of an old servant. Fortunately for him,

-he acquired the best part of his education out on the heaths with the

-huntsmen, whose tales were destined to become masterpieces, transformed

-by the great author’s pen. Passing his time in the woods, and running

-over the marshes in pursuit of quail, the poet laid in a rich stock

-of imagery and picturesque scenes with which he afterwards clothed his

-ideas. In the imagination of some children, while thought is still

-sleeping, impressions accumulate, one by one, like the night-dew; but,

-in the awakening dawn, the first ray of the morning sun will reveal

-these glittering diamonds.

-

-After going to school at Moscow, and through the University at St.

-Petersburg, he went, as others did, to conclude his course of study in

-Germany. In 1838, he was studying the philosophy of Kant and Hegel at

-Berlin. He said of himself later in regard to this: “The impulse which

-drew the young men of my time into a foreign land reminds me of the

-ancient Slavs going to seek for chiefs from beyond the seas. Every one

-felt that his native country, morally and intellectually considered,

-was great and rich, but ill regulated.[F] For myself, I fully realized

-that there were great disadvantages in being torn from one’s native

-soil, where one had been brought up; but there was nothing else to be

-done. This sort of life, especially in the sphere to which I belonged,

-of landed proprietors and serfdom, offered me nothing attractive.

-On the contrary, what I saw around me was revolting―in fact,

-disgusting―to me. I could not hesitate long. I must either make up my

-mind to submit, and walk on quietly in the beaten track; or tear myself

-away, root and branch, even at the risk of losing many things dear to

-my heart. This I decided to do. I became a cosmopolitan, which I have

-always remained. I could not live face to face with what I abhorred;

-perhaps I had not sufficient self-control or force of character for

-that. At any rate, it seemed as if I must, at all hazards, withdraw

-from my enemy, in order to be able to deal him surer blows from a

-distance. This mortal enemy was, in my eyes, the institution of

-serfdom, which I had resolved to combat to the last extremity, and with

-which I had sworn never to make peace. It was in order to fulfil this

-vow that I left my country….”

-

-The writer will now become a European; he will uphold the method of

-Peter the Great, against those patriots who have entrenched themselves

-behind the great Chinese wall. Reason, good laws, and good literature

-have no fixed country. Every one must seize his treasure wherever he

-can find it, in the common soil of humanity, and develop it in his own

-way. In reading the strong words of his own confession we are led to a

-feeling of anxiety for the poet’s future. Will politics turn him from

-his true course? Fortunately they did not. Turgenef had too literary

-and contemplative a nature to throw himself into that vortex. But he

-kept his vow of taking his aim―and a terrible one it was―at the

-institution of serfdom. The contest was fierce, and the war was a holy

-one.

-

-Returning to Russia, Turgenef published some poems and dramatic

-pieces; but he afterward excluded all these from the complete edition

-of his works; and, leaving Russia again, he sent his first prose

-work, “Annals of a Sportsman,” which was to contribute greatly to his

-fame as a novelist, to a St. Petersburg review. He continued to send

-various little bombshells, from 1847 to 1851, in the form of tales and

-sketches, hiding their meaning under a veil of poetry. The influence

-of Gogol was perceptible in his work at this time, especially in his

-comprehension of nature. His scenes were always Russian, but the

-artist’s interpretation was different from Gogol’s, having none of

-his rough humor and enthusiasm, but more delicacy and ideality. His

-language too is richer, more flowing, more picturesque and expressive

-than any Russian author had yet attained to; and it perfectly

-translates the most fugitive chords of the grand harmonious register

-of nature. The author carries us with him into the very heart of his

-native country.

-

-The “Annals of a Sportsman” have charmed many French readers, much

-as they must lose through the double veil of translation and our

-ignorance of the country. Indeed we must have lived in the country

-described by Turgenef to fully appreciate the way in which he presents

-on every page the exact copy of one’s personal impressions; even

-bringing to the senses every delicate odor breathed from the earth.

-Some of his descriptions of nature have the harmonious perfection of a

-fantastic symphony written in a minor key.

-

-In the “Living Relics,” he wakes a more human, more interior chord. On

-a hunting expedition, he enters by chance an abandoned shed, where he

-finds a wretched human being, a woman, deformed, and unable to move. He

-recognizes in her a former serving-maid of his mother’s, once a gay,

-laughing girl, now paralyzed, stricken by some strange and terrible

-disease. This poor creature, reduced to a skeleton, lying forgotten

-in this miserable shed, has no longer any relations with the outside

-world. No one takes care of her; kind people sometimes replenish her

-jar with fresh water. She requires nothing else. The only sign of life,

-if life it can be called, is in her eyes and her faint respiration. But

-this hideous wreck of a body contains an immortal soul, purified by

-suffering, utterly resigned, lifted above itself, this simple peasant

-nature, into the realms of perfect self-renunciation.

-

-Lukeria relates her misfortune; how she was seized with this illness

-after a fall in the dark; how she had gone out one dark evening to

-listen to the songs of the nightingales; how gradually every faculty

-and every joy of life had forsaken her.

-

-Her betrothed was so sorry; but, then, afterwards he married; what else

-could he do? She hopes he is happy. For years her only diversion has

-been to listen to the church-bells and the drowsy hum of the bees in

-the hives of the apiary near by. Sometimes a swallow comes and flutters

-about in the shed, which is a great event, and gives her something to

-think about for several weeks. The people that bring water to her are

-so kind, she is so grateful to them! And gradually, almost cheerfully,

-she goes back with the young master to the memories of old days, and

-reminds him how vain she was of being the leader in all the songs and

-dances; at last, she even tries to hum one of those songs.

-

-“I really dreaded to have this half-dead creature try to sing. Before

-I could speak, she uttered a sound very faintly, but the note was

-correct; then another, and she began to sing, ‘In the Fields’ … as she

-sang there was no change of expression in her paralyzed face or in her

-fixed eyes. This poor little forced voice sounded so pathetically, and

-she made such an effort to express her whole soul, that my heart was

-pierced with the deepest pity.”

-

-Lukeria relates her terrible dreams, how Death has appeared before her;

-not that she dreads his coming, but he always goes away and refuses

-to deliver her. She refuses all offers of assistance from her young

-master; she desires nothing, needs nothing, is perfectly content. As

-her visitor is about to leave her, she calls him back for a last word.

-She seems to be conscious (how feminine is this!) of the terrible

-impression she must have made upon him, and says:―

-

-“Do you remember, master, what beautiful hair I had? you know it

-reached to my knees…. I hesitated a long time about cutting it off; but

-what could I do with it as I am? So―I cut it off…. Adieu, master!”

-

-All this cannot be analyzed any more than the down on a butterfly’s

-wing; and yet it is such a simple tale, but how suggestive! There is no

-exaggeration; it is only one of the accidents of life. The poor woman

-feels that if one believes in God, there are things of more importance

-than her little misfortune. The point which is most strongly brought

-forward, however, in this tale, and in nearly all the others, is the

-almost stoical resignation, peculiar to the Russian peasant, who seems

-prepared to endure anything. This author’s talent lies in his keeping

-the exquisite balance between the real and the ideal; every detail

-is strikingly and painfully real, while the ideal shines through and

-within every thought and fact. He has given us innumerable pictures of

-master, overseer, and serf; clothing every repulsive fact with a grace

-and charm, seemingly almost against his will, but which are born of his

-own poetical nature.

-

-It is not wholly correct to say that Turgenef _attacked_ slavery. The

-Russian writers never attack openly; they neither argue nor declaim.

-They describe, drawing no conclusions; but they appeal to our pity

-more than to our anger. Fifteen years later Dostoyevski published his

-“Recollections of a Dead-House.” He took the same method―without

-expressing a word of indignation, without one drop of gall; he seems to

-think what he describes quite natural, only somewhat pathetic. This is

-a national trait.

-

-Once I stopped for one night at an inn in Orel, our author’s native

-place. Early in the morning, I was awakened by the beating of drums.

-I looked down into the market-place, which was full of soldiers drawn

-up in a square, and a crowd of people stood looking on. A pillory had

-been erected in the square, a large, black, wooden pillar, with a

-scaffolding underneath. Three poor fellows were tied to the pillar, and

-had parchments on their backs, giving an account of their misdeeds.

-These thieves seemed very docile, and almost unconscious of what was

-being done to them. They made a picturesque group, with their handsome

-Slavonic heads, and bound to this pillar. The exhibition lasted long;

-the priests came to bless them; and when the cart came to carry them

-back to prison, both soldiers and people rushed after them, loading

-them with eatables, small coins, and words of sympathy.

-

-The Russian writer who aims to bring about reforms, in like manner

-displays his melancholy picture, with spasms of indulgent sympathy

-for the evils he unveils. The public needs but a hint. This time it

-understood. Russia looked upon serfdom in the mirror he showed her,

-and shuddered. The author became celebrated, and his cause was half

-gained. The censorship, always the last to become convinced, understood

-too, at last. Serfdom was already condemned in the heart of the Emperor

-Nicholas, but the censorship does not always agree with the Emperor; it

-is always procrastinating; sometimes it is left far behind, perhaps for

-a whole reign. It will not condemn the book, but keeps its eye upon the

-author.

-

-Gogol died at this time, and Turgenef wrote a strong article in praise

-of the dead author. This article appears to-day entirely inoffensive,

-but the author himself thus speaks of it:―

-

-“In regard to my article on Gogol, I remember one day at St.

-Petersburg, a lady in high position at court was criticizing the

-punishment inflicted upon me, as unjust and undeserved, or, at least,

-too severe. Some one replied: ‘Did you not know that he calls Gogol “a

-great man” in that article?’ ‘That is not possible.’ ‘I assure you he

-did.’ ‘Ah! in that case, I have no more to say; I am very sorry for

-him, but now I understand their severity.’”

-

-This praise, justly accorded to a great author, procured for Turgenef

-a month of imprisonment and banishment to his own estates. But this

-tyranny was, perhaps, a blessing in disguise. Thirty years before,

-Pushkin had been torn from the dissipations of the gay capital, where

-his genius would have been lost, and was exiled to the Orient, where

-it developed into a rich bloom. If Turgenef had remained at this time

-in St. Petersburg, he might have been drawn, in his hot-headed youth,

-by compromising friendships, into some fruitless political broil;

-but, exiled to the solitude of his native woods, he spent several

-years there in literary work; studying the humble life around him, and

-collecting materials for his first great novels.

-

-

-                                  III.

-

-Turgenef always declared himself as no admirer of Balzac. This was, no

-doubt, true; for they had no points of resemblance in common. Still I

-cannot but think that that sworn disciple of Gogol and of the “school

-of nature” must have received some suggestions from our great author.

-Turgenef, like Balzac, gave us the comedy of human life in his native

-country; but to this great work he gave more heart and faith, and less

-patience, system, and method, than the French writer. But he possessed

-the gift of style, and a racy eloquence, which are wanting in Balzac.

-

-If one must read Balzac in France in order to retrace the lives of our

-predecessors, this is all the more true of Turgenef in Russia.

-

-This author sharply discerned the prevailing current of ideas which

-were developed in that period of transition,―the reign of Nicholas and

-the first few years of the reign of Alexander II. It required a keen

-vision to apprehend and describe the shifting characters and scenes of

-that period, vivid glimpses of which we obtain from his novels written

-at that time.

-

-His first one of this period is “Dimitri Roudine.” The hero of the

-story is an eloquent idealist, but practically inefficient in action.

-His liberal ideas are intoxicating, both to himself and others; but he

-succumbs to every trial of life, through want of character. With the

-best principles and no vices whatever, except, perhaps, an excess of

-personal vanity, he commits deeds in which he is his own dupe. He is at

-heart too honest to profit by offered opportunities, which would give

-him advantage over others; and, with no courage either for good or evil

-undertakings, he is always unsuccessful, and always in want of money.

-He finally realizes his inefficiency, in old age, and dies in extreme

-poverty.

-

-The characters of the prosaic country life in which the hero’s career

-is pictured are marvellously well drawn. These practical people, whose

-ideas are nearly on a level with the earth which yields them their

-livelihood, prosper in all things. They have comfortable incomes,

-good wives, and congenial friends; while the enthusiastic idealist,

-in spite of his intellectual superiority, falls even lower. It is the

-triumph of prosaic fact over idealism. In this introductory work, the

-author touched keenly upon one of the greatest defects of the Russian

-character, and gave a useful lesson to his fellow-countrymen; showing

-them that magnificent aspirations are not all-sufficient, but they must

-be joined to practical common-sense, and applied to self-government.

-“Dimitri Roudine” is a moral and philosophical study, inciting to

-thought and interesting to the thinking mind. It was a question whether

-the author would be as skilful in the region of sentiment, whether he

-would succeed in moving the heart.

-

-His “Nest of Nobles”[G] was his response; and it was, perhaps, his

-greatest work, although not without defects. It is less interesting

-than the other, as the development of the plot drags somewhat; but when

-once started, and fully outlined, it is carried out with consummate

-skill.

-

-The “Nest of Nobles” is one of the old provincial, ancestral mansions

-in which many generations have lived. In this house the young girl is

-reared, who will serve as a prototype for the heroine of every Russian

-novel. She is simple and straightforward, not strikingly beautiful or

-gifted, but very charming, and endowed with an iron will,―a trait

-which the author invariably refuses to men, but he bestows it upon

-every young heroine of his imagination. This trait carries them through

-every variety of experience and the most extreme crises, according as

-they are driven by fate.

-

-Liza, a girl of twenty, has been thus far wholly insensible to the

-attractions of a handsome government official, whose attentions

-her mother has encouraged. Finally, weary of resistance, the young

-girl consents to an engagement with him, when Lavretski, a distant

-relative, appears upon the scene. He is a married man, but has long

-been separated from his wife, who is wholly unworthy of him. She

-is an adventuress, who spends her time at the various Continental

-watering-places. There is nothing whatever of the hero of romance about

-him; he is a quiet, kind-hearted, and unhappy being, serious-minded

-and no longer young. Altogether, a man such as is very often to be met

-with in real life. He and the young heroine are drawn together by a

-mysterious attraction; and, just as the man, with his deeper experience

-of life, recognizes with terror the nature of their mutual feelings,

-he learns of the death of his wife, through a newspaper article. He

-is now free; and, that very evening, in the old garden, both hearts,

-almost involuntarily, interchange vows of eternal affection. The

-description of this scene is beautiful, true to nature, and exceedingly

-refined. The happiness of the lovers lasts but a single hour; the news

-was false, and the next day Lavretski’s wife herself appears most

-unexpectedly upon the scene.

-

-We can easily see what an opportunity the author here has for the

-delineation of the inevitable revulsion and tumult of feeling called

-forth; but with what delicacy he leads those two purest of souls

-through such peril! The sacrifice is resolutely made by the young girl;

-but only after a fearful struggle by the lover. The annoying and hated

-wife disappears again, while the reader fondly hopes the author will

-bring about her speedy death. Here again those who wish only happy

-_dénouements_ must close the book. Mme. Lavretski does not die, but

-continues the gayest kind of a life, while Liza, who has known of life

-only the transient promise of a love, which lasted through the starry

-hours of one short evening in May, carries her wounded heart to her

-God, and buries herself in a convent.

-

-So far, this is a virtuous and rather old-fashioned story, suitable

-for young girls. But we must read the farther development of the tale,

-to see with what exquisite art and love for truth the novelist has

-treated his subject. There is not the slightest approach to insipid

-sentimentality in this sad picture; no outbursts of passion; but, with

-a chaste and gentle touch, a restrained and continually increasing

-emotion is awakened, which rends the heart. The epilogue of this book,

-only a few pages in length, is, and will always be, one of the gems of

-Russian literature.

-

-Eight years have passed in the course of the story; Lavretski returns

-one morning in spring to the old mansion. It is now inhabited by a new

-generation, for the children have become young men and women, with new

-sentiments and interests. The new-comer, hardly recognized by them,

-finds them in the midst of their games. The story opened in the same

-way, and we seem to have gone back to the beginning of it. Lavretski

-seats himself upon the same spot where he once pressed for a moment in

-his the hand of the dear one, who ever since that blissful hour has

-been counting the beads of her rosary in a cloister.

-

-The young birds of the old nest can give no answer to the questions he

-longs to ask, for they have quite forgotten the vanished one; and they

-return to their game, in which they are quite absorbed. He reflects,

-in his desolation, how the self-same words describe the same scene of

-other days: nature’s smile is quite the same; the same joys are new to

-other children; just as, in a sonata of Chopin’s, the original theme

-of the melody recurs in the finale.

-

-In this romance, the melancholy contrast between the perennity of

-nature and the change and decay of man through the cruel and pitiless

-work of time is very strikingly portrayed. We have become so attached

-to the former characters painted by our author, that these children, in

-the heyday of their lives, are almost hateful to us.

-

-I am strongly tempted to quote these pages in full, but they would lose

-too much in being separated from what precedes them; and, unwillingly

-leaving the subject, I can only apply to Turgenef his own words in

-regard to one of his heroes:―

-

-“He possessed the great secret of that divine eloquence which is music;

-for he knew a way to touch certain chords in the heart which would send

-a vibrating thrill through all the others.”

-

-The “Nest of Nobles” established the author’s renown. Such a strange

-world is this that poets, conquerors, women also, gain the hearts of

-men the more effectually by making them suffer and weep. All Russia

-shed tears over this book; and the unhappy Liza became the model for

-all the young girls. No romantic work since “Paul and Virginia” had

-produced such an effect upon the people. The author seems to have

-been haunted by this type of woman. His Ellen in “On the Eve” has the

-same indomitable will. She has a serious, reserved, and obstinate

-nature, has been reared in solitude; and, free from all outside

-influences, and scorning all obstacles, she is capable of the most

-complete self-renunciation. But in this instance the circumstances are

-quite different. The beloved one is quite free, but cast out by his

-family. As Liza fled to the cloister in spite of the supplications of

-her friends, so Ellen joins her lover and devotes herself to him, not

-suspecting for a moment her act to be in any way a criminal one; but it

-is redeemed, in any case, by her devoted constancy through a life of

-many trials. These studies of character show a keen observation of the

-national temperament. The man is irresolute, the woman decided; she it

-is who rules fate, knows what she wants to do, and does it. Everything

-which, with our ideas, would seem in a young girl like boldness and

-immodesty, is pictured by the artist with such simplicity and delicacy

-that we are tempted to see in it only the freedom of a courageous,

-undaunted spirit. These upright and passionate natures which he creates

-seem capable of anything but fear, treachery, and deceit.

-

-The poet seems to have poured the accumulated emotion of his whole

-youth into the “Nest of Nobles” as a vent to the long repressed

-sentiment of his inmost heart. He now set himself to study the social

-conditions of the life around him; and in the midst of the great

-intellectual movement of 1860, on the eve of the emancipation, he

-wrote “Fathers and Sons.” This book marks a date in the history of the

-Russian mind. The novelist had the rare good-fortune to recognize a new

-growth of thought, and to give it a fixed form and name, which no other

-had been able to do.

-

-In “Fathers and Sons,” an old man of the past generation, discussing

-his character of Bazarof, asked: “What is your opinion of

-Bazarof?”―“What is he?―he is a _nihilist_,” replied a young disciple

-of the terrible medical student.―“What do you say?”―“I say he is a

-_nihilist_!”―“Nihilist?” repeated the old man. “Ah, yes! that comes

-from the Latin word _nihil_, and our Russian word _nitchevo_; as

-well as I can judge, that must be a man who will neither acknowledge

-nor admit anything.”―“Say, rather,” added another, “who respects

-nothing.”―“Who considers everything from a critical point of view,”

-resumed the young man.―“That is just the same thing.”―“No, it is

-not the same thing; a nihilist is a man who bows to no authority, and

-will admit no principle as an article of faith, no matter how deeply

-respected that principle may be.”

-

-We must go back still farther than the Latin to find the root of the

-word and the philosophy it expresses; to the old Aryan stock, of which

-the Slavonic race is one of the main branches. Nihilism is the Hindu

-_nirvâna_; the yielding of the primitive man before the power of matter

-and the obscurity of the moral world; and the nirvâna necessarily

-engenders a furious reaction in the conquered being, a blind effort to

-destroy that universe which can crush and circumvent him. But I have

-already touched upon this subject, which is too voluminous to dwell

-upon here. So Nihilism, as we understand it, is only in its embryo

-state in this famous book of Turgenef’s. I would merely call the

-attention of the reader to another passage in this book which reveals a

-finer understanding of the word than volumes written upon the subject.

-It is in another discussion of Bazarof’s character, this time between

-an intelligent young girl and a young disciple of Bazarof, who honestly

-believes himself a nihilist. She says:―

-

-“Your Bazarof you cannot understand, neither can he understand

-you.”―“How so?”―“How can I explain it?… He is a wild animal, and we,

-you and I, are tamed animals.”

-

-This comparison shows clearly the shade of difference between Russian

-Nihilism and the similar mental maladies from which human nature has

-suffered from time immemorial down to the present day.

-

-This hero of Turgenef’s has many traits in common with the Indian

-heroes of Fenimore Cooper, who are armed with a tomahawk, instead of

-a surgeon’s knife. Bazarof’s sons seem, at first sight, much like our

-revolutionists; but examine them more closely, and you will discover

-the distinction between the wild and the tamed beast. Our worst

-revolutionists are savage dogs, but the Russian nihilist is a wolf; and

-we now know that the wolf’s rage is the more dangerous of the two.

-

-See how Bazarof dies! He has contracted blood-poison by dissecting the

-body of a typhoid subject. He knows that he is lost. He endures his

-agony in mute, haughty, stolid silence; it is the agony of the wild

-beast with a ball in his body. The nihilist surpasses the stoic; he

-does not try to complete his task before death; there is nothing that

-is worth doing.

-

-The novelist has exhausted his art to create a deplorable character,

-which, however, is not really odious to us, excepting as regards

-his inhumanity, his scorn for everything we venerate. These seem

-intolerable to us. With the tamed animal, this would indicate

-perversion, disregard of all rules; but in the wild beast it is

-instinct, a resistance wholly natural. Our moral sense is ingeniously

-disarmed by the author, before this victim of fate.

-

-Turgenef’s creative power and minute observation of details in this

-work have never been excelled by him at any period of his literary

-career. It is very difficult, however, to quote passages of his,

-because he never writes single pages or paragraphs for their individual

-effect; but every detail is of value to the _ensemble_ of the work.

-I will merely quote a passing sketch of a character, which seems to

-me remarkably true to life; that of a man of his own country and his

-own time; a high functionary of St. Petersburg; a future statesman,

-who had gone into one of the provinces to examine the petty government

-officials.

-

-“Matthew Ilitch belonged to what were called the younger politicians.

-Although hardly over forty years of age, he was already aiming to

-obtain a high position in the Government, and wore two orders on his

-breast. One of them, however, was a foreign, and quite an ordinary

-one. He passed for one of the progressive party, as well as the

-official whom he came to examine. He had a high opinion of himself;

-his personal vanity was boundless, although he affected an air of

-studied simplicity, gave you a look of encouragement, listened with

-an indulgent patience. He laughed so good-naturedly that, at first,

-you would take him for a ‘good sort of fellow.’ But, on certain

-occasions, he knew how to throw dust in your eyes. ‘It is necessary

-to be energetic,’ he used to say; ‘energy is the first quality of the

-statesman.’ In spite of all, he was often duped; for any petty official

-with a little experience could lead him by the nose at will.

-

-“Matthew Ilitch often spoke of Guizot with admiration; he tried to have

-every one understand that he did not belong to the category of those

-who followed one routine; but that he was attentive to every phase and

-possible requirement of social life. He kept himself familiar with all

-contemporary literature, as he was accustomed to say, in an off-hand

-way. He was a tricky and adroit courtier, nothing more; he really knew

-nothing of public affairs, and his views were of no value whatever; but

-he understood managing his own affairs admirably well; on this point he

-could not be duped. Is not that, after all, the principal thing?”

-

-In the intervals of these important works, Turgenef often wrote little

-simple sketches, in the style of his “Annals of a Sportsman.” There

-are more than twenty of these exquisitely delicate compositions. One

-of them, entitled “Assia,”[H] of about sixty pages, is a perfect gem

-in its way, and is a souvenir of his student-life in Germany, and of a

-love-passage experienced there.

-

-The young student loves a young Russian girl without being quite

-conscious of his passion. His love being evidently reciprocated, the

-young girl, wounded by his hesitation, suddenly disappears, and he

-knows too late what he has lost. I will quote at hazard a few lines

-of this poem in prose, which is only the prelude of this unconscious

-passion.

-

-The two young people are walking, one summer evening, on the banks of

-the Rhine.

-

-“I stood and looked upon her, bathed as she was in the bright rays of

-the setting sun. Her face was calm and sweet. Everything around us was

-beaming with intensity of light; earth, air, and water.

-

-“‘How beautiful it is!’ I said, involuntarily lowering my voice.

-

-“‘Yes,’ she said, in the same tone, without raising her eyes. ‘If we

-were birds, you and I, would we not soar away and fly? … we should be

-lost in those azure depths…. But―we are not birds.’

-

-“‘Our wings may grow,’ I replied. ‘Only live on and you will see. There

-are feelings which can raise us above this earth. Fear not; you will

-have your wings.’

-

-“‘And you,’ she said; ‘have you ever felt this?’

-

-“‘It seems to me that I never did, until this moment,’ I said.

-

-“Assia was silent, and seemed absorbed in thought. I drew nearer to

-her. Suddenly she said:―

-

-“‘Do you waltz?’ ‘Yes,’ I replied, somewhat perplexed by this question.

-

-“‘Come, then,’ she said; ‘I will ask my brother to play a waltz for us.

-We will imagine we are flying, and that our wings have grown….’

-

-“It was late when I left her. On recrossing the Rhine, when midway

-between the two shores, I asked the ferryman to let the boat drift with

-the current. The old man raised the oars, and the royal stream bore

-us on. I looked around me, listened, and reflected. I had a feeling

-of unrest, and felt a sudden pang at my heart. I raised my eyes to

-the heavens; but even there there was no tranquillity. Dotted with

-glittering stars, the whole firmament was palpitating and quivering.

-I leaned over the water; there were the same stars, trembling and

-gleaming in its cold, gloomy depths. The agitation of nature all

-around me only increased my own. I leaned my elbows upon the edge of

-the boat; the night wind, murmuring in my ears, and the dull plashing

-of the water against the rudder irritated my nerves, which the cool

-exhalations from the water could not calm. A nightingale was singing

-on the shore, and his song seemed to fill me with a delicious poison.

-Tears filled my eyes, I knew not why. What I now felt was not that

-aspiration toward the Infinite, that love for universal nature, with

-which my whole being had been filled of late; but I was consumed by a

-thirst, a longing for happiness,―I could not yet call it by its name,

-but for a happiness beyond expression, even if it should annihilate me.

-It was almost an agony of mingled joy and pain.

-

-“The boat floated on, while the old boatman sat and slept, leaning

-forward upon his oars.”

-

-

-                                  IV.

-

-The emancipation of the serfs, the dream of Turgenef’s life, had become

-an accomplished fact, and was, moreover, the inaugurator of other

-great reforms. There was a general joyous awakening of secret forces

-and of hopes long deferred. The years following 1860, which were so

-momentous for Russia, wrought a change in the interior life of the

-poet and author. Torn from his native land by the ties of a deathless

-friendship, to which he unreservedly devoted the remainder of his life,

-he left Russia, never to return except at very rare intervals. He

-established himself first at Baden, afterwards settled permanently in

-Paris. Every desire of his heart as man, author, and patriot had been

-gratified. He had helped to bring about the emancipation. His literary

-fame followed him, and his works were translated into many languages.

-

-But, after some years of silence and repose, this poet’s soul, which

-through youth had rejoiced in its dreams and anticipations, suffered

-the change which must come to our poor human nature. He was not

-destined in his old age to realize his ideals.

-

-In 1868 his great novel “Smoke” appeared. It exhibited the same talent,

-riper than ever with the maturity of age; but the old faith and candor

-were wanting. Were we speaking of any other man, we should say that he

-had become bitter; but that would be an exaggeration in speaking of

-Turgenef, for there was no gall in his temperament. But there are the

-pathetic touches of a disenchanted idealist, astonished to find that

-his most cherished ideas, applied to men, cannot make them perfect.

-This sort of disappointment sometimes carries an author to injustice;

-his pencil shades certain characters too intensely, so that they are

-less true to nature than those of his older works. The phase of society

-described in “Smoke” exhibits a class of Russians living abroad, who

-do not, perhaps, retain in their foreign home the best qualities of

-their native soil: noble lords and questionable ladies, students and

-conspirators. The scene is laid at Baden, where the author could study

-society at his leisure. Of this confusing throng of army officers,

-rusticating princesses, boastful Slavophiles, and travelling clerks,

-he has given us many a vivid glimpse. But the book, as a whole, is an

-exaggeration; and this impression is all the stronger as the author

-evidently does not consider his characters of an exceptional type, but

-intends to faithfully represent Russian society, both high and low.

-Moreover, the artist has modified his style. He formerly presented his

-array of ideas, and left his readers to judge of them for themselves;

-but now he often puts himself in the reader’s place, and expresses his

-own opinion very freely.

-

-For the novelist or dramatist there are two ways of presenting moral

-theses; with or without his personal intervention. We will take the

-most familiar examples. In Victor Hugo’s “Les Misérables,” there are

-two conceptions of duty and virtue, which are perfectly antagonistic,

-personified by Jean Valjean and Javert. They are so perfectly drawn

-that we might almost hesitate between them; but the author throws

-the whole weight of his eloquence on the one; he deifies one and

-depreciates the other, so that he forces the verdict from us. But in

-“Le Gendre de M. Poirier,” on the contrary, there are two conceptions

-of honor; two sets of irreconcilable ideas; those of the Marquis de

-Presle, and those of his father-in-law. The author keeps himself in the

-background. He presents his two characters with the same clear analyses

-of their merits and absurdities; and shows both the weak and the strong

-points of their arguments. Even to the very end we hesitate to judge

-between them; and it is this conflict of ideas which keeps up the

-interest of the drama.

-

-For myself, I prefer the second method. Besides being more artistic,

-it seems to approach nearer to real life, in which we can never see

-truth clearly, and in which good and evil are always so closely allied.

-Turgenef embraced this method in all his first studies of social life,

-and they were more just and true, in my opinion, than his later ones.

-In the last two, “Smoke” and “Virgin Soil,” he interferes noticeably,

-bringing forward his own opinions; but I acknowledge that these

-books contain many passages overflowing with vivid fancy and strong

-common-sense. He satirizes everything he disapproves, the _Slavophile_

-party, all the national peculiarities, especially that mania for

-declaring everything perfect that springs from Russian soil. His shafts

-of wit, which he employs to illustrate this infatuation, are very keen;

-for example, when he speaks of the “literature which is bound in Russia

-leather”; and when he says, “in my country two and two make four, but

-with more certainty than elsewhere.”

-

-After emptying his quiver, the author describes a love intrigue, in

-which he shows as ever his marvellous knowledge of the human heart.

-But here again his style has changed. Formerly he wrote of youthful

-affection, a loyal emotion, frank and courageous enough to brave the

-whole world; and woman seemed to interest him only in her early youth.

-But he depicts in “Smoke” and “Spring Floods” the most cruel passions,

-with their agonies, deceptions, and bottomless abysses. The virtuous

-young girl invariably comes in, but as if held in reserve to save

-the repentant sinner at the end. Some may prefer these tempestuous

-compositions to the delicious poetic harmonies of his first romances.

-It is a matter of taste, and I would not decry the real merit of

-“Smoke,” which is a masterpiece in its way. I only affirm that on

-the approach of the evening of life the translucent soul of the poet

-has given us glimpses of sombre clouds and stormy skies. At the end

-of “Spring Floods,” after that wonderful scene, so true to life,

-exhibiting the weakness of the man and the diabolical power of the

-woman, there follow a few pages so full of rancor that you can but feel

-pity for the writer who can express such bitterness.

-

-In 1877, “Virgin Soil,” the last long important work, appeared:

-first in French, in a Paris journal, as if to feel its way; then the

-original could be risked in Russia with impunity, and had a free

-circulation. What a marked change the march of ideas had produced since

-the appearance of Turgenef’s article on Gogol! In this new work the

-author traversed a road which once would have led directly to Siberia.

-He had the ambition to describe the subterranean world which at that

-time was beginning to threaten the peace of the Empire. Having studied

-for twenty-five years every current of thought springing from Russian

-soil, the student thought to perfect his task by showing us the natural

-outgrowth of these currents. Since they disappeared under the earth,

-they must be investigated and attacked with a bold front.

-

-Turgenef was incited to the work partly from the appearance of a rival,

-who had already preceded him in this line. We shall see that “Virgin

-Soil” was an indirect response to “Les Possédés” of Dostoyevski. The

-effort was not wholly successful; as Turgenef had been away from his

-native land for fifteen years, he had not been able to watch narrowly

-enough the incessant transformation of that hidden, almost inaccessible

-world. Without the closest study from nature the artist’s work cannot

-produce striking results. The novelist intended to present the still

-unsettled tendencies of the nihilists in a characteristic and fixed

-form; but he failed to give clearness and outline to the work; the

-image refused to reflect its true form. This is why there is something

-vague and indistinct about the first part of “Virgin Soil,” which

-contrasts unfavorably with the clear-cut models of his early works.

-

-The author introduces us into the circle of conspirators at St.

-Petersburg. One of the young men, Neshdanof, has been engaged as

-a tutor in the house of a rich government official, in a distant

-province. He there meets a young girl of noble family, who is treated

-as a poor relation in the house. She is embittered by a long series

-of humiliations, and is struck with admiration for the ideas of the

-young apostle, more than for his personal attractions. They escape

-together, and form a Platonic union, working together among the common

-people, at the great cause of socialism. But Neshdanof is not fitted

-for the terrible work; he is a weak character, and a dreamer and poet.

-Distracted with doubts, and wholly discouraged, he soon discovers that

-all is chaos within his soul. He does not love the cause to which he

-is sacrificing himself, and he knows not how best to serve it. Neither

-does he love the woman who has sacrificed herself for him, and he feels

-that he has lowered himself in her esteem. Weary of life, too proud to

-withdraw, and generous enough to wish to save his devoted companion

-before her reputation is lost, Neshdanof takes his life. He has found

-out that one of his friends, with more character than himself, has

-a secret attachment for Marianne. Before dying he joins the hands

-of those two enthusiastic beings. The romance ends with a fruitless

-conspiracy, which shows the utter uselessness of attempting to stir the

-people to revolution.

-

-Other revolutionary characters dimly float before the reader’s vision,

-who whisper unintelligible words. Those from among the higher classes

-are treated even more harshly than in “Smoke.” They have the same

-self-sufficiency, and are equally absurd without a single merit; and

-you feel that they are presented in a false light. Hence the work is

-abounding in caricatures, and shows a want of balance as a whole.

-

-On the other hand, the apostles of the new faith are surrounded with a

-halo of generosity and devotion. Between extreme egotism on one side,

-and stern faith and utter self-abnegation on the other, the idealist’s

-choice must fall. Naturally, the poet’s warm heart draws him to the

-most disinterested party of the two. He invests these rude natures with

-delicate sentiments, which clothe them with poetry; concealing from us,

-and even from himself, the revolting contrasts they present, and their

-brutal instincts. The wolfish, energetic Bazarof was of a type more

-true to nature.

-

-I think that Turgenef’s sensibility led him astray in his conception

-of the nihilists; while his good-sense did justice to their ideas,

-exhibited the puerility of their discourses and the uselessness of

-their blind hopes. The most valuable part of the book is where the

-writer demonstrates by facts the utter impossibility of uniting the

-propagandists and the people. Abstract arguments make no impression

-upon the peasant’s dull brain. Neshdanof attempts an harangue in an

-ale-house; the peasants force him to drink. The second glass of _vodka_

-intoxicates him completely, and he staggers away amid jeers and shouts.

-Another man, who tries to stir a village to revolt, is bound and given

-over to justice.

-

-At times Turgenef strikes exactly at the root of the evil, shows

-up the glaring faults of the revolutionary spirit, and exposes its

-weakness. Assuming too much responsibility, the nihilists wish to raise

-an ignorant populace at once to the intellectual heights they have

-themselves reached; forgetting that time alone can accomplish such a

-miracle. They have recourse to cabalistic formulas, but their efforts

-are fruitless. The poet sees and explains all this; but, being a poet,

-he allows himself to be seduced by the sentimental beauty of the

-sacrifice, losing sight of the object; while the proved uselessness of

-the sacrifice only redoubles his indulgence towards the victims.

-

-This brings me to a point where I am obliged to touch upon a delicate

-subject. Certain political claims, discussed over the author’s tomb,

-have caused much anxiety in Russia; and bitter resentment threatened

-to mingle with the national grief. The Moscow papers published several

-severe articles about him before his death, in consequence of the

-appearance of his “Memoirs of a Nihilist” in a French paper. This

-autobiographical sketch is not a work of the imagination, for he

-obtained the story from the lips of a fellow-countryman who had escaped

-from a prison in Russia.

-

-This curious essay has the ring of truth about it, and no attempt

-at recrimination; giving an example of that strange psychological

-peculiarity of the Russian, who studies so attentively the moral effect

-of suffering upon his soul that he forgets to accuse the authors of his

-suffering. The sketch recalls vividly certain pages of Dostoyevski’s.

-But Turgenef’s ideas were not, at this time, well received by the

-Russians. They resented the too indulgent tone of his writings, and

-accused him of complicity with the enemies of the Empire. The radicals

-wished to claim him for their own; and it was hinted that he subscribed

-to support a seditious journal. This is, however, entirely improbable.

-Turgenef was open-hearted and generous to a fault. He gave freely and

-indiscriminately to any one that was suffering. His door and his purse

-were open to any fellow-countryman without reserve, and kind words were

-ever ready to flow from his lips. But, though always ready to help

-others, he certainly never gave his aid to any political intriguer. Was

-it natural that a man of his refinement and high culture should have

-aided the schemes of wild and fruitless political conspiracies? With

-the liberal ideas he adopted during his university life in Germany, in

-early youth, he was more inclined to cherish political dreams than to

-put his liberalism into practice. In fact, it is only necessary to read

-“Virgin Soil” attentively, to understand the position he proposed to

-maintain.

-

-But I am dwelling too long upon the political standing of a poet. This

-man, who was honest and true in the highest degree in all relations of

-life, must have been the same as to his politics. Those who questioned

-the colors he bore could ill afford to criticise him.

-

-About this time, Turgenef wrote five or six tales; one of which (“A

-Lear of the Steppe”), for its intensity of feeling, recalls the most

-beautiful parts of “The Annals of a Sportsman.” But I must not dwell

-upon these, but give a little attention to the productions of our

-author as a whole.

-

-

-                                   V.

-

-Ivan Sergievitch (Turgenef) has given us a most complete picture of

-Russian society. The same general types are always brought forward;

-and, as later writers have presented exactly similar ones, with but

-few modifications, we are forced to believe them true to life. First,

-the peasant; meek, resigned, dull, pathetic in suffering, like a

-child who does not know why he suffers; naturally sharp and tricky

-when not stupefied by liquor; occasionally roused to violent passion.

-Then, the intelligent middle class; the small landed proprietors of

-two generations. The old proprietor is ignorant and good-natured, of

-respectable family, but with coarse habits; hard, from long experience

-of serfdom, servile himself, but admirable in all other relations of

-life.

-

-The young man of this class is of quite a different type. His

-intellectual growth having been too rapid, he sometimes plunges into

-Nihilism. He is often well educated, melancholy, rich in ideas but poor

-in executive ability; always preparing and expecting to accomplish

-something of importance, filled with vague and generous projects for

-the public good. This is the chosen type of hero in all Russian novels.

-Gogol introduced it, and Tolstoï prefers it above all others.

-

-The favorite hero of young girls and romantic women is neither the

-brilliant officer, the artist, nor rich lord, but almost universally

-this provincial Hamlet, conscientious, cultivated, intelligent, but of

-feeble will, who, returning from his studies in foreign lands, is full

-of scientific theories about the improvement of mankind and the good of

-the lower classes, and eager to apply these theories on his own estate.

-It is quite necessary that he should have an estate of his own. He will

-have the hearty sympathy of the reader in his efforts to improve the

-condition of his dependents.

-

-The Russians well understand the conditions of the future prosperity of

-their country; but, as they themselves acknowledge, they know not how

-to go to work to accomplish it.

-

-In regard to the women of this class, Turgenef, strange to say, has

-little to say of the mothers. This probably reveals the existence

-of some old wound, some bitter experience of his own. Without a

-single exception, all the mothers in his novels are either wicked or

-grotesque. He reserves the treasures of his poetic fancy for the young

-girls of his creation. To him the young girl of the country province

-is the corner-stone of the fabric of society. Reared in the freedom

-of country life, placed in the most healthy social conditions, she

-is conscientious, frank, affectionate, without being romantic; less

-intelligent than man, but more resolute. In each of his romances an

-irresolute man is invariably guided by a woman of strong will.

-

-Such are, generally speaking, the characters the author describes,

-which bear so unmistakably the stamp of nature that one cannot refrain

-from saying as he closes the book, “These must be portraits from life!”

-which criticism is always the highest praise, the best sanction of

-works of the imagination.

-

-But something is wanting to fully complete the picture of Russian

-life. Turgenef never has written of the highest class in society

-except incidentally and in his later works, and then in his bitterest

-vein. He was never drawn to this class, and was, besides, prejudiced

-against it. The charming young girl, suddenly raised to a position in

-this circle, becomes entirely perverted―is changed into a frivolous

-woman, with most disagreeable peculiarities of mind and temperament.

-The man, elevated to the new dignities of a high public position, adds

-to his native irresolution ostentatious pride and folly. We are forced

-to question these hasty and extreme statements. We must wait for Leo

-Tolstoï before forming our opinions. He will give us precisely the

-same types of the lower and middle classes as his predecessor; but he

-will also give a most complete analysis of the statesman, the courtier,

-and the noble dames of the court. He will finish the edifice, the

-foundations of which Turgenef has so admirably laid. Not that we expect

-of our author the complicated intrigues and extraordinary adventures of

-the old French romances. He shows us life as it is, not through a magic

-lantern. Facts interest him but little, for he only regards them as

-to their influence on the human soul. He loved to study character and

-sentiment, to seek the simplest personages of every-day life; and the

-great secret of his power lies in his having felt such deep interest

-in his models that his characters are never prosaic, while absolutely

-true to life. He says of Neshdanof, in “Virgin Soil”: “He makes realism

-poetic.” These, his own words, may be justly applied to himself. In

-exquisite and good taste he has, in fact, no rival. On every page we

-find a tender grace like the ineffable freshness of morning dew. A

-phrase of George Eliot’s, in “Adam Bede,” may well apply to him: “Words

-came to me as tears come when the heart is full and we cannot prevent

-them.”

-

-No writer ever had more sentiment or a greater horror of

-sentimentality; none could better express in a single phrase such

-crises, such remarkable situations. This reserve power makes his work

-unique in Russian literature, which is always diffuse and elaborate. In

-his most unimportant productions there is an artistic conciseness equal

-to that of the great masters of the ancient classics. Such qualities,

-made still more effective by a perfection of style and a diction always

-correct and sometimes most exquisite, give to Turgenef a very high

-position in contemporary literature. Taine considered him one of the

-most perfect artists the world has produced since the classic period.

-English criticism, generally considered somewhat cold, and not given to

-exaggeration, places him among writers of the very first rank.

-

-I subscribe to this opinion whenever I take up any of his works to read

-once again; then I hesitate when I think of that marvellous Tolstoï,

-who captivates my imagination and makes me suspend my judgment. We must

-leave these questions of precedence for the future to decide.

-

-After the appearance of “Virgin Soil,” although Turgenef’s talent

-suffered no change, and his intelligence was as keen as ever, his mind

-seemed to need repose, and to be groping for some hidden path, as is

-often the case with young authors at the beginning of their career.

-There were good reasons for this condition of discouragement. Turgenef

-reaped many advantages, and some disadvantages, from his prolonged

-sojourn in our midst. At first, the study of new masters and the

-friendships and advice of Mérimée, were of great use to him. To this

-literary intercourse may be attributed the rare culture, clearness,

-and precision of his works, as distinguished from any other prose

-writer of his country. Later on he became an enthusiastic admirer of

-Flaubert, and made some excellent translations of his works. Then,

-next to the pioneers of the “School of Nature,” he adhered to their

-successors, fondly imagining himself to be one of them, giving ear

-to their doctrines, and making frantic efforts to conciliate these

-with his old ideals. Moreover, he felt himself more and more widely

-separated from his native land, the true source of all his ideas. He

-was sometimes reproached as a deserter. The tendencies of his last

-novels had aroused recrimination and scandal. Whenever he occasionally

-visited St. Petersburg or Moscow, he was received with ovations by the

-young men, but with extreme coldness in some circles. He was destined

-to live to see a part of his former adherents leave him and run to

-worship new idols. On his last appearance in Russia for the fêtes in

-honor of Pushkin, the Moscow students rushed to take him from his

-carriage, and bear him in their arms; but I remember that one day at

-St. Petersburg, returning from a visit to one of the nobility, Ivan

-Sergievitch (Turgenef) said to us, in a jesting tone, not quite free

-from bitterness: “Some one called me Ivan Nikolaievitch.”[I] This

-little inadvertency would to us seem quite pardonable, for here we

-are, fortunately, not obliged to know every one’s father’s name. But,

-considering Russian customs, this oversight in the case of a national

-celebrity was an offence, and showed that he was already beginning to

-be forgotten.

-

-About this time I had the good-fortune to pass an evening with Turgenef

-and Skobelef. The young general spoke with his habitual eloquence and

-warmth of his hopes for the future, and expressed many great thoughts.

-The old author listened in silence, studying him meanwhile with that

-pensive, concentrated expression of the artist when he wishes to

-reproduce an image in form and color. The model was posing for the

-painter, who meant to engraft this remarkable character into one of his

-books; but Death did not permit the hero to live out his romance, nor

-the poet to write it.

-

-One day in the spring of 1883, the last time I had the honor of seeing

-Ivan Sergievitch, we spoke of Skobelef. He said: “I shall soon follow

-him.”

-

-It was too true. He was suffering terribly from the mortal illness of

-which he died soon after―a cancer in the spinal marrow. His eyes

-rested upon a landscape of Rousseau, his favorite painter, which

-represented an ancient oak, torn by the storms of many winters, now

-shedding its last crimson leaves in a December gale. There was an

-affinity between the noble old man and this picture which he enjoyed

-looking upon, a secret and mutual understanding of the decrees of

-Nature.

-

-He published three tales after being attacked with this fatal

-disease. It is an example of the irony of fate that the last of

-these was entitled “Despair.” This was his last analysis of the

-Russian character, which he had made his study for so many years, and

-reproduced in all his works.

-

-A few days before his death he took up his pen to write a touching

-epistle to his friend, Leo Tolstoï. In this farewell the dying author

-bequeathed the care and honor of Russian literature to his friend and

-rival. I give the closing words of this letter:―

-

-“My very dear Leo Nikolaievitch, I have not written to you for a long

-time, for I have long been upon my death-bed. There is no chance for

-recovery; it is not to be thought of. I write expressly to tell you how

-very happy I am to have been a contemporary of yours; and to express a

-last, urgent request.

-

-“My friend, return to your literary labors. This gift has come to you

-from whence come all our gifts. Oh! how happy I should be could I feel

-that you will grant this request!…

-

-“My dear friend, great author of our beloved Russia, let me entreat you

-to grant me this request! Reply if this reaches you. I press you and

-yours to my heart for the last time. I can write no more…. I am weary!…”

-

-We can only hope that this exhortation will be obeyed by the only

-author worthy to take up the pen dropped by those valiant hands.

-

-Turgenef has left behind a rich legacy; for every page he ever wrote,

-with but very few exceptions, breathes a noble spirit; and his works

-will continue to elevate and warm the hearts of thousands.

-

-

-FOOTNOTES:

-

-     [F] “Grande et riche, mais désordonnée.” This historical

-          phrase has become proverbial in Russia. It was used by

-          the deputies of the Slavs when they demanded foreign

-          chiefs to govern them.

-

-     [G]  Published in English under the name of “Liza.”

-

-     [H]  An English translation was published in 1884 under the

-          title “_Annouchka_,” a tale.

-

-     [I] (V)itch added to the father’s name (meaning son of) is

-          the masculine termination of proper names.

-

-

-

-

-                               CHAPTER V.

-

-                THE RELIGION OF ENDURANCE.―DOSTOYEVSKI.

-

-

-With Dostoyevski, that true Scythian, who will revolutionize all our

-previous habits of thought, we now enter into the heart of Moscow, with

-its giant cathedral of St. Basil, like a Chinese pagoda as to form

-and decoration, and built by Tartar architects; but dedicated to the

-worship of the Christian’s God.

-

-Turgenef and Dostoyevski, although contemporaries, belonging to the

-same school, and borne on by the same current of ideas, present in

-their respective works many sharply defined contrasts; still, they

-possess one quality in common, the outgrowth of the period in which

-they lived―sympathy for humanity. In Dostoyevski, this sympathy has

-developed into an intense pity for the humbler class, which regards him

-and believes in him as its master.

-

-All contemporary forms of art have secret bonds in common. The same

-causes and sentiments which inclined these Russian authors to the study

-of real life attracted the great French landscape-painters of the same

-epoch to a closer observation of nature. The works of Corot, Rousseau,

-and Millet present to me a perfect idea of the common tendencies and

-personal peculiarities of the three types of talent I am attempting

-to analyze. Whichever of these painters we prefer, we shall be likely

-to be attracted by the corresponding writer. I would not force such

-a comparison; but to me Turgenef has the grace and poetry of Corot;

-Tolstoï, the simple grandeur of Rousseau; Dostoyevski, the tragic

-severity of Millet.

-

-Dostoyevski’s romances have been translated into French, and, to my

-astonishment, they are greatly enjoyed by the French. This places

-me at ease in discussing him. I should never have been believed, in

-attempting to present an analysis of this strange character, if these

-books, which reflect and typify their author, had not been well known

-among us. At the same time, the books can scarcely be understood

-without some knowledge of the life of him who created them. I had

-almost said, whose life and sufferings were portrayed in them; but the

-one expression partly implies the other.

-

-On entering into an examination of the life and works of this man, I

-must present to the reader scenes invariably sad, sometimes terrible,

-sometimes funereal. Those persons should not attempt to read them

-who object to visiting hospitals, courts of justice, or prisons;

-or who have a horror of visiting graveyards at night. I cannot

-conscientiously throw a cheerful glamour upon what both destiny and

-character have made sombre throughout. Some will, at least, follow me

-with confidence. At all events, the Russia of the past twenty years

-will remain an inexplicable enigma to those who ignore the work which

-has made the most lasting impression upon this country, and shaken

-it to its foundations. We must, then, examine the books which have

-performed such a work, and, first of all, and more dramatic than all,

-the life of him who conceived them.

-

-

-                                   I.

-

-He was born at Moscow, in 1821, in the charity hospital. Destiny

-decreed that his eyes should first open upon the sad spectacle which

-was to be ever before them, and upon the most terrible forms of

-misery. His father, a retired military surgeon, was attached to this

-establishment. His family belonged to one of those lower orders of

-the nobility from which minor functionaries are generally chosen, and

-possessed a small estate and a few serfs in the province of Tula.

-The child was sometimes taken out to this country place; and these

-first visions of country life occasionally reappear in his works, but

-very rarely. Contrary to the habit of the other Russian authors, who

-adore nature, and especially love the place where they were reared,

-Dostoyevski is not attracted in this direction. He is a psychologist;

-the human soul absorbs his entire vision; the scenes of his choice are

-the suburbs of large cities, and miserable alleys. In his childish

-recollections, which almost invariably give their coloring to an

-author’s mind, you never feel the influence of peaceful woods and

-broad, open skies. The source from whence his imagination draws its

-supplies will give you glimpses of hospital courts, pallid faces under

-the regulation white cap, and forms clothed in brown robes; and you

-will encounter the timid gaze of the “Degraded” and “Insulted.”

-

-Dostoyevski was one of a numerous family of children, and his life

-as a child was not one of luxury. After leaving a Moscow school, his

-father procured admission for the two elder sons, Alexis and Feodor, to

-the military engineering school at St. Petersburg. The two brothers,

-bound together by a common aptitude for literature, were always deeply

-attached to each other, and greatly depended, in all the crises of

-life, upon each other’s mutual support. We gain much knowledge of

-the interior life of Feodor Mikhailovitch, (Dostoyevski) through his

-letters to his brother Alexis in his “Correspondence.” Both felt

-themselves out of place in this school, which, for them, took the

-place of a University training. A classical education was just what

-Dostoyevski needed; it would have given him that refinement and balance

-which is gained by an early training in the best literature. He made up

-for the want of it as best he could, by reading Pushkin and Gogol, and

-the French romance-writers, Balzac, Eugene Sue, and George Sand, who

-seems to have had a strong influence upon his imagination. But Gogol

-was his favorite master. The humble world which attracted him most was

-revealed to him in “Dead Souls.”

-

-Leaving the school in 1843 with the grade of sub-lieutenant, he did

-not long wear his engineer’s uniform. A year later he sent in his

-resignation, to devote himself exclusively to literary occupations.

-From this day, the fierce struggle of our author with poverty began

-which was to last forty years. After the father’s death the meagre

-patrimony was divided among the children, and it quickly vanished.

-The young Feodor undertook translations for journals and publishers.

-For forty years his correspondence, which recalls that of Balzac, was

-one long agonizing lament; a recapitulation of debts accumulating and

-weighing upon him, a complaint of the slavish life he led. For years he

-is never sure of his daily bread, except in the convict prison.

-

-Although Dostoyevski became hardened to material privations, he was not

-proof against the moral wounds which poverty inflicts; the pitiable

-pride which formed the foundation of his character suffered terribly

-from everything which betrayed his poverty. You feel the existence

-of this open wound in his letters; and all his heroes, the real

-incarnations of his own soul, suffer the same torture. Moreover, he was

-really ill, a victim of shattered nerves; and he became so visionary

-that he believed himself threatened with every imaginable disease. He

-left on his table sometimes, before retiring for the night, a paper

-upon which he wrote: “I may to-night fall into a lethargic sleep; be

-careful not to bury me before a certain number of days.” This was no

-trick of the imagination, but a presentiment of the fatal malady, of

-which he then felt the first symptoms. It has been stated that he

-contracted it in Siberia later than this; but a friend of his youth

-assures me that at this very time he was in the habit of falling down

-in the street foaming at the mouth. He always was, what he seemed to us

-to be in his latter years, but a frail bundle of irritable nerves; a

-feminine soul in the frame of a Russian peasant; reserved, savage, full

-of hallucinations; while the deepest tenderness filled his heart when

-he looked upon the sufferings of the lower classes.

-

-His work was his sole consolation and delight. He narrates in his

-letters projected plots for his romances with the most genuine

-enthusiasm; and the recollection of these first transports makes him

-put into the mouth of one of his characters, drawn from himself, the

-novelist who figures in “The Degraded and Insulted,”[J] the following

-expressions:―

-

-“If I ever was happy, it was not during the first intoxicating moments

-of success, but at the time when I had never read nor shown my

-manuscript to any one; during those long nights, passed in enthusiastic

-dreams and hopes, when I passionately loved my work; when I lived with

-my fancies, with the characters created by me, as with real relatives,

-living beings. I loved them; I rejoiced or mourned with them, and I

-have actually shed bitter tears over the misfortunes of my poor hero.”

-

-His first tale, “Poor People,” contained the germ of all the rest.

-He wrote it at the age of twenty-three. During the latter years of

-his life, he used to relate the story of this first venture. The poor

-little engineer knew not a single soul in the literary world, or what

-to do with his manuscript. One of his comrades, Grigorovitch, who

-became a man of considerable literary reputation, has confirmed this

-anecdote. He carried the manuscript to Nekrasof, the poet, and friend

-of poor authors.

-

-At three o’clock in the morning, Dostoyevski heard a knock at his door.

-It was Grigorovitch, who brought Nekrasof in with him. The poet threw

-himself upon the young stranger’s neck, showing strong emotion. He had

-been up the whole night, reading the tale, and was perfectly carried

-away with it. He too lived the cautious and hidden life which at that

-time was the lot of every Russian writer. These two repressed hearts,

-mutually and irresistibly attracted to each other, now overflowed

-with all the generous enthusiasm of youth. The dawn of day found the

-three enthusiasts still absorbed in an exalted conversation and an

-interchange of thoughts, hopes, and artistic and poetical dreams.

-

-On leaving his protégé, Nekrasof went directly to Bielinski, the oracle

-of Russian literature, the only critic formidable to young beginners.

-“A new Gogol is born to us!” cried the poet, as he entered his friend’s

-house. “Gogols sprout up nowadays like mushrooms,” replied the critic,

-with his most forbidding air, as he took up the manuscript, handling

-it as if it were something poisonous, in the same way that all great

-critics of every country treat new manuscripts. But when Bielinski had

-read the manuscript through, its effect upon him was magical; so that

-when the trembling young man presented himself before his judge, the

-latter cried out excitedly:―

-

-“Do you comprehend, young man, all the truth that you have described?

-No! at your age, that is quite impossible. This is a revelation of

-art, an inspiration, a gift from on high. Reverence, preserve this

-gift! and you will become a great writer!”

-

-A few months later “Poor People” appeared in periodical review,

-and Russia ratified the verdict of its great critic. Bielinski’s

-astonishment was justifiable; for it seems incredible that any person

-of twenty could have produced a tragedy at once so simple and so

-heart-rending. In youth, happiness is our science, learned without a

-master, and we invent grand, heroic, showy misfortunes, and anguish

-which blazons its own sublimity. But how had this unhappy genius

-learned the meaning of that hidden, dumb, wearing misery before his

-time?

-

-It is but an ordinary story, told in a correspondence between two

-persons. An inferior clerk in a court of chancery, worn with years and

-toil, is passing on toward the decline of life, in a continual struggle

-with poverty and the accompanying tortures of wounded self-love. This

-ignorant and honest clerk, the butt of his comrades’ ridicule, ordinary

-in conversation, of only medium intelligence, whose whole ambition is

-to be a good copyist, possesses, under an almost grotesque exterior,

-a heart as fresh, open, and affectionate as that of a little child;

-and I might almost say, sublimely stupid, indifferent to his own

-interests, in his noble generosity. This is the chosen type of all the

-best Russian authors, the one which exemplifies what is noblest in the

-Russian character; as, for example, Turgenef’s Lukeria in the “Living

-Relics,” and the Karatayef of Tolstoï in “War and Peace.” But these are

-of the peasant class, whereas the character of Dievushkin, in “Poor

-People,” is raised some degrees higher in the intellectual and social

-scale.

-

-In this life, dark and cold as the long December night in Russia, there

-is one solitary ray of light, one single joy. In another poor lodging,

-just opposite the loft where the clerk copies his papers, lives a

-young girl, a distant relative, a solitary waif like himself, who can

-claim nothing in the world but the feeble protection of this friend.

-Both isolated, crushed by the brutal pressure of circumstances, these

-two unfortunates depend upon each other for mutual affection, as well

-as aid to keep them from starving. In the man’s affection there is a

-tender self-sacrifice, a delicacy, so much the more charming in that

-it accords not at all with the habitual bungling awkwardness of his

-ways and ideas; like a flower growing in sterile soil, among brambles,

-and betrayed only by its perfume. He imposes upon himself privations

-truly heroic, for the sake of comforting and gladdening the existence

-of his dear friend. These are, moreover, so well concealed that they

-are only discovered through some awkwardness on his part; as for him,

-they seem to him a matter of course. His sentiments are by turns those

-of a father, a brother, a good faithful dog. He would define them thus

-himself if called upon to analyze them. But although we well know a

-name for this feeling, let us not even whisper it to him; he would be

-overcome with shame at the mere mention of it.

-

-The woman’s character is drawn with marvellous art. She is very

-superior to her friend in mind and education; she guides him in all

-intellectual things, which are quite new to him. She is weak by nature,

-and tender-hearted, but less faithful and resigned than he. She has not

-wholly given up a desire for the good things of life. She continually

-protests against the sacrifices which Dievushkin imposes upon himself,

-she begs him not to trouble himself for her; but sometimes a longing

-cry for something she feels the deprivation of escapes her, or perhaps

-a childish desire for some trifle or finery. The two neighbors can

-only see each other occasionally, that they may give no occasion

-for malicious gossip, and an almost daily correspondence has been

-established between them. In these letters we read of their past, the

-hard lives they have lived, the little incidents of their every-day

-life, their disappointments; the terrors of the young girl, pursued

-by the vicious, who try to entrap her; the agonies of the poor clerk,

-working for his daily bread, trying so pitifully to preserve the

-dignity of his manhood through the cruel treatment of those who would

-strip him of it.

-

-Finally, the crisis comes; Dievushkin loses his only joy in life. You

-think, perhaps, that a young lover comes to steal her from him, that

-love will usurp in her heart the place of sisterly affection. Oh, no!

-the tale is much more human, far sadder.

-

-A man who had once before sought out this young girl, with possibly

-doubtful intentions, offers her his hand. He is middle-aged, rich, of

-rather questionable character; but his proposition is an honorable one.

-Weary of wrestling against fate, persuaded perhaps also that she may

-thereby lighten some of the burdens of her friend, the unfortunate girl

-accepts the offer. Here the study of character is absolutely true to

-nature. The young girl, going suddenly from extreme poverty to luxury,

-is intoxicated for a moment by this new atmosphere, fine dresses, and

-jewels! In her cruel ingenuousness, she fills the last letters with

-details upon these grave subjects. From force of habit, she asks this

-kind Dievushkin, who always made all her purchases, to do an errand

-at the jeweller’s for her. Can her soul be really base, unworthy of

-the pure sentiment she had inspired? Not for a moment does the reader

-have such an impression, the writer knows so well how to maintain true

-harmony in his delineation of character. No, it is only that a little

-of youth and human nature have come to the surface in the experience

-of this long repressed soul. How can we grudge her such a trifling

-pleasure?

-

-Then this cruelty is explained by the complete misapprehension of their

-reciprocal feelings. With her it is only a friendship, which will ever

-be faithful, grateful, if perhaps a little less single; how can she

-possibly understand that for him it is nothing short of despair?

-

-It had been arranged that the wedded pair should start immediately

-after the marriage for a distant province. Up to the very last hour,

-Dievushkin replies to her letters, giving her the most minute details

-of the shopping that he has done for her, making great efforts to

-become versed in the subject of laces and ribbons. He only occasionally

-betrays a hint of the terror which seizes him at the thought of the

-near separation; but finally, in the last letter, his wounded heart

-breaks; the unhappy man sees before him the blank desolation of his

-future life, solitary, empty; he is no longer conscious of what he

-writes; but, in spite of all, his utter distress is kept back; he

-himself seems hardly yet to realize the secret of his own agony. The

-drama ends with an agonizing wail of despair, when he is left standing

-alone, behind the departing train.

-

-I should like to quote many passages; I hesitate, and find none. This

-is the highest eulogium that can be bestowed upon a romance. The

-structure is so solid, the materials so simple, and so completely

-sacrificed to the impression of the whole, that a detached fragment

-quite loses its effect; it means no more than a single stone torn from

-a Greek temple, whose beauty consists in its general lines. This is the

-peculiar attribute of all the great Russian authors.

-

-Another trait is also common to them, in which Turgenef excelled, and

-in which perhaps Dostoyevski even surpassed him: the art of awaking

-with a single line, sometimes with a word, infinite harmonies, a whole

-series of sentiments and ideas. “Poor People” is a perfect specimen

-of this art. The words you read upon the paper seem to produce

-reverberations, as, when touching the key-board of an organ, the sounds

-produced awake, through invisible tubes, the great interior heart of

-harmony within the instrument, whence come its deepest tones of thunder.

-

-When you have read the last page you feel that you know the two

-characters as perfectly as if you had lived with them for years;

-moreover, the author has not told us a thousandth part of what we know

-of them, his mere indications are such revelations; for it seems he is

-especially effective in what he leaves unsaid, but merely suggests, and

-we are grateful to him for what he leaves us to imagine.

-

-Into this tender production Dostoyevski has poured his own nature, all

-his sensibility, his longing for sympathy and devotion, his bitter

-conception of life, his savage, pitiable pride. His own letters of

-this period are like Dievushkin’s, where he speaks of his inconceivable

-mortification on account of his “wretched overcoat.”

-

-In order to understand the high estimation of this work held by

-Bielinski and Nekrasof, and to realize its remarkable originality, we

-must remember its time and place in Russian literature. The “Annals of

-a Sportsman” did not appear until five years later. True, Gogol had

-furnished the theme in “Le Manteau,” but Dostoyevski substituted a

-suggestive emotion in place of his master’s fancy.

-

-He continued to write essays in the same vein, but they were less

-remarkable, and he even tried his hand at writing a farce; but destiny

-rudely led him back into his true path, and gave the man his peculiarly

-tragic physiognomy among writers.

-

-

-                                  II.

-

-About the year 1847 the students’ clubs already mentioned, which

-assembled to discuss the doctrines of Fourier and others, opened to

-receive political writers and army officers, and were at this time

-under the direction of a former student, the political agitator

-Petrachevski. The conspiracy headed by this man is still imperfectly

-understood, as well as the general history of that time. It is,

-however, certain that two different currents of ideas divided these

-circles. One embraced those of their predecessors, the revolutionists

-of December, 1825, who went no farther than to indulge in dreams of the

-emancipation and of a liberal government. The other set went far beyond

-their successors, the present nihilists, for they desired the total

-ruin of the entire social edifice.

-

-Dostoyevski’s character, as we have seen, made him an easy prey to

-radical ideas through his generosity as well as his hardships and his

-rebellious spirit. He has related how he was attracted toward socialism

-by the influence of his learned protector, Bielinski, who tried also to

-convert him to atheism.

-

-Our author soon became an enthusiastic member of the reunions inspired

-by Petrachevski. He was, undoubtedly, among the more moderate, or

-rather one of the independent dreamers. Mysticism, sympathy for the

-unfortunate, these must have been what attracted him in any political

-doctrine; and his incapacity for action made this metaphysician

-altogether harmless. The sentence pronounced upon him charged him

-with very pardonable errors: participation in the reunions; also in

-the discussions on the severity of the press censure; the reading or

-listening to the reading of seditious pamphlets, etc. These crimes seem

-very slight when compared with the severe punishment they provoked. The

-police force was then so inefficient that it for two years remained

-ignorant of what was going on in these circles; but finally they were

-betrayed by an unfaithful member.

-

-Petrachevski and his friends also betrayed themselves at a banquet in

-honor of Fourier, where they were discussing the destruction of family

-ties, property, kings, and deities. Dostoyevski took no part in these

-social banquets, that occurred just after those days of June in France

-which spread terror throughout all Europe, and only one year after

-other banquets which had overturned a throne. The Emperor Nicholas,

-although naturally humane, now forced himself to be implacable,

-entertaining the firm conviction that he was the chosen servant of God

-to save a sinking world. He was already meditating the emancipation

-of the serfs; by a fatal misunderstanding he was now going to strike

-down men, some of whom had committed no crime but that of desiring

-the same reform. History is only just when she seeks the motives of

-all consciences and the springs of their actions. But this was not a

-favorable time for explanations or cool judgments.

-

-On the 23d of April, 1849, at five o’clock in the morning, thirty-three

-persons looked upon as suspicious characters were arrested, the

-Dostoyevski brothers being among the number. The prisoners were carried

-to the citadel, and placed in solitary confinement in the gloomy

-casemates, which were haunted by the most terrible associations. They

-remained there eight months, with no distractions except the visits of

-the examining commissioners; finally, they were allowed the use of a

-few religious books. Feodor Mikhailovitch wrote once to his brother,

-who had been soon released through the want of sufficient evidence

-against him: “For five months I have lived upon my own substance; that

-is, upon my own brain alone…. To think constantly, and receive no

-outside impression to renew and sustain thought, is wearing…. I was as

-if placed under a receiver from which all the pure air was extracted….”

-

-On the 22d of December the prisoners were led out, without being

-informed of the sentence which had been pronounced upon them. There

-were now only 21, the others having been discharged. They were

-conducted to a square where a scaffold had been erected. The cold was

-intense; the criminals were ordered to remove all their clothing,

-except their shirts, and listen to the reading of the sentence, which

-would last for a half-hour. When the sheriff began to read, Dostoyevski

-said to the prisoner next him: “Is it possible that we are going to

-be executed?” The idea seemed to have occurred to him for the first

-time. His companion pointed to a cart, loaded with what appeared to be

-coffins covered over with a cloth. The last words of the sentence were:

-“They are condemned to death, and are to be shot.”

-

-The sheriff left the scaffold, and a priest mounted upon it with a

-cross in his hand, and exhorted the prisoners to confess. Only one

-responded to this exhortation; all the others kissed the cross.

-Petrachevski and two of the principal conspirators were bound to the

-pillar. The officer ordered the company of soldiers drawn up for the

-purpose to charge their weapons. As they were taking aim, a white flag

-was hoisted in front of them, when the twenty-one prisoners heard that

-the Emperor had commuted their penalty to exile in Siberia. The leaders

-were unbound; one of them, Grigoref, was struck with sudden insanity,

-and never recovered.

-

-Dostoyevski, on the contrary, has often assured me, as if he were

-really convinced of it, that he should inevitably have gone mad if he

-had not been removed by this and following disasters from the life

-he was leading. Before his imprisonment he was beset by imaginary

-maladies, nervous depression, and “mystic terrors,” which condition

-would certainly have brought about mental derangement, from which he

-was only saved by this sudden change in his way of life, and by the

-necessity of steeling himself against his overwhelming trials,―which

-may have been true, for it is said that imaginary evils are best cured

-by real ones; still, I cannot but think that there was some degree of

-pride in this affirmation.

-

-In each of his books he depicts a scene similar to what he himself

-experienced, and he has labored to make a perfect psychological study

-of the condemned prisoner who is about to die. You feel that these

-pages are the result of a nightmare, proceeding from some hidden recess

-of the author’s own brain.

-

-The imperial decree, which was less severe for him than for any of the

-rest, reduced his punishment to four years of hard labor, after which

-he was to serve as a common soldier, losing his rank among the nobles

-as well as all civil rights.

-

-The exiled prisoners started immediately in sledges for Siberia. At

-Tobolsk, after one night passed together, when they bade each other

-farewell, they were put in irons, their heads shaved, and they were

-then sent to their several destinations. It was at that temporary

-prison that they were visited by the wives of the revolutionists of

-December. These brave women had set a noble example. Belonging to the

-upper class, and accustomed to a life of luxury, they had renounced

-everything to follow their exiled husbands into Siberia, and for

-twenty-five years had haunted the prison gates. Learning now of the

-arrival of another set of refugees, they came to visit them, warned

-these young men of what was in store for them, and counselled them how

-best to support their hardships, offering to each of them all that they

-had to give, the Gospel.

-

-Dostoyevski accepted his, and throughout the four years always kept

-it under his pillow. He read it every evening under the lamp in the

-dormitory, and taught others to read in it. After the hard day’s work,

-while his companions in chains were restoring their wasted energies in

-sleep, he obtained from his book a consolation more necessary still

-for a thinking man, a renewal of moral strength, and a support in

-bearing his trials. How can we imagine this intellectual man, with his

-delicate nervous organization, his overweening pride, his sensitive

-imagination, prone to exaggeration of every dreaded evil, condemned to

-the companionship of these low wretches in such a monotonous existence,

-forced to daily labor; and for the slightest negligence, or at the

-caprice of his keepers, threatened with a flogging by the soldiers!

-He was inscribed among the worst set of malefactors and political

-criminals, who were kept under military surveillance.

-

-They were employed in turning a grindstone for marble works, in

-demolishing old boats on the ice in winter, and other rough and useless

-labor.

-

-How well he has described the weariness of being forced to labor merely

-for the sake of being employed, feeling that his task is nothing but

-a gymnastic exercise. He has also said the severest trial of all, was

-never being allowed to be alone for a single moment for years. But the

-greatest torture of all for this writer, now at the height of his

-powers, incessantly haunted by images and ideas, was the impossibility

-of writing, of alleviating his lot by absorbing himself in some

-literary work. But he survived, and was strengthened and purified, and

-the personal history of this martyr can be read in his “Recollections

-of a Dead House,”[K] which he wrote after he left the prison. How

-unjust is literary fame, and what a thing of chance it is! The name

-and work of Silvio Pellico are known throughout the civilized world.

-In France the book is one of the classics; and yet there, on the great

-highway of all fame and of all great thoughts, even the title of this

-tragic work of Dostoyevski’s was but yesterday quite unknown,―a book

-as superior to that of the Lombard prisoner, as the tales exceed his in

-horror.

-

-No work was ever more difficult to accomplish. Siberia, that mysterious

-land which was then only mentioned with extreme caution, must be freely

-described. It was, too, a former political prisoner who now undertook

-to walk over these burning coals and brave this cruel press-censure.

-He was successful; and he made us realize what exquisite refinement of

-suffering a man of the upper class, thrown amid such surroundings, was

-capable of enduring.

-

-He gives us the biography of such a man, who had been through many

-years of hard labor, the penalty of some small crime. This man, who

-is, in reality, no other than Dostoyevski himself, occupies himself in

-psychological studies of these unfortunates, aiming constantly to show

-the divine spark always existing even in the most degraded. Many of

-them relate the story of their lives to him; with some he seeks to know

-nothing of their past, but contents himself with describing their moral

-natures in his broad, vague manner, which is also common to all the

-great Russian writers. These portraits, with their indistinct outlines,

-melting as into the grayness of the early dawn, recall Henner’s

-portraits when compared with those of Ingres. The language, too, which

-Dostoyevski purposely employs, of a popular type, is marvellously well

-fitted for his purpose.

-

-The greater part of these natures belong to a type of character which

-Dostoyevski seems peculiarly to enjoy analyzing; those natures which

-are subject to attacks of caprice, almost amounting to sudden or

-temporary insanity. In a romance of his, called “The Idiot,” he quotes

-an example of this kind, which he declares to be strictly true:―“Two

-peasants, of middle age and friends of long standing, arrived at an

-inn. Neither of them was at all intoxicated. They took their tea and

-ordered a bedroom, which they shared together. One of them had noticed

-that within the last few days his companion had worn a silver watch,

-which he never had seen him wear before. The man was no thief; he

-was an honest man, and, moreover, in very comfortable circumstances

-for a peasant. But this watch so struck his fancy that he conceived

-a most inordinate desire to possess it, which he could not repress.

-He seized a knife, and, as soon as his friend’s back was turned, he

-approached him noiselessly, raised his eyes to heaven, crossed himself,

-and devoutly murmured this prayer: ‘Lord, forgive me, through Jesus

-Christ!’ He then killed his friend with as much ease as he would a

-sheep, and took the watch.”

-

-Those persons who conceive a desire, when on the top of a high tower,

-to throw themselves into the abyss below, he says are often of a mild,

-peaceable, and quite ordinary type. Some natures apparently enjoy the

-anticipation of the horror they can inspire in others, and, in a fit of

-desperation, seem to court punishment as a solution of their condition

-of mind. Sometimes in these attacks of madness is mingled a vein of

-asceticism. Dostoyevski introduces an instance of this kind in “Crime

-and Punishment,” which illustrates the strange sense which the Russian

-peasant attaches to the idea of punishment, sought for itself, for its

-propitiatory virtue:―

-

-“This prisoner was quite different from all the rest. He was a little

-pale thin man, about 60 years of age. I was struck with his appearance

-the first time I saw him, there was so much calmness and repose about

-him. I particularly liked his eyes, which were clear and intelligent.

-I often talked with him, and have seldom met with so kindly a nature,

-so upright a soul. He was expiating in Siberia an unpardonable crime.

-In consequence of several conversions in his parish, a movement towards

-the old orthodoxy, the government, wishing to encourage these good

-tendencies, had an orthodox church built. This man, together with a few

-other fanatics, determined to ‘resist for his faith’s sake,’ and set

-fire to the church. The instigators of the crime were all condemned to

-hard labor in Siberia. He had been a very successful tradesman at the

-head of a flourishing business. Leaving his wife and children at home,

-he accepted his sentence with firmness, in his blindness considering

-his punishment as a ‘witness to his faith.’ He was mild and gentle

-as a child, and one could not but wonder how he could have committed

-such a deed. I often conversed with him on matters of faith. He

-yielded up none of his convictions, but never in argument betrayed the

-least hatred or resentment; nor did I ever discover in him the least

-indication of pride or braggadocio. In the prison he was universally

-respected, and did not show a trace of vanity on this account. The

-prisoners called him ‘our little uncle,’ and never disturbed him in any

-way. I could realize what sway he must have had over his companions in

-the faith.

-

-“In spite of the apparent courage with which he bore his fate, a

-secret constant pain, which he tried to hide from all eyes, seemed

-at times to consume him. We slept in the same dormitory. I waked one

-morning at four o’clock, and heard what sounded like stifled sobbing.

-The old man was sitting on the porcelain stove reading in a manuscript

-prayer-book. He was weeping bitterly, and I heard him murmur from time

-to time: ‘O Lord! do not forsake me! Lord, give me strength! My little

-children, my dearest little ones, we shall never see each other again!’

-I felt such inexpressible pity for him!”

-

-I must also translate a terrible piece of realism, the death of

-Mikhailof: “I knew him but slightly; he was a young man about

-twenty-five years of age, tall, slender, and had a remarkably fine

-form. He belonged to the section in which the worst criminals were

-placed, and was always extremely reticent and seemed very sad and

-depressed. He had literally wasted away in prison. I remember that his

-eyes were very fine, and I know not why his image so often comes before

-me. He died in the afternoon of a fine, clear, frosty day. I remember

-how the sun shone obliquely through our greenish window-panes, thickly

-covered with frost. The bright shaft of sunlight shone directly upon

-this poor unfortunate, as he lay dying. Though he might have been

-unconscious, he had a hard struggle, the death agony lasting many

-hours. He had recognized no one since morning. We tried to relieve

-his suffering, which evidently was intense; he breathed with great

-difficulty, with a rattling sound, and his chest labored heavily. He

-threw off all his coverings and tore his shirt, as if the weight of

-it was insupportable. We went to his aid and took the shirt off. That

-emaciated body was a terrible sight, the legs and arms wasted to the

-bone, every rib visible like those of a skeleton. Only his chains and

-a little wooden cross remained upon him. His wasted feet might almost

-have escaped through the rings of the fetters.

-

-“For a half-hour before his death all sounds ceased in our dormitory,

-and no one spoke above a whisper, and all moved as noiselessly as

-possible. Finally his hand, wavering and uncertain, sought the little

-cross, and tried to tear it off, as if even that was too heavy a

-weight and was stifling him. They took it away, and ten minutes

-after he expired. They went to inform the guard, who came and looked

-indifferently upon the corpse, then went to call the health officer,

-who came immediately, approached the dead man with a rapid step

-which resounded in the silent chamber, and with a professional air

-of indifference, assumed for the occasion, felt his pulse, made a

-significant gesture as if to say that all was over, and went out. One

-of the prisoners suggested that the eyes should be closed, which was

-done by one of the others, who also, seeing the cross lying on the

-pillow, took it up, looked at it, and put it around Mikhailof’s neck;

-then he crossed himself. The face was already growing rigid, the mouth

-was half open, showing the handsome white teeth under the thin lips,

-which closely adhered to the gums. Finally, the second officer of the

-guard appeared in full uniform and helmet, followed by two soldiers. He

-slowly advanced, looking hesitatingly at the solemn circle of prisoners

-standing about him. When he drew near the body, he stopped short as if

-nailed to the spot. The spectacle of this wasted, naked form in irons

-evidently shocked him. He unfastened his helmet, took it off, which

-no one expected of him, and crossed himself reverentially. He was a

-gray-haired veteran officer, and a severe disciplinarian. One of the

-soldiers with him seemed much affected, and, pointing to the corpse,

-murmured as he left: ‘He, too, once had a mother!’ These words, I

-remember, shot through me like an arrow…. They carried away the corpse,

-with the camp bed it lay upon; the straw rustled, the chains dragged

-clanking against the floor, breaking the general silence. We heard the

-second officer in the corridor sending some one for the blacksmith. The

-corpse must be unfettered….”

-

-This gives an example of Dostoyevski’s method, showing his persistence

-in giving all the minutiæ of every action. He shows us, how,

-sometimes, among these tragic scenes, kind souls come to bring

-consolation to the exiles, as in the case of a widow who came daily

-to bring little gifts or a bit of news, or at least to smile upon the

-wretched creatures. “She could give but little, for she was very poor;

-but we prisoners felt that we had at least, close by the walls of our

-prison, one being wholly devoted to us,―and that was something.”

-

-On opening this book, the key-note from the very beginning has a tone

-so melancholy, so harrowing, that you wonder how long the author can

-continue in this vein, and how he can ever manage the gradation into

-another. But he is successful in this, as those will see who have the

-courage to go on as far as the chapter on corporal punishments, and the

-description of the hospital, to which the prisoners afterwards come to

-recover from the effects of these chastisements. It is impossible to

-conceive of sufferings more horrible than these, or more graphically

-portrayed.

-

-Nevertheless, Dostoyevski does not properly belong to the “natural

-school.” The difference is not easily explained, but there is a

-difference. Everything depends upon the master’s intention, which never

-deceives the reader. When the realistic writer only seeks to awake a

-morbid curiosity, we inwardly condemn him; but when it is evident that

-he is aiming to develop some moral idea, or impress a lesson the more

-strongly upon our minds, we may criticize the method, but we must

-sympathize with the author. His portrayals, even when disgusting to us,

-are ennobled, like the loathsome wound under the hands of the gentle

-Sister of Charity. This is the case with Dostoyevski. His object in

-writing was reform. With a cautious but pitiless hand, he has torn away

-the curtain which concealed this distant Siberian hell from the eyes of

-the Russians themselves. The “Recollections of a Dead House” gave the

-death-blow to the sentence of exile, as “Annals of a Sportsman” gave

-the signal for the abolition of serfdom. To-day I am thankful to say

-these repulsive scenes belong only to the history of the past; corporal

-punishment has been abolished, and the prisons in Siberia are regulated

-with as much humanity as with us. We can then pardon the tortures this

-author has inflicted upon us in his graphic recitals of these scenes

-of martyrdom. We must persevere and continue to the end, and we shall

-realize better than from a host of philosophical dissertations what

-things are possible in such a country, what has taken place there

-so recently, and how this writer could calmly relate such horrors

-without a single expression of revolt or astonishment. This reserved

-impartiality is, I know, partly his own peculiar style, and partly the

-result of the severe press-censure; but the fact that the writer can

-speak of these horrors as natural phenomena of social life, reminds

-us that we are looking into a different world from ours, and must be

-prepared for all extremes of evil and good, barbarism, courage, and

-sacrifice. Those men who carried the Testament into the prison with

-them, those extreme souls are filled with the spirit of a Gospel which

-has passed through Byzantium, written for the ascetic and the martyr;

-their errors as well as their virtues are all derived from that same

-source. I almost despair of making this world intelligible to ours,

-which is haunted by such different images, moulded by such different

-hands.

-

-Dostoyevski has since said, many times, that the experience in Siberia

-was beneficial to him, that he had learned to love his brothers of the

-lower classes, and to discover nobleness even among the very worst

-criminals. “Destiny,” he said, “in treating me with the severity of a

-step-mother, became a true mother to me.”

-

-The last chapter of this work might be entitled: “A Resurrection.” In

-it are described, with rare skill, the sentiments of a prisoner as

-he approaches the time of his liberation. During the last few weeks,

-his hero has the privilege of obtaining a few books, and occasionally

-an odd number of a review. For ten years he had read nothing but his

-Gospel, had heard nothing of the outside world.

-

-In taking up the thread of life among his contemporaries, he

-experiences unusual sensations; he enters into a new universe; he

-cannot explain many simple words and events; he asks himself, almost

-with terror, what giant strides his generation has made without him;

-these feelings must resemble those of a man who has been resuscitated.

-

-At last the solemn hour has come. He tenderly bids his companions

-farewell, feeling real regret at parting with them; he leaves a portion

-of his heart wherever he goes, even in a prison. He goes to the forge,

-his fetters fall, he is a free man!

-

-

-                                  III.

-

-The freedom which Dostoyevski entered into was, however, only a

-relative one. He entered a Siberian regiment as a common soldier. The

-new reign, two years after, in 1856, brought him pardon. At first he

-was promoted to the rank of officer, and his civil rights restored

-to him, and then authorized to send in his resignation. But it was a

-long time before he could obtain permission to leave the country, or

-to publish anything. At last, in 1859, after ten years of exile, he

-recrossed the Ural mountains and returned to a country which he found

-greatly changed, and at that moment palpitating with impatience and

-hope, on the eve of the Emancipation. He brought a companion with him

-from Siberia, the widow of one of his old comrades in the conspiracy

-of Petrachevski, whom he there met, fell in love with, and married.

-But, as in every phase of his life, this romantic marriage too was

-destined to be crossed by misfortune and ennobled by self-sacrifice.

-The young wife conceived a stronger attachment for another man, whom

-she threatened to join. For a whole year Dostoyevski’s letters prove

-that he was working to secure the happiness of his wife and his rival,

-writing constantly to his friends at St. Petersburg to help him to

-remove all obstacles to their union. “As for me,” he added, at the

-close of one of those letters, “God knows what I shall do! I shall

-either drown myself or take to drinking.”

-

-It was this page of his personal history which he reproduced in “The

-Degraded and Insulted,” the first of his romances which was translated

-into French, but not the best. The position of the confidant favoring

-a love affair which only brought despair for himself, was true to

-nature, for it was his own experience. Whether it was not skilfully

-presented, or whether we ourselves are more selfish by nature, I

-cannot say, but it is hard for us to accept such a situation, or not

-to see a ridiculous side to it. The general public cannot appreciate

-such subtleties. His characters are too melodramatic. On the very

-rare occasions when he draws his types from the upper classes, he

-always makes a failure, for he understands nothing of the complex and

-restrained passions of souls hardened by intercourse with the world.

-Natasha’s lover, the giddy creature for whom she has sacrificed

-everything, is not much better. I know that we must not expect lovers

-to be reasonable beings, and that it is more philosophical to admire

-the power of love, irrespectively of its object; but the general

-novel-reader is not supposed to be a philosopher; he would like the

-adored hero to be interesting at least, and would prefer even a

-rascal to an idiot. In France, at all events, we cannot endorse such

-a spectacle, although it is both true to nature and consoling; an

-exquisite type of woman devoted to a fool. Our gallantry, however,

-forces us to admit that a man of genius may be permitted to adore a

-foolish woman, but that is all we are willing to concede. Dostoyevski

-himself has surpassed the most severe criticisms of this work in his

-article on the “Degraded and Insulted”: “I realize that many of the

-characters in my book are puppets rather than men.”

-

-With these exceptions, we must acknowledge that we recognize the

-hand of a master in the two female characters. Natasha is the very

-incarnation of intense, jealous passion; she speaks and acts like a

-victim of love in a Greek tragedy. Nelly, a charming and pathetic

-little creature, resembles one of Dickens’ beautiful child characters.

-

-After his return to St. Petersburg, in 1865, Dostoyevski became

-absorbed in journalism. He conceived an unfortunate passion for this

-form of literature, and devoted to it the best years of his life. He

-edited two journals to defend the ideas which he had adopted. I defy

-any one to express these ideas in any practical language. He took a

-position between the liberal and the _Slavophile_ parties, inclining

-more toward the latter. It was a patriotic form of religion, but

-somewhat mysterious, with no precise dogmas, and lending itself to no

-rational explanation. One must either accept or reject it altogether.

-The great error of the _Slavophile_ party has been to have filled

-so many pages of paper for twenty-five years, in arguing out a mere

-sentiment. Whoever questions their arguments is considered incapable of

-understanding them; while those who do not enter into the question at

-all are despised, and taxed with profound ignorance.

-

-At this time of transition, during the first years following the

-Emancipation, men’s ideas, too long repressed, were in a state of

-vertigo, of chaotic confusion. Some were buoyed up with the wildest

-hopes; others felt the bitterness of disenchantment, and many

-disappointed enthusiasts embraced Nihilism, which was taken up at

-this time by romance writers as well as by politicians. Dostoyevski

-abandoned his purely artistic ideals, withdrew from the influence of

-Gogol, and consecrated himself to the study of this new doctrine.

-

-From 1865, our author experienced a series of unfortunate years. His

-second journal was unsuccessful, failed, and he was crushed under the

-burden of heavy debts incurred in the enterprise. He afterwards lost

-his wife, as related above, and also his brother Alexis, his associate

-in his literary labors. He fled to escape his creditors, and dragged

-out a miserable existence in Germany and Italy. Attacks of epilepsy

-interrupted his work, and he only returned home from time to time to

-solicit advance pay from his editors. All that he saw in his travels

-seems to have made no impression upon him, with the exception of an

-execution he witnessed at Lyons. This spectacle was retained in his

-memory, to be described in detail by characters of his future romances.

-

-In spite of his illness and other troubles, he wrote at this time three

-of his longest novels,―“Crime et Châtiment,” “l’Idiot,” and “Les

-Possédés.” “Crime and Punishment” was written when he was at the height

-of his powers. It has been translated, and can therefore be criticised.

-Men of science who enjoy the study of the human soul, will read with

-interest the profoundest psychological study which has been written

-since Macbeth. The curious of a certain type will find in this book

-the entertaining mode of torture which is to their taste; but I think

-it will terrify the greater number of readers, and that very many will

-have no desire to finish it. We generally read a novel for pleasure,

-and not for punishment. This book has a powerful effect upon women,

-and upon all impressionable natures. The writer’s graphic scenes of

-terror are too much for a nervous organization. I have myself seen

-in Russia numerous examples of the infallible effect of this romance

-upon the mind. It can be urged that the Slav temperament is unusually

-susceptible, but I have seen the same impression made upon Frenchmen.

-Hoffmann, Edgar Poe, Baudelaire, all writers of this type, are mere

-mystics in comparison with Dostoyevski. In their fictions you feel that

-they are only pursuing a literary or artistic venture; but in “Crime

-and Punishment,” you are impressed with the fact that the author is as

-much horrified as you are yourself by the character that he has drawn

-from the tissue of his own brain.

-

-The subject is very simple. A man conceives the idea of committing a

-crime; he matures it, commits the deed, defends himself for some time

-from being arrested, and finally gives himself up to the expiation of

-it. For once, this Russian artist has adopted the European idea of

-unity of action; the drama, purely psychological, is made up of the

-combat between the man and his own project. The accessory characters

-and facts are of no consequence, except in regard to their influence

-upon the criminal’s plans. The first part, in which are described the

-birth and growth of the criminal idea, is written with consummate skill

-and a truth and subtlety of analysis beyond all praise. The student

-Raskolnikof, a nihilist in the true sense of the word, intelligent,

-unprincipled, unscrupulous, reduced to extreme poverty, dreams of a

-happier condition. On returning home from going to pawn a jewel at an

-old pawnbroker’s shop, this vague thought crosses his brain without his

-attaching much importance to it:―

-

-“An intelligent man who had that old woman’s money could accomplish

-anything he liked; it is only necessary to get rid of the useless,

-hateful old hag.”

-

-This was but one of those fleeting thoughts which cross the brain

-like a nightmare, and which only assume a distinct form through the

-assent of the will. This idea becomes fixed in the man’s brain, growing

-and increasing on every page, until he is perfectly possessed by it.

-Every hard experience of his outward life appears to him to bear some

-relation to his project; and by a mysterious power of reasoning,

-to work into his plan and urge him on to the crime. The influence

-exercised upon this man is brought out into such distinct relief

-that it seems to us itself like a living actor in the drama, guiding

-the criminal’s hand to the murderous weapon. The horrible deed is

-accomplished; and the unfortunate man wrestles with the recollection

-of it as he did with the original design. The relations of the world

-to the murderer are all changed, through the irreparable fact of his

-having suppressed a human life. Everything takes on a new physiognomy

-and a new meaning to him, excluding from him the possibility of feeling

-and reasoning like other people, or of finding his own place in life.

-His whole soul is metamorphosed and in constant discord with the

-life around him. This is not remorse in the true sense of the word.

-Dostoyevski exerts himself to distinguish and explain the difference.

-His hero will feel no remorse until the day of expiation; but it is

-a complex and perverse feeling which possesses him; the vexation at

-having derived no satisfaction from an act so successfully carried out;

-the revolting against the unexpected moral consequences of that act;

-the shame of finding himself so weak and helpless; for the foundation

-of Raskolnikof’s character is pride. Only one single interest in

-life is left to him: to deceive and elude the police. He seeks their

-company, their friendship, by an attraction analogous to that which

-draws us to the extreme edge of a dizzy precipice; the murderer keeps

-up interminable interviews with his friends at the police office, and

-even leads on the conversation to that point, when a single word would

-betray him; every moment we fear he will utter the word; but he escapes

-and continues the terrible game as if it were a pleasure.

-

-The magistrate Porphyre has guessed the student’s secret; he plays with

-him like a tiger with its prey, sure of his game. Then Raskolnikof

-knows he is discovered; and through several chapters a long fantastic

-dialogue is kept up between the two adversaries; a double dialogue,

-that of the lips, which smile and wilfully ignore; and that of the eyes

-which know and betray all. At last when the author has tortured us

-sufficiently in this way, he introduces the salutary influence which is

-to break down the culprit’s pride and reconcile him to the expiation

-of his crime. Raskolnikof loves a poor street-walker. The author’s

-clairvoyance divines that even the sentiment of love was destined in

-him to be modified, like every other, to be changed into a dull despair.

-

-Sonia is a humble creature, who has sold herself to escape starvation,

-and is almost unconscious of her dishonor, enduring it as a malady

-she cannot prevent. She wears her ignominy as a cross, with pious

-resignation. She is attached to the only man who has not treated her

-with contempt; she sees that he is tortured by some secret, and tries

-to draw it from him. After a long struggle the avowal is made, but not

-in words. In a mute interview, which is tragic in the extreme, Sonia

-reads the terrible truth in her friend’s eyes. The poor girl is stunned

-for a moment, but recovers herself quickly. She knows the remedy; her

-stricken heart cries out:―

-

-“We must suffer, and suffer together … we must pray and atone … let us

-go to prison!…”

-

-Thus are we led back to Dostoyevski’s favorite idea, to the Russian’s

-fundamental conception of Christianity: the efficacy of atonement, of

-suffering, and its being the only solution of all difficulties.

-

-To express the singular relations between these two beings, that

-solemn, pathetic bond, so foreign to every pre-conceived idea of

-love, we should make use of the word _compassion_ in the sense in

-which Bossuet used it: the suffering with and through another being.

-When Raskolnikof falls at the feet of the girl who supports her

-parents by her shame, she, the despised of all, is terrified at his

-self-abasement, and begs him to rise. He then utters a phrase which

-expresses the combination of all the books we are studying: “It is not

-only before thee that I prostrate myself, but before all suffering

-humanity.” Let us here observe that our author has never yet once

-succeeded in representing love in any form apart from these subtleties,

-or the simple natural attraction of two hearts toward each other. He

-portrays only extreme cases; either that mystic state of sympathy and

-self-sacrifice for a distressed fellow-creature, of utter devotion,

-apart from any selfish desire: or the mad, bestial cruelty of a

-perverted nature. The lovers he represents are not made of flesh and

-blood, but of nerves and tears. Yet this realist evokes only harrowing

-_thoughts_, never disagreeable _images_. I defy any one to quote a

-single line suggestive of anything sensual, or a single instance where

-the woman is represented in the light of a temptress. His love scenes

-are absolutely chaste, and yet he seems to be incapable of portraying

-any creation between an angel and a beast.

-

-You can imagine what the _dénouement_ will be. The nihilist, half

-conquered, prowls for some time around the police office; and finally

-he acknowledges his guilt, and is condemned. Sonia teaches him to pray,

-and the wretched creatures go to Siberia. Dostoyevski gladly seizes

-the opportunity to rewrite, as a sort of epilogue, a chapter of his

-“Recollections of a Dead House.”

-

-Apart from the principal characters of this book, there are secondary

-characters and scenes which are impossible to forget, such is the

-impression they leave upon you after one reading. There is one scene

-where the murderer, always mysteriously attracted back to the fatal

-spot, tries to recall every detail of his crime; he even goes to pull

-the cracked bell of the apartment, in order to recall more vividly by

-this sound the impression of the terrible moment. Detached fragments of

-this work seem to lose their signification, and if you skip a few pages

-the whole thing becomes unintelligible. One may feel impatient with

-the author’s prolixity, but if he omits anything the magnetic current

-is interrupted. This I have been told by those who have tried the

-experiment. The reader requires as much of an effort of concentration

-and memory as for a philosophical treatise. This is a pleasure or a

-penalty according to the reader. Besides, a translation, however good,

-cannot possibly render the continuous smooth course of the original

-text, or give its under-currents of meaning.

-

-We cannot but pity the man who has written such a book, so evidently

-drawn from the substance of his own brain. To understand how he was led

-so to write, we must note what he once said to a friend in regard to

-his mental condition, after one of his severe attacks of illness:―“The

-state of dejection into which they plunge me makes me feel in this way:

-I seem to be like a criminal who has committed some terrible deed which

-weighs upon his conscience.” The review which published Dostoyevski’s

-novels often gave but a few pages at a time, followed by a brief note

-of apology. Every one understood that Feodor Mikhailovitch had had one

-of his severe attacks of illness.

-

-“Crime and Punishment” established the author’s popularity. Its

-appearance was the great literary event of the year 1866. All Russia

-was made ill by it, so to speak. When the book first appeared, a Moscow

-student murdered a pawnbroker in almost precisely the way described

-by the novelist; and I firmly believe that many subsequent attempts,

-analogous to this, may have been attributable to the influence of this

-book. Dostoyevski’s intention, of course, was undoubtedly to dissuade

-men from such acts by representing their terrible consequences; but he

-did not foresee that the intensity of his portrayals might act in an

-opposite sense, and tempt the demon of imitation existing in a certain

-type of brain. I therefore hesitate to pronounce upon the moral value

-of the work. Our writers may say that I am over-scrupulous. They may

-not admit that the moral value of a work of art is a thing to be taken

-into account in regard to the appreciation of it as a work of art. But

-does anything exist in this world wholly independent of a moral value?

-

-The Russian authors claim that they aim to nourish souls, and the

-greatest offence you could offer them would be to accuse them of making

-a collection of purposeless words. Dostoyevski’s novels will be judged

-either as useful or harmful according as one decides for or against the

-morality of public executions and sentences. It is an open question.

-For myself, I should decide against them.

-

-

-                                  IV.

-

-In this work Dostoyevski’s talent had reached its culminating point.

-In “The Idiot,” “The Possessed,” and especially in “The Karamazof

-Brothers,” many parts are intolerably tedious. The plot amounts to

-nothing but a framework upon which to hang all the author’s favorite

-theories, and display every type of his eccentric fancy. The book is

-nearly filled with conversations between two disputants, whose ideas

-are continually clashing, each trying to worm out the other’s secrets

-with the most cunning art, and expose some secret intrigue either of

-crime or of love. These interviews recall the terrible trials under

-Ivan the Terrible, or Peter the First; there is the same combination

-of terror, duplicity, and obstinacy still existing in the race.

-Sometimes the disputants attempt to penetrate the labyrinth of each

-other’s religious or philosophical beliefs. They vie with each other

-in the use of arguments, now fine-spun, now eccentric, like a pair of

-scholastic doctors of the Sorbonne. Some of these conversations recall

-Hamlet’s dialogues with his mother, Ophelia, or Polonius. For more than

-two hundred years critics have discussed the question whether Hamlet

-was mad when he thus spoke. When that question has been settled, the

-decision may be applied to Dostoyevski’s heroes. It has been said more

-than once that this writer and the heroes of his creation are simply

-madmen. They are mad in the same degree that Hamlet was. For my own

-part, I consider this statement neither an intelligent nor reasonable

-one. Such an opinion must be held only by those very short-sighted

-people who refuse to admit the existence of states of mind different

-from those they know from personal experience.

-

-In studying Dostoyevski and his work, we must keep in mind one of

-his favorite phrases, which he often repeats: “Russia is a freak

-of nature.” A strange anomaly exists in some of these lunatics he

-describes. They are absorbed in the contemplation of their own minds,

-intent upon self-analysis. If the author leads them into action,

-they throw themselves into it impetuously, obedient to the irregular

-impulses of their nerves, giving free rein to their unbridled wills,

-which are uncontrollable as are elementary forces. Observe how

-minutely he describes every physical peculiarity. The condition of

-the body explains the perturbation of the soul. Whenever a character

-is introduced to us, he is never by any chance sitting comfortably by

-a table or engaged in any occupation. “He was extended upon a divan,

-with his eyes closed, although he was not asleep…. He walked along the

-street without having any idea where he was…. He was motionless, his

-eyes absently fixed upon space.”…

-

-These people never eat; they drink tea through the night. Many are

-given to strong drink. They rarely sleep, and when they do they dream.

-There are more dreams described in Dostoyevski’s works than in the

-whole of our classic literature. They are nearly always in a “feverish

-condition.” Whenever any of these creatures come into relations with

-their fellow-beings, you meet with such expression as these in almost

-every line:―“He shuddered … he sprang up with a bound … his features

-contracted … he became ashy pale … his lower lip trembled … his teeth

-chattered….” Sometimes there are long pauses in a conversation, when

-the disputants look fixedly into each other’s eyes.

-

-The writer’s most elaborate creation, and evidently his favorite one,

-the analysis of which fills a large volume, is “The Idiot.” Feodor

-Mikhailovitch has described himself in this character, in the way that

-many authors do: certainly not as he was, but what he wished to be

-considered. In the first place, “The Idiot” is subject to epilepsy;

-his attacks furnish a most convenient and effective climax for all

-emotional scenes. The author evidently greatly enjoys describing these;

-he assures us that the whole being is bathed in an ecstasy, for a few

-seconds preceding the attack. We are quite willing to take his word

-for this. The nickname “Idiot” becomes fixed upon the hero, Prince

-Myshkin, because his malady produced such an effect upon his faculties

-in childhood that he has always been eccentric. Starting with this

-pathological idea, this fictitious character is persistently developed

-with an astonishing consistency.

-

-Dostoyevski at first had the idea of producing another Don Quixote,

-the ideal redresser of wrongs. Occasionally you feel the impress of

-this idea; but soon the author is carried away by his own creation;

-his aim is loftier, he creates in the soul in which he sees himself

-mirrored the most sublime, Christ-like qualities, he makes a desperate

-effort to elevate the character to the moral proportions of a saint.

-Imagine, if you can, an exceptional being, possessing the mind and

-reasoning faculties of a man, while his heart retains the simplicity

-of a child, who, in short, can personify the gospel precept: “Be as

-little children.” Such a character is Prince Myshkin, the “Idiot.”

-The nervous disease has, by a happy chance, produced this phenomenon;

-it has destroyed that part of the intellect which is the seat of

-all our defects: irony, arrogance, selfishness, avarice; while the

-noble qualities are largely developed. On leaving the hospital, this

-extraordinary young man is thrown into the current of ordinary life.

-It would seem that he must perish in such an atmosphere, not having

-the weapons of defence that others are armed with. Not so; his simple

-straightforwardness is stronger than any of the malicious tricks

-practised upon him; it carries him through every difficulty, saves

-him from every snare. His innocent wisdom has the last word in all

-discussions; he utters phrases proceeding from a profound asceticism,

-such as this, addressed to a dying man:―“Pass on before us, and

-forgive us our happiness.”―Elsewhere he says: “I fear I am unworthy

-of my sufferings―” and many similar expressions. He lives among a set

-of usurers, liars, and rascals. These people treat him as they would

-an idiot, but respect and venerate him; they feel his influence, and

-become better men. The women also laugh at the idiot at first, but they

-all end by falling desperately in love with him; while he responds to

-their adoration only by a tender pity, a compassionate love, the only

-sort that Dostoyevski permits his favorite characters to indulge in.

-

-The writer constantly returns to his ruling idea, the supremacy of the

-suffering and poor in spirit. Why do all the Russian idealists, without

-exception, cry out against prosperity in life? What I believe to be the

-secret, unconscious solution of this unreasonable feeling is this: they

-feel the force of that fundamental truth, that the life of a living,

-acting, thinking being must perforce be a mixture of good and evil.

-Whoever acts, creates and destroys at the same time, makes for himself

-a place in the world at the expense of some other person or thing.

-Therefore, if one neither acts nor thinks, this fatality must naturally

-be suppressed,―this production of evil as well as of good; and, as

-the evil he does has more effect than the good, he takes refuge in a

-non-existence. So these writers admire and sanctify the idiot,―the

-neutral, inactive being. It is true, he does no good, but then he can

-do no evil: therefore, from the point of view of pessimists, in their

-conception of the world, he is the most admirable.

-

-As I read, I am overwhelmed by the number of these moral giants and

-monsters around me; but I cannot pass by one of the most striking of

-them, Rogozhin, the merchant, a very forcibly drawn figure. The twenty

-pages descriptive of the workings of passion in the heart of this man

-are written by the hand of a great master. Passion, in this strange

-nature, has developed to such intensity, and bestows upon the man such

-a gift of fascination, that the woman he loves accepts, in spite of

-herself, this savage whom she abhors, and moreover with the certainty

-that he will murder her. So he does; and, throughout an entire night,

-beside the bed where lies the body of his strangled victim, he calmly

-discusses philosophy with his friend. There is nothing melodramatic

-about this scene. It is simple as possible; to the author, at least, it

-appears quite natural; and this is why it makes us shiver with terror.

-I must also mention,―there are so few such touches in the work―the

-little drunken money-lender who “offers a prayer every night for the

-repose of the soul of Mme. du Barry.” Do not suppose that Dostoyevski

-means to enliven us with anything approaching a joke. Through the lips

-of this character, he seriously indulges in compassionate sympathy for

-the martyrdom endured by Mme. du Barry during the long passage of the

-cart through the streets and the struggle with the executioner. He

-evidently has always before him that half-hour of the 22d December,

-1849.

-

-“Les Possédés” is a description of the revolutionary world of the

-Nihilists. This title is a slight modification of the Russian title,

-“The Demons,” which is too obscure. All Dostoyevski’s characters

-might be said to be _possessed_, as the word was understood in the

-Middle Ages. A strange, irresistible will urges them on, in spite

-of themselves, to commit atrocious deeds. Natasha, in “The Degraded

-and Insulted,” is an example; as also Raskolnikof, in “Crime and

-Punishment,” and Rogozhin, in “The Idiot,” besides all the conspirators

-who commit murder or suicide without any definite aim or motive.

-The history of the origin of “Les Possédés” is rather curious.

-Dostoyevski was always opposed to Turgenef in politics and even

-more seriously through literary jealousy. At this time, Tolstoï had

-not yet established his reputation; and the other two were the only

-competitors in the field ready to dispute empire over the imaginations

-of their countrymen. The inevitable rivalry between them amounted, on

-Dostoyevski’s part, to hatred. He was always the wronged party; and

-into this volume he most unjustifiably introduced his brother author

-under the guise of a ridiculous actor. But his secret, unpardonable

-grievance was that Turgenef was the first to take up and treat the

-subject of Nihilism, introducing it into his celebrated novel,

-“Fathers and Sons.” Since 1861 Nihilism had, however, developed from

-a metaphysical doctrine into practical action. Dostoyevski wrote “Les

-Possédés” out of revenge; three years after, Turgenef accepted the

-challenge, by publishing “Virgin Soil.” The theme of both romances is

-the same―a revolutionary conspiracy in a small provincial town.

-

-The prize in this tilting match must be adjudged to the dramatic

-psychologist rather than to the gentle artist who created “Virgin

-Soil.” Dostoyevski lays bare the inmost recesses of those intricate

-natures more completely; the scene of Shatof’s murder is rendered with

-a diabolical power which Turgenef was utterly incapable of. Still, it

-must be admitted that Bazarof, the cynic in “Fathers and Sons,” was the

-imperishable prototype of all Nihilists who came after him. Dostoyevski

-felt this, and keenly regretted it. His book, however, may be called

-a prophecy as well as an explanation. It was truly prophetic; for in

-1871, when anarchy was still in the process of fermentation, he looked

-deeply enough into the future to relate facts precisely analogous

-to what we have since seen developed. I attended the trials of the

-Nihilists and can testify that many of the men and the conspiracies

-that were judged at that time were exact reproductions of those the

-novelist had previously created.

-

-The book is also an explanation; for the world will understand from

-it the true face of the problem, which is even to-day imperfectly

-understood, because its solution is sought only in politics.

-Dostoyevski presents to us the various classes of minds from which

-the sect is recruited. First, the simple unbeliever, who devotes all

-his capacity for religious fervor to the service of atheism.―The

-author illustrates this type by the following anecdote (in every

-Russian’s bedroom stands a little altar, with its holy images of

-the saints): “Lieutenant Erkel, having thrown down the images and

-broken them in pieces with an axe, arranged upon the tablets three

-atheistic books; then he lighted some church tapers and placed one

-before each volume.”―Secondly, there is the weak class, who feel the

-magnetism of the strong, and blindly follow their chiefs. Then the

-logical pessimists, among whom the engineer Kirilof is an example.

-These are inclined toward suicide, through moral inability to live.

-Their party takes advantage of these yielding natures; for a man

-without principles, who decides to die because he can settle upon no

-principles, is one who will easily lend himself to whatever is exacted

-of him. Finally, the worst class: those who will not hesitate to

-commit murder, as a protest against the order of the world, which they

-do not comprehend, and in order to make a singular and novel use of

-their will power, to enjoy inspiring terror in others, and satisfy the

-animal cravings within them.

-

-The greatest merit of this confusing book, which is badly constructed,

-often ridiculous, and loaded with doubtful theories, is that it gives

-us, after all, a clear idea of what constitutes the real power of the

-Nihilists. This does not lie in the doctrines in themselves, nor in the

-power of organization of this sect, which is certainly overrated; it

-lies simply and only in the character of a few men. Dostoyevski thinks,

-and the revelations brought to light in the trials have justified his

-opinion, that the famous organization may be reduced to only a few

-local circles, badly organized; and that all these phantoms, central

-committees and executive committees, exist only in the imaginations

-of the adepts. On the other hand, he brings into bold relief those

-iron wills, those souls of frozen steel, in striking contrast with

-the timidity and irresolution of the legal authorities. Between these

-two poles he shows us the mass of weak natures, attracted toward that

-pole which is most strongly magnetized. It is, indeed, the force of

-character of these resolute men, and not their ideas, which has acted

-upon the Russian people; and here the piercing eye of the philosopher

-is keener than that of Russia herself. Men become less and less

-exacting in regard to ideas, and more and more skeptical as to the

-way of carrying them out. Those who believe in the absolute virtue of

-doctrines are becoming every day more rare; but what is seductive to

-them is force of character, even if its energy be applied to an evil

-cause,―because it promises to be a guide, and guarantees a strong

-leadership, the very first requisition of any association of men. Man

-is the born slave of every strong will which he comes in contact with.

-

-The last period of Dostoyevski’s life, after the publication of

-this book, and his return to Russia, was somewhat easier and less

-melancholy. He had married an intelligent and courageous woman,

-who helped him out of his pecuniary embarrassments. His popularity

-increased, while the success of his books freed him from debt. Taking

-up journalism again, he established a paper in St. Petersburg, and

-finally an organ peculiarly his own, which he conducted quite by

-himself. It was called the “Note-book of an Author” (Carnet d’un

-Ecrivain), and it appeared―whenever he chose. It did not at all

-resemble what we call a journal or review, but might have been called

-something similar to the Delphic oracle. Into this encyclopædia, the

-principal work of his latter years, he poured all the political,

-social, and literary ideas which beset him, and related anecdotes and

-reminiscences of his life. I have already stated what his politics

-were; but the obscure productions of this period can neither be

-analyzed nor controverted. This periodical, which first appeared just

-before the war with Turkey, reflected the states of enthusiasm and

-discouragement of Russia through those years of feverish patriotism.

-Everything could be found in this summary of dreams, in which every

-question relating to human life was mooted. Only one thing was wanting:

-a solid basis of doctrine that the mind could take hold of. There were

-occasionally some touching episodes and artistic bits of composition

-recalling the great novelist. The “Note-book of an Author” was in fact

-a success, although the public now really cared less for the ideas

-than for the person, and were, besides, so accustomed to and fond of

-the sound of his voice. His last book, “The Karamazof Brothers,” was

-so interminably long that very few Russians had patience to read it to

-the end. But it contains some scenes equal to his best of early days,

-especially that of the death of the child. The French novel grows ever

-smaller, is easily slipped into a travelling-bag, to while away a few

-hours on a journey; but the heavy Russian romance reigns long upon the

-family table in country homes, through the long winter evenings. I

-well remember seeing Dostoyevski entering a friend’s house, on the day

-his last novel appeared, with the heavy volumes under his arm; and his

-saying with pride: “They weigh, at least, five pounds”;―a fact he

-should rather have regretted than have taken pride in.

-

-I should say here that the three books which best show the different

-phases of his talent are: “Poor People,” “Recollections of a Dead

-House,” and “Crime and Punishment.” As to the criticism of his works

-as a whole, every one will have to use his own judgment. We must look

-upon Dostoyevski as a phenomenon of another world, an abnormal and

-mighty monster, quite unique as to originality and intensity. In spite

-of his genius, you feel that he lacks both moderation and breadth. The

-world is not composed of shadows and tears alone. Even in Russia there

-is light and gayety, there are flowers and pleasures. Dostoyevski has

-never seen but one half of life; for he has never written any books

-except either sad or terrible ones. He is like a traveller who has seen

-the whole universe, and described what he has seen, but who has never

-travelled except by night. He is an incomparable psychologist when he

-studies souls either blackened by crime or wounded by sorrow; and as

-skilful a dramatist, but limited to scenes of terror and of misery. No

-one has carried realism to such an extreme point as he. He depicts real

-life, but soars above reality in a superhuman effort toward some new

-consummation of the Gospel. He possesses a double nature, from whatever

-side you view him: the heart of a Sister of Charity and the spirit of

-a Grand Inquisitor. I think of him as belonging to another age, to the

-time of great sacrifices and intense devotion, hesitating between a St.

-Vincent de Paul and a Laubardemont, preceding the first in his search

-for destitute children, lingering behind the other, unwilling to lose

-the last crackling of the funeral pile.

-

-According as we are affected by particular examples of his talent,

-we call him a philosopher, an apostle, a lunatic, a consoler of

-the afflicted, or the torturer of a tranquil mind; the Jeremiah of

-the prison or the Shakespeare of the mad-house. Every one of these

-appellations belongs to him; but no one of them, taken alone, will

-suffice. What he himself said of his race, in “Crime and Punishment,”

-we may say of him:―

-

-“The soul of the Russian is great, like his vast country; but terribly

-prone to everything fantastic and excessive; it is a real misfortune to

-be great without any special genius.”

-

-I subscribe to this; but also to the opinion that I have heard

-expressed upon this book by one of our masters of psychology: “This

-author opens up unknown horizons, and discloses souls different from

-ours; he reveals to us a new world of beings, with stronger natures,

-both for good and evil, having stronger wills and greater endurance.”

-

-

-                                   V.

-

-I must apologize for returning to personal recollections in order to

-make this sketch complete, and must therefore recall the man himself,

-and give some idea of his extraordinary influence. By chance I met

-Feodor Mikhailovitch many times during the last three years of his

-life. The impression he made upon you was as profound as was that

-of the most striking scenes of his romances; if you had once seen

-him, you would never forget him. His appearance exactly corresponded

-with his life and its work. He was short and spare, and seemed to be

-all nerves; worn and haggard at the age of sixty. He was, in fact,

-prematurely old, and looked ill, with his long beard and blond hair,

-but, in spite of all, as vivacious as ever. His face was of the true

-peasant type of Moscow: the flat nose; the small, twinkling eyes, full

-of fire and tenderness; the broad forehead, all seamed with wrinkles,

-and with many indentations and protuberances; the sunken temples, and,

-most noticeable of all, a mouth of inexpressible sadness. I never

-saw in any human face such an expression of accumulated sorrow―as

-if every trial of soul and body had left its imprint upon it. You

-could read in his face better than in any book his recollections of

-the dead house, and his long experience of terror, mistrust, and

-martyrdom. His eyelids, lips, and every fibre of his face quivered

-with nervous contractions. His features would grow fierce with anger

-when excited over some subject of discussion, and at another time

-would wear the gentle expression of sadness you so often see in the

-saints on the ancient Slavonic altar-pieces, so venerated by the Slav

-nation. The man’s nature was wholly plebeian, with the curious mixture

-of roughness, sagacity, and mildness of the Russian peasant, together

-with something incongruous―possibly an effect of the concentration

-of thought illumining this beggar’s mask. At first he rather repelled

-you, before his strange magnetism had begun to act upon you. He was

-generally taciturn, but when he spoke it was in a low tone, slow and

-deliberate, growing gradually more earnest, and defending his opinions

-without regard to any one. While sustaining his favorite theme of the

-superiority of the Russian lower classes, he often observed to ladies

-in the fashionable society he was drawn into, “You cannot pretend to

-compare with the most inferior peasant.”

-

-There was not much opportunity for literary discussion with

-Dostoyevski. He would stop you with one word of proud disdain. “We

-possess the best qualities of every other people, and our own peculiar

-ones in addition; therefore we can understand you, but you are not

-capable of understanding us.”

-

-May I be forgiven, but I shall now attempt to prove the contrary. In

-spite of his assertion, his views on European life were laughably

-ingenuous. I remember well one of his tirades against the city of

-Paris, one evening when the inspiration seized him. He spoke of it with

-fiery indignation, as Jonah would have spoken concerning Nineveh. I

-remember the very words:―

-

-“Some night a prophet will appear in the ‘Café Anglais’! He will write

-on the wall the three words of fire; that will be the signal for the

-end of the old world, and Paris will be destroyed in fire and blood, in

-all its pride, with its theatres and its ‘Café Anglais.’” In the seer’s

-imagination, this inoffensive establishment represented the heart of

-Sodom, a den of enticing and infernal orgies, which he thought it his

-duty to call down curses upon. He enlarged long and eloquently upon

-this theme.

-

-He often reminded me of J. J. Rousseau. That pedantic genius has

-often come before me since I have studied the character and works

-of this distrustful philanthropist of Moscow. Both entertained the

-same notions, had the same combination of roughness and ideality,

-of sensibility and ill-humor, as well as the same deep sympathy for

-humanity which compels the attention of their contemporaries. After

-Rousseau, no man had greater literary defects than Dostoyevski:

-boundless self-love, over-sensitiveness, jealousy, and spite, none

-knew better how to win the hearts of his fellow-men by showing them

-how they filled his heart. This writer, so forbidding in society, was

-the idol of a large proportion of the young men of Russia, who awaited

-with feverish impatience the appearance of his novels, as well as his

-periodical; who consulted him as they would a spiritual adviser and

-director, and sought his help in all moral questions.

-

-The most important work of the latter years of his life was to reply

-to the scores of letters which brought to him the echo of strangers’

-grievances. One must have lived in Russia during those troublous times,

-to understand the ascendancy he obtained over the world of “Poor

-People” in their search for a new ideal, as well as over the class just

-above the very poor. The influence of Turgenef’s literary and artistic

-work was most unjustly eclipsed; Tolstoï with his philosophy influenced

-only the most intellectual minds, but Dostoyevski won all hearts and

-obtained a most powerful sway over them. In 1880, at the time of the

-inauguration of the monument to Pushkin, when all the Russian authors

-assembled in full force to celebrate the fête, Dostoyevski’s popularity

-entirely obliterated that of all his rivals. The audience sobbed when

-he addressed them. They bore him in triumph in their arms; the students

-crowded upon the platform and took possession of it, that they might

-see and be near him and touch him; and one of these young enthusiasts

-swooned from emotion when he had succeeded in reaching him. The current

-of feeling ran so high that had he lived a few years longer he would

-have found himself in a very difficult position. In the official

-hierarchy of the empire there is no place for plants of such exuberant

-growth; no field for the influence of a Goethe or a Voltaire. In spite

-of his consistency in politics and his perfect orthodoxy, the old exile

-would have seriously risked being compromised by his blind partisans,

-and even considered dangerous. They only realized on the day of his

-death how dangerous he was.

-

-Although I regret to finish this sombre sketch with a funereal scene, I

-cannot refrain from speaking of the apotheosis accorded to him, and the

-impression it made upon me, for it will show, more than any extended

-criticism, what this man was to his native country. On the 10th of

-February, 1881, some friends of Dostoyevski told me that he had died

-the preceding night, after a short illness. We went to his house to

-attend the service which the Russian Church holds twice a day over the

-remains of the dead, from the time of the decease until the burial.

-He lived in a populous quarter of St. Petersburg. We found an immense

-crowd before the door and on the staircase, and with great difficulty

-threaded our way to the study, where the great author lay. It was

-a small apartment, strewn with papers and pamphlets, and crowded by

-the visitors, who filed around the coffin, which rested upon a little

-table at one end of the room. I saw that face for the first time at

-peace, utterly free from pain. He seemed to be happily dreaming under

-the profusion of roses, which quickly disappeared, divided among the

-crowd as relics. The crowd increased every moment, all the women were

-in tears, the men boisterously pushing and crowding, eager to see his

-face. The temperature of the room became suffocating, being closed

-quite tightly from the air, as Russian rooms are in winter. Suddenly

-the air seemed to be exhausted, all the candles went out, and only the

-little flickering lamp before the holy images remained. Just at this

-moment, in the darkness, there was a terrible rush from the staircase,

-bringing a new influx of people. It seemed as if the whole crowd

-outside were mounting the stairs; the first comers were hurled against

-the coffin, which tottered―the poor widow, crowded, with her two

-children, between the table and the wall, threw herself over the body

-of her husband, and held it, screaming with terror. For a few moments

-we thought the corpse would be crushed under foot by the crowd. It

-oscillated, pressed upon by this mass of humanity, by the ardent and

-brutal affection of the rushing throngs below. At this moment there

-came before me a rapid vision of the author’s whole work, with all the

-cruelty, terror, and tenderness he tried to portray in it. This throng

-of strangers seemed to assume names and forms quite familiar to me.

-Fancy had sketched them in books, but now they stood living before me,

-taking part in a similar scene of horror. His characters seemed to have

-come to torment him, even after death, to bring him their rough homage,

-even to the profanation of the object of it. He would have appreciated

-just such exaggerated homage.

-

-Two days after, this vision was repeated more completely, and on a

-larger scale. The 12th February, 1881, was a memorable day in Russia.

-Except on the occasion of the death of Skobelef, there were never

-seen in St. Petersburg such significant and imposing obsequies. From

-an early hour the whole population were standing in the street, one

-hundred thousand persons along the line where the procession was to

-pass. More than twenty thousand persons followed it. The government

-was alarmed, fearing some serious disturbance. They thought the corpse

-might be seized, and they had to repress the students who wanted to

-have the chains of the Siberian prisoner carried behind the funeral

-car. The timorous officials insisted upon preventing all risk of a

-revolutionary uprising. This was at the time of the most important

-of the Nihilist conspiracies, only one month previous to that one

-which cost the Tsar his life, during the time of that experiment of

-the liberal leader, Loris Melikof. Russia was at this moment in a

-state of fermentation, and the most trifling incident might produce an

-explosion. Loris thought it wiser to associate himself with the popular

-sentiment than to try to crush it out. He was right; the wicked designs

-of a few men were absorbed in the general grief. Through one of those

-unexpected combinations, of which Russia alone possesses the secret,

-all parties, all adversaries, all the disjointed fragments of the

-empire, now came together, through the death of this man, in a general

-communion of grief and enthusiasm. Whoever witnessed this funeral

-procession saw this country of contrasts illustrated in all its phases;

-the priests who chanted the service, the students of the universities,

-the school children, the young female students from the medical

-schools, the Nihilists, easily recognized by their peculiarities of

-dress and bearing, the men wearing a plaid over the shoulder, the

-spectacles and closely cut hair of the women; all the literary and

-scientific societies, deputations from every part of the empire, old

-Muscovite merchants, peasants, lackeys, and beggars. In the church

-waited the official dignitaries, the minister of public instruction,

-and the young princes of the imperial family.

-

-A forest of banners, crosses, and wreaths were borne by that army,

-which was made up of such various elements, and produced in the

-spectator such a medley of impressions. To me everything that passed

-seemed an illustration of the author’s work, formed of elements both

-formidable and restless, with all their folly and grandeur. In the

-first rank, and most numerous, were those he loved best, the ‘poor

-people,’ the ‘degraded,’ the ‘insulted,’ the ‘possessed’ even, glad to

-take part in leading the remains of their advocate over this path of

-glory;―but accompanying and surrounding all were the uncertainty and

-confusion of the national life, as he had painted it, filled with all

-the vague hopes that he had stirred.

-

-The crowd pressed into the little church, decked with flowers, and

-into the cemetery around it. Then there was a Babel of words. Before

-the altar the high-priest discoursed of God and of eternity, while

-others took the body to carry it to the grave, and discoursed of glory.

-Official orators, students, _Slavophile_ and liberal committees, men of

-letters and poets,―every one came there to set forth his own ideal, to

-claim the departed spirit for his cause, and parade his own ambition

-over this tomb.

-

-While the winter wind bore away all this eloquence with the rustling

-leaves and the snow-dust raised by the spades of the grave-diggers, I

-made an effort to make, in my own mind, a fair estimate of the man’s

-moral worth and of his life’s work. I felt as much perplexed as when I

-had to pronounce judgment upon his literary merit. He had sympathized

-with the people, and awakened sympathy, and even piety, in them. But

-what excessive ideas and what moral convulsions he engendered! He had

-given his heart to the cause, it is true; but unaccompanied by reason,

-that inseparable companion of the heart. I reviewed the whole course of

-that strange life;―born in a hospital, to a youth of poverty, illness,

-and trial, exiled to Siberia, then sent to the barracks, ever pursued

-by poverty and distress, always crushed, and yet ennobled by a labor

-which was his salvation. I now felt that this persecuted life should

-not be judged by our standards, which may not apply to his peculiar

-case, and that I must leave him to Him who judges all hearts according

-to their true merits. When I bent over his grave, covered with laurel

-wreaths, the farewell words which came to my lips were those of the

-student to the poor abandoned girl, and which express Dostoyevski’s

-entire creed: “It is not only before thee that I prostrate myself, but

-before all suffering humanity!”

-

-

-FOOTNOTES:

-

-     [J]  An English translation was published in 1886, under

-          the title, “Injury and Insult.”

-

-     [K]  Published also under the title “Buried Alive.”

-

-

-

-

-                              CHAPTER VI.

-

-                   NIHILISM AND MYSTICISM.―TOLSTOÏ.

-

-

-In Turgenef’s artistic work, illustrative of the national

-characteristics, we have witnessed the birth of the Russian romance,

-and how it has naturally tended toward the psychological classification

-of a few general types; or, perhaps, more justly, toward the

-contemplation of them, when we consider with what serenity this

-artist’s moral investigations were conducted. Dostoyevski has shown a

-spirit quite contrary to this, uncultured and yet subtile, sympathetic,

-tortured by tragic visions, morbidly preoccupied by exceptional

-and perverted types. The first of these two writers was constantly

-coquetting, so to speak, with liberal doctrines: the second was a

-_Slavophile_ of the most extreme type.

-

-In Tolstoï, other surprises are reserved for us. Younger by ten years

-than his predecessors, he hardly felt the influences of 1848. Attached

-to no particular school, totally indifferent to all political parties,

-despising them in fact, this solitary, meditative nobleman acknowledges

-no master and no sect; he is himself a spontaneous phenomenon. His

-first great novel was contemporary with “Fathers and Sons”, but between

-the two great novelists there is a deep abyss. The one still made use

-of the traditions of the past, while he acknowledged the supremacy

-of Western Europe, and appropriated to himself and his work what he

-learned of us; the other broke off wholly with the past and with

-foreign bondage; he is a personification of the New Russia, feeling

-its way out of the darkness, impatient of any tendency toward the

-adoption of our tastes and ideas, and often incomprehensible to us.

-Let us not expect Russia to do what she is incapable of, to restrict

-herself within certain limits, to concentrate her attention upon one

-point, or bring her conception of life down to one doctrine. Her

-literary productions must reflect the moral chaos which she is passing

-through. Tolstoï comes to her aid. More truly than any other man, and

-more completely than any other, he is the translator and propagator

-of that condition of the Russian mind which is called Nihilism. To

-seek to know how far he has accomplished this, would be to turn around

-constantly in the same circle. This writer fills the double function of

-the mirror which reflects the light and sends it back increased tenfold

-in intensity, producing fire. In the religious confessions which he has

-lately written, the novelist, changed into a theologian, gives us, in a

-few lines, the whole history of his soul’s experience:―

-

-“I have lived in this world fifty-five years; with the exception of

-the fourteen or fifteen years of childhood, I have lived thirty-five

-years a Nihilist in the true sense of the word,―not a socialist or a

-revolutionist according to the perverted sense acquired by usage, but a

-true Nihilist―that is, subject to no faith or creed whatever.”

-

-This long delayed confession was quite unnecessary; the man’s entire

-work published it, although the dreadful word is not once expressed

-by him. Critics have called Turgenef the father of Nihilism because

-he had given a name to the malady, and described a few cases of it.

-One might as well affirm the cholera to have been introduced by the

-first physician who gave the diagnosis of it, instead of by the first

-person attacked by the scourge. Turgenef discovered the evil, and

-studied it objectively; Tolstoï suffered from it from the first day of

-its appearance, without having, at first, a very clear consciousness

-of his condition; his tortured soul cries out on every page he has

-written, to express the agony which weighs down so many other souls of

-his own race. If the most interesting books are those which faithfully

-picture the existence of a fraction of humanity at a given moment of

-history, this age has produced nothing more remarkable, in regard to

-its literary quality, than his work. I do not hesitate in giving my

-opinion that this writer, when considered merely as a novelist, is

-one of the greatest masters in literature our century has produced.

-It may be asked how we can venture to express ourselves so strongly

-of a still living contemporary, whose overcoat and beard are familiar

-objects in every-day life, who dines, reads the papers, receives money

-from his publishers and invests it, who does, in short, just what other

-men do. How can we thus elevate a man before his body has turned to

-ashes, and his name become transfigured by the accumulated respect of

-several generations? As for me, I cannot help seeing this man as great

-as he will appear after death, or subscribing voluntarily to Flaubert’s

-exclamation, as he read Turgenef’s translation of Tolstoï, and cried in

-a voice of thunder, while he stamped heavily upon the ground:―

-

-“He is a second Shakespeare!”

-

-Tolstoï’s troubled, vacillating mind, obscured by the mists of

-Nihilism, is by a singular and not infrequent contradiction endowed

-with an unparalleled lucidity and penetration for the scientific study

-of the phenomena of life. He has a clear, analytical comprehension of

-everything upon the earth’s surface, of man’s internal life as well

-as of his exterior nature: first of tangible realities, then the play

-of his passions, his most volatile motives to action, the slightest

-disturbances of his conscience. This author might be said to possess

-the skill of an English chemist with the soul of a Hindu Buddhist.

-Whoever will undertake to account for that strange combination will be

-capable of explaining Russia herself.

-

-Tolstoï maintains a certain simplicity of nature in the society of

-his fellow-beings which seems to be impossible to the writers of our

-country; he observes, listens, takes in whatever he sees and hears, and

-for all time, with an exactness which we cannot but admire. Not content

-with describing the distinctive features of the general physiognomy

-of society, he resolves them into their original elements with the

-most assiduous care; always eager to know how and wherefore an act is

-produced; pursuing the original thought behind the visible act, he

-does not rest until he has laid it bare, tearing it from the heart

-with all its secret roots and fibres. Unfortunately, his curiosity

-will not let him stop here. Of those phenomena which offer him such

-a free field when he studies them by themselves, he wishes to know

-the origin, and to go back to the most remote and inaccessible causes

-which produced them. Then his clear vision grows dim, the intrepid

-explorer loses his foothold and falls into the abyss of philosophical

-contradictions. Within himself, and all around him he feels nothing but

-chaos and darkness; to fill this void and illuminate the darkness, the

-characters through which he speaks have recourse to the unsatisfactory

-explanations of metaphysics, and, finally, irritated by these pedantic

-sophistries, they suddenly steal away, and escape from their own

-explanations.

-

-Gradually, as Tolstoï advances in life and in his work, he is more

-and more engulfed in doubt; he lavishes his coldest irony upon those

-children of his fancy who try to believe and to discover and apply a

-consistent system of morality. But under this apparent coldness you

-feel that his heart sobs out a longing for what he cannot find, and

-thirsts for things eternal. Finally, weary of doubt and of search,

-convinced that all the calculations of reason end only in mortifying

-failure, fascinated by the mysticism which had long lain in wait for

-his unsatisfied soul, the Nihilist suddenly throws himself at the feet

-of a Deity,―and of what a Deity we shall see hereafter.

-

-In finishing this chapter, I must speak of the singular phase into

-which the writer’s mind has fallen of late. I hope to do this with all

-the reserve due to a living man, and all due respect for a sincere

-conviction. There is nothing to me more curious than his statement of

-the actual condition of his own soul. It is a picture of the crisis

-which the Russian conscience is now passing through, seen in full

-sunlight, foreshortened, and upon a lofty height. This thinker is the

-perfect type of a multitude of minds, as well as their guide; he tries

-to say what these minds confusedly feel.

-

-

-                                   I.

-

-Leo Nikolaievitch (Tolstoï) was born in the year 1828. The course of

-his external life has offered nothing of interest to the lovers of

-romance, being quite the same as that of Russian gentlemen in general.

-In his father’s house in the country, and afterwards at the University

-of Kazan, he received the usual education from foreign masters which

-gives to the cultivated classes in Russia their cosmopolitan turn of

-mind. He then entered the army and spent several years in the Caucasus

-in a regiment of artillery, and was afterwards transferred at his

-request to Sebastopol. He went through the famous siege in the Crimean

-War, which he has illustrated by three striking sketches: “Sebastopol

-in December, in May, and in August.” Resigning his position when peace

-was declared, Count Tolstoï first travelled extensively, then settled

-at St. Petersburg and Moscow, living in the society of his own class.

-He studied society and the court as he had studied the war―with that

-serious attention which tears away the masks from all faces and reads

-the inmost heart. After a few winters of fashionable life, he left the

-capital, partly, it is said, to escape from the different literary

-circles which were anxious to claim him among their votaries. In 1860,

-he married and retired to his ancestral estate, near Tula, where he

-has remained almost constantly for twenty-five years. The whole history

-of his own life is hardly disguised in the autobiography he wrote,

-entitled, “Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth.” The evolution of his inward

-experience is further carried out in the two great novels, “War and

-Peace” and “Anna Karenina,” and ends, as might have been foreseen,

-with the theological and moral essays which have for some years quite

-absorbed his intellectual activity.

-

-I believe the author’s first composition, while he was an officer in

-the army of the Caucasus, must have been the novelette published later

-under the title, “The Cossacks.” This is the least systematic of all

-his works, and is perhaps the one which best betrays the precocious

-originality of his mind, and his remarkable power of seeing and

-representing truth. This book marks a date in literature: the definite

-rupture of Russian poetry with Byronism and romanticism in the very

-heart of their former reign. The influence of Byron was so strong that

-the prejudiced eyes of the poets saw the Orient in which they lived

-through their poetical fancy, which transfigured both scenery and men.

-Attracted like so many other writers toward this region, Tolstoï, or,

-rather, Olenin, the hero of the Cossacks (I believe them to be one

-and the same), leaves Moscow one beautiful evening, after a farewell

-supper with his young friends. Weary of civilization, he throws off

-his habitual thoughts as he would a worn-out garment; his _troïka_

-bears him away to a strange country; he longs for a primitive life, new

-sensations, new interests.

-

-Our traveller installs himself in one of the little Cossack settlements

-on the river Terek; he adopts the life of his new friends, takes

-part in their expeditions and hunts; an old mountaineer, who

-somewhat recalls Fenimore Cooper’s “Leatherstocking,” undertakes to

-be his guide. Olenin quite naturally falls in love with the lovely

-Marianna, daughter of his host. Tolstoï will now show us the Orient

-in a new light, in the mirror of truth. For the lyric visions of his

-predecessors he substitutes a philosophical view of men and things.

-From the very first this acute observer understood how puerile it is

-to lend to these creatures of instinct our refinement of thought and

-feeling, our theatrical way of representing passion. The dramatic

-interest of his tale consists in the fatal want of mutual understanding

-that must, perforce, exist between the heart of a civilized being and

-that of a wild, savage creature, and the total impossibility of two

-souls of such different calibre blending in a mutual passion. Olenin

-tries in vain to cultivate simplicity of feeling. Because he dons a

-Circassian cap, he cannot at the same time change his nature and become

-primitive. His love cannot separate itself from all the intellectual

-complications which our literary education lends to this passion. He

-says:―

-

-“What there is terrible and at the same time interesting in my

-condition is that I feel that I understand Marianna and that she never

-will be able to understand me. Not that she is inferior to me,―quite

-the contrary; but it is impossible for her to understand me. She is

-happy; she is natural; she is like Nature itself, equable, tranquil,

-happy in herself.”

-

-The character of this little Asiatic, strange and wild as a young doe,

-is beautifully drawn. I appeal to those who are familiar with the

-East and have proved the falsity of those Oriental types invented by

-European literature. They will find in the “The Cossacks,” a surprising

-exposure of the falsity of that other moral world. Tolstoï has brought

-this country before us by his vivid and picturesque descriptions of its

-natural features. The little idyl serves as a pretext for magnificent

-descriptions of the Caucasus; steppe, forest, and mountain stand before

-us as vividly as the characters which inhabit them. The grand voices of

-Nature join in with and support the human voices, as an orchestra leads

-and sustains a chorus. The author, absorbed as he was afterwards in the

-study of the human soul, never again expressed such a profound sympathy

-with nature as in this work. At this time Tolstoï was inclined to

-be both pantheist and pessimist, vacillating between the two. “Trois

-Morts,” a fragment of his, contains the substance of this philosophy:―

-

-“The happiest man, and the best, is he who thinks the least and who

-lives the simplest life and dies the simplest death. Accordingly, the

-peasant is better than the lord, the tree is better than the peasant,

-and the death of an oak-tree is a greater calamity to the world than

-the death of an old princess.”

-

-This is Rousseau’s doctrine exaggerated: the man who thinks is not

-only a depraved animal but an inferior plant. But Pantheism is another

-attempt at a rational explanation of the universe: Nihilism will

-soon replace it. This monster has already devoured the inmost soul

-of the man, without his even being conscious of it. It is easy to be

-convinced of this when we read his “Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth.” It

-is the journal of the gradual awakening of an intelligence to life; it

-lays before us the whole secret of the formation of Tolstoï’s moral

-character. The author subjects his own conscience to that penetrating,

-inexorable analysis, which later he will use upon society; he tries

-his hand upon himself first of all. It is a singular book, lengthy,

-and sometimes trivial; Dickens is rapid and sketchy in comparison

-with him. In relating the course of a most ordinary journey from the

-country into Moscow, he counts every turn of the wheels, notes every

-passing peasant, every guide-post. But this fastidious observance of

-details, applied to trivial facts, becomes a wonderful instrument when

-applied to human nature and to psychological researches. It throws

-light upon the man’s own inner conscience, without regard to his

-self-love; he sees himself as he is, and lays bare his soul with all

-its petty vanities, and the ingratitude and mistrust of an ill-humored

-child. We shall recognize this same child in the principal characters

-of his great novels, with its nature quite unchanged. I will quote two

-passages which show us the very foundation of Nihilism in the brain of

-a lad of sixteen:―

-

-“Of all philosophical doctrines, the one which attracted me most

-strongly was skepticism; for a time it brought me to a condition

-verging upon madness. I would imagine that nothing whatever existed

-in the world except myself; that all objects were only illusions,

-evoked by myself just at the moment I gave attention to them, and which

-vanished the moment I ceased to think of them…. There were times when,

-possessed by this idea, I was brought into such a bewildered state that

-I would turn quickly around and look behind me, hoping to be able to

-pierce through the chaos which lay beyond me. My enfeebled mind could

-not penetrate through the impenetrable, and would lose by degrees in

-this wearisome struggle the certainties which for the sake of my own

-happiness, I ought never to have sought. I reaped nothing from all

-this intellectual effort but an activity of mind which weakened my

-will-power, and a habit of incessant moral analysis which robbed every

-sensation of its freshness and warped my judgment on every subject….”

-

-Such a cry might have been uttered by a disciple of Schelling. But

-listen to what follows from the heart of a Russian, who speaks for his

-countrymen as well as himself:―

-

-“When I remember how young I was, and the state of mind I was in, I

-realize perfectly how the most atrocious crimes might be committed

-without reason or a desire to injure any one, but, so to speak, from

-a sort of curiosity or an unconscious necessity of action. There are

-times when the future appears to a man so dark that he fears to look

-into it; and he totally suspends the exercise of his own reason within

-himself, and tries to persuade himself that there is no future and

-that there has been no past. At such moments, when the mind no longer

-controls the will, when the material instincts are the only springs

-of life left to us,―I can understand how an inexperienced child can,

-without hesitation or fear, and with a smile of curiosity, set fire

-to his own house, in which all those he loves best―father, mother,

-and brothers―are sleeping. Under the influence of this temporary

-eclipse of the mind, which I might call a moment of aberration or

-distraction,―a young peasant lad of sixteen stands looking at the

-shining blade of an axe just sharpened, which lies under the bench

-upon which his old father has fallen asleep: suddenly he brandishes

-the axe, and finds himself looking with stupid curiosity, upon the

-stream of blood under the bench which is flowing from the aged head he

-has just cleft. In this condition of mind, a man likes to lean over a

-precipice and think: ‘What if I should throw myself over head first!’

-or to put a loaded pistol to his forehead and think: ‘Suppose I should

-pull the trigger!’ or when he sees a person of dignity and consequence

-surrounded by the universal respect of all, and suddenly feels impelled

-to go up to him and take him by the nose, saying: ‘Come along, old

-fellow!’”

-

-This is pure childishness, you will say! So it would be in our steadier

-brains and more active lives, rarely disturbed by these attacks of

-nightmare. Turgenef has touched upon this national malady of his

-fellow-countrymen in his last tale, “Despair,” as well as Dostoyevski

-in many of his. There are several cases in “Recollections of a Dead

-House,” identical with those described by Tolstoï, although the two

-authors’ treatment of this theme are so unlike. The word in their

-language which expresses this condition is quite untranslatable.

-_Despair_ approaches it nearest; but the condition is a mixture also

-of fatalism, barbarism, asceticism, and other qualities, or want of

-them. It may describe, perhaps, Hamlet’s mental malady or attack of

-madness, at the moment he ran his sword through Polonius, father of his

-Ophelia. It seems to be a sort of horrible fascination which belongs to

-cold countries, to a climate of extremes, where they learn to endure

-everything better than an ordinary fate, and prefer annihilation to

-moderation.

-

-Poor Russia! a tempest-tossed sea-gull, hovering over an abyss!

-

-Nihilist and pessimist,―are not these synonymous words, and must

-they not both exist in the same person? From this time, all Tolstoï’s

-productions would argue this to be the fact. A few short tales are a

-prelude to his two great novels, which we must now make a study of, as

-to them he devoted his highest powers and concentrated upon them his

-profoundest thought. His talent heretofore had produced but fragmentary

-compositions and sketches.

-

-

-                                  II.

-

-“War and Peace” is a picture of Russian society during the great

-Napoleonic wars, from 1805 to 1815. We question whether this

-complicated work can be properly called a novel. “War and Peace” is

-a summary of the author’s observations of human life in general.

-The interminable series of episodes, portraits, and reflections

-which Tolstoï presents to us are introduced through a few fictitious

-characters; but the real hero of this epic is Russia herself, passing

-through her desperate struggle against the foreign invader. The real

-characters, Alexander, Napoleon, Kutuzof, Speranski, occupy nearly as

-much space as the imaginary ones; the simple and rather slack thread

-of romance serves to bind together the various chapters on history,

-politics, philosophy, heaped pell-mell into this polygraph of the

-Russian world. Imagine Victor Hugo’s “Les Misérables” being re-written

-by Dickens in his untiring, exhaustless manner, then re-constructed

-by the cold, searching pen of Stendhal, and you may possibly form an

-idea of the general arrangement and execution of the work, and of that

-curious union of epic grandeur and infinitesimal analytical detail. I

-try to fancy M. Meissonier painting a panorama; I doubt if he could

-do it, but if he could his twofold talent would illustrate the double

-character of Tolstoï’s work.

-

-The pleasure to be derived from it resembles that from mountain-climbing;

-the way is often rough and wild, the path, as you ascend, difficult

-to find, effort and fatigue are indispensable; but when you reach the

-summit and look around you the reward is great. Magnificent vistas

-stretch beneath you; he who has never accomplished the ascent will

-never know the true face of the country, the course of its rivers

-or the relative situation of its towns. A stranger, therefore, who

-would understand Russia of the nineteenth century, must read Tolstoï;

-and whoever would undertake to write a history of that country would

-utterly fail in his task if he neglected to consult this exhaustless

-repository of the national life. Those who have a passion for the

-study of history will not, perhaps, grow impatient over this mass of

-characters and succession of trivial incidents with which the work is

-loaded down. Will it be the same with those who seek only amusement

-in a work of fiction? For these, Tolstoï will break up all previous

-habits. This incorrigible analyst is either ignorant of or disdains the

-very first method of procedure employed by all our writers; we expect

-our novelist to select out his character or event, and separate it from

-the surrounding chaos of beings and objects, making a special study

-of the object of his choice. The Russian, ruled by the sentiment of

-universal dependence, is never willing to cut the thousand ties which

-bind men, actions, thoughts, to the rest of the universe; he never

-forgets the natural mutual dependence of all things. Imagine the Latin

-and the Slav before a telescope. The first arranges it to suit himself;

-that is, he voluntarily foreshortens his range of vision, to make

-more distinct what he sees, and diminish the extent of it; the second

-requires the full power of the instrument, enlarges his horizon, and

-sees a confused picture, for the sake of seeing farther.

-

-In a passage in “Anna Karenina,” Tolstoï well defines the contrast

-between two such natures, and the mutual attraction they exert upon

-each other. Levin, the dreamer, meets one of his friends, who is of a

-methodical turn of mind.

-

-“Levin imagined that Katavasof’s clearness of conception came from the

-poverty and narrowness of his nature; Katavasof thought that Levin’s

-incoherency of ideas arose from the want of a well disciplined mind;

-but the clearness of Katavasof pleased Levin, and the natural richness

-of an undisciplined mind in the latter was agreeable to the other.”

-

-These lines sum up all the grounds of complaint that the Russians

-have to reproach us with in our literature, and those we have against

-theirs; which differences explain the pleasure the two races find in an

-interchange of their literary productions.

-

-It is easy to predict what impressions all readers of “War and

-Peace” and “Anna Karenina” will receive. I have seen the same effect

-invariably produced upon all who have read those books. At first,

-for some time, the reader will hardly find his bearings; not knowing

-whither he is being led, he will soon grow weary of the task that lies

-before him. But little by little he will be drawn on, captivated by

-the complex action of all these characters, among whom he will find

-himself, as well as some of his friends, and will become most anxious

-to unravel the secret of their destinies. On closing the book, he feels

-a sense of regret, as if parting with a family with which he has been

-for years on terms of familiar intercourse. He has passed through the

-experience of the traveller thrown into the novelty of new society and

-surroundings; he feels annoyance and fatigue at first, then curiosity,

-and finally has formed deeply rooted attachments.

-

-What seems to me the distinction between the classic author and a

-conscientious painter of life as it is, like Tolstoï, is this: a book

-is like a drawing-room filled with strangers; the first type of author

-voluntarily presents you to this company at once, and unveils to you

-the thousand intertwining combinations, incidents, and intrigues going

-on there; with the second you must go forward and present yourself,

-find out for yourself the persons of mark, the various relations and

-sentiments of the entire circle, live, in fact, in the midst of this

-fictitious company, just as you have lived in society, among real

-people. To be able to judge of the respective merit of the two methods,

-we must interrogate one of the fundamental laws of our being. Is there

-any pleasure worth having which does not cost some little trouble? Do

-we not prefer what we have acquired by an effort all our own? Let us

-reflect upon this. Whatever may be our individual preferences in regard

-to intellectual pleasure, I think we can agree on one point: in the

-old, well worn paths of literature, mediocrity may be tolerated; but

-when an author strikes out in a new path we cannot tolerate a partial

-success; he must write dramas equal to Shakespeare, and romances as

-good as Tolstoï’s, to give us a true picture of life as it is. This

-we have in “War and Peace,” and the question of its success has been

-decided in the author’s favor. When I visit with him the soldiers

-in camp, the court, and court society, which has hardly changed in

-the last half-century, and see how he lays bare the hearts of men, I

-cry out at every page I read: “How true that is!” As we go on, our

-curiosity changes into astonishment, astonishment into admiration,

-before this inexorable judge, who brings every human action before his

-tribunal, and forces from every heart its secrets. We feel as if drawn

-on with the current of a tranquil, never-ending stream, the stream of

-human life, carrying with it the hearts of men, with all their agitated

-and complicated movements and emotions.

-

-War is one of the social phenomena which has strongly attracted our

-author and philosopher. He is present at the Council of Generals and

-at the soldiers’ bivouac; he studies the moral condition of each; he

-understands the orders, and why they should be obeyed. He presents

-to us the whole physiognomy of the Russian army. A minute description

-which he gives of a disorderly retreat is second only to Schiller’s

-“Camp of Wallenstein.” He describes the first engagement, the first

-cannon-shot, the fall of the first soldier, the agony of that

-long-dreaded moment.

-

-In the course of these volumes the imperial battles are portrayed;

-Austerlitz, Friedland, Borodino. Tolstoï talks of war like a man who

-has taken part in it; he knows that a battle is never witnessed by

-the participants. The soldier, officer, or general which the writer

-introduces never sees but a single point of the combat; but by the

-way in which a few men fight, think, talk, and die on that spot, we

-understand the entire action, and know on what side the victory will be.

-

-When Tolstoï wishes to give us a general description of anything,

-he ingeniously makes use of some artifice; as, for example, in the

-engagement at Schöngraben he introduces an aide-de-camp who carries an

-order the whole length of the line of battle. Then the corps commanders

-bring in their reports, not of what has taken place, but of what

-naturally ought to have taken place. How is this? “The colonel had so

-strongly desired to execute this movement, he so regretted not having

-been able to carry it out, that it seemed to him that all must have

-taken place as he wished. Perhaps it really had! Is it ever possible in

-such confusion to find out what has or has not occurred?”―How perfect

-is this ironical explanation! I appeal to any soldier who has ever

-taken part in any action in war, and heard an account given of it by

-the other participants.

-

-We do not demand of this realistic writer the conventional ideas of

-the classic authors;―an entire army heroic as its leaders, living

-only for the great causes it accomplishes, wholly absorbed in its

-lofty aim. Tolstoï reveals human nature: the soldier’s life, careless,

-occupied with trifling duties; the officers, with their pleasures or

-schemes of promotion; the generals, with their ambitions and intrigues;

-all these seeming quite accustomed and indifferent to what to us

-appears extraordinary and imposing. However, the author, by dint of

-sheer simplicity, sometimes draws tears of sympathy from us for those

-unconscious heroes, such as, for example, the pathetic character of

-Captain Touchino, which recalls Renault, in “Servitude et Grandeur

-Militaires.”[L] Tolstoï is severe upon the leaders of the Russian

-army; he reminds us of the councils of war after the late trials; he

-satirizes the French and German strategists by whom Alexander was

-surrounded; and, with his Nihilistic ideas, he thoroughly enjoys

-describing this Babel of tongues and opinions. With one man alone

-he secretly sympathizes―with the commander-in-chief, Kutuzof. And

-why?―Because he gave no orders, and went to sleep during the council,

-giving up everything to fate. All these descriptions of military life

-converge toward this idea, which is developed in the philosophical

-appendix to the novel; all action on the part of the commanders is

-vain and useless; everything depends upon the fortuitous action of

-small divisions, the only decisive factor being one of those unforeseen

-impulses or inspirations which at certain times impels an army. As

-regards battle array, who thinks of it on the spot when thousands of

-possible combinations arise? The military genius in command sees only

-the smoke; he invariably receives his information and issues his orders

-too late. Can the commander carry out any general plan who is leading

-on his troops, which number ten, fifty, or one hundred men out of one

-hundred thousand, within a small radius? The rest of the account you

-may find in the next day’s bulletins! Over the three hundred thousand

-combatants fighting in the plains of Borodino blows the wind of chance,

-bringing victory or defeat.

-

-Here is the same mystic spirit of Nihilism which springs up before

-every problem of life.

-

-After war, the study which Tolstoï loves best, come the intrigues of

-the higher classes of society and its centre of gravitation, the court.

-As differences of race grow less distinct as we approach the higher

-classes of society, the novelist creates no longer merely Russian

-types, but general, human, universal ones. Since St. Simon, no one has

-so curiously unveiled the secret mechanism of court life. We are very

-apt to distrust writers of fiction when they attempt to depict these

-hidden spheres; we suspect them of listening behind doors and peeping

-through key-holes. But this Russian author is in his native element;

-he has frequented and studied the court as he has the army; he talks

-of his peers in their own language, and has had the same education and

-culture; therefore his information is copious and correct, like what

-you obtain from the comedian who divulges the secrets of the boards.

-

-Go with the author into the salons of certain ladies of the court;

-listen to the tirades of refugees, the opinions expressed upon

-Buonaparte, the intrigues of the courtiers, and that peculiar accent

-when they mention any member of the imperial family. Visit with him a

-statesman’s home; sit down at Speranski’s table (the man who “laughs a

-stage laugh”); mark the sovereign’s passage through a ball-room by the

-light which is visible upon every face from the moment he enters the

-apartment; above all, visit the death-bed of old Count Bezushof, and

-witness the tragedy which is being acted under the mask of etiquette;

-the struggle of base instincts around that speechless, expiring old

-man, and the general agitation. Here a sinister element, as elsewhere

-a lofty one, lends marvellous force to the simple sincerity of the

-picture and to the restraint which propriety imposes upon faces and

-tongues.

-

-Every passage in which the Emperors Napoleon and Alexander appear

-in action or speech should be read in order to understand the place

-that Nihilism occupies in the Russian mind so far as regards the

-denial of the grandeur and respect accorded by general consent to

-such potentates. The writer speaks in a deferential tone, as if he

-would in no wise curtail the majesty of power; but by bringing it

-down to the most trivial exigencies of life he utterly destroys it.

-Scattered through the tale we find ten or twelve little sketches of

-Napoleon drawn with great care, without hostility or an approach to

-caricature; but merely by withdrawing him from the legendary halo

-surrounding him, the man’s greatness crumbles away. It is generally

-some physical peculiarity or trivial act, skilfully introduced, which

-seems quite incompatible with the sceptre and the imperial robes. With

-Napoleon, Tolstoï evidently takes great liberties; but it is curious

-to note these descriptive touches when applied to his own sovereign.

-With infinite precautions and perfect propriety, the spell of majesty

-is broken through the incongruity of the man’s actual habits and the

-formidable rôle he plays. I will quote one of the many examples of this

-kind (Alexander is at Moscow, in 1812; he receives the ovations of

-his people at the Kremlin, at the solemn hour when war is proclaimed):

-“When the Tzar had dined, the master of ceremonies said, looking out of

-the window, ‘The people are hoping to see your Majesty.’ The emperor,

-who was eating a biscuit, rose and went out on the balcony. The people

-rushed towards the terrace. ‘Our emperor! Our father! Hurrah! Hurrah!’

-cried the people. Many women and a few men actually wept for joy. Quite

-a large piece of the biscuit the emperor held in his hand broke off and

-fell upon the balustrade, and from that to the ground. The man nearest

-to it was a cab-driver, in a blouse, who made a rush for the piece and

-seized it. Others rushed upon the coachman; whereupon the emperor had a

-plateful of biscuit brought, and began to throw them from the balcony

-to the crowd. Pierre’s eyes became blood-shot; the danger of being

-crushed only excited him the more, and he pressed forward through the

-crowd. He could not have told why he felt that he positively must have

-one of those biscuit thrown by the hand of the Tzar….”

-

-Again, there is nothing more true to nature than the account of the

-audience granted by the Emperor of Austria to Bolkonski, who had been

-despatched as a courier to Brünn with the news of a victory of the

-allies. The writer describes so well the gradual disenchantment of

-the young officer, who sees his great battle vanish before his eyes

-in the opinion of men. He quitted the scene of the exploit expecting

-to astonish the world with the announcement he now brings; but on his

-arrival at Brünn a bucket of cold water has been thrown over his dreams

-by the “polite” aide-de-camp, the minister of war, the emperor himself,

-who addresses a few words to him in an absent way―the ordinary

-questions as to the time of day, the particular spot where the affair

-took place, and the usual indispensable compliments. When he takes

-his leave, after reflecting upon the subject from the point of view

-of other men, according to their respective interests, poor Bolkonski

-finds his battle much diminished in grandeur, and also a thing of the

-past.

-

-“Andé felt that his whole interest and joy over the victory was sinking

-away from him into the indifferent hands of the minister of war and the

-‘polite’ aide-de-camp. His whole train of thought had become modified;

-there seemed to be nothing left to him but a dim, distant recollection

-of the battle.”

-

-This is one of the phenomena most closely analyzed by Tolstoï―this

-variable influence exerted upon man by his surroundings. He likes to

-plunge his characters successively into different atmospheres,―that

-of the soldier’s life, the country, the fashionable world,―and then

-to show us the corresponding moral changes in them. When a man, after

-having for some time been under the empire of thoughts and passions

-previously foreign to him, returns into his former sphere, his views on

-all subjects change at once. Let us follow young Nikolai Rostof when

-he returns from the army to his home, and back again to his cavalry

-regiment. He is not the same person, but seems to be possessed of two

-souls. On the journey back and forth to Moscow, he gradually lays aside

-or resumes the one which his profession requires.

-

-It is useless to multiply examples of Tolstoï’s psychological

-curiosity, which is ever awake. It forms the principal feature of

-his genius. He loves to analyze the human puppet in every part. A

-stranger enters the room; the author studies his expression, voice, and

-step; he shows us the depths of the man’s soul. He explains a glance

-interchanged between two persons, in which he discovers friendship,

-fear, a feeling of superiority in one of them; in fact, a perfect

-knowledge of the mutual relations of these two men. This relentless

-physician constantly feels the pulse of every one who crosses his path,

-and coolly notes down the condition of his health, morally speaking.

-He proceeds in an objective manner, never directly describing a person

-except by making him act out his characteristics.

-

-This fundamental precept of classic art has been adopted by this

-realistic writer in his desire to imitate real life, in which we

-learn to comprehend people by trivial indications and by points of

-resemblance, without any information as to their position or qualities.

-A good deal of art is required to discern clearly in this apparent

-chaos, and you have a large choice in the formidable accumulation of

-details. Observe how, in the course of a conversation or the narration

-of some episode, Tolstoï makes the actors visibly present before us by

-calling our attention to one of their gestures, or some little absurd,

-peculiar habit, or by interrupting their conversation to show us the

-direction of their glances. This occurs constantly.

-

-There is also a good deal of wit in this serious style; not the

-flashes and sallies of wit that we are familiar with, but of a fine,

-penetrating quality, with subtle and singularly apt comparisons.

-

-

-                                  III.

-

-Among the numerous characters in “War and Peace,” the action is

-concentrated upon two only―Prince André Bolkonski and Pierre Bezushof.

-These remarkable types of character are well worthy of attention. In

-them the double aspect of the Russian soul, as well as of the author’s

-own, is reflected with all its harassing thoughts and contradictions.

-Prince André is a nobleman of high rank, looking down from his lofty

-position upon the life he despises; proud, cold, sceptical, atheistic,

-although at times his mind is tortured with anxiety concerning great

-problems. Through him the author pronounces his verdicts upon the

-historical characters of the time, and discourses of the various

-statesmen and their intrigues.

-

-André is received at Speranski’s. We know the wonderful influence

-acquired by this man, who almost established a new constitution in

-Russia. Speranski’s most striking trait, in Prince André’s opinion, was

-his absolute, unshaken faith in the force and legitimacy of reason.

-This trait was what particularly attracted André to him, and explains

-the ascendency that Speranski acquired over his sovereign and his

-country. André, having been seriously wounded at Austerlitz, lies on

-the battle-field, his eyes raised to heaven. The dying man exclaims:―

-

-“Oh, could I now but say, ‘Lord, have pity upon me!’ But who will hear

-me? Shall I address an indefinite, unapproachable Power, which cannot

-itself be expressed in words, the great All or Nothing, or that image

-of God which is within the amulet that Marie gave me?… There is nothing

-certain except the nothingness of everything that I have any conception

-of, and the majesty of something beyond my conception!”

-

-Pierre Bezushof is more human in character, but his intelligence is

-of quite as mysterious a quality. He is a stout man, of lymphatic

-temperament, absent-minded; a man who blushes and weeps easily,

-susceptible to love, sympathetic with all suffering. He is a type

-of the kind-hearted Russian noblemen, nervous, deficient in will, a

-constant prey to the ideas and influence of others; but under his gross

-exterior lives a soul so subtle, so mystic, that it might well be that

-of a Hindu monk. One day, after Pierre had given his word of honor to

-his friend André that he would not go to a midnight revel of some of

-his young friends, he hesitated when the hour of meeting came.

-

-“‘After all,’ he thought, ‘all pledges of words are purely

-conventional, without definite meaning, when you reflect about it.

-I may die to-morrow, or some extraordinary event take place, in

-consequence of which the question of honor or dishonor will not even

-arise.’

-

-“Reflections of this sort―destructive of all resolve or method―often

-occupied Pierre’s mind….” Tolstoï has skilfully made use of this weak

-nature, which is as receptive of all impressions as a photographer’s

-plate, to give us a clear conception of the chief currents of ideas in

-Russia in the reign of Alexander I.; these successively influence this

-docile adept with all their changes. We see the liberal movement of

-the earlier years of that reign developed in the mind of Bezushof, as

-afterwards the mystic and theosophic maze of its later years. Pierre

-personifies the sentiments of the people in 1812, the national revolt

-against foreign intervention, the gloomy madness of conquered Moscow,

-the burning of which has never been explained, nor is it known by whose

-hands it was kindled. This destruction of Moscow is the culminating

-point of the book. The scenes of tragic grandeur, simple in outline,

-sombre in color, are superior, I must acknowledge, to anything of the

-kind in literature. He pictures the entrance of the French into the

-Kremlin, the prisoners and lunatics roaming by night in freedom about

-the burning city, the roads filled with long columns of fugitives

-escaping from the flames, beside many other very striking episodes.

-

-Count Pierre remains in the burning city. He leaves his palace in

-plebeian guise, in a peasant’s costume, and wanders off like a

-person in a trance; he walks on straight before him, with a vague

-determination to kill Napoleon and be an expiatory victim and martyr

-for the people. “He was actuated by two equally strong impulses.

-The first was the desire to take his part of the self-sacrifice and

-universal suffering―a feeling which, at Borodino, had impelled him to

-throw himself into the thick of the battle, and which now drove him

-out of the house, away from the luxury and habitual refinements of

-his daily life, to sleep on the ground and eat the coarsest of food.

-The second came from that indefinable, exclusively Russian sentiment

-of contempt for everything conventional and artificial, for all that

-the majority of mankind esteem most desirable in the world. Pierre

-experienced this strange and intoxicating feeling on the day of his

-flight, when it had suddenly been impressed upon him that wealth,

-power, life itself, all that men seek to gain and preserve with such

-great effort, were absolutely worthless, or, at least, only worth the

-luxury of the voluntary sacrifice of these so-called blessings.” And

-through page after page the author unfolds that condition of mind that

-we discovered in his first writings, that hymn of the _Nirvâna_, just

-as it must be sung in Ceylon or Thibet.

-

-Pierre Bezushof is certainly the elder brother of those rich men

-and scholars who will some day “go among the people,” and willingly

-share their trials, carrying a dynamite bomb under their cloaks, as

-Pierre carries a poniard under his, moved by a double impulse: to

-share the common suffering, and enjoy the anticipated annihilation of

-themselves and others. Taken prisoner by the French, Bezushof meets,

-among his companions in misfortune, a poor soldier, a peasant, with

-an uncultivated mind, one, indeed, rather beneath the average. This

-man endures the hardships on the march, through these terrible days,

-with the humble resignation of a beast of burden. He addresses Count

-Pierre with a cheerful smile, a few ingenuous words, popular proverbs

-with but a vague meaning, but expressing resignation, fraternity, and,

-above all, fatalism. One evening, when he can keep up with the others

-no longer, the soldiers shoot him under a pine-tree, on the snow, and

-the man receives death with the same indifferent tranquillity that he

-does everything else, like a wounded dog―in fact, like the brute. At

-this time a moral revolution takes place in Pierre’s soul. Here I do

-not expect to be intelligible to my fellow-countrymen; I only record

-the truth. The noble, cultured, learned Bezushof takes this primitive

-creature for his model; he has found at last his ideal of life in this

-man, who is “poor in spirit,” as well as a rational explanation of the

-moral world. The memory and name of Karatayef are a talisman to him;

-thenceforward he has but to think of the humble _muzhik_, to feel at

-peace, happy, ready to comprehend and to love the entire universe. The

-intellectual development of our philosopher is accomplished; he has

-reached the supreme avatar, mystic indifference.

-

-When Tolstoï related this episode, he was twenty-five years of age. Had

-he then a presentiment that he should ever find his Karatayef, that he

-would pass through the same crisis, experience the same discipline, and

-come out of it regenerated? We shall see later on how he had actually

-prophesied his own experience, and that from this time he, together

-with Dostoyevski, was destined to establish the ideal of nearly all

-contemporaneous literature in Russia. Karatayef’s name is legion; under

-different names and forms, this vegetative form of existence will be

-presented for our admiration. The perfection of human wisdom is the

-sanctification, deification of the brute element, which is kind and

-fraternal in a certain vague way. The root of the idea is this:―

-

-The cultured man finds his reasoning faculties a hindrance to him,

-because useless, since they do not aid him to explain the object of his

-life; therefore it is his duty to make an effort to reject them, and

-descend from complications to simplicity, in life and thought. This is

-the aim and aspiration, under various forms, of Tolstoï’s whole work.

-

-He has written a series of articles on popular education. The leading

-idea is this:―

-

-“I would teach the children of the common people to think and to write;

-but I ought rather to learn of them to write and to think. We seek our

-ideal beyond us, when it is in reality behind us. The development of

-man is not the means of realizing that idea of harmony which we bear

-within us, but, on the contrary, it is an obstacle in the way of its

-realization. A healthy child born into the world fully satisfies that

-ideal of truth, beauty, and goodness, which, day by day, he will

-constantly continue to lose; he is, at birth, nearer to the unthinking

-beings, to the animal, plant, nature itself, which is the eternal type

-of truth, beauty, and goodness.”

-

-You can catch the thread of the idea, which is much like the

-contemplative mistiness of the ancient oriental asceticism. The

-Occident has not always been free from this evil; in its ascetic

-errors and deviations, it has ennobled the brute, and falsified the

-divine allegory of the “poor in spirit.” But the true source of this

-contagious spirit of renunciation is in Asia, in the doctrines of

-India, which spring up again, scarcely modified, in that frenzy which

-is precipitating a part of Russia toward an intellectual and moral

-abnegation, sometimes developing into a stupid quietism, and again to

-sublime self-devotion, like the doctrine of Buddha. All extremes meet.

-

-I will dwell no longer upon these scarcely intelligible abstractions,

-but would say a word concerning the female characters created by

-Tolstoï. They are very similar to Turgenef’s heroines, treated,

-perhaps, with more depth but less of tender grace. Two characters call

-for special attention. First, that of Marie Bolkonski, sister of André,

-the faithful daughter, devoted to the work of cheering the latter years

-of a morose old father; a pathetic figure, as pure in outline, under

-the firm touch of this artist, are the works of the old painters. Of

-quite another type is Natasha Rostof, the passionate, fascinating

-young girl, beloved by all, enslaving many hearts, bearing with her an

-exhalation of love through the whole thread of this severe work. She

-is sweet-tempered, straightforward, sincere, but the victim of her own

-extreme sensibility.

-

-Racine might have created a Marie Bolkonski; the Abbé Prévost would

-have preferred Natasha Rostof. Betrothed to Prince André, the only

-man she truly loves, Natasha yields to a fatal fancy for a miserable

-fellow. Disenchanted finally, she learns that André is wounded and

-dying, and goes to nurse him in a mute agony of despair. This part

-of the book presents the inexorableness of real life in its sudden

-calamities. After André’s death, Natasha marries Pierre, who has

-secretly loved her. French readers will be horror-stricken at these

-convulsions in the realms of passion; but it is like life, and Tolstoï

-sacrifices conventionality to the desire to paint it as it is. Do not

-imagine he sought a romantic conclusion. The young girl’s fickleness

-ends in conjugal felicity and the solid joys of home life. To these

-the writer devotes many pages, too many, perhaps, for our taste. He

-loves to dwell upon domestic life and joys; all other affections are

-in his eyes unwholesome exceptions―exciting his curiosity but not

-his sympathy. Thus he analyzes with a skilful pen, but with visible

-disgust, the flirtations and coquetry carried on in the _salons_ of St.

-Petersburg. Like Turgenef, Tolstoï does not hold the ladies of court

-circles in high estimation.

-

-He has added a long philosophical appendix to his romance, in which

-he brings up again, in a doctrinal form, the metaphysical questions

-which have tormented him the most, and once more repeats that he is a

-fatalist. This appendix has not been translated in the French edition,

-and this is well, for no reader would voluntarily undergo the useless

-fatigue of wading through it. Tolstoï is unwise in pressing ideas by

-abstract reasoning which he is so skilful in illustrating through his

-characters; he does not realize how much more clearly his ideas are

-expressed in their language and action than in any of his own arguments.

-

-

-                                  IV.

-

-“Anna Karenina,” which appeared periodically in a Moscow review, was

-the result of many years’ study. The work was not published in full

-until 1877, and its appearance was a literary event in Russia. I

-happened to be a witness of the curiosity and interest it excited there.

-

-The author intended this book to be a picture of the society of the

-present day, as “War and Peace” illustrated that of its time. The

-task offered the author more difficulties, for many reasons. In the

-first place, the present does not belong to us, as does the past; it

-deceives us, not having become firmly established, so that we cannot

-get in all the necessary lines and figures to emphasize it, as we

-could a half-century later. Besides, the liberties that Tolstoï could

-take with deceased potentates and statesmen, as well as with ideas of

-the past, he could not allow himself with contemporary ideas and with

-living men. This second book on Russian life is not as much in the

-style of an epic, neither is it as strong or as complex, as the first;

-on the other hand, it is more agreeable to us, as having more unity of

-subject and more continuity of action; the principal character, too, is

-more perfectly developed. Although there are two suicides and a case

-of adultery, Tolstoï has in this work undertaken to write the most

-strictly moral book in existence, and he has succeeded. The main idea

-is duty accomplished uninfluenced by the passions. The author portrays

-an existence wholly outside of conventional lines of conduct; and, as

-a contrast, the history of a pure, legitimate affection, a happy home,

-and wholesome labor. He is too much of a realist, however, to picture

-an earthly paradise under any human conditions.

-

-Karenina, a statesman in the highest circles of St. Petersburg society,

-is a husband so greatly absorbed in the study of political economy

-as to be easily blinded and deceived in other matters. Vronski, the

-seducer of his wife’s affections, is a sincere character, devoted and

-self-sacrificing. Anna is a very charming woman, tender and faithful

-where her affections are enlisted. Tolstoï has recourse neither to

-hysteria nor any nervous ailment whatever, to excuse her fall. He

-is sagacious enough to know that every one’s feelings are regulated

-by his or her peculiar organism; that conscience exerts contrary

-influences, and that it really exists, because it speaks and commands.

-Take, for example, the description of Anna’s first anxieties, during

-the night-journey between Moscow and St. Petersburg, when she first

-comprehends the state of her heart. These pages you can never forget.

-She discovers Vronski in the train, knows that he is following her,

-then listens to his avowal of love. The intoxicating poison steals into

-every vein, her will is no longer her own, the dream has begun.

-

-The writer takes advantage of every outward circumstance to illustrate

-and color this dream in his inimitable manner, according to his usual

-method. He describes the poor woman making an effort to fix her

-thoughts upon an English novel, the snow and hail rattling against

-the window-panes; then the sketches of fellow-travellers, the various

-sounds and rushing of the train through the night,―all assume a new

-and fantastic meaning, as accompaniments of the agony of love and

-terror which are struggling within that woman’s soul. When, the next

-morning, Anna leaves the train and steps upon the platform where her

-husband is awaiting her, she says to herself: “Good heavens! how much

-longer his ears have grown!” This exclamation reveals to us the change

-that has taken place within her. How well the author knows how to

-explain a whole situation with a single phrase!

-

-From the first flutter of fear to the last contortions of despair,

-which lead the unhappy woman to suicide, the novelist exposes her

-inmost heart, and notes each palpitation. There is no necessity for

-any tragic complication to bring about the catastrophe. Anna has given

-up everything to follow her lover; she has placed herself in such a

-fatal predicament that life becomes impossible, which is sufficient to

-explain her resolve.

-

-In contrast with this wrecked life, the innocent affection of Kitty and

-Levin continues its smooth course. First, it is a sweet idyl, drawn

-with infinite grace; then the home, the birth of children, bringing

-additional joys and cares. This is the highly moral and dull theme of

-the English novel, one may say. It is similar, and yet not the same.

-The British tale-writer is almost always something of a preacher; you

-feel that he judges human actions according to some preconceived rule,

-from the point of view of the Established Church or of puritanic ideas.

-But Tolstoï is entirely free from all prejudices. I might almost say

-he has little anxiety as to questions of morality; he constructs his

-edifices according to his own idea of the best method; the moral lesson

-springs only from facts and results, both bitter and wholesome. This

-is no book for the youth of twenty, nor for a lady’s boudoir,―a book

-containing no charming illusions; but a man in full maturity relates

-what experience has taught him, for the benefit of mankind.

-

-These volumes present an exception in regard to what is thought to

-guarantee the permanent success of a literary work. They will be read,

-and then reflected upon; we shall apply the observations to our own

-souls and to others’ (the most unimportant as well as the most general

-ones); then we shall go back to his model, which will invariably verify

-them. Years may pass after the first reading, notes accumulate on the

-margins of the leaves, as in many masterpieces of the classics you find

-at the bottom of the pages the explanatory remarks of generations of

-commentators. In this case, they need merely to say: “_Confer vitam_.”

-

-Tolstoï’s style is in this work the same as in “War and Peace.” He

-is like a scientific engineer who visits some great establishment

-where machines are manufactured. He studies the mechanism of every

-engine, examines the most trifling parts, measures the degree of

-steam-pressure, tries the balance-valves, studies the action of the

-pistons and gearing; he seeks eagerly to discover the central motive

-power, the invisible reservoir of force. While he is experimenting

-with the machinery, we, outside spectators, see only the results of all

-this labor, the manufactures of delicate fabrics with infinite variety

-of designs―life itself.

-

-Tolstoï shows the same qualities and defects as in “War and Peace,” and

-gives the same tediously long descriptions. The parts devoted to the

-pictures of country life and rural occupations will seem, in France,

-a little dull. Unfortunately, in one sort of realistic description,

-we must know the locality to appreciate the artist’s effort and the

-resemblance of the picture. The description, for instance, of the

-races at Tsarskoe-Selo, so appreciated by Russian readers, could not

-have any more interest for us than the brilliant account of _le grand

-prix de Paris_ in “Nana” would have for the Muscovites; on the other

-hand, the portraits of Oblonski and Karenina will always retain their

-power, because they express human sentiments common to all countries

-and all times. I will carry the analysis of these novels no farther,

-for they will hardly admit of it; we could scarcely choose a path in

-this labyrinth for the reader; we must leave him the pleasure of losing

-himself in it.

-

-Tolstoï belongs to the “school of nature,” if extreme realism of

-description entitles him to that honor. He carries this tendency

-sometimes to great excess, even to coarseness. I might quote many

-examples of this kind, but they would hardly bear translation,

-and might, occasionally, be almost revolting to us. He is also an

-_impressionist_, for his phrases often bring to us every material

-sensation produced by a sight, object, or sound.

-

-Finally, his being both pessimist and Nihilist gives him, as a

-narrator, almost the impassibility of a stoic. Persuaded of the

-vanity of all human action, he can maintain his own coolness in all

-his delineations, his condition resembling that of a man awaking

-from sleep at dawn, in the middle of a ball-room, who looks upon the

-whirling dancers around him as lunatics; or the man who, having eaten

-to repletion, enters a hall where people are dining, and upon whom

-the mechanical movements of the mouths and forks make a grotesque

-impression. In short, a writer who is a pessimist must assume the

-superiority of an inexorable judge over the characters he has created.

-Tolstoï employs all these methods, which he carries as far as any of

-our novelists do. Why is it, then, that he produces such a different

-impression upon the reader? The question as to how far he is both

-realist and impressionist in comparison with our authors is the

-important one. The whole secret is a question of degree. The truth

-is that what others have sought he has found and adopted. He leaves

-a large space for trifling details, because life is made up of them,

-and life is his study; but as he never attacks subjects trifling in

-themselves, he after all gives to trifles only the secondary place

-which they hold in everything that demands our attention.

-

-As an _impressionist_ he well knows how to produce certain rapid and

-subtle sensations, while he is never obscene or unhealthy in tone.

-“War and Peace” is put into the hands of all young girls in Russia.

-“Anna Karenina,” which touches upon a perilous subject, is considered a

-manual of morals.

-

-As to Tolstoï’s impassibility, though his coldness almost approaches

-irony, we feel, behind and within the man, the shadow of the Infinite,

-and bow before his right to criticise his fellow-man. Moreover, unlike

-our own authors, he is never preoccupied with himself or the effect

-he wishes to produce. He is more logical; he sacrifices style that he

-himself may be eclipsed, put aside entirely in his work. In his earlier

-years he was more solicitous in regard to his style; but of late he has

-quite renounced this seductive temptation. We need not expect of him

-the beautiful, flowing language of Turgenef. An appropriate and clear

-form of expression of his ideas is all we shall have. His phraseology

-is diffuse, sometimes fatiguing from too much repetition; he makes

-use of a great many adjectives, of all he needs to add the smallest

-touches of color to a portrait; while incidents rapidly accumulate,

-from the inexhaustible fund of thought in the farthest recesses of his

-mind. From our point of view, this absence of style is an unpardonable

-defect; but to me it appears a necessary consequence of realism which

-does away with all conventionality. If style is a conventionality,

-might it not warp our judgment of facts presented to us? We must

-acknowledge that this contempt of style, if not to our taste,

-contributes to the impression of sincerity that we receive. Tolstoï, in

-Pascal’s way, “has not tried to show to us himself, but our own selves;

-we find in ourselves the truths presented, which before were utterly

-unknown to us, as in ourselves; this attracts us strongly to him who

-has enlightened us.”

-

-There is still another difference between Tolstoï’s realism and ours:

-he applies his, by preference, to the study of characters difficult

-to deal with, those made more inaccessible to the observer by the

-refinements of education and the mask of social conventionalities. This

-struggle between the painter and his model is deeply interesting to me

-and to many others.

-

-Count Tolstoï would no doubt commiserate us if he found us occupied

-in discussing his works; for the future he wishes to be only a

-philosopher and reformer. Let us, then, return to his philosophy. I

-have said already that the composition of “Anna Karenina,” written at

-long intervals, occupied many years of the author’s life, the moral

-fluctuations of which are reflected in the character of Constantin

-Levin, the child and confidant of his soul. This new incarnation of

-Bezushof, in “War and Peace,” is the usual hero of modern romance in

-Russia, the favorite type with Turgenef and with all the young girls.

-He is a country gentleman, intelligent, educated, though not brilliant,

-a speculative dreamer, fond of rural life, and interested in all the

-social questions and difficulties arising from it. Levin studies these

-questions, and takes his part in all the liberal emotions his country

-has indulged in for the last twenty years. Of course, his illusions and

-chimeras vanish, one after another, and his Nihilism triumphs bitterly

-over their ruins. His Nihilism is not of so severe a kind as that of

-Pierre Bezushof and Prince André. He drops the most cruel problems and

-takes up questions of political economy. A calm and laborious country

-life, with family joys and cares, has strangled the serpent. Years

-pass, and the tale goes on toward its close.

-

-But suddenly, through several moral shocks in his experience, Levin

-awakes from his religious indifference, and is tormented by doubts. He

-becomes overwhelmed with despair, when the _muzhik_ appears who proves

-his saviour and instructor. His mind becomes clear through some of

-the aphorisms uttered by this wise peasant. He declares that “every

-evil comes from the folly, the wickedness of reason. We have only to

-love and believe, and there is no further difficulty.” Thus ends the

-long intellectual drama, in a ray of mystic happiness, a hymn of joy,

-proclaiming the bankruptcy and the downfall of reason.

-

-Reason has but a narrow sphere of its own, is only useful in a limited

-horizon, as the rag-picker’s lantern is merely of use to light up the

-few feet of space immediately around him, the heap of rubbish upon

-which he depends for subsistence. What folly it would be for the poor

-man to turn those feeble rays toward the starry heavens, seeking to

-penetrate the inscrutable mysteries of those fathomless spaces!

-

-

-                                   V.

-

-The consolation of the doctrines of Quietism, the final apotheosis of

-Tolstoï’s entire literary work, was yet in reserve for him, revealed

-through an humble apostle of these doctrines. He too was destined to

-find his Karatayef.

-

-After the appearance of “Anna Karenina,” a new production from this

-author was impatiently anticipated. He undertook a sequel to “War

-and Peace,” and published the first three chapters of the work,

-which promised to be quite equal to his preceding novels; but he

-soon abandoned the undertaking. Only a few stories for children now

-appeared, some of which were exquisitely written. In them, however,

-you could but feel that the soul of the author had already soared

-above terrestrial aims. At last, the report spread that the novelist

-had renounced his art, even wishing no allusion made to his former

-works, as belonging to the vanities of the age, and had given himself

-up to the care of his soul and the contemplation of religious themes.

-Count Tolstoï had met with Sutayef, the sectary of Tver. I will not

-here dwell upon this original character―a gentle idealist, one among

-the many peasants who preached among the Russian people the gospel of

-the Communists. The teachings and example of this man exerted a strong

-influence upon Tolstoï, according to his own statement, and caused him

-to decide what his true vocation was.

-

-We could have no excuse for intruding upon the domain of conscience,

-had not the author, now a theologian, invited us so to do, by

-publishing his late works, “My Confession,” “My Religion,” and “A

-Commentary on the Gospel.” Although, in reality, the press-censorship

-has never authorized the publication of these books, there are several

-hundred autographic copies of them in circulation, spread among

-university students, women, and even among the common people, and

-eagerly devoured by them. This shows how the Russian soul hungers for

-spiritual food. As Tolstoï has expressed the desire that his work

-should be translated into French, we have every right to criticise it.

-But I will not abuse the privilege. The only books which can interest

-us as an explanation of his mental state are the first two.

-

-Even “My Confession” is nothing new to me. In his “Childhood, Boyhood,

-and Youth” we have the same revelation in advance, as well as from

-the lips of Bezushof and Levin. This is, however, a new and eloquent

-variation in the same theme, the same wail of anguish from the depths

-of a human soul. I will give a quotation:―

-

-“I became sceptical quite early in life. For a time I was absorbed,

-like every one else, in the vanities of life. I wrote books, teaching,

-as others did, what I knew nothing of myself. Then I became thirsty

-for more knowledge. The study of humanity furnished no response to

-the constant, sole question of any importance to me―‘What is the

-object of my existence?’ Science responded by teaching me other things

-which I was not anxious to learn. I could but join in the cry of the

-preacher, ‘All is vanity!’ I would gladly have taken my life. Finally

-I determined to study the lives of the great majority of men who have

-none of our anxieties―those classes which you might say are superior

-to abstract speculations of the mind, but that labor and endure, and

-yet live tranquil lives and seem to have no doubts as to the end and

-aim of life. Then I understood that, to live as they did, we must go

-back to our primitive faith. But the corrupt teachings which the church

-distributed among the lowly could not satisfy my reason; then I made a

-closer study of those teachings, in order to distinguish superstition

-from truth.”

-

-The result of this study is the doctrine brought forth under the title

-of “My Religion.” This religion is precisely the same as that of

-Sutayef, but explained with the aid of the theological and scientific

-knowledge of a cultivated scholar. It is, however, none the clearer

-for that. The gospel is subjected to the broadest rationalistic

-interpretation. In fact, Tolstoï’s interpretation of Christ’s doctrine

-of life is the same as the Sadducees’―that is, of life considered

-in a collective sense. He denies that the gospel makes any allusion

-to a resurrection of the body, or to an individual existence of the

-soul. In this unconscious Pantheism, an attempt at a conciliation

-between Christianity and Buddhism, life is considered as an indivisible

-entirety, as one individual soul of the universe, of which we are

-but ephemeral particles. One thing only is of consequence―morality;

-which is all contained in the precepts of the gospel, “Be ye perfect….

-Judge not…. Thou shalt not kill, …” etc. Therefore there must be no

-tribunals, no armies, no prisons, no right of retaliation, either

-public or private, no wars, no trials. The universal law of the world

-is the struggle for existence; the law of Christ is the sacrifice of

-one’s life for others. Neither Turkey nor Germany will attack us,

-if we are true Christians, if we study their advantage. Happiness,

-the supreme end of a life of morality, is possible only in the union

-of all men in believing the doctrine of Jesus Christ―that is, in

-Tolstoï’s version of it, not in that of the church; in the return to a

-natural mode of life, to communism, giving up cities and all business,

-as incompatible with these doctrines, and because of the difficulty

-of their application in such a life. To support his statements, the

-writer presents to us, with rare eloquence and prophetic vividness, a

-picture of a life of worldliness from birth to death. This life is more

-terrible in his eyes than that of the Christian martyrs.

-

-The apostle of the new faith spares not the established church; but,

-after relating his vain search for comfort in the so-called true

-orthodoxy, violently attacks this church from Sutayef’s point of view.

-He declares that she substitutes rites and formalities for the true

-spirit of the gospel; that she issues catechisms filled with false

-doctrines; that since the time of Constantine she has ruined herself

-by deviating from the law of God to follow that of the age; that she

-has now, in fact, become pagan. Finally, and this is the key-note and

-the most delicate point of all, no attention should be paid to the

-commands and prohibitions of any temporal power as long as it ignores

-the truth. Here I will quote an incident illustrative of this idea:―

-

-“Passing recently through the Borovitzki gate at Moscow, I saw an

-aged beggar seated in the archway, who was a cripple and had his

-head bound with a bandage. I drew out my purse to give him alms.

-Just then a fine-looking young grenadier came running down towards

-us from the Kremlin. At sight of him, the beggar rose terrified,

-and ran limping away until he reached the foot of the hill into the

-Alexander garden. The grenadier pursued him a short distance, calling

-after him with abusive epithets, because he had been forbidden to

-sit in the archway. I waited for the soldier, and then asked him if

-he could read.―‘Yes,’ he replied: ‘why do you ask?’―‘Have you read

-the Gospel?’―‘Yes.’―‘Have you read the passage in regard to giving

-bread to the hungry?’―I quoted the whole passage. He knew it, and

-listened attentively, seeming somewhat confused. Two persons, passing

-by, stopped to listen. Evidently, the grenadier was ill at ease, as

-he could not reconcile the having done a wrong act, while strictly

-fulfilling his duty. He hesitated for a reply. Suddenly his eyes

-lighted up intelligently, and, turning toward me, he said: ‘May I ask

-you if you have read the military regulations?’ I acknowledged that

-I had not.―‘Then you have nothing to say,’ replied the grenadier,

-nodding his head triumphantly, as he walked slowly away.”

-

-I have, perhaps, said enough respecting “My Religion”; but must

-give a literal translation of a few lines which show the superb

-self-confidence always latent in the heart of every reformer:―

-

-“Everything confirmed the truth of the sense in which the doctrine of

-Christ now appeared to me. But for a long time I could not take in

-the strange thought that, after the Christian faith had been accepted

-by so many thousands of men for eighteen centuries, and so many had

-consecrated their lives to the study of that faith, it should be given

-to me to discover the law of Christ, as an entirely new thing. But,

-strange as it was, it was indeed a fact.”

-

-We can now judge what his “Commentary on the Gospel” would be.

-God forbid that I should disturb the new convert’s tranquillity!

-Fortunately, that would be impossible, however. Tolstoï joyously

-affirms, and with perfect sincerity, that his soul has at last found

-repose, as well as the true object of his life and the rock of his

-faith. He invites us to follow him, but I fear the hardened sceptics

-of Western Europe will refuse to enter into any discussion with him

-upon the new religion, which seems, moreover, almost daily to undergo

-modifications, according to its founder’s new flights of thought.

-It eliminates gradually, more and more, the doctrine of a Divine

-Providence overruling all, and concentrates all duty, hope, and moral

-activity upon a single object, the reform of all social evils through

-Communism.

-

-This idea exclusively inspires the last treatise of Tolstoï which

-I read; it is entitled: “What, then, must be done?” This title is

-significant enough, and has been used many times in Russia since the

-famous novel by Tchernishevski was written. It expresses the anxious

-longing of all these men, and there is something touchingly pathetic

-in its ingenuousness. What, then, must be done? First of all, quit

-the populous cities and towns, and disband the work-people in the

-factories; return to country life and till the ground, each man

-providing for his own personal necessities. The author first draws a

-picture of wretchedness in a large capital, as he himself studied it

-in Moscow. Here his admirable powers of description reappear, together

-with the habit, peculiar to himself, of looking within his own soul,

-to discover and expose the little weaknesses and base qualities common

-to all of us; and he takes the same pleasure in the observation and

-denunciation of his own as men generally do in criticising those of

-others. He gives us all a side thrust when he says of himself:―

-

-“I gave three roubles to that poor creature; and, beside the pleasure

-of feeling that I had done a kind deed, I had the additional one of

-knowing that other people saw me do it….”

-

-The second part of the treatise is devoted to theory. We cannot

-relieve the poor and unfortunate for many reasons; First, in cities

-poverty must exist, because an overplus of workmen are attracted to

-them; secondly, our class gives them the example of idleness and

-of superfluous expenditure; thirdly, we do not live according to

-the doctrine of Christ: charity is not what is wanted, but an equal

-division of property in brotherly love. Let him who has two cloaks give

-to him who has none. Sutayef carries out this theory.

-

-Those who draw salaries are in a state of slavery, and an aggravated

-form of it; and the effect of the modern system of credit continues

-this slavery into their future. The alms we give are only an obligation

-we owe to the peasants whom we have induced to come and work in our

-cities to supply us with our luxuries. The author concludes by giving

-as the only remedy, a return to rural life, which will guarantee to

-every laborer all that is necessary to support life.

-

-He does not see that this principle involves, necessarily and

-logically, a return to an animal state of existence, a general struggle

-for shelter and food, instead of a methodical system of labor; and that

-in such a company there must be both wolves and lambs. He sees but

-one side of the question, the side of justice; he loses sight of the

-intellectual side, the necessity for mental development, which involves

-a division of labor.

-

-All this has no great attraction for us. We can obtain no original

-ideas from this apostle’s revelation; only the first lispings of

-rationalism in the religious portion, and in the social the doctrine

-of Communism; only the old dream of the millennium, the old theme,

-ever renewed since the Middle Ages, by the Vaudois, the Lollards and

-Anabaptists. Happy Russia! to her these beautiful chimeras are still

-new! Western Europe is astonished only, to meet them again in the

-writings of such a great author and such an unusually keen observer of

-human nature.

-

-But would not the condition of this man’s soul be the result of

-the natural evolution of his successive experiences? First, a

-pantheist, then nihilist, pessimist, and mystic. I have heard that Leo

-Nikolaievitch has defended himself energetically against being thought

-to have assumed the title of a mystic; he feels its danger, and does

-not think it applicable to one who believes that the heavenly kingdom

-is transferred to earth. Our language furnishes us no other word to

-express his condition; may he pardon us what seems to us the truth. I

-know that he would prefer to have me praise his doctrines and decry his

-novels. This I cannot do. I am so enraptured with the novels that I can

-only feel that the doctrines but deprive me of masterpieces which might

-have given me additional enjoyment in the future. I have been lavish

-of praise, but only because of my thorough and sincere appreciation of

-the books. Now, however, that the author has reached a state of perfect

-happiness, he needs no more praise, and must be quite indifferent to

-criticism.

-

-We must, at least, recognize in Tolstoï one of those rare reformers

-whose actions conform to their precepts. I am assured that he exerts

-around him a most salutary influence, and has actually returned to

-the life of the primitive Christians. He daily receives letters from

-strangers, revenue officers, dishonest clerks, publicans of every

-type, who put into his hands the sums they have dishonestly acquired;

-young men asking his advice as well as fallen women who need counsel.

-He is settled in the country, gives away his wealth, lives and labors

-with his peasant neighbors. He draws water, works in the fields, and

-sometimes makes his own boots. He does not wish his novels alluded to.

-I have seen a picture of him in a peasant’s costume working with a

-shoemaker’s awl in his hand. Should not this creator of masterpieces

-feel that the pen is the only tool he should wield? If the inspiration

-of great thoughts is a gift we have received from Heaven as a

-consolation for our fellow-beings, it seems to me an act of impiety to

-throw away this talent. The human soul is the author’s field of action,

-which he is bound to cultivate and fertilize.

-

-From Paris, where Tolstoï is so highly appreciated, comes back to him

-again the touching, last request of his dying friend which to me was

-inspired by a higher religious sentiment than that of Sutayef:―

-

-“This gift comes to you from whence come all our gifts. Return to your

-literary labors, great author of our beloved Russia!”

-

-I shall not pretend to draw any definite or elaborate conclusions from

-these initiatory explorations into Russian literature. To make them

-complete, we should study the less prominent writers, who have a right

-to bear their testimony as to the actual condition of the nation. If,

-moreover, the writer of this book has succeeded in presenting his own

-ideas clearly, the reader should draw his own conclusions from the

-perusal of it; if the author has failed, any added defence of his ideas

-would be superfluous, and have little interest or value for the reader.

-

-We have witnessed the at first artificial growth of this literature,

-for a long time subjected to foreign influence; a weak and servile type

-of literature, giving us no enlightenment whatever as to the actual

-interior condition of its own country, which it voluntarily ignored.

-Again, when turning to its natal soil to seek its objects of study it

-has become vigorous. Realism is the proper and perfect instrument which

-it has employed, applied with equal success to material and spiritual

-life. Although this realism may occasionally lack method and taste,

-and is at the same time both diffuse and subtile, it is invariably

-natural and sincere, ennobled by moral sentiments, aspirations toward

-the Divine, and sympathy for humanity. Not one of these novelists aims

-merely at literary fame, but all are governed by a love of truth as

-well as of justice,―a combination of great importance, and well worth

-our serious reflection, betraying and explaining to us, moreover, the

-philosophical conceptions of this race.

-

-The Russians seek religious truth because they find the formulas of

-their doctrines insufficient for them, and the negative arguments which

-satisfy us would be entirely opposed to all their instincts. Their

-religious doubts govern, cause, and characterize all their social and

-political questions and difficulties. The Slav race, under the guise

-of its apparent orthodoxy, has not yet found its true path, but seeks

-it still in every grade of society. The formula they are looking

-forward to must comprise and answer to their double ideal of truth and

-justice. Moreover, the people still feel the influence of the old Aryan

-spirit; the cultivated classes also feel that of the teachings of the

-contemporaneous sciences; hence the resurrection of Buddhism which we

-now witness in Russia; for I cannot otherwise qualify these tendencies.

-We see in them the condition of the ancient Hindus vacillating between

-an extremely high morality and Nihilism, or a metaphysical Pantheism.

-

-The spirit of Buddhism in its great efforts toward the extension

-of evangelical charity has penetrated the Russian character, which

-naturally has such intense sympathy for human nature, for the humblest

-creatures, for the forsaken and unfortunate. This spirit decries

-reason and elevates the brute, and inspires the deepest compassion in

-the heart. Moreover, this simple love of the neighbor and infinite

-tenderness for the suffering gives a peculiarly pathetic quality to

-their literary works. The initiators of this movement, after having

-written for the benefit of their peers and the cultivated classes, are

-strongly drawn toward the people. Gogol with his bitter irony devoted

-himself to the study of suffering humanity. Turgenef pictured it from

-his own artistic standpoint rather than from that of an apostle.

-Tolstoï, his sceptical investigations being over, has become the most

-determined of the apostles of the unfortunate.

-

-But beyond these mental tortures, beneath the extreme Nihilism of a

-Tolstoï and the intellectual morbidness of a Dostoyevski, we feel that

-there is a rich fund of vitality, a fountain of truth and justice,

-which will surely triumph in the future.

-

-

-FOOTNOTES:

-

-     [L]  By Alfred de Vigny, author of “Cinque-Mars.”

-

-

-

-

-                                 INDEX.

-

-

-  Alexander I., 27, 42

-

-  _Anna Karenina_, 246

-

-  _Annals of a Sportsman_, 101

-

-  _Ascension of Christ, The_, 34

-

-  _Assia_, 119

-

-

-  Bielinski, 148

-

-  _Bohemians, The_, 49

-

-  _Book of the Dove_, 34

-

-  _Boris Godunof_, 49

-

-  _Buried Alive_, 162

-

-

-  Catherine II., 27, 38

-

-  _Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth_, 216

-

-  _Commentary on the Gospel, A_, 257

-

-  _Cossacks, The_, 216

-

-  _Crime and Punishment_, 176

-

-

-  _Dead Souls_, 74

-

-  _Degraded and Insulted, The_, 147

-

-  _Demon, The_, 52

-

-  Derzhavin, 38

-

-  _Despair_, 139

-

-  _Dimitri Roudine_, 109

-

-  _Domostroi_, 32

-

-  Dostoyevski, 141

-

-

-  _Evenings at a Farm Near Dikanka_, 63

-

-

-  _Fathers and Sons_, 115

-

-  Freemasonry, 41

-

-  French Revolution, The, 42

-

-

-  Gogol, 56

-

-  Gortchakof, 46

-

-  Gregory of Tours, 31

-

-  Griboyedof, 51

-

-  Grigorovitch, 147

-

-

-  _Idiot, The_, 163

-

-  Ivan the Terrible, 32

-

-  Ivan Federof, 32

-

-  Ivanof, 73

-

-  Ivan Sergievitch, 96

-

-

-  _Karamazof Brothers, The_, 185

-

-  Karamzin, 39

-

-  Kheraskof, 38

-

-  Kiev, 31

-

-  Krylof, 39

-

-  Kutuzof, 231

-

-

-  _Lear of the Steppe, A_, 131

-

-  Lermontof, 52

-

-  _Letters to My Friends_, 83

-

-  _Living Relics, The_, 102

-

-  Lomonosof, 37

-

-  Loris Melikof, 206

-

-

-  _Manteau, Le_, 62, 69

-

-  Maximus, 31

-

-  _Memoirs of a Nihilist_, 130

-

-  Muscovitism, 41

-

-  _My Confession_, 257

-

-  _My Religion_, 259

-

-

-  Nekrasof, 147

-

-  _Nest of Nobles_, 109

-

-  Nestor, 31

-

-  _Note-book of an Author_, 195

-

-  Novikof, 42

-

-  _On the Eve_, 113

-

-  _Onyegin_, 49

-

-

-  _Pauvre Lise, La_, 40

-

-  Peter the Great, 37

-

-  Petrachevski, 155

-

-  _Pétriade, La_, 38

-

-  Poltava, 49

-

-  _Poor People_, 149

-

-  _Possédés, Les_, 191

-

-  _Prisoner of the Caucasus, The_, 48

-

-  Pushkin, 44

-

-

-  _Revizor, The_, 70

-

-  Russian Drama, The, 70

-

-

-  Savonarola, 31

-

-  _Sebastopol in December, in May, and in August_, 215

-

-  Skobelef, 138

-

-  Slavophile, 90

-

-  Slavophilism, 41

-

-  _Smoke_, 122

-

-  Song of Igor, 35

-

-  “Souls,” 75

-

-  Speranski, 41

-

-  _Spring Floods_, 125

-

-  Sutayef, 257

-

-

-  _Taras Bulba_, 66

-

-  Tchadayef, 53

-

-  Tchinovnism, 32

-

-  _Tchitchikof_, 76

-

-  Tolstoï, 215

-

-  _Trois Morts_, 219

-

-  Tsarskoe-Selo, Lyceum of, 45

-

-  Turgenef, 96

-

-  Tutschef, 34

-

-

-  Ukraine, 57

-

-

-  _Virgin Soil_, 126

-

-  Von Vizin, 38

-

-

-  _War and Peace_, 223, 228

-

-

-  Zaporovian League, 59

-

-  Zhukovski, 44

-

-

-

-

-                     A LIST OF ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS

-                           FROM THE RUSSIAN.

-

-

-DOSTOYEVSKI:―

-

-  Buried Alive; Ten Years Penal Servitude in Siberia. Trans. from the

-     Russian by Marie von Thilo; 8vo, London, 1881.

-

-  _Same_, 12mo, New York, 1881.

-

-  Crime and Punishment; a Russian Realistic Novel; 8vo, London, 1886.

-

-  _Same_, 12mo, New York, 1886.

-

-  Injury and Insult; trans. by F. Whishaw; 8vo, London, 1886.

-

-

-GOGOL:―

-

-  Cossack Tales, trans. by Geo. Tolstoy; 8vo, London, 1860.

-

-  St. John’s Eve, and Other Stories; from the Russian, by Isabel F.

-     Hapgood; 12mo, New York, 1886. Selected from “Evenings at the

-     Farm” and “St. Petersburg Stories.”

-

-       _Contents_:―St. John’s Eve, related by the sacristan of

-     the Dikanka Church.―Old-Fashioned Farmers.―The Tale of How

-     Ivan Ivanovitch Quarrelled with Ivan Nikiforovitch.―The

-     Portrait.―The Cloak.

-

-  Taras Bulbá; a Tale of the Cossacks; from the Russian, by Isabel F.

-     Hapgood; 12mo, New York, 1886.

-

-  Tchitchikoff’s Journeys, or Dead Souls; from the Russian, by Isabel

-     F. Hapgood; 2 vols., 12mo, New York, 1886.

-

-

-PUSHKIN:―

-

-  Captain’s Daughter; from the Russian; 4to, New York, 1884.

-

-  Eugene Onéguine, a romance of Russian life, in verse; trans, by

-     Lt.-Col. Spalding; 8vo, London and New York, 1881.

-

-  Marie, a Story of Russian Love; from the Russian, by Marie H. de

-     Zielinska; sq. 16mo, Chicago, 1876 (also 1880). (Same as the

-     “Captain’s Daughter.”)

-

-  Russian Romance; trans. by Mrs. J. B. Telfer; 8vo, London, 1875.

-

-  _Same_, 8vo, London, 1880.

-

-       _Contents_:―The Captain’s Daughter.―The Lady-Rustic.―The

-     Pistol-Shot.―The Snow-Storm.―The Undertaker.―The

-     Station-Master.―The Moor of Peter the Great.

-

-

-TOLSTOÏ:―

-

-  Anna Karenina; from the Russian, by N. H. Dole; 12mo, New York,

-     1886.

-

-  _Same_, London, 1886.

-

-  Childhood, Boyhood, Youth: Reminiscences; from the Russian, by

-     Isabel F. Hapgood; 12mo, New York, 1886. (An earlier translation

-     seems to have been published in London, in 1862, under the title

-     “Childhood and Youth.”)

-

-  Christ’s Christianity; trans. from the Russian; 8vo, London, 1885.

-

-       _Contents_:―How I Came to Believe.―What I Believe.―The

-     Spirit of Christ’s Teaching.

-

-  The Cossacks; from the Russian, by Eugene Schuyler; 2 vols., 8vo,

-     London, 1878.

-

-  _Same_, 16mo, New York, 1878.

-

-  My Religion; trans. from the French by W. Huntington Smith; 12mo,

-     New York, 1885. (The same as his “What I Believe.”)

-

-  War and Peace; from the French, by Clara Bell; 3 vols., 8vo,

-     London, 1886.

-

-  _Same_, 6 vols., 16mo, New York, 1886.

-

-  What I Believe; from the Russian, by Constantine Popoff; 8vo,

-     London, 1885.

-

-  _Same_, 12mo, New York, 1886. (A translation from the French was

-     published under the title “My Religion.”)

-

-  What People Live By; trans. by Aline Delano; 8vo, Boston, 1887. (A

-     story of peasant life.)

-

-

-TURGENEF:―

-

-  Annals of a Sportsman; from the authorized French translation, by

-     Franklin P. Abbott; 16mo, New York, 1885.

-

-  Annouchka: a Tale; from the French of the author’s own translation,

-     by Franklin P. Abbott; 16mo, Boston, 1884.

-

-  Daughter of Russia; trans. by G. W. Scott; 4to, New York, 1882.

-

-  Dimitri Roudine; trans. from the French and German versions for

-     “Every Saturday”; 16mo, New York, 1873.

-

-  _Same_, 12mo, London, 1883.

-

-  Fathers and Sons; from the Russian, by Eugene Schuyler; 16mo, New

-     York, 1867 and 1883.

-

-  _Same_, London, 1883.

-

-  First Love, and Punin and Baburin; trans. from the Russian, by W.

-     Ralston; 12mo, London, 1884.

-

-  Liza; trans. by W. R. S. Ralston; 2 vols., 8vo, London, 1869.

-

-  _Same_, New York, 1872.

-

-  _Same_, London, 1884.

-

-       (The title of the original and of the French translation is

-      “A Nest of Nobles.”)

-

-  Mumu, and The Diary of a Superfluous Man; from the Russian, by

-     Henry Gersoni; 12mo, New York, 1884.

-

-  On the Eve; from the Russian, by C. E. Turner; 12mo, London, 1871.

-

-  _Same_, American ed., with amendments; 16mo, New York, 1873.

-

-  Poems in Prose; trans. by Lilla C. Perry; 16mo, Boston, 1883.

-

-  Punin and Baburin; trans. by G. W. Scott; 4to, New York, 1882.

-

-  Russian Life in the Interior; 12mo, London, 1855.

-

-  Smoke, or Life at Baden; 2 vols., 8vo, London, 1868.

-

-  Smoke, or Life at Baden; from the author’s French version, by W. F.

-     West; 16mo, New York, 1872.

-

-  _Same_, 12mo, London, 1883.

-

-  Song of Triumphant Love; 4to, New York, 1883.

-

-  Spring Floods, trans. by Sophie Mitchell; also A Lear of the

-     Steppe, trans. by W. H. Browne; 16mo, New York, 1874.

-

-  An Unfortunate Woman; also Ass’ya; from the Russian, by H. Gersoni;

-     12mo, New York, 1886. (“Ass’ya” is the same as “Annouchka.”)

-

-  Virgin Soil; from the French, by T. S. Perry; 16mo, New York, 1877.

-

-  _Same_, 12mo, London, 1883.

-

-  Virgin Soil; trans. by A. W. Dilke; 8vo, London, 1878.

-

-

-

-

-                          THE SCHOOL OF HOME.

-

-Let the school of home be a good one. Let reading be such as to

-quicken the mind for better reading still; for the school at home is

-progressive.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-The baby is to be read to. What shall mother and sister and father and

-brother read to the baby?

-

-BABYLAND. Babyland rhymes and jingles; great big letters and little

-thoughts and words out of BABYLAND. Pictures so easy to understand that

-baby quickly learns the meaning of light and shade, of distance, of

-tree, of cloud. The grass is green; the sky is blue; the flowers―are

-they red or yellow? That depends on mother’s house-plants. Baby sees in

-the picture what she sees in the home and out of the window.

-

-BABYLAND, mother’s monthly picture-and-jingle primer for baby’s

-diversion, and baby’s mother-help; 50 cents a year.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-What, when baby begins to read for herself? OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN is

-made to go on with. BABYLAND forms the reading habit. Think of a baby

-with the reading habit! After a little she picks up the letters and

-wants to know what they mean. The jingles are jingles still; but the

-tales that lie under the jingles begin to ask questions.

-

-What do Jack and Jill go up the hill after water for? Isn’t water down

-hill? Baby is outgrowing BABYLAND.

-

-No more nonsense. There is fun enough in sense. The world is full

-of interesting things; and, if they come to a growing child not in

-discouraging tangles but an easy one at a time, there is fun enough

-in getting hold of them. That is the way to grow. OUR LITTLE MEN AND

-WOMEN helps such growth as that. Beginnings of things made easy by

-words and pictures; not too easy. The reading habit has got to another

-stage.

-

-A dollar for such a school as that for a year.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Then comes THE PANSY with stories of child-life, travel at home and

-abroad, adventure, history old and new, religion at home and over the

-seas, and roundabout tales on the International Sunday School Lesson.

-

-Pansy the editor; THE PANSY the magazine. There are thousands and

-thousands of children and children of larger growth all over the

-country who know about Pansy the writer, and THE PANSY the magazine.

-There are thousands and thousands more who will be glad to know.

-

-A dollar a year for THE PANSY.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-The reading habit is now pretty well established; not only the reading

-habit, but liking for useful reading; and useful reading leads to

-learning.

-

-Now comes WIDE AWAKE, vigorous, hearty, not to say heavy. No, it isn’t

-heavy, though full as it can be of practical help along the road to

-sober manhood and womanhood. Full as it can be! There is need of play

-as well as of work; and WIDE AWAKE has its mixture of work and rest and

-play. The work is all toward self-improvement; so is the rest; and so

-is the play. $2.40 a year.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Specimen copies of all the Lothrop magazines for fifteen cents; any one

-for five―in postage stamps.

-

-Address D. Lothrop Company, Boston.

-

-You little know what help there is in books for the average housewife.

-

-Take _Domestic Problems_, for instance, beginning with this hard

-question: “How may a woman enjoy the delights of culture and at the

-same time fulfil her duties to family and household?” The second

-chapter quotes from somebody else: “It can’t be done. I’ve tried it;

-but, as things now are, it can’t be done.”

-

-Mrs. Diaz looks below the surface. Want of preparation and culture, she

-says, is at the bottom of a woman’s failure, just as it is of a man’s.

-

-The proper training of children, for instance, can’t be done without

-some comprehension of children themselves, of what they ought to grow

-to, their stages, the means of their guidance, the laws of their

-health, and manners. But mothers get no hint of most of these things

-until they have to blunder through them. Why not? Isn’t the training of

-children woman’s mission? Yes, in print, but not in practice. What is

-her mission in practice? Cooking and sewing!

-

-Woman’s worst failure then is due to the stupid blunder of putting

-comparatively trivial things before the most important of all. The

-result is bad children and waste of a generation or two―all for

-putting cooking and sewing before the training of children.

-

-Now will any one venture to say that any particular mother, you for

-instance, has got to put cooking and sewing before the training of

-children?

-

-Any mother who really makes up her mind to put her children first can

-find out how to grow tolerable children at least.

-

-And that is what Mrs. Diaz means by preparation―a little knowledge

-beforehand―the little that leads to more.

-

-It _can_ be done; and _you_ can do it! Will you? It’s a matter of

-choice; and you are the chooser.

-

- Domestic Problems. By Mrs. A. M. Diaz. $1. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.

-

-We have touched on only one subject. The author treats of many.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Dr. Buckley the brilliant and versatile editor of the _Christian

-Advocate_ says in the preface of his book on northern Europe “I hope

-to impart to such as have never seen those countries as clear a view

-as can be obtained from reading” and “My chief reason for traveling in

-Russia was to study Nihilism and kindred subjects.”

-

-This affords the best clue to his book to those who know the writer’s

-quickness, freshness, independence, force, and penetration.

-

-  The Midnight Sun, the Tsar and the Nihilist. Adventures and

-  Observations in Norway, Sweden and Russia. By J. M. Buckley, LL. D.

-  72 illustrations, 376 pages. $3. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.

-

-Just short of the luxurious in paper, pictures and print.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-The writer best equipped for such a task has put into one illustrated

-book a brief account of every American voyage for polar exploration,

-including one to the south almost forgotten.

-

-  American Explorations in the Ice Zones. By Professor J. E. Nourse,

-  U. S. N. 10 maps, 120 illustrations, 624 pages. Cloth, $3, gilt edges

-  $3.50, half-calf $6. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.

-

-Not written especially for boys; but they claim it.

-

-The wife of a U. S. lighthouse inspector, Mary Bradford Crowninshield,

-writes the story of a tour of inspection along the coast of Maine with

-two boys on board―for other boys of course. A most instructive as well

-as delightful excursion.

-

-The boys go up the towers and study the lamps and lanterns and all the

-devices by which a light in the night is made to tell the wary sailor

-the coast he is on; and so does the reader. Stories of wrecks and

-rescues beguile the waiting times. There are no waiting times in the

-story.

-

-  All Among the Lighthouses, or Cruise of the Goldenrod. By Mary

-  Bradford Crowninshield. 32 illustrations, 392 pages. $2.50. D.

-  Lothrop Company, Boston.

-

-There’s a vast amount of coast-lore besides.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Mr. Grant Allen, who knows almost as much as anybody, has been making

-a book of twenty-eight separate parts, and says of it: “These little

-essays are mostly endeavors to put some of the latest results of

-science in simple, clear and intelligible language.”

-

-Now that is exactly what nine hundred and ninety-nine in a thousand of

-us want, if it isn’t dry. And it isn’t dry. Few of those who have the

-wonderful knowledge of what is going on in the learned world have the

-gift of popular explanation―the gift of telling of it. Mr. Allen has

-that gift; the knowledge, the teaching grace, the popular faculty.

-

-  Common Sense Science. By Grant Allen. 318 pages. $1.50. D. Lothrop

-  Company, Boston.

-

-By no means a list of new-found facts; but the bearings of them on

-common subjects.

-

-We don’t go on talking as if the earth were the centre of things, as if

-Galileo never lived. Huxley and Spencer have got to be heard. Shall we

-wait two hundred and fifty years?

-

-The book is simply an easy means of intelligence.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-There is nothing more dreary than chemistry taught as it used to be

-taught to beginners. There is nothing brighter and fuller of keen

-delight than chemistry taught as it can be taught to little children

-even.

-

-  Real Fairy Folks. By Lucy Rider Meyer, A. M. 389 pages. $1.25. D.

-  Lothrop Company, Boston.

-

-“I’ll be their teacher―give them private scientific lectures! Trust

-me to manage the school part!” The book is alive with the secrets of

-things.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-It takes a learned man to write an easy book on almost any subject.

-

-Arthur Gilman, of the College for Women, at Cambridge, known as the

-“Harvard Annex,” has made a little book to help young people along in

-the use of the dictionary. One can devour it in an hour or two; but the

-reading multiplies knowledge and means of knowledge.

-

-  Short Stories from the Dictionary. By Arthur Gilman, M. A. 129 pages.

-  60 cents. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.

-

-An unconscious beginning of what may grow to be philology, if one’s

-faculty lies that way. Such bits of education are of vastly more

-importance than most of us know. They are the seeds of learning.

-

-Elizabeth P. Peabody at the age of eighty-four years has made a book

-of a number of essays, written during fifty years of a most productive

-life, on subjects of lasting interest, published forgotten years ago in

-_Emerson’s Magazine_, _The Dial_, Lowell’s _Pioneer_, etc.

-

-  Last Evening with Allston and Other Papers. 350 pages. $1.50. D.

-  Lothrop Company, Boston.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-The wife of Frémont, the Pathfinder of forty years ago and almost

-President thirty years ago, has written a bookful of reminiscences.

-

-  Souvenirs of My Time. By Jessie Benton Frémont. 393 pages. $1.50. D.

-  Lothrop Company, Boston.

-

-Mrs. Frémont has long been known as a brilliant converser and

-story-teller. Her later years have been given to making books; and the

-books have the freshness and sparkle of youth.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-The literary editor of the _Nation_ gathers together nearly a hundred

-poems and parts of poems to read to children going to sleep.

-

-  Bedside Poetry, a Parents’ Assistant in Moral Discipline. 143 pages.

-  Two bindings, 75 cents and $1. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.

-

-The poems have their various bearings on morals and graces; and there

-is an index called a key to the moralities. The mother can turn, with

-little search, to verses that put in a pleasant light the thoughts the

-little one needs to harbor. Hence the sub-title.

-

-Readers of poetry are almost as scarce as poetry―Have you noticed how

-little there is in the world? how wide the desert, how few the little

-oases?

-

-  Through the Year with the Poets. Edited by Oscar Fay Adams. 12 bijou

-  books of the months, of about 130 pages each. 75 cents each. D.

-  Lothrop Company, Boston.

-

-Is it possible? Is there enough sweet singing ringing lustrous verse

-between heaven and earth to make twelve such books? There is indeed;

-and heaven and earth are in it!

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Ginx’s Baby, a burlesque book of most serious purpose, made a stir

-in England some years ago; and, what is of more account, went far to

-accomplish the author’s object.

-

-  Evolution of Dodd. By William Hawley Smith. 153 pages. $1. D. Lothrop

-  Company, Boston.

-

-Dodd is the terrible schoolboy. How he became so; who is responsible;

-what is the remedy―such is the gist of the book.

-

-As bright as Ginx’s Baby. A bookful of managing wisdom for parents as

-well as teachers.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Questions such as practical boys and girls are asking their mothers all

-the year round about things that come up. Not one in ten of the mothers

-can answer one in ten of the questions.

-

-  Household Notes and Queries, A Family Reference-Book. By the Wise

-  Blackbird. 115 pages. 60 cents.

-

-It is handy to have such a book on the shelf, and handier yet to have

-the knowledge that’s in it in one’s head.

-

-

-

-

-                      _Classified List.—Pansy._

-

-                            THE PANSY BOOKS.

-

-

-There are substantial reasons for the great popularity of the “Pansy

-Books,” and foremost among these is their truth to nature and to life.

-The genuineness of the types of character which they portray is indeed

-remarkable.

-

-  “Her stories move alternately to laughter and tears.”…

-  “Brimful of the sweetness of evangelical religion.”…

-  “Girl life and character portrayed with rare power.”…

-  “Too much cannot be said of the insight given into the true way

-  of studying and using the word of God.”… These are a few

-  quotations from words of praise everywhere spoken. The “Pansy

-  Books” may be purchased by any Sunday-school without hesitation

-  as to their character or acceptability.

-

-                       _Each volume 12mo, $1.50._

-

-  Chautauqua Girls at Home.

-  Christie’s Christmas.

-  Divers Women.

-  Echoing and Re-echoing.

-  Endless Chain (An).

-  Ester Ried.

-  Ester Ried Yet Speaking.

-  Four Girls at Chautauqua.

-  From different Standpoints.

-  Hall in the Grove (The).

-  Household Puzzles.

-  Interrupted.

-  Julia Ried.

-  King’s Daughter (The).

-  Links in Rebecca’s Life.

-  Mrs. Solomon Smith Looking On.

-  Modern Prophets.

-  Man of the House (The).

-  New Graft on the Family Tree (A).

-  One Commonplace Day.

-  Pocket Measure (The).

-  Ruth Erskine’s Crosses.

-  Randolphs (The).

-  Sidney Martin’s Christmas.

-  Those Boys.

-  Three People.

-  Tip Lewis and his Lamp.

-  Wise and Otherwise.

-

-

-                      _Classified List.―Poetry._

-

-  =THROUGH THE YEAR WITH THE POETS.―December, January, February,

-     March, April, May.= Arranged and compiled by OSCAR FAY ADAMS.

-     Each 75 cents.

-

-The cream of English literature, past and current, has been skimmed

-with a judicious and appreciative hand.―_Boston Transcript._

-

-  =WAIFS AND THEIR AUTHORS.= By A. A. HOPKINS. A collection of poems

-     many of which are now for the first time published with the

-     names of the authors. Quarto, cloth, gilt, $2.00; quarto, full

-     gilt, gilt edges, $2.50.

-

-  =WHEN I WAS A CHILD.= By ERNEST W. SHURTLEFF. Illustrated, $1.00.

-

-A simple, graceful poem, fresh with memories of school and vacation

-days, of games and sports in the country.―_Chicago Advance._

-

-  =WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS BY NIGHT.= Illustrated, $2.50.

-

-Nothing more exquisite in the way of a presentation book.―_B. B.

-Bulletin._

-

-  =WOMAN IN SACRED SONG.= Compiled and edited by MRS. GEORGE CLINTON

-     SMITH. With an introduction by Frances E. Willard. Illustrated.

-     $3.50.

-

-It gives a very full representation of the contributions of woman to

-sacred song, though of course the main bulk of this has been in modern

-times.―_Illustrated Weekly._

-

-  =YOUNG FOLKS’ POETRY.= By A. P. and M. T. FOLSOM. A choice

-     selection of poems. 16mo, $1.00.

-

-  =YOUNG FOLKS’ SPEAKER.= A collection of Prose and Poetry for

-     Declamations, Recitations and Elocutionary Exercises. Selected

-     and arranged by CARRIE ADELAIDE COOKE. 12mo, cloth, illustrated,

-     $1.00.

-

-It deserves to become a standard in the schools of the country.―_B. B.

-Bulletin._

-

-

-               _Classified List.―Standard Micellaneous._

-

-  =THE TRIPLE “E.”= By MRS. S. R. GRAHAM CLARK. 12mo, paper,

-     illustrated, 25 cts. Cloth, $1.50.

-

-It cannot fail to make a strong impression on the minds of those who

-read it.―_B. B. Bulletin._

-

-  =THUCYDIDES.= Translated into English with marginal analysis and

-     index. By B. JOWETT, M. A., Master of Balliol College, Professor

-     of Greek in the University of Oxford, Doctor of Theology in

-     the University of Leyden. Edited with introduction to American

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-Transcriber’s Note:

-

-This book was written in a period when many words had not become

-standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling

-variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been

-left unchanged. Obsolete and alternative spellings were left unchanged.

-

-Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like

-this_. Those in bold are surrounded by equal signs, =like this=.

-Footnotes were lettered sequentially and were moved to the end of

-the chapter. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside

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-were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of sentences and

-abbreviations were added. Missing or duplicate letters at line endings

-were added or removed, as appropriate. Extraneous punctuation was

-removed.

-

-The following were changed:

-

-  added omitted word,‘on,’ to text (line 1436)

-  ‘wook’ to ‘work’ (line 2397)

-  ‘axamples’ to ‘examples’ (line 2790)

-  ‘discourged’ to ‘discouraged’ (line 2877)

-

-

-

+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RUSSIAN NOVELISTS ***
+
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+
+
+                           RUSSIAN NOVELISTS
+
+
+
+
+                                   BY
+
+                              E M DE VOGÜÉ
+
+
+                            _TRANSLATED BY_
+
+                          JANE LORING EDMANDS
+
+
+
+
+                                 BOSTON
+                          D. LOTHROP COMPANY
+
+                      FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS
+
+
+
+
+                            COPYRIGHT, 1887,
+                         BY D. LOTHROP COMPANY.
+
+
+
+
+                              ELECTROTYPED
+                    BY C. J. PETERS AND SON, BOSTON.
+
+
+
+
+                           TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.
+
+
+The spelling of Russian names is a matter of peculiar difficulty, and
+no fixed usage in regard to it has as yet been established. I have
+tried to follow the system presented in the Proceedings of the American
+Library Association for 1885, but it has been in some cases impossible
+for me to go back to the original Russian form as a starting-point.
+I have found it necessary to abridge M. de Vogüé’s work somewhat, in
+order to bring it within certain prescribed limits.
+
+                                                      J. L. E.
+
+
+
+
+                                PREFACE.
+
+
+In offering this book to the constantly increasing class of persons
+interested in Russian literature, I owe them a little explanation
+in regard to the unavoidable omissions in these essays, as well as
+to their object and aim. The region we are approaching is a vast,
+almost unexplored one; we can only venture upon some of its highways,
+selecting certain provinces, while we neglect others.
+
+This volume does not claim to give a complete history of Russian
+literature, or a didactic treatise upon it. Such a work does not yet
+exist in Russia, and would be premature even in France.
+
+My aim is quite a different one. To do justice to both the dead and the
+living, in a history of the literature of only the past hundred years,
+I should but accumulate a quantity of names foreign to our ears, and a
+list of works which have never been translated. The entire political
+and social history of the three preceding reigns should be written, to
+properly explain the last.
+
+It appears to me better to proceed as a naturalist would do in his
+researches in a foreign country. He would collect specimens peculiarly
+characteristic of the climate and soil, and choose from among them
+a few individual types which are perfectly developed. He draws our
+attention to them, as best revealing to us the actual and peculiar
+conditions of life in this particular corner of the earth.
+
+This is my plan. I shall briefly touch upon the earliest Russian
+literature, and show how it became subjected to foreign influences,
+from which it was finally emancipated in the present century.
+
+From this time, I am embarrassed in choosing from such a rich supply
+of material, but I shall confine myself to a few individual types.
+This method is, besides, even more legitimate in Russia than in more
+recently settled countries. If you go through one hundred different
+villages between St. Petersburg and Moscow, you will see that, in
+feature, bearing, and costume the people seem to be remarkably similar;
+so that a few portraits, chosen at random, will describe the whole
+race, both as to physical and moral traits.
+
+This series of studies is principally devoted to the four distinguished
+contemporary writers, already well known in Europe by their translated
+works. I have tried to show the man as well as his work; and both,
+as illustrating the Russian national character. Without paying much
+attention to the rules of literary composition, I have been glad to
+make use of everything which would help me to carry out my design:
+of biographical details, personal recollections, digressions upon
+points of historical and political interest, without which the moral
+evolutions of a country so little known would be quite unintelligible.
+There is but one rule to be followed; to use every means of
+illuminating the object you wish to exhibit, that it may be thoroughly
+understood in all its phases. To this end, I have used the method of
+comparison between the Russian authors and those of other countries
+more familiar to us, as the surest and most rapid one.
+
+Some persons may express surprise that it is of her novelists that I
+demand the secret of Russia.
+
+It is because poetry and romance, the modes of expression most
+natural to this people, are alone compatible with the exigencies of
+a press-censure which was formerly most severe, and is even now very
+suspicious. There is no medium for ideas save through the supple meshes
+of fiction; so that the fiction which shields yet conveys these ideas
+assumes the importance of a doctrinal treatise.
+
+Of these two leading forms of literature, the first, poetry, absorbed
+the early part of the present century; the other, the novel, has
+superseded poetry, and monopolized the attention of the whole nation
+for the last forty years.
+
+With the great name of Pushkin at the head of the list, the Russians
+consider the romantic period as the crowning point of their
+intellectual glory. I once agreed with them, but have had two motives
+for changing my opinion.
+
+In the first place, it would be quite useless to discuss works which
+we could not quote from; for the Russian poets have never been and
+never will be translated. The life and beauty of a lyric poem is in its
+arrangement of words and its rhythm; this beauty cannot be transferred
+into a foreign form. I once read a very admirable and exact Russian
+translation of Alfred de Musset’s “_Nights_”; it produced the same
+sensation as when we look upon a beautiful corpse; the soul had fled,
+like the divine essence which was the life of those charming verses.
+
+The task is yet more difficult when you attempt to transfer an idea
+from the most poetical language in Europe into one which possesses the
+least of that quality. Certain verses of Pushkin and Lermontof are the
+finest I know in any language. But in the fragment of French prose they
+are transferred into, you glean but a commonplace thought. Many have
+tried, and many more will continue to try to translate them, but the
+result is not worth the effort. Besides, it does not seem to me that
+this romantic poetry expresses what is most typical of the Russian
+spirit. By giving poetry the first rank in their literature, their
+critics are influenced by the _prestige_ of the past and the enthusiasm
+of youth; for the passage of time adds lustre to what is past, to the
+detriment of the present.
+
+A foreigner can perhaps judge more truly in this case; for distance
+equalizes all remote objects on the same plane. I believe that the
+great novelists of the past forty years will be of more service
+to Russia than her poets. For the first time she is in advance of
+Western Europe through her writers, who have expressed æsthetic forms
+of thought which are peculiarly her own. This is why I choose these
+romances as illustrative of the national character. Ten years’ study of
+these works has suggested to me many thoughts relative to the character
+of this people, and the part it is destined to fill in the domain of
+intellect. As the novelist undertakes to bring up every problem of the
+national life, it will not be a matter of surprise if I make use of
+works of fiction in touching upon grave subjects and in the weaving
+together of some abstract thoughts.
+
+We shall see the Russians plead the cause of realism with new
+arguments, and better ones, in my opinion, than those of their rivals
+in the West.
+
+This work is an important one, and is the foundation of all the
+contests of ideas in the civilized world; revealing, moreover, the most
+characteristic conceptions of our contemporaries.
+
+In all primitive literature, the classical hero was the only one
+considered worthy of attention, representing in action all ideas on
+religions, monarchical, social, and moral subjects, existing from time
+immemorial. In exaggerating the qualities of his hero, either for good
+or evil, the classic poet took for his model what he deemed should or
+should not be expected of him, rather than what such a character would
+be in reality.
+
+For the last century, other views have gradually prevailed.
+Observation, rather than imagination, has been employed. The writer
+constantly gives us a close analysis of actions and feelings, rather
+than the diversion and excitement of intrigues and the display of
+passions. Classic art was like a king who has the right to govern,
+punish, reward, and choose his favorites from an aristocracy, obliging
+them to adopt conventional rules as to manners, morals, and modes of
+speech. The new art tries to imitate nature in its unconsciousness,
+its moral indifference. It expresses the triumph of the masses over
+the individual, of the crowd over the solitary hero, of the relative
+over the absolute. It has been called natural, realistic; would the
+word democratic suffice to define it, or not? It would be short-sighted
+in us not to perceive that political changes are only episodes in the
+great and universal change which is taking place.
+
+Man has undertaken to explain the Universe, and perceives that the
+existence itself, the greatness and the dangers of this Universe are
+the result of the incessant accumulation of infinitesimal atoms.
+While institutions put the ruling of states into the hands of the
+multitude, science gave up the Universe to the control of the atoms
+of which it is composed. In the analysis of all physical and moral
+phenomena, the ancient theories as to their origin are entirely
+displaced by the doctrine of the constant evolution of microscopic and
+invisible beings. The moral sciences feel the shock communicated by
+the discoveries in natural science. The psychologist, who studies the
+secrets of the soul, finds that the human being is the result of a long
+series of accumulated sensations and actions, always influenced by its
+surroundings, as the sensitive strings of an instrument vary according
+to the surrounding temperature.
+
+Are not these tendencies affecting practical life as well, in the
+doctrines of equality of classes, division of property, universal
+suffrage, and all the other consequences of this principle, which are
+summed up in the word democracy, the watchword of our times? Sixty
+years ago, the tide of the stream of democracy ran high, but now
+the stream has become an ocean, which is seeking its level over the
+entire surface of Europe. Here and there, little islets remain, solid
+rocks upon which thrones still stand, occasional fragments of feudal
+governments, with a clinging remnant of caste privileges; but the most
+far-seeing of these monarchs and of these castes know well that the
+sea is rising. Their only hope is that a democratic organization may
+not be incompatible with a monarchical form; we shall find in Russia a
+patriarchal democracy growing up within the shadow of an absolute power.
+
+Literature, which always expresses the existing condition of society,
+could not escape this general change of base; at first instinctively,
+then as a doctrine, it regulated its methods and its ideals according
+to the new spirit. Its first efforts at reformation were awkward
+and uncertain; romanticism, as we know to-day, was but a bastard
+production. It was merely a reaction against the classic hero, but was
+still unconsciously permeated by the classic spirit. Men soon tired of
+this, and demanded of authors more sincerity, and representations of
+the world more conformable to the teachings of the positive sciences,
+which were gaining ground day by day. They demanded to know more of
+human life, of ideas, and the relations of human beings to each other.
+Then it was that realism sprung into existence, and was adopted by all
+European literature, and is still reigning, with the various shades
+of difference that we shall allude to. A path was prepared for it by
+the universal revolution I have spoken of; but a realization of the
+general causes of this revolution could alone give to literature a
+philosophical turn.
+
+These great changes in men’s ideas were thought to be due to the
+advancement in scientific knowledge, and the resulting freedom of
+thought, which for a time inaugurated the worship of reason. But
+beyond the circle of truth already conquered appeared new and unknown
+abysses, and man found himself still a slave, oppressed by natural
+laws, in bondage to his passions. Then his presumption vanished.
+He fell back into uncertainty and doubt. Better armed and wiser,
+undoubtedly, but his necessities increased with the means of satisfying
+them. Disenchanted, his old instincts came back to him; he sought a
+higher Power,―but could find none. Everything conspired to break up
+the traditions of the past; the pride of reason, fully persuaded of
+its own power, as well as the aggravating stubbornness of orthodoxy.
+By a strange contradiction, the pride of intelligence increased with
+universal doubt which shattered all opinions.
+
+All the Sages having declared that the new theories regarding the
+universe were contrary to religious explanations, pride refused to make
+further researches. The defenders of orthodoxy have done little to
+facilitate matters. They did not understand that their doctrine was the
+fountain-head of all progress, and that they turned that stream from
+its natural direction by opposing the discoveries of science and all
+political changes.
+
+The strongest proof of the truth of a doctrine is the faculty of
+accommodating itself to all human developments, without changing
+itself, because it contains the germ of all the developments. The
+remarkable power of religion over men arises from this faculty; when
+orthodoxy does not recognize this gift, it depreciates its own strength.
+
+By reason of this misunderstanding, the responsibility of which
+should be shared by all parties, it has taken a long time to come to
+a perception of this simple truth. The world has been for eighteen
+centuries in a state of fermentation, through the gospel. Bossuet, one
+of those rare spirits which prophesy truly, realized this. He said:
+
+“Jesus Christ came into the world to overthrow all that pride has
+established in it; thence it is that his policy is in direct opposition
+to that of the age.”
+
+But this constant, active work of the gospel, although formerly
+acknowledged, is now denied by many; this gives to realism the
+harshness of its methods. The realist should acknowledge the present,
+abiding influence of the spirit of the gospel in the world. He
+should, above all, possess the religious sentiment; it will give him
+the charity he needs. The spirit of charity loses its influence in
+literature the moment it withdraws from its true source.
+
+To sum up what realism should be, I must seek a general formula,
+which will express both its method and the extent of its creative
+power. I can find but one, and it is a very old one; but I know of none
+better, more scientific, or which approaches nearer the secret of all
+creation:―
+
+“And the Lord formed man of the dust of the ground.”―But, to complete
+the formula, and account for the dual nature of our humanity, we must
+add the text: “And breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and
+man became a living soul―”
+
+This divine spark, derived from the source of universal life, is the
+spirit, the active and mysterious and incomprehensible element of
+our being, which baffles all our explanations, and without which we
+are nothing. At the point where life begins, there do we cease to
+comprehend.
+
+The realist is groping his way, trying his experiments in the creations
+of his brain, which breathe the spirit of truth, and speak with at
+least the accent of sincerity and sympathy.
+
+
+
+
+                               CONTENTS.
+
+        CHAPTER                                           PAGE
+
+             TRANSLATOR’S NOTE                               3
+
+             PREFACE                                         5
+
+          I. EPOCHS IN RUSSIAN LITERATURE                   19
+
+         II. ROMANTICISM.―PUSHKIN AND POETRY                44
+
+        III. THE EVOLUTION OF REALISM IN RUSSIA.―GOGOL      56
+
+         IV. TURGENEF                                       88
+
+          V. THE RELIGION OF ENDURANCE.―DOSTOYEVSKI        141
+
+         VI. NIHILISM AND MYSTICISM.―TOLSTOÏ               209
+
+
+
+
+                         THE RUSSIAN NOVELISTS.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER I.
+
+                     EPOCHS IN RUSSIAN LITERATURE.
+
+
+                                   I.
+
+Before studying those contemporary writers who alone will reveal to
+us the true Russian spirit and character, we must devote a little
+attention to their predecessors, in order to understand the Russian
+literature in its prolonged infancy, and its bearing upon that of
+the present day. We shall see how everything conspired to retard its
+development. Russian literature may be divided into four distinct
+epochs. The first, ending with the accession of Peter the Great, was in
+fact its mediæval age. In this epoch a wealth of national traditions
+had accumulated in its popular poetry and barbarous essays. The second
+period embraces the last century, from Peter the Great to Alexander
+I., and, although seemingly progressive, was the least fruitful
+one, because its literature was but a servile imitation of that of
+the Occident. The third, the short epoch of romanticism, produced a
+brilliant set of poets, whose works were of value to the general world
+of letters. But they were hot-house blooms, produced by a culture
+imported from abroad, and give but little idea of the true properties
+of their native soil.
+
+Forty years ago a new epoch began. Russia has finally produced
+something spontaneous and original. In the realistic novel, Russian
+genius has at last come to a realizing sense of its own existence; and,
+while bound indissolubly to the past, it already lisps and stammers
+the programme of its future. We shall see how this genius has soared
+from darkness and obscurity, acting already a part in history, although
+continually repressed by history’s cruel wrongs and injustice and its
+brusque changes of situation. We must recall too the intellectual
+origin of this race and its moral peregrinations, and then we can make
+more allowance for what there is of gloom, irresolution, and obscurity
+in its literature.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Russian people are afflicted with a national, a historical malady,
+which is partly hereditary, partly contracted during the course of its
+existence. The hereditary part is that proclivity of the Slavonic mind
+towards that negative doctrine which to-day we call Nihilism, and which
+the Hindu fathers called _Nirvâna_. In fact, if we would understand
+Russia well, we must recall to our minds what she has learned from
+ancient India.
+
+Many philosophers of the present day in Russia fully accept the
+doctrines of Buddha, and boast with pride of the purity of their Aryan
+blood, bringing forward many arguments in support of this claim. First,
+there is the fact that the physical type is very marked in families
+in which the Tartar blood has never mingled. Many a Moscow student or
+peasant from certain provinces might, except for his light complexion,
+easily pass in a street of Lahore or Benares for a native of the valley
+of the Ganges. Moreover, they have strong philological arguments. The
+old Slavonic dialect is declared by linguists to more nearly approach
+the Sanscrit than does the Greek of the very earliest epochs. The
+grammatical rules are identical. Speak of the _Vêda_ to any Russian
+peasant, and you will find he needs no explanation; the verb _vêdat_
+is one in constant use by him. If he should mention the word “fire,”
+it will be the original one used by his ancestors who worshipped that
+element. Numberless examples could be quoted to prove this close
+relation to the original Sanscrit; but this is still more strongly
+shown by an analytical study of the Russian mind and character.
+The Hindu type of mind may be easily recognized in the Slavonic
+intellectual type. By studying the revolutions of India one could
+easily understand possible convulsions in Russia. The most able authors
+state the Buddhist revolution to have arisen from a social rather than
+a religious reaction of the popular sentiment against the spirit of
+caste, against the fixed organizations of society. Like Christianity
+in the West, Buddhism was in the extreme East the revelation, the
+personification of charity and meekness, of moral and social freedom,
+which were to render life more tolerable to multitudes of human beings
+bowed under the yoke of an implacable theocracy.
+
+The best doctrines, in order to succeed, must permit certain
+exaggerations for the fanciful and imaginative, and tolerate certain
+errors which attract minds warped by prolonged sufferings. To the
+latter, Christianity offers asceticism; Buddhism promises them the joys
+of annihilation, the Nirvâna. Nihilism is the word invented by Burnouf
+as a translation of _Nirvâna_. Max Müller says that the Sanscrit
+word really means “the action of extinguishing a light by blowing it
+out.” Will not this definition explain Russian Nihilism, which would
+extinguish the light of civilization by stifling it, then plunge back
+into chaos.
+
+Undoubtedly, numerous and more recent causes have acted upon the
+national mind producing this peculiar state of discouragement, which in
+violent natures has developed into a furious desire to destroy every
+existing condition, because all are bad. Moreover, Christianity has
+lent a new formula to what there was of good in the old instincts. Its
+influence has been profound, accounting for the spirit of fraternity
+and self-sacrifice so admirable in this people. But I cannot help
+thinking that with this stolid race we must go back to the habits of
+thought of very ancient times in order to realize what their natural
+inclinations and difficulties would be.
+
+We shall now see how these have been aggravated or modified by a series
+of accidents. I know of no people which has been so overwhelmed by
+its own fate; like a river which has changed its course over and over
+again, or the life of one of those men who seem fated to begin several
+different careers in life and succeed in none.
+
+The Western nations have developed under much more favorable
+conditions. After the forced establishment and final withdrawal of
+Islamism, they enjoyed a long period of comparative peace, several
+centuries in which they could work out the problem of life. Constant
+revolutions and wars did not wholly throw them off the track which they
+had marked out for themselves from the outset.
+
+Russia, on the contrary, seems to have offered a free field for the
+most radical experiments, in which its poor people have been involved
+every two or three hundred years, just as they were well started in a
+new direction. Plunged into the most barbarous and heathenish anarchy,
+different tribes waged war there for two or three centuries after
+these had wholly ceased in France. Then Christianity came, but from a
+Byzantine, the least pure source; a vitiated Christianity, enervated
+by oriental corruption. The Russian people were fated to become wholly
+Greek in religion, laws, and government, thus commencing a new epoch in
+history. Would this germ of a new life have time to develop?
+
+Two hundred years after the baptisms at Kiev, Russia was overwhelmed by
+the Mongolian invasion. Asia returned to demand its prey and to seize
+the young Christian territory, which was already gravitating toward
+Europe. Pagans from the beginning, the Tartars became Mohammedans,
+remained wholly Asiatic, and introduced oriental customs among their
+Russian subjects. Not until the fifteenth century, when the Renaissance
+was dawning upon western Europe, did Russia begin to throw off this
+Tartar yoke. They freed themselves by a succession of strong efforts,
+but very gradually. The Crescent did not disappear from the Volga until
+1550, leaving behind it traces of the oriental spirit for all time.
+
+The Russian people were now crushed by an iron despotism, made up
+of Mongolian customs and Byzantine ceremonies. Just emancipated
+from foreign oppression, they were forced to cultivate the soil.
+Boris Godunof condemned them to serfdom, by which their whole social
+condition was changed in one day, with one stroke of the pen,―that
+unfortunate St. George’s day which the _muzhik_ would curse for three
+hundred years to come.
+
+In the next century Russia was invaded from the Occident. Poland
+obtained one-half of its territory and ruled at Moscow. The Poles were
+afterwards expelled, when the nation could take time to breathe and
+assert itself again. Naturally, it then turned toward Asia and its own
+traditions.
+
+Now appeared upon the scene a rough pilot in the person of Peter
+the Great, to guide the helm of this giant raft which was floating
+at random, and direct it toward Europe. At this epoch occurred the
+strangest of all the experiments tried by history upon Russia. To
+continue the figure, imagine a ship guided towards the West by the
+captain and his officers, while the entire crew were bent upon sailing
+for the East. Such was the strange condition of affairs for one
+hundred and fifty years, from the accession of Peter to the death of
+the Emperor Nicholas; the consequences of which condition are still
+observable. The sovereign and a few men he called to his aid abjured
+oriental life entirely, and became Europeans in ideas, politics,
+language, and dress. Little by little, the upper classes followed this
+example during the latter part of the last century.
+
+During the first half of the present one, the influence of Europe
+became still stronger, affecting administration, education, etc.,
+drawing a small part of the masses with it; but the nation remained
+stolid, rebellious, with its eyes turned toward the East, as were the
+prayers of their Tartar masters. Only forty years ago the Western light
+illumined the highest peaks alone, while the broad valleys lay buried
+in the shadows of a past which influences them still.
+
+This entire period presents a condition of affairs wholly unique. An
+immense population was led by a small class which had adopted foreign
+ideas and manners, and even spoke a strange language; a class which
+received its whole intellectual, moral, and political food and impetus
+from Germany, England, or France, as the case might be;―always from
+outside. The management of the land itself was frequently confided to
+foreigners―“pagans,” as the Russian peasants called them. Naturally,
+these foreigners looked upon this country as a vast field open to
+them for the collection of taxes and recruits; and whose destiny it
+was to furnish them with everything necessary in carrying out their
+projects,―their diplomatic combinations on the chess-board of all
+Europe.
+
+There were, of course, some exceptions―some attempts at restoring
+national politics and interior reform; but total ignorance of the
+country as well as of its language was the rule. Grandparents are still
+living in Russia, who, while they speak French perfectly, are quite
+incapable of speaking, or at least of writing, in the language of their
+grandchildren.
+
+Since the time of Catherine, a series of generations living in
+the Parisian elegance and luxury of the days of Louis XV., of the
+Empire, and the Restoration, have suffered with the French all their
+revolutionary shocks, shared in all their aspirations, been influenced
+by all their literature, sympathized in all their theories of
+administration and political economy;―and these do not even trouble
+themselves to know how a _muzhik_ of the provinces lives, or what he
+has to endure. These political economists do not even know how Russian
+wheat is raised, which Pushkin declares to grow differently from the
+English wheat.
+
+So the people, left to themselves, merely vegetated, and developed
+according to the obscure laws of their oriental nature. We can imagine
+what disorder would arise in a nation so formed and divided.
+
+In France, historical events have gradually formed a middle class; a
+natural connecting link between the two extremes of society. In Russia
+this middle class did not exist, and is still wanting, there being
+nothing to fill the intervening space. The whole depth of the abyss was
+realized by those Russians who became enlightened enough to understand
+the state of their country during the latter years of the reign of
+Alexander I.
+
+A national fusion was developed, as it usually is on the battle-fields,
+where the Russians fell side by side before the invader. This movement,
+however, was very gradual, and Russia was virtually divided into two
+distinct classes until the death of the Emperor Nicholas, when the
+necessity of a more orderly condition of affairs was universally felt,
+giving rise to a social revolution which resulted in the emancipation
+of the serfs.
+
+For the last quarter of a century, every conscientious and
+strong-minded man has worked to perform his part towards the common
+object: the establishment of a solid and united country. But they met
+with terrible obstacles; for they must abolish the past, heal all
+differences, and conciliate all parties.
+
+As a world travelling through space, drawn by opposite attractions, is
+divided, bursts asunder, one fragment rushing to join the distant star
+which calls it, while the greater portion of the planet continues to
+gravitate towards the nearer spheres; and as, in spite of all opposing
+forces, these two separated fragments of a world tend to re-unite, no
+matter what spaces divide them, or with what a shock they must meet,
+having acquired such increased velocity;―so was it with Russia, made
+up of so many dissimilar elements, attracted at different times by
+opposite poles; now tossed from Europe to Asia, and back again from
+Asia to Europe, and finally divided against itself.
+
+This condition is what I called the Russian national malady, which has
+plunged this people into the deepest discouragement and confusion.
+To historical misfortunes, we may add the peculiarities of soil and
+climate in which the Russian drama has been enacted. The severe,
+interminable winter interrupts man’s work and depresses his spirit.
+In the southern part, the scanty vegetation does not incite him to
+wrestle with nature and vie with her in energy and devotion. Is it
+not true that man’s mind is modelled according to the nature of his
+abiding-place? Must not a country having a limited horizon, and forms
+strongly and sharply defined, tend to the development of individuality,
+to clearness of conception, and persevering effort? The larger portion
+of Russia has nothing analogous to this; only, as Tacitus says, a
+“monotonous alternation of wild wood and reeking marsh.” (“_Aut silvis
+horrida, aut paludibus fœda_”); endless plains with no distinct
+horizon, no decisive outlines, only a mirage of snow, marsh, or sand.
+Everywhere the infinite, which confuses the mind and attracts it
+hopelessly. Tolstoï has well described it as “that boundless horizon
+which appeals to me so strongly.”
+
+The souls of this people must resemble those who sail on a long voyage;
+self-centered, resigned to their situation, with impulses of sudden,
+violent longing for the impossible. Their land is made for a tent-life,
+rather than for dwelling in houses; their ideas are nomadic, like
+themselves. As the winds bear the arctic cold over the plains from
+the White Sea to the Black, without meeting any resisting obstacle,
+so invasions, melancholy, famine, servitude, seize and fill these
+empty stretches rapidly and without hindrance. It is a land which is
+calculated to nourish the dim, hereditary, confused aspirations of the
+Russian heart, rather than those productions of the mind which give an
+impetus to literature and the arts.
+
+Nevertheless, we shall see how the persistent seed will develop under
+this severe sky and amid such untoward influences, saved by the eternal
+spring which exists in all human hearts of every climate.
+
+
+                                  II.
+
+The middle age of Russian literature, or the period ending with
+the accession of Peter the Great, produced first: ecclesiastical
+literature, comprising sermons, chronicles, moral and instructive
+treatises. Secondly: popular literature, consisting of epic poems,
+characteristic sonnets and legends. The former resembles that of
+western Europe, being in the same vein, only inferior to it.
+
+Throughout Christendom, the Church was for a long time the only
+educator; monk and scholar being almost synonymous words; while
+outside the pale of the Church all was barbarism. At first, the writer
+was a mere mechanical laborer, or Chinese scribe, who laboriously
+copied the Gospels and the ancient Scriptures. He was respected as
+possessing one of the arcana of life, and as specially gifted through
+a miracle from on high. Many generations of monks passed away before
+the idea occurred to these humble copyists to utilize their art in
+recording their own personal impressions. At first there were homilies,
+mere imitations of those of the Byzantine fathers; then lives of
+saints; and the legendary lore of the monastery of Kiev, the great
+centre of prayer and holy travail of the whole Slavonic world. Here
+originated the first approach to romance of that time, its Golden
+Legend, the first effort of the imagination towards the ideal which is
+so seductive to every human soul. Then came the chronicles of wars, and
+of their attendant and consequent evils. Nestor, the father of Russian
+history, noted down his impressions of what he saw, in a style similar
+to that of Gregory of Tours.
+
+From the thirteenth to the fifteenth century, these feeble germs of
+culture were nearly crushed out of existence by the Tartar invasion;
+and even the translation of the Bible into the Slavonic language was
+not accomplished until the year 1498.
+
+In 1518, Maximus, a Greek monk, who had lived in Florence with
+Savonarola, came to Moscow, bringing with him the first specimens of
+printing. He reformed the schools, and collected around him a group of
+men eager for knowledge. About this time the so-called civil deacons,
+the embryo of future _tchinovnism_,[A] began to assist the students of
+Latin and Greek in their translations.
+
+Father Sylvester also wrote the “Domostroi,” a treatise on morals
+and domestic economy; a practical encyclopædia for Russians of the
+sixteenth century.
+
+In the second half of this century Ivan the Terrible introduced
+printing into Russia. A part of the venerable building he erected at
+Moscow for a printing establishment is still standing. He tried to
+obtain from Germany skilful hands in the new art, but they were refused
+him. Each sovereign jealously guarded every master of the great secret,
+as they did good alchemists or skilful workers in metals.
+
+A Moscow student, Ivan Fedorof, cast some Slavonic characters, and used
+them in printing the Acts of the Apostles, in 1564. This is the most
+ancient specimen of typography in Russia. He, the first of Russian
+printers, was accused of heresy, and obliged to fly for his life. His
+wretched existence seemed a prophetic symbol of the destiny reserved
+for the development of thought in his native country. Fedorof took
+refuge with some magnates of Lithuania, and printed some books in
+their castles; but his patrons and protectors tore him from his beloved
+work, and forced him to cultivate the land. He wrote of himself:―“It
+was not my work to sow the grain, but to scatter through the earth
+food for the mind, nourishment for the souls of all mankind.” He fled
+to Lemberg, where he died in extreme poverty, leaving his precious
+treasure to a Jew.
+
+The seventeenth century produced a few specimens of secular literature.
+But it was an unfavorable time, a time of anxiety, of usurpations;
+and afterwards came the Polish invasion. When intellectual life again
+awoke, theological works were the order of the day; and even up to the
+time of Peter the Great, all the writers of note were theologians.
+
+The development of general literature in Russia was precisely analogous
+to that of Western Europe, only about two centuries later, the
+seventeenth century in Russia corresponding to the fifteenth in France.
+With popular literature, or folk-lore, however, the case is quite
+otherwise; nowhere is it so rich and varied as with the Slavonians.
+
+Nature and history seem to have been too cruel to this people. Their
+spirits rise in rebellion against their condition, and soar into that
+fantastic realm of the imagination, above and outside the material
+world; a realm created by the Divine Being for the renewal of man’s
+spirit, and giving him an opportunity for the play of his fancy.
+According to the poet Tutschef, “Our earthly life is bathed in dreams,
+as the earth by ocean’s waves.” Their songs and myths are the music
+of history, embracing their whole national life, and changing it into
+dreams and fancies. The Cossack fisher-folk have sung them upon their
+mighty rivers for more than eight centuries.
+
+When, in the future, Russia shall produce her greatest and truest
+poets, they have only to draw from these rich sources, an inexhaustible
+store. Never can they find better material; for the imagination of
+that anonymous author, the people, is the more sublime, and its heart
+more truly poetical, because of its great faith, simplicity, and many
+sorrows. What poem can compare with that description of the universe in
+a book, written in the fifteenth century, called “Book of the Dove”?―
+
+“The sun is the fire of love glowing in the Lord’s face; the stars fall
+from his mantle…. The night is dark with his thoughts; the break of day
+is the glance of his eye….”
+
+And where can the writers of the modern realistic Russian novel find
+tenderer touches or more sharply bitter allusions than in the old
+dramatic poem, “The Ascension of Christ”? Jesus, as he is about to rise
+to heaven, thus consoles the sorrowing crowd clustered around him:―
+
+“Weep not, dear brethren! I will give you a mountain of gold, a river
+of honey; I will leave you gardens planted with vines, fruits, and
+manna from heaven.” But the Apostle John interrupts him, saying:―
+
+“Do not give them the mountain of gold, for the princes and nobles
+will take it from them, divide it among themselves, and not allow our
+brothers to approach. If thou wishest these unfortunates to be fed,
+clothed, and sheltered, bestow upon them Thy Holy Name, that they may
+glorify it in their lives, on their wanderings through the earth.”
+
+The song of “The Band of Igor,” an epic poem, describing the struggle
+with the pagan hordes from the south-west, and supposed by some authors
+to have been inspired by Homer, is the most ancient, and the prototype
+of all others of the Middle Age. The soul of the Slavonic poet of this
+time is Christian only in name. The powers he believes in are those of
+nature and the universe. He addresses invocations to the rivers, to the
+sea, to darkness, the winds, the sun. The continual contrast between
+the beneficent Light and the evil Darkness recalls the ancient Egyptian
+hymns, which always describe the eternal contest between day and night.
+
+Pushkin says of the “Song of Igor,” the origin of which is much
+disputed among scholars: “All our poets of the eighteenth century
+together had not poetry enough in them to comprehend, still less to
+compose, a single couplet of this ‘Song of Igor.’”
+
+This epic poetry of Russia strikes its roots in the most remote
+antiquity of Asia, from Hindu and Persian myths, as well as from
+those of the Occident. It resembles the race itself in its growth
+and mode of development, oscillating alternately between the east
+and the west. Thus has the Russian mind oscillated between the two
+poles of attraction. In this period of its growth, it remembers and
+imitates more than it creates; but the foreign images it receives and
+reflects assume larger contours and more melancholy colors; a tinge of
+plaintiveness, as well as of brotherly love and sympathy.
+
+Not so with the period we now enter. Literature is now reduced to a
+restricted form, like the practice of an art, cultivated for itself
+and following certain rules. It is an edifice constructed by Peter the
+Great, in which the author becomes a servant of the state, with a set
+task like the rest of the government officials. All must study in the
+school of Western Europe, and must accomplish in the eighteenth century
+what France did in the sixteenth. Even the Slavonic language itself
+must suffer innovations and adopt foreign terms. Before this, all
+books were written in the Old Slavonic language of the church, which
+influenced also all scientific and poetical productions.
+
+The change which came about naturally in France, as the result of
+an intellectual revolution, for which the minds of the people were
+already ripe, was in Russia brought about by a single will; being the
+artificial work of one man who aroused the people from slumber before
+their time.
+
+A new style of literature cannot be called into being, as an army can
+be raised, or a new code of laws established, by an imperial order
+or decree. Let us imagine the Renaissance established in France by
+Philippe le Bel! Such an attempt was now made in Russia, and its
+unsatisfactory results are easily accounted for.
+
+Peter established an Academy of Science at St. Petersburg, sending its
+members abroad for a time at first to absorb all possible knowledge,
+and return to use it for the benefit of the Russian people. This custom
+prevailed for more than a century. The most important of these scholars
+was Lomonosof, the son of a poor fisherman of the White Sea. Having
+distinguished himself at school, he was taken up by the government and
+sent into Germany. Returning to supplant the German professors, whom
+he found established at St. Petersburg, he bequeathed to his country a
+quite remarkable epic poem on Peter the Great, called “La Pétriade,”
+for which his name is revered by his countrymen.
+
+The glorious reign of Catherine II. should have added something to
+the literary world. She was a most extraordinary woman. She wrote
+comedies for her own theatre at the Hermitage, as well as treatises on
+education for the benefit of her grandchildren, and would gladly have
+been able to furnish native philosophers worthy to vie with her foreign
+courtiers; but they proved mere feeble imitators of Voltaire. Kheraskof
+wrote the “Rossiade” and Sumarokof, called by his contemporaries the
+Russian Racine, furnished the court with tragedies. But two comedies,
+“Le Brigadier,” and “Le Mineur,” by Von Vizin, have more merit, and are
+still much read and highly appreciated. These form a curious satire on
+the customs of the time. But the name of Derzhavin eclipses all others
+of this epoch. His works were modelled somewhat after Rousseau and
+Lefranc de Pompignan, and are fully equal to them.
+
+Derzhavin had the good-fortune to live to a ripe old age, and in court
+life through several reigns; thus having the best of opportunities
+to utilize all striking events. Each new accession to the throne,
+victories, anniversaries, all contributed to inflate his national pride
+and inspire his muse.
+
+But his high-flown rhetoric is open to severe criticism, and his works
+will be chiefly valued as illustrative of a glorious period of Russian
+history, and as a memorial of the illustrious Catherine. Pushkin says
+of him:―
+
+“He is far inferior to Lomonosof.―He neither understood the grammar
+nor the spirit of our language; and in time, when his works will have
+been translated, we shall blush for him. We should reserve only a few
+of his odes and sketches, and burn all the rest.”
+
+Krylof, the writer of fables in imitation of La Fontaine, deserves
+mention. He had talent enough to show some originality in a style of
+literature in which it is most difficult to be original; and wrote with
+a rude simplicity characteristically Russian, and in a vein much more
+vigorous than that of his model.
+
+Karamzin inaugurated a somewhat novel deviation in the way of
+imitation. He was an enthusiastic admirer of Rousseau. He was poet,
+critic, political economist, novelist, and historian; and bore a
+leading part in the literature of the latter part of the eighteenth
+century and the beginning of the nineteenth; a time including the
+end of Catherine’s reign and the early part of Alexander’s. It was
+a transition period between the classic and romantic schools of
+literature. Karamzin might be called the Rousseau and the Chateaubriand
+of his country. His voluminous history of Russia is of great merit,
+although he is sufficiently blinded by his patriotism to cause him to
+present a too flattering picture of a most cruel despotism; so that
+his assertions are often challenged by later writers. But the work
+is of great value as a most conscientious compilation of events and
+quotations, and the only one written up to the last twenty years; and
+in this respect Karamzin has no rival.
+
+He owed his renown, before writing his history, to a few little
+romances of a sentimental turn. The romantic story of “La pauvre
+Lise” especially was received with a furor quite out of proportion to
+its merit. Its popularity was such that it became the inspiration of
+artists and of decorators of porcelain. Lakes and ponds innumerable
+were baptized with the name of _Lise_, in memory of her sad fate. Such
+enthusiasm seems incredible; but we can never tell what literary effort
+may be borne on to undying fame by the wheel of fashion!
+
+The successive efforts of these secondary writers have contributed much
+to form the language of Russian literature as it now exists; Karamzin
+for its prose, Derzhavin for its poetry. In less than one hundred years
+the change was accomplished, and the way prepared for Pushkin, who was
+destined to supply an important place in Russian literature.
+
+Karamzin’s part in politics was quite at variance with his position
+in the world of letters. Although an imitator of Rousseau, he set
+himself against the liberal ideas of Alexander. He was opposed to the
+emancipation of the serfs, and became the champion of the so-called
+_Muscovitism_, which, forty years later, became _Slavophilism_. He
+lived in Moscow, where the conservative element was strongest, acting
+in opposition to Speranski, the prime minister.
+
+In 1811, Karamzin wrote a famous paper, addressed to his sovereign,
+called, “Old and New Russia,” which so influenced Alexander’s
+vacillating mind that it gave the death-blow to Speranski. In this
+paper he says: “We are anticipating matters in Russia, where there are
+hardly one hundred persons who know how to spell correctly. We must
+return to our national traditions, and do away with all ideas imported
+from the Occident. No Russian can comprehend any limitation of the
+autocratic power. The autocrat draws his wisdom from a fountain within
+himself, and from the love of his people,” etc.
+
+This paper contained the germ of every future demand of the Muscovite
+party.
+
+Karamzin is the pioneer of the _Slavophile_ party, which would do away
+with all the reforms of Peter the Great, and reconstruct the original
+Russia as an ideal government, entirely free from any European ideas.
+As this political programme became a literary one, it is important to
+note its first appearance.
+
+Freemasonry, that embodiment of the spirit of mysticism, worked its
+way into Russia, brought from Sweden and Germany, during the reign of
+Catherine; and was at once taken up by the literary world, then led by
+Novikof. The greater part of the distinguished scholars and statesmen
+under Alexander, Karamzin among them, were interested in it, and spread
+through the country the philosophical works which deluged Europe.
+
+The French Revolution now broke out; and Catherine, becoming alarmed at
+the rapid spread of the new philosophy, ordered the lodges closed, had
+the suspicious books seized, and Novikof tried and condemned.
+
+But the new doctrines assumed greater force under Alexander, who
+encouraged them. The infatuation for this mysticism spread among all
+intelligent people. The state of mind of the upper classes has been
+faithfully depicted in the character of Pierre Bezushof, in “War and
+Peace,” the historical novel of Leon Tolstoï. (See the chapter which
+describes Pierre’s initiation into Freemasonry.) This condition of mind
+is not peculiar to the Russians. All Europe was obscured by it at the
+end of the eighteenth century; but in Russia it found free scope in
+the unsettled and confused state of affairs, where the thinking mind
+struggled against the influx of rationalism, while unwilling to accept
+the negative philosophy of the learned class. On this account, among
+others, the reign of Alexander I. presents a curious subject for study
+and contemplation. It offered a point of meeting for every new current
+of thought which agitated Russia, as well as for everything that had
+been repressed throughout the reign of Nicholas. The Masonic lodges
+insensibly became a moving power in politics, which led to the liberal
+conspiracy crushed out in 1825. A horror of the revolutionary ideas
+of France, and the events of 1812, had produced a great change in the
+Russian mind; besides, Russia, now temporarily estranged from France,
+became more influenced by Germany; which fact was destined to have a
+considerable effect upon their literature. During the whole of the
+eighteenth century, France tutored the Russian mind in imitation of the
+classics. It now became inculcated with the romanticism of Germany.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+     [A] Official rank.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II.
+
+                   ROMANTICISM.―PUSHKIN AND POETRY.
+
+Russia―all Europe, in fact―was now enjoying a period of peace. A
+truce of twenty-five years lay between the great political wars and the
+important social struggles to come. During these years of romanticism,
+so short and yet so full, between 1815 and 1840 only, all intelligent
+minds in Russia seemed given up to thought, imagination, and poetry.
+
+Everything in this country develops suddenly. Poets appear in numbers,
+just as the flowers of the field spring forth after the sun’s hot rays
+have melted the snow. At this time poetry seemed to be the universal
+language of men. Only one of this multitude of poets, however, is
+truly admirable, absorbing all the rest in the lustrous rays of his
+genius,―the glorious Pushkin.
+
+He was preceded by Zhukovski, who was born twenty years earlier, and
+who also survived him. No critic can deny that Zhukovski was the
+real originator of romanticism in Russian literature; or that he was
+the first one to introduce it from Germany. His works were numerous.
+Perfectly acquainted with the Greek language, his version of Homer is
+most admirable. He also wrote several poems in the style of Schiller,
+Goethe, and Uhland; and many compositions, ballads, etc., all in the
+German style. He touched upon many Russian subjects, themes which
+Pushkin afterwards took up. In fact, he was to Pushkin what Perugino
+was to Raphael; yet every Russian will declare that the new romanticism
+of that time dates from Pushkin, and is identified with him.
+
+Zhukovski was one of those timid spirits which are born to be
+satellites, even though they rise before the sun in the pale dawn; but
+they only shine with reflected light, and their lustre becomes wholly
+absorbed in the rays of the rising luminary which replaces them.
+
+
+                                   I.
+
+To realize the importance of the part the poets of this period were
+destined to play, we must remember what a very small part of the
+population of this vast country could be called the educated class.
+At the beginning of the century, the education of the Muscovite
+aristocracy was confided entirely to the Jesuits, who had been
+powerfully supported by the Emperor Paul. In 1811, Alexander I.
+replaced these foreign educators by native Russians, and founded the
+Lyceum of Tsarskoe-Selo, after the model of the Paris Lyceums.
+
+Students were admitted according to birth and merit only. Pushkin and
+Gortchakof were the two who most distinguished themselves. The course
+of study was rather superficial. The students were on intimate terms
+with the soldiers of the Imperial Guard, and quartered in the imperial
+palace with them. Politics, patriotism, poetry, all together fomented
+an agitation, which ended with the conspiracy of December, 1825.
+
+Pushkin was at once recognized as a master in this wild throng, and
+was already famous as a poet. The old Derzhavin cast his own mantle
+upon Pushkin’s shoulders and pronounced him his heir. Pushkin possessed
+the gift of pleasing; but to understand his genius, we must not lose
+sight of his origin. His maternal grandfather was an Abyssinian negro,
+who had been a slave in the Seraglio of Constantinople, was stolen and
+carried to Russia by a corsair, and adopted by Peter the Great, who
+made him a general, and gave him in marriage to a noble lady of the
+court. The poet inherited some of his grandfather’s features; his thick
+lips, white teeth, and crisp curly hair. This drop of African blood,
+falling amid Arctic snows, may account for the strong contrasts and
+exaggerations of his poetic nature, which was a remarkable union of
+impetuosity and melancholy.
+
+His youth was passed in a wild whirl of pleasure and excess. He
+incurred while still young the imperial anger, by having written
+some insolent verses, as well as by committing some foolish pranks
+with some of the saints’ images; and was banished for a time to the
+borders of the Black Sea, where, enchanted by the delicious climate and
+scenery, his genius developed rapidly.
+
+He returned not much the wiser, but with his genius fully matured at
+the age of twenty-five. For a few short years following his return,
+he produced his greatest masterpieces with astonishing rapidity, and
+died at thirty-seven in a duel, the victim of an obscure intrigue. He
+had married a very beautiful woman, who was the innocent cause of his
+death. Lending an ear to certain calumnies concerning her, he became
+furiously jealous, and fought the fatal duel with an officer of the
+Russian guard.
+
+While we lament his sad fate, we can but reflect that the approach of
+age brings sadness with it, and most of all to a poet. He died young,
+in the prime of life and in the plenitude of his powers, giving promise
+of future possible masterpieces, with which we always credit such
+geniuses.
+
+It is impossible to judge of this man’s works from a review of his
+character. Though his heart was torn by the stormiest passions, he
+possessed an intellect of the highest order, truly classic in the best
+sense of the word. When his talent became fully matured, form took
+possession of him rather than color. In his best poems, intellect
+presides over sentiment, and the soul of the artist is laid bare.
+
+To attempt to quote, to translate his precious words, would be a
+hopeless task. He himself said: “In my opinion, there is nothing more
+difficult, I might say impossible, than to translate Russian poetry
+into French; concise as our language is, we can never be concise
+enough.”
+
+In Latin one might possibly be able to express as many thoughts in as
+few words, and as beautifully. The charm vanishes with the translator’s
+touch; besides, the principal object of this book is to show how the
+peculiar type of Russian character is manifested in the works of the
+Russian writers. Neither do I think that Pushkin could aid us much in
+this study; although he was no servile imitator, like so many of his
+predecessors, it is none the less true that he drew his material from
+the great sources of European literature. He was educated from a child
+in French literature. His father knew Molière by heart, and his uncle
+was a great admirer of Béranger. When he entered the Lyceum he could
+scarcely speak his mother-tongue, but he had been fed with Voltaire
+from early childhood. His very first verses were written in French,
+and his first Russian rhymes were madrigals on the same themes. In the
+“Prisoner of the Caucasus,” written in 1824, we can feel the influence
+of Byron, whom he calls the “master of his thoughts.” Gradually he
+acquired more originality, but it is quite certain that but for Byron
+some of the most important of his poems, such as “Onyegin,” “The
+Bohemians,” several of his oriental poems, and even his admirable
+“Poltava,” would never have existed.
+
+During the latter years of his life, he had a passion for history,
+when he studied the historical dramas of Shakespeare. This he
+himself acknowledges in the preface to “Boris Godunof,” which is a
+Shakespearian drama on a Muscovite subject. In certain prose works he
+shows unmistakable proofs of the influence of Voltaire, as they are
+written in a style wholly dissimilar to anything in Russian prose.
+
+The _Slavophile_ party like to imagine that Pushkin, in his “Songs of
+the Western Slavs,” has evoked the ancient Russian spirit; while he has
+merely translated some French verses into Russian. We must acknowledge
+the truth that his works, with the exception of “Onyegin,” and a few
+others, do not exhibit any peculiar ethnical stamp. He is influenced at
+different times, as the case may be, by his contemporaries in Germany,
+England, and France. He expresses universal sentiments, and applies
+them to Russian themes; but he looks from outside upon the national
+life, like all his contemporaries in letters, artistically free from
+any influence of his own race. Compare his descriptions of the Caucasus
+with those of Tolstoï in “The Cossacks.” The poet of 1820 looks upon
+nature and the Orientals with the eye of a Byron or a Lamartine;
+while the observer of 1850 regards that spot of Asia as his ancestral
+mother-country, and feels that it partly belongs to him.
+
+We shall find that Pushkin’s successors possess none of his literary
+qualities. He is as concise as they are diffuse; as clear as they are
+involved. His style is as perfect, elegant, and correct as a Greek
+bronze; in a word, he has style and good taste, which terms cannot be
+applied to any of his successors in Russian literature. Is it taking
+away anything from Pushkin to remove him from his race and give him to
+the world and humanity at large? Because he was born in Russia, there
+is nothing whatever to prove that his works were thereby modified. He
+would have sung in the self-same way for England, France, or Italy.
+
+But, although he resembles his country so little, he served it well. He
+stirred its intellectual life more effectively than any other writer
+has done; and it is not too much to call him the Peter the Great of
+Russian literature. The nation gratefully recognizes this debt. To
+quote one of his own verses:―“The monument I have erected for myself
+is made by no mortal hand; and the grass will not have time to grow in
+the path that leads to it.”
+
+
+                                  II.
+
+Among the group of poets contemporaries of Pushkin only two are
+really worthy of mention, viz.: Griboyedof and Lermontof; but these
+two, although they died young, gave promise of great genius. The
+first of these left only one comedy, but that is the masterpiece of
+the Russian drama (“le Mal de Trop d’Esprit”). The author, unlike
+Pushkin, disdained all foreign literature, took pride in all the
+ancient Muscovite customs, and was Russian to the backbone. He painted
+the people and the peculiarities of his own country only, and so
+wonderfully well that his sayings have become proverbs. The piece is
+similar to the “Revizor” of Gogol, but, in my opinion, superior to it,
+being broader in spirit and finer in sentiment. Moreover, its satire
+never will grow old, for it is as appropriate to the present day as to
+the time for which it was written.
+
+Returning from Persia, where he had been sent as Russian minister to
+the Shah, he was murdered by a party of robbers, at the age of thirty
+four.
+
+Lermontof was the poet of the Caucasus, which he made the scene of all
+his poems. His short life of twenty-six years was spent among those
+mountains; and he was, like Pushkin, killed in a duel, just as he was
+beginning to be recognized as a worthy successor to him. Byron was
+also his favorite model, whom he, unhappily, strongly resembled in
+character. His most celebrated poem was “The Demon”; but he wrote many
+most picturesque and fascinating stanzas and short pieces, which are
+full of tenderness and melancholy. Though less harmonious and perfect
+than Pushkin’s, his verses give out sometimes a sadder ring. His prose
+is equal to his poetry, and many of his short sketches, illustrative of
+Caucasian life, possess a subtle charm.
+
+
+                                  III.
+
+Lermontof was the last and most extreme of the poets of the romantic
+period. The Byronic fever, now at its height, was destined soon to
+die out and disappear. Romanticism sought in history some more solid
+aliment than despair. A reaction set in; and writers of elegies and
+ballads turned their attention to historical dramas and the picturesque
+side of human life. From Byron they turned back to Shakespeare, the
+universal Doctor. Pushkin, in his “Boris Godunof,” and in the later
+poems of his mature period, devoted himself to this resurrection of
+the past; and his disciples followed in his wake. The rhetoric of the
+new school, not wholly emancipated from romanticism, was naturally
+somewhat conventional. But Pushkin became interested in journalism;
+and polemics, social reforms, and many other new problems arising,
+helped to make romanticism a thing of the past. The young schools of
+philosophy found much food for thought and controversy. The question
+of the emancipation of the serfs, raised in the court of Alexander I.,
+weighed heavily upon the national conscience. A suffering people cannot
+be fed upon rhetoric.
+
+In 1836, Tchadayef published his famous “Lettre Philosophique.” He
+was a man of the world, but a learned man and a philosopher. The
+fundamental idea of his paper was that Russia had hitherto been but
+a parasite, feeding upon the rest of Europe, and had contributed of
+itself nothing useful to civilization; had established no religious
+reforms, nor allowed any scope for free thought upon the leading
+questions of modern society. He said:―
+
+“We have in our blood a principle which is hostile to civilization.”
+
+These were strong sentiments coming from the mouth of a Russian; but
+they afterwards found many echoing voices, which never before had put
+such crude truths into words. Tchadayef was claimed by the liberals
+as their legitimate father, his “Lettre Philosophique” was made a
+political pamphlet, and he himself was regarded as a revolutionary
+leader.
+
+Just at this time, Kant, Schelling, and Hegel were translated,
+and a great many young Russians now studied rationalism at its
+fountain-heads, in the different German universities. The preceding
+generation, which had become intoxicated with sentiment, was followed
+by a generation devoted to metaphysics. This new hobby was ridden with
+the enthusiasm peculiar to the Russians, and hairs which in Germany
+were split into four parts were subdivided in Moscow into eight.
+
+A writer nourished on the new doctrines, and who soon became leader
+of the liberal school, appeared at this time, and exercised a strong
+influence upon literature. It was the critic Bielinski. He was,
+perhaps, the only critic of his country really worthy of the name. He
+left a voluminous work, a perfect encyclopædia of Russian literature;
+rich in wisdom and in ideas, giving a fine historical account of the
+ancient literature, and defining with rare sagacity the tendencies
+of the new. He threw down many old idols, and ridiculed the absurd
+confidence in the writers of the classic period. In spite of his
+admiration for Pushkin, he points out many of the weak points of
+romanticism, and seems to fully realize the intellectual necessities
+of his time. The great novelists of modern Russia have been encouraged
+by his advice, and he has certainly shown himself to be a critic in
+advance of his own time, and the only one Russia has produced. The
+first sketches and tales of Gogol revealed to Bielinski the birth of
+this new art. He declared the age of lyric poetry was past forever,
+and that the reign of Russian prose romance had begun. Everything has
+justified this great writer’s prophecy. Since the time of Pushkin,
+their literature has undergone wonderful developments. The novelists no
+longer draw from outside sources, but from the natal soil, and it is
+they who will show us what a rich verdure can be produced from under
+those Arctic snows.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III.
+
+              THE EVOLUTION OF REALISM IN RUSSIA.―GOGOL.
+
+
+The first Russian tale or romance was published in 1799, but nothing
+of note appeared before 1840; although we have seen what success
+Karamzin obtained with his touching romances, especially with “La
+Pauvre Lise.” Several historical romances also appeared about this
+time, (1820), inspired, no doubt, by the unprecedented popularity and
+success of those of Sir Walter Scott. But lyric poetry and romanticism
+had not lost their influence, and even Pushkin’s little historical
+tales savor more of the classic period, and are rather works of the
+imagination than studies from real life. The historical and so-called
+popular novel, however, with its superhuman heroes, was now becoming
+tedious; and authors were already appearing who had begun to observe
+the life around them attentively, and to take pleasure in studying
+something outside of themselves. The same causes conspired to produce,
+almost simultaneously, three writers destined to accomplish the same
+task: Dickens in England, Balzac in France, and Gogol in Russia. Gogol
+developed his work more slowly than the others at first, but collected
+rich materials for his successors. He may be called the first of
+Russian prose writers; and we shall see by a study of his character
+and works, what a foundation he laid for future progress in prose
+literature in his country, and what stirring controversies his books
+called forth.
+
+
+                                   I.
+
+Gogol was a Cossack, from Little Russia or Ukraine. For Russian
+readers, that is quite enough to explain the peculiar qualities of his
+mind and its productions, which were characterized by keen but kindly
+satire, with a tinge of melancholy ever running through and underneath
+it. He is the natural product of the land which gave him birth. This
+frontier country is subject to the contending influences of both north
+and south. For a few short months the sun revels there and accomplishes
+an almost miraculous work―an oriental brilliancy of light by day, and
+soft, enchanting nights under a sky resplendent with stars. Magnificent
+harvests from the fertile soil ensure an easy, joyous life; all trouble
+and sadness vanish with the melting snow, and spirits rise to general
+gayety and enthusiasm.
+
+But the boundless spaces, the limitless horizons of these sunny plains
+overwhelm the spirit; one cannot long feel joyous in the presence of
+Infinity. The habit of thought becomes like that of the eye; is lost
+in space, develops an inclination to revery, which causes the mind to
+fall back upon itself, and the imagination is, so to speak, thrown
+inward.
+
+Winter transforms the Russian. Upon the Dnieper the winter is nearly
+as severe as on the Neva. There is nothing to check the icy winds from
+the north. Death comes suddenly to claim its reign. Both earth and man
+are paralyzed. Just as Ukraine was subjugated by the armies of Moscow,
+so it is taken possession of by the climate of Moscow. On this great
+battle-field nature carries out the plan of this country’s political
+history, the vicissitudes of which have no doubt contributed, as well
+as those of climate, to form its own peculiar physiognomy.
+
+Little Russia was at one time overrun by the Turks; and derived from
+its long association with them many oriental traits. Then it was
+subdued by Poland, which has transmitted something of its savage luxury
+to its vassal. Afterwards the Cossack leagues established there their
+republican spirit of independence. The traditions of this epoch are
+dearest of all to the heart of the Little Russian, who claims from
+them his inheritance of wild freedom and prowess. An ancient order
+of Cossack chivalry, the Zaporovian League, recruited from brigands
+and fugitive serfs, had always been in constant warfare, obeying no
+law but that of the sword. Families who were descended directly from
+this stock (Gogol’s was one of them) inherited this spirit of revolt,
+as well as wandering instincts, and a love of adventure and the
+marvellous. The complex elements of this character, which is more free,
+jovial, and prompt in action than that of the native of Russia proper,
+have strongly influenced the literature of Russia through Gogol, whose
+heart clung with tenacity to his native soil. In fact, the first half
+of his life’s work is a picture of life in Ukraine, with its legends.
+
+Gogol (Nikolai Vasilievitch) was born near Poltava in 1809, in the
+very heart of the Cossack country. His grandfather, who was his first
+teacher, was regimental scribe to the Zaporovian League.[B] The child
+listened from infancy to the tales of this grandfather, inexhaustible
+tales of heroic deeds during the great wars with Poland, as well
+as thrilling exploits of these Corsairs of the Steppes. His young
+imagination was fed with these stories, tragedies of military life, and
+rustic fairy-tales and legends, which are given to us almost intact
+in his “Evenings at the Farm,” and in his poem of “Taras Bulba.” His
+whole surroundings spoke to him of an age of fable not long past; of
+a primitive poetry still alive in the customs of the people. This
+condensed poetry reaches us after passing through two prisms; the
+recollections of old age, which recalls while it regrets the past;
+and the impressions of a child’s fancy, which is dazzled by what it
+hears. This was the first and perhaps the most profitable part of the
+young boy’s education. He was afterwards put into an institution,
+where he was taught Latin and other languages; but, according to his
+biographers, he never excelled in scholarship. He must have made up for
+lost time later on; for all his contemporaries speak of his extensive
+reading and his perfect familiarity with all the literature of the
+Occident.
+
+His letters written to his mother before leaving school show already
+the bent of his mind. Keen, observant, and satirical, his wit is
+sometimes exercised at the expense of his comrades. He already showed
+signs of a deeply religious nature, and was ambitious too of a great
+career. His high hopes are sometimes temporarily crushed by a sudden
+depression or feeling of discouragement, and in his letters he declaims
+against the injustice of men. He feels the pervading influence of
+the Byronism of that time. “I feel as if called,” cries the young
+enthusiast, “to some great, some noble task, for the good of my
+country, for the happiness of my fellow-citizens and of all mankind. My
+soul feels the presence of an angel from heaven, calling, impelling me
+towards the lofty aim I aspire to.”
+
+A Russian who lived under the rule of the Emperor Nicholas, and was
+eager to work for the happiness of his fellow-men, had no choice of
+means. He must enter the government service, and laboriously climb the
+steps of the administrative hierarchy, which appropriates to itself
+every force of the community and nation. Having completed his studies,
+Gogol set out for St. Petersburg. It was in the year 1829, and he was
+twenty years of age. With empty pockets, but rich in illusions, he
+approached the capital just as his Cossack ancestors had entered the
+cities they conquered; thinking he had only to walk boldly forward
+and claim everything he desired. But the future author, destined to
+play so prominent a part in the life and literature of his country,
+must now put aside his dreams and taste the stern reality of life. A
+few weeks’ experience taught him that the great capital was for him
+more of a desert than his native steppe. He was refused everything
+he applied for; for a provincial with no letters of introduction
+could expect nothing else. In a fit of despair, he determined to
+leave St. Petersburg. One day, having received a small sum from his
+mother, which she had saved to pay off a mortgage on their house,
+instead of depositing the money in a bank, he jumped on board a ship
+to go―somewhere, anywhere―forward, into the great world; like a
+child who had become imbued with the spirit of adventure, from reading
+Robinson Crusoe. He left the boat at her first landing-place, which
+was Lubeck. Having wandered about the city for three days, he returned
+to St. Petersburg, cured of his folly, and resigned to bear patiently
+whatever was in store for him.
+
+With great difficulty he obtained a modest position in an office
+connected with the government, where he only remained one year, but
+where he received impressions which were to haunt his whole future
+life. It was here that he studied the model of that wretched hero of
+his work, “Le Manteau,” in flesh and blood.
+
+Becoming weary of his occupation, he attempted acting, but his voice
+was not thought strong enough. He then became a tutor in families
+of the aristocracy of St. Petersburg; and finally was appointed to
+a professorship in the University. But although he made a brilliant
+opening address, his pupils soon complained that he put them to sleep,
+and he lost the situation. It was at this juncture that he took refuge
+in literature. He published at first a few modest essays in the leading
+journals, which attracted some attention, and Zhukovski had introduced
+him to Pushkin. Gogol has related with what fear and trembling he rung
+one morning at the door of the great poet. Pushkin had not yet risen,
+having been up all night, as his valet said. When Gogol begged to be
+excused for disturbing one so occupied with his literary labors, the
+servant informed him that his master had passed the night playing
+cards. What a disenchantment for an admirer of the great poet!
+
+But Gogol was warmly welcomed. Pushkin’s noble heart, too great for
+envy, enjoyed the success of others. His eager sympathy, lavish praise,
+and encouragement have produced legions of authors. Gogol, among them
+all, was his favorite. At first he advised him to write sketches
+descriptive of the national history and the customs of the people.
+Gogol followed his advice and wrote his “Evenings at a Farm near
+Dikanka.”[C]
+
+
+                                  II.
+
+This book is a chronicle of scenes of the author’s childhood; and all
+his love and youthful recollections of the country of the Cossacks are
+poured from his heart into this book.
+
+A certain old man, whose occupation is that of raising bees, is the
+story-teller of the party. He relates tales of Little Russia, so
+that we see it under every aspect; and gives glimpses of scenery,
+rustic habits and customs, the familiar dialogues of the people, and
+all sorts of legends, both terrible and grotesque. The gay and the
+supernatural are strangely blended in these recitals, but the gay
+element predominates; for Gogol’s smile has as yet no bitterness
+in it. His laugh is the hearty, frank laugh of the young Cossack
+who enjoys life. All this is related in racy, expressive language,
+full of words peculiar to Little Russia, curious local expressions,
+and those affectionate diminutives quite impossible to translate or
+express in a more formal language. Sometimes the author bursts forth
+in a poetical vein, when certain impressions or scenes of his native
+country float before his eyes. At the beginning of his “Night in
+May” is this paragraph:―“Do you know the beauty of the nights of
+Ukraine? The moon looks down from the deep, immeasurable vault, which
+is filled to overflowing and palpitating with its pure radiance. The
+earth is silver; the air is deliciously cool, yet almost oppressive
+with perfume. Divine, enchanting night! The great forest trees, black,
+solemn, and still, reposing as if oppressed with thought, throw out
+their gigantic shadows. How silent are the ponds! Their dark waters
+are imprisoned within the vine-laden walls of the gardens. The little
+virgin forest of wild cherry and young plum-trees dip their dainty
+roots timidly into the cold waters; their murmuring leaves angrily
+shiver when a little current of the night wind stealthily creeps in to
+caress them. The distant horizon sleeps, but above it and overhead all
+is palpitating life; august, triumphal, sublime! Like the firmament,
+the soul seems to open into endless space; silvery visions of grace and
+beauty arise before it. Oh! the charm of this divine night!
+
+“Suddenly life, animation, spreads through forest, lake, and steppe.
+The nightingale’s majestic trill resounds through the air; the moon
+seems to stop, embosomed in clouds, to listen. The little village
+on the hill is wrapt in an enchanted slumber; its cluster of white
+cottages gleam vividly in the moonlight, and the outlines of their low
+walls are sharply clear-cut against the dark shadows. All songs are
+hushed; silence reigns in the homes of these simple peasants. But here
+and there a twinkling light appears in a little window of some cottage,
+where supper has waited for a belated occupant.”
+
+Then, from a scene like this, we are called to listen to a dispute and
+quarrel between two soldiers, which ends in a dance. Now the scene
+changes again. The lady of the lake, the Fate lady, rises from her
+watery couch, and by her sorceries unravels the web of fortune. Again,
+between the uproarious bursts of laughter, the old story-teller heaves
+a melancholy sigh, and relates a bit of pathos,―for a vein of sadness
+is always latent in the gay songs and legends of this people. These
+sharp contrasts fill this work with life and color. The book excited
+considerable attention, and was the more welcome as it revealed a
+corner of Russia then hardly known. Gogol had struck the right chord.
+Pushkin, who especially enjoyed humor, lauded the work to the skies;
+and it is still highly appreciated by Russians.
+
+As for us, while we recognize its high qualities, the work does not
+wholly please us. Perhaps we are too old or morose to appreciate and
+enjoy these rustic jokes, and the comic scenes are perhaps a little
+coarse for our liking. It may be, too, that the enthusiastic readers
+of 1832 looked upon life with different eyes from ours; and that it
+is only the difference in time that biases our opinion. To them this
+book was wonderfully in advance of its time; to us it seems perhaps
+somewhat behind. Nothing is more difficult than to estimate what effect
+a work which is already old (especially if it be written in a foreign
+language) will produce on our readers of to-day. Are we amused by the
+legend of “La Dame Blanche”? Certainly we are, for everybody enjoys it.
+Then perhaps the “Ladies of the Lake” of Gogol’s book will be amusing.
+
+In 1834 Gogol published his “Evenings near Mirgorod,” including a
+veritable ghost story, terror-inspiring enough to make the flesh creep.
+
+The principal work of this period of the author’s career, however, and
+the one which established his fame, was “Taras Bulba,” a prose epic,
+a poetical description of Cossack life as it was in his grandfather’s
+time. Not every writer of modern epics has been so fortunate as Gogol;
+to live at a time when he could apply Homer’s method to a subject
+made to his hand; only repeating, as he himself said, the narratives
+of his grandfather, an actual witness and actor in this Iliad. It
+was scarcely more than half a century since the breaking-up of the
+Zaporovian camps of the corsairs and the last Polish war, in which
+Cossack and Pole vied with each other in ferocious deeds of valor,
+license, and adventure. This war forms the subject of the principal
+scenes of this drama, which also gives a vivid picture of the daily
+life of the savage republic of the Zaporovian Cossacks. The work is
+full of picturesque descriptions, and possesses every quality belonging
+to an epic poem.
+
+M. Viardot has given us an honest version of “Taras Bulba,” giving more
+actual information about this republic of the Dnieper than any of the
+erudite dissertations on the subject. But what is absolutely impossible
+to render in a translation is the marvellous beauty of Gogol’s poetic
+prose. The Russian language is undoubtedly the richest of all the
+European languages. It is so very clear and concise that a single word
+is often sufficient to express several different connected ideas,
+which, in any other language, would require several phrases. Therefore
+I will refrain from giving any quotations of these classic pages, which
+are taught in all the Russian schools.
+
+The poem is very unequal in some respects. The love passages are
+inferior and commonplace, and the scenes of passion decidedly hackneyed
+in style and expression. In regard to epic poems, the truth is that the
+mould is worn out; it has been used too long; although Guizot, one of
+the best judges of this sort of composition, said that in his opinion
+“Taras Bulba” was the only modern epic poem worthy of the name.
+
+Even the descriptions of scenery in “Taras” do not seem to us wholly
+natural. We must compare them with those of Turgenef to realize
+how comparatively inferior they are. Both were students and lovers
+of nature: but the one artist placed his model before his easel in
+whatever attitude he chose; while to the other she was a despotic
+mistress, whose every fancy he humbly obeyed. This can be readily
+understood by a comparison of some of their works. Although I am not
+fond of epics, I have called particular attention to “Taras Bulba,”
+knowing what pride the Russians take in the work.
+
+
+                                  III.
+
+In 1835, Nikolai Vasilievitch (Gogol) gave up his position in the
+University, and left the public service for good. “Now I am again
+a free Cossack!” he wrote at this time, which was the time of his
+greatest literary activity.
+
+His novels now show him groping after realism, rather than indulging
+his fancy. Among the unequal productions of the transition period, “Le
+Manteau” is the most notable one. A late Russian politician and author
+once said to me: “Nous sommes tous sortis du manteau de Gogol.”
+
+“Le Manteau” (as well as the “Revizor,” “Inspector-General”) was the
+outgrowth of his one year’s experience in the government offices; and
+the fulfilment of a desire to avenge his life of a galley slave while
+there. These works were his first blows aimed at the administrative
+power. Gogol had always had a desire to write for the stage; and
+produced several satirical comedies; but none of them, except the
+“Revizor,” had any success. The plot of the piece is quite simple.
+The functionaries of a provincial government office are expecting
+the arrival of an inspector, who was supposed to come incognito to
+examine their books and accounts. A traveller chances to alight at
+the inn, whom they all suppose to be the dreaded officer of justice.
+Their guilty consciences make them terribly anxious. Each one attacks
+the supposed judge, to plead his own cause, and denounce a colleague,
+slipping into the man’s hand a generous supply of propitiatory roubles.
+Amazed at first, the stranger is, however, astute enough to accept the
+situation and pocket the money. The confusion increases, until comes
+the crash of the final thunderbolt, when the real commissioner arrives
+upon the scene.
+
+The intention of the piece is clearly marked. The venality and
+arbitrariness of the administration are exposed to view. Gogol says, in
+his “Confessions of an Author”: “In the ‘Revizor,’ I tried to present
+in a mass the results arising from the one crying evil of Russia, as I
+recognized it in that year; to expose every crime that is committed in
+those offices, where the strictest uprightness should be required and
+expected. I meant to satirize the great evil. The effect produced upon
+the public was a sort of terror; for they felt the force of my true
+sentiments, my real sadness and disgust, through the gay satire.”
+
+In fact, the disagreeable effect predominated over the fun, especially
+in the opinion of a foreigner; for there is nothing of the French
+lightness and elegance of diction in the Russian style. I mean that
+quality which redeems Molière’s “Tartuffe” from being the blackest and
+most terrible of dramas.
+
+When we study the Russian drama, we can see why this form of art is
+more backward in that country than in any other. Poetry and romance
+have made more rapid strides, because they are taken up only by the
+cultivated class. There is virtually no middle class; and theatrical
+literature, the only diversion for the people, has remained in its
+infancy.
+
+There is an element of coarseness in the drollery of even the two
+masterpieces: the comedy by Griboyedof, “Le Mal de Trop d’Esprit,”
+and the “Revizor” by Gogol. In their satire there is no medium
+between broad fun and bitterness. The subtle wit of the French
+author ridicules without wounding; his keen witticism calls forth
+laughter; while the sharp, cutting satire of the Russian produces
+bitter reflection and regret. His drollery is purely national, and is
+exercised more upon external things and local peculiarities; while
+Molière rails at and satirizes humanity and its ways and weaknesses.
+I have often seen the “Revizor” performed. The amiable audience laugh
+immoderately at what a foreigner cannot find amusing, and which
+would be utterly incomprehensible to one not well acquainted with
+Russian life and customs. On the contrary, a stranger recognizes much
+more keenly than a Russian the undercurrent of pathos and censure.
+Administrative reform is yet too new in Russia for the public to
+be as much shocked as one would expect at the spectacle of a venal
+administration. The evil is so very old!
+
+Whoever is well acquainted with the Oriental character knows that their
+ideas of morality are broader, or, rather, more lax, than ours, because
+their ideas of the rights of the government are different. The root of
+these notions may be traced to the ancient principle of tribute money;
+the old claim of the powerful over the weak, whom they protect and
+patronize.
+
+What strikes us as the most astonishing thing in regard to this comedy
+is that it has been tolerated at all. We cannot understand, from
+what we know of the Emperor Nicholas, how he could have enjoyed such
+an audacious satire upon his government; but we learn that he himself
+laughed heartily, giving the signal for applause from his royal box.
+His relations with Gogol are very significant, showing the helplessness
+of the absolute power against the consequences of its own existence. No
+monarch ever did more to encourage talent, or in a more delicate way.
+Some one called his attention to the young author’s poverty.
+
+“Has he talent?” asked the Czar. Being assured that he had, the Emperor
+immediately placed the sum of 5000 roubles[D] at his disposition,
+saying, with the greatest delicacy: “Do not let your protégé know that
+the gift comes from me; he would be less independent in the exercise
+of his talents.” The Emperor continued therefore in future to supply
+him incognito, through the poet Zhukovski. Thanks to the imperial
+munificence, this incorrigible traveller could expatriate himself to
+his heart’s content, and get rest and refreshment for future labors.
+
+The year 1836 was a critical one for Gogol. He became ill in body
+and mind, and the melancholy side of his nature took the ascendency.
+Although his comedy had been a great success at St. Petersburg and
+at court, such a work could not but excite rancor and raise up
+enemies for its author. He became morbidly sensitive, and considered
+himself the object of persecution. A nervous disease, complicated
+with hypochondria, began to undermine his constitution. A migratory
+instinct, which always possessed him in any crisis of his life, now
+made him resolve to travel; “to fly,” as he said. But he never returned
+to his country for any length of time, and only at long intervals;
+declaring, as Turgenef did some years later, that his own country, the
+object of his studies, was best seen from afar.
+
+After travelling extensively, Gogol finally settled at Rome, where he
+formed a strong friendship with the painter Ivanof, who for twenty
+years had been in retirement in a Capuchin monastery, working upon
+his picture, which he never finished, “The Birth of Christ.” The two
+friends became deeply imbued with an ascetic piety; and from this time
+dates the mysticism attributed to Gogol. But before his mind became
+obscured he collected his forces for his last and greatest effort.
+He carried away with him from Russia the conception of this work,
+which excluded all other thoughts from his mind. It ruled his whole
+existence, as Goethe was for thirty years ruled by his “Faust.”
+
+Gogol gave Pushkin the credit of having suggested the work to him,
+which never was finished, but which he wrestled with until he finally
+succumbed, vanquished by it. Pushkin had spoken to him of his physical
+condition, fearing a premature death; and urged him to undertake a
+great work, quoting the example of Cervantes, whose works previous to
+“Don Quixote” would never have classed him among the great authors.
+He suggested a subject, which he said he never should have given to
+any other person. It was the subject of “Dead Souls.” In spite of the
+statement, I cannot help feeling that “Dead Souls” was inspired by
+Cervantes; for, on leaving Russia, Gogol had gone at once to Spain,
+where he studied the literature of that country diligently; especially
+“Don Quixote,” which had always been his favorite book. It furnished
+a theme just suited to his plan; the adventures of a hero impelled to
+penetrate into every strange region and into every stratum of society;
+an ingenious excuse for presenting to the world in a series of pictures
+the magic lantern of humanity. Both works proceed from a satirical and
+meditative mind, the sadness of which is veiled under a smile, and both
+belong to a style unique in itself, entirely original. Gogol objected
+to his work being called a romance. He called it a poem, and divided
+it into songs instead of chapters. Whatever title may be bestowed upon
+Cervantes’ masterpiece may just as appropriately be applied to “Dead
+Souls.”
+
+His “poem” was to be in three parts. The first part appeared in 1842;
+the second, unfinished and rudimentary, was burned by the author in a
+frenzy of despair; but after his death it was printed from a copy which
+escaped destruction. As to the third, it is perhaps interred with his
+bones, which repose in the cemetery at Moscow under the block of marble
+which bears his name.
+
+
+                                  IV.
+
+It is well known that the Russian peasants or serfs, “Souls” as they
+were popularly called, were personal property, and to be traded with
+in exactly the same way as any other kind of property. A proprietor’s
+fortune was reckoned according to the number of male serfs he owned.
+If any man owned, for instance, a thousand of them, he could sell or
+exchange them, or obtain loans upon them from the banks. The owner was,
+besides, obliged to pay taxes upon them at so much a head. The census
+was taken only at long intervals, during which the lists were never
+examined. The natural changes of population and increase by births
+being supposed to make up for the deaths. If a village was depopulated
+by an epidemic, the ruling lord and master sustained the loss,
+continuing to pay taxes for those whose work was done forever.
+
+Tchitchikof, the hero of the book, an ambitious and evil-minded rascal,
+made this proposition to himself: “I will visit the most remote corners
+of Russia, and ask the good people to deduct from the number on their
+lists every serf who has died since the last census was taken. They
+will be only too glad, as it will be for their interest to yield up
+to me a fictitious property, and get rid of paying the tax upon it. I
+shall have my purchases registered in due form, and no tribunal will
+imagine that I require it to legalize a sale of dead men. When I have
+obtained the names of some thousands of serfs, I shall carry my deeds
+to some bank in St. Petersburg or Moscow, and raise a large sum on
+them. Then I shall be a rich man, and in condition to buy real peasants
+in flesh and blood.”
+
+This proceeding offers great advantages to the author in attaining
+his ends. He enters, with his hero, all sorts of homes, and studies
+social groups of all classes. The demand the hero makes is one
+calculated to exhibit the intelligence and peculiar characteristics
+of each proprietor. The trader enters a house and makes the strange
+proposition: “Give me up the number of your dead serfs,” without
+explaining, of course, his secret motives. After the first shock of
+surprise, the man comprehends more or less quickly what is wanted of
+him, and acts from instinct, according to his nature. The simple-minded
+give willingly gratis what is asked of them; the distrustful are on
+their guard, and try to penetrate the mystery, and gain something for
+themselves by the arrangement; the avaricious exact an exorbitant
+price. Tchitchikof finds some wretches more evil than himself. The only
+case which never occurs is an indignant refusal, or a denunciation;
+the financier well knew how few scruples he should have to contend with
+in his fellow-countrymen.
+
+The enterprise supplied Gogol with an inexhaustible source of both
+comic and touching incidents and situations. The skilful author,
+while he apparently ignores, under an assumption of pleasantry, the
+lugubrious element in what he describes, makes it the real background
+of the whole narrative, so that it reacts terribly upon the reader.
+
+The first readers of this work, and possibly even the author himself,
+hardly appreciated the force of these contrasts; because they were
+so accustomed to the horrors of serfdom that an abuse of this nature
+seemed to them a natural proceeding. But with time the effect of the
+book increases; and the atrocious mockery of using the dead as articles
+of merchandise, which seems to prolong the terrors of slavery, from
+which death has freed them, strikes the reader with horror.
+
+The types of character created by Gogol in this work are innumerable;
+but that of the hero is the most curious of all, and was the outgrowth
+of laborious study. Tchitchikof is not a Robert Macaire, but rather a
+serious Gil Blas, without his genius. The poor devil was born under
+an unlucky star. He was so essentially bad that he carried on his
+enterprise without seeming to realize the enormous immorality of it.
+In fact, he was wronging no one, in his own opinion.
+
+Gogol makes an effort to broaden this type of character, and include in
+it a greater number of individuals; and we can see thereby the author’s
+intention, which is to show us a type, a collective image of Russia
+herself, irresponsible for her degradation, corrupted by her own social
+condition.
+
+This is the real, underlying theory of “Dead Souls,” and of the
+“Revizor,” as well as of Turgenef’s “Annals of a Sportsman.” In all
+the moralists of this time we recognize the fundamental sophistry of
+Rousseau, who poisoned the reasoning faculties of all Europe.
+
+At the end of the first part the author attempts a half-ironical,
+half-serious defence of Tchitchikof. After giving an account of his
+origin, he says: “The wise man must tolerate every type of character;
+he must examine all with attention, and resolve them into their
+original elements…. The passions of man are as numberless as the sands
+upon the sea-shore, and have no points of resemblance; noble or base,
+all obey man in the beginning, and end by obtaining terrible power
+over him…. They are born with him, and he is powerless to resist them.
+Whether sombre or brilliant, they will fulfil their entire career.”…
+
+From this analysis, this argument of psychological positivism, the
+writer, in a roundabout way, goes back ingeniously to the designs of
+Providence, which has ordered all for the best, and will show the right
+path out of this chaos.[E]
+
+What is after all most remarkable about the book is that it is the
+reservoir of all contemporary literature, the source of all future
+inventions.
+
+The realism, which is only instinctive in Gogol’s preceding works, is
+the main doctrine in “Dead Souls”; and of this he is fully conscious.
+The author thus apologizes for bringing the lower classes so constantly
+before the reader:―
+
+“Thankless is the task of the writer who dares reproduce what is
+constantly passing before the eyes of all, unnoticed by our distracted
+gaze: all the disgusting little annoyances and trials of our every-day
+lives; the ordinary, indifferent characters we must constantly meet
+and put up with. How they hinder and weary us! Such a writer will not
+have the applause of the masses; contemporary critics will consider
+his creations both low and useless, and will assign him an inferior
+place among those writers who scoff at humanity. He will be declared
+wanting in heart, soul, and talent. For his critic will not admit those
+instruments to be equally marvellous, one of which reveals the sun and
+the other the motions of invisible animalculæ; neither will he admit
+what depth of thought is required to make a masterpiece of a picture,
+the subject of which is drawn from the darker side of human life.”….
+
+Again, in one of his letters, he says:―
+
+“Those who have analyzed my powers as a writer have not discerned the
+important element of my nature, or my peculiar bent. Pushkin alone
+perceived it. He always said that I was especially endowed to bring
+into relief the trivialities of life, to analyze an ordinary character,
+to bring to light the little peculiarities which escape general
+observation. This is, I think, my strong point. The reader resents
+the baseness of my heroes; after reading the book he returns joyfully
+to the light of day. I should have been pardoned had I only created
+picturesque villains; their baseness is what will never be pardoned. A
+Russian shrinks before the picture of his nothingness.”
+
+We shall see that the largest portion of the later Russian novels were
+all generated by the spirit of this initiative book, which gives to the
+Slav literature its peculiar physiognomy, as well as its high moral
+worth. We find in many a passage in “Dead Souls,” breathing through the
+mask of raillery and sarcasm, that heavenly sentiment of fraternity,
+that love for the despised and pity for the suffering, which animate
+all Dostoyevski’s writing. In another letter he says:―
+
+“Pity for a fallen human creature is a strong Russian trait. There is
+no spectacle more touching than our people offer when they go to assist
+and cheer on their way those who are condemned to exile in Siberia.
+Every one brings what he can; provisions, money, perhaps only a few
+consoling words. They feel no irritation against the criminal; neither
+do they indulge in any exaggerated sentiment which would make a hero of
+him. They do not request his autograph or his likeness; neither do they
+go to stare at him out of curiosity, as often happens in more civilized
+parts of Europe. There is here something more; it is not that they
+wish to make excuses for the criminal, or wrest him from the hands of
+justice; but they would comfort him in his fallen condition; console
+him as a brother, as Christ has told us we should console each other.”
+
+In “Dead Souls,” the true sentiment is always masked, which makes it
+the more telling; but when the first part appeared, in 1842, it was
+received by some with stupefaction, by others with indignation. Were
+their countrymen a set of rascals, idiots, and poor wretches, without a
+single redeeming quality? Gogol wrote: “When I read the first chapters
+of my book to Pushkin, he was prepared to laugh, as usual whenever
+he heard anything of mine. But his brow soon clouded, and his face
+gradually grew serious. When I had finished, he cried, with a choking
+voice: ‘Oh, God! poor Russia!’”
+
+Many accused the writer of having judged his fellow-countrymen from a
+sick man’s point of view; and considered him a traducer of mankind.
+They reminded him that, in spite of the evils of serfdom and the
+corruption of the administration, there were still plenty of noble
+hearts and honest people in the empire of Nicholas. The unfortunate
+author found that he had written too strongly. He must now make
+explanations, publish public letters and prefaces imploring his readers
+to suspend their judgment until he produced the second part of the
+poem, which would counteract the darkness of the first. But such was
+not the case. No bright visions proceeded from the saddened brain of
+the caricaturist.
+
+However, every one read the work; and its effect has never ceased
+increasing as a personification of the Russia of former times. It
+has for forty years been the foundation of the wit of the entire
+nation. Every joke has passed into a proverb, and the sayings of its
+characters have become household words. The foreigner who has not read
+“Dead Souls” is often puzzled in the course of conversation, for he
+is ignorant of the family traditions and the ideal ancestors they are
+continually referring to. Tchitchikof, his coachman Seliphan, and their
+three horses are, to a Russian, as familiar friends as Don Quixote,
+Sancho, and Rosinante can be to a Spaniard.
+
+
+                                   V.
+
+Gogol returned from Rome in 1846. His health rapidly declined, and
+attacks of fever made any brain-work difficult for him. However, he
+went on with his work; but his pen betrayed the condition of his
+nerves. In a crisis of the disease he burned all his books as well as
+the manuscript of the second part of the poem. He now became absorbed
+in religious meditations; and, desiring to make a pilgrimage to the
+Holy Land, he published his last work, “Letters to my Friends,” in
+order to raise the necessary funds, and to “entreat their prayers
+for him,” as he said in his preface. These letters were written in a
+religious vein, but intermingled with literary arguments; and not one
+of his satirical works raised up for him so many enemies and such abuse
+as this religious treatise. It is difficult to account for the intense
+excitement it produced, and the lengthy arguments it called forth. The
+second half of the reign of Nicholas is a period but little understood.
+In the march of ideas of that time, there were already indications
+of the coming revolutionary movement among the young men, which was
+entirely opposed to the doctrines brought forward by Gogol. These
+contained a good deal of philosophy, as well as ancient truths, mingled
+with some new ideas, which are exactly those of the present day. But
+these, because they were new, were just what met with the strongest
+opposition; and he was now accused of taking upon himself the direction
+of consciences, and of arrogating to himself the right to do so by
+dint of his intellectual superiority. His letters present a curious
+combination of Christian humility and literary pride. He was declared
+to have fallen into mysticism; but any one who now reads his letters
+carefully cannot call him a mystic. The fact that he gave up writing
+to recover his health would only be considered at any other epoch
+reasonable and natural. Tolstoï, who has acted in a similar manner,
+protests against this epithet being applied to him. He, however,
+proposes to us a new theology, while Gogol clung to the established
+dogmas. Possibly what would have been called “mysticism” in 1840 would
+not have been looked upon as such two centuries earlier, any more than
+it is a half-century later.
+
+But what became of the poor author in the midst of the tempest he
+himself had raised? He went to Jerusalem and wandered for a time
+among its ancient ruins; hardly a wholesome sphere for a sick and
+morbid soul. Returning to Moscow, he was made welcome in the homes of
+friends. But the Cossack nature could not rest in any fixed spot. He
+had no money, for he had given everything he had to the poor. Since
+1844 the whole receipts from his works he gave to poor students. He
+brought with him only a small valise, which was crammed with newspaper
+articles, criticisms, and pamphlets written against him. This was all
+he possessed.
+
+A person who lived in a house which he often visited thus described
+him: “He was short, but the upper part of his body was too long; he
+walked with an uneven gait, was awkward and ungainly; his hair fell
+over his forehead in thick locks, and his nose was long and prominent.
+He conversed but little, and not readily. Occasionally a touch of
+his old gayety returned, especially when with children, whom he
+passionately loved. But he soon fell back into his hypochondria.” This
+description agrees with what Turgenef wrote of him, after his first
+visit to him. “There was a slight gleam of satire in his heavy eyes,
+which were small and dark. His expression was somewhat like that of a
+fox. In his general appearance there was something of the provincial
+schoolmaster.” Gogol had always been awkward and plain, which naturally
+produced in him a habitual timidity. This is perhaps why, according
+to his biographers, no woman ever crossed his path. We can therefore
+understand why he so rarely wrote of women.
+
+It is almost universally believed that he died from the effects of his
+excessive fastings and mortification of the flesh; but I have learned
+from reliable sources that an aggravation of his disease, with typhoid
+symptoms, caused his death. But little is known of his latter years. He
+aged rapidly, as Russians do, and ended his work at the time of life
+when others begin theirs. A mysterious fatality has attended nearly
+all the writers of his time, who have all died at about the age of
+forty. The children of Russia develop as her vegetation does. It grows
+quickly and matures young, but its magnificent growth is soon cut off,
+benumbed while still in perfection. At the age of thirty-three, after
+the publication of “Dead Souls,” the productive brain-power of Nikolai
+Vasilievitch was wellnigh ruined. At forty-three he died, on the 21st
+of February, 1852. The event of his death made but little sensation.
+The imperial favor had quite forgotten this writer. Even the governor
+of Moscow was criticized for putting on the regalia of his order to
+attend the funeral. Turgenef was exiled to his own distant estates as a
+punishment for having written a letter in which he called the deceased
+author “a great man.” Posterity, however, has ratified this title.
+Gogol may now be ranked, according to some critics, with the best
+English humorists; but I should place him rather between Cervantes and
+Le Sage. Perhaps it may be too soon to judge him. Should we appreciate
+“Don Quixote” now if Spanish literature had not been known for three
+hundred years? When we were children we laughed whenever an _alguazil_
+or an _alcalde_ was mentioned.
+
+Gogol introduces us to an untried world. I must warn the reader that
+he will at first find difficulties―the strangest customs; an array of
+characters not in any way connected; names as strange as the people
+who bear them. He must not expect the attractive style or class of
+subjects of Tolstoï and Dostoyevski. _They_ show us results, not
+principles; they tell of what we can better apprehend; for what they
+have studied is more common to all Europe. Gogol wrote of more remote
+times, and, besides, he and his work are thoroughly and exclusively
+Russian. To be appreciated by men of letters, then, his works must be
+admirably translated; which, unfortunately, has never yet been done.
+We must leave him, therefore, in Russia, where all the new authors of
+any distinction recognize in him their father and master. They owe
+to him their very language. Although Turgenef’s is more subtile and
+harmonious, its originator has more life, variety, and energy.
+
+One of the last sentences that fell from his pen, in his “Confessions
+of an Author,” was this:―
+
+“I have studied life as it really is―not in dreams of the imagination;
+and thus have I come to a conception of Him who is the source of all
+life.”
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+     [B] _Zaporovian_ commonwealth, so-called from
+          “_Zaporozhtsi_,” meaning those who live beyond the
+          rapids.
+
+     [C] “Veillées dans un hameau près de Dikanka.”
+
+     [D]  About $4000.
+
+     [E]  The quotation of this paragraph in full should be
+          given here, in order to obtain a clear understanding
+          of Gogol’s thought; but the French translator has
+          omitted too much.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV.
+
+                               TURGENEF.
+
+
+                                   I.
+
+While the name of Gogol was temporarily lost in oblivion during
+the years preceding the Crimean war, his spirit was shedding its
+ripening influences upon the thinking minds of his country. I know of
+no parallel example in the history of literature, of an impulse so
+spontaneous and vigorous as this. Every author of note since 1840 has
+belonged to the so-called “school of nature.” The poets of 1820 had
+drawn their inspiration from their own personality. The novel-writers
+of 1840 found theirs in the spirit of humanity, which might be called
+social sympathy.
+
+Before studying the great writers of this epoch, we must take note
+of the elements which produced them, and glance for a moment at the
+curious movement which ripened them.
+
+Russia could not escape the general fermentation of 1848; although this
+immense country seemed to be mute, like its frozen rivers, an intense
+life was seething underneath. The rivers are seemingly motionless for
+six months of the year; but under the solid ice is running water, and
+the phenomena of ever-increasing life. So it was with the nation. On
+the surface it seemed silent and inert under the iron rule of Nicholas.
+But European ideas, creeping in, found their way under the great walls,
+and books passed from hand to hand, into schools, literary circles, and
+even into the army.
+
+The Russian Universities were then very insufficient. Their best
+scholars quitted them unsatisfied, and sought more substantial
+nourishment in Germany. Besides, it being the fashion to do so, there
+was also a firm conviction that this was really necessary. The young
+men returned from Berlin or Göttingen crammed with humanitarian
+philosophy and liberal notions; armed with ideas which found no
+response in their own country, full, as it was, of malcontents and
+fault-finders. These suspicious missionaries from western Europe were
+handed over to the police, while others continued to study in the
+self-same school. These young fellows, returning from Germany with
+grapes from the promised land, too green as yet for their countrymen,
+formed a favorite type with authors. Pushkin made use of it, and
+Turgenef afterwards gave us some sketches from nature made during his
+stay in Berlin. On their return, these students formed clubs, in which
+they discussed the foreign theories in low and impassioned voices,
+and initiated their companions who had remained at home. These young
+thinkers embraced a transcendental philosophy, borrowed from Hegel,
+Stein, and Feuerbach, as well as from Saint-Simon, Fourier and Proudhon
+in France. These metaphysics, of course, were a mask which covered more
+concrete objects and more immediate interests. Two great intellectual
+schools divided Russia, and took the place of political parties.
+
+The _Slavophile_ party adhered to the views of Karamzin and protested
+against the unpatriotic blasphemies of Tchadayef. For this party
+nothing whatever existed outside of Russia, which was to be considered
+the only depository of the true Christian spirit, and chosen to
+regenerate the world.
+
+In opposition to these Levites, the liberal school of the West
+had appeared; a camp of Gentiles, which breathed only of reforms,
+audacious arguments, and coming revolutions; liberalism developing
+into radicalism. But, as all social and political discussions were
+prohibited in Russia, these must be concealed under the disguise of
+philosophy, and be expressed in its hieroglyphics. The metaphysical
+subtleties in these literary debates did little to clear up the
+obscurity of the ideas themselves, which are very difficult to unravel
+and comprehend. In attempting to understand the controversies in Russia
+at this time, you feel as if watching the movements of a complicated
+figure in the ballet; where indistinct forms are seen moving behind a
+veil of black gauze, intended to represent clouds, which half conceal
+the dancers.
+
+The liberals of 1848 carried on the ideas of the revolutionaries of
+December, 1825; as the Jacobins developed those of the Girondists.
+But the difference between the ideals of the two generations is very
+marked, showing the march of time and of ideas. The revolutionists of
+1825 were aristocrats, who coveted the elegant playthings fashionable
+in London and Paris―a charter and a Parliament. They were ambitious
+to place their enormous, unwieldy country under a new and fragile
+government. They played the conspirator like children, but their game
+ended tragically; for they were all exiled to Siberia or elsewhere.
+
+When this spirit awoke twenty years after, it had dreamed new dreams.
+This time it aimed at the entire remodelling of our poor old world. The
+Russians now embraced the socialist and democratic ideas of Europe;
+but, in accepting these international theories, they did not see how
+inapplicable they were to Russia at this time. Penetrated as they
+were with the rationalistic and irreligious spirit of the eighteenth
+century, they have nothing in common with the grave sympathy of such
+men as Dostoyevski and Tolstoï. These are realists that love humanity;
+but the others were merely metaphysicians, whose love for humanity has
+changed into hatred of society.
+
+Every young writer of the “school of nature” produced his socialistic
+romance, bitterly satirical, and showing the influence of George Sand
+and Eugène Sue. But an unsuccessful conspiracy headed by Petrachevski
+put an end temporarily to this effervescence of ideas. Russia became
+calm again, while every sign of intellectual life was pitilessly
+repressed, not to stir again until after the death of the Emperor
+Nicholas. The most violent of the revolutionists had secured their
+property in foreign lands; and all authors were either condemned or
+exiled. Many of them followed Petrachevski to Siberia. Turgenef was
+among the most fortunate, having been exiled to his own estates in the
+country. The _Slavophile_ party itself did not wholly escape punishment
+and exile. Even the long beards, which formed a part of their patriotic
+programme, had no better fate than their writings. All were forbidden
+to wear them. The government now suppressed all the scientific missions
+and pilgrimages to the German Universities, which had produced such bad
+results. While Peter the Great drove his subjects out of the Empire to
+breathe the air of Europe, Nicholas forced his to remain within it.
+Passports could only be obtained with great difficulty, and at the
+exorbitant price of 500 roubles. In every University and seminary of
+learning in the Empire, the teaching of philosophy was forbidden, as
+well as the classics; and all historical publications were subject to
+a severe control, which was almost equivalent to a prohibition. There
+were now but seven small newspapers printed in all Russia, and these
+were filled with the most insignificant facts. The wars in Hungary
+and in the East were hardly alluded to. The first article of any
+consequence appeared in 1857. The absurd severity exercised towards the
+press furnished material for a long and amusing article in the leading
+journal. The word _liberty_ was underscored wherever and in whatever
+sense it occurred, as the word _King_ was, during the reign of Terror
+in France.
+
+These years of “terror” have since furnished much amusement for the
+Russians; but those who passed through them, warmed by the enthusiasm
+and illusions of youth, have always retained, together with the
+disinclination to express themselves frankly, a vein of pathos
+throughout their writings. Besides, the liberty granted to authors in
+the reign of Alexander II. was only a relative one; which explains
+why they returned instinctively to novel-writing as the only mode
+of expression which permitted any undercurrent of meaning. In this
+agreeable form we must seek for the ideas of that time on philosophy,
+history, and politics; for which reason I have dwelt on the importance
+of studying the Russian novelists attentively. In their romances, and
+only in them, shall we find a true history of the last half-century of
+their country, and form a just idea of the public for which the works
+were written.
+
+This people’s way of reasoning and their demands are peculiar to
+themselves. In France, we expect of a romance what we expect of any
+work of art, according to the degree of civilization we have reached;
+something to afford us a refined amusement; a diversion from the
+serious interests of life; merely a passing impression. We read books
+as a passing pedestrian looks at a picture displayed in some shop
+window, casually, on his way to his business. They regard the masters
+of their language quite otherwise in Russia. What for us is a temporary
+gratification is to them the soul’s daily bread; for they are passing
+through the golden age of their literature. Their authors are the
+guides of the race, almost the creators of their language; their poets
+are such according to the ancient and full sense of the word―_vates_,
+poet, prophet.
+
+In Russia, the small educated class have perhaps surpassed us in
+cultivation; but the lower classes are just beginning to read with
+eagerness, faith, and hope; as we read Robinson Crusoe at twelve years
+of age. Their sensitive imaginations are alive to the full effect these
+works are calculated to produce. Journalism has not scattered their
+ideas and lessened their power of attention. They draw no comparisons,
+and therefore believe.
+
+_We_ consider “Fathers and Sons,” and “War and Peace” merely novels.
+But to the merchant of Moscow, the son of the village priest, the
+country proprietor, either of these works is almost like a national
+Bible, which he places upon the shelf holding the few books which
+represent to him an encyclopædia of the human mind. They have the
+importance and signification for him that the story of Esther had for
+the Jews, and the adventures of Ulysses for the Athenians.
+
+Our readers will pardon these general considerations, which seemed
+to us necessary before approaching the three most prominent figures
+of this period, which we choose from among many others as the most
+original of the two groups they divide into. Dostoyevski will represent
+to us the opinions of the _Slavophile_ or national school; Turgenef
+will show us how many can remain thoroughly Russian without breaking
+off their connections with the rest of Europe; and how there can be
+realists with a feeling for art and a longing to attain a lofty ideal.
+He belonged to the liberal party, which claims him as its own; but this
+great artist, gradually freeing himself from all bounds, soars far
+above the petty bickerings of party strife.
+
+
+                                  II.
+
+Turgenef’s talent, in the best of his productions, draws its
+inspiration directly from his beloved father-land. We feel this in
+every page we read. This is probably why his contemporaries long
+preferred him to any of his rivals. In letters, as well as in politics,
+the people instinctively follow the leaders whom they feel belong to
+them; and whose spirit and qualities, even whose failings, they share
+in common. Ivan Sergievitch Turgenef possessed the dominant qualities
+of every true Russian: natural kindness of heart, simplicity, and
+resignation. With a remarkably powerful brain, he had the heart of a
+child. I never met him without realizing the true meaning of the gospel
+words, ‘poor in spirit’; and that that quality can be the accompaniment
+of a scientific mind and the soul of an artist. Devotion, generosity,
+brotherly love, were perfectly natural to him. Into the midst of our
+busy and complicated civilization he seemed to drop down as if from
+some pastoral tribe of the mountains; and to carry out his ideas under
+our sky as naturally as a shepherd guides his flocks in the steppe.
+
+As to his personal appearance, he was tall, with a quiet dignity in
+his manner, features somewhat coarse; and his finely formed head and
+searching glance brought to mind some Russian patriarch of the peasant
+class; only ennobled and transfigured by intellectual cultivation,
+like those peasants of old who became monks and perhaps saints. He
+gave me the impression of a person possessing the native frankness of
+the peasant, while endowed with the inspiration of genius; and who had
+reached a high intellectual elevation without having lost anything of
+his natural simplicity and candor. Such a comparison could not, surely,
+offend one who so loved his people!
+
+Now, when the time has come to speak of his work, my heart fails me,
+and I feel disposed to throw down my pen. I have spoken of his virtues;
+why should we say more, or dwell upon the brilliant qualities of his
+mind, adding greater eulogies? But those who know him well are few,
+and they will soon die and be forgotten. We must then try to show to
+others what that great heart has left of itself in the works of his
+imagination. These are not few, and show much persevering labor. The
+last complete edition of his works comprises not less than ten volumes:
+romances, novels, critical and dramatic essays. The most notable of
+these have been carefully translated into French, under the direction
+of the author himself; and no foreigner’s work has ever been as much
+read and appreciated in Paris as his.
+
+The name of Turgenef was well known, and had acquired a literary
+reputation in Paris, at the beginning of the present century; for a
+cousin of the author’s, Nikolai Ivanovitch (Turgenef), after having
+distinguished himself in the government service under Alexander I.,
+was implicated in the conspiracy of December, 1825, and exiled by the
+Emperor Nicholas. He spent the remainder of his life in Paris, where
+he published his important work, “Russia and the Russians.” He was a
+distinguished man and an honest thinker, if perhaps a little narrow,
+and one of the most sincere of those who became liberals after 1812.
+Faithful to his friends who were exiled to Siberia, he became their
+advocate, and also warmly pleaded the cause of the emancipation of the
+serfs; so that his young cousin continued a family tradition when he
+gave the death-blow to slavery with his first book.
+
+Turgenef was born in 1818, on the family estate in Orel, and his early
+years were passed in this solitary place, in one of those “Nests of
+Nobles” which are so often the scene of his novels. According to the
+fashion of that time, he had both French and German tutors, which were
+considered a necessary appendage in every nobleman’s household. His
+mother-tongue was held in disrepute; so his first Russian verses were
+read in secret, with the help of an old servant. Fortunately for him,
+he acquired the best part of his education out on the heaths with the
+huntsmen, whose tales were destined to become masterpieces, transformed
+by the great author’s pen. Passing his time in the woods, and running
+over the marshes in pursuit of quail, the poet laid in a rich stock
+of imagery and picturesque scenes with which he afterwards clothed his
+ideas. In the imagination of some children, while thought is still
+sleeping, impressions accumulate, one by one, like the night-dew; but,
+in the awakening dawn, the first ray of the morning sun will reveal
+these glittering diamonds.
+
+After going to school at Moscow, and through the University at St.
+Petersburg, he went, as others did, to conclude his course of study in
+Germany. In 1838, he was studying the philosophy of Kant and Hegel at
+Berlin. He said of himself later in regard to this: “The impulse which
+drew the young men of my time into a foreign land reminds me of the
+ancient Slavs going to seek for chiefs from beyond the seas. Every one
+felt that his native country, morally and intellectually considered,
+was great and rich, but ill regulated.[F] For myself, I fully realized
+that there were great disadvantages in being torn from one’s native
+soil, where one had been brought up; but there was nothing else to be
+done. This sort of life, especially in the sphere to which I belonged,
+of landed proprietors and serfdom, offered me nothing attractive.
+On the contrary, what I saw around me was revolting―in fact,
+disgusting―to me. I could not hesitate long. I must either make up my
+mind to submit, and walk on quietly in the beaten track; or tear myself
+away, root and branch, even at the risk of losing many things dear to
+my heart. This I decided to do. I became a cosmopolitan, which I have
+always remained. I could not live face to face with what I abhorred;
+perhaps I had not sufficient self-control or force of character for
+that. At any rate, it seemed as if I must, at all hazards, withdraw
+from my enemy, in order to be able to deal him surer blows from a
+distance. This mortal enemy was, in my eyes, the institution of
+serfdom, which I had resolved to combat to the last extremity, and with
+which I had sworn never to make peace. It was in order to fulfil this
+vow that I left my country….”
+
+The writer will now become a European; he will uphold the method of
+Peter the Great, against those patriots who have entrenched themselves
+behind the great Chinese wall. Reason, good laws, and good literature
+have no fixed country. Every one must seize his treasure wherever he
+can find it, in the common soil of humanity, and develop it in his own
+way. In reading the strong words of his own confession we are led to a
+feeling of anxiety for the poet’s future. Will politics turn him from
+his true course? Fortunately they did not. Turgenef had too literary
+and contemplative a nature to throw himself into that vortex. But he
+kept his vow of taking his aim―and a terrible one it was―at the
+institution of serfdom. The contest was fierce, and the war was a holy
+one.
+
+Returning to Russia, Turgenef published some poems and dramatic
+pieces; but he afterward excluded all these from the complete edition
+of his works; and, leaving Russia again, he sent his first prose
+work, “Annals of a Sportsman,” which was to contribute greatly to his
+fame as a novelist, to a St. Petersburg review. He continued to send
+various little bombshells, from 1847 to 1851, in the form of tales and
+sketches, hiding their meaning under a veil of poetry. The influence
+of Gogol was perceptible in his work at this time, especially in his
+comprehension of nature. His scenes were always Russian, but the
+artist’s interpretation was different from Gogol’s, having none of
+his rough humor and enthusiasm, but more delicacy and ideality. His
+language too is richer, more flowing, more picturesque and expressive
+than any Russian author had yet attained to; and it perfectly
+translates the most fugitive chords of the grand harmonious register
+of nature. The author carries us with him into the very heart of his
+native country.
+
+The “Annals of a Sportsman” have charmed many French readers, much
+as they must lose through the double veil of translation and our
+ignorance of the country. Indeed we must have lived in the country
+described by Turgenef to fully appreciate the way in which he presents
+on every page the exact copy of one’s personal impressions; even
+bringing to the senses every delicate odor breathed from the earth.
+Some of his descriptions of nature have the harmonious perfection of a
+fantastic symphony written in a minor key.
+
+In the “Living Relics,” he wakes a more human, more interior chord. On
+a hunting expedition, he enters by chance an abandoned shed, where he
+finds a wretched human being, a woman, deformed, and unable to move. He
+recognizes in her a former serving-maid of his mother’s, once a gay,
+laughing girl, now paralyzed, stricken by some strange and terrible
+disease. This poor creature, reduced to a skeleton, lying forgotten
+in this miserable shed, has no longer any relations with the outside
+world. No one takes care of her; kind people sometimes replenish her
+jar with fresh water. She requires nothing else. The only sign of life,
+if life it can be called, is in her eyes and her faint respiration. But
+this hideous wreck of a body contains an immortal soul, purified by
+suffering, utterly resigned, lifted above itself, this simple peasant
+nature, into the realms of perfect self-renunciation.
+
+Lukeria relates her misfortune; how she was seized with this illness
+after a fall in the dark; how she had gone out one dark evening to
+listen to the songs of the nightingales; how gradually every faculty
+and every joy of life had forsaken her.
+
+Her betrothed was so sorry; but, then, afterwards he married; what else
+could he do? She hopes he is happy. For years her only diversion has
+been to listen to the church-bells and the drowsy hum of the bees in
+the hives of the apiary near by. Sometimes a swallow comes and flutters
+about in the shed, which is a great event, and gives her something to
+think about for several weeks. The people that bring water to her are
+so kind, she is so grateful to them! And gradually, almost cheerfully,
+she goes back with the young master to the memories of old days, and
+reminds him how vain she was of being the leader in all the songs and
+dances; at last, she even tries to hum one of those songs.
+
+“I really dreaded to have this half-dead creature try to sing. Before
+I could speak, she uttered a sound very faintly, but the note was
+correct; then another, and she began to sing, ‘In the Fields’ … as she
+sang there was no change of expression in her paralyzed face or in her
+fixed eyes. This poor little forced voice sounded so pathetically, and
+she made such an effort to express her whole soul, that my heart was
+pierced with the deepest pity.”
+
+Lukeria relates her terrible dreams, how Death has appeared before her;
+not that she dreads his coming, but he always goes away and refuses
+to deliver her. She refuses all offers of assistance from her young
+master; she desires nothing, needs nothing, is perfectly content. As
+her visitor is about to leave her, she calls him back for a last word.
+She seems to be conscious (how feminine is this!) of the terrible
+impression she must have made upon him, and says:―
+
+“Do you remember, master, what beautiful hair I had? you know it
+reached to my knees…. I hesitated a long time about cutting it off; but
+what could I do with it as I am? So―I cut it off…. Adieu, master!”
+
+All this cannot be analyzed any more than the down on a butterfly’s
+wing; and yet it is such a simple tale, but how suggestive! There is no
+exaggeration; it is only one of the accidents of life. The poor woman
+feels that if one believes in God, there are things of more importance
+than her little misfortune. The point which is most strongly brought
+forward, however, in this tale, and in nearly all the others, is the
+almost stoical resignation, peculiar to the Russian peasant, who seems
+prepared to endure anything. This author’s talent lies in his keeping
+the exquisite balance between the real and the ideal; every detail
+is strikingly and painfully real, while the ideal shines through and
+within every thought and fact. He has given us innumerable pictures of
+master, overseer, and serf; clothing every repulsive fact with a grace
+and charm, seemingly almost against his will, but which are born of his
+own poetical nature.
+
+It is not wholly correct to say that Turgenef _attacked_ slavery. The
+Russian writers never attack openly; they neither argue nor declaim.
+They describe, drawing no conclusions; but they appeal to our pity
+more than to our anger. Fifteen years later Dostoyevski published his
+“Recollections of a Dead-House.” He took the same method―without
+expressing a word of indignation, without one drop of gall; he seems to
+think what he describes quite natural, only somewhat pathetic. This is
+a national trait.
+
+Once I stopped for one night at an inn in Orel, our author’s native
+place. Early in the morning, I was awakened by the beating of drums.
+I looked down into the market-place, which was full of soldiers drawn
+up in a square, and a crowd of people stood looking on. A pillory had
+been erected in the square, a large, black, wooden pillar, with a
+scaffolding underneath. Three poor fellows were tied to the pillar, and
+had parchments on their backs, giving an account of their misdeeds.
+These thieves seemed very docile, and almost unconscious of what was
+being done to them. They made a picturesque group, with their handsome
+Slavonic heads, and bound to this pillar. The exhibition lasted long;
+the priests came to bless them; and when the cart came to carry them
+back to prison, both soldiers and people rushed after them, loading
+them with eatables, small coins, and words of sympathy.
+
+The Russian writer who aims to bring about reforms, in like manner
+displays his melancholy picture, with spasms of indulgent sympathy
+for the evils he unveils. The public needs but a hint. This time it
+understood. Russia looked upon serfdom in the mirror he showed her,
+and shuddered. The author became celebrated, and his cause was half
+gained. The censorship, always the last to become convinced, understood
+too, at last. Serfdom was already condemned in the heart of the Emperor
+Nicholas, but the censorship does not always agree with the Emperor; it
+is always procrastinating; sometimes it is left far behind, perhaps for
+a whole reign. It will not condemn the book, but keeps its eye upon the
+author.
+
+Gogol died at this time, and Turgenef wrote a strong article in praise
+of the dead author. This article appears to-day entirely inoffensive,
+but the author himself thus speaks of it:―
+
+“In regard to my article on Gogol, I remember one day at St.
+Petersburg, a lady in high position at court was criticizing the
+punishment inflicted upon me, as unjust and undeserved, or, at least,
+too severe. Some one replied: ‘Did you not know that he calls Gogol “a
+great man” in that article?’ ‘That is not possible.’ ‘I assure you he
+did.’ ‘Ah! in that case, I have no more to say; I am very sorry for
+him, but now I understand their severity.’”
+
+This praise, justly accorded to a great author, procured for Turgenef
+a month of imprisonment and banishment to his own estates. But this
+tyranny was, perhaps, a blessing in disguise. Thirty years before,
+Pushkin had been torn from the dissipations of the gay capital, where
+his genius would have been lost, and was exiled to the Orient, where
+it developed into a rich bloom. If Turgenef had remained at this time
+in St. Petersburg, he might have been drawn, in his hot-headed youth,
+by compromising friendships, into some fruitless political broil;
+but, exiled to the solitude of his native woods, he spent several
+years there in literary work; studying the humble life around him, and
+collecting materials for his first great novels.
+
+
+                                  III.
+
+Turgenef always declared himself as no admirer of Balzac. This was, no
+doubt, true; for they had no points of resemblance in common. Still I
+cannot but think that that sworn disciple of Gogol and of the “school
+of nature” must have received some suggestions from our great author.
+Turgenef, like Balzac, gave us the comedy of human life in his native
+country; but to this great work he gave more heart and faith, and less
+patience, system, and method, than the French writer. But he possessed
+the gift of style, and a racy eloquence, which are wanting in Balzac.
+
+If one must read Balzac in France in order to retrace the lives of our
+predecessors, this is all the more true of Turgenef in Russia.
+
+This author sharply discerned the prevailing current of ideas which
+were developed in that period of transition,―the reign of Nicholas and
+the first few years of the reign of Alexander II. It required a keen
+vision to apprehend and describe the shifting characters and scenes of
+that period, vivid glimpses of which we obtain from his novels written
+at that time.
+
+His first one of this period is “Dimitri Roudine.” The hero of the
+story is an eloquent idealist, but practically inefficient in action.
+His liberal ideas are intoxicating, both to himself and others; but he
+succumbs to every trial of life, through want of character. With the
+best principles and no vices whatever, except, perhaps, an excess of
+personal vanity, he commits deeds in which he is his own dupe. He is at
+heart too honest to profit by offered opportunities, which would give
+him advantage over others; and, with no courage either for good or evil
+undertakings, he is always unsuccessful, and always in want of money.
+He finally realizes his inefficiency, in old age, and dies in extreme
+poverty.
+
+The characters of the prosaic country life in which the hero’s career
+is pictured are marvellously well drawn. These practical people, whose
+ideas are nearly on a level with the earth which yields them their
+livelihood, prosper in all things. They have comfortable incomes,
+good wives, and congenial friends; while the enthusiastic idealist,
+in spite of his intellectual superiority, falls even lower. It is the
+triumph of prosaic fact over idealism. In this introductory work, the
+author touched keenly upon one of the greatest defects of the Russian
+character, and gave a useful lesson to his fellow-countrymen; showing
+them that magnificent aspirations are not all-sufficient, but they must
+be joined to practical common-sense, and applied to self-government.
+“Dimitri Roudine” is a moral and philosophical study, inciting to
+thought and interesting to the thinking mind. It was a question whether
+the author would be as skilful in the region of sentiment, whether he
+would succeed in moving the heart.
+
+His “Nest of Nobles”[G] was his response; and it was, perhaps, his
+greatest work, although not without defects. It is less interesting
+than the other, as the development of the plot drags somewhat; but when
+once started, and fully outlined, it is carried out with consummate
+skill.
+
+The “Nest of Nobles” is one of the old provincial, ancestral mansions
+in which many generations have lived. In this house the young girl is
+reared, who will serve as a prototype for the heroine of every Russian
+novel. She is simple and straightforward, not strikingly beautiful or
+gifted, but very charming, and endowed with an iron will,―a trait
+which the author invariably refuses to men, but he bestows it upon
+every young heroine of his imagination. This trait carries them through
+every variety of experience and the most extreme crises, according as
+they are driven by fate.
+
+Liza, a girl of twenty, has been thus far wholly insensible to the
+attractions of a handsome government official, whose attentions
+her mother has encouraged. Finally, weary of resistance, the young
+girl consents to an engagement with him, when Lavretski, a distant
+relative, appears upon the scene. He is a married man, but has long
+been separated from his wife, who is wholly unworthy of him. She
+is an adventuress, who spends her time at the various Continental
+watering-places. There is nothing whatever of the hero of romance about
+him; he is a quiet, kind-hearted, and unhappy being, serious-minded
+and no longer young. Altogether, a man such as is very often to be met
+with in real life. He and the young heroine are drawn together by a
+mysterious attraction; and, just as the man, with his deeper experience
+of life, recognizes with terror the nature of their mutual feelings,
+he learns of the death of his wife, through a newspaper article. He
+is now free; and, that very evening, in the old garden, both hearts,
+almost involuntarily, interchange vows of eternal affection. The
+description of this scene is beautiful, true to nature, and exceedingly
+refined. The happiness of the lovers lasts but a single hour; the news
+was false, and the next day Lavretski’s wife herself appears most
+unexpectedly upon the scene.
+
+We can easily see what an opportunity the author here has for the
+delineation of the inevitable revulsion and tumult of feeling called
+forth; but with what delicacy he leads those two purest of souls
+through such peril! The sacrifice is resolutely made by the young girl;
+but only after a fearful struggle by the lover. The annoying and hated
+wife disappears again, while the reader fondly hopes the author will
+bring about her speedy death. Here again those who wish only happy
+_dénouements_ must close the book. Mme. Lavretski does not die, but
+continues the gayest kind of a life, while Liza, who has known of life
+only the transient promise of a love, which lasted through the starry
+hours of one short evening in May, carries her wounded heart to her
+God, and buries herself in a convent.
+
+So far, this is a virtuous and rather old-fashioned story, suitable
+for young girls. But we must read the farther development of the tale,
+to see with what exquisite art and love for truth the novelist has
+treated his subject. There is not the slightest approach to insipid
+sentimentality in this sad picture; no outbursts of passion; but, with
+a chaste and gentle touch, a restrained and continually increasing
+emotion is awakened, which rends the heart. The epilogue of this book,
+only a few pages in length, is, and will always be, one of the gems of
+Russian literature.
+
+Eight years have passed in the course of the story; Lavretski returns
+one morning in spring to the old mansion. It is now inhabited by a new
+generation, for the children have become young men and women, with new
+sentiments and interests. The new-comer, hardly recognized by them,
+finds them in the midst of their games. The story opened in the same
+way, and we seem to have gone back to the beginning of it. Lavretski
+seats himself upon the same spot where he once pressed for a moment in
+his the hand of the dear one, who ever since that blissful hour has
+been counting the beads of her rosary in a cloister.
+
+The young birds of the old nest can give no answer to the questions he
+longs to ask, for they have quite forgotten the vanished one; and they
+return to their game, in which they are quite absorbed. He reflects,
+in his desolation, how the self-same words describe the same scene of
+other days: nature’s smile is quite the same; the same joys are new to
+other children; just as, in a sonata of Chopin’s, the original theme
+of the melody recurs in the finale.
+
+In this romance, the melancholy contrast between the perennity of
+nature and the change and decay of man through the cruel and pitiless
+work of time is very strikingly portrayed. We have become so attached
+to the former characters painted by our author, that these children, in
+the heyday of their lives, are almost hateful to us.
+
+I am strongly tempted to quote these pages in full, but they would lose
+too much in being separated from what precedes them; and, unwillingly
+leaving the subject, I can only apply to Turgenef his own words in
+regard to one of his heroes:―
+
+“He possessed the great secret of that divine eloquence which is music;
+for he knew a way to touch certain chords in the heart which would send
+a vibrating thrill through all the others.”
+
+The “Nest of Nobles” established the author’s renown. Such a strange
+world is this that poets, conquerors, women also, gain the hearts of
+men the more effectually by making them suffer and weep. All Russia
+shed tears over this book; and the unhappy Liza became the model for
+all the young girls. No romantic work since “Paul and Virginia” had
+produced such an effect upon the people. The author seems to have
+been haunted by this type of woman. His Ellen in “On the Eve” has the
+same indomitable will. She has a serious, reserved, and obstinate
+nature, has been reared in solitude; and, free from all outside
+influences, and scorning all obstacles, she is capable of the most
+complete self-renunciation. But in this instance the circumstances are
+quite different. The beloved one is quite free, but cast out by his
+family. As Liza fled to the cloister in spite of the supplications of
+her friends, so Ellen joins her lover and devotes herself to him, not
+suspecting for a moment her act to be in any way a criminal one; but it
+is redeemed, in any case, by her devoted constancy through a life of
+many trials. These studies of character show a keen observation of the
+national temperament. The man is irresolute, the woman decided; she it
+is who rules fate, knows what she wants to do, and does it. Everything
+which, with our ideas, would seem in a young girl like boldness and
+immodesty, is pictured by the artist with such simplicity and delicacy
+that we are tempted to see in it only the freedom of a courageous,
+undaunted spirit. These upright and passionate natures which he creates
+seem capable of anything but fear, treachery, and deceit.
+
+The poet seems to have poured the accumulated emotion of his whole
+youth into the “Nest of Nobles” as a vent to the long repressed
+sentiment of his inmost heart. He now set himself to study the social
+conditions of the life around him; and in the midst of the great
+intellectual movement of 1860, on the eve of the emancipation, he
+wrote “Fathers and Sons.” This book marks a date in the history of the
+Russian mind. The novelist had the rare good-fortune to recognize a new
+growth of thought, and to give it a fixed form and name, which no other
+had been able to do.
+
+In “Fathers and Sons,” an old man of the past generation, discussing
+his character of Bazarof, asked: “What is your opinion of
+Bazarof?”―“What is he?―he is a _nihilist_,” replied a young disciple
+of the terrible medical student.―“What do you say?”―“I say he is a
+_nihilist_!”―“Nihilist?” repeated the old man. “Ah, yes! that comes
+from the Latin word _nihil_, and our Russian word _nitchevo_; as
+well as I can judge, that must be a man who will neither acknowledge
+nor admit anything.”―“Say, rather,” added another, “who respects
+nothing.”―“Who considers everything from a critical point of view,”
+resumed the young man.―“That is just the same thing.”―“No, it is
+not the same thing; a nihilist is a man who bows to no authority, and
+will admit no principle as an article of faith, no matter how deeply
+respected that principle may be.”
+
+We must go back still farther than the Latin to find the root of the
+word and the philosophy it expresses; to the old Aryan stock, of which
+the Slavonic race is one of the main branches. Nihilism is the Hindu
+_nirvâna_; the yielding of the primitive man before the power of matter
+and the obscurity of the moral world; and the nirvâna necessarily
+engenders a furious reaction in the conquered being, a blind effort to
+destroy that universe which can crush and circumvent him. But I have
+already touched upon this subject, which is too voluminous to dwell
+upon here. So Nihilism, as we understand it, is only in its embryo
+state in this famous book of Turgenef’s. I would merely call the
+attention of the reader to another passage in this book which reveals a
+finer understanding of the word than volumes written upon the subject.
+It is in another discussion of Bazarof’s character, this time between
+an intelligent young girl and a young disciple of Bazarof, who honestly
+believes himself a nihilist. She says:―
+
+“Your Bazarof you cannot understand, neither can he understand
+you.”―“How so?”―“How can I explain it?… He is a wild animal, and we,
+you and I, are tamed animals.”
+
+This comparison shows clearly the shade of difference between Russian
+Nihilism and the similar mental maladies from which human nature has
+suffered from time immemorial down to the present day.
+
+This hero of Turgenef’s has many traits in common with the Indian
+heroes of Fenimore Cooper, who are armed with a tomahawk, instead of
+a surgeon’s knife. Bazarof’s sons seem, at first sight, much like our
+revolutionists; but examine them more closely, and you will discover
+the distinction between the wild and the tamed beast. Our worst
+revolutionists are savage dogs, but the Russian nihilist is a wolf; and
+we now know that the wolf’s rage is the more dangerous of the two.
+
+See how Bazarof dies! He has contracted blood-poison by dissecting the
+body of a typhoid subject. He knows that he is lost. He endures his
+agony in mute, haughty, stolid silence; it is the agony of the wild
+beast with a ball in his body. The nihilist surpasses the stoic; he
+does not try to complete his task before death; there is nothing that
+is worth doing.
+
+The novelist has exhausted his art to create a deplorable character,
+which, however, is not really odious to us, excepting as regards
+his inhumanity, his scorn for everything we venerate. These seem
+intolerable to us. With the tamed animal, this would indicate
+perversion, disregard of all rules; but in the wild beast it is
+instinct, a resistance wholly natural. Our moral sense is ingeniously
+disarmed by the author, before this victim of fate.
+
+Turgenef’s creative power and minute observation of details in this
+work have never been excelled by him at any period of his literary
+career. It is very difficult, however, to quote passages of his,
+because he never writes single pages or paragraphs for their individual
+effect; but every detail is of value to the _ensemble_ of the work.
+I will merely quote a passing sketch of a character, which seems to
+me remarkably true to life; that of a man of his own country and his
+own time; a high functionary of St. Petersburg; a future statesman,
+who had gone into one of the provinces to examine the petty government
+officials.
+
+“Matthew Ilitch belonged to what were called the younger politicians.
+Although hardly over forty years of age, he was already aiming to
+obtain a high position in the Government, and wore two orders on his
+breast. One of them, however, was a foreign, and quite an ordinary
+one. He passed for one of the progressive party, as well as the
+official whom he came to examine. He had a high opinion of himself;
+his personal vanity was boundless, although he affected an air of
+studied simplicity, gave you a look of encouragement, listened with
+an indulgent patience. He laughed so good-naturedly that, at first,
+you would take him for a ‘good sort of fellow.’ But, on certain
+occasions, he knew how to throw dust in your eyes. ‘It is necessary
+to be energetic,’ he used to say; ‘energy is the first quality of the
+statesman.’ In spite of all, he was often duped; for any petty official
+with a little experience could lead him by the nose at will.
+
+“Matthew Ilitch often spoke of Guizot with admiration; he tried to have
+every one understand that he did not belong to the category of those
+who followed one routine; but that he was attentive to every phase and
+possible requirement of social life. He kept himself familiar with all
+contemporary literature, as he was accustomed to say, in an off-hand
+way. He was a tricky and adroit courtier, nothing more; he really knew
+nothing of public affairs, and his views were of no value whatever; but
+he understood managing his own affairs admirably well; on this point he
+could not be duped. Is not that, after all, the principal thing?”
+
+In the intervals of these important works, Turgenef often wrote little
+simple sketches, in the style of his “Annals of a Sportsman.” There
+are more than twenty of these exquisitely delicate compositions. One
+of them, entitled “Assia,”[H] of about sixty pages, is a perfect gem
+in its way, and is a souvenir of his student-life in Germany, and of a
+love-passage experienced there.
+
+The young student loves a young Russian girl without being quite
+conscious of his passion. His love being evidently reciprocated, the
+young girl, wounded by his hesitation, suddenly disappears, and he
+knows too late what he has lost. I will quote at hazard a few lines
+of this poem in prose, which is only the prelude of this unconscious
+passion.
+
+The two young people are walking, one summer evening, on the banks of
+the Rhine.
+
+“I stood and looked upon her, bathed as she was in the bright rays of
+the setting sun. Her face was calm and sweet. Everything around us was
+beaming with intensity of light; earth, air, and water.
+
+“‘How beautiful it is!’ I said, involuntarily lowering my voice.
+
+“‘Yes,’ she said, in the same tone, without raising her eyes. ‘If we
+were birds, you and I, would we not soar away and fly? … we should be
+lost in those azure depths…. But―we are not birds.’
+
+“‘Our wings may grow,’ I replied. ‘Only live on and you will see. There
+are feelings which can raise us above this earth. Fear not; you will
+have your wings.’
+
+“‘And you,’ she said; ‘have you ever felt this?’
+
+“‘It seems to me that I never did, until this moment,’ I said.
+
+“Assia was silent, and seemed absorbed in thought. I drew nearer to
+her. Suddenly she said:―
+
+“‘Do you waltz?’ ‘Yes,’ I replied, somewhat perplexed by this question.
+
+“‘Come, then,’ she said; ‘I will ask my brother to play a waltz for us.
+We will imagine we are flying, and that our wings have grown….’
+
+“It was late when I left her. On recrossing the Rhine, when midway
+between the two shores, I asked the ferryman to let the boat drift with
+the current. The old man raised the oars, and the royal stream bore
+us on. I looked around me, listened, and reflected. I had a feeling
+of unrest, and felt a sudden pang at my heart. I raised my eyes to
+the heavens; but even there there was no tranquillity. Dotted with
+glittering stars, the whole firmament was palpitating and quivering.
+I leaned over the water; there were the same stars, trembling and
+gleaming in its cold, gloomy depths. The agitation of nature all
+around me only increased my own. I leaned my elbows upon the edge of
+the boat; the night wind, murmuring in my ears, and the dull plashing
+of the water against the rudder irritated my nerves, which the cool
+exhalations from the water could not calm. A nightingale was singing
+on the shore, and his song seemed to fill me with a delicious poison.
+Tears filled my eyes, I knew not why. What I now felt was not that
+aspiration toward the Infinite, that love for universal nature, with
+which my whole being had been filled of late; but I was consumed by a
+thirst, a longing for happiness,―I could not yet call it by its name,
+but for a happiness beyond expression, even if it should annihilate me.
+It was almost an agony of mingled joy and pain.
+
+“The boat floated on, while the old boatman sat and slept, leaning
+forward upon his oars.”
+
+
+                                  IV.
+
+The emancipation of the serfs, the dream of Turgenef’s life, had become
+an accomplished fact, and was, moreover, the inaugurator of other
+great reforms. There was a general joyous awakening of secret forces
+and of hopes long deferred. The years following 1860, which were so
+momentous for Russia, wrought a change in the interior life of the
+poet and author. Torn from his native land by the ties of a deathless
+friendship, to which he unreservedly devoted the remainder of his life,
+he left Russia, never to return except at very rare intervals. He
+established himself first at Baden, afterwards settled permanently in
+Paris. Every desire of his heart as man, author, and patriot had been
+gratified. He had helped to bring about the emancipation. His literary
+fame followed him, and his works were translated into many languages.
+
+But, after some years of silence and repose, this poet’s soul, which
+through youth had rejoiced in its dreams and anticipations, suffered
+the change which must come to our poor human nature. He was not
+destined in his old age to realize his ideals.
+
+In 1868 his great novel “Smoke” appeared. It exhibited the same talent,
+riper than ever with the maturity of age; but the old faith and candor
+were wanting. Were we speaking of any other man, we should say that he
+had become bitter; but that would be an exaggeration in speaking of
+Turgenef, for there was no gall in his temperament. But there are the
+pathetic touches of a disenchanted idealist, astonished to find that
+his most cherished ideas, applied to men, cannot make them perfect.
+This sort of disappointment sometimes carries an author to injustice;
+his pencil shades certain characters too intensely, so that they are
+less true to nature than those of his older works. The phase of society
+described in “Smoke” exhibits a class of Russians living abroad, who
+do not, perhaps, retain in their foreign home the best qualities of
+their native soil: noble lords and questionable ladies, students and
+conspirators. The scene is laid at Baden, where the author could study
+society at his leisure. Of this confusing throng of army officers,
+rusticating princesses, boastful Slavophiles, and travelling clerks,
+he has given us many a vivid glimpse. But the book, as a whole, is an
+exaggeration; and this impression is all the stronger as the author
+evidently does not consider his characters of an exceptional type, but
+intends to faithfully represent Russian society, both high and low.
+Moreover, the artist has modified his style. He formerly presented his
+array of ideas, and left his readers to judge of them for themselves;
+but now he often puts himself in the reader’s place, and expresses his
+own opinion very freely.
+
+For the novelist or dramatist there are two ways of presenting moral
+theses; with or without his personal intervention. We will take the
+most familiar examples. In Victor Hugo’s “Les Misérables,” there are
+two conceptions of duty and virtue, which are perfectly antagonistic,
+personified by Jean Valjean and Javert. They are so perfectly drawn
+that we might almost hesitate between them; but the author throws
+the whole weight of his eloquence on the one; he deifies one and
+depreciates the other, so that he forces the verdict from us. But in
+“Le Gendre de M. Poirier,” on the contrary, there are two conceptions
+of honor; two sets of irreconcilable ideas; those of the Marquis de
+Presle, and those of his father-in-law. The author keeps himself in the
+background. He presents his two characters with the same clear analyses
+of their merits and absurdities; and shows both the weak and the strong
+points of their arguments. Even to the very end we hesitate to judge
+between them; and it is this conflict of ideas which keeps up the
+interest of the drama.
+
+For myself, I prefer the second method. Besides being more artistic,
+it seems to approach nearer to real life, in which we can never see
+truth clearly, and in which good and evil are always so closely allied.
+Turgenef embraced this method in all his first studies of social life,
+and they were more just and true, in my opinion, than his later ones.
+In the last two, “Smoke” and “Virgin Soil,” he interferes noticeably,
+bringing forward his own opinions; but I acknowledge that these
+books contain many passages overflowing with vivid fancy and strong
+common-sense. He satirizes everything he disapproves, the _Slavophile_
+party, all the national peculiarities, especially that mania for
+declaring everything perfect that springs from Russian soil. His shafts
+of wit, which he employs to illustrate this infatuation, are very keen;
+for example, when he speaks of the “literature which is bound in Russia
+leather”; and when he says, “in my country two and two make four, but
+with more certainty than elsewhere.”
+
+After emptying his quiver, the author describes a love intrigue, in
+which he shows as ever his marvellous knowledge of the human heart.
+But here again his style has changed. Formerly he wrote of youthful
+affection, a loyal emotion, frank and courageous enough to brave the
+whole world; and woman seemed to interest him only in her early youth.
+But he depicts in “Smoke” and “Spring Floods” the most cruel passions,
+with their agonies, deceptions, and bottomless abysses. The virtuous
+young girl invariably comes in, but as if held in reserve to save
+the repentant sinner at the end. Some may prefer these tempestuous
+compositions to the delicious poetic harmonies of his first romances.
+It is a matter of taste, and I would not decry the real merit of
+“Smoke,” which is a masterpiece in its way. I only affirm that on
+the approach of the evening of life the translucent soul of the poet
+has given us glimpses of sombre clouds and stormy skies. At the end
+of “Spring Floods,” after that wonderful scene, so true to life,
+exhibiting the weakness of the man and the diabolical power of the
+woman, there follow a few pages so full of rancor that you can but feel
+pity for the writer who can express such bitterness.
+
+In 1877, “Virgin Soil,” the last long important work, appeared:
+first in French, in a Paris journal, as if to feel its way; then the
+original could be risked in Russia with impunity, and had a free
+circulation. What a marked change the march of ideas had produced since
+the appearance of Turgenef’s article on Gogol! In this new work the
+author traversed a road which once would have led directly to Siberia.
+He had the ambition to describe the subterranean world which at that
+time was beginning to threaten the peace of the Empire. Having studied
+for twenty-five years every current of thought springing from Russian
+soil, the student thought to perfect his task by showing us the natural
+outgrowth of these currents. Since they disappeared under the earth,
+they must be investigated and attacked with a bold front.
+
+Turgenef was incited to the work partly from the appearance of a rival,
+who had already preceded him in this line. We shall see that “Virgin
+Soil” was an indirect response to “Les Possédés” of Dostoyevski. The
+effort was not wholly successful; as Turgenef had been away from his
+native land for fifteen years, he had not been able to watch narrowly
+enough the incessant transformation of that hidden, almost inaccessible
+world. Without the closest study from nature the artist’s work cannot
+produce striking results. The novelist intended to present the still
+unsettled tendencies of the nihilists in a characteristic and fixed
+form; but he failed to give clearness and outline to the work; the
+image refused to reflect its true form. This is why there is something
+vague and indistinct about the first part of “Virgin Soil,” which
+contrasts unfavorably with the clear-cut models of his early works.
+
+The author introduces us into the circle of conspirators at St.
+Petersburg. One of the young men, Neshdanof, has been engaged as
+a tutor in the house of a rich government official, in a distant
+province. He there meets a young girl of noble family, who is treated
+as a poor relation in the house. She is embittered by a long series
+of humiliations, and is struck with admiration for the ideas of the
+young apostle, more than for his personal attractions. They escape
+together, and form a Platonic union, working together among the common
+people, at the great cause of socialism. But Neshdanof is not fitted
+for the terrible work; he is a weak character, and a dreamer and poet.
+Distracted with doubts, and wholly discouraged, he soon discovers that
+all is chaos within his soul. He does not love the cause to which he
+is sacrificing himself, and he knows not how best to serve it. Neither
+does he love the woman who has sacrificed herself for him, and he feels
+that he has lowered himself in her esteem. Weary of life, too proud to
+withdraw, and generous enough to wish to save his devoted companion
+before her reputation is lost, Neshdanof takes his life. He has found
+out that one of his friends, with more character than himself, has
+a secret attachment for Marianne. Before dying he joins the hands
+of those two enthusiastic beings. The romance ends with a fruitless
+conspiracy, which shows the utter uselessness of attempting to stir the
+people to revolution.
+
+Other revolutionary characters dimly float before the reader’s vision,
+who whisper unintelligible words. Those from among the higher classes
+are treated even more harshly than in “Smoke.” They have the same
+self-sufficiency, and are equally absurd without a single merit; and
+you feel that they are presented in a false light. Hence the work is
+abounding in caricatures, and shows a want of balance as a whole.
+
+On the other hand, the apostles of the new faith are surrounded with a
+halo of generosity and devotion. Between extreme egotism on one side,
+and stern faith and utter self-abnegation on the other, the idealist’s
+choice must fall. Naturally, the poet’s warm heart draws him to the
+most disinterested party of the two. He invests these rude natures with
+delicate sentiments, which clothe them with poetry; concealing from us,
+and even from himself, the revolting contrasts they present, and their
+brutal instincts. The wolfish, energetic Bazarof was of a type more
+true to nature.
+
+I think that Turgenef’s sensibility led him astray in his conception
+of the nihilists; while his good-sense did justice to their ideas,
+exhibited the puerility of their discourses and the uselessness of
+their blind hopes. The most valuable part of the book is where the
+writer demonstrates by facts the utter impossibility of uniting the
+propagandists and the people. Abstract arguments make no impression
+upon the peasant’s dull brain. Neshdanof attempts an harangue in an
+ale-house; the peasants force him to drink. The second glass of _vodka_
+intoxicates him completely, and he staggers away amid jeers and shouts.
+Another man, who tries to stir a village to revolt, is bound and given
+over to justice.
+
+At times Turgenef strikes exactly at the root of the evil, shows
+up the glaring faults of the revolutionary spirit, and exposes its
+weakness. Assuming too much responsibility, the nihilists wish to raise
+an ignorant populace at once to the intellectual heights they have
+themselves reached; forgetting that time alone can accomplish such a
+miracle. They have recourse to cabalistic formulas, but their efforts
+are fruitless. The poet sees and explains all this; but, being a poet,
+he allows himself to be seduced by the sentimental beauty of the
+sacrifice, losing sight of the object; while the proved uselessness of
+the sacrifice only redoubles his indulgence towards the victims.
+
+This brings me to a point where I am obliged to touch upon a delicate
+subject. Certain political claims, discussed over the author’s tomb,
+have caused much anxiety in Russia; and bitter resentment threatened
+to mingle with the national grief. The Moscow papers published several
+severe articles about him before his death, in consequence of the
+appearance of his “Memoirs of a Nihilist” in a French paper. This
+autobiographical sketch is not a work of the imagination, for he
+obtained the story from the lips of a fellow-countryman who had escaped
+from a prison in Russia.
+
+This curious essay has the ring of truth about it, and no attempt
+at recrimination; giving an example of that strange psychological
+peculiarity of the Russian, who studies so attentively the moral effect
+of suffering upon his soul that he forgets to accuse the authors of his
+suffering. The sketch recalls vividly certain pages of Dostoyevski’s.
+But Turgenef’s ideas were not, at this time, well received by the
+Russians. They resented the too indulgent tone of his writings, and
+accused him of complicity with the enemies of the Empire. The radicals
+wished to claim him for their own; and it was hinted that he subscribed
+to support a seditious journal. This is, however, entirely improbable.
+Turgenef was open-hearted and generous to a fault. He gave freely and
+indiscriminately to any one that was suffering. His door and his purse
+were open to any fellow-countryman without reserve, and kind words were
+ever ready to flow from his lips. But, though always ready to help
+others, he certainly never gave his aid to any political intriguer. Was
+it natural that a man of his refinement and high culture should have
+aided the schemes of wild and fruitless political conspiracies? With
+the liberal ideas he adopted during his university life in Germany, in
+early youth, he was more inclined to cherish political dreams than to
+put his liberalism into practice. In fact, it is only necessary to read
+“Virgin Soil” attentively, to understand the position he proposed to
+maintain.
+
+But I am dwelling too long upon the political standing of a poet. This
+man, who was honest and true in the highest degree in all relations of
+life, must have been the same as to his politics. Those who questioned
+the colors he bore could ill afford to criticise him.
+
+About this time, Turgenef wrote five or six tales; one of which (“A
+Lear of the Steppe”), for its intensity of feeling, recalls the most
+beautiful parts of “The Annals of a Sportsman.” But I must not dwell
+upon these, but give a little attention to the productions of our
+author as a whole.
+
+
+                                   V.
+
+Ivan Sergievitch (Turgenef) has given us a most complete picture of
+Russian society. The same general types are always brought forward;
+and, as later writers have presented exactly similar ones, with but
+few modifications, we are forced to believe them true to life. First,
+the peasant; meek, resigned, dull, pathetic in suffering, like a
+child who does not know why he suffers; naturally sharp and tricky
+when not stupefied by liquor; occasionally roused to violent passion.
+Then, the intelligent middle class; the small landed proprietors of
+two generations. The old proprietor is ignorant and good-natured, of
+respectable family, but with coarse habits; hard, from long experience
+of serfdom, servile himself, but admirable in all other relations of
+life.
+
+The young man of this class is of quite a different type. His
+intellectual growth having been too rapid, he sometimes plunges into
+Nihilism. He is often well educated, melancholy, rich in ideas but poor
+in executive ability; always preparing and expecting to accomplish
+something of importance, filled with vague and generous projects for
+the public good. This is the chosen type of hero in all Russian novels.
+Gogol introduced it, and Tolstoï prefers it above all others.
+
+The favorite hero of young girls and romantic women is neither the
+brilliant officer, the artist, nor rich lord, but almost universally
+this provincial Hamlet, conscientious, cultivated, intelligent, but of
+feeble will, who, returning from his studies in foreign lands, is full
+of scientific theories about the improvement of mankind and the good of
+the lower classes, and eager to apply these theories on his own estate.
+It is quite necessary that he should have an estate of his own. He will
+have the hearty sympathy of the reader in his efforts to improve the
+condition of his dependents.
+
+The Russians well understand the conditions of the future prosperity of
+their country; but, as they themselves acknowledge, they know not how
+to go to work to accomplish it.
+
+In regard to the women of this class, Turgenef, strange to say, has
+little to say of the mothers. This probably reveals the existence
+of some old wound, some bitter experience of his own. Without a
+single exception, all the mothers in his novels are either wicked or
+grotesque. He reserves the treasures of his poetic fancy for the young
+girls of his creation. To him the young girl of the country province
+is the corner-stone of the fabric of society. Reared in the freedom
+of country life, placed in the most healthy social conditions, she
+is conscientious, frank, affectionate, without being romantic; less
+intelligent than man, but more resolute. In each of his romances an
+irresolute man is invariably guided by a woman of strong will.
+
+Such are, generally speaking, the characters the author describes,
+which bear so unmistakably the stamp of nature that one cannot refrain
+from saying as he closes the book, “These must be portraits from life!”
+which criticism is always the highest praise, the best sanction of
+works of the imagination.
+
+But something is wanting to fully complete the picture of Russian
+life. Turgenef never has written of the highest class in society
+except incidentally and in his later works, and then in his bitterest
+vein. He was never drawn to this class, and was, besides, prejudiced
+against it. The charming young girl, suddenly raised to a position in
+this circle, becomes entirely perverted―is changed into a frivolous
+woman, with most disagreeable peculiarities of mind and temperament.
+The man, elevated to the new dignities of a high public position, adds
+to his native irresolution ostentatious pride and folly. We are forced
+to question these hasty and extreme statements. We must wait for Leo
+Tolstoï before forming our opinions. He will give us precisely the
+same types of the lower and middle classes as his predecessor; but he
+will also give a most complete analysis of the statesman, the courtier,
+and the noble dames of the court. He will finish the edifice, the
+foundations of which Turgenef has so admirably laid. Not that we expect
+of our author the complicated intrigues and extraordinary adventures of
+the old French romances. He shows us life as it is, not through a magic
+lantern. Facts interest him but little, for he only regards them as
+to their influence on the human soul. He loved to study character and
+sentiment, to seek the simplest personages of every-day life; and the
+great secret of his power lies in his having felt such deep interest
+in his models that his characters are never prosaic, while absolutely
+true to life. He says of Neshdanof, in “Virgin Soil”: “He makes realism
+poetic.” These, his own words, may be justly applied to himself. In
+exquisite and good taste he has, in fact, no rival. On every page we
+find a tender grace like the ineffable freshness of morning dew. A
+phrase of George Eliot’s, in “Adam Bede,” may well apply to him: “Words
+came to me as tears come when the heart is full and we cannot prevent
+them.”
+
+No writer ever had more sentiment or a greater horror of
+sentimentality; none could better express in a single phrase such
+crises, such remarkable situations. This reserve power makes his work
+unique in Russian literature, which is always diffuse and elaborate. In
+his most unimportant productions there is an artistic conciseness equal
+to that of the great masters of the ancient classics. Such qualities,
+made still more effective by a perfection of style and a diction always
+correct and sometimes most exquisite, give to Turgenef a very high
+position in contemporary literature. Taine considered him one of the
+most perfect artists the world has produced since the classic period.
+English criticism, generally considered somewhat cold, and not given to
+exaggeration, places him among writers of the very first rank.
+
+I subscribe to this opinion whenever I take up any of his works to read
+once again; then I hesitate when I think of that marvellous Tolstoï,
+who captivates my imagination and makes me suspend my judgment. We must
+leave these questions of precedence for the future to decide.
+
+After the appearance of “Virgin Soil,” although Turgenef’s talent
+suffered no change, and his intelligence was as keen as ever, his mind
+seemed to need repose, and to be groping for some hidden path, as is
+often the case with young authors at the beginning of their career.
+There were good reasons for this condition of discouragement. Turgenef
+reaped many advantages, and some disadvantages, from his prolonged
+sojourn in our midst. At first, the study of new masters and the
+friendships and advice of Mérimée, were of great use to him. To this
+literary intercourse may be attributed the rare culture, clearness,
+and precision of his works, as distinguished from any other prose
+writer of his country. Later on he became an enthusiastic admirer of
+Flaubert, and made some excellent translations of his works. Then,
+next to the pioneers of the “School of Nature,” he adhered to their
+successors, fondly imagining himself to be one of them, giving ear
+to their doctrines, and making frantic efforts to conciliate these
+with his old ideals. Moreover, he felt himself more and more widely
+separated from his native land, the true source of all his ideas. He
+was sometimes reproached as a deserter. The tendencies of his last
+novels had aroused recrimination and scandal. Whenever he occasionally
+visited St. Petersburg or Moscow, he was received with ovations by the
+young men, but with extreme coldness in some circles. He was destined
+to live to see a part of his former adherents leave him and run to
+worship new idols. On his last appearance in Russia for the fêtes in
+honor of Pushkin, the Moscow students rushed to take him from his
+carriage, and bear him in their arms; but I remember that one day at
+St. Petersburg, returning from a visit to one of the nobility, Ivan
+Sergievitch (Turgenef) said to us, in a jesting tone, not quite free
+from bitterness: “Some one called me Ivan Nikolaievitch.”[I] This
+little inadvertency would to us seem quite pardonable, for here we
+are, fortunately, not obliged to know every one’s father’s name. But,
+considering Russian customs, this oversight in the case of a national
+celebrity was an offence, and showed that he was already beginning to
+be forgotten.
+
+About this time I had the good-fortune to pass an evening with Turgenef
+and Skobelef. The young general spoke with his habitual eloquence and
+warmth of his hopes for the future, and expressed many great thoughts.
+The old author listened in silence, studying him meanwhile with that
+pensive, concentrated expression of the artist when he wishes to
+reproduce an image in form and color. The model was posing for the
+painter, who meant to engraft this remarkable character into one of his
+books; but Death did not permit the hero to live out his romance, nor
+the poet to write it.
+
+One day in the spring of 1883, the last time I had the honor of seeing
+Ivan Sergievitch, we spoke of Skobelef. He said: “I shall soon follow
+him.”
+
+It was too true. He was suffering terribly from the mortal illness of
+which he died soon after―a cancer in the spinal marrow. His eyes
+rested upon a landscape of Rousseau, his favorite painter, which
+represented an ancient oak, torn by the storms of many winters, now
+shedding its last crimson leaves in a December gale. There was an
+affinity between the noble old man and this picture which he enjoyed
+looking upon, a secret and mutual understanding of the decrees of
+Nature.
+
+He published three tales after being attacked with this fatal
+disease. It is an example of the irony of fate that the last of
+these was entitled “Despair.” This was his last analysis of the
+Russian character, which he had made his study for so many years, and
+reproduced in all his works.
+
+A few days before his death he took up his pen to write a touching
+epistle to his friend, Leo Tolstoï. In this farewell the dying author
+bequeathed the care and honor of Russian literature to his friend and
+rival. I give the closing words of this letter:―
+
+“My very dear Leo Nikolaievitch, I have not written to you for a long
+time, for I have long been upon my death-bed. There is no chance for
+recovery; it is not to be thought of. I write expressly to tell you how
+very happy I am to have been a contemporary of yours; and to express a
+last, urgent request.
+
+“My friend, return to your literary labors. This gift has come to you
+from whence come all our gifts. Oh! how happy I should be could I feel
+that you will grant this request!…
+
+“My dear friend, great author of our beloved Russia, let me entreat you
+to grant me this request! Reply if this reaches you. I press you and
+yours to my heart for the last time. I can write no more…. I am weary!…”
+
+We can only hope that this exhortation will be obeyed by the only
+author worthy to take up the pen dropped by those valiant hands.
+
+Turgenef has left behind a rich legacy; for every page he ever wrote,
+with but very few exceptions, breathes a noble spirit; and his works
+will continue to elevate and warm the hearts of thousands.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+     [F] “Grande et riche, mais désordonnée.” This historical
+          phrase has become proverbial in Russia. It was used by
+          the deputies of the Slavs when they demanded foreign
+          chiefs to govern them.
+
+     [G]  Published in English under the name of “Liza.”
+
+     [H]  An English translation was published in 1884 under the
+          title “_Annouchka_,” a tale.
+
+     [I] (V)itch added to the father’s name (meaning son of) is
+          the masculine termination of proper names.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER V.
+
+                THE RELIGION OF ENDURANCE.―DOSTOYEVSKI.
+
+
+With Dostoyevski, that true Scythian, who will revolutionize all our
+previous habits of thought, we now enter into the heart of Moscow, with
+its giant cathedral of St. Basil, like a Chinese pagoda as to form
+and decoration, and built by Tartar architects; but dedicated to the
+worship of the Christian’s God.
+
+Turgenef and Dostoyevski, although contemporaries, belonging to the
+same school, and borne on by the same current of ideas, present in
+their respective works many sharply defined contrasts; still, they
+possess one quality in common, the outgrowth of the period in which
+they lived―sympathy for humanity. In Dostoyevski, this sympathy has
+developed into an intense pity for the humbler class, which regards him
+and believes in him as its master.
+
+All contemporary forms of art have secret bonds in common. The same
+causes and sentiments which inclined these Russian authors to the study
+of real life attracted the great French landscape-painters of the same
+epoch to a closer observation of nature. The works of Corot, Rousseau,
+and Millet present to me a perfect idea of the common tendencies and
+personal peculiarities of the three types of talent I am attempting
+to analyze. Whichever of these painters we prefer, we shall be likely
+to be attracted by the corresponding writer. I would not force such
+a comparison; but to me Turgenef has the grace and poetry of Corot;
+Tolstoï, the simple grandeur of Rousseau; Dostoyevski, the tragic
+severity of Millet.
+
+Dostoyevski’s romances have been translated into French, and, to my
+astonishment, they are greatly enjoyed by the French. This places
+me at ease in discussing him. I should never have been believed, in
+attempting to present an analysis of this strange character, if these
+books, which reflect and typify their author, had not been well known
+among us. At the same time, the books can scarcely be understood
+without some knowledge of the life of him who created them. I had
+almost said, whose life and sufferings were portrayed in them; but the
+one expression partly implies the other.
+
+On entering into an examination of the life and works of this man, I
+must present to the reader scenes invariably sad, sometimes terrible,
+sometimes funereal. Those persons should not attempt to read them
+who object to visiting hospitals, courts of justice, or prisons;
+or who have a horror of visiting graveyards at night. I cannot
+conscientiously throw a cheerful glamour upon what both destiny and
+character have made sombre throughout. Some will, at least, follow me
+with confidence. At all events, the Russia of the past twenty years
+will remain an inexplicable enigma to those who ignore the work which
+has made the most lasting impression upon this country, and shaken
+it to its foundations. We must, then, examine the books which have
+performed such a work, and, first of all, and more dramatic than all,
+the life of him who conceived them.
+
+
+                                   I.
+
+He was born at Moscow, in 1821, in the charity hospital. Destiny
+decreed that his eyes should first open upon the sad spectacle which
+was to be ever before them, and upon the most terrible forms of
+misery. His father, a retired military surgeon, was attached to this
+establishment. His family belonged to one of those lower orders of
+the nobility from which minor functionaries are generally chosen, and
+possessed a small estate and a few serfs in the province of Tula.
+The child was sometimes taken out to this country place; and these
+first visions of country life occasionally reappear in his works, but
+very rarely. Contrary to the habit of the other Russian authors, who
+adore nature, and especially love the place where they were reared,
+Dostoyevski is not attracted in this direction. He is a psychologist;
+the human soul absorbs his entire vision; the scenes of his choice are
+the suburbs of large cities, and miserable alleys. In his childish
+recollections, which almost invariably give their coloring to an
+author’s mind, you never feel the influence of peaceful woods and
+broad, open skies. The source from whence his imagination draws its
+supplies will give you glimpses of hospital courts, pallid faces under
+the regulation white cap, and forms clothed in brown robes; and you
+will encounter the timid gaze of the “Degraded” and “Insulted.”
+
+Dostoyevski was one of a numerous family of children, and his life
+as a child was not one of luxury. After leaving a Moscow school, his
+father procured admission for the two elder sons, Alexis and Feodor, to
+the military engineering school at St. Petersburg. The two brothers,
+bound together by a common aptitude for literature, were always deeply
+attached to each other, and greatly depended, in all the crises of
+life, upon each other’s mutual support. We gain much knowledge of
+the interior life of Feodor Mikhailovitch, (Dostoyevski) through his
+letters to his brother Alexis in his “Correspondence.” Both felt
+themselves out of place in this school, which, for them, took the
+place of a University training. A classical education was just what
+Dostoyevski needed; it would have given him that refinement and balance
+which is gained by an early training in the best literature. He made up
+for the want of it as best he could, by reading Pushkin and Gogol, and
+the French romance-writers, Balzac, Eugene Sue, and George Sand, who
+seems to have had a strong influence upon his imagination. But Gogol
+was his favorite master. The humble world which attracted him most was
+revealed to him in “Dead Souls.”
+
+Leaving the school in 1843 with the grade of sub-lieutenant, he did
+not long wear his engineer’s uniform. A year later he sent in his
+resignation, to devote himself exclusively to literary occupations.
+From this day, the fierce struggle of our author with poverty began
+which was to last forty years. After the father’s death the meagre
+patrimony was divided among the children, and it quickly vanished.
+The young Feodor undertook translations for journals and publishers.
+For forty years his correspondence, which recalls that of Balzac, was
+one long agonizing lament; a recapitulation of debts accumulating and
+weighing upon him, a complaint of the slavish life he led. For years he
+is never sure of his daily bread, except in the convict prison.
+
+Although Dostoyevski became hardened to material privations, he was not
+proof against the moral wounds which poverty inflicts; the pitiable
+pride which formed the foundation of his character suffered terribly
+from everything which betrayed his poverty. You feel the existence
+of this open wound in his letters; and all his heroes, the real
+incarnations of his own soul, suffer the same torture. Moreover, he was
+really ill, a victim of shattered nerves; and he became so visionary
+that he believed himself threatened with every imaginable disease. He
+left on his table sometimes, before retiring for the night, a paper
+upon which he wrote: “I may to-night fall into a lethargic sleep; be
+careful not to bury me before a certain number of days.” This was no
+trick of the imagination, but a presentiment of the fatal malady, of
+which he then felt the first symptoms. It has been stated that he
+contracted it in Siberia later than this; but a friend of his youth
+assures me that at this very time he was in the habit of falling down
+in the street foaming at the mouth. He always was, what he seemed to us
+to be in his latter years, but a frail bundle of irritable nerves; a
+feminine soul in the frame of a Russian peasant; reserved, savage, full
+of hallucinations; while the deepest tenderness filled his heart when
+he looked upon the sufferings of the lower classes.
+
+His work was his sole consolation and delight. He narrates in his
+letters projected plots for his romances with the most genuine
+enthusiasm; and the recollection of these first transports makes him
+put into the mouth of one of his characters, drawn from himself, the
+novelist who figures in “The Degraded and Insulted,”[J] the following
+expressions:―
+
+“If I ever was happy, it was not during the first intoxicating moments
+of success, but at the time when I had never read nor shown my
+manuscript to any one; during those long nights, passed in enthusiastic
+dreams and hopes, when I passionately loved my work; when I lived with
+my fancies, with the characters created by me, as with real relatives,
+living beings. I loved them; I rejoiced or mourned with them, and I
+have actually shed bitter tears over the misfortunes of my poor hero.”
+
+His first tale, “Poor People,” contained the germ of all the rest.
+He wrote it at the age of twenty-three. During the latter years of
+his life, he used to relate the story of this first venture. The poor
+little engineer knew not a single soul in the literary world, or what
+to do with his manuscript. One of his comrades, Grigorovitch, who
+became a man of considerable literary reputation, has confirmed this
+anecdote. He carried the manuscript to Nekrasof, the poet, and friend
+of poor authors.
+
+At three o’clock in the morning, Dostoyevski heard a knock at his door.
+It was Grigorovitch, who brought Nekrasof in with him. The poet threw
+himself upon the young stranger’s neck, showing strong emotion. He had
+been up the whole night, reading the tale, and was perfectly carried
+away with it. He too lived the cautious and hidden life which at that
+time was the lot of every Russian writer. These two repressed hearts,
+mutually and irresistibly attracted to each other, now overflowed
+with all the generous enthusiasm of youth. The dawn of day found the
+three enthusiasts still absorbed in an exalted conversation and an
+interchange of thoughts, hopes, and artistic and poetical dreams.
+
+On leaving his protégé, Nekrasof went directly to Bielinski, the oracle
+of Russian literature, the only critic formidable to young beginners.
+“A new Gogol is born to us!” cried the poet, as he entered his friend’s
+house. “Gogols sprout up nowadays like mushrooms,” replied the critic,
+with his most forbidding air, as he took up the manuscript, handling
+it as if it were something poisonous, in the same way that all great
+critics of every country treat new manuscripts. But when Bielinski had
+read the manuscript through, its effect upon him was magical; so that
+when the trembling young man presented himself before his judge, the
+latter cried out excitedly:―
+
+“Do you comprehend, young man, all the truth that you have described?
+No! at your age, that is quite impossible. This is a revelation of
+art, an inspiration, a gift from on high. Reverence, preserve this
+gift! and you will become a great writer!”
+
+A few months later “Poor People” appeared in periodical review,
+and Russia ratified the verdict of its great critic. Bielinski’s
+astonishment was justifiable; for it seems incredible that any person
+of twenty could have produced a tragedy at once so simple and so
+heart-rending. In youth, happiness is our science, learned without a
+master, and we invent grand, heroic, showy misfortunes, and anguish
+which blazons its own sublimity. But how had this unhappy genius
+learned the meaning of that hidden, dumb, wearing misery before his
+time?
+
+It is but an ordinary story, told in a correspondence between two
+persons. An inferior clerk in a court of chancery, worn with years and
+toil, is passing on toward the decline of life, in a continual struggle
+with poverty and the accompanying tortures of wounded self-love. This
+ignorant and honest clerk, the butt of his comrades’ ridicule, ordinary
+in conversation, of only medium intelligence, whose whole ambition is
+to be a good copyist, possesses, under an almost grotesque exterior,
+a heart as fresh, open, and affectionate as that of a little child;
+and I might almost say, sublimely stupid, indifferent to his own
+interests, in his noble generosity. This is the chosen type of all the
+best Russian authors, the one which exemplifies what is noblest in the
+Russian character; as, for example, Turgenef’s Lukeria in the “Living
+Relics,” and the Karatayef of Tolstoï in “War and Peace.” But these are
+of the peasant class, whereas the character of Dievushkin, in “Poor
+People,” is raised some degrees higher in the intellectual and social
+scale.
+
+In this life, dark and cold as the long December night in Russia, there
+is one solitary ray of light, one single joy. In another poor lodging,
+just opposite the loft where the clerk copies his papers, lives a
+young girl, a distant relative, a solitary waif like himself, who can
+claim nothing in the world but the feeble protection of this friend.
+Both isolated, crushed by the brutal pressure of circumstances, these
+two unfortunates depend upon each other for mutual affection, as well
+as aid to keep them from starving. In the man’s affection there is a
+tender self-sacrifice, a delicacy, so much the more charming in that
+it accords not at all with the habitual bungling awkwardness of his
+ways and ideas; like a flower growing in sterile soil, among brambles,
+and betrayed only by its perfume. He imposes upon himself privations
+truly heroic, for the sake of comforting and gladdening the existence
+of his dear friend. These are, moreover, so well concealed that they
+are only discovered through some awkwardness on his part; as for him,
+they seem to him a matter of course. His sentiments are by turns those
+of a father, a brother, a good faithful dog. He would define them thus
+himself if called upon to analyze them. But although we well know a
+name for this feeling, let us not even whisper it to him; he would be
+overcome with shame at the mere mention of it.
+
+The woman’s character is drawn with marvellous art. She is very
+superior to her friend in mind and education; she guides him in all
+intellectual things, which are quite new to him. She is weak by nature,
+and tender-hearted, but less faithful and resigned than he. She has not
+wholly given up a desire for the good things of life. She continually
+protests against the sacrifices which Dievushkin imposes upon himself,
+she begs him not to trouble himself for her; but sometimes a longing
+cry for something she feels the deprivation of escapes her, or perhaps
+a childish desire for some trifle or finery. The two neighbors can
+only see each other occasionally, that they may give no occasion
+for malicious gossip, and an almost daily correspondence has been
+established between them. In these letters we read of their past, the
+hard lives they have lived, the little incidents of their every-day
+life, their disappointments; the terrors of the young girl, pursued
+by the vicious, who try to entrap her; the agonies of the poor clerk,
+working for his daily bread, trying so pitifully to preserve the
+dignity of his manhood through the cruel treatment of those who would
+strip him of it.
+
+Finally, the crisis comes; Dievushkin loses his only joy in life. You
+think, perhaps, that a young lover comes to steal her from him, that
+love will usurp in her heart the place of sisterly affection. Oh, no!
+the tale is much more human, far sadder.
+
+A man who had once before sought out this young girl, with possibly
+doubtful intentions, offers her his hand. He is middle-aged, rich, of
+rather questionable character; but his proposition is an honorable one.
+Weary of wrestling against fate, persuaded perhaps also that she may
+thereby lighten some of the burdens of her friend, the unfortunate girl
+accepts the offer. Here the study of character is absolutely true to
+nature. The young girl, going suddenly from extreme poverty to luxury,
+is intoxicated for a moment by this new atmosphere, fine dresses, and
+jewels! In her cruel ingenuousness, she fills the last letters with
+details upon these grave subjects. From force of habit, she asks this
+kind Dievushkin, who always made all her purchases, to do an errand
+at the jeweller’s for her. Can her soul be really base, unworthy of
+the pure sentiment she had inspired? Not for a moment does the reader
+have such an impression, the writer knows so well how to maintain true
+harmony in his delineation of character. No, it is only that a little
+of youth and human nature have come to the surface in the experience
+of this long repressed soul. How can we grudge her such a trifling
+pleasure?
+
+Then this cruelty is explained by the complete misapprehension of their
+reciprocal feelings. With her it is only a friendship, which will ever
+be faithful, grateful, if perhaps a little less single; how can she
+possibly understand that for him it is nothing short of despair?
+
+It had been arranged that the wedded pair should start immediately
+after the marriage for a distant province. Up to the very last hour,
+Dievushkin replies to her letters, giving her the most minute details
+of the shopping that he has done for her, making great efforts to
+become versed in the subject of laces and ribbons. He only occasionally
+betrays a hint of the terror which seizes him at the thought of the
+near separation; but finally, in the last letter, his wounded heart
+breaks; the unhappy man sees before him the blank desolation of his
+future life, solitary, empty; he is no longer conscious of what he
+writes; but, in spite of all, his utter distress is kept back; he
+himself seems hardly yet to realize the secret of his own agony. The
+drama ends with an agonizing wail of despair, when he is left standing
+alone, behind the departing train.
+
+I should like to quote many passages; I hesitate, and find none. This
+is the highest eulogium that can be bestowed upon a romance. The
+structure is so solid, the materials so simple, and so completely
+sacrificed to the impression of the whole, that a detached fragment
+quite loses its effect; it means no more than a single stone torn from
+a Greek temple, whose beauty consists in its general lines. This is the
+peculiar attribute of all the great Russian authors.
+
+Another trait is also common to them, in which Turgenef excelled, and
+in which perhaps Dostoyevski even surpassed him: the art of awaking
+with a single line, sometimes with a word, infinite harmonies, a whole
+series of sentiments and ideas. “Poor People” is a perfect specimen
+of this art. The words you read upon the paper seem to produce
+reverberations, as, when touching the key-board of an organ, the sounds
+produced awake, through invisible tubes, the great interior heart of
+harmony within the instrument, whence come its deepest tones of thunder.
+
+When you have read the last page you feel that you know the two
+characters as perfectly as if you had lived with them for years;
+moreover, the author has not told us a thousandth part of what we know
+of them, his mere indications are such revelations; for it seems he is
+especially effective in what he leaves unsaid, but merely suggests, and
+we are grateful to him for what he leaves us to imagine.
+
+Into this tender production Dostoyevski has poured his own nature, all
+his sensibility, his longing for sympathy and devotion, his bitter
+conception of life, his savage, pitiable pride. His own letters of
+this period are like Dievushkin’s, where he speaks of his inconceivable
+mortification on account of his “wretched overcoat.”
+
+In order to understand the high estimation of this work held by
+Bielinski and Nekrasof, and to realize its remarkable originality, we
+must remember its time and place in Russian literature. The “Annals of
+a Sportsman” did not appear until five years later. True, Gogol had
+furnished the theme in “Le Manteau,” but Dostoyevski substituted a
+suggestive emotion in place of his master’s fancy.
+
+He continued to write essays in the same vein, but they were less
+remarkable, and he even tried his hand at writing a farce; but destiny
+rudely led him back into his true path, and gave the man his peculiarly
+tragic physiognomy among writers.
+
+
+                                  II.
+
+About the year 1847 the students’ clubs already mentioned, which
+assembled to discuss the doctrines of Fourier and others, opened to
+receive political writers and army officers, and were at this time
+under the direction of a former student, the political agitator
+Petrachevski. The conspiracy headed by this man is still imperfectly
+understood, as well as the general history of that time. It is,
+however, certain that two different currents of ideas divided these
+circles. One embraced those of their predecessors, the revolutionists
+of December, 1825, who went no farther than to indulge in dreams of the
+emancipation and of a liberal government. The other set went far beyond
+their successors, the present nihilists, for they desired the total
+ruin of the entire social edifice.
+
+Dostoyevski’s character, as we have seen, made him an easy prey to
+radical ideas through his generosity as well as his hardships and his
+rebellious spirit. He has related how he was attracted toward socialism
+by the influence of his learned protector, Bielinski, who tried also to
+convert him to atheism.
+
+Our author soon became an enthusiastic member of the reunions inspired
+by Petrachevski. He was, undoubtedly, among the more moderate, or
+rather one of the independent dreamers. Mysticism, sympathy for the
+unfortunate, these must have been what attracted him in any political
+doctrine; and his incapacity for action made this metaphysician
+altogether harmless. The sentence pronounced upon him charged him
+with very pardonable errors: participation in the reunions; also in
+the discussions on the severity of the press censure; the reading or
+listening to the reading of seditious pamphlets, etc. These crimes seem
+very slight when compared with the severe punishment they provoked. The
+police force was then so inefficient that it for two years remained
+ignorant of what was going on in these circles; but finally they were
+betrayed by an unfaithful member.
+
+Petrachevski and his friends also betrayed themselves at a banquet in
+honor of Fourier, where they were discussing the destruction of family
+ties, property, kings, and deities. Dostoyevski took no part in these
+social banquets, that occurred just after those days of June in France
+which spread terror throughout all Europe, and only one year after
+other banquets which had overturned a throne. The Emperor Nicholas,
+although naturally humane, now forced himself to be implacable,
+entertaining the firm conviction that he was the chosen servant of God
+to save a sinking world. He was already meditating the emancipation
+of the serfs; by a fatal misunderstanding he was now going to strike
+down men, some of whom had committed no crime but that of desiring
+the same reform. History is only just when she seeks the motives of
+all consciences and the springs of their actions. But this was not a
+favorable time for explanations or cool judgments.
+
+On the 23d of April, 1849, at five o’clock in the morning, thirty-three
+persons looked upon as suspicious characters were arrested, the
+Dostoyevski brothers being among the number. The prisoners were carried
+to the citadel, and placed in solitary confinement in the gloomy
+casemates, which were haunted by the most terrible associations. They
+remained there eight months, with no distractions except the visits of
+the examining commissioners; finally, they were allowed the use of a
+few religious books. Feodor Mikhailovitch wrote once to his brother,
+who had been soon released through the want of sufficient evidence
+against him: “For five months I have lived upon my own substance; that
+is, upon my own brain alone…. To think constantly, and receive no
+outside impression to renew and sustain thought, is wearing…. I was as
+if placed under a receiver from which all the pure air was extracted….”
+
+On the 22d of December the prisoners were led out, without being
+informed of the sentence which had been pronounced upon them. There
+were now only 21, the others having been discharged. They were
+conducted to a square where a scaffold had been erected. The cold was
+intense; the criminals were ordered to remove all their clothing,
+except their shirts, and listen to the reading of the sentence, which
+would last for a half-hour. When the sheriff began to read, Dostoyevski
+said to the prisoner next him: “Is it possible that we are going to
+be executed?” The idea seemed to have occurred to him for the first
+time. His companion pointed to a cart, loaded with what appeared to be
+coffins covered over with a cloth. The last words of the sentence were:
+“They are condemned to death, and are to be shot.”
+
+The sheriff left the scaffold, and a priest mounted upon it with a
+cross in his hand, and exhorted the prisoners to confess. Only one
+responded to this exhortation; all the others kissed the cross.
+Petrachevski and two of the principal conspirators were bound to the
+pillar. The officer ordered the company of soldiers drawn up for the
+purpose to charge their weapons. As they were taking aim, a white flag
+was hoisted in front of them, when the twenty-one prisoners heard that
+the Emperor had commuted their penalty to exile in Siberia. The leaders
+were unbound; one of them, Grigoref, was struck with sudden insanity,
+and never recovered.
+
+Dostoyevski, on the contrary, has often assured me, as if he were
+really convinced of it, that he should inevitably have gone mad if he
+had not been removed by this and following disasters from the life
+he was leading. Before his imprisonment he was beset by imaginary
+maladies, nervous depression, and “mystic terrors,” which condition
+would certainly have brought about mental derangement, from which he
+was only saved by this sudden change in his way of life, and by the
+necessity of steeling himself against his overwhelming trials,―which
+may have been true, for it is said that imaginary evils are best cured
+by real ones; still, I cannot but think that there was some degree of
+pride in this affirmation.
+
+In each of his books he depicts a scene similar to what he himself
+experienced, and he has labored to make a perfect psychological study
+of the condemned prisoner who is about to die. You feel that these
+pages are the result of a nightmare, proceeding from some hidden recess
+of the author’s own brain.
+
+The imperial decree, which was less severe for him than for any of the
+rest, reduced his punishment to four years of hard labor, after which
+he was to serve as a common soldier, losing his rank among the nobles
+as well as all civil rights.
+
+The exiled prisoners started immediately in sledges for Siberia. At
+Tobolsk, after one night passed together, when they bade each other
+farewell, they were put in irons, their heads shaved, and they were
+then sent to their several destinations. It was at that temporary
+prison that they were visited by the wives of the revolutionists of
+December. These brave women had set a noble example. Belonging to the
+upper class, and accustomed to a life of luxury, they had renounced
+everything to follow their exiled husbands into Siberia, and for
+twenty-five years had haunted the prison gates. Learning now of the
+arrival of another set of refugees, they came to visit them, warned
+these young men of what was in store for them, and counselled them how
+best to support their hardships, offering to each of them all that they
+had to give, the Gospel.
+
+Dostoyevski accepted his, and throughout the four years always kept
+it under his pillow. He read it every evening under the lamp in the
+dormitory, and taught others to read in it. After the hard day’s work,
+while his companions in chains were restoring their wasted energies in
+sleep, he obtained from his book a consolation more necessary still
+for a thinking man, a renewal of moral strength, and a support in
+bearing his trials. How can we imagine this intellectual man, with his
+delicate nervous organization, his overweening pride, his sensitive
+imagination, prone to exaggeration of every dreaded evil, condemned to
+the companionship of these low wretches in such a monotonous existence,
+forced to daily labor; and for the slightest negligence, or at the
+caprice of his keepers, threatened with a flogging by the soldiers!
+He was inscribed among the worst set of malefactors and political
+criminals, who were kept under military surveillance.
+
+They were employed in turning a grindstone for marble works, in
+demolishing old boats on the ice in winter, and other rough and useless
+labor.
+
+How well he has described the weariness of being forced to labor merely
+for the sake of being employed, feeling that his task is nothing but
+a gymnastic exercise. He has also said the severest trial of all, was
+never being allowed to be alone for a single moment for years. But the
+greatest torture of all for this writer, now at the height of his
+powers, incessantly haunted by images and ideas, was the impossibility
+of writing, of alleviating his lot by absorbing himself in some
+literary work. But he survived, and was strengthened and purified, and
+the personal history of this martyr can be read in his “Recollections
+of a Dead House,”[K] which he wrote after he left the prison. How
+unjust is literary fame, and what a thing of chance it is! The name
+and work of Silvio Pellico are known throughout the civilized world.
+In France the book is one of the classics; and yet there, on the great
+highway of all fame and of all great thoughts, even the title of this
+tragic work of Dostoyevski’s was but yesterday quite unknown,―a book
+as superior to that of the Lombard prisoner, as the tales exceed his in
+horror.
+
+No work was ever more difficult to accomplish. Siberia, that mysterious
+land which was then only mentioned with extreme caution, must be freely
+described. It was, too, a former political prisoner who now undertook
+to walk over these burning coals and brave this cruel press-censure.
+He was successful; and he made us realize what exquisite refinement of
+suffering a man of the upper class, thrown amid such surroundings, was
+capable of enduring.
+
+He gives us the biography of such a man, who had been through many
+years of hard labor, the penalty of some small crime. This man, who
+is, in reality, no other than Dostoyevski himself, occupies himself in
+psychological studies of these unfortunates, aiming constantly to show
+the divine spark always existing even in the most degraded. Many of
+them relate the story of their lives to him; with some he seeks to know
+nothing of their past, but contents himself with describing their moral
+natures in his broad, vague manner, which is also common to all the
+great Russian writers. These portraits, with their indistinct outlines,
+melting as into the grayness of the early dawn, recall Henner’s
+portraits when compared with those of Ingres. The language, too, which
+Dostoyevski purposely employs, of a popular type, is marvellously well
+fitted for his purpose.
+
+The greater part of these natures belong to a type of character which
+Dostoyevski seems peculiarly to enjoy analyzing; those natures which
+are subject to attacks of caprice, almost amounting to sudden or
+temporary insanity. In a romance of his, called “The Idiot,” he quotes
+an example of this kind, which he declares to be strictly true:―“Two
+peasants, of middle age and friends of long standing, arrived at an
+inn. Neither of them was at all intoxicated. They took their tea and
+ordered a bedroom, which they shared together. One of them had noticed
+that within the last few days his companion had worn a silver watch,
+which he never had seen him wear before. The man was no thief; he
+was an honest man, and, moreover, in very comfortable circumstances
+for a peasant. But this watch so struck his fancy that he conceived
+a most inordinate desire to possess it, which he could not repress.
+He seized a knife, and, as soon as his friend’s back was turned, he
+approached him noiselessly, raised his eyes to heaven, crossed himself,
+and devoutly murmured this prayer: ‘Lord, forgive me, through Jesus
+Christ!’ He then killed his friend with as much ease as he would a
+sheep, and took the watch.”
+
+Those persons who conceive a desire, when on the top of a high tower,
+to throw themselves into the abyss below, he says are often of a mild,
+peaceable, and quite ordinary type. Some natures apparently enjoy the
+anticipation of the horror they can inspire in others, and, in a fit of
+desperation, seem to court punishment as a solution of their condition
+of mind. Sometimes in these attacks of madness is mingled a vein of
+asceticism. Dostoyevski introduces an instance of this kind in “Crime
+and Punishment,” which illustrates the strange sense which the Russian
+peasant attaches to the idea of punishment, sought for itself, for its
+propitiatory virtue:―
+
+“This prisoner was quite different from all the rest. He was a little
+pale thin man, about 60 years of age. I was struck with his appearance
+the first time I saw him, there was so much calmness and repose about
+him. I particularly liked his eyes, which were clear and intelligent.
+I often talked with him, and have seldom met with so kindly a nature,
+so upright a soul. He was expiating in Siberia an unpardonable crime.
+In consequence of several conversions in his parish, a movement towards
+the old orthodoxy, the government, wishing to encourage these good
+tendencies, had an orthodox church built. This man, together with a few
+other fanatics, determined to ‘resist for his faith’s sake,’ and set
+fire to the church. The instigators of the crime were all condemned to
+hard labor in Siberia. He had been a very successful tradesman at the
+head of a flourishing business. Leaving his wife and children at home,
+he accepted his sentence with firmness, in his blindness considering
+his punishment as a ‘witness to his faith.’ He was mild and gentle
+as a child, and one could not but wonder how he could have committed
+such a deed. I often conversed with him on matters of faith. He
+yielded up none of his convictions, but never in argument betrayed the
+least hatred or resentment; nor did I ever discover in him the least
+indication of pride or braggadocio. In the prison he was universally
+respected, and did not show a trace of vanity on this account. The
+prisoners called him ‘our little uncle,’ and never disturbed him in any
+way. I could realize what sway he must have had over his companions in
+the faith.
+
+“In spite of the apparent courage with which he bore his fate, a
+secret constant pain, which he tried to hide from all eyes, seemed
+at times to consume him. We slept in the same dormitory. I waked one
+morning at four o’clock, and heard what sounded like stifled sobbing.
+The old man was sitting on the porcelain stove reading in a manuscript
+prayer-book. He was weeping bitterly, and I heard him murmur from time
+to time: ‘O Lord! do not forsake me! Lord, give me strength! My little
+children, my dearest little ones, we shall never see each other again!’
+I felt such inexpressible pity for him!”
+
+I must also translate a terrible piece of realism, the death of
+Mikhailof: “I knew him but slightly; he was a young man about
+twenty-five years of age, tall, slender, and had a remarkably fine
+form. He belonged to the section in which the worst criminals were
+placed, and was always extremely reticent and seemed very sad and
+depressed. He had literally wasted away in prison. I remember that his
+eyes were very fine, and I know not why his image so often comes before
+me. He died in the afternoon of a fine, clear, frosty day. I remember
+how the sun shone obliquely through our greenish window-panes, thickly
+covered with frost. The bright shaft of sunlight shone directly upon
+this poor unfortunate, as he lay dying. Though he might have been
+unconscious, he had a hard struggle, the death agony lasting many
+hours. He had recognized no one since morning. We tried to relieve
+his suffering, which evidently was intense; he breathed with great
+difficulty, with a rattling sound, and his chest labored heavily. He
+threw off all his coverings and tore his shirt, as if the weight of
+it was insupportable. We went to his aid and took the shirt off. That
+emaciated body was a terrible sight, the legs and arms wasted to the
+bone, every rib visible like those of a skeleton. Only his chains and
+a little wooden cross remained upon him. His wasted feet might almost
+have escaped through the rings of the fetters.
+
+“For a half-hour before his death all sounds ceased in our dormitory,
+and no one spoke above a whisper, and all moved as noiselessly as
+possible. Finally his hand, wavering and uncertain, sought the little
+cross, and tried to tear it off, as if even that was too heavy a
+weight and was stifling him. They took it away, and ten minutes
+after he expired. They went to inform the guard, who came and looked
+indifferently upon the corpse, then went to call the health officer,
+who came immediately, approached the dead man with a rapid step
+which resounded in the silent chamber, and with a professional air
+of indifference, assumed for the occasion, felt his pulse, made a
+significant gesture as if to say that all was over, and went out. One
+of the prisoners suggested that the eyes should be closed, which was
+done by one of the others, who also, seeing the cross lying on the
+pillow, took it up, looked at it, and put it around Mikhailof’s neck;
+then he crossed himself. The face was already growing rigid, the mouth
+was half open, showing the handsome white teeth under the thin lips,
+which closely adhered to the gums. Finally, the second officer of the
+guard appeared in full uniform and helmet, followed by two soldiers. He
+slowly advanced, looking hesitatingly at the solemn circle of prisoners
+standing about him. When he drew near the body, he stopped short as if
+nailed to the spot. The spectacle of this wasted, naked form in irons
+evidently shocked him. He unfastened his helmet, took it off, which
+no one expected of him, and crossed himself reverentially. He was a
+gray-haired veteran officer, and a severe disciplinarian. One of the
+soldiers with him seemed much affected, and, pointing to the corpse,
+murmured as he left: ‘He, too, once had a mother!’ These words, I
+remember, shot through me like an arrow…. They carried away the corpse,
+with the camp bed it lay upon; the straw rustled, the chains dragged
+clanking against the floor, breaking the general silence. We heard the
+second officer in the corridor sending some one for the blacksmith. The
+corpse must be unfettered….”
+
+This gives an example of Dostoyevski’s method, showing his persistence
+in giving all the minutiæ of every action. He shows us, how,
+sometimes, among these tragic scenes, kind souls come to bring
+consolation to the exiles, as in the case of a widow who came daily
+to bring little gifts or a bit of news, or at least to smile upon the
+wretched creatures. “She could give but little, for she was very poor;
+but we prisoners felt that we had at least, close by the walls of our
+prison, one being wholly devoted to us,―and that was something.”
+
+On opening this book, the key-note from the very beginning has a tone
+so melancholy, so harrowing, that you wonder how long the author can
+continue in this vein, and how he can ever manage the gradation into
+another. But he is successful in this, as those will see who have the
+courage to go on as far as the chapter on corporal punishments, and the
+description of the hospital, to which the prisoners afterwards come to
+recover from the effects of these chastisements. It is impossible to
+conceive of sufferings more horrible than these, or more graphically
+portrayed.
+
+Nevertheless, Dostoyevski does not properly belong to the “natural
+school.” The difference is not easily explained, but there is a
+difference. Everything depends upon the master’s intention, which never
+deceives the reader. When the realistic writer only seeks to awake a
+morbid curiosity, we inwardly condemn him; but when it is evident that
+he is aiming to develop some moral idea, or impress a lesson the more
+strongly upon our minds, we may criticize the method, but we must
+sympathize with the author. His portrayals, even when disgusting to us,
+are ennobled, like the loathsome wound under the hands of the gentle
+Sister of Charity. This is the case with Dostoyevski. His object in
+writing was reform. With a cautious but pitiless hand, he has torn away
+the curtain which concealed this distant Siberian hell from the eyes of
+the Russians themselves. The “Recollections of a Dead House” gave the
+death-blow to the sentence of exile, as “Annals of a Sportsman” gave
+the signal for the abolition of serfdom. To-day I am thankful to say
+these repulsive scenes belong only to the history of the past; corporal
+punishment has been abolished, and the prisons in Siberia are regulated
+with as much humanity as with us. We can then pardon the tortures this
+author has inflicted upon us in his graphic recitals of these scenes
+of martyrdom. We must persevere and continue to the end, and we shall
+realize better than from a host of philosophical dissertations what
+things are possible in such a country, what has taken place there
+so recently, and how this writer could calmly relate such horrors
+without a single expression of revolt or astonishment. This reserved
+impartiality is, I know, partly his own peculiar style, and partly the
+result of the severe press-censure; but the fact that the writer can
+speak of these horrors as natural phenomena of social life, reminds
+us that we are looking into a different world from ours, and must be
+prepared for all extremes of evil and good, barbarism, courage, and
+sacrifice. Those men who carried the Testament into the prison with
+them, those extreme souls are filled with the spirit of a Gospel which
+has passed through Byzantium, written for the ascetic and the martyr;
+their errors as well as their virtues are all derived from that same
+source. I almost despair of making this world intelligible to ours,
+which is haunted by such different images, moulded by such different
+hands.
+
+Dostoyevski has since said, many times, that the experience in Siberia
+was beneficial to him, that he had learned to love his brothers of the
+lower classes, and to discover nobleness even among the very worst
+criminals. “Destiny,” he said, “in treating me with the severity of a
+step-mother, became a true mother to me.”
+
+The last chapter of this work might be entitled: “A Resurrection.” In
+it are described, with rare skill, the sentiments of a prisoner as
+he approaches the time of his liberation. During the last few weeks,
+his hero has the privilege of obtaining a few books, and occasionally
+an odd number of a review. For ten years he had read nothing but his
+Gospel, had heard nothing of the outside world.
+
+In taking up the thread of life among his contemporaries, he
+experiences unusual sensations; he enters into a new universe; he
+cannot explain many simple words and events; he asks himself, almost
+with terror, what giant strides his generation has made without him;
+these feelings must resemble those of a man who has been resuscitated.
+
+At last the solemn hour has come. He tenderly bids his companions
+farewell, feeling real regret at parting with them; he leaves a portion
+of his heart wherever he goes, even in a prison. He goes to the forge,
+his fetters fall, he is a free man!
+
+
+                                  III.
+
+The freedom which Dostoyevski entered into was, however, only a
+relative one. He entered a Siberian regiment as a common soldier. The
+new reign, two years after, in 1856, brought him pardon. At first he
+was promoted to the rank of officer, and his civil rights restored
+to him, and then authorized to send in his resignation. But it was a
+long time before he could obtain permission to leave the country, or
+to publish anything. At last, in 1859, after ten years of exile, he
+recrossed the Ural mountains and returned to a country which he found
+greatly changed, and at that moment palpitating with impatience and
+hope, on the eve of the Emancipation. He brought a companion with him
+from Siberia, the widow of one of his old comrades in the conspiracy
+of Petrachevski, whom he there met, fell in love with, and married.
+But, as in every phase of his life, this romantic marriage too was
+destined to be crossed by misfortune and ennobled by self-sacrifice.
+The young wife conceived a stronger attachment for another man, whom
+she threatened to join. For a whole year Dostoyevski’s letters prove
+that he was working to secure the happiness of his wife and his rival,
+writing constantly to his friends at St. Petersburg to help him to
+remove all obstacles to their union. “As for me,” he added, at the
+close of one of those letters, “God knows what I shall do! I shall
+either drown myself or take to drinking.”
+
+It was this page of his personal history which he reproduced in “The
+Degraded and Insulted,” the first of his romances which was translated
+into French, but not the best. The position of the confidant favoring
+a love affair which only brought despair for himself, was true to
+nature, for it was his own experience. Whether it was not skilfully
+presented, or whether we ourselves are more selfish by nature, I
+cannot say, but it is hard for us to accept such a situation, or not
+to see a ridiculous side to it. The general public cannot appreciate
+such subtleties. His characters are too melodramatic. On the very
+rare occasions when he draws his types from the upper classes, he
+always makes a failure, for he understands nothing of the complex and
+restrained passions of souls hardened by intercourse with the world.
+Natasha’s lover, the giddy creature for whom she has sacrificed
+everything, is not much better. I know that we must not expect lovers
+to be reasonable beings, and that it is more philosophical to admire
+the power of love, irrespectively of its object; but the general
+novel-reader is not supposed to be a philosopher; he would like the
+adored hero to be interesting at least, and would prefer even a
+rascal to an idiot. In France, at all events, we cannot endorse such
+a spectacle, although it is both true to nature and consoling; an
+exquisite type of woman devoted to a fool. Our gallantry, however,
+forces us to admit that a man of genius may be permitted to adore a
+foolish woman, but that is all we are willing to concede. Dostoyevski
+himself has surpassed the most severe criticisms of this work in his
+article on the “Degraded and Insulted”: “I realize that many of the
+characters in my book are puppets rather than men.”
+
+With these exceptions, we must acknowledge that we recognize the
+hand of a master in the two female characters. Natasha is the very
+incarnation of intense, jealous passion; she speaks and acts like a
+victim of love in a Greek tragedy. Nelly, a charming and pathetic
+little creature, resembles one of Dickens’ beautiful child characters.
+
+After his return to St. Petersburg, in 1865, Dostoyevski became
+absorbed in journalism. He conceived an unfortunate passion for this
+form of literature, and devoted to it the best years of his life. He
+edited two journals to defend the ideas which he had adopted. I defy
+any one to express these ideas in any practical language. He took a
+position between the liberal and the _Slavophile_ parties, inclining
+more toward the latter. It was a patriotic form of religion, but
+somewhat mysterious, with no precise dogmas, and lending itself to no
+rational explanation. One must either accept or reject it altogether.
+The great error of the _Slavophile_ party has been to have filled
+so many pages of paper for twenty-five years, in arguing out a mere
+sentiment. Whoever questions their arguments is considered incapable of
+understanding them; while those who do not enter into the question at
+all are despised, and taxed with profound ignorance.
+
+At this time of transition, during the first years following the
+Emancipation, men’s ideas, too long repressed, were in a state of
+vertigo, of chaotic confusion. Some were buoyed up with the wildest
+hopes; others felt the bitterness of disenchantment, and many
+disappointed enthusiasts embraced Nihilism, which was taken up at
+this time by romance writers as well as by politicians. Dostoyevski
+abandoned his purely artistic ideals, withdrew from the influence of
+Gogol, and consecrated himself to the study of this new doctrine.
+
+From 1865, our author experienced a series of unfortunate years. His
+second journal was unsuccessful, failed, and he was crushed under the
+burden of heavy debts incurred in the enterprise. He afterwards lost
+his wife, as related above, and also his brother Alexis, his associate
+in his literary labors. He fled to escape his creditors, and dragged
+out a miserable existence in Germany and Italy. Attacks of epilepsy
+interrupted his work, and he only returned home from time to time to
+solicit advance pay from his editors. All that he saw in his travels
+seems to have made no impression upon him, with the exception of an
+execution he witnessed at Lyons. This spectacle was retained in his
+memory, to be described in detail by characters of his future romances.
+
+In spite of his illness and other troubles, he wrote at this time three
+of his longest novels,―“Crime et Châtiment,” “l’Idiot,” and “Les
+Possédés.” “Crime and Punishment” was written when he was at the height
+of his powers. It has been translated, and can therefore be criticised.
+Men of science who enjoy the study of the human soul, will read with
+interest the profoundest psychological study which has been written
+since Macbeth. The curious of a certain type will find in this book
+the entertaining mode of torture which is to their taste; but I think
+it will terrify the greater number of readers, and that very many will
+have no desire to finish it. We generally read a novel for pleasure,
+and not for punishment. This book has a powerful effect upon women,
+and upon all impressionable natures. The writer’s graphic scenes of
+terror are too much for a nervous organization. I have myself seen
+in Russia numerous examples of the infallible effect of this romance
+upon the mind. It can be urged that the Slav temperament is unusually
+susceptible, but I have seen the same impression made upon Frenchmen.
+Hoffmann, Edgar Poe, Baudelaire, all writers of this type, are mere
+mystics in comparison with Dostoyevski. In their fictions you feel that
+they are only pursuing a literary or artistic venture; but in “Crime
+and Punishment,” you are impressed with the fact that the author is as
+much horrified as you are yourself by the character that he has drawn
+from the tissue of his own brain.
+
+The subject is very simple. A man conceives the idea of committing a
+crime; he matures it, commits the deed, defends himself for some time
+from being arrested, and finally gives himself up to the expiation of
+it. For once, this Russian artist has adopted the European idea of
+unity of action; the drama, purely psychological, is made up of the
+combat between the man and his own project. The accessory characters
+and facts are of no consequence, except in regard to their influence
+upon the criminal’s plans. The first part, in which are described the
+birth and growth of the criminal idea, is written with consummate skill
+and a truth and subtlety of analysis beyond all praise. The student
+Raskolnikof, a nihilist in the true sense of the word, intelligent,
+unprincipled, unscrupulous, reduced to extreme poverty, dreams of a
+happier condition. On returning home from going to pawn a jewel at an
+old pawnbroker’s shop, this vague thought crosses his brain without his
+attaching much importance to it:―
+
+“An intelligent man who had that old woman’s money could accomplish
+anything he liked; it is only necessary to get rid of the useless,
+hateful old hag.”
+
+This was but one of those fleeting thoughts which cross the brain
+like a nightmare, and which only assume a distinct form through the
+assent of the will. This idea becomes fixed in the man’s brain, growing
+and increasing on every page, until he is perfectly possessed by it.
+Every hard experience of his outward life appears to him to bear some
+relation to his project; and by a mysterious power of reasoning,
+to work into his plan and urge him on to the crime. The influence
+exercised upon this man is brought out into such distinct relief
+that it seems to us itself like a living actor in the drama, guiding
+the criminal’s hand to the murderous weapon. The horrible deed is
+accomplished; and the unfortunate man wrestles with the recollection
+of it as he did with the original design. The relations of the world
+to the murderer are all changed, through the irreparable fact of his
+having suppressed a human life. Everything takes on a new physiognomy
+and a new meaning to him, excluding from him the possibility of feeling
+and reasoning like other people, or of finding his own place in life.
+His whole soul is metamorphosed and in constant discord with the
+life around him. This is not remorse in the true sense of the word.
+Dostoyevski exerts himself to distinguish and explain the difference.
+His hero will feel no remorse until the day of expiation; but it is
+a complex and perverse feeling which possesses him; the vexation at
+having derived no satisfaction from an act so successfully carried out;
+the revolting against the unexpected moral consequences of that act;
+the shame of finding himself so weak and helpless; for the foundation
+of Raskolnikof’s character is pride. Only one single interest in
+life is left to him: to deceive and elude the police. He seeks their
+company, their friendship, by an attraction analogous to that which
+draws us to the extreme edge of a dizzy precipice; the murderer keeps
+up interminable interviews with his friends at the police office, and
+even leads on the conversation to that point, when a single word would
+betray him; every moment we fear he will utter the word; but he escapes
+and continues the terrible game as if it were a pleasure.
+
+The magistrate Porphyre has guessed the student’s secret; he plays with
+him like a tiger with its prey, sure of his game. Then Raskolnikof
+knows he is discovered; and through several chapters a long fantastic
+dialogue is kept up between the two adversaries; a double dialogue,
+that of the lips, which smile and wilfully ignore; and that of the eyes
+which know and betray all. At last when the author has tortured us
+sufficiently in this way, he introduces the salutary influence which is
+to break down the culprit’s pride and reconcile him to the expiation
+of his crime. Raskolnikof loves a poor street-walker. The author’s
+clairvoyance divines that even the sentiment of love was destined in
+him to be modified, like every other, to be changed into a dull despair.
+
+Sonia is a humble creature, who has sold herself to escape starvation,
+and is almost unconscious of her dishonor, enduring it as a malady
+she cannot prevent. She wears her ignominy as a cross, with pious
+resignation. She is attached to the only man who has not treated her
+with contempt; she sees that he is tortured by some secret, and tries
+to draw it from him. After a long struggle the avowal is made, but not
+in words. In a mute interview, which is tragic in the extreme, Sonia
+reads the terrible truth in her friend’s eyes. The poor girl is stunned
+for a moment, but recovers herself quickly. She knows the remedy; her
+stricken heart cries out:―
+
+“We must suffer, and suffer together … we must pray and atone … let us
+go to prison!…”
+
+Thus are we led back to Dostoyevski’s favorite idea, to the Russian’s
+fundamental conception of Christianity: the efficacy of atonement, of
+suffering, and its being the only solution of all difficulties.
+
+To express the singular relations between these two beings, that
+solemn, pathetic bond, so foreign to every pre-conceived idea of
+love, we should make use of the word _compassion_ in the sense in
+which Bossuet used it: the suffering with and through another being.
+When Raskolnikof falls at the feet of the girl who supports her
+parents by her shame, she, the despised of all, is terrified at his
+self-abasement, and begs him to rise. He then utters a phrase which
+expresses the combination of all the books we are studying: “It is not
+only before thee that I prostrate myself, but before all suffering
+humanity.” Let us here observe that our author has never yet once
+succeeded in representing love in any form apart from these subtleties,
+or the simple natural attraction of two hearts toward each other. He
+portrays only extreme cases; either that mystic state of sympathy and
+self-sacrifice for a distressed fellow-creature, of utter devotion,
+apart from any selfish desire: or the mad, bestial cruelty of a
+perverted nature. The lovers he represents are not made of flesh and
+blood, but of nerves and tears. Yet this realist evokes only harrowing
+_thoughts_, never disagreeable _images_. I defy any one to quote a
+single line suggestive of anything sensual, or a single instance where
+the woman is represented in the light of a temptress. His love scenes
+are absolutely chaste, and yet he seems to be incapable of portraying
+any creation between an angel and a beast.
+
+You can imagine what the _dénouement_ will be. The nihilist, half
+conquered, prowls for some time around the police office; and finally
+he acknowledges his guilt, and is condemned. Sonia teaches him to pray,
+and the wretched creatures go to Siberia. Dostoyevski gladly seizes
+the opportunity to rewrite, as a sort of epilogue, a chapter of his
+“Recollections of a Dead House.”
+
+Apart from the principal characters of this book, there are secondary
+characters and scenes which are impossible to forget, such is the
+impression they leave upon you after one reading. There is one scene
+where the murderer, always mysteriously attracted back to the fatal
+spot, tries to recall every detail of his crime; he even goes to pull
+the cracked bell of the apartment, in order to recall more vividly by
+this sound the impression of the terrible moment. Detached fragments of
+this work seem to lose their signification, and if you skip a few pages
+the whole thing becomes unintelligible. One may feel impatient with
+the author’s prolixity, but if he omits anything the magnetic current
+is interrupted. This I have been told by those who have tried the
+experiment. The reader requires as much of an effort of concentration
+and memory as for a philosophical treatise. This is a pleasure or a
+penalty according to the reader. Besides, a translation, however good,
+cannot possibly render the continuous smooth course of the original
+text, or give its under-currents of meaning.
+
+We cannot but pity the man who has written such a book, so evidently
+drawn from the substance of his own brain. To understand how he was led
+so to write, we must note what he once said to a friend in regard to
+his mental condition, after one of his severe attacks of illness:―“The
+state of dejection into which they plunge me makes me feel in this way:
+I seem to be like a criminal who has committed some terrible deed which
+weighs upon his conscience.” The review which published Dostoyevski’s
+novels often gave but a few pages at a time, followed by a brief note
+of apology. Every one understood that Feodor Mikhailovitch had had one
+of his severe attacks of illness.
+
+“Crime and Punishment” established the author’s popularity. Its
+appearance was the great literary event of the year 1866. All Russia
+was made ill by it, so to speak. When the book first appeared, a Moscow
+student murdered a pawnbroker in almost precisely the way described
+by the novelist; and I firmly believe that many subsequent attempts,
+analogous to this, may have been attributable to the influence of this
+book. Dostoyevski’s intention, of course, was undoubtedly to dissuade
+men from such acts by representing their terrible consequences; but he
+did not foresee that the intensity of his portrayals might act in an
+opposite sense, and tempt the demon of imitation existing in a certain
+type of brain. I therefore hesitate to pronounce upon the moral value
+of the work. Our writers may say that I am over-scrupulous. They may
+not admit that the moral value of a work of art is a thing to be taken
+into account in regard to the appreciation of it as a work of art. But
+does anything exist in this world wholly independent of a moral value?
+
+The Russian authors claim that they aim to nourish souls, and the
+greatest offence you could offer them would be to accuse them of making
+a collection of purposeless words. Dostoyevski’s novels will be judged
+either as useful or harmful according as one decides for or against the
+morality of public executions and sentences. It is an open question.
+For myself, I should decide against them.
+
+
+                                  IV.
+
+In this work Dostoyevski’s talent had reached its culminating point.
+In “The Idiot,” “The Possessed,” and especially in “The Karamazof
+Brothers,” many parts are intolerably tedious. The plot amounts to
+nothing but a framework upon which to hang all the author’s favorite
+theories, and display every type of his eccentric fancy. The book is
+nearly filled with conversations between two disputants, whose ideas
+are continually clashing, each trying to worm out the other’s secrets
+with the most cunning art, and expose some secret intrigue either of
+crime or of love. These interviews recall the terrible trials under
+Ivan the Terrible, or Peter the First; there is the same combination
+of terror, duplicity, and obstinacy still existing in the race.
+Sometimes the disputants attempt to penetrate the labyrinth of each
+other’s religious or philosophical beliefs. They vie with each other
+in the use of arguments, now fine-spun, now eccentric, like a pair of
+scholastic doctors of the Sorbonne. Some of these conversations recall
+Hamlet’s dialogues with his mother, Ophelia, or Polonius. For more than
+two hundred years critics have discussed the question whether Hamlet
+was mad when he thus spoke. When that question has been settled, the
+decision may be applied to Dostoyevski’s heroes. It has been said more
+than once that this writer and the heroes of his creation are simply
+madmen. They are mad in the same degree that Hamlet was. For my own
+part, I consider this statement neither an intelligent nor reasonable
+one. Such an opinion must be held only by those very short-sighted
+people who refuse to admit the existence of states of mind different
+from those they know from personal experience.
+
+In studying Dostoyevski and his work, we must keep in mind one of
+his favorite phrases, which he often repeats: “Russia is a freak
+of nature.” A strange anomaly exists in some of these lunatics he
+describes. They are absorbed in the contemplation of their own minds,
+intent upon self-analysis. If the author leads them into action,
+they throw themselves into it impetuously, obedient to the irregular
+impulses of their nerves, giving free rein to their unbridled wills,
+which are uncontrollable as are elementary forces. Observe how
+minutely he describes every physical peculiarity. The condition of
+the body explains the perturbation of the soul. Whenever a character
+is introduced to us, he is never by any chance sitting comfortably by
+a table or engaged in any occupation. “He was extended upon a divan,
+with his eyes closed, although he was not asleep…. He walked along the
+street without having any idea where he was…. He was motionless, his
+eyes absently fixed upon space.”…
+
+These people never eat; they drink tea through the night. Many are
+given to strong drink. They rarely sleep, and when they do they dream.
+There are more dreams described in Dostoyevski’s works than in the
+whole of our classic literature. They are nearly always in a “feverish
+condition.” Whenever any of these creatures come into relations with
+their fellow-beings, you meet with such expression as these in almost
+every line:―“He shuddered … he sprang up with a bound … his features
+contracted … he became ashy pale … his lower lip trembled … his teeth
+chattered….” Sometimes there are long pauses in a conversation, when
+the disputants look fixedly into each other’s eyes.
+
+The writer’s most elaborate creation, and evidently his favorite one,
+the analysis of which fills a large volume, is “The Idiot.” Feodor
+Mikhailovitch has described himself in this character, in the way that
+many authors do: certainly not as he was, but what he wished to be
+considered. In the first place, “The Idiot” is subject to epilepsy;
+his attacks furnish a most convenient and effective climax for all
+emotional scenes. The author evidently greatly enjoys describing these;
+he assures us that the whole being is bathed in an ecstasy, for a few
+seconds preceding the attack. We are quite willing to take his word
+for this. The nickname “Idiot” becomes fixed upon the hero, Prince
+Myshkin, because his malady produced such an effect upon his faculties
+in childhood that he has always been eccentric. Starting with this
+pathological idea, this fictitious character is persistently developed
+with an astonishing consistency.
+
+Dostoyevski at first had the idea of producing another Don Quixote,
+the ideal redresser of wrongs. Occasionally you feel the impress of
+this idea; but soon the author is carried away by his own creation;
+his aim is loftier, he creates in the soul in which he sees himself
+mirrored the most sublime, Christ-like qualities, he makes a desperate
+effort to elevate the character to the moral proportions of a saint.
+Imagine, if you can, an exceptional being, possessing the mind and
+reasoning faculties of a man, while his heart retains the simplicity
+of a child, who, in short, can personify the gospel precept: “Be as
+little children.” Such a character is Prince Myshkin, the “Idiot.”
+The nervous disease has, by a happy chance, produced this phenomenon;
+it has destroyed that part of the intellect which is the seat of
+all our defects: irony, arrogance, selfishness, avarice; while the
+noble qualities are largely developed. On leaving the hospital, this
+extraordinary young man is thrown into the current of ordinary life.
+It would seem that he must perish in such an atmosphere, not having
+the weapons of defence that others are armed with. Not so; his simple
+straightforwardness is stronger than any of the malicious tricks
+practised upon him; it carries him through every difficulty, saves
+him from every snare. His innocent wisdom has the last word in all
+discussions; he utters phrases proceeding from a profound asceticism,
+such as this, addressed to a dying man:―“Pass on before us, and
+forgive us our happiness.”―Elsewhere he says: “I fear I am unworthy
+of my sufferings―” and many similar expressions. He lives among a set
+of usurers, liars, and rascals. These people treat him as they would
+an idiot, but respect and venerate him; they feel his influence, and
+become better men. The women also laugh at the idiot at first, but they
+all end by falling desperately in love with him; while he responds to
+their adoration only by a tender pity, a compassionate love, the only
+sort that Dostoyevski permits his favorite characters to indulge in.
+
+The writer constantly returns to his ruling idea, the supremacy of the
+suffering and poor in spirit. Why do all the Russian idealists, without
+exception, cry out against prosperity in life? What I believe to be the
+secret, unconscious solution of this unreasonable feeling is this: they
+feel the force of that fundamental truth, that the life of a living,
+acting, thinking being must perforce be a mixture of good and evil.
+Whoever acts, creates and destroys at the same time, makes for himself
+a place in the world at the expense of some other person or thing.
+Therefore, if one neither acts nor thinks, this fatality must naturally
+be suppressed,―this production of evil as well as of good; and, as
+the evil he does has more effect than the good, he takes refuge in a
+non-existence. So these writers admire and sanctify the idiot,―the
+neutral, inactive being. It is true, he does no good, but then he can
+do no evil: therefore, from the point of view of pessimists, in their
+conception of the world, he is the most admirable.
+
+As I read, I am overwhelmed by the number of these moral giants and
+monsters around me; but I cannot pass by one of the most striking of
+them, Rogozhin, the merchant, a very forcibly drawn figure. The twenty
+pages descriptive of the workings of passion in the heart of this man
+are written by the hand of a great master. Passion, in this strange
+nature, has developed to such intensity, and bestows upon the man such
+a gift of fascination, that the woman he loves accepts, in spite of
+herself, this savage whom she abhors, and moreover with the certainty
+that he will murder her. So he does; and, throughout an entire night,
+beside the bed where lies the body of his strangled victim, he calmly
+discusses philosophy with his friend. There is nothing melodramatic
+about this scene. It is simple as possible; to the author, at least, it
+appears quite natural; and this is why it makes us shiver with terror.
+I must also mention,―there are so few such touches in the work―the
+little drunken money-lender who “offers a prayer every night for the
+repose of the soul of Mme. du Barry.” Do not suppose that Dostoyevski
+means to enliven us with anything approaching a joke. Through the lips
+of this character, he seriously indulges in compassionate sympathy for
+the martyrdom endured by Mme. du Barry during the long passage of the
+cart through the streets and the struggle with the executioner. He
+evidently has always before him that half-hour of the 22d December,
+1849.
+
+“Les Possédés” is a description of the revolutionary world of the
+Nihilists. This title is a slight modification of the Russian title,
+“The Demons,” which is too obscure. All Dostoyevski’s characters
+might be said to be _possessed_, as the word was understood in the
+Middle Ages. A strange, irresistible will urges them on, in spite
+of themselves, to commit atrocious deeds. Natasha, in “The Degraded
+and Insulted,” is an example; as also Raskolnikof, in “Crime and
+Punishment,” and Rogozhin, in “The Idiot,” besides all the conspirators
+who commit murder or suicide without any definite aim or motive.
+The history of the origin of “Les Possédés” is rather curious.
+Dostoyevski was always opposed to Turgenef in politics and even
+more seriously through literary jealousy. At this time, Tolstoï had
+not yet established his reputation; and the other two were the only
+competitors in the field ready to dispute empire over the imaginations
+of their countrymen. The inevitable rivalry between them amounted, on
+Dostoyevski’s part, to hatred. He was always the wronged party; and
+into this volume he most unjustifiably introduced his brother author
+under the guise of a ridiculous actor. But his secret, unpardonable
+grievance was that Turgenef was the first to take up and treat the
+subject of Nihilism, introducing it into his celebrated novel,
+“Fathers and Sons.” Since 1861 Nihilism had, however, developed from
+a metaphysical doctrine into practical action. Dostoyevski wrote “Les
+Possédés” out of revenge; three years after, Turgenef accepted the
+challenge, by publishing “Virgin Soil.” The theme of both romances is
+the same―a revolutionary conspiracy in a small provincial town.
+
+The prize in this tilting match must be adjudged to the dramatic
+psychologist rather than to the gentle artist who created “Virgin
+Soil.” Dostoyevski lays bare the inmost recesses of those intricate
+natures more completely; the scene of Shatof’s murder is rendered with
+a diabolical power which Turgenef was utterly incapable of. Still, it
+must be admitted that Bazarof, the cynic in “Fathers and Sons,” was the
+imperishable prototype of all Nihilists who came after him. Dostoyevski
+felt this, and keenly regretted it. His book, however, may be called
+a prophecy as well as an explanation. It was truly prophetic; for in
+1871, when anarchy was still in the process of fermentation, he looked
+deeply enough into the future to relate facts precisely analogous
+to what we have since seen developed. I attended the trials of the
+Nihilists and can testify that many of the men and the conspiracies
+that were judged at that time were exact reproductions of those the
+novelist had previously created.
+
+The book is also an explanation; for the world will understand from
+it the true face of the problem, which is even to-day imperfectly
+understood, because its solution is sought only in politics.
+Dostoyevski presents to us the various classes of minds from which
+the sect is recruited. First, the simple unbeliever, who devotes all
+his capacity for religious fervor to the service of atheism.―The
+author illustrates this type by the following anecdote (in every
+Russian’s bedroom stands a little altar, with its holy images of
+the saints): “Lieutenant Erkel, having thrown down the images and
+broken them in pieces with an axe, arranged upon the tablets three
+atheistic books; then he lighted some church tapers and placed one
+before each volume.”―Secondly, there is the weak class, who feel the
+magnetism of the strong, and blindly follow their chiefs. Then the
+logical pessimists, among whom the engineer Kirilof is an example.
+These are inclined toward suicide, through moral inability to live.
+Their party takes advantage of these yielding natures; for a man
+without principles, who decides to die because he can settle upon no
+principles, is one who will easily lend himself to whatever is exacted
+of him. Finally, the worst class: those who will not hesitate to
+commit murder, as a protest against the order of the world, which they
+do not comprehend, and in order to make a singular and novel use of
+their will power, to enjoy inspiring terror in others, and satisfy the
+animal cravings within them.
+
+The greatest merit of this confusing book, which is badly constructed,
+often ridiculous, and loaded with doubtful theories, is that it gives
+us, after all, a clear idea of what constitutes the real power of the
+Nihilists. This does not lie in the doctrines in themselves, nor in the
+power of organization of this sect, which is certainly overrated; it
+lies simply and only in the character of a few men. Dostoyevski thinks,
+and the revelations brought to light in the trials have justified his
+opinion, that the famous organization may be reduced to only a few
+local circles, badly organized; and that all these phantoms, central
+committees and executive committees, exist only in the imaginations
+of the adepts. On the other hand, he brings into bold relief those
+iron wills, those souls of frozen steel, in striking contrast with
+the timidity and irresolution of the legal authorities. Between these
+two poles he shows us the mass of weak natures, attracted toward that
+pole which is most strongly magnetized. It is, indeed, the force of
+character of these resolute men, and not their ideas, which has acted
+upon the Russian people; and here the piercing eye of the philosopher
+is keener than that of Russia herself. Men become less and less
+exacting in regard to ideas, and more and more skeptical as to the
+way of carrying them out. Those who believe in the absolute virtue of
+doctrines are becoming every day more rare; but what is seductive to
+them is force of character, even if its energy be applied to an evil
+cause,―because it promises to be a guide, and guarantees a strong
+leadership, the very first requisition of any association of men. Man
+is the born slave of every strong will which he comes in contact with.
+
+The last period of Dostoyevski’s life, after the publication of
+this book, and his return to Russia, was somewhat easier and less
+melancholy. He had married an intelligent and courageous woman,
+who helped him out of his pecuniary embarrassments. His popularity
+increased, while the success of his books freed him from debt. Taking
+up journalism again, he established a paper in St. Petersburg, and
+finally an organ peculiarly his own, which he conducted quite by
+himself. It was called the “Note-book of an Author” (Carnet d’un
+Ecrivain), and it appeared―whenever he chose. It did not at all
+resemble what we call a journal or review, but might have been called
+something similar to the Delphic oracle. Into this encyclopædia, the
+principal work of his latter years, he poured all the political,
+social, and literary ideas which beset him, and related anecdotes and
+reminiscences of his life. I have already stated what his politics
+were; but the obscure productions of this period can neither be
+analyzed nor controverted. This periodical, which first appeared just
+before the war with Turkey, reflected the states of enthusiasm and
+discouragement of Russia through those years of feverish patriotism.
+Everything could be found in this summary of dreams, in which every
+question relating to human life was mooted. Only one thing was wanting:
+a solid basis of doctrine that the mind could take hold of. There were
+occasionally some touching episodes and artistic bits of composition
+recalling the great novelist. The “Note-book of an Author” was in fact
+a success, although the public now really cared less for the ideas
+than for the person, and were, besides, so accustomed to and fond of
+the sound of his voice. His last book, “The Karamazof Brothers,” was
+so interminably long that very few Russians had patience to read it to
+the end. But it contains some scenes equal to his best of early days,
+especially that of the death of the child. The French novel grows ever
+smaller, is easily slipped into a travelling-bag, to while away a few
+hours on a journey; but the heavy Russian romance reigns long upon the
+family table in country homes, through the long winter evenings. I
+well remember seeing Dostoyevski entering a friend’s house, on the day
+his last novel appeared, with the heavy volumes under his arm; and his
+saying with pride: “They weigh, at least, five pounds”;―a fact he
+should rather have regretted than have taken pride in.
+
+I should say here that the three books which best show the different
+phases of his talent are: “Poor People,” “Recollections of a Dead
+House,” and “Crime and Punishment.” As to the criticism of his works
+as a whole, every one will have to use his own judgment. We must look
+upon Dostoyevski as a phenomenon of another world, an abnormal and
+mighty monster, quite unique as to originality and intensity. In spite
+of his genius, you feel that he lacks both moderation and breadth. The
+world is not composed of shadows and tears alone. Even in Russia there
+is light and gayety, there are flowers and pleasures. Dostoyevski has
+never seen but one half of life; for he has never written any books
+except either sad or terrible ones. He is like a traveller who has seen
+the whole universe, and described what he has seen, but who has never
+travelled except by night. He is an incomparable psychologist when he
+studies souls either blackened by crime or wounded by sorrow; and as
+skilful a dramatist, but limited to scenes of terror and of misery. No
+one has carried realism to such an extreme point as he. He depicts real
+life, but soars above reality in a superhuman effort toward some new
+consummation of the Gospel. He possesses a double nature, from whatever
+side you view him: the heart of a Sister of Charity and the spirit of
+a Grand Inquisitor. I think of him as belonging to another age, to the
+time of great sacrifices and intense devotion, hesitating between a St.
+Vincent de Paul and a Laubardemont, preceding the first in his search
+for destitute children, lingering behind the other, unwilling to lose
+the last crackling of the funeral pile.
+
+According as we are affected by particular examples of his talent,
+we call him a philosopher, an apostle, a lunatic, a consoler of
+the afflicted, or the torturer of a tranquil mind; the Jeremiah of
+the prison or the Shakespeare of the mad-house. Every one of these
+appellations belongs to him; but no one of them, taken alone, will
+suffice. What he himself said of his race, in “Crime and Punishment,”
+we may say of him:―
+
+“The soul of the Russian is great, like his vast country; but terribly
+prone to everything fantastic and excessive; it is a real misfortune to
+be great without any special genius.”
+
+I subscribe to this; but also to the opinion that I have heard
+expressed upon this book by one of our masters of psychology: “This
+author opens up unknown horizons, and discloses souls different from
+ours; he reveals to us a new world of beings, with stronger natures,
+both for good and evil, having stronger wills and greater endurance.”
+
+
+                                   V.
+
+I must apologize for returning to personal recollections in order to
+make this sketch complete, and must therefore recall the man himself,
+and give some idea of his extraordinary influence. By chance I met
+Feodor Mikhailovitch many times during the last three years of his
+life. The impression he made upon you was as profound as was that
+of the most striking scenes of his romances; if you had once seen
+him, you would never forget him. His appearance exactly corresponded
+with his life and its work. He was short and spare, and seemed to be
+all nerves; worn and haggard at the age of sixty. He was, in fact,
+prematurely old, and looked ill, with his long beard and blond hair,
+but, in spite of all, as vivacious as ever. His face was of the true
+peasant type of Moscow: the flat nose; the small, twinkling eyes, full
+of fire and tenderness; the broad forehead, all seamed with wrinkles,
+and with many indentations and protuberances; the sunken temples, and,
+most noticeable of all, a mouth of inexpressible sadness. I never
+saw in any human face such an expression of accumulated sorrow―as
+if every trial of soul and body had left its imprint upon it. You
+could read in his face better than in any book his recollections of
+the dead house, and his long experience of terror, mistrust, and
+martyrdom. His eyelids, lips, and every fibre of his face quivered
+with nervous contractions. His features would grow fierce with anger
+when excited over some subject of discussion, and at another time
+would wear the gentle expression of sadness you so often see in the
+saints on the ancient Slavonic altar-pieces, so venerated by the Slav
+nation. The man’s nature was wholly plebeian, with the curious mixture
+of roughness, sagacity, and mildness of the Russian peasant, together
+with something incongruous―possibly an effect of the concentration
+of thought illumining this beggar’s mask. At first he rather repelled
+you, before his strange magnetism had begun to act upon you. He was
+generally taciturn, but when he spoke it was in a low tone, slow and
+deliberate, growing gradually more earnest, and defending his opinions
+without regard to any one. While sustaining his favorite theme of the
+superiority of the Russian lower classes, he often observed to ladies
+in the fashionable society he was drawn into, “You cannot pretend to
+compare with the most inferior peasant.”
+
+There was not much opportunity for literary discussion with
+Dostoyevski. He would stop you with one word of proud disdain. “We
+possess the best qualities of every other people, and our own peculiar
+ones in addition; therefore we can understand you, but you are not
+capable of understanding us.”
+
+May I be forgiven, but I shall now attempt to prove the contrary. In
+spite of his assertion, his views on European life were laughably
+ingenuous. I remember well one of his tirades against the city of
+Paris, one evening when the inspiration seized him. He spoke of it with
+fiery indignation, as Jonah would have spoken concerning Nineveh. I
+remember the very words:―
+
+“Some night a prophet will appear in the ‘Café Anglais’! He will write
+on the wall the three words of fire; that will be the signal for the
+end of the old world, and Paris will be destroyed in fire and blood, in
+all its pride, with its theatres and its ‘Café Anglais.’” In the seer’s
+imagination, this inoffensive establishment represented the heart of
+Sodom, a den of enticing and infernal orgies, which he thought it his
+duty to call down curses upon. He enlarged long and eloquently upon
+this theme.
+
+He often reminded me of J. J. Rousseau. That pedantic genius has
+often come before me since I have studied the character and works
+of this distrustful philanthropist of Moscow. Both entertained the
+same notions, had the same combination of roughness and ideality,
+of sensibility and ill-humor, as well as the same deep sympathy for
+humanity which compels the attention of their contemporaries. After
+Rousseau, no man had greater literary defects than Dostoyevski:
+boundless self-love, over-sensitiveness, jealousy, and spite, none
+knew better how to win the hearts of his fellow-men by showing them
+how they filled his heart. This writer, so forbidding in society, was
+the idol of a large proportion of the young men of Russia, who awaited
+with feverish impatience the appearance of his novels, as well as his
+periodical; who consulted him as they would a spiritual adviser and
+director, and sought his help in all moral questions.
+
+The most important work of the latter years of his life was to reply
+to the scores of letters which brought to him the echo of strangers’
+grievances. One must have lived in Russia during those troublous times,
+to understand the ascendancy he obtained over the world of “Poor
+People” in their search for a new ideal, as well as over the class just
+above the very poor. The influence of Turgenef’s literary and artistic
+work was most unjustly eclipsed; Tolstoï with his philosophy influenced
+only the most intellectual minds, but Dostoyevski won all hearts and
+obtained a most powerful sway over them. In 1880, at the time of the
+inauguration of the monument to Pushkin, when all the Russian authors
+assembled in full force to celebrate the fête, Dostoyevski’s popularity
+entirely obliterated that of all his rivals. The audience sobbed when
+he addressed them. They bore him in triumph in their arms; the students
+crowded upon the platform and took possession of it, that they might
+see and be near him and touch him; and one of these young enthusiasts
+swooned from emotion when he had succeeded in reaching him. The current
+of feeling ran so high that had he lived a few years longer he would
+have found himself in a very difficult position. In the official
+hierarchy of the empire there is no place for plants of such exuberant
+growth; no field for the influence of a Goethe or a Voltaire. In spite
+of his consistency in politics and his perfect orthodoxy, the old exile
+would have seriously risked being compromised by his blind partisans,
+and even considered dangerous. They only realized on the day of his
+death how dangerous he was.
+
+Although I regret to finish this sombre sketch with a funereal scene, I
+cannot refrain from speaking of the apotheosis accorded to him, and the
+impression it made upon me, for it will show, more than any extended
+criticism, what this man was to his native country. On the 10th of
+February, 1881, some friends of Dostoyevski told me that he had died
+the preceding night, after a short illness. We went to his house to
+attend the service which the Russian Church holds twice a day over the
+remains of the dead, from the time of the decease until the burial.
+He lived in a populous quarter of St. Petersburg. We found an immense
+crowd before the door and on the staircase, and with great difficulty
+threaded our way to the study, where the great author lay. It was
+a small apartment, strewn with papers and pamphlets, and crowded by
+the visitors, who filed around the coffin, which rested upon a little
+table at one end of the room. I saw that face for the first time at
+peace, utterly free from pain. He seemed to be happily dreaming under
+the profusion of roses, which quickly disappeared, divided among the
+crowd as relics. The crowd increased every moment, all the women were
+in tears, the men boisterously pushing and crowding, eager to see his
+face. The temperature of the room became suffocating, being closed
+quite tightly from the air, as Russian rooms are in winter. Suddenly
+the air seemed to be exhausted, all the candles went out, and only the
+little flickering lamp before the holy images remained. Just at this
+moment, in the darkness, there was a terrible rush from the staircase,
+bringing a new influx of people. It seemed as if the whole crowd
+outside were mounting the stairs; the first comers were hurled against
+the coffin, which tottered―the poor widow, crowded, with her two
+children, between the table and the wall, threw herself over the body
+of her husband, and held it, screaming with terror. For a few moments
+we thought the corpse would be crushed under foot by the crowd. It
+oscillated, pressed upon by this mass of humanity, by the ardent and
+brutal affection of the rushing throngs below. At this moment there
+came before me a rapid vision of the author’s whole work, with all the
+cruelty, terror, and tenderness he tried to portray in it. This throng
+of strangers seemed to assume names and forms quite familiar to me.
+Fancy had sketched them in books, but now they stood living before me,
+taking part in a similar scene of horror. His characters seemed to have
+come to torment him, even after death, to bring him their rough homage,
+even to the profanation of the object of it. He would have appreciated
+just such exaggerated homage.
+
+Two days after, this vision was repeated more completely, and on a
+larger scale. The 12th February, 1881, was a memorable day in Russia.
+Except on the occasion of the death of Skobelef, there were never
+seen in St. Petersburg such significant and imposing obsequies. From
+an early hour the whole population were standing in the street, one
+hundred thousand persons along the line where the procession was to
+pass. More than twenty thousand persons followed it. The government
+was alarmed, fearing some serious disturbance. They thought the corpse
+might be seized, and they had to repress the students who wanted to
+have the chains of the Siberian prisoner carried behind the funeral
+car. The timorous officials insisted upon preventing all risk of a
+revolutionary uprising. This was at the time of the most important
+of the Nihilist conspiracies, only one month previous to that one
+which cost the Tsar his life, during the time of that experiment of
+the liberal leader, Loris Melikof. Russia was at this moment in a
+state of fermentation, and the most trifling incident might produce an
+explosion. Loris thought it wiser to associate himself with the popular
+sentiment than to try to crush it out. He was right; the wicked designs
+of a few men were absorbed in the general grief. Through one of those
+unexpected combinations, of which Russia alone possesses the secret,
+all parties, all adversaries, all the disjointed fragments of the
+empire, now came together, through the death of this man, in a general
+communion of grief and enthusiasm. Whoever witnessed this funeral
+procession saw this country of contrasts illustrated in all its phases;
+the priests who chanted the service, the students of the universities,
+the school children, the young female students from the medical
+schools, the Nihilists, easily recognized by their peculiarities of
+dress and bearing, the men wearing a plaid over the shoulder, the
+spectacles and closely cut hair of the women; all the literary and
+scientific societies, deputations from every part of the empire, old
+Muscovite merchants, peasants, lackeys, and beggars. In the church
+waited the official dignitaries, the minister of public instruction,
+and the young princes of the imperial family.
+
+A forest of banners, crosses, and wreaths were borne by that army,
+which was made up of such various elements, and produced in the
+spectator such a medley of impressions. To me everything that passed
+seemed an illustration of the author’s work, formed of elements both
+formidable and restless, with all their folly and grandeur. In the
+first rank, and most numerous, were those he loved best, the ‘poor
+people,’ the ‘degraded,’ the ‘insulted,’ the ‘possessed’ even, glad to
+take part in leading the remains of their advocate over this path of
+glory;―but accompanying and surrounding all were the uncertainty and
+confusion of the national life, as he had painted it, filled with all
+the vague hopes that he had stirred.
+
+The crowd pressed into the little church, decked with flowers, and
+into the cemetery around it. Then there was a Babel of words. Before
+the altar the high-priest discoursed of God and of eternity, while
+others took the body to carry it to the grave, and discoursed of glory.
+Official orators, students, _Slavophile_ and liberal committees, men of
+letters and poets,―every one came there to set forth his own ideal, to
+claim the departed spirit for his cause, and parade his own ambition
+over this tomb.
+
+While the winter wind bore away all this eloquence with the rustling
+leaves and the snow-dust raised by the spades of the grave-diggers, I
+made an effort to make, in my own mind, a fair estimate of the man’s
+moral worth and of his life’s work. I felt as much perplexed as when I
+had to pronounce judgment upon his literary merit. He had sympathized
+with the people, and awakened sympathy, and even piety, in them. But
+what excessive ideas and what moral convulsions he engendered! He had
+given his heart to the cause, it is true; but unaccompanied by reason,
+that inseparable companion of the heart. I reviewed the whole course of
+that strange life;―born in a hospital, to a youth of poverty, illness,
+and trial, exiled to Siberia, then sent to the barracks, ever pursued
+by poverty and distress, always crushed, and yet ennobled by a labor
+which was his salvation. I now felt that this persecuted life should
+not be judged by our standards, which may not apply to his peculiar
+case, and that I must leave him to Him who judges all hearts according
+to their true merits. When I bent over his grave, covered with laurel
+wreaths, the farewell words which came to my lips were those of the
+student to the poor abandoned girl, and which express Dostoyevski’s
+entire creed: “It is not only before thee that I prostrate myself, but
+before all suffering humanity!”
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+     [J]  An English translation was published in 1886, under
+          the title, “Injury and Insult.”
+
+     [K]  Published also under the title “Buried Alive.”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VI.
+
+                   NIHILISM AND MYSTICISM.―TOLSTOÏ.
+
+
+In Turgenef’s artistic work, illustrative of the national
+characteristics, we have witnessed the birth of the Russian romance,
+and how it has naturally tended toward the psychological classification
+of a few general types; or, perhaps, more justly, toward the
+contemplation of them, when we consider with what serenity this
+artist’s moral investigations were conducted. Dostoyevski has shown a
+spirit quite contrary to this, uncultured and yet subtile, sympathetic,
+tortured by tragic visions, morbidly preoccupied by exceptional
+and perverted types. The first of these two writers was constantly
+coquetting, so to speak, with liberal doctrines: the second was a
+_Slavophile_ of the most extreme type.
+
+In Tolstoï, other surprises are reserved for us. Younger by ten years
+than his predecessors, he hardly felt the influences of 1848. Attached
+to no particular school, totally indifferent to all political parties,
+despising them in fact, this solitary, meditative nobleman acknowledges
+no master and no sect; he is himself a spontaneous phenomenon. His
+first great novel was contemporary with “Fathers and Sons”, but between
+the two great novelists there is a deep abyss. The one still made use
+of the traditions of the past, while he acknowledged the supremacy
+of Western Europe, and appropriated to himself and his work what he
+learned of us; the other broke off wholly with the past and with
+foreign bondage; he is a personification of the New Russia, feeling
+its way out of the darkness, impatient of any tendency toward the
+adoption of our tastes and ideas, and often incomprehensible to us.
+Let us not expect Russia to do what she is incapable of, to restrict
+herself within certain limits, to concentrate her attention upon one
+point, or bring her conception of life down to one doctrine. Her
+literary productions must reflect the moral chaos which she is passing
+through. Tolstoï comes to her aid. More truly than any other man, and
+more completely than any other, he is the translator and propagator
+of that condition of the Russian mind which is called Nihilism. To
+seek to know how far he has accomplished this, would be to turn around
+constantly in the same circle. This writer fills the double function of
+the mirror which reflects the light and sends it back increased tenfold
+in intensity, producing fire. In the religious confessions which he has
+lately written, the novelist, changed into a theologian, gives us, in a
+few lines, the whole history of his soul’s experience:―
+
+“I have lived in this world fifty-five years; with the exception of
+the fourteen or fifteen years of childhood, I have lived thirty-five
+years a Nihilist in the true sense of the word,―not a socialist or a
+revolutionist according to the perverted sense acquired by usage, but a
+true Nihilist―that is, subject to no faith or creed whatever.”
+
+This long delayed confession was quite unnecessary; the man’s entire
+work published it, although the dreadful word is not once expressed
+by him. Critics have called Turgenef the father of Nihilism because
+he had given a name to the malady, and described a few cases of it.
+One might as well affirm the cholera to have been introduced by the
+first physician who gave the diagnosis of it, instead of by the first
+person attacked by the scourge. Turgenef discovered the evil, and
+studied it objectively; Tolstoï suffered from it from the first day of
+its appearance, without having, at first, a very clear consciousness
+of his condition; his tortured soul cries out on every page he has
+written, to express the agony which weighs down so many other souls of
+his own race. If the most interesting books are those which faithfully
+picture the existence of a fraction of humanity at a given moment of
+history, this age has produced nothing more remarkable, in regard to
+its literary quality, than his work. I do not hesitate in giving my
+opinion that this writer, when considered merely as a novelist, is
+one of the greatest masters in literature our century has produced.
+It may be asked how we can venture to express ourselves so strongly
+of a still living contemporary, whose overcoat and beard are familiar
+objects in every-day life, who dines, reads the papers, receives money
+from his publishers and invests it, who does, in short, just what other
+men do. How can we thus elevate a man before his body has turned to
+ashes, and his name become transfigured by the accumulated respect of
+several generations? As for me, I cannot help seeing this man as great
+as he will appear after death, or subscribing voluntarily to Flaubert’s
+exclamation, as he read Turgenef’s translation of Tolstoï, and cried in
+a voice of thunder, while he stamped heavily upon the ground:―
+
+“He is a second Shakespeare!”
+
+Tolstoï’s troubled, vacillating mind, obscured by the mists of
+Nihilism, is by a singular and not infrequent contradiction endowed
+with an unparalleled lucidity and penetration for the scientific study
+of the phenomena of life. He has a clear, analytical comprehension of
+everything upon the earth’s surface, of man’s internal life as well
+as of his exterior nature: first of tangible realities, then the play
+of his passions, his most volatile motives to action, the slightest
+disturbances of his conscience. This author might be said to possess
+the skill of an English chemist with the soul of a Hindu Buddhist.
+Whoever will undertake to account for that strange combination will be
+capable of explaining Russia herself.
+
+Tolstoï maintains a certain simplicity of nature in the society of
+his fellow-beings which seems to be impossible to the writers of our
+country; he observes, listens, takes in whatever he sees and hears, and
+for all time, with an exactness which we cannot but admire. Not content
+with describing the distinctive features of the general physiognomy
+of society, he resolves them into their original elements with the
+most assiduous care; always eager to know how and wherefore an act is
+produced; pursuing the original thought behind the visible act, he
+does not rest until he has laid it bare, tearing it from the heart
+with all its secret roots and fibres. Unfortunately, his curiosity
+will not let him stop here. Of those phenomena which offer him such
+a free field when he studies them by themselves, he wishes to know
+the origin, and to go back to the most remote and inaccessible causes
+which produced them. Then his clear vision grows dim, the intrepid
+explorer loses his foothold and falls into the abyss of philosophical
+contradictions. Within himself, and all around him he feels nothing but
+chaos and darkness; to fill this void and illuminate the darkness, the
+characters through which he speaks have recourse to the unsatisfactory
+explanations of metaphysics, and, finally, irritated by these pedantic
+sophistries, they suddenly steal away, and escape from their own
+explanations.
+
+Gradually, as Tolstoï advances in life and in his work, he is more
+and more engulfed in doubt; he lavishes his coldest irony upon those
+children of his fancy who try to believe and to discover and apply a
+consistent system of morality. But under this apparent coldness you
+feel that his heart sobs out a longing for what he cannot find, and
+thirsts for things eternal. Finally, weary of doubt and of search,
+convinced that all the calculations of reason end only in mortifying
+failure, fascinated by the mysticism which had long lain in wait for
+his unsatisfied soul, the Nihilist suddenly throws himself at the feet
+of a Deity,―and of what a Deity we shall see hereafter.
+
+In finishing this chapter, I must speak of the singular phase into
+which the writer’s mind has fallen of late. I hope to do this with all
+the reserve due to a living man, and all due respect for a sincere
+conviction. There is nothing to me more curious than his statement of
+the actual condition of his own soul. It is a picture of the crisis
+which the Russian conscience is now passing through, seen in full
+sunlight, foreshortened, and upon a lofty height. This thinker is the
+perfect type of a multitude of minds, as well as their guide; he tries
+to say what these minds confusedly feel.
+
+
+                                   I.
+
+Leo Nikolaievitch (Tolstoï) was born in the year 1828. The course of
+his external life has offered nothing of interest to the lovers of
+romance, being quite the same as that of Russian gentlemen in general.
+In his father’s house in the country, and afterwards at the University
+of Kazan, he received the usual education from foreign masters which
+gives to the cultivated classes in Russia their cosmopolitan turn of
+mind. He then entered the army and spent several years in the Caucasus
+in a regiment of artillery, and was afterwards transferred at his
+request to Sebastopol. He went through the famous siege in the Crimean
+War, which he has illustrated by three striking sketches: “Sebastopol
+in December, in May, and in August.” Resigning his position when peace
+was declared, Count Tolstoï first travelled extensively, then settled
+at St. Petersburg and Moscow, living in the society of his own class.
+He studied society and the court as he had studied the war―with that
+serious attention which tears away the masks from all faces and reads
+the inmost heart. After a few winters of fashionable life, he left the
+capital, partly, it is said, to escape from the different literary
+circles which were anxious to claim him among their votaries. In 1860,
+he married and retired to his ancestral estate, near Tula, where he
+has remained almost constantly for twenty-five years. The whole history
+of his own life is hardly disguised in the autobiography he wrote,
+entitled, “Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth.” The evolution of his inward
+experience is further carried out in the two great novels, “War and
+Peace” and “Anna Karenina,” and ends, as might have been foreseen,
+with the theological and moral essays which have for some years quite
+absorbed his intellectual activity.
+
+I believe the author’s first composition, while he was an officer in
+the army of the Caucasus, must have been the novelette published later
+under the title, “The Cossacks.” This is the least systematic of all
+his works, and is perhaps the one which best betrays the precocious
+originality of his mind, and his remarkable power of seeing and
+representing truth. This book marks a date in literature: the definite
+rupture of Russian poetry with Byronism and romanticism in the very
+heart of their former reign. The influence of Byron was so strong that
+the prejudiced eyes of the poets saw the Orient in which they lived
+through their poetical fancy, which transfigured both scenery and men.
+Attracted like so many other writers toward this region, Tolstoï, or,
+rather, Olenin, the hero of the Cossacks (I believe them to be one
+and the same), leaves Moscow one beautiful evening, after a farewell
+supper with his young friends. Weary of civilization, he throws off
+his habitual thoughts as he would a worn-out garment; his _troïka_
+bears him away to a strange country; he longs for a primitive life, new
+sensations, new interests.
+
+Our traveller installs himself in one of the little Cossack settlements
+on the river Terek; he adopts the life of his new friends, takes
+part in their expeditions and hunts; an old mountaineer, who
+somewhat recalls Fenimore Cooper’s “Leatherstocking,” undertakes to
+be his guide. Olenin quite naturally falls in love with the lovely
+Marianna, daughter of his host. Tolstoï will now show us the Orient
+in a new light, in the mirror of truth. For the lyric visions of his
+predecessors he substitutes a philosophical view of men and things.
+From the very first this acute observer understood how puerile it is
+to lend to these creatures of instinct our refinement of thought and
+feeling, our theatrical way of representing passion. The dramatic
+interest of his tale consists in the fatal want of mutual understanding
+that must, perforce, exist between the heart of a civilized being and
+that of a wild, savage creature, and the total impossibility of two
+souls of such different calibre blending in a mutual passion. Olenin
+tries in vain to cultivate simplicity of feeling. Because he dons a
+Circassian cap, he cannot at the same time change his nature and become
+primitive. His love cannot separate itself from all the intellectual
+complications which our literary education lends to this passion. He
+says:―
+
+“What there is terrible and at the same time interesting in my
+condition is that I feel that I understand Marianna and that she never
+will be able to understand me. Not that she is inferior to me,―quite
+the contrary; but it is impossible for her to understand me. She is
+happy; she is natural; she is like Nature itself, equable, tranquil,
+happy in herself.”
+
+The character of this little Asiatic, strange and wild as a young doe,
+is beautifully drawn. I appeal to those who are familiar with the
+East and have proved the falsity of those Oriental types invented by
+European literature. They will find in the “The Cossacks,” a surprising
+exposure of the falsity of that other moral world. Tolstoï has brought
+this country before us by his vivid and picturesque descriptions of its
+natural features. The little idyl serves as a pretext for magnificent
+descriptions of the Caucasus; steppe, forest, and mountain stand before
+us as vividly as the characters which inhabit them. The grand voices of
+Nature join in with and support the human voices, as an orchestra leads
+and sustains a chorus. The author, absorbed as he was afterwards in the
+study of the human soul, never again expressed such a profound sympathy
+with nature as in this work. At this time Tolstoï was inclined to
+be both pantheist and pessimist, vacillating between the two. “Trois
+Morts,” a fragment of his, contains the substance of this philosophy:―
+
+“The happiest man, and the best, is he who thinks the least and who
+lives the simplest life and dies the simplest death. Accordingly, the
+peasant is better than the lord, the tree is better than the peasant,
+and the death of an oak-tree is a greater calamity to the world than
+the death of an old princess.”
+
+This is Rousseau’s doctrine exaggerated: the man who thinks is not
+only a depraved animal but an inferior plant. But Pantheism is another
+attempt at a rational explanation of the universe: Nihilism will
+soon replace it. This monster has already devoured the inmost soul
+of the man, without his even being conscious of it. It is easy to be
+convinced of this when we read his “Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth.” It
+is the journal of the gradual awakening of an intelligence to life; it
+lays before us the whole secret of the formation of Tolstoï’s moral
+character. The author subjects his own conscience to that penetrating,
+inexorable analysis, which later he will use upon society; he tries
+his hand upon himself first of all. It is a singular book, lengthy,
+and sometimes trivial; Dickens is rapid and sketchy in comparison
+with him. In relating the course of a most ordinary journey from the
+country into Moscow, he counts every turn of the wheels, notes every
+passing peasant, every guide-post. But this fastidious observance of
+details, applied to trivial facts, becomes a wonderful instrument when
+applied to human nature and to psychological researches. It throws
+light upon the man’s own inner conscience, without regard to his
+self-love; he sees himself as he is, and lays bare his soul with all
+its petty vanities, and the ingratitude and mistrust of an ill-humored
+child. We shall recognize this same child in the principal characters
+of his great novels, with its nature quite unchanged. I will quote two
+passages which show us the very foundation of Nihilism in the brain of
+a lad of sixteen:―
+
+“Of all philosophical doctrines, the one which attracted me most
+strongly was skepticism; for a time it brought me to a condition
+verging upon madness. I would imagine that nothing whatever existed
+in the world except myself; that all objects were only illusions,
+evoked by myself just at the moment I gave attention to them, and which
+vanished the moment I ceased to think of them…. There were times when,
+possessed by this idea, I was brought into such a bewildered state that
+I would turn quickly around and look behind me, hoping to be able to
+pierce through the chaos which lay beyond me. My enfeebled mind could
+not penetrate through the impenetrable, and would lose by degrees in
+this wearisome struggle the certainties which for the sake of my own
+happiness, I ought never to have sought. I reaped nothing from all
+this intellectual effort but an activity of mind which weakened my
+will-power, and a habit of incessant moral analysis which robbed every
+sensation of its freshness and warped my judgment on every subject….”
+
+Such a cry might have been uttered by a disciple of Schelling. But
+listen to what follows from the heart of a Russian, who speaks for his
+countrymen as well as himself:―
+
+“When I remember how young I was, and the state of mind I was in, I
+realize perfectly how the most atrocious crimes might be committed
+without reason or a desire to injure any one, but, so to speak, from
+a sort of curiosity or an unconscious necessity of action. There are
+times when the future appears to a man so dark that he fears to look
+into it; and he totally suspends the exercise of his own reason within
+himself, and tries to persuade himself that there is no future and
+that there has been no past. At such moments, when the mind no longer
+controls the will, when the material instincts are the only springs
+of life left to us,―I can understand how an inexperienced child can,
+without hesitation or fear, and with a smile of curiosity, set fire
+to his own house, in which all those he loves best―father, mother,
+and brothers―are sleeping. Under the influence of this temporary
+eclipse of the mind, which I might call a moment of aberration or
+distraction,―a young peasant lad of sixteen stands looking at the
+shining blade of an axe just sharpened, which lies under the bench
+upon which his old father has fallen asleep: suddenly he brandishes
+the axe, and finds himself looking with stupid curiosity, upon the
+stream of blood under the bench which is flowing from the aged head he
+has just cleft. In this condition of mind, a man likes to lean over a
+precipice and think: ‘What if I should throw myself over head first!’
+or to put a loaded pistol to his forehead and think: ‘Suppose I should
+pull the trigger!’ or when he sees a person of dignity and consequence
+surrounded by the universal respect of all, and suddenly feels impelled
+to go up to him and take him by the nose, saying: ‘Come along, old
+fellow!’”
+
+This is pure childishness, you will say! So it would be in our steadier
+brains and more active lives, rarely disturbed by these attacks of
+nightmare. Turgenef has touched upon this national malady of his
+fellow-countrymen in his last tale, “Despair,” as well as Dostoyevski
+in many of his. There are several cases in “Recollections of a Dead
+House,” identical with those described by Tolstoï, although the two
+authors’ treatment of this theme are so unlike. The word in their
+language which expresses this condition is quite untranslatable.
+_Despair_ approaches it nearest; but the condition is a mixture also
+of fatalism, barbarism, asceticism, and other qualities, or want of
+them. It may describe, perhaps, Hamlet’s mental malady or attack of
+madness, at the moment he ran his sword through Polonius, father of his
+Ophelia. It seems to be a sort of horrible fascination which belongs to
+cold countries, to a climate of extremes, where they learn to endure
+everything better than an ordinary fate, and prefer annihilation to
+moderation.
+
+Poor Russia! a tempest-tossed sea-gull, hovering over an abyss!
+
+Nihilist and pessimist,―are not these synonymous words, and must
+they not both exist in the same person? From this time, all Tolstoï’s
+productions would argue this to be the fact. A few short tales are a
+prelude to his two great novels, which we must now make a study of, as
+to them he devoted his highest powers and concentrated upon them his
+profoundest thought. His talent heretofore had produced but fragmentary
+compositions and sketches.
+
+
+                                  II.
+
+“War and Peace” is a picture of Russian society during the great
+Napoleonic wars, from 1805 to 1815. We question whether this
+complicated work can be properly called a novel. “War and Peace” is
+a summary of the author’s observations of human life in general.
+The interminable series of episodes, portraits, and reflections
+which Tolstoï presents to us are introduced through a few fictitious
+characters; but the real hero of this epic is Russia herself, passing
+through her desperate struggle against the foreign invader. The real
+characters, Alexander, Napoleon, Kutuzof, Speranski, occupy nearly as
+much space as the imaginary ones; the simple and rather slack thread
+of romance serves to bind together the various chapters on history,
+politics, philosophy, heaped pell-mell into this polygraph of the
+Russian world. Imagine Victor Hugo’s “Les Misérables” being re-written
+by Dickens in his untiring, exhaustless manner, then re-constructed
+by the cold, searching pen of Stendhal, and you may possibly form an
+idea of the general arrangement and execution of the work, and of that
+curious union of epic grandeur and infinitesimal analytical detail. I
+try to fancy M. Meissonier painting a panorama; I doubt if he could
+do it, but if he could his twofold talent would illustrate the double
+character of Tolstoï’s work.
+
+The pleasure to be derived from it resembles that from mountain-climbing;
+the way is often rough and wild, the path, as you ascend, difficult
+to find, effort and fatigue are indispensable; but when you reach the
+summit and look around you the reward is great. Magnificent vistas
+stretch beneath you; he who has never accomplished the ascent will
+never know the true face of the country, the course of its rivers
+or the relative situation of its towns. A stranger, therefore, who
+would understand Russia of the nineteenth century, must read Tolstoï;
+and whoever would undertake to write a history of that country would
+utterly fail in his task if he neglected to consult this exhaustless
+repository of the national life. Those who have a passion for the
+study of history will not, perhaps, grow impatient over this mass of
+characters and succession of trivial incidents with which the work is
+loaded down. Will it be the same with those who seek only amusement
+in a work of fiction? For these, Tolstoï will break up all previous
+habits. This incorrigible analyst is either ignorant of or disdains the
+very first method of procedure employed by all our writers; we expect
+our novelist to select out his character or event, and separate it from
+the surrounding chaos of beings and objects, making a special study
+of the object of his choice. The Russian, ruled by the sentiment of
+universal dependence, is never willing to cut the thousand ties which
+bind men, actions, thoughts, to the rest of the universe; he never
+forgets the natural mutual dependence of all things. Imagine the Latin
+and the Slav before a telescope. The first arranges it to suit himself;
+that is, he voluntarily foreshortens his range of vision, to make
+more distinct what he sees, and diminish the extent of it; the second
+requires the full power of the instrument, enlarges his horizon, and
+sees a confused picture, for the sake of seeing farther.
+
+In a passage in “Anna Karenina,” Tolstoï well defines the contrast
+between two such natures, and the mutual attraction they exert upon
+each other. Levin, the dreamer, meets one of his friends, who is of a
+methodical turn of mind.
+
+“Levin imagined that Katavasof’s clearness of conception came from the
+poverty and narrowness of his nature; Katavasof thought that Levin’s
+incoherency of ideas arose from the want of a well disciplined mind;
+but the clearness of Katavasof pleased Levin, and the natural richness
+of an undisciplined mind in the latter was agreeable to the other.”
+
+These lines sum up all the grounds of complaint that the Russians
+have to reproach us with in our literature, and those we have against
+theirs; which differences explain the pleasure the two races find in an
+interchange of their literary productions.
+
+It is easy to predict what impressions all readers of “War and
+Peace” and “Anna Karenina” will receive. I have seen the same effect
+invariably produced upon all who have read those books. At first,
+for some time, the reader will hardly find his bearings; not knowing
+whither he is being led, he will soon grow weary of the task that lies
+before him. But little by little he will be drawn on, captivated by
+the complex action of all these characters, among whom he will find
+himself, as well as some of his friends, and will become most anxious
+to unravel the secret of their destinies. On closing the book, he feels
+a sense of regret, as if parting with a family with which he has been
+for years on terms of familiar intercourse. He has passed through the
+experience of the traveller thrown into the novelty of new society and
+surroundings; he feels annoyance and fatigue at first, then curiosity,
+and finally has formed deeply rooted attachments.
+
+What seems to me the distinction between the classic author and a
+conscientious painter of life as it is, like Tolstoï, is this: a book
+is like a drawing-room filled with strangers; the first type of author
+voluntarily presents you to this company at once, and unveils to you
+the thousand intertwining combinations, incidents, and intrigues going
+on there; with the second you must go forward and present yourself,
+find out for yourself the persons of mark, the various relations and
+sentiments of the entire circle, live, in fact, in the midst of this
+fictitious company, just as you have lived in society, among real
+people. To be able to judge of the respective merit of the two methods,
+we must interrogate one of the fundamental laws of our being. Is there
+any pleasure worth having which does not cost some little trouble? Do
+we not prefer what we have acquired by an effort all our own? Let us
+reflect upon this. Whatever may be our individual preferences in regard
+to intellectual pleasure, I think we can agree on one point: in the
+old, well worn paths of literature, mediocrity may be tolerated; but
+when an author strikes out in a new path we cannot tolerate a partial
+success; he must write dramas equal to Shakespeare, and romances as
+good as Tolstoï’s, to give us a true picture of life as it is. This
+we have in “War and Peace,” and the question of its success has been
+decided in the author’s favor. When I visit with him the soldiers
+in camp, the court, and court society, which has hardly changed in
+the last half-century, and see how he lays bare the hearts of men, I
+cry out at every page I read: “How true that is!” As we go on, our
+curiosity changes into astonishment, astonishment into admiration,
+before this inexorable judge, who brings every human action before his
+tribunal, and forces from every heart its secrets. We feel as if drawn
+on with the current of a tranquil, never-ending stream, the stream of
+human life, carrying with it the hearts of men, with all their agitated
+and complicated movements and emotions.
+
+War is one of the social phenomena which has strongly attracted our
+author and philosopher. He is present at the Council of Generals and
+at the soldiers’ bivouac; he studies the moral condition of each; he
+understands the orders, and why they should be obeyed. He presents
+to us the whole physiognomy of the Russian army. A minute description
+which he gives of a disorderly retreat is second only to Schiller’s
+“Camp of Wallenstein.” He describes the first engagement, the first
+cannon-shot, the fall of the first soldier, the agony of that
+long-dreaded moment.
+
+In the course of these volumes the imperial battles are portrayed;
+Austerlitz, Friedland, Borodino. Tolstoï talks of war like a man who
+has taken part in it; he knows that a battle is never witnessed by
+the participants. The soldier, officer, or general which the writer
+introduces never sees but a single point of the combat; but by the
+way in which a few men fight, think, talk, and die on that spot, we
+understand the entire action, and know on what side the victory will be.
+
+When Tolstoï wishes to give us a general description of anything,
+he ingeniously makes use of some artifice; as, for example, in the
+engagement at Schöngraben he introduces an aide-de-camp who carries an
+order the whole length of the line of battle. Then the corps commanders
+bring in their reports, not of what has taken place, but of what
+naturally ought to have taken place. How is this? “The colonel had so
+strongly desired to execute this movement, he so regretted not having
+been able to carry it out, that it seemed to him that all must have
+taken place as he wished. Perhaps it really had! Is it ever possible in
+such confusion to find out what has or has not occurred?”―How perfect
+is this ironical explanation! I appeal to any soldier who has ever
+taken part in any action in war, and heard an account given of it by
+the other participants.
+
+We do not demand of this realistic writer the conventional ideas of
+the classic authors;―an entire army heroic as its leaders, living
+only for the great causes it accomplishes, wholly absorbed in its
+lofty aim. Tolstoï reveals human nature: the soldier’s life, careless,
+occupied with trifling duties; the officers, with their pleasures or
+schemes of promotion; the generals, with their ambitions and intrigues;
+all these seeming quite accustomed and indifferent to what to us
+appears extraordinary and imposing. However, the author, by dint of
+sheer simplicity, sometimes draws tears of sympathy from us for those
+unconscious heroes, such as, for example, the pathetic character of
+Captain Touchino, which recalls Renault, in “Servitude et Grandeur
+Militaires.”[L] Tolstoï is severe upon the leaders of the Russian
+army; he reminds us of the councils of war after the late trials; he
+satirizes the French and German strategists by whom Alexander was
+surrounded; and, with his Nihilistic ideas, he thoroughly enjoys
+describing this Babel of tongues and opinions. With one man alone
+he secretly sympathizes―with the commander-in-chief, Kutuzof. And
+why?―Because he gave no orders, and went to sleep during the council,
+giving up everything to fate. All these descriptions of military life
+converge toward this idea, which is developed in the philosophical
+appendix to the novel; all action on the part of the commanders is
+vain and useless; everything depends upon the fortuitous action of
+small divisions, the only decisive factor being one of those unforeseen
+impulses or inspirations which at certain times impels an army. As
+regards battle array, who thinks of it on the spot when thousands of
+possible combinations arise? The military genius in command sees only
+the smoke; he invariably receives his information and issues his orders
+too late. Can the commander carry out any general plan who is leading
+on his troops, which number ten, fifty, or one hundred men out of one
+hundred thousand, within a small radius? The rest of the account you
+may find in the next day’s bulletins! Over the three hundred thousand
+combatants fighting in the plains of Borodino blows the wind of chance,
+bringing victory or defeat.
+
+Here is the same mystic spirit of Nihilism which springs up before
+every problem of life.
+
+After war, the study which Tolstoï loves best, come the intrigues of
+the higher classes of society and its centre of gravitation, the court.
+As differences of race grow less distinct as we approach the higher
+classes of society, the novelist creates no longer merely Russian
+types, but general, human, universal ones. Since St. Simon, no one has
+so curiously unveiled the secret mechanism of court life. We are very
+apt to distrust writers of fiction when they attempt to depict these
+hidden spheres; we suspect them of listening behind doors and peeping
+through key-holes. But this Russian author is in his native element;
+he has frequented and studied the court as he has the army; he talks
+of his peers in their own language, and has had the same education and
+culture; therefore his information is copious and correct, like what
+you obtain from the comedian who divulges the secrets of the boards.
+
+Go with the author into the salons of certain ladies of the court;
+listen to the tirades of refugees, the opinions expressed upon
+Buonaparte, the intrigues of the courtiers, and that peculiar accent
+when they mention any member of the imperial family. Visit with him a
+statesman’s home; sit down at Speranski’s table (the man who “laughs a
+stage laugh”); mark the sovereign’s passage through a ball-room by the
+light which is visible upon every face from the moment he enters the
+apartment; above all, visit the death-bed of old Count Bezushof, and
+witness the tragedy which is being acted under the mask of etiquette;
+the struggle of base instincts around that speechless, expiring old
+man, and the general agitation. Here a sinister element, as elsewhere
+a lofty one, lends marvellous force to the simple sincerity of the
+picture and to the restraint which propriety imposes upon faces and
+tongues.
+
+Every passage in which the Emperors Napoleon and Alexander appear
+in action or speech should be read in order to understand the place
+that Nihilism occupies in the Russian mind so far as regards the
+denial of the grandeur and respect accorded by general consent to
+such potentates. The writer speaks in a deferential tone, as if he
+would in no wise curtail the majesty of power; but by bringing it
+down to the most trivial exigencies of life he utterly destroys it.
+Scattered through the tale we find ten or twelve little sketches of
+Napoleon drawn with great care, without hostility or an approach to
+caricature; but merely by withdrawing him from the legendary halo
+surrounding him, the man’s greatness crumbles away. It is generally
+some physical peculiarity or trivial act, skilfully introduced, which
+seems quite incompatible with the sceptre and the imperial robes. With
+Napoleon, Tolstoï evidently takes great liberties; but it is curious
+to note these descriptive touches when applied to his own sovereign.
+With infinite precautions and perfect propriety, the spell of majesty
+is broken through the incongruity of the man’s actual habits and the
+formidable rôle he plays. I will quote one of the many examples of this
+kind (Alexander is at Moscow, in 1812; he receives the ovations of
+his people at the Kremlin, at the solemn hour when war is proclaimed):
+“When the Tzar had dined, the master of ceremonies said, looking out of
+the window, ‘The people are hoping to see your Majesty.’ The emperor,
+who was eating a biscuit, rose and went out on the balcony. The people
+rushed towards the terrace. ‘Our emperor! Our father! Hurrah! Hurrah!’
+cried the people. Many women and a few men actually wept for joy. Quite
+a large piece of the biscuit the emperor held in his hand broke off and
+fell upon the balustrade, and from that to the ground. The man nearest
+to it was a cab-driver, in a blouse, who made a rush for the piece and
+seized it. Others rushed upon the coachman; whereupon the emperor had a
+plateful of biscuit brought, and began to throw them from the balcony
+to the crowd. Pierre’s eyes became blood-shot; the danger of being
+crushed only excited him the more, and he pressed forward through the
+crowd. He could not have told why he felt that he positively must have
+one of those biscuit thrown by the hand of the Tzar….”
+
+Again, there is nothing more true to nature than the account of the
+audience granted by the Emperor of Austria to Bolkonski, who had been
+despatched as a courier to Brünn with the news of a victory of the
+allies. The writer describes so well the gradual disenchantment of
+the young officer, who sees his great battle vanish before his eyes
+in the opinion of men. He quitted the scene of the exploit expecting
+to astonish the world with the announcement he now brings; but on his
+arrival at Brünn a bucket of cold water has been thrown over his dreams
+by the “polite” aide-de-camp, the minister of war, the emperor himself,
+who addresses a few words to him in an absent way―the ordinary
+questions as to the time of day, the particular spot where the affair
+took place, and the usual indispensable compliments. When he takes
+his leave, after reflecting upon the subject from the point of view
+of other men, according to their respective interests, poor Bolkonski
+finds his battle much diminished in grandeur, and also a thing of the
+past.
+
+“Andé felt that his whole interest and joy over the victory was sinking
+away from him into the indifferent hands of the minister of war and the
+‘polite’ aide-de-camp. His whole train of thought had become modified;
+there seemed to be nothing left to him but a dim, distant recollection
+of the battle.”
+
+This is one of the phenomena most closely analyzed by Tolstoï―this
+variable influence exerted upon man by his surroundings. He likes to
+plunge his characters successively into different atmospheres,―that
+of the soldier’s life, the country, the fashionable world,―and then
+to show us the corresponding moral changes in them. When a man, after
+having for some time been under the empire of thoughts and passions
+previously foreign to him, returns into his former sphere, his views on
+all subjects change at once. Let us follow young Nikolai Rostof when
+he returns from the army to his home, and back again to his cavalry
+regiment. He is not the same person, but seems to be possessed of two
+souls. On the journey back and forth to Moscow, he gradually lays aside
+or resumes the one which his profession requires.
+
+It is useless to multiply examples of Tolstoï’s psychological
+curiosity, which is ever awake. It forms the principal feature of
+his genius. He loves to analyze the human puppet in every part. A
+stranger enters the room; the author studies his expression, voice, and
+step; he shows us the depths of the man’s soul. He explains a glance
+interchanged between two persons, in which he discovers friendship,
+fear, a feeling of superiority in one of them; in fact, a perfect
+knowledge of the mutual relations of these two men. This relentless
+physician constantly feels the pulse of every one who crosses his path,
+and coolly notes down the condition of his health, morally speaking.
+He proceeds in an objective manner, never directly describing a person
+except by making him act out his characteristics.
+
+This fundamental precept of classic art has been adopted by this
+realistic writer in his desire to imitate real life, in which we
+learn to comprehend people by trivial indications and by points of
+resemblance, without any information as to their position or qualities.
+A good deal of art is required to discern clearly in this apparent
+chaos, and you have a large choice in the formidable accumulation of
+details. Observe how, in the course of a conversation or the narration
+of some episode, Tolstoï makes the actors visibly present before us by
+calling our attention to one of their gestures, or some little absurd,
+peculiar habit, or by interrupting their conversation to show us the
+direction of their glances. This occurs constantly.
+
+There is also a good deal of wit in this serious style; not the
+flashes and sallies of wit that we are familiar with, but of a fine,
+penetrating quality, with subtle and singularly apt comparisons.
+
+
+                                  III.
+
+Among the numerous characters in “War and Peace,” the action is
+concentrated upon two only―Prince André Bolkonski and Pierre Bezushof.
+These remarkable types of character are well worthy of attention. In
+them the double aspect of the Russian soul, as well as of the author’s
+own, is reflected with all its harassing thoughts and contradictions.
+Prince André is a nobleman of high rank, looking down from his lofty
+position upon the life he despises; proud, cold, sceptical, atheistic,
+although at times his mind is tortured with anxiety concerning great
+problems. Through him the author pronounces his verdicts upon the
+historical characters of the time, and discourses of the various
+statesmen and their intrigues.
+
+André is received at Speranski’s. We know the wonderful influence
+acquired by this man, who almost established a new constitution in
+Russia. Speranski’s most striking trait, in Prince André’s opinion, was
+his absolute, unshaken faith in the force and legitimacy of reason.
+This trait was what particularly attracted André to him, and explains
+the ascendency that Speranski acquired over his sovereign and his
+country. André, having been seriously wounded at Austerlitz, lies on
+the battle-field, his eyes raised to heaven. The dying man exclaims:―
+
+“Oh, could I now but say, ‘Lord, have pity upon me!’ But who will hear
+me? Shall I address an indefinite, unapproachable Power, which cannot
+itself be expressed in words, the great All or Nothing, or that image
+of God which is within the amulet that Marie gave me?… There is nothing
+certain except the nothingness of everything that I have any conception
+of, and the majesty of something beyond my conception!”
+
+Pierre Bezushof is more human in character, but his intelligence is
+of quite as mysterious a quality. He is a stout man, of lymphatic
+temperament, absent-minded; a man who blushes and weeps easily,
+susceptible to love, sympathetic with all suffering. He is a type
+of the kind-hearted Russian noblemen, nervous, deficient in will, a
+constant prey to the ideas and influence of others; but under his gross
+exterior lives a soul so subtle, so mystic, that it might well be that
+of a Hindu monk. One day, after Pierre had given his word of honor to
+his friend André that he would not go to a midnight revel of some of
+his young friends, he hesitated when the hour of meeting came.
+
+“‘After all,’ he thought, ‘all pledges of words are purely
+conventional, without definite meaning, when you reflect about it.
+I may die to-morrow, or some extraordinary event take place, in
+consequence of which the question of honor or dishonor will not even
+arise.’
+
+“Reflections of this sort―destructive of all resolve or method―often
+occupied Pierre’s mind….” Tolstoï has skilfully made use of this weak
+nature, which is as receptive of all impressions as a photographer’s
+plate, to give us a clear conception of the chief currents of ideas in
+Russia in the reign of Alexander I.; these successively influence this
+docile adept with all their changes. We see the liberal movement of
+the earlier years of that reign developed in the mind of Bezushof, as
+afterwards the mystic and theosophic maze of its later years. Pierre
+personifies the sentiments of the people in 1812, the national revolt
+against foreign intervention, the gloomy madness of conquered Moscow,
+the burning of which has never been explained, nor is it known by whose
+hands it was kindled. This destruction of Moscow is the culminating
+point of the book. The scenes of tragic grandeur, simple in outline,
+sombre in color, are superior, I must acknowledge, to anything of the
+kind in literature. He pictures the entrance of the French into the
+Kremlin, the prisoners and lunatics roaming by night in freedom about
+the burning city, the roads filled with long columns of fugitives
+escaping from the flames, beside many other very striking episodes.
+
+Count Pierre remains in the burning city. He leaves his palace in
+plebeian guise, in a peasant’s costume, and wanders off like a
+person in a trance; he walks on straight before him, with a vague
+determination to kill Napoleon and be an expiatory victim and martyr
+for the people. “He was actuated by two equally strong impulses.
+The first was the desire to take his part of the self-sacrifice and
+universal suffering―a feeling which, at Borodino, had impelled him to
+throw himself into the thick of the battle, and which now drove him
+out of the house, away from the luxury and habitual refinements of
+his daily life, to sleep on the ground and eat the coarsest of food.
+The second came from that indefinable, exclusively Russian sentiment
+of contempt for everything conventional and artificial, for all that
+the majority of mankind esteem most desirable in the world. Pierre
+experienced this strange and intoxicating feeling on the day of his
+flight, when it had suddenly been impressed upon him that wealth,
+power, life itself, all that men seek to gain and preserve with such
+great effort, were absolutely worthless, or, at least, only worth the
+luxury of the voluntary sacrifice of these so-called blessings.” And
+through page after page the author unfolds that condition of mind that
+we discovered in his first writings, that hymn of the _Nirvâna_, just
+as it must be sung in Ceylon or Thibet.
+
+Pierre Bezushof is certainly the elder brother of those rich men
+and scholars who will some day “go among the people,” and willingly
+share their trials, carrying a dynamite bomb under their cloaks, as
+Pierre carries a poniard under his, moved by a double impulse: to
+share the common suffering, and enjoy the anticipated annihilation of
+themselves and others. Taken prisoner by the French, Bezushof meets,
+among his companions in misfortune, a poor soldier, a peasant, with
+an uncultivated mind, one, indeed, rather beneath the average. This
+man endures the hardships on the march, through these terrible days,
+with the humble resignation of a beast of burden. He addresses Count
+Pierre with a cheerful smile, a few ingenuous words, popular proverbs
+with but a vague meaning, but expressing resignation, fraternity, and,
+above all, fatalism. One evening, when he can keep up with the others
+no longer, the soldiers shoot him under a pine-tree, on the snow, and
+the man receives death with the same indifferent tranquillity that he
+does everything else, like a wounded dog―in fact, like the brute. At
+this time a moral revolution takes place in Pierre’s soul. Here I do
+not expect to be intelligible to my fellow-countrymen; I only record
+the truth. The noble, cultured, learned Bezushof takes this primitive
+creature for his model; he has found at last his ideal of life in this
+man, who is “poor in spirit,” as well as a rational explanation of the
+moral world. The memory and name of Karatayef are a talisman to him;
+thenceforward he has but to think of the humble _muzhik_, to feel at
+peace, happy, ready to comprehend and to love the entire universe. The
+intellectual development of our philosopher is accomplished; he has
+reached the supreme avatar, mystic indifference.
+
+When Tolstoï related this episode, he was twenty-five years of age. Had
+he then a presentiment that he should ever find his Karatayef, that he
+would pass through the same crisis, experience the same discipline, and
+come out of it regenerated? We shall see later on how he had actually
+prophesied his own experience, and that from this time he, together
+with Dostoyevski, was destined to establish the ideal of nearly all
+contemporaneous literature in Russia. Karatayef’s name is legion; under
+different names and forms, this vegetative form of existence will be
+presented for our admiration. The perfection of human wisdom is the
+sanctification, deification of the brute element, which is kind and
+fraternal in a certain vague way. The root of the idea is this:―
+
+The cultured man finds his reasoning faculties a hindrance to him,
+because useless, since they do not aid him to explain the object of his
+life; therefore it is his duty to make an effort to reject them, and
+descend from complications to simplicity, in life and thought. This is
+the aim and aspiration, under various forms, of Tolstoï’s whole work.
+
+He has written a series of articles on popular education. The leading
+idea is this:―
+
+“I would teach the children of the common people to think and to write;
+but I ought rather to learn of them to write and to think. We seek our
+ideal beyond us, when it is in reality behind us. The development of
+man is not the means of realizing that idea of harmony which we bear
+within us, but, on the contrary, it is an obstacle in the way of its
+realization. A healthy child born into the world fully satisfies that
+ideal of truth, beauty, and goodness, which, day by day, he will
+constantly continue to lose; he is, at birth, nearer to the unthinking
+beings, to the animal, plant, nature itself, which is the eternal type
+of truth, beauty, and goodness.”
+
+You can catch the thread of the idea, which is much like the
+contemplative mistiness of the ancient oriental asceticism. The
+Occident has not always been free from this evil; in its ascetic
+errors and deviations, it has ennobled the brute, and falsified the
+divine allegory of the “poor in spirit.” But the true source of this
+contagious spirit of renunciation is in Asia, in the doctrines of
+India, which spring up again, scarcely modified, in that frenzy which
+is precipitating a part of Russia toward an intellectual and moral
+abnegation, sometimes developing into a stupid quietism, and again to
+sublime self-devotion, like the doctrine of Buddha. All extremes meet.
+
+I will dwell no longer upon these scarcely intelligible abstractions,
+but would say a word concerning the female characters created by
+Tolstoï. They are very similar to Turgenef’s heroines, treated,
+perhaps, with more depth but less of tender grace. Two characters call
+for special attention. First, that of Marie Bolkonski, sister of André,
+the faithful daughter, devoted to the work of cheering the latter years
+of a morose old father; a pathetic figure, as pure in outline, under
+the firm touch of this artist, are the works of the old painters. Of
+quite another type is Natasha Rostof, the passionate, fascinating
+young girl, beloved by all, enslaving many hearts, bearing with her an
+exhalation of love through the whole thread of this severe work. She
+is sweet-tempered, straightforward, sincere, but the victim of her own
+extreme sensibility.
+
+Racine might have created a Marie Bolkonski; the Abbé Prévost would
+have preferred Natasha Rostof. Betrothed to Prince André, the only
+man she truly loves, Natasha yields to a fatal fancy for a miserable
+fellow. Disenchanted finally, she learns that André is wounded and
+dying, and goes to nurse him in a mute agony of despair. This part
+of the book presents the inexorableness of real life in its sudden
+calamities. After André’s death, Natasha marries Pierre, who has
+secretly loved her. French readers will be horror-stricken at these
+convulsions in the realms of passion; but it is like life, and Tolstoï
+sacrifices conventionality to the desire to paint it as it is. Do not
+imagine he sought a romantic conclusion. The young girl’s fickleness
+ends in conjugal felicity and the solid joys of home life. To these
+the writer devotes many pages, too many, perhaps, for our taste. He
+loves to dwell upon domestic life and joys; all other affections are
+in his eyes unwholesome exceptions―exciting his curiosity but not
+his sympathy. Thus he analyzes with a skilful pen, but with visible
+disgust, the flirtations and coquetry carried on in the _salons_ of St.
+Petersburg. Like Turgenef, Tolstoï does not hold the ladies of court
+circles in high estimation.
+
+He has added a long philosophical appendix to his romance, in which
+he brings up again, in a doctrinal form, the metaphysical questions
+which have tormented him the most, and once more repeats that he is a
+fatalist. This appendix has not been translated in the French edition,
+and this is well, for no reader would voluntarily undergo the useless
+fatigue of wading through it. Tolstoï is unwise in pressing ideas by
+abstract reasoning which he is so skilful in illustrating through his
+characters; he does not realize how much more clearly his ideas are
+expressed in their language and action than in any of his own arguments.
+
+
+                                  IV.
+
+“Anna Karenina,” which appeared periodically in a Moscow review, was
+the result of many years’ study. The work was not published in full
+until 1877, and its appearance was a literary event in Russia. I
+happened to be a witness of the curiosity and interest it excited there.
+
+The author intended this book to be a picture of the society of the
+present day, as “War and Peace” illustrated that of its time. The
+task offered the author more difficulties, for many reasons. In the
+first place, the present does not belong to us, as does the past; it
+deceives us, not having become firmly established, so that we cannot
+get in all the necessary lines and figures to emphasize it, as we
+could a half-century later. Besides, the liberties that Tolstoï could
+take with deceased potentates and statesmen, as well as with ideas of
+the past, he could not allow himself with contemporary ideas and with
+living men. This second book on Russian life is not as much in the
+style of an epic, neither is it as strong or as complex, as the first;
+on the other hand, it is more agreeable to us, as having more unity of
+subject and more continuity of action; the principal character, too, is
+more perfectly developed. Although there are two suicides and a case
+of adultery, Tolstoï has in this work undertaken to write the most
+strictly moral book in existence, and he has succeeded. The main idea
+is duty accomplished uninfluenced by the passions. The author portrays
+an existence wholly outside of conventional lines of conduct; and, as
+a contrast, the history of a pure, legitimate affection, a happy home,
+and wholesome labor. He is too much of a realist, however, to picture
+an earthly paradise under any human conditions.
+
+Karenina, a statesman in the highest circles of St. Petersburg society,
+is a husband so greatly absorbed in the study of political economy
+as to be easily blinded and deceived in other matters. Vronski, the
+seducer of his wife’s affections, is a sincere character, devoted and
+self-sacrificing. Anna is a very charming woman, tender and faithful
+where her affections are enlisted. Tolstoï has recourse neither to
+hysteria nor any nervous ailment whatever, to excuse her fall. He
+is sagacious enough to know that every one’s feelings are regulated
+by his or her peculiar organism; that conscience exerts contrary
+influences, and that it really exists, because it speaks and commands.
+Take, for example, the description of Anna’s first anxieties, during
+the night-journey between Moscow and St. Petersburg, when she first
+comprehends the state of her heart. These pages you can never forget.
+She discovers Vronski in the train, knows that he is following her,
+then listens to his avowal of love. The intoxicating poison steals into
+every vein, her will is no longer her own, the dream has begun.
+
+The writer takes advantage of every outward circumstance to illustrate
+and color this dream in his inimitable manner, according to his usual
+method. He describes the poor woman making an effort to fix her
+thoughts upon an English novel, the snow and hail rattling against
+the window-panes; then the sketches of fellow-travellers, the various
+sounds and rushing of the train through the night,―all assume a new
+and fantastic meaning, as accompaniments of the agony of love and
+terror which are struggling within that woman’s soul. When, the next
+morning, Anna leaves the train and steps upon the platform where her
+husband is awaiting her, she says to herself: “Good heavens! how much
+longer his ears have grown!” This exclamation reveals to us the change
+that has taken place within her. How well the author knows how to
+explain a whole situation with a single phrase!
+
+From the first flutter of fear to the last contortions of despair,
+which lead the unhappy woman to suicide, the novelist exposes her
+inmost heart, and notes each palpitation. There is no necessity for
+any tragic complication to bring about the catastrophe. Anna has given
+up everything to follow her lover; she has placed herself in such a
+fatal predicament that life becomes impossible, which is sufficient to
+explain her resolve.
+
+In contrast with this wrecked life, the innocent affection of Kitty and
+Levin continues its smooth course. First, it is a sweet idyl, drawn
+with infinite grace; then the home, the birth of children, bringing
+additional joys and cares. This is the highly moral and dull theme of
+the English novel, one may say. It is similar, and yet not the same.
+The British tale-writer is almost always something of a preacher; you
+feel that he judges human actions according to some preconceived rule,
+from the point of view of the Established Church or of puritanic ideas.
+But Tolstoï is entirely free from all prejudices. I might almost say
+he has little anxiety as to questions of morality; he constructs his
+edifices according to his own idea of the best method; the moral lesson
+springs only from facts and results, both bitter and wholesome. This
+is no book for the youth of twenty, nor for a lady’s boudoir,―a book
+containing no charming illusions; but a man in full maturity relates
+what experience has taught him, for the benefit of mankind.
+
+These volumes present an exception in regard to what is thought to
+guarantee the permanent success of a literary work. They will be read,
+and then reflected upon; we shall apply the observations to our own
+souls and to others’ (the most unimportant as well as the most general
+ones); then we shall go back to his model, which will invariably verify
+them. Years may pass after the first reading, notes accumulate on the
+margins of the leaves, as in many masterpieces of the classics you find
+at the bottom of the pages the explanatory remarks of generations of
+commentators. In this case, they need merely to say: “_Confer vitam_.”
+
+Tolstoï’s style is in this work the same as in “War and Peace.” He
+is like a scientific engineer who visits some great establishment
+where machines are manufactured. He studies the mechanism of every
+engine, examines the most trifling parts, measures the degree of
+steam-pressure, tries the balance-valves, studies the action of the
+pistons and gearing; he seeks eagerly to discover the central motive
+power, the invisible reservoir of force. While he is experimenting
+with the machinery, we, outside spectators, see only the results of all
+this labor, the manufactures of delicate fabrics with infinite variety
+of designs―life itself.
+
+Tolstoï shows the same qualities and defects as in “War and Peace,” and
+gives the same tediously long descriptions. The parts devoted to the
+pictures of country life and rural occupations will seem, in France,
+a little dull. Unfortunately, in one sort of realistic description,
+we must know the locality to appreciate the artist’s effort and the
+resemblance of the picture. The description, for instance, of the
+races at Tsarskoe-Selo, so appreciated by Russian readers, could not
+have any more interest for us than the brilliant account of _le grand
+prix de Paris_ in “Nana” would have for the Muscovites; on the other
+hand, the portraits of Oblonski and Karenina will always retain their
+power, because they express human sentiments common to all countries
+and all times. I will carry the analysis of these novels no farther,
+for they will hardly admit of it; we could scarcely choose a path in
+this labyrinth for the reader; we must leave him the pleasure of losing
+himself in it.
+
+Tolstoï belongs to the “school of nature,” if extreme realism of
+description entitles him to that honor. He carries this tendency
+sometimes to great excess, even to coarseness. I might quote many
+examples of this kind, but they would hardly bear translation,
+and might, occasionally, be almost revolting to us. He is also an
+_impressionist_, for his phrases often bring to us every material
+sensation produced by a sight, object, or sound.
+
+Finally, his being both pessimist and Nihilist gives him, as a
+narrator, almost the impassibility of a stoic. Persuaded of the
+vanity of all human action, he can maintain his own coolness in all
+his delineations, his condition resembling that of a man awaking
+from sleep at dawn, in the middle of a ball-room, who looks upon the
+whirling dancers around him as lunatics; or the man who, having eaten
+to repletion, enters a hall where people are dining, and upon whom
+the mechanical movements of the mouths and forks make a grotesque
+impression. In short, a writer who is a pessimist must assume the
+superiority of an inexorable judge over the characters he has created.
+Tolstoï employs all these methods, which he carries as far as any of
+our novelists do. Why is it, then, that he produces such a different
+impression upon the reader? The question as to how far he is both
+realist and impressionist in comparison with our authors is the
+important one. The whole secret is a question of degree. The truth
+is that what others have sought he has found and adopted. He leaves
+a large space for trifling details, because life is made up of them,
+and life is his study; but as he never attacks subjects trifling in
+themselves, he after all gives to trifles only the secondary place
+which they hold in everything that demands our attention.
+
+As an _impressionist_ he well knows how to produce certain rapid and
+subtle sensations, while he is never obscene or unhealthy in tone.
+“War and Peace” is put into the hands of all young girls in Russia.
+“Anna Karenina,” which touches upon a perilous subject, is considered a
+manual of morals.
+
+As to Tolstoï’s impassibility, though his coldness almost approaches
+irony, we feel, behind and within the man, the shadow of the Infinite,
+and bow before his right to criticise his fellow-man. Moreover, unlike
+our own authors, he is never preoccupied with himself or the effect
+he wishes to produce. He is more logical; he sacrifices style that he
+himself may be eclipsed, put aside entirely in his work. In his earlier
+years he was more solicitous in regard to his style; but of late he has
+quite renounced this seductive temptation. We need not expect of him
+the beautiful, flowing language of Turgenef. An appropriate and clear
+form of expression of his ideas is all we shall have. His phraseology
+is diffuse, sometimes fatiguing from too much repetition; he makes
+use of a great many adjectives, of all he needs to add the smallest
+touches of color to a portrait; while incidents rapidly accumulate,
+from the inexhaustible fund of thought in the farthest recesses of his
+mind. From our point of view, this absence of style is an unpardonable
+defect; but to me it appears a necessary consequence of realism which
+does away with all conventionality. If style is a conventionality,
+might it not warp our judgment of facts presented to us? We must
+acknowledge that this contempt of style, if not to our taste,
+contributes to the impression of sincerity that we receive. Tolstoï, in
+Pascal’s way, “has not tried to show to us himself, but our own selves;
+we find in ourselves the truths presented, which before were utterly
+unknown to us, as in ourselves; this attracts us strongly to him who
+has enlightened us.”
+
+There is still another difference between Tolstoï’s realism and ours:
+he applies his, by preference, to the study of characters difficult
+to deal with, those made more inaccessible to the observer by the
+refinements of education and the mask of social conventionalities. This
+struggle between the painter and his model is deeply interesting to me
+and to many others.
+
+Count Tolstoï would no doubt commiserate us if he found us occupied
+in discussing his works; for the future he wishes to be only a
+philosopher and reformer. Let us, then, return to his philosophy. I
+have said already that the composition of “Anna Karenina,” written at
+long intervals, occupied many years of the author’s life, the moral
+fluctuations of which are reflected in the character of Constantin
+Levin, the child and confidant of his soul. This new incarnation of
+Bezushof, in “War and Peace,” is the usual hero of modern romance in
+Russia, the favorite type with Turgenef and with all the young girls.
+He is a country gentleman, intelligent, educated, though not brilliant,
+a speculative dreamer, fond of rural life, and interested in all the
+social questions and difficulties arising from it. Levin studies these
+questions, and takes his part in all the liberal emotions his country
+has indulged in for the last twenty years. Of course, his illusions and
+chimeras vanish, one after another, and his Nihilism triumphs bitterly
+over their ruins. His Nihilism is not of so severe a kind as that of
+Pierre Bezushof and Prince André. He drops the most cruel problems and
+takes up questions of political economy. A calm and laborious country
+life, with family joys and cares, has strangled the serpent. Years
+pass, and the tale goes on toward its close.
+
+But suddenly, through several moral shocks in his experience, Levin
+awakes from his religious indifference, and is tormented by doubts. He
+becomes overwhelmed with despair, when the _muzhik_ appears who proves
+his saviour and instructor. His mind becomes clear through some of
+the aphorisms uttered by this wise peasant. He declares that “every
+evil comes from the folly, the wickedness of reason. We have only to
+love and believe, and there is no further difficulty.” Thus ends the
+long intellectual drama, in a ray of mystic happiness, a hymn of joy,
+proclaiming the bankruptcy and the downfall of reason.
+
+Reason has but a narrow sphere of its own, is only useful in a limited
+horizon, as the rag-picker’s lantern is merely of use to light up the
+few feet of space immediately around him, the heap of rubbish upon
+which he depends for subsistence. What folly it would be for the poor
+man to turn those feeble rays toward the starry heavens, seeking to
+penetrate the inscrutable mysteries of those fathomless spaces!
+
+
+                                   V.
+
+The consolation of the doctrines of Quietism, the final apotheosis of
+Tolstoï’s entire literary work, was yet in reserve for him, revealed
+through an humble apostle of these doctrines. He too was destined to
+find his Karatayef.
+
+After the appearance of “Anna Karenina,” a new production from this
+author was impatiently anticipated. He undertook a sequel to “War
+and Peace,” and published the first three chapters of the work,
+which promised to be quite equal to his preceding novels; but he
+soon abandoned the undertaking. Only a few stories for children now
+appeared, some of which were exquisitely written. In them, however,
+you could but feel that the soul of the author had already soared
+above terrestrial aims. At last, the report spread that the novelist
+had renounced his art, even wishing no allusion made to his former
+works, as belonging to the vanities of the age, and had given himself
+up to the care of his soul and the contemplation of religious themes.
+Count Tolstoï had met with Sutayef, the sectary of Tver. I will not
+here dwell upon this original character―a gentle idealist, one among
+the many peasants who preached among the Russian people the gospel of
+the Communists. The teachings and example of this man exerted a strong
+influence upon Tolstoï, according to his own statement, and caused him
+to decide what his true vocation was.
+
+We could have no excuse for intruding upon the domain of conscience,
+had not the author, now a theologian, invited us so to do, by
+publishing his late works, “My Confession,” “My Religion,” and “A
+Commentary on the Gospel.” Although, in reality, the press-censorship
+has never authorized the publication of these books, there are several
+hundred autographic copies of them in circulation, spread among
+university students, women, and even among the common people, and
+eagerly devoured by them. This shows how the Russian soul hungers for
+spiritual food. As Tolstoï has expressed the desire that his work
+should be translated into French, we have every right to criticise it.
+But I will not abuse the privilege. The only books which can interest
+us as an explanation of his mental state are the first two.
+
+Even “My Confession” is nothing new to me. In his “Childhood, Boyhood,
+and Youth” we have the same revelation in advance, as well as from
+the lips of Bezushof and Levin. This is, however, a new and eloquent
+variation in the same theme, the same wail of anguish from the depths
+of a human soul. I will give a quotation:―
+
+“I became sceptical quite early in life. For a time I was absorbed,
+like every one else, in the vanities of life. I wrote books, teaching,
+as others did, what I knew nothing of myself. Then I became thirsty
+for more knowledge. The study of humanity furnished no response to
+the constant, sole question of any importance to me―‘What is the
+object of my existence?’ Science responded by teaching me other things
+which I was not anxious to learn. I could but join in the cry of the
+preacher, ‘All is vanity!’ I would gladly have taken my life. Finally
+I determined to study the lives of the great majority of men who have
+none of our anxieties―those classes which you might say are superior
+to abstract speculations of the mind, but that labor and endure, and
+yet live tranquil lives and seem to have no doubts as to the end and
+aim of life. Then I understood that, to live as they did, we must go
+back to our primitive faith. But the corrupt teachings which the church
+distributed among the lowly could not satisfy my reason; then I made a
+closer study of those teachings, in order to distinguish superstition
+from truth.”
+
+The result of this study is the doctrine brought forth under the title
+of “My Religion.” This religion is precisely the same as that of
+Sutayef, but explained with the aid of the theological and scientific
+knowledge of a cultivated scholar. It is, however, none the clearer
+for that. The gospel is subjected to the broadest rationalistic
+interpretation. In fact, Tolstoï’s interpretation of Christ’s doctrine
+of life is the same as the Sadducees’―that is, of life considered
+in a collective sense. He denies that the gospel makes any allusion
+to a resurrection of the body, or to an individual existence of the
+soul. In this unconscious Pantheism, an attempt at a conciliation
+between Christianity and Buddhism, life is considered as an indivisible
+entirety, as one individual soul of the universe, of which we are
+but ephemeral particles. One thing only is of consequence―morality;
+which is all contained in the precepts of the gospel, “Be ye perfect….
+Judge not…. Thou shalt not kill, …” etc. Therefore there must be no
+tribunals, no armies, no prisons, no right of retaliation, either
+public or private, no wars, no trials. The universal law of the world
+is the struggle for existence; the law of Christ is the sacrifice of
+one’s life for others. Neither Turkey nor Germany will attack us,
+if we are true Christians, if we study their advantage. Happiness,
+the supreme end of a life of morality, is possible only in the union
+of all men in believing the doctrine of Jesus Christ―that is, in
+Tolstoï’s version of it, not in that of the church; in the return to a
+natural mode of life, to communism, giving up cities and all business,
+as incompatible with these doctrines, and because of the difficulty
+of their application in such a life. To support his statements, the
+writer presents to us, with rare eloquence and prophetic vividness, a
+picture of a life of worldliness from birth to death. This life is more
+terrible in his eyes than that of the Christian martyrs.
+
+The apostle of the new faith spares not the established church; but,
+after relating his vain search for comfort in the so-called true
+orthodoxy, violently attacks this church from Sutayef’s point of view.
+He declares that she substitutes rites and formalities for the true
+spirit of the gospel; that she issues catechisms filled with false
+doctrines; that since the time of Constantine she has ruined herself
+by deviating from the law of God to follow that of the age; that she
+has now, in fact, become pagan. Finally, and this is the key-note and
+the most delicate point of all, no attention should be paid to the
+commands and prohibitions of any temporal power as long as it ignores
+the truth. Here I will quote an incident illustrative of this idea:―
+
+“Passing recently through the Borovitzki gate at Moscow, I saw an
+aged beggar seated in the archway, who was a cripple and had his
+head bound with a bandage. I drew out my purse to give him alms.
+Just then a fine-looking young grenadier came running down towards
+us from the Kremlin. At sight of him, the beggar rose terrified,
+and ran limping away until he reached the foot of the hill into the
+Alexander garden. The grenadier pursued him a short distance, calling
+after him with abusive epithets, because he had been forbidden to
+sit in the archway. I waited for the soldier, and then asked him if
+he could read.―‘Yes,’ he replied: ‘why do you ask?’―‘Have you read
+the Gospel?’―‘Yes.’―‘Have you read the passage in regard to giving
+bread to the hungry?’―I quoted the whole passage. He knew it, and
+listened attentively, seeming somewhat confused. Two persons, passing
+by, stopped to listen. Evidently, the grenadier was ill at ease, as
+he could not reconcile the having done a wrong act, while strictly
+fulfilling his duty. He hesitated for a reply. Suddenly his eyes
+lighted up intelligently, and, turning toward me, he said: ‘May I ask
+you if you have read the military regulations?’ I acknowledged that
+I had not.―‘Then you have nothing to say,’ replied the grenadier,
+nodding his head triumphantly, as he walked slowly away.”
+
+I have, perhaps, said enough respecting “My Religion”; but must
+give a literal translation of a few lines which show the superb
+self-confidence always latent in the heart of every reformer:―
+
+“Everything confirmed the truth of the sense in which the doctrine of
+Christ now appeared to me. But for a long time I could not take in
+the strange thought that, after the Christian faith had been accepted
+by so many thousands of men for eighteen centuries, and so many had
+consecrated their lives to the study of that faith, it should be given
+to me to discover the law of Christ, as an entirely new thing. But,
+strange as it was, it was indeed a fact.”
+
+We can now judge what his “Commentary on the Gospel” would be.
+God forbid that I should disturb the new convert’s tranquillity!
+Fortunately, that would be impossible, however. Tolstoï joyously
+affirms, and with perfect sincerity, that his soul has at last found
+repose, as well as the true object of his life and the rock of his
+faith. He invites us to follow him, but I fear the hardened sceptics
+of Western Europe will refuse to enter into any discussion with him
+upon the new religion, which seems, moreover, almost daily to undergo
+modifications, according to its founder’s new flights of thought.
+It eliminates gradually, more and more, the doctrine of a Divine
+Providence overruling all, and concentrates all duty, hope, and moral
+activity upon a single object, the reform of all social evils through
+Communism.
+
+This idea exclusively inspires the last treatise of Tolstoï which
+I read; it is entitled: “What, then, must be done?” This title is
+significant enough, and has been used many times in Russia since the
+famous novel by Tchernishevski was written. It expresses the anxious
+longing of all these men, and there is something touchingly pathetic
+in its ingenuousness. What, then, must be done? First of all, quit
+the populous cities and towns, and disband the work-people in the
+factories; return to country life and till the ground, each man
+providing for his own personal necessities. The author first draws a
+picture of wretchedness in a large capital, as he himself studied it
+in Moscow. Here his admirable powers of description reappear, together
+with the habit, peculiar to himself, of looking within his own soul,
+to discover and expose the little weaknesses and base qualities common
+to all of us; and he takes the same pleasure in the observation and
+denunciation of his own as men generally do in criticising those of
+others. He gives us all a side thrust when he says of himself:―
+
+“I gave three roubles to that poor creature; and, beside the pleasure
+of feeling that I had done a kind deed, I had the additional one of
+knowing that other people saw me do it….”
+
+The second part of the treatise is devoted to theory. We cannot
+relieve the poor and unfortunate for many reasons; First, in cities
+poverty must exist, because an overplus of workmen are attracted to
+them; secondly, our class gives them the example of idleness and
+of superfluous expenditure; thirdly, we do not live according to
+the doctrine of Christ: charity is not what is wanted, but an equal
+division of property in brotherly love. Let him who has two cloaks give
+to him who has none. Sutayef carries out this theory.
+
+Those who draw salaries are in a state of slavery, and an aggravated
+form of it; and the effect of the modern system of credit continues
+this slavery into their future. The alms we give are only an obligation
+we owe to the peasants whom we have induced to come and work in our
+cities to supply us with our luxuries. The author concludes by giving
+as the only remedy, a return to rural life, which will guarantee to
+every laborer all that is necessary to support life.
+
+He does not see that this principle involves, necessarily and
+logically, a return to an animal state of existence, a general struggle
+for shelter and food, instead of a methodical system of labor; and that
+in such a company there must be both wolves and lambs. He sees but
+one side of the question, the side of justice; he loses sight of the
+intellectual side, the necessity for mental development, which involves
+a division of labor.
+
+All this has no great attraction for us. We can obtain no original
+ideas from this apostle’s revelation; only the first lispings of
+rationalism in the religious portion, and in the social the doctrine
+of Communism; only the old dream of the millennium, the old theme,
+ever renewed since the Middle Ages, by the Vaudois, the Lollards and
+Anabaptists. Happy Russia! to her these beautiful chimeras are still
+new! Western Europe is astonished only, to meet them again in the
+writings of such a great author and such an unusually keen observer of
+human nature.
+
+But would not the condition of this man’s soul be the result of
+the natural evolution of his successive experiences? First, a
+pantheist, then nihilist, pessimist, and mystic. I have heard that Leo
+Nikolaievitch has defended himself energetically against being thought
+to have assumed the title of a mystic; he feels its danger, and does
+not think it applicable to one who believes that the heavenly kingdom
+is transferred to earth. Our language furnishes us no other word to
+express his condition; may he pardon us what seems to us the truth. I
+know that he would prefer to have me praise his doctrines and decry his
+novels. This I cannot do. I am so enraptured with the novels that I can
+only feel that the doctrines but deprive me of masterpieces which might
+have given me additional enjoyment in the future. I have been lavish
+of praise, but only because of my thorough and sincere appreciation of
+the books. Now, however, that the author has reached a state of perfect
+happiness, he needs no more praise, and must be quite indifferent to
+criticism.
+
+We must, at least, recognize in Tolstoï one of those rare reformers
+whose actions conform to their precepts. I am assured that he exerts
+around him a most salutary influence, and has actually returned to
+the life of the primitive Christians. He daily receives letters from
+strangers, revenue officers, dishonest clerks, publicans of every
+type, who put into his hands the sums they have dishonestly acquired;
+young men asking his advice as well as fallen women who need counsel.
+He is settled in the country, gives away his wealth, lives and labors
+with his peasant neighbors. He draws water, works in the fields, and
+sometimes makes his own boots. He does not wish his novels alluded to.
+I have seen a picture of him in a peasant’s costume working with a
+shoemaker’s awl in his hand. Should not this creator of masterpieces
+feel that the pen is the only tool he should wield? If the inspiration
+of great thoughts is a gift we have received from Heaven as a
+consolation for our fellow-beings, it seems to me an act of impiety to
+throw away this talent. The human soul is the author’s field of action,
+which he is bound to cultivate and fertilize.
+
+From Paris, where Tolstoï is so highly appreciated, comes back to him
+again the touching, last request of his dying friend which to me was
+inspired by a higher religious sentiment than that of Sutayef:―
+
+“This gift comes to you from whence come all our gifts. Return to your
+literary labors, great author of our beloved Russia!”
+
+I shall not pretend to draw any definite or elaborate conclusions from
+these initiatory explorations into Russian literature. To make them
+complete, we should study the less prominent writers, who have a right
+to bear their testimony as to the actual condition of the nation. If,
+moreover, the writer of this book has succeeded in presenting his own
+ideas clearly, the reader should draw his own conclusions from the
+perusal of it; if the author has failed, any added defence of his ideas
+would be superfluous, and have little interest or value for the reader.
+
+We have witnessed the at first artificial growth of this literature,
+for a long time subjected to foreign influence; a weak and servile type
+of literature, giving us no enlightenment whatever as to the actual
+interior condition of its own country, which it voluntarily ignored.
+Again, when turning to its natal soil to seek its objects of study it
+has become vigorous. Realism is the proper and perfect instrument which
+it has employed, applied with equal success to material and spiritual
+life. Although this realism may occasionally lack method and taste,
+and is at the same time both diffuse and subtile, it is invariably
+natural and sincere, ennobled by moral sentiments, aspirations toward
+the Divine, and sympathy for humanity. Not one of these novelists aims
+merely at literary fame, but all are governed by a love of truth as
+well as of justice,―a combination of great importance, and well worth
+our serious reflection, betraying and explaining to us, moreover, the
+philosophical conceptions of this race.
+
+The Russians seek religious truth because they find the formulas of
+their doctrines insufficient for them, and the negative arguments which
+satisfy us would be entirely opposed to all their instincts. Their
+religious doubts govern, cause, and characterize all their social and
+political questions and difficulties. The Slav race, under the guise
+of its apparent orthodoxy, has not yet found its true path, but seeks
+it still in every grade of society. The formula they are looking
+forward to must comprise and answer to their double ideal of truth and
+justice. Moreover, the people still feel the influence of the old Aryan
+spirit; the cultivated classes also feel that of the teachings of the
+contemporaneous sciences; hence the resurrection of Buddhism which we
+now witness in Russia; for I cannot otherwise qualify these tendencies.
+We see in them the condition of the ancient Hindus vacillating between
+an extremely high morality and Nihilism, or a metaphysical Pantheism.
+
+The spirit of Buddhism in its great efforts toward the extension
+of evangelical charity has penetrated the Russian character, which
+naturally has such intense sympathy for human nature, for the humblest
+creatures, for the forsaken and unfortunate. This spirit decries
+reason and elevates the brute, and inspires the deepest compassion in
+the heart. Moreover, this simple love of the neighbor and infinite
+tenderness for the suffering gives a peculiarly pathetic quality to
+their literary works. The initiators of this movement, after having
+written for the benefit of their peers and the cultivated classes, are
+strongly drawn toward the people. Gogol with his bitter irony devoted
+himself to the study of suffering humanity. Turgenef pictured it from
+his own artistic standpoint rather than from that of an apostle.
+Tolstoï, his sceptical investigations being over, has become the most
+determined of the apostles of the unfortunate.
+
+But beyond these mental tortures, beneath the extreme Nihilism of a
+Tolstoï and the intellectual morbidness of a Dostoyevski, we feel that
+there is a rich fund of vitality, a fountain of truth and justice,
+which will surely triumph in the future.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+     [L]  By Alfred de Vigny, author of “Cinque-Mars.”
+
+
+
+
+                                 INDEX.
+
+
+  Alexander I., 27, 42
+
+  _Anna Karenina_, 246
+
+  _Annals of a Sportsman_, 101
+
+  _Ascension of Christ, The_, 34
+
+  _Assia_, 119
+
+
+  Bielinski, 148
+
+  _Bohemians, The_, 49
+
+  _Book of the Dove_, 34
+
+  _Boris Godunof_, 49
+
+  _Buried Alive_, 162
+
+
+  Catherine II., 27, 38
+
+  _Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth_, 216
+
+  _Commentary on the Gospel, A_, 257
+
+  _Cossacks, The_, 216
+
+  _Crime and Punishment_, 176
+
+
+  _Dead Souls_, 74
+
+  _Degraded and Insulted, The_, 147
+
+  _Demon, The_, 52
+
+  Derzhavin, 38
+
+  _Despair_, 139
+
+  _Dimitri Roudine_, 109
+
+  _Domostroi_, 32
+
+  Dostoyevski, 141
+
+
+  _Evenings at a Farm Near Dikanka_, 63
+
+
+  _Fathers and Sons_, 115
+
+  Freemasonry, 41
+
+  French Revolution, The, 42
+
+
+  Gogol, 56
+
+  Gortchakof, 46
+
+  Gregory of Tours, 31
+
+  Griboyedof, 51
+
+  Grigorovitch, 147
+
+
+  _Idiot, The_, 163
+
+  Ivan the Terrible, 32
+
+  Ivan Federof, 32
+
+  Ivanof, 73
+
+  Ivan Sergievitch, 96
+
+
+  _Karamazof Brothers, The_, 185
+
+  Karamzin, 39
+
+  Kheraskof, 38
+
+  Kiev, 31
+
+  Krylof, 39
+
+  Kutuzof, 231
+
+
+  _Lear of the Steppe, A_, 131
+
+  Lermontof, 52
+
+  _Letters to My Friends_, 83
+
+  _Living Relics, The_, 102
+
+  Lomonosof, 37
+
+  Loris Melikof, 206
+
+
+  _Manteau, Le_, 62, 69
+
+  Maximus, 31
+
+  _Memoirs of a Nihilist_, 130
+
+  Muscovitism, 41
+
+  _My Confession_, 257
+
+  _My Religion_, 259
+
+
+  Nekrasof, 147
+
+  _Nest of Nobles_, 109
+
+  Nestor, 31
+
+  _Note-book of an Author_, 195
+
+  Novikof, 42
+
+  _On the Eve_, 113
+
+  _Onyegin_, 49
+
+
+  _Pauvre Lise, La_, 40
+
+  Peter the Great, 37
+
+  Petrachevski, 155
+
+  _Pétriade, La_, 38
+
+  Poltava, 49
+
+  _Poor People_, 149
+
+  _Possédés, Les_, 191
+
+  _Prisoner of the Caucasus, The_, 48
+
+  Pushkin, 44
+
+
+  _Revizor, The_, 70
+
+  Russian Drama, The, 70
+
+
+  Savonarola, 31
+
+  _Sebastopol in December, in May, and in August_, 215
+
+  Skobelef, 138
+
+  Slavophile, 90
+
+  Slavophilism, 41
+
+  _Smoke_, 122
+
+  Song of Igor, 35
+
+  “Souls,” 75
+
+  Speranski, 41
+
+  _Spring Floods_, 125
+
+  Sutayef, 257
+
+
+  _Taras Bulba_, 66
+
+  Tchadayef, 53
+
+  Tchinovnism, 32
+
+  _Tchitchikof_, 76
+
+  Tolstoï, 215
+
+  _Trois Morts_, 219
+
+  Tsarskoe-Selo, Lyceum of, 45
+
+  Turgenef, 96
+
+  Tutschef, 34
+
+
+  Ukraine, 57
+
+
+  _Virgin Soil_, 126
+
+  Von Vizin, 38
+
+
+  _War and Peace_, 223, 228
+
+
+  Zaporovian League, 59
+
+  Zhukovski, 44
+
+
+
+
+                     A LIST OF ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS
+                           FROM THE RUSSIAN.
+
+
+DOSTOYEVSKI:―
+
+  Buried Alive; Ten Years Penal Servitude in Siberia. Trans. from the
+     Russian by Marie von Thilo; 8vo, London, 1881.
+
+  _Same_, 12mo, New York, 1881.
+
+  Crime and Punishment; a Russian Realistic Novel; 8vo, London, 1886.
+
+  _Same_, 12mo, New York, 1886.
+
+  Injury and Insult; trans. by F. Whishaw; 8vo, London, 1886.
+
+
+GOGOL:―
+
+  Cossack Tales, trans. by Geo. Tolstoy; 8vo, London, 1860.
+
+  St. John’s Eve, and Other Stories; from the Russian, by Isabel F.
+     Hapgood; 12mo, New York, 1886. Selected from “Evenings at the
+     Farm” and “St. Petersburg Stories.”
+
+       _Contents_:―St. John’s Eve, related by the sacristan of
+     the Dikanka Church.―Old-Fashioned Farmers.―The Tale of How
+     Ivan Ivanovitch Quarrelled with Ivan Nikiforovitch.―The
+     Portrait.―The Cloak.
+
+  Taras Bulbá; a Tale of the Cossacks; from the Russian, by Isabel F.
+     Hapgood; 12mo, New York, 1886.
+
+  Tchitchikoff’s Journeys, or Dead Souls; from the Russian, by Isabel
+     F. Hapgood; 2 vols., 12mo, New York, 1886.
+
+
+PUSHKIN:―
+
+  Captain’s Daughter; from the Russian; 4to, New York, 1884.
+
+  Eugene Onéguine, a romance of Russian life, in verse; trans, by
+     Lt.-Col. Spalding; 8vo, London and New York, 1881.
+
+  Marie, a Story of Russian Love; from the Russian, by Marie H. de
+     Zielinska; sq. 16mo, Chicago, 1876 (also 1880). (Same as the
+     “Captain’s Daughter.”)
+
+  Russian Romance; trans. by Mrs. J. B. Telfer; 8vo, London, 1875.
+
+  _Same_, 8vo, London, 1880.
+
+       _Contents_:―The Captain’s Daughter.―The Lady-Rustic.―The
+     Pistol-Shot.―The Snow-Storm.―The Undertaker.―The
+     Station-Master.―The Moor of Peter the Great.
+
+
+TOLSTOÏ:―
+
+  Anna Karenina; from the Russian, by N. H. Dole; 12mo, New York,
+     1886.
+
+  _Same_, London, 1886.
+
+  Childhood, Boyhood, Youth: Reminiscences; from the Russian, by
+     Isabel F. Hapgood; 12mo, New York, 1886. (An earlier translation
+     seems to have been published in London, in 1862, under the title
+     “Childhood and Youth.”)
+
+  Christ’s Christianity; trans. from the Russian; 8vo, London, 1885.
+
+       _Contents_:―How I Came to Believe.―What I Believe.―The
+     Spirit of Christ’s Teaching.
+
+  The Cossacks; from the Russian, by Eugene Schuyler; 2 vols., 8vo,
+     London, 1878.
+
+  _Same_, 16mo, New York, 1878.
+
+  My Religion; trans. from the French by W. Huntington Smith; 12mo,
+     New York, 1885. (The same as his “What I Believe.”)
+
+  War and Peace; from the French, by Clara Bell; 3 vols., 8vo,
+     London, 1886.
+
+  _Same_, 6 vols., 16mo, New York, 1886.
+
+  What I Believe; from the Russian, by Constantine Popoff; 8vo,
+     London, 1885.
+
+  _Same_, 12mo, New York, 1886. (A translation from the French was
+     published under the title “My Religion.”)
+
+  What People Live By; trans. by Aline Delano; 8vo, Boston, 1887. (A
+     story of peasant life.)
+
+
+TURGENEF:―
+
+  Annals of a Sportsman; from the authorized French translation, by
+     Franklin P. Abbott; 16mo, New York, 1885.
+
+  Annouchka: a Tale; from the French of the author’s own translation,
+     by Franklin P. Abbott; 16mo, Boston, 1884.
+
+  Daughter of Russia; trans. by G. W. Scott; 4to, New York, 1882.
+
+  Dimitri Roudine; trans. from the French and German versions for
+     “Every Saturday”; 16mo, New York, 1873.
+
+  _Same_, 12mo, London, 1883.
+
+  Fathers and Sons; from the Russian, by Eugene Schuyler; 16mo, New
+     York, 1867 and 1883.
+
+  _Same_, London, 1883.
+
+  First Love, and Punin and Baburin; trans. from the Russian, by W.
+     Ralston; 12mo, London, 1884.
+
+  Liza; trans. by W. R. S. Ralston; 2 vols., 8vo, London, 1869.
+
+  _Same_, New York, 1872.
+
+  _Same_, London, 1884.
+
+       (The title of the original and of the French translation is
+      “A Nest of Nobles.”)
+
+  Mumu, and The Diary of a Superfluous Man; from the Russian, by
+     Henry Gersoni; 12mo, New York, 1884.
+
+  On the Eve; from the Russian, by C. E. Turner; 12mo, London, 1871.
+
+  _Same_, American ed., with amendments; 16mo, New York, 1873.
+
+  Poems in Prose; trans. by Lilla C. Perry; 16mo, Boston, 1883.
+
+  Punin and Baburin; trans. by G. W. Scott; 4to, New York, 1882.
+
+  Russian Life in the Interior; 12mo, London, 1855.
+
+  Smoke, or Life at Baden; 2 vols., 8vo, London, 1868.
+
+  Smoke, or Life at Baden; from the author’s French version, by W. F.
+     West; 16mo, New York, 1872.
+
+  _Same_, 12mo, London, 1883.
+
+  Song of Triumphant Love; 4to, New York, 1883.
+
+  Spring Floods, trans. by Sophie Mitchell; also A Lear of the
+     Steppe, trans. by W. H. Browne; 16mo, New York, 1874.
+
+  An Unfortunate Woman; also Ass’ya; from the Russian, by H. Gersoni;
+     12mo, New York, 1886. (“Ass’ya” is the same as “Annouchka.”)
+
+  Virgin Soil; from the French, by T. S. Perry; 16mo, New York, 1877.
+
+  _Same_, 12mo, London, 1883.
+
+  Virgin Soil; trans. by A. W. Dilke; 8vo, London, 1878.
+
+
+
+
+                          THE SCHOOL OF HOME.
+
+Let the school of home be a good one. Let reading be such as to
+quicken the mind for better reading still; for the school at home is
+progressive.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The baby is to be read to. What shall mother and sister and father and
+brother read to the baby?
+
+BABYLAND. Babyland rhymes and jingles; great big letters and little
+thoughts and words out of BABYLAND. Pictures so easy to understand that
+baby quickly learns the meaning of light and shade, of distance, of
+tree, of cloud. The grass is green; the sky is blue; the flowers―are
+they red or yellow? That depends on mother’s house-plants. Baby sees in
+the picture what she sees in the home and out of the window.
+
+BABYLAND, mother’s monthly picture-and-jingle primer for baby’s
+diversion, and baby’s mother-help; 50 cents a year.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+What, when baby begins to read for herself? OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN is
+made to go on with. BABYLAND forms the reading habit. Think of a baby
+with the reading habit! After a little she picks up the letters and
+wants to know what they mean. The jingles are jingles still; but the
+tales that lie under the jingles begin to ask questions.
+
+What do Jack and Jill go up the hill after water for? Isn’t water down
+hill? Baby is outgrowing BABYLAND.
+
+No more nonsense. There is fun enough in sense. The world is full
+of interesting things; and, if they come to a growing child not in
+discouraging tangles but an easy one at a time, there is fun enough
+in getting hold of them. That is the way to grow. OUR LITTLE MEN AND
+WOMEN helps such growth as that. Beginnings of things made easy by
+words and pictures; not too easy. The reading habit has got to another
+stage.
+
+A dollar for such a school as that for a year.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Then comes THE PANSY with stories of child-life, travel at home and
+abroad, adventure, history old and new, religion at home and over the
+seas, and roundabout tales on the International Sunday School Lesson.
+
+Pansy the editor; THE PANSY the magazine. There are thousands and
+thousands of children and children of larger growth all over the
+country who know about Pansy the writer, and THE PANSY the magazine.
+There are thousands and thousands more who will be glad to know.
+
+A dollar a year for THE PANSY.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The reading habit is now pretty well established; not only the reading
+habit, but liking for useful reading; and useful reading leads to
+learning.
+
+Now comes WIDE AWAKE, vigorous, hearty, not to say heavy. No, it isn’t
+heavy, though full as it can be of practical help along the road to
+sober manhood and womanhood. Full as it can be! There is need of play
+as well as of work; and WIDE AWAKE has its mixture of work and rest and
+play. The work is all toward self-improvement; so is the rest; and so
+is the play. $2.40 a year.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Specimen copies of all the Lothrop magazines for fifteen cents; any one
+for five―in postage stamps.
+
+Address D. Lothrop Company, Boston.
+
+You little know what help there is in books for the average housewife.
+
+Take _Domestic Problems_, for instance, beginning with this hard
+question: “How may a woman enjoy the delights of culture and at the
+same time fulfil her duties to family and household?” The second
+chapter quotes from somebody else: “It can’t be done. I’ve tried it;
+but, as things now are, it can’t be done.”
+
+Mrs. Diaz looks below the surface. Want of preparation and culture, she
+says, is at the bottom of a woman’s failure, just as it is of a man’s.
+
+The proper training of children, for instance, can’t be done without
+some comprehension of children themselves, of what they ought to grow
+to, their stages, the means of their guidance, the laws of their
+health, and manners. But mothers get no hint of most of these things
+until they have to blunder through them. Why not? Isn’t the training of
+children woman’s mission? Yes, in print, but not in practice. What is
+her mission in practice? Cooking and sewing!
+
+Woman’s worst failure then is due to the stupid blunder of putting
+comparatively trivial things before the most important of all. The
+result is bad children and waste of a generation or two―all for
+putting cooking and sewing before the training of children.
+
+Now will any one venture to say that any particular mother, you for
+instance, has got to put cooking and sewing before the training of
+children?
+
+Any mother who really makes up her mind to put her children first can
+find out how to grow tolerable children at least.
+
+And that is what Mrs. Diaz means by preparation―a little knowledge
+beforehand―the little that leads to more.
+
+It _can_ be done; and _you_ can do it! Will you? It’s a matter of
+choice; and you are the chooser.
+
+ Domestic Problems. By Mrs. A. M. Diaz. $1. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.
+
+We have touched on only one subject. The author treats of many.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dr. Buckley the brilliant and versatile editor of the _Christian
+Advocate_ says in the preface of his book on northern Europe “I hope
+to impart to such as have never seen those countries as clear a view
+as can be obtained from reading” and “My chief reason for traveling in
+Russia was to study Nihilism and kindred subjects.”
+
+This affords the best clue to his book to those who know the writer’s
+quickness, freshness, independence, force, and penetration.
+
+  The Midnight Sun, the Tsar and the Nihilist. Adventures and
+  Observations in Norway, Sweden and Russia. By J. M. Buckley, LL. D.
+  72 illustrations, 376 pages. $3. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.
+
+Just short of the luxurious in paper, pictures and print.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The writer best equipped for such a task has put into one illustrated
+book a brief account of every American voyage for polar exploration,
+including one to the south almost forgotten.
+
+  American Explorations in the Ice Zones. By Professor J. E. Nourse,
+  U. S. N. 10 maps, 120 illustrations, 624 pages. Cloth, $3, gilt edges
+  $3.50, half-calf $6. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.
+
+Not written especially for boys; but they claim it.
+
+The wife of a U. S. lighthouse inspector, Mary Bradford Crowninshield,
+writes the story of a tour of inspection along the coast of Maine with
+two boys on board―for other boys of course. A most instructive as well
+as delightful excursion.
+
+The boys go up the towers and study the lamps and lanterns and all the
+devices by which a light in the night is made to tell the wary sailor
+the coast he is on; and so does the reader. Stories of wrecks and
+rescues beguile the waiting times. There are no waiting times in the
+story.
+
+  All Among the Lighthouses, or Cruise of the Goldenrod. By Mary
+  Bradford Crowninshield. 32 illustrations, 392 pages. $2.50. D.
+  Lothrop Company, Boston.
+
+There’s a vast amount of coast-lore besides.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mr. Grant Allen, who knows almost as much as anybody, has been making
+a book of twenty-eight separate parts, and says of it: “These little
+essays are mostly endeavors to put some of the latest results of
+science in simple, clear and intelligible language.”
+
+Now that is exactly what nine hundred and ninety-nine in a thousand of
+us want, if it isn’t dry. And it isn’t dry. Few of those who have the
+wonderful knowledge of what is going on in the learned world have the
+gift of popular explanation―the gift of telling of it. Mr. Allen has
+that gift; the knowledge, the teaching grace, the popular faculty.
+
+  Common Sense Science. By Grant Allen. 318 pages. $1.50. D. Lothrop
+  Company, Boston.
+
+By no means a list of new-found facts; but the bearings of them on
+common subjects.
+
+We don’t go on talking as if the earth were the centre of things, as if
+Galileo never lived. Huxley and Spencer have got to be heard. Shall we
+wait two hundred and fifty years?
+
+The book is simply an easy means of intelligence.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There is nothing more dreary than chemistry taught as it used to be
+taught to beginners. There is nothing brighter and fuller of keen
+delight than chemistry taught as it can be taught to little children
+even.
+
+  Real Fairy Folks. By Lucy Rider Meyer, A. M. 389 pages. $1.25. D.
+  Lothrop Company, Boston.
+
+“I’ll be their teacher―give them private scientific lectures! Trust
+me to manage the school part!” The book is alive with the secrets of
+things.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It takes a learned man to write an easy book on almost any subject.
+
+Arthur Gilman, of the College for Women, at Cambridge, known as the
+“Harvard Annex,” has made a little book to help young people along in
+the use of the dictionary. One can devour it in an hour or two; but the
+reading multiplies knowledge and means of knowledge.
+
+  Short Stories from the Dictionary. By Arthur Gilman, M. A. 129 pages.
+  60 cents. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.
+
+An unconscious beginning of what may grow to be philology, if one’s
+faculty lies that way. Such bits of education are of vastly more
+importance than most of us know. They are the seeds of learning.
+
+Elizabeth P. Peabody at the age of eighty-four years has made a book
+of a number of essays, written during fifty years of a most productive
+life, on subjects of lasting interest, published forgotten years ago in
+_Emerson’s Magazine_, _The Dial_, Lowell’s _Pioneer_, etc.
+
+  Last Evening with Allston and Other Papers. 350 pages. $1.50. D.
+  Lothrop Company, Boston.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The wife of Frémont, the Pathfinder of forty years ago and almost
+President thirty years ago, has written a bookful of reminiscences.
+
+  Souvenirs of My Time. By Jessie Benton Frémont. 393 pages. $1.50. D.
+  Lothrop Company, Boston.
+
+Mrs. Frémont has long been known as a brilliant converser and
+story-teller. Her later years have been given to making books; and the
+books have the freshness and sparkle of youth.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The literary editor of the _Nation_ gathers together nearly a hundred
+poems and parts of poems to read to children going to sleep.
+
+  Bedside Poetry, a Parents’ Assistant in Moral Discipline. 143 pages.
+  Two bindings, 75 cents and $1. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.
+
+The poems have their various bearings on morals and graces; and there
+is an index called a key to the moralities. The mother can turn, with
+little search, to verses that put in a pleasant light the thoughts the
+little one needs to harbor. Hence the sub-title.
+
+Readers of poetry are almost as scarce as poetry―Have you noticed how
+little there is in the world? how wide the desert, how few the little
+oases?
+
+  Through the Year with the Poets. Edited by Oscar Fay Adams. 12 bijou
+  books of the months, of about 130 pages each. 75 cents each. D.
+  Lothrop Company, Boston.
+
+Is it possible? Is there enough sweet singing ringing lustrous verse
+between heaven and earth to make twelve such books? There is indeed;
+and heaven and earth are in it!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ginx’s Baby, a burlesque book of most serious purpose, made a stir
+in England some years ago; and, what is of more account, went far to
+accomplish the author’s object.
+
+  Evolution of Dodd. By William Hawley Smith. 153 pages. $1. D. Lothrop
+  Company, Boston.
+
+Dodd is the terrible schoolboy. How he became so; who is responsible;
+what is the remedy―such is the gist of the book.
+
+As bright as Ginx’s Baby. A bookful of managing wisdom for parents as
+well as teachers.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Questions such as practical boys and girls are asking their mothers all
+the year round about things that come up. Not one in ten of the mothers
+can answer one in ten of the questions.
+
+  Household Notes and Queries, A Family Reference-Book. By the Wise
+  Blackbird. 115 pages. 60 cents.
+
+It is handy to have such a book on the shelf, and handier yet to have
+the knowledge that’s in it in one’s head.
+
+
+
+
+                      _Classified List.—Pansy._
+
+                            THE PANSY BOOKS.
+
+
+There are substantial reasons for the great popularity of the “Pansy
+Books,” and foremost among these is their truth to nature and to life.
+The genuineness of the types of character which they portray is indeed
+remarkable.
+
+  “Her stories move alternately to laughter and tears.”…
+  “Brimful of the sweetness of evangelical religion.”…
+  “Girl life and character portrayed with rare power.”…
+  “Too much cannot be said of the insight given into the true way
+  of studying and using the word of God.”… These are a few
+  quotations from words of praise everywhere spoken. The “Pansy
+  Books” may be purchased by any Sunday-school without hesitation
+  as to their character or acceptability.
+
+                       _Each volume 12mo, $1.50._
+
+  Chautauqua Girls at Home.
+  Christie’s Christmas.
+  Divers Women.
+  Echoing and Re-echoing.
+  Endless Chain (An).
+  Ester Ried.
+  Ester Ried Yet Speaking.
+  Four Girls at Chautauqua.
+  From different Standpoints.
+  Hall in the Grove (The).
+  Household Puzzles.
+  Interrupted.
+  Julia Ried.
+  King’s Daughter (The).
+  Links in Rebecca’s Life.
+  Mrs. Solomon Smith Looking On.
+  Modern Prophets.
+  Man of the House (The).
+  New Graft on the Family Tree (A).
+  One Commonplace Day.
+  Pocket Measure (The).
+  Ruth Erskine’s Crosses.
+  Randolphs (The).
+  Sidney Martin’s Christmas.
+  Those Boys.
+  Three People.
+  Tip Lewis and his Lamp.
+  Wise and Otherwise.
+
+
+                      _Classified List.―Poetry._
+
+  =THROUGH THE YEAR WITH THE POETS.―December, January, February,
+     March, April, May.= Arranged and compiled by OSCAR FAY ADAMS.
+     Each 75 cents.
+
+The cream of English literature, past and current, has been skimmed
+with a judicious and appreciative hand.―_Boston Transcript._
+
+  =WAIFS AND THEIR AUTHORS.= By A. A. HOPKINS. A collection of poems
+     many of which are now for the first time published with the
+     names of the authors. Quarto, cloth, gilt, $2.00; quarto, full
+     gilt, gilt edges, $2.50.
+
+  =WHEN I WAS A CHILD.= By ERNEST W. SHURTLEFF. Illustrated, $1.00.
+
+A simple, graceful poem, fresh with memories of school and vacation
+days, of games and sports in the country.―_Chicago Advance._
+
+  =WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS BY NIGHT.= Illustrated, $2.50.
+
+Nothing more exquisite in the way of a presentation book.―_B. B.
+Bulletin._
+
+  =WOMAN IN SACRED SONG.= Compiled and edited by MRS. GEORGE CLINTON
+     SMITH. With an introduction by Frances E. Willard. Illustrated.
+     $3.50.
+
+It gives a very full representation of the contributions of woman to
+sacred song, though of course the main bulk of this has been in modern
+times.―_Illustrated Weekly._
+
+  =YOUNG FOLKS’ POETRY.= By A. P. and M. T. FOLSOM. A choice
+     selection of poems. 16mo, $1.00.
+
+  =YOUNG FOLKS’ SPEAKER.= A collection of Prose and Poetry for
+     Declamations, Recitations and Elocutionary Exercises. Selected
+     and arranged by CARRIE ADELAIDE COOKE. 12mo, cloth, illustrated,
+     $1.00.
+
+It deserves to become a standard in the schools of the country.―_B. B.
+Bulletin._
+
+
+               _Classified List.―Standard Micellaneous._
+
+  =THE TRIPLE “E.”= By MRS. S. R. GRAHAM CLARK. 12mo, paper,
+     illustrated, 25 cts. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+It cannot fail to make a strong impression on the minds of those who
+read it.―_B. B. Bulletin._
+
+  =THUCYDIDES.= Translated into English with marginal analysis and
+     index. By B. JOWETT, M. A., Master of Balliol College, Professor
+     of Greek in the University of Oxford, Doctor of Theology in
+     the University of Leyden. Edited with introduction to American
+     edition by Andrew P. Peabody, D. D. LL. D. 8vo, $3.50. Half
+     calf, $6.00.
+
+  =WARLOCK O’ GLENWARLOCK.= By GEORGE MACDONALD. 12mo, fully
+     illustrated, $1.50.
+
+At his best, there are few contemporary novelists so well worth reading
+as MacDonald.―_Boston Journal._
+
+  =WEIGHED AND WANTING.= By GEORGE MACDONALD. 12mo, cloth, $1.50.
+
+  =WHAT’S MINE’S MINE.= By GEORGE MACDONALD. $1.50.
+
+Let all who enjoy a book full of fire and life and purpose read this
+capital story.―_Woman’s Journal._
+
+  =WILD FLOWERS, AND WHERE THEY GROW.= By AMANDA B. HARRIS. 8vo,
+     extra cloth, beautifully bound, gilt edges, $3.00.
+
+It is a book in which all true lovers of nature will delight.―_B. B.
+Bulletin,._
+
+  =WONDER STORIES OF SCIENCE.= Uniform with “Plucky Boys,” 12mo,
+     cloth, $1.50.
+
+To improve as well as to amuse young people is the object of
+these twenty-one sketches, and they fill this purpose wonderfully
+well.―_Texas Siftings._
+
+  =WITHIN THE SHADOW.= By DOROTHY HOLROYD. 12mo, cloth, $1.25.
+
+“The author has skill in invention with the purest sentiment and good
+natural style.”―_Boston Globe._
+
+  =HOLD UP YOUR HEADS, GIRLS!= By ANNIE H. RYDER. $1.00.
+
+It is a book for study, for companionship, and the girl who reads it
+thoughtfully and with an intent to profit by it will get more real help
+and good from it than from a term at the best boarding-school in the
+country.―_Boston Transcript._
+
+  =HONOR BRIGHT= (the story of). By CHARLES R. TALBOT, author of
+     Royal Lowrie. 12mo, illustrated, $1.25.
+
+A charming story full of intense life.
+
+  =HOW TO LEARN AND EARN.= Half Hours in some Helpful Schools. By
+     American authors. One hundred original illustrations, 12mo,
+     extra cloth, $1.50.
+
+The book treats largely of public institutions, training schools,
+etc., and shows what may be accomplished by patient concentrated
+effort.―_Farm and Fireside._
+
+  =HOW WE ARE GOVERNED.= By ANNA LAURENS DAWES, 12mo, $1.50.
+
+An explanation of the constitution and government of the United States,
+national, State, and local.
+
+A concise, systematic, and complete study of the great principles which
+underlie the National existence.―_Chicago Inter-Ocean._
+
+  =IN LEISLER’S TIMES.= A story-study of Knickerbocker New York. By
+     E. S. Brooks. With twenty-four drawings by W. T. Smedley. $1.50.
+
+Though designedly for young folks’ reading, this volume is a very
+careful and minute study of a hitherto half-obscured and neglected
+phase of American history, and will be given a permanent place in
+historical literature.―_American Bookseller._
+
+  =JOSEPHUS FLAVIUS, (the Works of).= A new edition of William
+     Whiston’s Famous Translations. 8vo, cloth, gilt, 100
+     illustrations, $3.00. Household Edition. 12mo, cloth, gilt top,
+     illustrated, $2.00.
+
+This edition is admirable and will make new friends for the easy and
+conceited old chronicler.―_B. B. Bulletin._
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s Note:
+
+This book was written in a period when many words had not become
+standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling
+variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been
+left unchanged. Obsolete and alternative spellings were left unchanged.
+
+Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
+this_. Those in bold are surrounded by equal signs, =like this=.
+Footnotes were lettered sequentially and were moved to the end of
+the chapter. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside
+down, reversed order, or partially printed letters and punctuation,
+were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of sentences and
+abbreviations were added. Missing or duplicate letters at line endings
+were added or removed, as appropriate. Extraneous punctuation was
+removed.
+
+The following were changed:
+
+  added omitted word,‘on,’ to text (line 1436)
+  ‘wook’ to ‘work’ (line 2397)
+  ‘axamples’ to ‘examples’ (line 2790)
+  ‘discourged’ to ‘discouraged’ (line 2877)
+
+
+
 *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RUSSIAN NOVELISTS ***
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-<body>

-<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RUSSIAN NOVELISTS ***</div>

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p class="center">

-THE</p>

-

-<h1>RUSSIAN NOVELISTS</h1>

-

-<p class="p2 center">BY</p>

-

-<h2>E M <span class="allsmcap">DE</span> VOGÜÉ</h2>

-

-

-<p class="p4 center"><i class="smaller">TRANSLATED BY</i><br>

-<br>

-<span class="larger">JANE LORING EDMANDS</span></p>

-

-<p class="p4 center tall"><span class="ls">BOSTON<br>

-D. LOTHROP COMPANY</span><br>

-<span class="smaller">FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS</span>

-</p>

-</div><!--end chapter-->

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p class="center tall">

-<span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1887,<br>

-BY D. LOTHROP COMPANY.<br>

-<br>

-<br>

-<br>

-<br>

-<span class="smcap">Electrotyped</span><br>

-<span class="smcap">By C. J. Peters and Son, Boston.</span>

-</p>

-</div><!--end chapter-->

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span>

-<h3>

-TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.</h3>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p><span class="smcap">The</span> spelling of Russian names is a matter of

-peculiar difficulty, and no fixed usage in regard to

-it has as yet been established. I have tried to

-follow the system presented in the Proceedings of

-the American Library Association for 1885, but

-it has been in some cases impossible for me to

-go back to the original Russian form as a starting-point.

-I have found it necessary to abridge

-M. de Vogüé’s work somewhat, in order to bring

-it within certain prescribed limits.</p>

-

-<p class="right r4">

-J. L. E.

-</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span>

-<h3>

-<span class="ls">PREFACE</span>.

-</h3>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p><span class="smcap">In</span> offering this book to the constantly increasing

-class of persons interested in Russian literature,

-I owe them a little explanation in regard to

-the unavoidable omissions in these essays, as well

-as to their object and aim. The region we are

-approaching is a vast, almost unexplored one; we

-can only venture upon some of its highways,

-selecting certain provinces, while we neglect

-others.</p>

-

-<p>This volume does not claim to give a complete

-history of Russian literature, or a didactic treatise

-upon it. Such a work does not yet exist in

-Russia, and would be premature even in France.</p>

-

-<p>My aim is quite a different one. To do justice

-to both the dead and the living, in a history of the

-literature of only the past hundred years, I

-should but accumulate a quantity of names

-foreign to our ears, and a list of works which

-have never been translated. The entire political

-and social history of the three preceding reigns

-should be written, to properly explain the last.</p>

-

-<p>It appears to me better to proceed as a naturalist

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span>

-would do in his researches in a foreign

-country. He would collect specimens peculiarly

-characteristic of the climate and soil, and choose

-from among them a few individual types which

-are perfectly developed. He draws our attention

-to them, as best revealing to us the actual and

-peculiar conditions of life in this particular corner

-of the earth.</p>

-

-<p>This is my plan. I shall briefly touch upon the

-earliest Russian literature, and show how it became

-subjected to foreign influences, from which

-it was finally emancipated in the present century.</p>

-

-<p>From this time, I am embarrassed in choosing

-from such a rich supply of material, but I shall

-confine myself to a few individual types. This

-method is, besides, even more legitimate in Russia

-than in more recently settled countries. If you

-go through one hundred different villages between

-St. Petersburg and Moscow, you will see that, in

-feature, bearing, and costume the people seem to

-be remarkably similar; so that a few portraits,

-chosen at random, will describe the whole race,

-both as to physical and moral traits.</p>

-

-<p>This series of studies is principally devoted to

-the four distinguished contemporary writers,

-already well known in Europe by their translated

-works. I have tried to show the man as well as

-his work; and both, as illustrating the Russian

-national character. Without paying much attention

-to the rules of literary composition, I have

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span>

-been glad to make use of everything which would

-help me to carry out my design: of biographical

-details, personal recollections, digressions upon

-points of historical and political interest, without

-which the moral evolutions of a country so little

-known would be quite unintelligible. There is

-but one rule to be followed; to use every means

-of illuminating the object you wish to exhibit,

-that it may be thoroughly understood in all its

-phases. To this end, I have used the method of

-comparison between the Russian authors and those

-of other countries more familiar to us, as the

-surest and most rapid one.</p>

-

-<p>Some persons may express surprise that it

-is of her novelists that I demand the secret of

-Russia.</p>

-

-<p>It is because poetry and romance, the modes

-of expression most natural to this people, are

-alone compatible with the exigencies of a press-censure

-which was formerly most severe, and is

-even now very suspicious. There is no medium

-for ideas save through the supple meshes of fiction;

-so that the fiction which shields yet conveys

-these ideas assumes the importance of a doctrinal

-treatise.</p>

-

-<p>Of these two leading forms of literature, the

-first, poetry, absorbed the early part of the present

-century; the other, the novel, has superseded

-poetry, and monopolized the attention of the

-whole nation for the last forty years.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span>

-With the great name of Pushkin at the head of

-the list, the Russians consider the romantic period

-as the crowning point of their intellectual glory.

-I once agreed with them, but have had two motives

-for changing my opinion.</p>

-

-<p>In the first place, it would be quite useless to

-discuss works which we could not quote from;

-for the Russian poets have never been and never

-will be translated. The life and beauty of a lyric

-poem is in its arrangement of words and its

-rhythm; this beauty cannot be transferred into a

-foreign form. I once read a very admirable and

-exact Russian translation of Alfred de Musset’s

-“<cite>Nights</cite>”; it produced the same sensation as

-when we look upon a beautiful corpse; the soul

-had fled, like the divine essence which was the

-life of those charming verses.</p>

-

-<p>The task is yet more difficult when you attempt

-to transfer an idea from the most poetical language

-in Europe into one which possesses the

-least of that quality. Certain verses of Pushkin

-and Lermontof are the finest I know in any

-language. But in the fragment of French prose

-they are transferred into, you glean but a commonplace

-thought. Many have tried, and many

-more will continue to try to translate them,

-but the result is not worth the effort. Besides,

-it does not seem to me that this romantic

-poetry expresses what is most typical of the

-Russian spirit. By giving poetry the first rank

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span>

-in their literature, their critics are influenced

-by the <em>prestige</em> of the past and the enthusiasm

-of youth; for the passage of time adds

-lustre to what is past, to the detriment of the

-present.</p>

-

-<p>A foreigner can perhaps judge more truly in

-this case; for distance equalizes all remote objects

-on the same plane. I believe that the great novelists

-of the past forty years will be of more service

-to Russia than her poets. For the first time

-she is in advance of Western Europe through her

-writers, who have expressed æsthetic forms of

-thought which are peculiarly her own. This is

-why I choose these romances as illustrative of the

-national character. Ten years’ study of these

-works has suggested to me many thoughts relative

-to the character of this people, and the part

-it is destined to fill in the domain of intellect.

-As the novelist undertakes to bring up every

-problem of the national life, it will not be a

-matter of surprise if I make use of works of fiction

-in touching upon grave subjects and in the

-weaving together of some abstract thoughts.</p>

-

-<p>We shall see the Russians plead the cause of

-realism with new arguments, and better ones, in

-my opinion, than those of their rivals in the West.</p>

-

-<p>This work is an important one, and is the foundation

-of all the contests of ideas in the civilized

-world; revealing, moreover, the most characteristic

-conceptions of our contemporaries.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span>

-In all primitive literature, the classical hero

-was the only one considered worthy of attention,

-representing in action all ideas on religions, monarchical,

-social, and moral subjects, existing from

-time immemorial. In exaggerating the qualities

-of his hero, either for good or evil, the classic

-poet took for his model what he deemed should

-or should not be expected of him, rather than

-what such a character would be in reality.</p>

-

-<p>For the last century, other views have gradually

-prevailed. Observation, rather than imagination,

-has been employed. The writer constantly

-gives us a close analysis of actions and feelings,

-rather than the diversion and excitement of

-intrigues and the display of passions. Classic

-art was like a king who has the right to govern,

-punish, reward, and choose his favorites from

-an aristocracy, obliging them to adopt conventional

-rules as to manners, morals, and modes of

-speech. The new art tries to imitate nature in its

-unconsciousness, its moral indifference. It expresses

-the triumph of the masses over the individual,

-of the crowd over the solitary hero, of the

-relative over the absolute. It has been called

-natural, realistic; would the word democratic

-suffice to define it, or not? It would be short-sighted

-in us not to perceive that political

-changes are only episodes in the great and universal

-change which is taking place.</p>

-

-<p>Man has undertaken to explain the Universe,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span>

-and perceives that the existence itself, the greatness

-and the dangers of this Universe are the

-result of the incessant accumulation of infinitesimal

-atoms. While institutions put the ruling of

-states into the hands of the multitude, science

-gave up the Universe to the control of the atoms

-of which it is composed. In the analysis of all

-physical and moral phenomena, the ancient theories

-as to their origin are entirely displaced by the

-doctrine of the constant evolution of microscopic

-and invisible beings. The moral sciences feel the

-shock communicated by the discoveries in natural

-science. The psychologist, who studies the secrets

-of the soul, finds that the human being is the

-result of a long series of accumulated sensations

-and actions, always influenced by its surroundings,

-as the sensitive strings of an instrument

-vary according to the surrounding temperature.</p>

-

-<p>Are not these tendencies affecting practical life

-as well, in the doctrines of equality of classes,

-division of property, universal suffrage, and all

-the other consequences of this principle, which

-are summed up in the word democracy, the

-watchword of our times? Sixty years ago, the

-tide of the stream of democracy ran high, but now

-the stream has become an ocean, which is seeking

-its level over the entire surface of Europe. Here

-and there, little islets remain, solid rocks upon

-which thrones still stand, occasional fragments of

-feudal governments, with a clinging remnant of

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span>

-caste privileges; but the most far-seeing of these

-monarchs and of these castes know well that

-the sea is rising. Their only hope is that a democratic

-organization may not be incompatible with

-a monarchical form; we shall find in Russia a

-patriarchal democracy growing up within the

-shadow of an absolute power.</p>

-

-<p>Literature, which always expresses the existing

-condition of society, could not escape this general

-change of base; at first instinctively, then as a

-doctrine, it regulated its methods and its ideals

-according to the new spirit. Its first efforts at

-reformation were awkward and uncertain; romanticism,

-as we know to-day, was but a bastard production.

-It was merely a reaction against the

-classic hero, but was still unconsciously permeated

-by the classic spirit. Men soon tired of this, and

-demanded of authors more sincerity, and representations

-of the world more conformable to the

-teachings of the positive sciences, which were

-gaining ground day by day. They demanded to

-know more of human life, of ideas, and the relations

-of human beings to each other. Then it

-was that realism sprung into existence, and was

-adopted by all European literature, and is still

-reigning, with the various shades of difference

-that we shall allude to. A path was prepared

-for it by the universal revolution I have spoken

-of; but a realization of the general causes of this

-revolution could alone give to literature a philosophical

-turn.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span>

-These great changes in men’s ideas were

-thought to be due to the advancement in scientific

-knowledge, and the resulting freedom of thought,

-which for a time inaugurated the worship of reason.

-But beyond the circle of truth already conquered

-appeared new and unknown abysses, and

-man found himself still a slave, oppressed by

-natural laws, in bondage to his passions. Then

-his presumption vanished. He fell back into

-uncertainty and doubt. Better armed and wiser,

-undoubtedly, but his necessities increased with

-the means of satisfying them. Disenchanted, his

-old instincts came back to him; he sought a

-higher Power,—but could find none. Everything

-conspired to break up the traditions of

-the past; the pride of reason, fully persuaded

-of its own power, as well as the aggravating

-stubbornness of orthodoxy. By a strange contradiction,

-the pride of intelligence increased

-with universal doubt which shattered all opinions.</p>

-

-<p>All the Sages having declared that the new

-theories regarding the universe were contrary to

-religious explanations, pride refused to make further

-researches. The defenders of orthodoxy have

-done little to facilitate matters. They did not

-understand that their doctrine was the fountain-head

-of all progress, and that they turned that

-stream from its natural direction by opposing the

-discoveries of science and all political changes.</p>

-

-<p>The strongest proof of the truth of a doctrine

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span>

-is the faculty of accommodating itself to all

-human developments, without changing itself, because

-it contains the germ of all the developments.

-The remarkable power of religion over

-men arises from this faculty; when orthodoxy

-does not recognize this gift, it depreciates its

-own strength.</p>

-

-<p>By reason of this misunderstanding, the responsibility

-of which should be shared by all parties,

-it has taken a long time to come to a perception

-of this simple truth. The world has been for

-eighteen centuries in a state of fermentation,

-through the gospel. Bossuet, one of those rare

-spirits which prophesy truly, realized this. He

-said:</p>

-

-<p>“Jesus Christ came into the world to overthrow

-all that pride has established in it; thence it is

-that his policy is in direct opposition to that of

-the age.”</p>

-

-<p>But this constant, active work of the gospel,

-although formerly acknowledged, is now denied

-by many; this gives to realism the harshness of

-its methods. The realist should acknowledge the

-present, abiding influence of the spirit of the

-gospel in the world. He should, above all, possess

-the religious sentiment; it will give him the

-charity he needs. The spirit of charity loses its

-influence in literature the moment it withdraws

-from its true source.</p>

-

-<p>To sum up what realism should be, I must seek

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span>

-a general formula, which will express both its

-method and the extent of its creative power. I

-can find but one, and it is a very old one; but

-I know of none better, more scientific, or which

-approaches nearer the secret of all <span class="lock">creation:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“And the Lord formed man of the dust of the

-ground.”—But, to complete the formula, and

-account for the dual nature of our humanity, we

-must add the text: “And breathed into his nostrils

-the breath of life, and man became a living

-soul—”</p>

-

-<p>This divine spark, derived from the source of

-universal life, is the spirit, the active and mysterious

-and incomprehensible element of our being,

-which baffles all our explanations, and without

-which we are nothing. At the point where life

-begins, there do we cease to comprehend.</p>

-

-<p>The realist is groping his way, trying his experiments

-in the creations of his brain, which

-breathe the spirit of truth, and speak with at

-least the accent of sincerity and sympathy.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span>

-<h3>

-CONTENTS.

-</h3>

-</div>

-

-<table>

-<tr><td class="tdr"><span class="muchsmaller">CHAPTER</span></td>

-    <td class="tdr1 muchsmaller" colspan="2">PAGE</td></tr>

-

-<tr><td></td>

-    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Translator’s Note</span></td>

-    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td></td>

-    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Preface</span></td>

-    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="One">I.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Epochs in Russian Literature</span></td>

-    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Two">II.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Romanticism.—Pushkin and Poetry</span></td>

-    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Three">III.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">The Evolution of Realism in Russia.—Gogol</span></td>

-    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Turgenef</span></td>

-    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Five">V.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">The Religion of Endurance.—Dostoyevski</span></td>

-    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Six">VI.</abbr></td>

-    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Nihilism and Mysticism.—Tolstoï</span></td>

-    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr>

-</table>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span>

-<p class="center xxl tall">

-THE RUSSIAN NOVELISTS.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="One">I.</abbr><br>

-<br>

-<span class="allsmcap">EPOCHS IN RUSSIAN LITERATURE.</span></h3>

-

-<h4><abbr title="One">I.</abbr></h4>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> studying those contemporary writers

-who alone will reveal to us the true Russian spirit

-and character, we must devote a little attention

-to their predecessors, in order to understand the

-Russian literature in its prolonged infancy, and

-its bearing upon that of the present day. We

-shall see how everything conspired to retard its

-development. Russian literature may be divided

-into four distinct epochs. The first, ending with

-the accession of Peter the Great, was in fact its

-mediæval age. In this epoch a wealth of national

-traditions had accumulated in its popular poetry

-and barbarous essays. The second period embraces

-the last century, from Peter the Great to

-Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr>, and, although seemingly progressive,

-was the least fruitful one, because its literature

-was but a servile imitation of that of the

-Occident. The third, the short epoch of romanticism,

-produced a brilliant set of poets, whose

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span>

-works were of value to the general world of letters.

-But they were hot-house blooms, produced by a

-culture imported from abroad, and give but little

-idea of the true properties of their native soil.</p>

-

-<p>Forty years ago a new epoch began. Russia

-has finally produced something spontaneous and

-original. In the realistic novel, Russian genius

-has at last come to a realizing sense of its own

-existence; and, while bound indissolubly to the

-past, it already lisps and stammers the programme

-of its future. We shall see how this genius has

-soared from darkness and obscurity, acting already

-a part in history, although continually repressed

-by history’s cruel wrongs and injustice and its

-brusque changes of situation. We must recall too

-the intellectual origin of this race and its moral

-peregrinations, and then we can make more allowance

-for what there is of gloom, irresolution,

-and obscurity in its literature.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb">

-

-<p>The Russian people are afflicted with a national,

-a historical malady, which is partly hereditary,

-partly contracted during the course of its

-existence. The hereditary part is that proclivity

-of the Slavonic mind towards that negative

-doctrine which to-day we call Nihilism, and which

-the Hindu fathers called <dfn>Nirvâna</dfn>. In fact, if we

-would understand Russia well, we must recall to

-our minds what she has learned from ancient India.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span>

-Many philosophers of the present day in Russia

-fully accept the doctrines of Buddha, and boast

-with pride of the purity of their Aryan blood,

-bringing forward many arguments in support of

-this claim. First, there is the fact that the physical

-type is very marked in families in which the

-Tartar blood has never mingled. Many a Moscow

-student or peasant from certain provinces might,

-except for his light complexion, easily pass in a

-street of Lahore or Benares for a native of the

-valley of the Ganges. Moreover, they have strong

-philological arguments. The old Slavonic dialect

-is declared by linguists to more nearly approach

-the Sanscrit than does the Greek of the very

-earliest epochs. The grammatical rules are identical.

-Speak of the <dfn>Vêda</dfn> to any Russian peasant,

-and you will find he needs no explanation; the verb

-<dfn>vêdat</dfn> is one in constant use by him. If he should

-mention the word “fire,” it will be the original

-one used by his ancestors who worshipped that

-element. Numberless examples could be quoted

-to prove this close relation to the original Sanscrit;

-but this is still more strongly shown by an

-analytical study of the Russian mind and character.

-The Hindu type of mind may be easily recognized

-in the Slavonic intellectual type. By studying

-the revolutions of India one could easily

-understand possible convulsions in Russia. The

-most able authors state the Buddhist revolution

-to have arisen from a social rather than a religious

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span>

-reaction of the popular sentiment against the spirit

-of caste, against the fixed organizations of society.

-Like Christianity in the West, Buddhism was in

-the extreme East the revelation, the personification

-of charity and meekness, of moral and social

-freedom, which were to render life more tolerable

-to multitudes of human beings bowed under the

-yoke of an implacable theocracy.</p>

-

-<p>The best doctrines, in order to succeed, must

-permit certain exaggerations for the fanciful and

-imaginative, and tolerate certain errors which

-attract minds warped by prolonged sufferings. To

-the latter, Christianity offers asceticism; Buddhism

-promises them the joys of annihilation,

-the Nirvâna. Nihilism is the word invented by

-Burnouf as a translation of <dfn>Nirvâna</dfn>. Max

-Müller says that the Sanscrit word really means

-“the action of extinguishing a light by blowing

-it out.” Will not this definition explain

-Russian Nihilism, which would extinguish the

-light of civilization by stifling it, then plunge

-back into chaos.</p>

-

-<p>Undoubtedly, numerous and more recent causes

-have acted upon the national mind producing

-this peculiar state of discouragement, which in

-violent natures has developed into a furious

-desire to destroy every existing condition, because

-all are bad. Moreover, Christianity has lent a

-new formula to what there was of good in the

-old instincts. Its influence has been profound,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span>

-accounting for the spirit of fraternity and self-sacrifice

-so admirable in this people. But I cannot

-help thinking that with this stolid race we

-must go back to the habits of thought of very

-ancient times in order to realize what their natural

-inclinations and difficulties would be.</p>

-

-<p>We shall now see how these have been aggravated

-or modified by a series of accidents. I

-know of no people which has been so overwhelmed

-by its own fate; like a river which has

-changed its course over and over again, or the life

-of one of those men who seem fated to begin

-several different careers in life and succeed in

-none.</p>

-

-<p>The Western nations have developed under

-much more favorable conditions. After the

-forced establishment and final withdrawal of

-Islamism, they enjoyed a long period of comparative

-peace, several centuries in which they

-could work out the problem of life. Constant

-revolutions and wars did not wholly throw

-them off the track which they had marked out

-for themselves from the outset.</p>

-

-<p>Russia, on the contrary, seems to have offered

-a free field for the most radical experiments, in

-which its poor people have been involved every

-two or three hundred years, just as they were

-well started in a new direction. Plunged into

-the most barbarous and heathenish anarchy, different

-tribes waged war there for two or three

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span>

-centuries after these had wholly ceased in France.

-Then Christianity came, but from a Byzantine,

-the least pure source; a vitiated Christianity,

-enervated by oriental corruption. The Russian

-people were fated to become wholly Greek in

-religion, laws, and government, thus commencing

-a new epoch in history. Would this germ of a

-new life have time to develop?</p>

-

-<p>Two hundred years after the baptisms at Kiev,

-Russia was overwhelmed by the Mongolian invasion.

-Asia returned to demand its prey and to

-seize the young Christian territory, which was

-already gravitating toward Europe. Pagans from

-the beginning, the Tartars became Mohammedans,

-remained wholly Asiatic, and introduced oriental

-customs among their Russian subjects. Not until

-the fifteenth century, when the Renaissance was

-dawning upon western Europe, did Russia begin

-to throw off this Tartar yoke. They freed themselves

-by a succession of strong efforts, but very

-gradually. The Crescent did not disappear from

-the Volga until 1550, leaving behind it traces of

-the oriental spirit for all time.</p>

-

-<p>The Russian people were now crushed by an

-iron despotism, made up of Mongolian customs

-and Byzantine ceremonies. Just emancipated from

-foreign oppression, they were forced to cultivate

-the soil. Boris Godunof condemned them to

-serfdom, by which their whole social condition

-was changed in one day, with one stroke of the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span>

-pen,—that unfortunate St. George’s day which

-the <dfn>muzhik</dfn> would curse for three hundred years

-to come.</p>

-

-<p>In the next century Russia was invaded from

-the Occident. Poland obtained one-half of its

-territory and ruled at Moscow. The Poles were

-afterwards expelled, when the nation could take

-time to breathe and assert itself again. Naturally,

-it then turned toward Asia and its own

-traditions.</p>

-

-<p>Now appeared upon the scene a rough pilot in

-the person of Peter the Great, to guide the helm

-of this giant raft which was floating at random,

-and direct it toward Europe. At this epoch

-occurred the strangest of all the experiments

-tried by history upon Russia. To continue the

-figure, imagine a ship guided towards the West

-by the captain and his officers, while the entire

-crew were bent upon sailing for the East. Such

-was the strange condition of affairs for one hundred

-and fifty years, from the accession of Peter

-to the death of the Emperor Nicholas; the consequences

-of which condition are still observable.

-The sovereign and a few men he called to his aid

-abjured oriental life entirely, and became Europeans

-in ideas, politics, language, and dress. Little

-by little, the upper classes followed this example

-during the latter part of the last century.</p>

-

-<p>During the first half of the present one, the

-influence of Europe became still stronger, affecting

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span>

-administration, education, etc., drawing a

-small part of the masses with it; but the nation

-remained stolid, rebellious, with its eyes turned

-toward the East, as were the prayers of their

-Tartar masters. Only forty years ago the Western

-light illumined the highest peaks alone, while

-the broad valleys lay buried in the shadows of a

-past which influences them still.</p>

-

-<p>This entire period presents a condition of affairs

-wholly unique. An immense population was led

-by a small class which had adopted foreign ideas

-and manners, and even spoke a strange language;

-a class which received its whole intellectual, moral,

-and political food and impetus from Germany,

-England, or France, as the case might be;—always

-from outside. The management of the

-land itself was frequently confided to foreigners—“pagans,”

-as the Russian peasants called them.

-Naturally, these foreigners looked upon this

-country as a vast field open to them for the

-collection of taxes and recruits; and whose destiny

-it was to furnish them with everything

-necessary in carrying out their projects,—their

-diplomatic combinations on the chess-board of all

-Europe.</p>

-

-<p>There were, of course, some exceptions—some

-attempts at restoring national politics and interior

-reform; but total ignorance of the country as

-well as of its language was the rule. Grandparents

-are still living in Russia, who, while they

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span>

-speak French perfectly, are quite incapable of

-speaking, or at least of writing, in the language

-of their grandchildren.</p>

-

-<p>Since the time of Catherine, a series of generations

-living in the Parisian elegance and luxury

-of the days of Louis XV., of the Empire, and the

-Restoration, have suffered with the French all their

-revolutionary shocks, shared in all their aspirations,

-been influenced by all their literature, sympathized

-in all their theories of administration

-and political economy;—and these do not even

-trouble themselves to know how a <dfn>muzhik</dfn> of the

-provinces lives, or what he has to endure. These

-political economists do not even know how Russian

-wheat is raised, which Pushkin declares to

-grow differently from the English wheat.</p>

-

-<p>So the people, left to themselves, merely vegetated,

-and developed according to the obscure

-laws of their oriental nature. We can imagine

-what disorder would arise in a nation so formed

-and divided.</p>

-

-<p>In France, historical events have gradually

-formed a middle class; a natural connecting link

-between the two extremes of society. In Russia

-this middle class did not exist, and is still wanting,

-there being nothing to fill the intervening

-space. The whole depth of the abyss was

-realized by those Russians who became enlightened

-enough to understand the state of their

-country during the latter years of the reign of

-Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr></p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span>

-A national fusion was developed, as it usually is

-on the battle-fields, where the Russians fell side by

-side before the invader. This movement, however,

-was very gradual, and Russia was virtually

-divided into two distinct classes until the death

-of the Emperor Nicholas, when the necessity of a

-more orderly condition of affairs was universally

-felt, giving rise to a social revolution which

-resulted in the emancipation of the serfs.</p>

-

-<p>For the last quarter of a century, every conscientious

-and strong-minded man has worked to

-perform his part towards the common object:

-the establishment of a solid and united country.

-But they met with terrible obstacles; for they

-must abolish the past, heal all differences, and

-conciliate all parties.</p>

-

-<p>As a world travelling through space, drawn by

-opposite attractions, is divided, bursts asunder,

-one fragment rushing to join the distant star

-which calls it, while the greater portion of the

-planet continues to gravitate towards the nearer

-spheres; and as, in spite of all opposing forces,

-these two separated fragments of a world tend to

-re-unite, no matter what spaces divide them, or

-with what a shock they must meet, having

-acquired such increased velocity;—so was it

-with Russia, made up of so many dissimilar elements,

-attracted at different times by opposite

-poles; now tossed from Europe to Asia, and

-back again from Asia to Europe, and finally

-divided against itself.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span>

-This condition is what I called the Russian

-national malady, which has plunged this people

-into the deepest discouragement and confusion.

-To historical misfortunes, we may add the peculiarities

-of soil and climate in which the Russian

-drama has been enacted. The severe, interminable

-winter interrupts man’s work and depresses his

-spirit. In the southern part, the scanty vegetation

-does not incite him to wrestle with nature and vie

-with her in energy and devotion. Is it not true that

-man’s mind is modelled according to the nature

-of his abiding-place? Must not a country having

-a limited horizon, and forms strongly and sharply

-defined, tend to the development of individuality,

-to clearness of conception, and persevering effort?

-The larger portion of Russia has nothing analogous

-to this; only, as Tacitus says, a “monotonous

-alternation of wild wood and reeking marsh.”

-(“<i lang="la">Aut silvis horrida, aut paludibus fœda</i>”); endless

-plains with no distinct horizon, no decisive

-outlines, only a mirage of snow, marsh, or sand.

-Everywhere the infinite, which confuses the mind

-and attracts it hopelessly. Tolstoï has well described

-it as “that boundless horizon which

-appeals to me so strongly.”</p>

-

-<p>The souls of this people must resemble those

-who sail on a long voyage; self-centered, resigned

-to their situation, with impulses of sudden, violent

-longing for the impossible. Their land is made

-for a tent-life, rather than for dwelling in houses;

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span>

-their ideas are nomadic, like themselves. As the

-winds bear the arctic cold over the plains from

-the White Sea to the Black, without meeting any

-resisting obstacle, so invasions, melancholy, famine,

-servitude, seize and fill these empty stretches

-rapidly and without hindrance. It is a land

-which is calculated to nourish the dim, hereditary,

-confused aspirations of the Russian heart,

-rather than those productions of the mind which

-give an impetus to literature and the arts.</p>

-

-<p>Nevertheless, we shall see how the persistent

-seed will develop under this severe sky and amid

-such untoward influences, saved by the eternal

-spring which exists in all human hearts of every

-climate.</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Two">II.</abbr><br>

-</h4>

-

-<p><span class="smcap">The</span> middle age of Russian literature, or the

-period ending with the accession of Peter the

-Great, produced first: ecclesiastical literature,

-comprising sermons, chronicles, moral and instructive

-treatises. Secondly: popular literature,

-consisting of epic poems, characteristic sonnets

-and legends. The former resembles that of

-western Europe, being in the same vein, only

-inferior to it.</p>

-

-<p>Throughout Christendom, the Church was

-for a long time the only educator; monk and

-scholar being almost synonymous words; while

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span>

-outside the pale of the Church all was barbarism.

-At first, the writer was a mere mechanical

-laborer, or Chinese scribe, who laboriously copied

-the Gospels and the ancient Scriptures. He was

-respected as possessing one of the arcana of life,

-and as specially gifted through a miracle from on

-high. Many generations of monks passed away

-before the idea occurred to these humble copyists

-to utilize their art in recording their own personal

-impressions. At first there were homilies, mere

-imitations of those of the Byzantine fathers; then

-lives of saints; and the legendary lore of the monastery

-of Kiev, the great centre of prayer and holy

-travail of the whole Slavonic world. Here originated

-the first approach to romance of that time,

-its Golden Legend, the first effort of the imagination

-towards the ideal which is so seductive to

-every human soul. Then came the chronicles of

-wars, and of their attendant and consequent evils.

-Nestor, the father of Russian history, noted down

-his impressions of what he saw, in a style similar

-to that of Gregory of Tours.</p>

-

-<p>From the thirteenth to the fifteenth century,

-these feeble germs of culture were nearly crushed

-out of existence by the Tartar invasion; and even

-the translation of the Bible into the Slavonic language

-was not accomplished until the year 1498.</p>

-

-<p>In 1518, Maximus, a Greek monk, who had

-lived in Florence with Savonarola, came to Moscow,

-bringing with him the first specimens of

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span>

-printing. He reformed the schools, and collected

-around him a group of men eager for knowledge.

-About this time the so-called civil deacons, the

-embryo of future <dfn>tchinovnism</dfn>,<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> began to assist

-the students of Latin and Greek in their translations.</p>

-

-<p>Father Sylvester also wrote the “Domostroi,” a

-treatise on morals and domestic economy; a practical

-encyclopædia for Russians of the sixteenth

-century.</p>

-

-<p>In the second half of this century Ivan the

-Terrible introduced printing into Russia. A

-part of the venerable building he erected at

-Moscow for a printing establishment is still

-standing. He tried to obtain from Germany

-skilful hands in the new art, but they were refused

-him. Each sovereign jealously guarded

-every master of the great secret, as they did good

-alchemists or skilful workers in metals.</p>

-

-<p>A Moscow student, Ivan Fedorof, cast some

-Slavonic characters, and used them in printing

-the Acts of the Apostles, in 1564. This is the

-most ancient specimen of typography in Russia.

-He, the first of Russian printers, was accused of

-heresy, and obliged to fly for his life. His

-wretched existence seemed a prophetic symbol

-of the destiny reserved for the development of

-thought in his native country. Fedorof took

-refuge with some magnates of Lithuania, and

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span>

-printed some books in their castles; but his

-patrons and protectors tore him from his beloved

-work, and forced him to cultivate the land. He

-wrote of himself:—“It was not my work to sow

-the grain, but to scatter through the earth food

-for the mind, nourishment for the souls of all

-mankind.” He fled to Lemberg, where he died

-in extreme poverty, leaving his precious treasure

-to a Jew.</p>

-

-<p>The seventeenth century produced a few specimens

-of secular literature. But it was an unfavorable

-time, a time of anxiety, of usurpations; and

-afterwards came the Polish invasion. When intellectual

-life again awoke, theological works were

-the order of the day; and even up to the time of

-Peter the Great, all the writers of note were theologians.</p>

-

-<p>The development of general literature in Russia

-was precisely analogous to that of Western

-Europe, only about two centuries later, the seventeenth

-century in Russia corresponding to the

-fifteenth in France. With popular literature, or

-folk-lore, however, the case is quite otherwise;

-nowhere is it so rich and varied as with the

-Slavonians.</p>

-

-<p>Nature and history seem to have been too

-cruel to this people. Their spirits rise in rebellion

-against their condition, and soar into that

-fantastic realm of the imagination, above and outside

-the material world; a realm created by the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span>

-Divine Being for the renewal of man’s spirit, and

-giving him an opportunity for the play of his

-fancy. According to the poet Tutschef, “Our

-earthly life is bathed in dreams, as the earth by

-ocean’s waves.” Their songs and myths are the

-music of history, embracing their whole national

-life, and changing it into dreams and fancies.

-The Cossack fisher-folk have sung them upon

-their mighty rivers for more than eight centuries.</p>

-

-<p>When, in the future, Russia shall produce her

-greatest and truest poets, they have only to draw

-from these rich sources, an inexhaustible store.

-Never can they find better material; for the imagination

-of that anonymous author, the people, is

-the more sublime, and its heart more truly poetical,

-because of its great faith, simplicity, and

-many sorrows. What poem can compare with

-that description of the universe in a book, written

-in the fifteenth century, called “Book of the

-<span class="lock">Dove”?—</span></p>

-

-<p>“The sun is the fire of love glowing in the

-Lord’s face; the stars fall from his mantle….

-The night is dark with his thoughts; the break

-of day is the glance of his eye….”</p>

-

-<p>And where can the writers of the modern

-realistic Russian novel find tenderer touches or

-more sharply bitter allusions than in the old

-dramatic poem, “The Ascension of Christ”?

-Jesus, as he is about to rise to heaven, thus

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span>

-consoles the sorrowing crowd clustered around

-<span class="lock">him:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“Weep not, dear brethren! I will give you a

-mountain of gold, a river of honey; I will leave

-you gardens planted with vines, fruits, and manna

-from heaven.” But the Apostle John interrupts

-him, <span class="lock">saying:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“Do not give them the mountain of gold, for

-the princes and nobles will take it from them,

-divide it among themselves, and not allow our

-brothers to approach. If thou wishest these

-unfortunates to be fed, clothed, and sheltered,

-bestow upon them Thy Holy Name, that they may

-glorify it in their lives, on their wanderings

-through the earth.”</p>

-

-<p>The song of “The Band of Igor,” an epic poem,

-describing the struggle with the pagan hordes

-from the south-west, and supposed by some

-authors to have been inspired by Homer, is the

-most ancient, and the prototype of all others of

-the Middle Age. The soul of the Slavonic poet of

-this time is Christian only in name. The powers

-he believes in are those of nature and the

-universe. He addresses invocations to the rivers,

-to the sea, to darkness, the winds, the sun. The

-continual contrast between the beneficent Light

-and the evil Darkness recalls the ancient Egyptian

-hymns, which always describe the eternal contest

-between day and night.</p>

-

-<p>Pushkin says of the “Song of Igor,” the origin of

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span>

-which is much disputed among scholars: “All our

-poets of the eighteenth century together had not

-poetry enough in them to comprehend, still less

-to compose, a single couplet of this ‘Song of

-Igor.’”</p>

-

-<p>This epic poetry of Russia strikes its roots in

-the most remote antiquity of Asia, from Hindu

-and Persian myths, as well as from those of the

-Occident. It resembles the race itself in its

-growth and mode of development, oscillating

-alternately between the east and the west.

-Thus has the Russian mind oscillated between the

-two poles of attraction. In this period of its

-growth, it remembers and imitates more than it

-creates; but the foreign images it receives and

-reflects assume larger contours and more melancholy

-colors; a tinge of plaintiveness, as well as

-of brotherly love and sympathy.</p>

-

-<p>Not so with the period we now enter. Literature

-is now reduced to a restricted form, like the

-practice of an art, cultivated for itself and following

-certain rules. It is an edifice constructed by

-Peter the Great, in which the author becomes a

-servant of the state, with a set task like the rest

-of the government officials. All must study in

-the school of Western Europe, and must accomplish

-in the eighteenth century what France did

-in the sixteenth. Even the Slavonic language

-itself must suffer innovations and adopt foreign

-terms. Before this, all books were written in

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span>

-the Old Slavonic language of the church, which

-influenced also all scientific and poetical productions.</p>

-

-<p>The change which came about naturally in

-France, as the result of an intellectual revolution,

-for which the minds of the people were already

-ripe, was in Russia brought about by a single

-will; being the artificial work of one man who

-aroused the people from slumber before their

-time.</p>

-

-<p>A new style of literature cannot be called into

-being, as an army can be raised, or a new code of

-laws established, by an imperial order or decree.

-Let us imagine the Renaissance established in

-France by Philippe le Bel! Such an attempt was

-now made in Russia, and its unsatisfactory results

-are easily accounted for.</p>

-

-<p>Peter established an Academy of Science at St.

-Petersburg, sending its members abroad for a time

-at first to absorb all possible knowledge, and

-return to use it for the benefit of the Russian

-people. This custom prevailed for more than a

-century. The most important of these scholars

-was Lomonosof, the son of a poor fisherman of

-the White Sea. Having distinguished himself at

-school, he was taken up by the government and

-sent into Germany. Returning to supplant the

-German professors, whom he found established at

-St. Petersburg, he bequeathed to his country a

-quite remarkable epic poem on Peter the Great,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span>

-called “La Pétriade,” for which his name is

-revered by his countrymen.</p>

-

-<p>The glorious reign of Catherine <abbr title="Two">II.</abbr> should have

-added something to the literary world. She was

-a most extraordinary woman. She wrote comedies

-for her own theatre at the Hermitage, as

-well as treatises on education for the benefit of

-her grandchildren, and would gladly have been

-able to furnish native philosophers worthy to vie

-with her foreign courtiers; but they proved mere

-feeble imitators of Voltaire. Kheraskof wrote the

-“Rossiade” and Sumarokof, called by his contemporaries

-the Russian Racine, furnished the court

-with tragedies. But two comedies, “Le Brigadier,”

-and “Le Mineur,” by Von Vizin, have

-more merit, and are still much read and highly

-appreciated. These form a curious satire on the

-customs of the time. But the name of Derzhavin

-eclipses all others of this epoch. His works were

-modelled somewhat after Rousseau and Lefranc de

-Pompignan, and are fully equal to them.</p>

-

-<p>Derzhavin had the good-fortune to live to a

-ripe old age, and in court life through several

-reigns; thus having the best of opportunities to

-utilize all striking events. Each new accession to

-the throne, victories, anniversaries, all contributed

-to inflate his national pride and inspire his muse.</p>

-

-<p>But his high-flown rhetoric is open to severe

-criticism, and his works will be chiefly valued

-as illustrative of a glorious period of Russian

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span>

-history, and as a memorial of the illustrious Catherine.

-Pushkin says of <span class="lock">him:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“He is far inferior to Lomonosof.—He neither

-understood the grammar nor the spirit of our language;

-and in time, when his works will have

-been translated, we shall blush for him. We

-should reserve only a few of his odes and

-sketches, and burn all the rest.”</p>

-

-<p>Krylof, the writer of fables in imitation of La

-Fontaine, deserves mention. He had talent enough

-to show some originality in a style of literature

-in which it is most difficult to be original; and

-wrote with a rude simplicity characteristically

-Russian, and in a vein much more vigorous than

-that of his model.</p>

-

-<p>Karamzin inaugurated a somewhat novel deviation

-in the way of imitation. He was an

-enthusiastic admirer of Rousseau. He was poet,

-critic, political economist, novelist, and historian;

-and bore a leading part in the literature of the

-latter part of the eighteenth century and the

-beginning of the nineteenth; a time including

-the end of Catherine’s reign and the early part

-of Alexander’s. It was a transition period between

-the classic and romantic schools of literature.

-Karamzin might be called the Rousseau and

-the Chateaubriand of his country. His voluminous

-history of Russia is of great merit, although

-he is sufficiently blinded by his patriotism to cause

-him to present a too flattering picture of a most

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span>

-cruel despotism; so that his assertions are often

-challenged by later writers. But the work is of

-great value as a most conscientious compilation of

-events and quotations, and the only one written

-up to the last twenty years; and in this respect

-Karamzin has no rival.</p>

-

-<p>He owed his renown, before writing his history,

-to a few little romances of a sentimental turn.

-The romantic story of “La pauvre Lise” especially

-was received with a furor quite out of

-proportion to its merit. Its popularity was such

-that it became the inspiration of artists and of

-decorators of porcelain. Lakes and ponds innumerable

-were baptized with the name of <i>Lise</i>, in

-memory of her sad fate. Such enthusiasm seems

-incredible; but we can never tell what literary

-effort may be borne on to undying fame by the

-wheel of fashion!</p>

-

-<p>The successive efforts of these secondary writers

-have contributed much to form the language of

-Russian literature as it now exists; Karamzin

-for its prose, Derzhavin for its poetry. In less

-than one hundred years the change was accomplished,

-and the way prepared for Pushkin, who

-was destined to supply an important place in Russian

-literature.</p>

-

-<p>Karamzin’s part in politics was quite at variance

-with his position in the world of letters.

-Although an imitator of Rousseau, he set himself

-against the liberal ideas of Alexander. He

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span>

-was opposed to the emancipation of the serfs, and

-became the champion of the so-called <dfn>Muscovitism</dfn>,

-which, forty years later, became <dfn>Slavophilism</dfn>. He

-lived in Moscow, where the conservative element

-was strongest, acting in opposition to Speranski,

-the prime minister.</p>

-

-<p>In 1811, Karamzin wrote a famous paper, addressed

-to his sovereign, called, “Old and New

-Russia,” which so influenced Alexander’s vacillating

-mind that it gave the death-blow to

-Speranski. In this paper he says: “We are

-anticipating matters in Russia, where there are

-hardly one hundred persons who know how to

-spell correctly. We must return to our national

-traditions, and do away with all ideas imported

-from the Occident. No Russian can comprehend

-any limitation of the autocratic power. The

-autocrat draws his wisdom from a fountain within

-himself, and from the love of his people,” etc.</p>

-

-<p>This paper contained the germ of every future

-demand of the Muscovite party.</p>

-

-<p>Karamzin is the pioneer of the <dfn>Slavophile</dfn> party,

-which would do away with all the reforms of

-Peter the Great, and reconstruct the original

-Russia as an ideal government, entirely free from

-any European ideas. As this political programme

-became a literary one, it is important to note its

-first appearance.</p>

-

-<p>Freemasonry, that embodiment of the spirit of

-mysticism, worked its way into Russia, brought

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span>

-from Sweden and Germany, during the reign of

-Catherine; and was at once taken up by the literary

-world, then led by Novikof. The greater

-part of the distinguished scholars and statesmen

-under Alexander, Karamzin among them, were

-interested in it, and spread through the country

-the philosophical works which deluged Europe.</p>

-

-<p>The French Revolution now broke out; and

-Catherine, becoming alarmed at the rapid spread

-of the new philosophy, ordered the lodges closed,

-had the suspicious books seized, and Novikof

-tried and condemned.</p>

-

-<p>But the new doctrines assumed greater force

-under Alexander, who encouraged them. The

-infatuation for this mysticism spread among all

-intelligent people. The state of mind of the

-upper classes has been faithfully depicted in the

-character of Pierre Bezushof, in “War and

-Peace,” the historical novel of Leon Tolstoï.

-(See the chapter which describes Pierre’s initiation

-into Freemasonry.) This condition of mind

-is not peculiar to the Russians. All Europe was

-obscured by it at the end of the eighteenth century;

-but in Russia it found free scope in the

-unsettled and confused state of affairs, where the

-thinking mind struggled against the influx of

-rationalism, while unwilling to accept the negative

-philosophy of the learned class. On this

-account, among others, the reign of Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr>

-presents a curious subject for study and contemplation.

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span>

-It offered a point of meeting for every

-new current of thought which agitated Russia,

-as well as for everything that had been repressed

-throughout the reign of Nicholas. The Masonic

-lodges insensibly became a moving power in politics,

-which led to the liberal conspiracy crushed

-out in 1825. A horror of the revolutionary ideas

-of France, and the events of 1812, had produced

-a great change in the Russian mind; besides,

-Russia, now temporarily estranged from France,

-became more influenced by Germany; which fact

-was destined to have a considerable effect upon

-their literature. During the whole of the eighteenth

-century, France tutored the Russian mind

-in imitation of the classics. It now became inculcated

-with the romanticism of Germany.</p>

-

-

-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

-<div class="blockquot">

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[A]</a> Official rank.</p>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span>

-<h3>

-CHAPTER <abbr title="Two">II.</abbr><br>

-<br>

-<span class="allsmcap">ROMANTICISM.—PUSHKIN AND POETRY.</span>

-</h3>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Russia</span>—all Europe, in fact—was now enjoying

-a period of peace. A truce of twenty-five

-years lay between the great political wars and the

-important social struggles to come. During these

-years of romanticism, so short and yet so full,

-between 1815 and 1840 only, all intelligent minds

-in Russia seemed given up to thought, imagination,

-and poetry.</p>

-

-<p>Everything in this country develops suddenly.

-Poets appear in numbers, just as the flowers of

-the field spring forth after the sun’s hot rays have

-melted the snow. At this time poetry seemed

-to be the universal language of men. Only one of

-this multitude of poets, however, is truly admirable,

-absorbing all the rest in the lustrous rays of

-his genius,—the glorious Pushkin.</p>

-

-<p>He was preceded by Zhukovski, who was born

-twenty years earlier, and who also survived him.

-No critic can deny that Zhukovski was the real

-originator of romanticism in Russian literature;

-or that he was the first one to introduce it from

-Germany. His works were numerous. Perfectly

-acquainted with the Greek language, his version

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span>

-of Homer is most admirable. He also wrote several

-poems in the style of Schiller, Goethe, and

-Uhland; and many compositions, ballads, etc., all

-in the German style. He touched upon many

-Russian subjects, themes which Pushkin afterwards

-took up. In fact, he was to Pushkin what

-Perugino was to Raphael; yet every Russian will

-declare that the new romanticism of that time

-dates from Pushkin, and is identified with him.</p>

-

-<p>Zhukovski was one of those timid spirits which

-are born to be satellites, even though they rise

-before the sun in the pale dawn; but they only

-shine with reflected light, and their lustre becomes

-wholly absorbed in the rays of the rising luminary

-which replaces them.</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="One">I.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>To realize the importance of the part the poets

-of this period were destined to play, we must

-remember what a very small part of the population

-of this vast country could be called the

-educated class. At the beginning of the century,

-the education of the Muscovite aristocracy was

-confided entirely to the Jesuits, who had been

-powerfully supported by the Emperor Paul. In

-1811, Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr> replaced these foreign educators

-by native Russians, and founded the Lyceum

-of Tsarskoe-Selo, after the model of the Paris

-Lyceums.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span>

-Students were admitted according to birth and

-merit only. Pushkin and Gortchakof were the

-two who most distinguished themselves. The

-course of study was rather superficial. The students

-were on intimate terms with the soldiers

-of the Imperial Guard, and quartered in the

-imperial palace with them. Politics, patriotism,

-poetry, all together fomented an agitation, which

-ended with the conspiracy of December, 1825.</p>

-

-<p>Pushkin was at once recognized as a master in

-this wild throng, and was already famous as a

-poet. The old Derzhavin cast his own mantle

-upon Pushkin’s shoulders and pronounced him

-his heir. Pushkin possessed the gift of pleasing;

-but to understand his genius, we must not lose

-sight of his origin. His maternal grandfather was

-an Abyssinian negro, who had been a slave in the

-Seraglio of Constantinople, was stolen and carried

-to Russia by a corsair, and adopted by Peter the

-Great, who made him a general, and gave him in

-marriage to a noble lady of the court. The poet

-inherited some of his grandfather’s features; his

-thick lips, white teeth, and crisp curly hair. This

-drop of African blood, falling amid Arctic snows,

-may account for the strong contrasts and exaggerations

-of his poetic nature, which was a remarkable

-union of impetuosity and melancholy.</p>

-

-<p>His youth was passed in a wild whirl of pleasure

-and excess. He incurred while still young

-the imperial anger, by having written some insolent

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span>

-verses, as well as by committing some foolish

-pranks with some of the saints’ images; and was

-banished for a time to the borders of the Black

-Sea, where, enchanted by the delicious climate

-and scenery, his genius developed rapidly.</p>

-

-<p>He returned not much the wiser, but with his

-genius fully matured at the age of twenty-five.

-For a few short years following his return, he

-produced his greatest masterpieces with astonishing

-rapidity, and died at thirty-seven in a duel,

-the victim of an obscure intrigue. He had married

-a very beautiful woman, who was the innocent

-cause of his death. Lending an ear to certain

-calumnies concerning her, he became furiously

-jealous, and fought the fatal duel with an officer

-of the Russian guard.</p>

-

-<p>While we lament his sad fate, we can but reflect

-that the approach of age brings sadness with it,

-and most of all to a poet. He died young, in the

-prime of life and in the plenitude of his powers,

-giving promise of future possible masterpieces,

-with which we always credit such geniuses.</p>

-

-<p>It is impossible to judge of this man’s works

-from a review of his character. Though his heart

-was torn by the stormiest passions, he possessed

-an intellect of the highest order, truly classic in

-the best sense of the word. When his talent

-became fully matured, form took possession of

-him rather than color. In his best poems, intellect

-presides over sentiment, and the soul of the

-artist is laid bare.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span>

-To attempt to quote, to translate his precious

-words, would be a hopeless task. He himself said:

-“In my opinion, there is nothing more difficult, I

-might say impossible, than to translate Russian

-poetry into French; concise as our language is,

-we can never be concise enough.”</p>

-

-<p>In Latin one might possibly be able to express

-as many thoughts in as few words, and as beautifully.

-The charm vanishes with the translator’s

-touch; besides, the principal object of this book

-is to show how the peculiar type of Russian character

-is manifested in the works of the Russian

-writers. Neither do I think that Pushkin could aid

-us much in this study; although he was no servile

-imitator, like so many of his predecessors, it is

-none the less true that he drew his material from

-the great sources of European literature. He

-was educated from a child in French literature.

-His father knew Molière by heart, and his uncle

-was a great admirer of Béranger. When he entered

-the Lyceum he could scarcely speak his

-mother-tongue, but he had been fed with Voltaire

-from early childhood. His very first verses

-were written in French, and his first Russian

-rhymes were madrigals on the same themes. In

-the “Prisoner of the Caucasus,” written in 1824,

-we can feel the influence of Byron, whom he

-calls the “master of his thoughts.” Gradually

-he acquired more originality, but it is quite certain

-that but for Byron some of the most important

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span>

-of his poems, such as “Onyegin,” “The Bohemians,”

-several of his oriental poems, and even

-his admirable “Poltava,” would never have

-existed.</p>

-

-<p>During the latter years of his life, he had a

-passion for history, when he studied the historical

-dramas of Shakespeare. This he himself

-acknowledges in the preface to “Boris Godunof,”

-which is a Shakespearian drama on a Muscovite

-subject. In certain prose works he shows unmistakable

-proofs of the influence of Voltaire, as

-they are written in a style wholly dissimilar to

-anything in Russian prose.</p>

-

-<p>The <dfn>Slavophile</dfn> party like to imagine that

-Pushkin, in his “Songs of the Western Slavs,”

-has evoked the ancient Russian spirit; while he

-has merely translated some French verses into

-Russian. We must acknowledge the truth that

-his works, with the exception of “Onyegin,” and a

-few others, do not exhibit any peculiar ethnical

-stamp. He is influenced at different times, as

-the case may be, by his contemporaries in Germany,

-England, and France. He expresses universal

-sentiments, and applies them to Russian

-themes; but he looks from outside upon the

-national life, like all his contemporaries in letters,

-artistically free from any influence of his own race.

-Compare his descriptions of the Caucasus with

-those of Tolstoï in “The Cossacks.” The poet

-of 1820 looks upon nature and the Orientals with

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span>

-the eye of a Byron or a Lamartine; while the

-observer of 1850 regards that spot of Asia as his

-ancestral mother-country, and feels that it partly

-belongs to him.</p>

-

-<p>We shall find that Pushkin’s successors possess

-none of his literary qualities. He is as

-concise as they are diffuse; as clear as they are

-involved. His style is as perfect, elegant, and

-correct as a Greek bronze; in a word, he has

-style and good taste, which terms cannot be applied

-to any of his successors in Russian literature.

-Is it taking away anything from Pushkin to

-remove him from his race and give him to the

-world and humanity at large? Because he was

-born in Russia, there is nothing whatever to

-prove that his works were thereby modified.

-He would have sung in the self-same way for

-England, France, or Italy.</p>

-

-<p>But, although he resembles his country so little,

-he served it well. He stirred its intellectual life

-more effectively than any other writer has done;

-and it is not too much to call him the Peter the

-Great of Russian literature. The nation gratefully

-recognizes this debt. To quote one of his

-own verses:—“The monument I have erected

-for myself is made by no mortal hand; and the

-grass will not have time to grow in the path that

-leads to it.”</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span></p>

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>Among the group of poets contemporaries of

-Pushkin only two are really worthy of mention,

-viz.: Griboyedof and Lermontof; but these two,

-although they died young, gave promise of great

-genius. The first of these left only one comedy,

-but that is the masterpiece of the Russian

-drama (“le Mal de Trop d’Esprit”). The

-author, unlike Pushkin, disdained all foreign

-literature, took pride in all the ancient Muscovite

-customs, and was Russian to the backbone.

-He painted the people and the peculiarities of his

-own country only, and so wonderfully well that

-his sayings have become proverbs. The piece is

-similar to the “Revizor” of Gogol, but, in my

-opinion, superior to it, being broader in spirit and

-finer in sentiment. Moreover, its satire never

-will grow old, for it is as appropriate to the present

-day as to the time for which it was written.</p>

-

-<p>Returning from Persia, where he had been sent

-as Russian minister to the Shah, he was murdered

-by a party of robbers, at the age of thirty

-four.</p>

-

-<p>Lermontof was the poet of the Caucasus, which

-he made the scene of all his poems. His short

-life of twenty-six years was spent among those

-mountains; and he was, like Pushkin, killed in a

-duel, just as he was beginning to be recognized

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span>

-as a worthy successor to him. Byron was also

-his favorite model, whom he, unhappily, strongly

-resembled in character. His most celebrated

-poem was “The Demon”; but he wrote many

-most picturesque and fascinating stanzas and

-short pieces, which are full of tenderness and

-melancholy. Though less harmonious and perfect

-than Pushkin’s, his verses give out sometimes

-a sadder ring. His prose is equal to his

-poetry, and many of his short sketches, illustrative

-of Caucasian life, possess a subtle charm.</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Three">III.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>Lermontof was the last and most extreme of

-the poets of the romantic period. The Byronic

-fever, now at its height, was destined soon to die

-out and disappear. Romanticism sought in history

-some more solid aliment than despair. A reaction

-set in; and writers of elegies and ballads

-turned their attention to historical dramas and

-the picturesque side of human life. From Byron

-they turned back to Shakespeare, the universal

-Doctor. Pushkin, in his “Boris Godunof,” and

-in the later poems of his mature period, devoted

-himself to this resurrection of the past; and his

-disciples followed in his wake. The rhetoric of

-the new school, not wholly emancipated from

-romanticism, was naturally somewhat conventional.

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span>

-But Pushkin became interested in journalism;

-and polemics, social reforms, and many

-other new problems arising, helped to make

-romanticism a thing of the past. The young

-schools of philosophy found much food for thought

-and controversy. The question of the emancipation

-of the serfs, raised in the court of Alexander

-<abbr title="One">I.</abbr>, weighed heavily upon the national conscience.

-A suffering people cannot be fed upon rhetoric.</p>

-

-<p>In 1836, Tchadayef published his famous

-“Lettre Philosophique.” He was a man of the

-world, but a learned man and a philosopher.

-The fundamental idea of his paper was that Russia

-had hitherto been but a parasite, feeding upon

-the rest of Europe, and had contributed of itself

-nothing useful to civilization; had established no

-religious reforms, nor allowed any scope for free

-thought upon the leading questions of modern

-society. He <span class="lock">said:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“We have in our blood a principle which is

-hostile to civilization.”</p>

-

-<p>These were strong sentiments coming from the

-mouth of a Russian; but they afterwards found

-many echoing voices, which never before had put

-such crude truths into words. Tchadayef was

-claimed by the liberals as their legitimate father,

-his “Lettre Philosophique” was made a political

-pamphlet, and he himself was regarded as a revolutionary

-leader.</p>

-

-<p>Just at this time, Kant, Schelling, and Hegel

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span>

-were translated, and a great many young Russians

-now studied rationalism at its fountain-heads,

-in the different German universities. The

-preceding generation, which had become intoxicated

-with sentiment, was followed by a generation

-devoted to metaphysics. This new hobby

-was ridden with the enthusiasm peculiar to the

-Russians, and hairs which in Germany were split

-into four parts were subdivided in Moscow into

-eight.</p>

-

-<p>A writer nourished on the new doctrines, and

-who soon became leader of the liberal school,

-appeared at this time, and exercised a strong

-influence upon literature. It was the critic Bielinski.

-He was, perhaps, the only critic of his

-country really worthy of the name. He left a

-voluminous work, a perfect encyclopædia of

-Russian literature; rich in wisdom and in ideas,

-giving a fine historical account of the ancient

-literature, and defining with rare sagacity the

-tendencies of the new. He threw down many

-old idols, and ridiculed the absurd confidence in

-the writers of the classic period. In spite of his

-admiration for Pushkin, he points out many of the

-weak points of romanticism, and seems to fully

-realize the intellectual necessities of his time.

-The great novelists of modern Russia have been

-encouraged by his advice, and he has certainly

-shown himself to be a critic in advance of his own

-time, and the only one Russia has produced. The

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span>

-first sketches and tales of Gogol revealed to

-Bielinski the birth of this new art. He declared

-the age of lyric poetry was past forever, and that

-the reign of Russian prose romance had begun.

-Everything has justified this great writer’s prophecy.

-Since the time of Pushkin, their literature

-has undergone wonderful developments.

-The novelists no longer draw from outside

-sources, but from the natal soil, and it is they

-who will show us what a rich verdure can be produced

-from under those Arctic snows.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span>

-<h3>

-CHAPTER <abbr title="Three">III.</abbr><br>

-<br>

-<span class="allsmcap">THE EVOLUTION OF REALISM IN RUSSIA.—GOGOL.</span>

-</h3>

-</div>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">The</span> first Russian tale or romance was published

-in 1799, but nothing of note appeared before

-1840; although we have seen what success

-Karamzin obtained with his touching romances,

-especially with “La Pauvre Lise.” Several historical

-romances also appeared about this time,

-(1820), inspired, no doubt, by the unprecedented

-popularity and success of those of Sir Walter

-Scott. But lyric poetry and romanticism had not

-lost their influence, and even Pushkin’s little historical

-tales savor more of the classic period, and

-are rather works of the imagination than studies

-from real life. The historical and so-called popular

-novel, however, with its superhuman heroes,

-was now becoming tedious; and authors were

-already appearing who had begun to observe the

-life around them attentively, and to take pleasure

-in studying something outside of themselves.

-The same causes conspired to produce, almost

-simultaneously, three writers destined to accomplish

-the same task: Dickens in England, Balzac

-in France, and Gogol in Russia. Gogol developed

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span>

-his work more slowly than the others at first, but

-collected rich materials for his successors. He

-may be called the first of Russian prose writers;

-and we shall see by a study of his character and

-works, what a foundation he laid for future progress

-in prose literature in his country, and what

-stirring controversies his books called forth.</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="One">I.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>Gogol was a Cossack, from Little Russia or

-Ukraine. For Russian readers, that is quite

-enough to explain the peculiar qualities of his

-mind and its productions, which were characterized

-by keen but kindly satire, with a tinge of

-melancholy ever running through and underneath

-it. He is the natural product of the land which

-gave him birth. This frontier country is subject

-to the contending influences of both north and

-south. For a few short months the sun revels

-there and accomplishes an almost miraculous

-work—an oriental brilliancy of light by day, and

-soft, enchanting nights under a sky resplendent

-with stars. Magnificent harvests from the fertile

-soil ensure an easy, joyous life; all trouble and

-sadness vanish with the melting snow, and spirits

-rise to general gayety and enthusiasm.</p>

-

-<p>But the boundless spaces, the limitless horizons

-of these sunny plains overwhelm the spirit; one

-cannot long feel joyous in the presence of Infinity.

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span>

-The habit of thought becomes like that of the

-eye; is lost in space, develops an inclination to

-revery, which causes the mind to fall back upon

-itself, and the imagination is, so to speak, thrown

-inward.</p>

-

-<p>Winter transforms the Russian. Upon the

-Dnieper the winter is nearly as severe as on the

-Neva. There is nothing to check the icy winds

-from the north. Death comes suddenly to claim

-its reign. Both earth and man are paralyzed.

-Just as Ukraine was subjugated by the armies

-of Moscow, so it is taken possession of by the

-climate of Moscow. On this great battle-field

-nature carries out the plan of this country’s political

-history, the vicissitudes of which have no

-doubt contributed, as well as those of climate, to

-form its own peculiar physiognomy.</p>

-

-<p>Little Russia was at one time overrun by the

-Turks; and derived from its long association

-with them many oriental traits. Then it was subdued

-by Poland, which has transmitted something

-of its savage luxury to its vassal. Afterwards the

-Cossack leagues established there their republican

-spirit of independence. The traditions of this

-epoch are dearest of all to the heart of the Little

-Russian, who claims from them his inheritance of

-wild freedom and prowess. An ancient order of

-Cossack chivalry, the Zaporovian League, recruited

-from brigands and fugitive serfs, had always been

-in constant warfare, obeying no law but that of

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span>

-the sword. Families who were descended directly

-from this stock (Gogol’s was one of them) inherited

-this spirit of revolt, as well as wandering

-instincts, and a love of adventure and the marvellous.

-The complex elements of this character,

-which is more free, jovial, and prompt in action

-than that of the native of Russia proper, have

-strongly influenced the literature of Russia

-through Gogol, whose heart clung with tenacity to

-his native soil. In fact, the first half of his life’s

-work is a picture of life in Ukraine, with its

-legends.</p>

-

-<p>Gogol (Nikolai Vasilievitch) was born near

-Poltava in 1809, in the very heart of the Cossack

-country. His grandfather, who was his first

-teacher, was regimental scribe to the Zaporovian

-League.<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> The child listened from infancy to the

-tales of this grandfather, inexhaustible tales of

-heroic deeds during the great wars with Poland,

-as well as thrilling exploits of these Corsairs of

-the Steppes. His young imagination was fed with

-these stories, tragedies of military life, and rustic

-fairy-tales and legends, which are given to us almost

-intact in his “Evenings at the Farm,” and in

-his poem of “Taras Bulba.” His whole surroundings

-spoke to him of an age of fable not long

-past; of a primitive poetry still alive in the customs

-of the people. This condensed poetry

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span>

-reaches us after passing through two prisms; the

-recollections of old age, which recalls while it

-regrets the past; and the impressions of a child’s

-fancy, which is dazzled by what it hears. This

-was the first and perhaps the most profitable part

-of the young boy’s education. He was afterwards

-put into an institution, where he was taught Latin

-and other languages; but, according to his biographers,

-he never excelled in scholarship. He

-must have made up for lost time later on; for all

-his contemporaries speak of his extensive reading

-and his perfect familiarity with all the literature

-of the Occident.</p>

-

-<p>His letters written to his mother before leaving

-school show already the bent of his mind. Keen,

-observant, and satirical, his wit is sometimes exercised

-at the expense of his comrades. He already

-showed signs of a deeply religious nature,

-and was ambitious too of a great career. His high

-hopes are sometimes temporarily crushed by a sudden

-depression or feeling of discouragement, and

-in his letters he declaims against the injustice of

-men. He feels the pervading influence of the

-Byronism of that time. “I feel as if called,” cries

-the young enthusiast, “to some great, some noble

-task, for the good of my country, for the happiness

-of my fellow-citizens and of all mankind.

-My soul feels the presence of an angel from

-heaven, calling, impelling me towards the lofty

-aim I aspire to.”</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span>

-A Russian who lived under the rule of the

-Emperor Nicholas, and was eager to work for the

-happiness of his fellow-men, had no choice of

-means. He must enter the government service, and

-laboriously climb the steps of the administrative

-hierarchy, which appropriates to itself every force

-of the community and nation. Having completed

-his studies, Gogol set out for St. Petersburg. It

-was in the year 1829, and he was twenty years

-of age. With empty pockets, but rich in illusions,

-he approached the capital just as his Cossack

-ancestors had entered the cities they conquered;

-thinking he had only to walk boldly forward and

-claim everything he desired. But the future author,

-destined to play so prominent a part in the

-life and literature of his country, must now put

-aside his dreams and taste the stern reality of life.

-A few weeks’ experience taught him that the great

-capital was for him more of a desert than his native

-steppe. He was refused everything he applied for;

-for a provincial with no letters of introduction

-could expect nothing else. In a fit of despair, he

-determined to leave St. Petersburg. One day,

-having received a small sum from his mother,

-which she had saved to pay off a mortgage on

-their house, instead of depositing the money in a

-bank, he jumped on board a ship to go—somewhere,

-anywhere—forward, into the great world;

-like a child who had become imbued with the

-spirit of adventure, from reading Robinson

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span>

-Crusoe. He left the boat at her first landing-place,

-which was Lubeck. Having wandered

-about the city for three days, he returned to St.

-Petersburg, cured of his folly, and resigned to

-bear patiently whatever was in store for him.</p>

-

-<p>With great difficulty he obtained a modest

-position in an office connected with the government,

-where he only remained one year, but where

-he received impressions which were to haunt his

-whole future life. It was here that he studied

-the model of that wretched hero of his work,

-“Le Manteau,” in flesh and blood.</p>

-

-<p>Becoming weary of his occupation, he attempted

-acting, but his voice was not thought strong

-enough. He then became a tutor in families of

-the aristocracy of St. Petersburg; and finally was

-appointed to a professorship in the University.

-But although he made a brilliant opening

-address, his pupils soon complained that he put

-them to sleep, and he lost the situation. It was

-at this juncture that he took refuge in literature.

-He published at first a few modest essays in the

-leading journals, which attracted some attention,

-and Zhukovski had introduced him to Pushkin.

-Gogol has related with what fear and trembling

-he rung one morning at the door of the great

-poet. Pushkin had not yet risen, having been up

-all night, as his valet said. When Gogol begged

-to be excused for disturbing one so occupied with

-his literary labors, the servant informed him that

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span>

-his master had passed the night playing cards.

-What a disenchantment for an admirer of the

-great poet!</p>

-

-<p>But Gogol was warmly welcomed. Pushkin’s

-noble heart, too great for envy, enjoyed the success

-of others. His eager sympathy, lavish praise, and

-encouragement have produced legions of authors.

-Gogol, among them all, was his favorite. At first

-he advised him to write sketches descriptive of

-the national history and the customs of the people.

-Gogol followed his advice and wrote his “Evenings

-at a Farm near Dikanka.”<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a></p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>This book is a chronicle of scenes of the author’s

-childhood; and all his love and youthful

-recollections of the country of the Cossacks are

-poured from his heart into this book.</p>

-

-<p>A certain old man, whose occupation is that of

-raising bees, is the story-teller of the party. He

-relates tales of Little Russia, so that we see it

-under every aspect; and gives glimpses of scenery,

-rustic habits and customs, the familiar dialogues

-of the people, and all sorts of legends, both terrible

-and grotesque. The gay and the supernatural

-are strangely blended in these recitals, but the

-gay element predominates; for Gogol’s smile has

-as yet no bitterness in it. His laugh is the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span>

-hearty, frank laugh of the young Cossack who

-enjoys life. All this is related in racy, expressive

-language, full of words peculiar to Little Russia,

-curious local expressions, and those affectionate

-diminutives quite impossible to translate or express

-in a more formal language. Sometimes the

-author bursts forth in a poetical vein, when certain

-impressions or scenes of his native country

-float before his eyes. At the beginning of his

-“Night in May” is this paragraph:—“Do you

-know the beauty of the nights of Ukraine? The

-moon looks down from the deep, immeasurable

-vault, which is filled to overflowing and palpitating

-with its pure radiance. The earth is silver;

-the air is deliciously cool, yet almost oppressive

-with perfume. Divine, enchanting night! The

-great forest trees, black, solemn, and still, reposing

-as if oppressed with thought, throw out their

-gigantic shadows. How silent are the ponds!

-Their dark waters are imprisoned within the vine-laden

-walls of the gardens. The little virgin forest

-of wild cherry and young plum-trees dip their

-dainty roots timidly into the cold waters; their

-murmuring leaves angrily shiver when a little current

-of the night wind stealthily creeps in to caress

-them. The distant horizon sleeps, but above it and

-overhead all is palpitating life; august, triumphal,

-sublime! Like the firmament, the soul seems to

-open into endless space; silvery visions of grace

-and beauty arise before it. Oh! the charm of

-this divine night!</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span>

-“Suddenly life, animation, spreads through forest,

-lake, and steppe. The nightingale’s majestic

-trill resounds through the air; the moon seems to

-stop, embosomed in clouds, to listen. The little

-village on the hill is wrapt in an enchanted slumber;

-its cluster of white cottages gleam vividly in

-the moonlight, and the outlines of their low walls

-are sharply clear-cut against the dark shadows.

-All songs are hushed; silence reigns in the homes

-of these simple peasants. But here and there a

-twinkling light appears in a little window of some

-cottage, where supper has waited for a belated

-occupant.”</p>

-

-<p>Then, from a scene like this, we are called

-to listen to a dispute and quarrel between two

-soldiers, which ends in a dance. Now the scene

-changes again. The lady of the lake, the Fate

-lady, rises from her watery couch, and by her

-sorceries unravels the web of fortune. Again,

-between the uproarious bursts of laughter, the

-old story-teller heaves a melancholy sigh, and

-relates a bit of pathos,—for a vein of sadness is

-always latent in the gay songs and legends of this

-people. These sharp contrasts fill this work with

-life and color. The book excited considerable attention,

-and was the more welcome as it revealed a

-corner of Russia then hardly known. Gogol had

-struck the right chord. Pushkin, who especially

-enjoyed humor, lauded the work to the skies;

-and it is still highly appreciated by Russians.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span>

-As for us, while we recognize its high qualities,

-the work does not wholly please us. Perhaps we

-are too old or morose to appreciate and enjoy

-these rustic jokes, and the comic scenes are perhaps

-a little coarse for our liking. It may be,

-too, that the enthusiastic readers of 1832 looked

-upon life with different eyes from ours; and that

-it is only the difference in time that biases our

-opinion. To them this book was wonderfully in

-advance of its time; to us it seems perhaps

-somewhat behind. Nothing is more difficult than

-to estimate what effect a work which is already

-old (especially if it be written in a foreign language)

-will produce <a id="chg0"></a>on our readers of to-day. Are

-we amused by the legend of “La Dame Blanche”?

-Certainly we are, for everybody enjoys it. Then

-perhaps the “Ladies of the Lake” of Gogol’s

-book will be amusing.</p>

-

-<p>In 1834 Gogol published his “Evenings near

-Mirgorod,” including a veritable ghost story, terror-inspiring

-enough to make the flesh creep.</p>

-

-<p>The principal work of this period of the author’s

-career, however, and the one which established

-his fame, was “Taras Bulba,” a prose epic,

-a poetical description of Cossack life as it was in

-his grandfather’s time. Not every writer of modern

-epics has been so fortunate as Gogol; to live

-at a time when he could apply Homer’s method to

-a subject made to his hand; only repeating, as he

-himself said, the narratives of his grandfather, an

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span>

-actual witness and actor in this Iliad. It was

-scarcely more than half a century since the breaking-up

-of the Zaporovian camps of the corsairs and

-the last Polish war, in which Cossack and Pole

-vied with each other in ferocious deeds of valor,

-license, and adventure. This war forms the subject

-of the principal scenes of this drama, which

-also gives a vivid picture of the daily life of the

-savage republic of the Zaporovian Cossacks. The

-work is full of picturesque descriptions, and possesses

-every quality belonging to an epic poem.</p>

-

-<p>M. Viardot has given us an honest version of

-“Taras Bulba,” giving more actual information

-about this republic of the Dnieper than any of

-the erudite dissertations on the subject. But what

-is absolutely impossible to render in a translation

-is the marvellous beauty of Gogol’s poetic prose.

-The Russian language is undoubtedly the richest

-of all the European languages. It is so very clear

-and concise that a single word is often sufficient

-to express several different connected ideas, which,

-in any other language, would require several

-phrases. Therefore I will refrain from giving any

-quotations of these classic pages, which are taught

-in all the Russian schools.</p>

-

-<p>The poem is very unequal in some respects.

-The love passages are inferior and commonplace,

-and the scenes of passion decidedly hackneyed in

-style and expression. In regard to epic poems,

-the truth is that the mould is worn out; it has

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span>

-been used too long; although Guizot, one of the

-best judges of this sort of composition, said that

-in his opinion “Taras Bulba” was the only modern

-epic poem worthy of the name.</p>

-

-<p>Even the descriptions of scenery in “Taras”

-do not seem to us wholly natural. We must

-compare them with those of Turgenef to realize

-how comparatively inferior they are. Both were

-students and lovers of nature: but the one artist

-placed his model before his easel in whatever

-attitude he chose; while to the other she was a

-despotic mistress, whose every fancy he humbly

-obeyed. This can be readily understood by a

-comparison of some of their works. Although I

-am not fond of epics, I have called particular attention

-to “Taras Bulba,” knowing what pride the

-Russians take in the work.</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Three">III.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>In 1835, Nikolai Vasilievitch (Gogol) gave up

-his position in the University, and left the public

-service for good. “Now I am again a free Cossack!”

-he wrote at this time, which was the time

-of his greatest literary activity.</p>

-

-<p>His novels now show him groping after realism,

-rather than indulging his fancy. Among the unequal

-productions of the transition period, “Le

-Manteau” is the most notable one. A late Russian

-politician and author once said to me: “Nous

-sommes tous sortis du manteau de Gogol.”</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span>

-“Le Manteau” (as well as the “Revizor,” “Inspector-General”)

-was the outgrowth of his one

-year’s experience in the government offices; and

-the fulfilment of a desire to avenge his life of

-a galley slave while there. These works were

-his first blows aimed at the administrative power.

-Gogol had always had a desire to write for the

-stage; and produced several satirical comedies;

-but none of them, except the “Revizor,” had any

-success. The plot of the piece is quite simple.

-The functionaries of a provincial government

-office are expecting the arrival of an inspector,

-who was supposed to come incognito to examine

-their books and accounts. A traveller chances to

-alight at the inn, whom they all suppose to be

-the dreaded officer of justice. Their guilty consciences

-make them terribly anxious. Each one

-attacks the supposed judge, to plead his own

-cause, and denounce a colleague, slipping into

-the man’s hand a generous supply of propitiatory

-roubles. Amazed at first, the stranger is, however,

-astute enough to accept the situation and

-pocket the money. The confusion increases,

-until comes the crash of the final thunderbolt,

-when the real commissioner arrives upon the

-scene.</p>

-

-<p>The intention of the piece is clearly marked.

-The venality and arbitrariness of the administration

-are exposed to view. Gogol says, in his

-“Confessions of an Author”: “In the ‘Revizor,’

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span>

-I tried to present in a mass the results arising from

-the one crying evil of Russia, as I recognized it

-in that year; to expose every crime that is committed

-in those offices, where the strictest uprightness

-should be required and expected. I meant

-to satirize the great evil. The effect produced

-upon the public was a sort of terror; for they felt

-the force of my true sentiments, my real sadness

-and disgust, through the gay satire.”</p>

-

-<p>In fact, the disagreeable effect predominated

-over the fun, especially in the opinion of a foreigner;

-for there is nothing of the French lightness

-and elegance of diction in the Russian style.

-I mean that quality which redeems Molière’s

-“Tartuffe” from being the blackest and most

-terrible of dramas.</p>

-

-<p>When we study the Russian drama, we can see

-why this form of art is more backward in that

-country than in any other. Poetry and romance

-have made more rapid strides, because they are

-taken up only by the cultivated class. There is

-virtually no middle class; and theatrical literature,

-the only diversion for the people, has

-remained in its infancy.</p>

-

-<p>There is an element of coarseness in the drollery

-of even the two masterpieces: the comedy

-by Griboyedof, “Le Mal de Trop d’Esprit,”

-and the “Revizor” by Gogol. In their satire

-there is no medium between broad fun and

-bitterness. The subtle wit of the French author

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span>

-ridicules without wounding; his keen witticism

-calls forth laughter; while the sharp,

-cutting satire of the Russian produces bitter

-reflection and regret. His drollery is purely

-national, and is exercised more upon external

-things and local peculiarities; while Molière rails

-at and satirizes humanity and its ways and weaknesses.

-I have often seen the “Revizor” performed.

-The amiable audience laugh immoderately

-at what a foreigner cannot find amusing, and

-which would be utterly incomprehensible to one

-not well acquainted with Russian life and customs.

-On the contrary, a stranger recognizes much

-more keenly than a Russian the undercurrent of

-pathos and censure. Administrative reform is

-yet too new in Russia for the public to be as

-much shocked as one would expect at the spectacle

-of a venal administration. The evil is so

-very old!</p>

-

-<p>Whoever is well acquainted with the Oriental

-character knows that their ideas of morality are

-broader, or, rather, more lax, than ours, because

-their ideas of the rights of the government are different.

-The root of these notions may be traced

-to the ancient principle of tribute money; the old

-claim of the powerful over the weak, whom they

-protect and patronize.</p>

-

-<p>What strikes us as the most astonishing thing

-in regard to this comedy is that it has been

-tolerated at all. We cannot understand, from

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span>

-what we know of the Emperor Nicholas, how he

-could have enjoyed such an audacious satire upon

-his government; but we learn that he himself

-laughed heartily, giving the signal for applause

-from his royal box. His relations with Gogol are

-very significant, showing the helplessness of the

-absolute power against the consequences of its own

-existence. No monarch ever did more to encourage

-talent, or in a more delicate way. Some one

-called his attention to the young author’s poverty.</p>

-

-<p>“Has he talent?” asked the Czar. Being

-assured that he had, the Emperor immediately

-placed the sum of 5000 roubles<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a> at his disposition,

-saying, with the greatest delicacy: “Do not let

-your protégé know that the gift comes from me;

-he would be less independent in the exercise of

-his talents.” The Emperor continued therefore

-in future to supply him incognito, through the

-poet Zhukovski. Thanks to the imperial munificence,

-this incorrigible traveller could expatriate

-himself to his heart’s content, and get rest and

-refreshment for future labors.</p>

-

-<p>The year 1836 was a critical one for Gogol.

-He became ill in body and mind, and the melancholy

-side of his nature took the ascendency.

-Although his comedy had been a great success at

-St. Petersburg and at court, such a work could

-not but excite rancor and raise up enemies for

-its author. He became morbidly sensitive, and

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span>

-considered himself the object of persecution. A

-nervous disease, complicated with hypochondria,

-began to undermine his constitution. A migratory

-instinct, which always possessed him in any crisis

-of his life, now made him resolve to travel; “to

-fly,” as he said. But he never returned to his

-country for any length of time, and only at long

-intervals; declaring, as Turgenef did some years

-later, that his own country, the object of his

-studies, was best seen from afar.</p>

-

-<p>After travelling extensively, Gogol finally settled

-at Rome, where he formed a strong friendship

-with the painter Ivanof, who for twenty years

-had been in retirement in a Capuchin monastery,

-working upon his picture, which he never finished,

-“The Birth of Christ.” The two friends became

-deeply imbued with an ascetic piety; and from

-this time dates the mysticism attributed to Gogol.

-But before his mind became obscured he collected

-his forces for his last and greatest effort. He carried

-away with him from Russia the conception of

-this work, which excluded all other thoughts from

-his mind. It ruled his whole existence, as Goethe

-was for thirty years ruled by his “Faust.”</p>

-

-<p>Gogol gave Pushkin the credit of having suggested

-the work to him, which never was finished,

-but which he wrestled with until he finally succumbed,

-vanquished by it. Pushkin had spoken

-to him of his physical condition, fearing a premature

-death; and urged him to undertake a great

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span>

-work, quoting the example of Cervantes, whose

-works previous to “Don Quixote” would never

-have classed him among the great authors. He

-suggested a subject, which he said he never should

-have given to any other person. It was the subject

-of “Dead Souls.” In spite of the statement,

-I cannot help feeling that “Dead Souls” was inspired

-by Cervantes; for, on leaving Russia, Gogol

-had gone at once to Spain, where he studied the

-literature of that country diligently; especially

-“Don Quixote,” which had always been his favorite

-book. It furnished a theme just suited to his

-plan; the adventures of a hero impelled to penetrate

-into every strange region and into every

-stratum of society; an ingenious excuse for presenting

-to the world in a series of pictures the

-magic lantern of humanity. Both works proceed

-from a satirical and meditative mind, the sadness

-of which is veiled under a smile, and both belong

-to a style unique in itself, entirely original. Gogol

-objected to his work being called a romance. He

-called it a poem, and divided it into songs instead

-of chapters. Whatever title may be bestowed

-upon Cervantes’ masterpiece may just as appropriately

-be applied to “Dead Souls.”</p>

-

-<p>His “poem” was to be in three parts. The first

-part appeared in 1842; the second, unfinished and

-rudimentary, was burned by the author in a

-frenzy of despair; but after his death it was

-printed from a copy which escaped destruction.

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span>

-As to the third, it is perhaps interred with his

-bones, which repose in the cemetery at Moscow

-under the block of marble which bears his name.</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>It is well known that the Russian peasants or

-serfs, “Souls” as they were popularly called,

-were personal property, and to be traded with in

-exactly the same way as any other kind of property.

-A proprietor’s fortune was reckoned according

-to the number of male serfs he owned. If any

-man owned, for instance, a thousand of them, he

-could sell or exchange them, or obtain loans upon

-them from the banks. The owner was, besides,

-obliged to pay taxes upon them at so much a head.

-The census was taken only at long intervals, during

-which the lists were never examined. The

-natural changes of population and increase by

-births being supposed to make up for the deaths.

-If a village was depopulated by an epidemic,

-the ruling lord and master sustained the loss,

-continuing to pay taxes for those whose work was

-done forever.</p>

-

-<p>Tchitchikof, the hero of the book, an ambitious

-and evil-minded rascal, made this proposition to

-himself: “I will visit the most remote corners of

-Russia, and ask the good people to deduct from

-the number on their lists every serf who has

-died since the last census was taken. They will

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span>

-be only too glad, as it will be for their interest to

-yield up to me a fictitious property, and get rid

-of paying the tax upon it. I shall have my purchases

-registered in due form, and no tribunal

-will imagine that I require it to legalize a sale of

-dead men. When I have obtained the names of

-some thousands of serfs, I shall carry my deeds to

-some bank in St. Petersburg or Moscow, and

-raise a large sum on them. Then I shall be a

-rich man, and in condition to buy real peasants in

-flesh and blood.”</p>

-

-<p>This proceeding offers great advantages to the

-author in attaining his ends. He enters, with

-his hero, all sorts of homes, and studies social

-groups of all classes. The demand the hero

-makes is one calculated to exhibit the intelligence

-and peculiar characteristics of each proprietor.

-The trader enters a house and makes the

-strange proposition: “Give me up the number

-of your dead serfs,” without explaining, of course,

-his secret motives. After the first shock of surprise,

-the man comprehends more or less quickly

-what is wanted of him, and acts from instinct,

-according to his nature. The simple-minded give

-willingly gratis what is asked of them; the distrustful

-are on their guard, and try to penetrate

-the mystery, and gain something for themselves

-by the arrangement; the avaricious exact an exorbitant

-price. Tchitchikof finds some wretches

-more evil than himself. The only case which

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span>

-never occurs is an indignant refusal, or a denunciation;

-the financier well knew how few scruples

-he should have to contend with in his fellow-countrymen.</p>

-

-<p>The enterprise supplied Gogol with an inexhaustible

-source of both comic and touching incidents

-and situations. The skilful author, while

-he apparently ignores, under an assumption of

-pleasantry, the lugubrious element in what he

-describes, makes it the real background of the

-whole narrative, so that it reacts terribly upon

-the reader.</p>

-

-<p>The first readers of this work, and possibly

-even the author himself, hardly appreciated the

-force of these contrasts; because they were so

-accustomed to the horrors of serfdom that an

-abuse of this nature seemed to them a natural

-proceeding. But with time the effect of the book

-increases; and the atrocious mockery of using

-the dead as articles of merchandise, which seems to

-prolong the terrors of slavery, from which death

-has freed them, strikes the reader with horror.</p>

-

-<p>The types of character created by Gogol in this

-work are innumerable; but that of the hero is

-the most curious of all, and was the outgrowth of

-laborious study. Tchitchikof is not a Robert

-Macaire, but rather a serious Gil Blas, without his

-genius. The poor devil was born under an unlucky

-star. He was so essentially bad that he

-carried on his enterprise without seeming to realize

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span>

-the enormous immorality of it. In fact, he

-was wronging no one, in his own opinion.</p>

-

-<p>Gogol makes an effort to broaden this type of

-character, and include in it a greater number of

-individuals; and we can see thereby the author’s

-intention, which is to show us a type, a collective

-image of Russia herself, irresponsible for her

-degradation, corrupted by her own social condition.</p>

-

-<p>This is the real, underlying theory of “Dead

-Souls,” and of the “Revizor,” as well as of Turgenef’s

-“Annals of a Sportsman.” In all the

-moralists of this time we recognize the fundamental

-sophistry of Rousseau, who poisoned the

-reasoning faculties of all Europe.</p>

-

-<p>At the end of the first part the author attempts

-a half-ironical, half-serious defence of Tchitchikof.

-After giving an account of his origin, he says:

-“The wise man must tolerate every type of character;

-he must examine all with attention, and

-resolve them into their original elements….

-The passions of man are as numberless as the

-sands upon the sea-shore, and have no points of

-resemblance; noble or base, all obey man in the

-beginning, and end by obtaining terrible power

-over him…. They are born with him, and he

-is powerless to resist them. Whether sombre or

-brilliant, they will fulfil their entire career.”…</p>

-

-<p>From this analysis, this argument of psychological

-positivism, the writer, in a roundabout

-way, goes back ingeniously to the designs of

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span>

-Providence, which has ordered all for the best,

-and will show the right path out of this chaos.<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a></p>

-

-<p>What is after all most remarkable about the

-book is that it is the reservoir of all contemporary

-literature, the source of all future inventions.</p>

-

-<p>The realism, which is only instinctive in

-Gogol’s preceding works, is the main doctrine

-in “Dead Souls”; and of this he is fully conscious.

-The author thus apologizes for bringing

-the lower classes so constantly before the <span class="lock">reader:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“Thankless is the task of the writer who dares

-reproduce what is constantly passing before the

-eyes of all, unnoticed by our distracted gaze: all

-the disgusting little annoyances and trials of our

-every-day lives; the ordinary, indifferent characters

-we must constantly meet and put up with.

-How they hinder and weary us! Such a writer

-will not have the applause of the masses; contemporary

-critics will consider his creations

-both low and useless, and will assign him an

-inferior place among those writers who scoff at

-humanity. He will be declared wanting in

-heart, soul, and talent. For his critic will not

-admit those instruments to be equally marvellous,

-one of which reveals the sun and the other

-the motions of invisible animalculæ; neither will

-he admit what depth of thought is required to

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span>

-make a masterpiece of a picture, the subject of

-which is drawn from the darker side of human

-life.”….</p>

-

-<p>Again, in one of his letters, he <span class="lock">says:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“Those who have analyzed my powers as a

-writer have not discerned the important element

-of my nature, or my peculiar bent. Pushkin

-alone perceived it. He always said that I was

-especially endowed to bring into relief the trivialities

-of life, to analyze an ordinary character, to

-bring to light the little peculiarities which escape

-general observation. This is, I think, my strong

-point. The reader resents the baseness of my

-heroes; after reading the book he returns joyfully

-to the light of day. I should have been

-pardoned had I only created picturesque villains;

-their baseness is what will never be pardoned.

-A Russian shrinks before the picture of

-his nothingness.”</p>

-

-<p>We shall see that the largest portion of the

-later Russian novels were all generated by the

-spirit of this initiative book, which gives to

-the Slav literature its peculiar physiognomy, as

-well as its high moral worth. We find in many

-a passage in “Dead Souls,” breathing through

-the mask of raillery and sarcasm, that heavenly

-sentiment of fraternity, that love for the despised

-and pity for the suffering, which animate all

-Dostoyevski’s writing. In another letter he

-<span class="lock">says:—</span></p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span>

-“Pity for a fallen human creature is a strong

-Russian trait. There is no spectacle more touching

-than our people offer when they go to assist

-and cheer on their way those who are condemned

-to exile in Siberia. Every one brings what he

-can; provisions, money, perhaps only a few consoling

-words. They feel no irritation against the

-criminal; neither do they indulge in any exaggerated

-sentiment which would make a hero of him.

-They do not request his autograph or his likeness;

-neither do they go to stare at him out of curiosity,

-as often happens in more civilized parts of

-Europe. There is here something more; it is not

-that they wish to make excuses for the criminal,

-or wrest him from the hands of justice; but they

-would comfort him in his fallen condition; console

-him as a brother, as Christ has told us we

-should console each other.”</p>

-

-<p>In “Dead Souls,” the true sentiment is always

-masked, which makes it the more telling; but

-when the first part appeared, in 1842, it was

-received by some with stupefaction, by others

-with indignation. Were their countrymen a set

-of rascals, idiots, and poor wretches, without a

-single redeeming quality? Gogol wrote: “When

-I read the first chapters of my book to Pushkin,

-he was prepared to laugh, as usual whenever he

-heard anything of mine. But his brow soon

-clouded, and his face gradually grew serious.

-When I had finished, he cried, with a choking

-voice: ‘Oh, God! poor Russia!’”</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span>

-Many accused the writer of having judged his

-fellow-countrymen from a sick man’s point of

-view; and considered him a traducer of mankind.

-They reminded him that, in spite of the

-evils of serfdom and the corruption of the administration,

-there were still plenty of noble hearts

-and honest people in the empire of Nicholas.

-The unfortunate author found that he had

-written too strongly. He must now make explanations,

-publish public letters and prefaces

-imploring his readers to suspend their judgment

-until he produced the second part of the poem,

-which would counteract the darkness of the first.

-But such was not the case. No bright visions

-proceeded from the saddened brain of the caricaturist.</p>

-

-<p>However, every one read the work; and its

-effect has never ceased increasing as a personification

-of the Russia of former times. It has

-for forty years been the foundation of the wit of

-the entire nation. Every joke has passed into a

-proverb, and the sayings of its characters have

-become household words. The foreigner who

-has not read “Dead Souls” is often puzzled in

-the course of conversation, for he is ignorant of

-the family traditions and the ideal ancestors they

-are continually referring to. Tchitchikof, his

-coachman Seliphan, and their three horses are,

-to a Russian, as familiar friends as Don Quixote,

-Sancho, and Rosinante can be to a Spaniard.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span></p>

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Five">V.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>Gogol returned from Rome in 1846. His

-health rapidly declined, and attacks of fever

-made any brain-work difficult for him. However,

-he went on with his work; but his pen

-betrayed the condition of his nerves. In a crisis

-of the disease he burned all his books as well as

-the manuscript of the second part of the poem.

-He now became absorbed in religious meditations;

-and, desiring to make a pilgrimage to the

-Holy Land, he published his last work, “Letters

-to my Friends,” in order to raise the necessary

-funds, and to “entreat their prayers for him,” as

-he said in his preface. These letters were written

-in a religious vein, but intermingled with

-literary arguments; and not one of his satirical

-works raised up for him so many enemies and

-such abuse as this religious treatise. It is difficult

-to account for the intense excitement it

-produced, and the lengthy arguments it called

-forth. The second half of the reign of Nicholas

-is a period but little understood. In the march

-of ideas of that time, there were already indications

-of the coming revolutionary movement

-among the young men, which was entirely

-opposed to the doctrines brought forward by

-Gogol. These contained a good deal of philosophy,

-as well as ancient truths, mingled with some

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span>

-new ideas, which are exactly those of the present

-day. But these, because they were new, were

-just what met with the strongest opposition; and

-he was now accused of taking upon himself the

-direction of consciences, and of arrogating to himself

-the right to do so by dint of his intellectual

-superiority. His letters present a curious combination

-of Christian humility and literary pride.

-He was declared to have fallen into mysticism;

-but any one who now reads his letters carefully

-cannot call him a mystic. The fact that he gave

-up writing to recover his health would only be

-considered at any other epoch reasonable and

-natural. Tolstoï, who has acted in a similar

-manner, protests against this epithet being applied

-to him. He, however, proposes to us a new

-theology, while Gogol clung to the established

-dogmas. Possibly what would have been called

-“mysticism” in 1840 would not have been looked

-upon as such two centuries earlier, any more than

-it is a half-century later.</p>

-

-<p>But what became of the poor author in the

-midst of the tempest he himself had raised? He

-went to Jerusalem and wandered for a time

-among its ancient ruins; hardly a wholesome

-sphere for a sick and morbid soul. Returning

-to Moscow, he was made welcome in the homes

-of friends. But the Cossack nature could not

-rest in any fixed spot. He had no money, for he

-had given everything he had to the poor. Since

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span>

-1844 the whole receipts from his works he gave

-to poor students. He brought with him only a

-small valise, which was crammed with newspaper

-articles, criticisms, and pamphlets written against

-him. This was all he possessed.</p>

-

-<p>A person who lived in a house which he often

-visited thus described him: “He was short, but

-the upper part of his body was too long; he

-walked with an uneven gait, was awkward and

-ungainly; his hair fell over his forehead in thick

-locks, and his nose was long and prominent. He

-conversed but little, and not readily. Occasionally

-a touch of his old gayety returned, especially

-when with children, whom he passionately loved.

-But he soon fell back into his hypochondria.”

-This description agrees with what Turgenef

-wrote of him, after his first visit to him. “There

-was a slight gleam of satire in his heavy eyes,

-which were small and dark. His expression was

-somewhat like that of a fox. In his general

-appearance there was something of the provincial

-schoolmaster.” Gogol had always been awkward

-and plain, which naturally produced in him a

-habitual timidity. This is perhaps why, according

-to his biographers, no woman ever crossed his path.

-We can therefore understand why he so rarely

-wrote of women.</p>

-

-<p>It is almost universally believed that he died

-from the effects of his excessive fastings and

-mortification of the flesh; but I have learned

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span>

-from reliable sources that an aggravation of his

-disease, with typhoid symptoms, caused his death.

-But little is known of his latter years. He aged

-rapidly, as Russians do, and ended his work at the

-time of life when others begin theirs. A mysterious

-fatality has attended nearly all the writers

-of his time, who have all died at about the

-age of forty. The children of Russia develop

-as her vegetation does. It grows quickly and

-matures young, but its magnificent growth is

-soon cut off, benumbed while still in perfection.

-At the age of thirty-three, after the publication

-of “Dead Souls,” the productive brain-power of

-Nikolai Vasilievitch was wellnigh ruined. At

-forty-three he died, on the 21st of February, 1852.

-The event of his death made but little sensation.

-The imperial favor had quite forgotten this

-writer. Even the governor of Moscow was criticized

-for putting on the regalia of his order to

-attend the funeral. Turgenef was exiled to his

-own distant estates as a punishment for having

-written a letter in which he called the deceased

-author “a great man.” Posterity, however, has

-ratified this title. Gogol may now be ranked,

-according to some critics, with the best English

-humorists; but I should place him rather between

-Cervantes and Le Sage. Perhaps it may

-be too soon to judge him. Should we appreciate

-“Don Quixote” now if Spanish literature had not

-been known for three hundred years? When we

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span>

-were children we laughed whenever an <dfn>alguazil</dfn> or

-an <dfn>alcalde</dfn> was mentioned.</p>

-

-<p>Gogol introduces us to an untried world. I

-must warn the reader that he will at first find

-difficulties—the strangest customs; an array of

-characters not in any way connected; names as

-strange as the people who bear them. He must

-not expect the attractive style or class of subjects

-of Tolstoï and Dostoyevski. <em>They</em> show us results,

-not principles; they tell of what we can

-better apprehend; for what they have studied is

-more common to all Europe. Gogol wrote of

-more remote times, and, besides, he and his work

-are thoroughly and exclusively Russian. To be

-appreciated by men of letters, then, his works

-must be admirably translated; which, unfortunately,

-has never yet been done. We must leave

-him, therefore, in Russia, where all the new authors

-of any distinction recognize in him their father

-and master. They owe to him their very language.

-Although Turgenef’s is more subtile and harmonious,

-its originator has more life, variety, and

-energy.</p>

-

-<p>One of the last sentences that fell from his pen,

-in his “Confessions of an Author,” was <span class="lock">this:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“I have studied life as it really is—not in

-dreams of the imagination; and thus have I come

-to a conception of Him who is the source of all

-life.”</p>

-

-

-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[B]</a> <dfn>Zaporovian</dfn> commonwealth, so-called from “<dfn>Zaporozhtsi</dfn>,”

-meaning those who live beyond the rapids.</p>

-

-<p class="footnote" lang="fr"><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[C]</a> “Veillées dans un hameau près de Dikanka.”</p>

-

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[D]</a> About $4000.</p>

-

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[E]</a> The quotation of this paragraph in full should be given

-here, in order to obtain a clear understanding of Gogol’s

-thought; but the French translator has omitted too much.</p>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span>

-<h3>

-CHAPTER <abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr><br>

-<br>

-<span class="allsmcap">TURGENEF.</span>

-</h3>

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="One">I.</abbr>

-</h4>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="smcap">While</span> the name of Gogol was temporarily lost

-in oblivion during the years preceding the Crimean

-war, his spirit was shedding its ripening influences

-upon the thinking minds of his country. I know

-of no parallel example in the history of literature,

-of an impulse so spontaneous and vigorous as

-this. Every author of note since 1840 has belonged

-to the so-called “school of nature.” The

-poets of 1820 had drawn their inspiration from

-their own personality. The novel-writers of 1840

-found theirs in the spirit of humanity, which

-might be called social sympathy.</p>

-

-<p>Before studying the great writers of this epoch,

-we must take note of the elements which produced

-them, and glance for a moment at the

-curious movement which ripened them.</p>

-

-<p>Russia could not escape the general fermentation

-of 1848; although this immense country

-seemed to be mute, like its frozen rivers, an intense

-life was seething underneath. The rivers are

-seemingly motionless for six months of the year;

-but under the solid ice is running water, and the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span>

-phenomena of ever-increasing life. So it was

-with the nation. On the surface it seemed silent

-and inert under the iron rule of Nicholas. But

-European ideas, creeping in, found their way

-under the great walls, and books passed from

-hand to hand, into schools, literary circles, and

-even into the army.</p>

-

-<p>The Russian Universities were then very insufficient.

-Their best scholars quitted them unsatisfied,

-and sought more substantial nourishment in

-Germany. Besides, it being the fashion to do so,

-there was also a firm conviction that this was

-really necessary. The young men returned from

-Berlin or Göttingen crammed with humanitarian

-philosophy and liberal notions; armed with ideas

-which found no response in their own country, full,

-as it was, of malcontents and fault-finders. These

-suspicious missionaries from western Europe were

-handed over to the police, while others continued

-to study in the self-same school. These young

-fellows, returning from Germany with grapes

-from the promised land, too green as yet for their

-countrymen, formed a favorite type with authors.

-Pushkin made use of it, and Turgenef afterwards

-gave us some sketches from nature made during

-his stay in Berlin. On their return, these students

-formed clubs, in which they discussed the foreign

-theories in low and impassioned voices, and initiated

-their companions who had remained at

-home. These young thinkers embraced a transcendental

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span>

-philosophy, borrowed from Hegel, Stein,

-and Feuerbach, as well as from Saint-Simon,

-Fourier and Proudhon in France. These metaphysics,

-of course, were a mask which covered

-more concrete objects and more immediate interests.

-Two great intellectual schools divided

-Russia, and took the place of political parties.</p>

-

-<p>The <dfn>Slavophile</dfn> party adhered to the views of

-Karamzin and protested against the unpatriotic

-blasphemies of Tchadayef. For this party nothing

-whatever existed outside of Russia, which was to

-be considered the only depository of the true

-Christian spirit, and chosen to regenerate the

-world.</p>

-

-<p>In opposition to these Levites, the liberal school

-of the West had appeared; a camp of Gentiles,

-which breathed only of reforms, audacious arguments,

-and coming revolutions; liberalism developing

-into radicalism. But, as all social and

-political discussions were prohibited in Russia,

-these must be concealed under the disguise of

-philosophy, and be expressed in its hieroglyphics.

-The metaphysical subtleties in these literary

-debates did little to clear up the obscurity of the

-ideas themselves, which are very difficult to

-unravel and comprehend. In attempting to

-understand the controversies in Russia at this

-time, you feel as if watching the movements of a

-complicated figure in the ballet; where indistinct

-forms are seen moving behind a veil of black

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span>

-gauze, intended to represent clouds, which half

-conceal the dancers.</p>

-

-<p>The liberals of 1848 carried on the ideas of the

-revolutionaries of December, 1825; as the Jacobins

-developed those of the Girondists. But the difference

-between the ideals of the two generations is

-very marked, showing the march of time and of

-ideas. The revolutionists of 1825 were aristocrats,

-who coveted the elegant playthings fashionable

-in London and Paris—a charter and a Parliament.

-They were ambitious to place their

-enormous, unwieldy country under a new and

-fragile government. They played the conspirator

-like children, but their game ended tragically;

-for they were all exiled to Siberia or elsewhere.</p>

-

-<p>When this spirit awoke twenty years after, it

-had dreamed new dreams. This time it aimed at

-the entire remodelling of our poor old world.

-The Russians now embraced the socialist and

-democratic ideas of Europe; but, in accepting

-these international theories, they did not see how

-inapplicable they were to Russia at this time.

-Penetrated as they were with the rationalistic

-and irreligious spirit of the eighteenth century,

-they have nothing in common with the grave

-sympathy of such men as Dostoyevski and

-Tolstoï. These are realists that love humanity;

-but the others were merely metaphysicians, whose

-love for humanity has changed into hatred of

-society.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span>

-Every young writer of the “school of nature”

-produced his socialistic romance, bitterly satirical,

-and showing the influence of George Sand and

-Eugène Sue. But an unsuccessful conspiracy

-headed by Petrachevski put an end temporarily

-to this effervescence of ideas. Russia became

-calm again, while every sign of intellectual life

-was pitilessly repressed, not to stir again until

-after the death of the Emperor Nicholas. The

-most violent of the revolutionists had secured

-their property in foreign lands; and all authors

-were either condemned or exiled. Many of them

-followed Petrachevski to Siberia. Turgenef was

-among the most fortunate, having been exiled to

-his own estates in the country. The <dfn>Slavophile</dfn>

-party itself did not wholly escape punishment and

-exile. Even the long beards, which formed a part

-of their patriotic programme, had no better fate

-than their writings. All were forbidden to wear

-them. The government now suppressed all the

-scientific missions and pilgrimages to the German

-Universities, which had produced such bad results.

-While Peter the Great drove his subjects out

-of the Empire to breathe the air of Europe,

-Nicholas forced his to remain within it. Passports

-could only be obtained with great difficulty,

-and at the exorbitant price of 500 roubles. In

-every University and seminary of learning in

-the Empire, the teaching of philosophy was forbidden,

-as well as the classics; and all historical

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span>

-publications were subject to a severe control,

-which was almost equivalent to a prohibition.

-There were now but seven small newspapers

-printed in all Russia, and these were filled with

-the most insignificant facts. The wars in Hungary

-and in the East were hardly alluded to. The

-first article of any consequence appeared in 1857.

-The absurd severity exercised towards the press

-furnished material for a long and amusing article

-in the leading journal. The word <dfn>liberty</dfn> was

-underscored wherever and in whatever sense it

-occurred, as the word <dfn>King</dfn> was, during the

-reign of Terror in France.</p>

-

-<p>These years of “terror” have since furnished

-much amusement for the Russians; but those

-who passed through them, warmed by the enthusiasm

-and illusions of youth, have always retained,

-together with the disinclination to express

-themselves frankly, a vein of pathos throughout

-their writings. Besides, the liberty granted to

-authors in the reign of Alexander <abbr title="Two">II.</abbr> was only

-a relative one; which explains why they returned

-instinctively to novel-writing as the only mode

-of expression which permitted any undercurrent of

-meaning. In this agreeable form we must seek for

-the ideas of that time on philosophy, history, and

-politics; for which reason I have dwelt on the

-importance of studying the Russian novelists

-attentively. In their romances, and only in

-them, shall we find a true history of the last

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span>

-half-century of their country, and form a just

-idea of the public for which the works were

-written.</p>

-

-<p>This people’s way of reasoning and their demands

-are peculiar to themselves. In France,

-we expect of a romance what we expect of any

-work of art, according to the degree of civilization

-we have reached; something to afford us a refined

-amusement; a diversion from the serious

-interests of life; merely a passing impression.

-We read books as a passing pedestrian looks

-at a picture displayed in some shop window,

-casually, on his way to his business. They regard

-the masters of their language quite otherwise

-in Russia. What for us is a temporary

-gratification is to them the soul’s daily bread;

-for they are passing through the golden age of

-their literature. Their authors are the guides of

-the race, almost the creators of their language;

-their poets are such according to the ancient

-and full sense of the word—<dfn>vates</dfn>, poet, prophet.</p>

-

-<p>In Russia, the small educated class have perhaps

-surpassed us in cultivation; but the lower

-classes are just beginning to read with eagerness,

-faith, and hope; as we read Robinson Crusoe at

-twelve years of age. Their sensitive imaginations

-are alive to the full effect these works are calculated

-to produce. Journalism has not scattered

-their ideas and lessened their power of attention.

-They draw no comparisons, and therefore believe.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span>

-<em>We</em> consider “Fathers and Sons,” and “War

-and Peace” merely novels. But to the merchant

-of Moscow, the son of the village priest, the

-country proprietor, either of these works is almost

-like a national Bible, which he places upon the

-shelf holding the few books which represent to

-him an encyclopædia of the human mind. They

-have the importance and signification for him

-that the story of Esther had for the Jews, and the

-adventures of Ulysses for the Athenians.</p>

-

-<p>Our readers will pardon these general considerations,

-which seemed to us necessary before

-approaching the three most prominent figures of

-this period, which we choose from among many

-others as the most original of the two groups

-they divide into. Dostoyevski will represent to

-us the opinions of the <dfn>Slavophile</dfn> or national

-school; Turgenef will show us how many can

-remain thoroughly Russian without breaking off

-their connections with the rest of Europe; and

-how there can be realists with a feeling for art

-and a longing to attain a lofty ideal. He belonged

-to the liberal party, which claims him as its

-own; but this great artist, gradually freeing himself

-from all bounds, soars far above the petty

-bickerings of party strife.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span></p>

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>Turgenef’s talent, in the best of his productions,

-draws its inspiration directly from his beloved

-father-land. We feel this in every page we read.

-This is probably why his contemporaries long preferred

-him to any of his rivals. In letters, as

-well as in politics, the people instinctively follow

-the leaders whom they feel belong to them; and

-whose spirit and qualities, even whose failings,

-they share in common. Ivan Sergievitch Turgenef

-possessed the dominant qualities of every

-true Russian: natural kindness of heart, simplicity,

-and resignation. With a remarkably powerful

-brain, he had the heart of a child. I never

-met him without realizing the true meaning of

-the gospel words, ‘poor in spirit’; and that that

-quality can be the accompaniment of a scientific

-mind and the soul of an artist. Devotion, generosity,

-brotherly love, were perfectly natural to

-him. Into the midst of our busy and complicated

-civilization he seemed to drop down as if from

-some pastoral tribe of the mountains; and to

-carry out his ideas under our sky as naturally as

-a shepherd guides his flocks in the steppe.</p>

-

-<p>As to his personal appearance, he was tall, with

-a quiet dignity in his manner, features somewhat

-coarse; and his finely formed head and searching

-glance brought to mind some Russian patriarch of

-the peasant class; only ennobled and transfigured

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span>

-by intellectual cultivation, like those peasants

-of old who became monks and perhaps saints.

-He gave me the impression of a person possessing

-the native frankness of the peasant, while

-endowed with the inspiration of genius; and who

-had reached a high intellectual elevation without

-having lost anything of his natural simplicity and

-candor. Such a comparison could not, surely,

-offend one who so loved his people!</p>

-

-<p>Now, when the time has come to speak of his

-work, my heart fails me, and I feel disposed to

-throw down my pen. I have spoken of his

-virtues; why should we say more, or dwell upon

-the brilliant qualities of his mind, adding greater

-eulogies? But those who know him well are few,

-and they will soon die and be forgotten. We

-must then try to show to others what that great

-heart has left of itself in the works of his imagination.

-These are not few, and show much persevering

-labor. The last complete edition of his

-works comprises not less than ten volumes: romances,

-novels, critical and dramatic essays. The

-most notable of these have been carefully translated

-into French, under the direction of the

-author himself; and no foreigner’s work has ever

-been as much read and appreciated in Paris as his.</p>

-

-<p>The name of Turgenef was well known, and

-had acquired a literary reputation in Paris, at the

-beginning of the present century; for a cousin

-of the author’s, Nikolai Ivanovitch (Turgenef),<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span>

-after having distinguished himself in the government

-service under Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr>, was implicated

-in the conspiracy of December, 1825, and exiled

-by the Emperor Nicholas. He spent the remainder

-of his life in Paris, where he published his

-important work, “Russia and the Russians.” He

-was a distinguished man and an honest thinker,

-if perhaps a little narrow, and one of the most

-sincere of those who became liberals after 1812.

-Faithful to his friends who were exiled to Siberia,

-he became their advocate, and also warmly pleaded

-the cause of the emancipation of the serfs; so

-that his young cousin continued a family tradition

-when he gave the death-blow to slavery with

-his first book.</p>

-

-<p>Turgenef was born in 1818, on the family

-estate in Orel, and his early years were passed in

-this solitary place, in one of those “Nests of

-Nobles” which are so often the scene of his

-novels. According to the fashion of that time,

-he had both French and German tutors, which

-were considered a necessary appendage in every

-nobleman’s household. His mother-tongue was

-held in disrepute; so his first Russian verses were

-read in secret, with the help of an old servant.

-Fortunately for him, he acquired the best part of

-his education out on the heaths with the huntsmen,

-whose tales were destined to become masterpieces,

-transformed by the great author’s pen.

-Passing his time in the woods, and running over

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span>

-the marshes in pursuit of quail, the poet laid in a

-rich stock of imagery and picturesque scenes

-with which he afterwards clothed his ideas. In

-the imagination of some children, while thought

-is still sleeping, impressions accumulate, one

-by one, like the night-dew; but, in the awakening

-dawn, the first ray of the morning sun will

-reveal these glittering diamonds.</p>

-

-<p>After going to school at Moscow, and through

-the University at St. Petersburg, he went, as

-others did, to conclude his course of study in

-Germany. In 1838, he was studying the philosophy

-of Kant and Hegel at Berlin. He said of

-himself later in regard to this: “The impulse

-which drew the young men of my time into a

-foreign land reminds me of the ancient Slavs

-going to seek for chiefs from beyond the seas.

-Every one felt that his native country, morally

-and intellectually considered, was great and rich,

-but ill regulated.<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a> For myself, I fully realized

-that there were great disadvantages in being

-torn from one’s native soil, where one had been

-brought up; but there was nothing else to be

-done. This sort of life, especially in the sphere to

-which I belonged, of landed proprietors and serfdom,

-offered me nothing attractive. On the contrary,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span>

-what I saw around me was revolting—in

-fact, disgusting—to me. I could not hesitate long.

-I must either make up my mind to submit, and

-walk on quietly in the beaten track; or tear myself

-away, root and branch, even at the risk of

-losing many things dear to my heart. This I

-decided to do. I became a cosmopolitan, which I

-have always remained. I could not live face to

-face with what I abhorred; perhaps I had not sufficient

-self-control or force of character for that.

-At any rate, it seemed as if I must, at all hazards,

-withdraw from my enemy, in order to be able to

-deal him surer blows from a distance. This mortal

-enemy was, in my eyes, the institution of serfdom,

-which I had resolved to combat to the last

-extremity, and with which I had sworn never to

-make peace. It was in order to fulfil this vow

-that I left my country….”</p>

-

-<p>The writer will now become a European; he

-will uphold the method of Peter the Great,

-against those patriots who have entrenched themselves

-behind the great Chinese wall. Reason,

-good laws, and good literature have no fixed

-country. Every one must seize his treasure wherever

-he can find it, in the common soil of humanity,

-and develop it in his own way. In reading

-the strong words of his own confession we are led

-to a feeling of anxiety for the poet’s future. Will

-politics turn him from his true course? Fortunately

-they did not. Turgenef had too literary

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span>

-and contemplative a nature to throw himself into

-that vortex. But he kept his vow of taking his

-aim—and a terrible one it was—at the institution

-of serfdom. The contest was fierce, and the

-war was a holy one.</p>

-

-<p>Returning to Russia, Turgenef published some

-poems and dramatic pieces; but he afterward excluded

-all these from the complete edition of his

-works; and, leaving Russia again, he sent his first

-prose work, “Annals of a Sportsman,” which was

-to contribute greatly to his fame as a novelist, to

-a St. Petersburg review. He continued to send

-various little bombshells, from 1847 to 1851, in the

-form of tales and sketches, hiding their meaning

-under a veil of poetry. The influence of Gogol

-was perceptible in his work at this time, especially

-in his comprehension of nature. His scenes were

-always Russian, but the artist’s interpretation was

-different from Gogol’s, having none of his rough

-humor and enthusiasm, but more delicacy and

-ideality. His language too is richer, more flowing,

-more picturesque and expressive than any Russian

-author had yet attained to; and it perfectly

-translates the most fugitive chords of the grand

-harmonious register of nature. The author

-carries us with him into the very heart of his

-native country.</p>

-

-<p>The “Annals of a Sportsman” have charmed

-many French readers, much as they must lose

-through the double veil of translation and our

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span>

-ignorance of the country. Indeed we must have

-lived in the country described by Turgenef to fully

-appreciate the way in which he presents on every

-page the exact copy of one’s personal impressions;

-even bringing to the senses every delicate odor

-breathed from the earth. Some of his descriptions

-of nature have the harmonious perfection of a

-fantastic symphony written in a minor key.</p>

-

-<p>In the “Living Relics,” he wakes a more human,

-more interior chord. On a hunting expedition, he

-enters by chance an abandoned shed, where he

-finds a wretched human being, a woman, deformed,

-and unable to move. He recognizes in her a

-former serving-maid of his mother’s, once a gay,

-laughing girl, now paralyzed, stricken by some

-strange and terrible disease. This poor creature,

-reduced to a skeleton, lying forgotten in this miserable

-shed, has no longer any relations with the

-outside world. No one takes care of her; kind

-people sometimes replenish her jar with fresh

-water. She requires nothing else. The only sign

-of life, if life it can be called, is in her eyes and

-her faint respiration. But this hideous wreck of

-a body contains an immortal soul, purified by

-suffering, utterly resigned, lifted above itself, this

-simple peasant nature, into the realms of perfect

-self-renunciation.</p>

-

-<p>Lukeria relates her misfortune; how she was

-seized with this illness after a fall in the dark;

-how she had gone out one dark evening to listen

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span>

-to the songs of the nightingales; how gradually

-every faculty and every joy of life had forsaken

-her.</p>

-

-<p>Her betrothed was so sorry; but, then, afterwards

-he married; what else could he do? She

-hopes he is happy. For years her only diversion

-has been to listen to the church-bells and the

-drowsy hum of the bees in the hives of the apiary

-near by. Sometimes a swallow comes and flutters

-about in the shed, which is a great event, and

-gives her something to think about for several

-weeks. The people that bring water to her are

-so kind, she is so grateful to them! And gradually,

-almost cheerfully, she goes back with the

-young master to the memories of old days, and

-reminds him how vain she was of being the leader

-in all the songs and dances; at last, she even tries

-to hum one of those songs.</p>

-

-<p>“I really dreaded to have this half-dead creature

-try to sing. Before I could speak, she uttered a

-sound very faintly, but the note was correct; then

-another, and she began to sing, ‘In the Fields’

-… as she sang there was no change of expression

-in her paralyzed face or in her fixed eyes. This

-poor little forced voice sounded so pathetically,

-and she made such an effort to express her whole

-soul, that my heart was pierced with the deepest

-pity.”</p>

-

-<p>Lukeria relates her terrible dreams, how Death

-has appeared before her; not that she dreads his

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span>

-coming, but he always goes away and refuses

-to deliver her. She refuses all offers of assistance

-from her young master; she desires nothing, needs

-nothing, is perfectly content. As her visitor is

-about to leave her, she calls him back for a last

-word. She seems to be conscious (how feminine

-is this!) of the terrible impression she must have

-made upon him, and <span class="lock">says:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“Do you remember, master, what beautiful hair

-I had? you know it reached to my knees…. I

-hesitated a long time about cutting it off; but

-what could I do with it as I am? So—I cut it

-off…. Adieu, master!”</p>

-

-<p>All this cannot be analyzed any more than the

-down on a butterfly’s wing; and yet it is such a

-simple tale, but how suggestive! There is no

-exaggeration; it is only one of the accidents of

-life. The poor woman feels that if one believes in

-God, there are things of more importance than

-her little misfortune. The point which is most

-strongly brought forward, however, in this tale,

-and in nearly all the others, is the almost stoical

-resignation, peculiar to the Russian peasant, who

-seems prepared to endure anything. This author’s

-talent lies in his keeping the exquisite balance

-between the real and the ideal; every detail is

-strikingly and painfully real, while the ideal shines

-through and within every thought and fact. He

-has given us innumerable pictures of master, overseer,

-and serf; clothing every repulsive fact with

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span>

-a grace and charm, seemingly almost against his

-will, but which are born of his own poetical

-nature.</p>

-

-<p>It is not wholly correct to say that Turgenef

-<em>attacked</em> slavery. The Russian writers never

-attack openly; they neither argue nor declaim.

-They describe, drawing no conclusions; but they

-appeal to our pity more than to our anger. Fifteen

-years later Dostoyevski published his “Recollections

-of a Dead-House.” He took the same

-method—without expressing a word of indignation,

-without one drop of gall; he seems to think

-what he describes quite natural, only somewhat

-pathetic. This is a national trait.</p>

-

-<p>Once I stopped for one night at an inn in Orel,

-our author’s native place. Early in the morning,

-I was awakened by the beating of drums.

-I looked down into the market-place, which

-was full of soldiers drawn up in a square, and a

-crowd of people stood looking on. A pillory had

-been erected in the square, a large, black, wooden

-pillar, with a scaffolding underneath. Three poor

-fellows were tied to the pillar, and had parchments

-on their backs, giving an account of their

-misdeeds. These thieves seemed very docile, and

-almost unconscious of what was being done to

-them. They made a picturesque group, with

-their handsome Slavonic heads, and bound to

-this pillar. The exhibition lasted long; the

-priests came to bless them; and when the cart

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span>

-came to carry them back to prison, both soldiers

-and people rushed after them, loading them with

-eatables, small coins, and words of sympathy.</p>

-

-<p>The Russian writer who aims to bring about

-reforms, in like manner displays his melancholy

-picture, with spasms of indulgent sympathy for

-the evils he unveils. The public needs but a hint.

-This time it understood. Russia looked upon

-serfdom in the mirror he showed her, and shuddered.

-The author became celebrated, and his

-cause was half gained. The censorship, always

-the last to become convinced, understood too, at

-last. Serfdom was already condemned in the

-heart of the Emperor Nicholas, but the censorship

-does not always agree with the Emperor; it

-is always procrastinating; sometimes it is left far

-behind, perhaps for a whole reign. It will not

-condemn the book, but keeps its eye upon the

-author.</p>

-

-<p>Gogol died at this time, and Turgenef wrote a

-strong article in praise of the dead author. This

-article appears to-day entirely inoffensive, but

-the author himself thus speaks of <span class="lock">it:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“In regard to my article on Gogol, I remember

-one day at St. Petersburg, a lady in high position

-at court was criticizing the punishment inflicted

-upon me, as unjust and undeserved, or, at least,

-too severe. Some one replied: ‘Did you not

-know that he calls Gogol “a great man” in that

-article?’ ‘That is not possible.’ ‘I assure you he

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span>

-did.’ ‘Ah! in that case, I have no more to say; I

-am very sorry for him, but now I understand

-their severity.’”</p>

-

-<p>This praise, justly accorded to a great author,

-procured for Turgenef a month of imprisonment

-and banishment to his own estates. But this

-tyranny was, perhaps, a blessing in disguise.

-Thirty years before, Pushkin had been torn from

-the dissipations of the gay capital, where his

-genius would have been lost, and was exiled to

-the Orient, where it developed into a rich bloom.

-If Turgenef had remained at this time in St.

-Petersburg, he might have been drawn, in his

-hot-headed youth, by compromising friendships,

-into some fruitless political broil; but, exiled to

-the solitude of his native woods, he spent several

-years there in literary <a id="chg1"></a>work; studying the humble

-life around him, and collecting materials for

-his first great novels.</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Three">III.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>Turgenef always declared himself as no admirer

-of Balzac. This was, no doubt, true; for

-they had no points of resemblance in common.

-Still I cannot but think that that sworn disciple

-of Gogol and of the “school of nature” must have

-received some suggestions from our great author.

-Turgenef, like Balzac, gave us the comedy of

-human life in his native country; but to this

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span>

-great work he gave more heart and faith, and less

-patience, system, and method, than the French

-writer. But he possessed the gift of style, and a

-racy eloquence, which are wanting in Balzac.</p>

-

-<p>If one must read Balzac in France in order to

-retrace the lives of our predecessors, this is all

-the more true of Turgenef in Russia.</p>

-

-<p>This author sharply discerned the prevailing

-current of ideas which were developed in that

-period of transition,—the reign of Nicholas and

-the first few years of the reign of Alexander <abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>

-It required a keen vision to apprehend and

-describe the shifting characters and scenes of

-that period, vivid glimpses of which we obtain

-from his novels written at that time.</p>

-

-<p>His first one of this period is “Dimitri Roudine.”

-The hero of the story is an eloquent

-idealist, but practically inefficient in action. His

-liberal ideas are intoxicating, both to himself

-and others; but he succumbs to every trial of

-life, through want of character. With the best

-principles and no vices whatever, except, perhaps,

-an excess of personal vanity, he commits deeds in

-which he is his own dupe. He is at heart too

-honest to profit by offered opportunities, which

-would give him advantage over others; and, with

-no courage either for good or evil undertakings,

-he is always unsuccessful, and always in want of

-money. He finally realizes his inefficiency, in old

-age, and dies in extreme poverty.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span>

-The characters of the prosaic country life in

-which the hero’s career is pictured are marvellously

-well drawn. These practical people, whose

-ideas are nearly on a level with the earth which

-yields them their livelihood, prosper in all things.

-They have comfortable incomes, good wives, and

-congenial friends; while the enthusiastic idealist,

-in spite of his intellectual superiority, falls even

-lower. It is the triumph of prosaic fact over

-idealism. In this introductory work, the author

-touched keenly upon one of the greatest defects

-of the Russian character, and gave a useful lesson

-to his fellow-countrymen; showing them that magnificent

-aspirations are not all-sufficient, but they

-must be joined to practical common-sense, and

-applied to self-government. “Dimitri Roudine”

-is a moral and philosophical study, inciting to

-thought and interesting to the thinking mind. It

-was a question whether the author would be as

-skilful in the region of sentiment, whether he

-would succeed in moving the heart.</p>

-

-<p>His “Nest of Nobles”<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a> was his response; and

-it was, perhaps, his greatest work, although not

-without defects. It is less interesting than the

-other, as the development of the plot drags somewhat;

-but when once started, and fully outlined,

-it is carried out with consummate skill.</p>

-

-<p>The “Nest of Nobles” is one of the old provincial,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span>

-ancestral mansions in which many generations

-have lived. In this house the young girl is

-reared, who will serve as a prototype for the

-heroine of every Russian novel. She is simple

-and straightforward, not strikingly beautiful or

-gifted, but very charming, and endowed with an

-iron will,—a trait which the author invariably

-refuses to men, but he bestows it upon every

-young heroine of his imagination. This trait

-carries them through every variety of experience

-and the most extreme crises, according as they

-are driven by fate.</p>

-

-<p>Liza, a girl of twenty, has been thus far wholly

-insensible to the attractions of a handsome government

-official, whose attentions her mother has

-encouraged. Finally, weary of resistance, the

-young girl consents to an engagement with him,

-when Lavretski, a distant relative, appears upon

-the scene. He is a married man, but has long

-been separated from his wife, who is wholly

-unworthy of him. She is an adventuress, who

-spends her time at the various Continental watering-places.

-There is nothing whatever of the

-hero of romance about him; he is a quiet, kind-hearted,

-and unhappy being, serious-minded and

-no longer young. Altogether, a man such as is

-very often to be met with in real life. He and

-the young heroine are drawn together by a mysterious

-attraction; and, just as the man, with his

-deeper experience of life, recognizes with terror

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span>

-the nature of their mutual feelings, he learns of

-the death of his wife, through a newspaper article.

-He is now free; and, that very evening, in

-the old garden, both hearts, almost involuntarily,

-interchange vows of eternal affection. The description

-of this scene is beautiful, true to nature,

-and exceedingly refined. The happiness of the

-lovers lasts but a single hour; the news was

-false, and the next day Lavretski’s wife herself

-appears most unexpectedly upon the scene.</p>

-

-<p>We can easily see what an opportunity the

-author here has for the delineation of the inevitable

-revulsion and tumult of feeling called forth;

-but with what delicacy he leads those two purest

-of souls through such peril! The sacrifice is

-resolutely made by the young girl; but only after

-a fearful struggle by the lover. The annoying

-and hated wife disappears again, while the reader

-fondly hopes the author will bring about her

-speedy death. Here again those who wish only

-happy <i lang="fr">dénouements</i> must close the book. Mme.

-Lavretski does not die, but continues the gayest

-kind of a life, while Liza, who has known of life

-only the transient promise of a love, which lasted

-through the starry hours of one short evening in

-May, carries her wounded heart to her God, and

-buries herself in a convent.</p>

-

-<p>So far, this is a virtuous and rather old-fashioned

-story, suitable for young girls. But we must read

-the farther development of the tale, to see with

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span>

-what exquisite art and love for truth the novelist

-has treated his subject. There is not the slightest

-approach to insipid sentimentality in this sad

-picture; no outbursts of passion; but, with a chaste

-and gentle touch, a restrained and continually increasing

-emotion is awakened, which rends the

-heart. The epilogue of this book, only a few

-pages in length, is, and will always be, one of the

-gems of Russian literature.</p>

-

-<p>Eight years have passed in the course of the

-story; Lavretski returns one morning in spring to

-the old mansion. It is now inhabited by a new

-generation, for the children have become young

-men and women, with new sentiments and interests.

-The new-comer, hardly recognized by them,

-finds them in the midst of their games. The story

-opened in the same way, and we seem to have

-gone back to the beginning of it. Lavretski seats

-himself upon the same spot where he once pressed

-for a moment in his the hand of the dear one, who

-ever since that blissful hour has been counting the

-beads of her rosary in a cloister.</p>

-

-<p>The young birds of the old nest can give no

-answer to the questions he longs to ask, for they

-have quite forgotten the vanished one; and they

-return to their game, in which they are quite

-absorbed. He reflects, in his desolation, how the

-self-same words describe the same scene of other

-days: nature’s smile is quite the same; the same

-joys are new to other children; just as, in a sonata

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span>

-of Chopin’s, the original theme of the melody

-recurs in the finale.</p>

-

-<p>In this romance, the melancholy contrast between

-the perennity of nature and the change

-and decay of man through the cruel and pitiless

-work of time is very strikingly portrayed. We

-have become so attached to the former characters

-painted by our author, that these children, in the

-heyday of their lives, are almost hateful to us.</p>

-

-<p>I am strongly tempted to quote these pages in

-full, but they would lose too much in being

-separated from what precedes them; and, unwillingly

-leaving the subject, I can only apply to

-Turgenef his own words in regard to one of his

-<span class="lock">heroes:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“He possessed the great secret of that divine

-eloquence which is music; for he knew a way to

-touch certain chords in the heart which would

-send a vibrating thrill through all the others.”</p>

-

-<p>The “Nest of Nobles” established the author’s

-renown. Such a strange world is this that poets,

-conquerors, women also, gain the hearts of men

-the more effectually by making them suffer and

-weep. All Russia shed tears over this book; and

-the unhappy Liza became the model for all the

-young girls. No romantic work since “Paul and

-Virginia” had produced such an effect upon the

-people. The author seems to have been haunted

-by this type of woman. His Ellen in “On the

-Eve” has the same indomitable will. She has a

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span>

-serious, reserved, and obstinate nature, has been

-reared in solitude; and, free from all outside influences,

-and scorning all obstacles, she is capable of

-the most complete self-renunciation. But in this

-instance the circumstances are quite different.

-The beloved one is quite free, but cast out by his

-family. As Liza fled to the cloister in spite of the

-supplications of her friends, so Ellen joins her

-lover and devotes herself to him, not suspecting

-for a moment her act to be in any way a criminal

-one; but it is redeemed, in any case, by her

-devoted constancy through a life of many trials.

-These studies of character show a keen observation

-of the national temperament. The man is

-irresolute, the woman decided; she it is who rules

-fate, knows what she wants to do, and does it.

-Everything which, with our ideas, would seem in

-a young girl like boldness and immodesty, is

-pictured by the artist with such simplicity and

-delicacy that we are tempted to see in it only the

-freedom of a courageous, undaunted spirit.

-These upright and passionate natures which he

-creates seem capable of anything but fear, treachery,

-and deceit.</p>

-

-<p>The poet seems to have poured the accumulated

-emotion of his whole youth into the “Nest of

-Nobles” as a vent to the long repressed sentiment

-of his inmost heart. He now set himself to study

-the social conditions of the life around him; and

-in the midst of the great intellectual movement

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span>

-of 1860, on the eve of the emancipation, he wrote

-“Fathers and Sons.” This book marks a date in

-the history of the Russian mind. The novelist

-had the rare good-fortune to recognize a new

-growth of thought, and to give it a fixed form

-and name, which no other had been able to do.</p>

-

-<p>In “Fathers and Sons,” an old man of the past

-generation, discussing his character of Bazarof,

-asked: “What is your opinion of Bazarof?”—“What

-is he?—he is a <dfn>nihilist</dfn>,” replied a

-young disciple of the terrible medical student.—“What

-do you say?”—“I say he is a <dfn>nihilist</dfn>!”—“Nihilist?”

-repeated the old man. “Ah, yes! that

-comes from the Latin word <dfn>nihil</dfn>, and our Russian

-word <dfn>nitchevo</dfn>; as well as I can judge, that

-must be a man who will neither acknowledge nor

-admit anything.”—“Say, rather,” added another,

-“who respects nothing.”—“Who considers everything

-from a critical point of view,” resumed the

-young man.—“That is just the same thing.”—“No,

-it is not the same thing; a nihilist is a man

-who bows to no authority, and will admit no principle

-as an article of faith, no matter how deeply

-respected that principle may be.”</p>

-

-<p>We must go back still farther than the Latin

-to find the root of the word and the philosophy

-it expresses; to the old Aryan stock, of which

-the Slavonic race is one of the main branches.

-Nihilism is the Hindu <dfn>nirvâna</dfn>; the yielding of

-the primitive man before the power of matter and

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span>

-the obscurity of the moral world; and the nirvâna

-necessarily engenders a furious reaction in

-the conquered being, a blind effort to destroy that

-universe which can crush and circumvent him.

-But I have already touched upon this subject,

-which is too voluminous to dwell upon here. So

-Nihilism, as we understand it, is only in its embryo

-state in this famous book of Turgenef’s. I would

-merely call the attention of the reader to another

-passage in this book which reveals a finer understanding

-of the word than volumes written upon

-the subject. It is in another discussion of

-Bazarof’s character, this time between an intelligent

-young girl and a young disciple of Bazarof,

-who honestly believes himself a nihilist.

-She <span class="lock">says:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“Your Bazarof you cannot understand, neither

-can he understand you.”—“How so?”—“How

-can I explain it?… He is a wild animal, and we,

-you and I, are tamed animals.”</p>

-

-<p>This comparison shows clearly the shade of

-difference between Russian Nihilism and the

-similar mental maladies from which human nature

-has suffered from time immemorial down to the

-present day.</p>

-

-<p>This hero of Turgenef’s has many traits in

-common with the Indian heroes of Fenimore

-Cooper, who are armed with a tomahawk, instead

-of a surgeon’s knife. Bazarof’s sons seem, at first

-sight, much like our revolutionists; but examine

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span>

-them more closely, and you will discover the distinction

-between the wild and the tamed beast.

-Our worst revolutionists are savage dogs, but the

-Russian nihilist is a wolf; and we now know that

-the wolf’s rage is the more dangerous of the two.</p>

-

-<p>See how Bazarof dies! He has contracted

-blood-poison by dissecting the body of a typhoid

-subject. He knows that he is lost. He endures

-his agony in mute, haughty, stolid silence; it is

-the agony of the wild beast with a ball in his

-body. The nihilist surpasses the stoic; he does

-not try to complete his task before death; there

-is nothing that is worth doing.</p>

-

-<p>The novelist has exhausted his art to create

-a deplorable character, which, however, is not

-really odious to us, excepting as regards his inhumanity,

-his scorn for everything we venerate.

-These seem intolerable to us. With the tamed

-animal, this would indicate perversion, disregard

-of all rules; but in the wild beast it is instinct,

-a resistance wholly natural. Our moral sense is

-ingeniously disarmed by the author, before this

-victim of fate.</p>

-

-<p>Turgenef’s creative power and minute observation

-of details in this work have never been

-excelled by him at any period of his literary

-career. It is very difficult, however, to quote

-passages of his, because he never writes single

-pages or paragraphs for their individual effect;

-but every detail is of value to the <i lang="fr">ensemble</i> of the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span>

-work. I will merely quote a passing sketch of a

-character, which seems to me remarkably true to

-life; that of a man of his own country and his

-own time; a high functionary of St. Petersburg;

-a future statesman, who had gone into one of the

-provinces to examine the petty government

-officials.</p>

-

-<p>“Matthew Ilitch belonged to what were called

-the younger politicians. Although hardly over

-forty years of age, he was already aiming to

-obtain a high position in the Government, and

-wore two orders on his breast. One of them,

-however, was a foreign, and quite an ordinary

-one. He passed for one of the progressive party,

-as well as the official whom he came to examine.

-He had a high opinion of himself; his

-personal vanity was boundless, although he

-affected an air of studied simplicity, gave you

-a look of encouragement, listened with an indulgent

-patience. He laughed so good-naturedly

-that, at first, you would take him for a ‘good

-sort of fellow.’ But, on certain occasions, he

-knew how to throw dust in your eyes. ‘It is

-necessary to be energetic,’ he used to say; ‘energy

-is the first quality of the statesman.’ In spite of

-all, he was often duped; for any petty official with

-a little experience could lead him by the nose at

-will.</p>

-

-<p>“Matthew Ilitch often spoke of Guizot with

-admiration; he tried to have every one understand

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span>

-that he did not belong to the category of

-those who followed one routine; but that he was

-attentive to every phase and possible requirement

-of social life. He kept himself familiar with all

-contemporary literature, as he was accustomed to

-say, in an off-hand way. He was a tricky and

-adroit courtier, nothing more; he really knew

-nothing of public affairs, and his views were of no

-value whatever; but he understood managing his

-own affairs admirably well; on this point he

-could not be duped. Is not that, after all, the

-principal thing?”</p>

-

-<p>In the intervals of these important works, Turgenef

-often wrote little simple sketches, in the

-style of his “Annals of a Sportsman.” There are

-more than twenty of these exquisitely delicate

-compositions. One of them, entitled “Assia,”<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</a>

-of about sixty pages, is a perfect gem in its way,

-and is a souvenir of his student-life in Germany,

-and of a love-passage experienced there.</p>

-

-<p>The young student loves a young Russian girl

-without being quite conscious of his passion.

-His love being evidently reciprocated, the young

-girl, wounded by his hesitation, suddenly disappears,

-and he knows too late what he has lost.

-I will quote at hazard a few lines of this poem in

-prose, which is only the prelude of this unconscious

-passion.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span>

-The two young people are walking, one summer

-evening, on the banks of the Rhine.</p>

-

-<p>“I stood and looked upon her, bathed as she

-was in the bright rays of the setting sun. Her

-face was calm and sweet. Everything around us

-was beaming with intensity of light; earth, air,

-and water.</p>

-

-<p>“‘How beautiful it is!’ I said, involuntarily

-lowering my voice.</p>

-

-<p>“‘Yes,’ she said, in the same tone, without

-raising her eyes. ‘If we were birds, you and I,

-would we not soar away and fly? … we should

-be lost in those azure depths…. But—we are

-not birds.’</p>

-

-<p>“‘Our wings may grow,’ I replied. ‘Only live

-on and you will see. There are feelings which

-can raise us above this earth. Fear not; you will

-have your wings.’</p>

-

-<p>“‘And you,’ she said; ‘have you ever felt

-this?’</p>

-

-<p>“‘It seems to me that I never did, until this

-moment,’ I said.</p>

-

-<p>“Assia was silent, and seemed absorbed in

-thought. I drew nearer to her. Suddenly she

-<span class="lock">said:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“‘Do you waltz?’ ‘Yes,’ I replied, somewhat

-perplexed by this question.</p>

-

-<p>“‘Come, then,’ she said; ‘I will ask my brother

-to play a waltz for us. We will imagine we are

-flying, and that our wings have grown….’</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span>

-“It was late when I left her. On recrossing

-the Rhine, when midway between the two shores,

-I asked the ferryman to let the boat drift with the

-current. The old man raised the oars, and the

-royal stream bore us on. I looked around me,

-listened, and reflected. I had a feeling of unrest,

-and felt a sudden pang at my heart. I raised my

-eyes to the heavens; but even there there was no

-tranquillity. Dotted with glittering stars, the

-whole firmament was palpitating and quivering.

-I leaned over the water; there were the same

-stars, trembling and gleaming in its cold, gloomy

-depths. The agitation of nature all around me

-only increased my own. I leaned my elbows

-upon the edge of the boat; the night wind, murmuring

-in my ears, and the dull plashing of the

-water against the rudder irritated my nerves,

-which the cool exhalations from the water could

-not calm. A nightingale was singing on the

-shore, and his song seemed to fill me with a

-delicious poison. Tears filled my eyes, I knew

-not why. What I now felt was not that aspiration

-toward the Infinite, that love for universal

-nature, with which my whole being had been

-filled of late; but I was consumed by a thirst, a

-longing for happiness,—I could not yet call it by

-its name, but for a happiness beyond expression,

-even if it should annihilate me. It was almost

-an agony of mingled joy and pain.</p>

-

-<p>“The boat floated on, while the old boatman sat

-and slept, leaning forward upon his oars.”</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span></p>

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>The emancipation of the serfs, the dream of

-Turgenef’s life, had become an accomplished fact,

-and was, moreover, the inaugurator of other great

-reforms. There was a general joyous awakening

-of secret forces and of hopes long deferred. The

-years following 1860, which were so momentous

-for Russia, wrought a change in the interior life

-of the poet and author. Torn from his native

-land by the ties of a deathless friendship, to

-which he unreservedly devoted the remainder of

-his life, he left Russia, never to return except at

-very rare intervals. He established himself first

-at Baden, afterwards settled permanently in

-Paris. Every desire of his heart as man, author,

-and patriot had been gratified. He had helped to

-bring about the emancipation. His literary fame

-followed him, and his works were translated into

-many languages.</p>

-

-<p>But, after some years of silence and repose,

-this poet’s soul, which through youth had rejoiced

-in its dreams and anticipations, suffered

-the change which must come to our poor human

-nature. He was not destined in his old age to

-realize his ideals.</p>

-

-<p>In 1868 his great novel “Smoke” appeared.

-It exhibited the same talent, riper than ever with

-the maturity of age; but the old faith and candor

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span>

-were wanting. Were we speaking of any other

-man, we should say that he had become bitter;

-but that would be an exaggeration in speaking of

-Turgenef, for there was no gall in his temperament.

-But there are the pathetic touches of a

-disenchanted idealist, astonished to find that his

-most cherished ideas, applied to men, cannot

-make them perfect. This sort of disappointment

-sometimes carries an author to injustice; his pencil

-shades certain characters too intensely, so that

-they are less true to nature than those of his older

-works. The phase of society described in “Smoke”

-exhibits a class of Russians living abroad, who do

-not, perhaps, retain in their foreign home the

-best qualities of their native soil: noble lords and

-questionable ladies, students and conspirators.

-The scene is laid at Baden, where the author

-could study society at his leisure. Of this confusing

-throng of army officers, rusticating princesses,

-boastful Slavophiles, and travelling clerks,

-he has given us many a vivid glimpse. But the

-book, as a whole, is an exaggeration; and this

-impression is all the stronger as the author evidently

-does not consider his characters of an

-exceptional type, but intends to faithfully represent

-Russian society, both high and low. Moreover,

-the artist has modified his style. He

-formerly presented his array of ideas, and left

-his readers to judge of them for themselves; but

-now he often puts himself in the reader’s place,

-and expresses his own opinion very freely.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span>

-For the novelist or dramatist there are two

-ways of presenting moral theses; with or without

-his personal intervention. We will take the most

-familiar <a id="chg2"></a>examples. In Victor Hugo’s “Les Misérables,”

-there are two conceptions of duty and

-virtue, which are perfectly antagonistic, personified

-by Jean Valjean and Javert. They are so

-perfectly drawn that we might almost hesitate

-between them; but the author throws the whole

-weight of his eloquence on the one; he deifies

-one and depreciates the other, so that he forces

-the verdict from us. But in “Le Gendre de M.

-Poirier,” on the contrary, there are two conceptions

-of honor; two sets of irreconcilable ideas;

-those of the Marquis de Presle, and those of his

-father-in-law. The author keeps himself in the

-background. He presents his two characters with

-the same clear analyses of their merits and absurdities;

-and shows both the weak and the strong

-points of their arguments. Even to the very end

-we hesitate to judge between them; and it is this

-conflict of ideas which keeps up the interest of the

-drama.</p>

-

-<p>For myself, I prefer the second method. Besides

-being more artistic, it seems to approach

-nearer to real life, in which we can never see

-truth clearly, and in which good and evil are

-always so closely allied. Turgenef embraced this

-method in all his first studies of social life, and

-they were more just and true, in my opinion, than

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span>

-his later ones. In the last two, “Smoke” and

-“Virgin Soil,” he interferes noticeably, bringing

-forward his own opinions; but I acknowledge

-that these books contain many passages overflowing

-with vivid fancy and strong common-sense.

-He satirizes everything he disapproves, the <dfn>Slavophile</dfn>

-party, all the national peculiarities, especially

-that mania for declaring everything perfect that

-springs from Russian soil. His shafts of wit,

-which he employs to illustrate this infatuation, are

-very keen; for example, when he speaks of the

-“literature which is bound in Russia leather”;

-and when he says, “in my country two and two

-make four, but with more certainty than elsewhere.”</p>

-

-<p>After emptying his quiver, the author describes

-a love intrigue, in which he shows as ever his

-marvellous knowledge of the human heart. But

-here again his style has changed. Formerly he

-wrote of youthful affection, a loyal emotion, frank

-and courageous enough to brave the whole world;

-and woman seemed to interest him only in her

-early youth. But he depicts in “Smoke” and

-“Spring Floods” the most cruel passions, with

-their agonies, deceptions, and bottomless abysses.

-The virtuous young girl invariably comes in, but

-as if held in reserve to save the repentant sinner

-at the end. Some may prefer these tempestuous

-compositions to the delicious poetic harmonies of

-his first romances. It is a matter of taste, and I

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span>

-would not decry the real merit of “Smoke,” which

-is a masterpiece in its way. I only affirm that on

-the approach of the evening of life the translucent

-soul of the poet has given us glimpses of sombre

-clouds and stormy skies. At the end of “Spring

-Floods,” after that wonderful scene, so true to

-life, exhibiting the weakness of the man and the

-diabolical power of the woman, there follow a few

-pages so full of rancor that you can but feel pity

-for the writer who can express such bitterness.</p>

-

-<p>In 1877, “Virgin Soil,” the last long important

-work, appeared: first in French, in a Paris journal,

-as if to feel its way; then the original could be

-risked in Russia with impunity, and had a free circulation.

-What a marked change the march of

-ideas had produced since the appearance of Turgenef’s

-article on Gogol! In this new work the

-author traversed a road which once would have led

-directly to Siberia. He had the ambition to describe

-the subterranean world which at that time

-was beginning to threaten the peace of the

-Empire. Having studied for twenty-five years

-every current of thought springing from Russian

-soil, the student thought to perfect his task by

-showing us the natural outgrowth of these currents.

-Since they disappeared under the earth,

-they must be investigated and attacked with a

-bold front.</p>

-

-<p>Turgenef was incited to the work partly from

-the appearance of a rival, who had already preceded

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span>

-him in this line. We shall see that “Virgin

-Soil” was an indirect response to “Les Possédés”

-of Dostoyevski. The effort was not wholly

-successful; as Turgenef had been away from his

-native land for fifteen years, he had not been able

-to watch narrowly enough the incessant transformation

-of that hidden, almost inaccessible

-world. Without the closest study from nature

-the artist’s work cannot produce striking results.

-The novelist intended to present the still unsettled

-tendencies of the nihilists in a characteristic

-and fixed form; but he failed to give clearness

-and outline to the work; the image refused

-to reflect its true form. This is why there is something

-vague and indistinct about the first part of

-“Virgin Soil,” which contrasts unfavorably with

-the clear-cut models of his early works.</p>

-

-<p>The author introduces us into the circle of

-conspirators at St. Petersburg. One of the young

-men, Neshdanof, has been engaged as a tutor in

-the house of a rich government official, in a distant

-province. He there meets a young girl of

-noble family, who is treated as a poor relation in

-the house. She is embittered by a long series of

-humiliations, and is struck with admiration for the

-ideas of the young apostle, more than for his personal

-attractions. They escape together, and form

-a Platonic union, working together among the

-common people, at the great cause of socialism.

-But Neshdanof is not fitted for the terrible

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span>

-work; he is a weak character, and a dreamer and

-poet. Distracted with doubts, and wholly <a id="chg3"></a>discouraged,

-he soon discovers that all is chaos within

-his soul. He does not love the cause to which he

-is sacrificing himself, and he knows not how best to

-serve it. Neither does he love the woman who has

-sacrificed herself for him, and he feels that he has

-lowered himself in her esteem. Weary of life,

-too proud to withdraw, and generous enough to

-wish to save his devoted companion before her

-reputation is lost, Neshdanof takes his life. He

-has found out that one of his friends, with more

-character than himself, has a secret attachment

-for Marianne. Before dying he joins the hands of

-those two enthusiastic beings. The romance ends

-with a fruitless conspiracy, which shows the utter

-uselessness of attempting to stir the people to

-revolution.</p>

-

-<p>Other revolutionary characters dimly float

-before the reader’s vision, who whisper unintelligible

-words. Those from among the higher

-classes are treated even more harshly than in

-“Smoke.” They have the same self-sufficiency,

-and are equally absurd without a single merit;

-and you feel that they are presented in a false

-light. Hence the work is abounding in caricatures,

-and shows a want of balance as a whole.</p>

-

-<p>On the other hand, the apostles of the new

-faith are surrounded with a halo of generosity

-and devotion. Between extreme egotism on one

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span>

-side, and stern faith and utter self-abnegation on

-the other, the idealist’s choice must fall. Naturally,

-the poet’s warm heart draws him to the most

-disinterested party of the two. He invests these

-rude natures with delicate sentiments, which

-clothe them with poetry; concealing from us,

-and even from himself, the revolting contrasts

-they present, and their brutal instincts. The

-wolfish, energetic Bazarof was of a type more

-true to nature.</p>

-

-<p>I think that Turgenef’s sensibility led him

-astray in his conception of the nihilists; while

-his good-sense did justice to their ideas, exhibited

-the puerility of their discourses and the

-uselessness of their blind hopes. The most valuable

-part of the book is where the writer demonstrates

-by facts the utter impossibility of uniting

-the propagandists and the people. Abstract arguments

-make no impression upon the peasant’s dull

-brain. Neshdanof attempts an harangue in an ale-house;

-the peasants force him to drink. The

-second glass of <dfn>vodka</dfn> intoxicates him completely,

-and he staggers away amid jeers and shouts.

-Another man, who tries to stir a village to

-revolt, is bound and given over to justice.</p>

-

-<p>At times Turgenef strikes exactly at the root

-of the evil, shows up the glaring faults of the

-revolutionary spirit, and exposes its weakness.

-Assuming too much responsibility, the nihilists

-wish to raise an ignorant populace at once to the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span>

-intellectual heights they have themselves reached;

-forgetting that time alone can accomplish such a

-miracle. They have recourse to cabalistic formulas,

-but their efforts are fruitless. The poet sees

-and explains all this; but, being a poet, he allows

-himself to be seduced by the sentimental beauty

-of the sacrifice, losing sight of the object; while

-the proved uselessness of the sacrifice only redoubles

-his indulgence towards the victims.</p>

-

-<p>This brings me to a point where I am obliged

-to touch upon a delicate subject. Certain political

-claims, discussed over the author’s tomb,

-have caused much anxiety in Russia; and bitter

-resentment threatened to mingle with the national

-grief. The Moscow papers published several severe

-articles about him before his death, in consequence

-of the appearance of his “Memoirs of a

-Nihilist” in a French paper. This autobiographical

-sketch is not a work of the imagination, for he

-obtained the story from the lips of a fellow-countryman

-who had escaped from a prison in Russia.</p>

-

-<p>This curious essay has the ring of truth about

-it, and no attempt at recrimination; giving an

-example of that strange psychological peculiarity

-of the Russian, who studies so attentively the

-moral effect of suffering upon his soul that he

-forgets to accuse the authors of his suffering.

-The sketch recalls vividly certain pages of Dostoyevski’s.

-But Turgenef’s ideas were not, at this

-time, well received by the Russians. They resented

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span>

-the too indulgent tone of his writings, and

-accused him of complicity with the enemies of

-the Empire. The radicals wished to claim him

-for their own; and it was hinted that he subscribed

-to support a seditious journal. This is,

-however, entirely improbable. Turgenef was open-hearted

-and generous to a fault. He gave freely

-and indiscriminately to any one that was suffering.

-His door and his purse were open to any fellow-countryman

-without reserve, and kind words were

-ever ready to flow from his lips. But, though

-always ready to help others, he certainly never

-gave his aid to any political intriguer. Was it

-natural that a man of his refinement and high culture

-should have aided the schemes of wild and

-fruitless political conspiracies? With the liberal

-ideas he adopted during his university life in Germany,

-in early youth, he was more inclined to

-cherish political dreams than to put his liberalism

-into practice. In fact, it is only necessary to read

-“Virgin Soil” attentively, to understand the position

-he proposed to maintain.</p>

-

-<p>But I am dwelling too long upon the political

-standing of a poet. This man, who was honest

-and true in the highest degree in all relations of

-life, must have been the same as to his politics.

-Those who questioned the colors he bore could

-ill afford to criticise him.</p>

-

-<p>About this time, Turgenef wrote five or six

-tales; one of which (“A Lear of the Steppe”),

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span>

-for its intensity of feeling, recalls the most beautiful

-parts of “The Annals of a Sportsman.” But

-I must not dwell upon these, but give a little

-attention to the productions of our author as a

-whole.</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Five">V.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>Ivan Sergievitch (Turgenef) has given us a

-most complete picture of Russian society. The

-same general types are always brought forward;

-and, as later writers have presented exactly similar

-ones, with but few modifications, we are

-forced to believe them true to life. First, the

-peasant; meek, resigned, dull, pathetic in suffering,

-like a child who does not know why he

-suffers; naturally sharp and tricky when not

-stupefied by liquor; occasionally roused to violent

-passion. Then, the intelligent middle class;

-the small landed proprietors of two generations.

-The old proprietor is ignorant and good-natured,

-of respectable family, but with coarse habits;

-hard, from long experience of serfdom, servile

-himself, but admirable in all other relations of

-life.</p>

-

-<p>The young man of this class is of quite a different

-type. His intellectual growth having been

-too rapid, he sometimes plunges into Nihilism.

-He is often well educated, melancholy, rich in

-ideas but poor in executive ability; always preparing

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span>

-and expecting to accomplish something of

-importance, filled with vague and generous projects

-for the public good. This is the chosen

-type of hero in all Russian novels. Gogol introduced

-it, and Tolstoï prefers it above all others.</p>

-

-<p>The favorite hero of young girls and romantic

-women is neither the brilliant officer, the artist,

-nor rich lord, but almost universally this provincial

-Hamlet, conscientious, cultivated, intelligent,

-but of feeble will, who, returning from his studies

-in foreign lands, is full of scientific theories about

-the improvement of mankind and the good of the

-lower classes, and eager to apply these theories

-on his own estate. It is quite necessary that he

-should have an estate of his own. He will have

-the hearty sympathy of the reader in his efforts

-to improve the condition of his dependents.</p>

-

-<p>The Russians well understand the conditions of

-the future prosperity of their country; but, as

-they themselves acknowledge, they know not how

-to go to work to accomplish it.</p>

-

-<p>In regard to the women of this class, Turgenef,

-strange to say, has little to say of the mothers.

-This probably reveals the existence of some old

-wound, some bitter experience of his own. Without

-a single exception, all the mothers in his

-novels are either wicked or grotesque. He reserves

-the treasures of his poetic fancy for the young

-girls of his creation. To him the young girl of

-the country province is the corner-stone of the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span>

-fabric of society. Reared in the freedom of country

-life, placed in the most healthy social conditions,

-she is conscientious, frank, affectionate,

-without being romantic; less intelligent than

-man, but more resolute. In each of his romances

-an irresolute man is invariably guided by a

-woman of strong will.</p>

-

-<p>Such are, generally speaking, the characters the

-author describes, which bear so unmistakably the

-stamp of nature that one cannot refrain from saying

-as he closes the book, “These must be portraits

-from life!” which criticism is always the

-highest praise, the best sanction of works of the

-imagination.</p>

-

-<p>But something is wanting to fully complete the

-picture of Russian life. Turgenef never has

-written of the highest class in society except

-incidentally and in his later works, and then in

-his bitterest vein. He was never drawn to this

-class, and was, besides, prejudiced against it.

-The charming young girl, suddenly raised to a

-position in this circle, becomes entirely perverted—is

-changed into a frivolous woman, with most

-disagreeable peculiarities of mind and temperament.

-The man, elevated to the new dignities of

-a high public position, adds to his native irresolution

-ostentatious pride and folly. We are

-forced to question these hasty and extreme statements.

-We must wait for Leo Tolstoï before

-forming our opinions. He will give us precisely

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span>

-the same types of the lower and middle classes as

-his predecessor; but he will also give a most

-complete analysis of the statesman, the courtier,

-and the noble dames of the court. He will finish

-the edifice, the foundations of which Turgenef

-has so admirably laid. Not that we expect of

-our author the complicated intrigues and extraordinary

-adventures of the old French romances.

-He shows us life as it is, not through a magic

-lantern. Facts interest him but little, for he

-only regards them as to their influence on the

-human soul. He loved to study character and

-sentiment, to seek the simplest personages of

-every-day life; and the great secret of his power

-lies in his having felt such deep interest in his

-models that his characters are never prosaic,

-while absolutely true to life. He says of Neshdanof,

-in “Virgin Soil”: “He makes realism

-poetic.” These, his own words, may be justly

-applied to himself. In exquisite and good taste

-he has, in fact, no rival. On every page we find

-a tender grace like the ineffable freshness of

-morning dew. A phrase of George Eliot’s, in

-“Adam Bede,” may well apply to him: “Words

-came to me as tears come when the heart is full

-and we cannot prevent them.”</p>

-

-<p>No writer ever had more sentiment or a greater

-horror of sentimentality; none could better express

-in a single phrase such crises, such remarkable

-situations. This reserve power makes his

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span>

-work unique in Russian literature, which is

-always diffuse and elaborate. In his most unimportant

-productions there is an artistic conciseness

-equal to that of the great masters of the

-ancient classics. Such qualities, made still more

-effective by a perfection of style and a diction

-always correct and sometimes most exquisite,

-give to Turgenef a very high position in contemporary

-literature. Taine considered him one of

-the most perfect artists the world has produced

-since the classic period. English criticism, generally

-considered somewhat cold, and not given to

-exaggeration, places him among writers of the

-very first rank.</p>

-

-<p>I subscribe to this opinion whenever I take up

-any of his works to read once again; then I hesitate

-when I think of that marvellous Tolstoï,

-who captivates my imagination and makes me

-suspend my judgment. We must leave these

-questions of precedence for the future to decide.</p>

-

-<p>After the appearance of “Virgin Soil,” although

-Turgenef’s talent suffered no change, and his intelligence

-was as keen as ever, his mind seemed

-to need repose, and to be groping for some hidden

-path, as is often the case with young authors

-at the beginning of their career. There were

-good reasons for this condition of discouragement.

-Turgenef reaped many advantages, and some

-disadvantages, from his prolonged sojourn in our

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span>

-midst. At first, the study of new masters and

-the friendships and advice of Mérimée, were of

-great use to him. To this literary intercourse

-may be attributed the rare culture, clearness, and

-precision of his works, as distinguished from any

-other prose writer of his country. Later on he

-became an enthusiastic admirer of Flaubert, and

-made some excellent translations of his works.

-Then, next to the pioneers of the “School of

-Nature,” he adhered to their successors, fondly

-imagining himself to be one of them, giving ear

-to their doctrines, and making frantic efforts to

-conciliate these with his old ideals. Moreover, he

-felt himself more and more widely separated from

-his native land, the true source of all his ideas.

-He was sometimes reproached as a deserter.

-The tendencies of his last novels had aroused

-recrimination and scandal. Whenever he occasionally

-visited St. Petersburg or Moscow, he was

-received with ovations by the young men, but

-with extreme coldness in some circles. He was

-destined to live to see a part of his former adherents

-leave him and run to worship new idols.

-On his last appearance in Russia for the fêtes in

-honor of Pushkin, the Moscow students rushed to

-take him from his carriage, and bear him in their

-arms; but I remember that one day at St. Petersburg,

-returning from a visit to one of the nobility,

-Ivan Sergievitch (Turgenef) said to us, in

-a jesting tone, not quite free from bitterness:

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span>

-“Some one called me Ivan Nikolaievitch.”<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[I]</a>

-This little inadvertency would to us seem quite

-pardonable, for here we are, fortunately, not

-obliged to know every one’s father’s name. But,

-considering Russian customs, this oversight in

-the case of a national celebrity was an offence,

-and showed that he was already beginning to be

-forgotten.</p>

-

-<p>About this time I had the good-fortune to pass

-an evening with Turgenef and Skobelef. The

-young general spoke with his habitual eloquence

-and warmth of his hopes for the future, and

-expressed many great thoughts. The old author

-listened in silence, studying him meanwhile with

-that pensive, concentrated expression of the artist

-when he wishes to reproduce an image in

-form and color. The model was posing for the

-painter, who meant to engraft this remarkable

-character into one of his books; but Death did

-not permit the hero to live out his romance, nor

-the poet to write it.</p>

-

-<p>One day in the spring of 1883, the last time I

-had the honor of seeing Ivan Sergievitch, we

-spoke of Skobelef. He said: “I shall soon follow

-him.”</p>

-

-<p>It was too true. He was suffering terribly

-from the mortal illness of which he died soon

-after—a cancer in the spinal marrow. His eyes

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span>

-rested upon a landscape of Rousseau, his favorite

-painter, which represented an ancient oak, torn

-by the storms of many winters, now shedding its

-last crimson leaves in a December gale. There

-was an affinity between the noble old man and

-this picture which he enjoyed looking upon, a

-secret and mutual understanding of the decrees

-of Nature.</p>

-

-<p>He published three tales after being attacked

-with this fatal disease. It is an example of the

-irony of fate that the last of these was entitled

-“Despair.” This was his last analysis of the

-Russian character, which he had made his study

-for so many years, and reproduced in all his

-works.</p>

-

-<p>A few days before his death he took up his

-pen to write a touching epistle to his friend, Leo

-Tolstoï. In this farewell the dying author bequeathed

-the care and honor of Russian literature

-to his friend and rival. I give the closing words

-of this <span class="lock">letter:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“My very dear Leo Nikolaievitch, I have not

-written to you for a long time, for I have long

-been upon my death-bed. There is no chance for

-recovery; it is not to be thought of. I write

-expressly to tell you how very happy I am to

-have been a contemporary of yours; and to

-express a last, urgent request.</p>

-

-<p>“My friend, return to your literary labors.

-This gift has come to you from whence come

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span>

-all our gifts. Oh! how happy I should be could

-I feel that you will grant this request!…</p>

-

-<p>“My dear friend, great author of our beloved

-Russia, let me entreat you to grant me this request!

-Reply if this reaches you. I press you

-and yours to my heart for the last time. I can

-write no more…. I am weary!…”</p>

-

-<p>We can only hope that this exhortation will be

-obeyed by the only author worthy to take up the

-pen dropped by those valiant hands.</p>

-

-<p>Turgenef has left behind a rich legacy; for

-every page he ever wrote, with but very few

-exceptions, breathes a noble spirit; and his works

-will continue to elevate and warm the hearts of

-thousands.</p>

-

-

-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[F]</a> 

-<span lang="fr">“Grande et riche, mais désordonnée.”</span> This historical

-phrase has become proverbial in Russia. It was used by the

-deputies of the Slavs when they demanded foreign chiefs to

-govern them.</p>

-

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[G]</a>

- Published in English under the name of “Liza.”</p>

-

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[H]</a>

- An English translation was published in 1884 under the

-title “<cite>Annouchka</cite>,” a tale.</p>

-

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[I]</a>

- (V)itch added to the father’s name (meaning son of) is the

-masculine termination of proper names.</p>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span>

-<h3>

-CHAPTER <abbr title="Five">V.</abbr>

-<br>

-<span class="allsmcap">THE RELIGION OF ENDURANCE.—DOSTOYEVSKI.</span>

-</h3>

-</div>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">With</span> Dostoyevski, that true Scythian, who

-will revolutionize all our previous habits of

-thought, we now enter into the heart of Moscow,

-with its giant cathedral of St. Basil, like a

-Chinese pagoda as to form and decoration, and

-built by Tartar architects; but dedicated to the

-worship of the Christian’s God.</p>

-

-<p>Turgenef and Dostoyevski, although contemporaries,

-belonging to the same school, and borne

-on by the same current of ideas, present in their

-respective works many sharply defined contrasts;

-still, they possess one quality in common, the

-outgrowth of the period in which they lived—sympathy

-for humanity. In Dostoyevski, this

-sympathy has developed into an intense pity for

-the humbler class, which regards him and believes

-in him as its master.</p>

-

-<p>All contemporary forms of art have secret

-bonds in common. The same causes and sentiments

-which inclined these Russian authors to

-the study of real life attracted the great French

-landscape-painters of the same epoch to a closer

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span>

-observation of nature. The works of Corot,

-Rousseau, and Millet present to me a perfect

-idea of the common tendencies and personal

-peculiarities of the three types of talent I

-am attempting to analyze. Whichever of these

-painters we prefer, we shall be likely to be

-attracted by the corresponding writer. I would

-not force such a comparison; but to me Turgenef

-has the grace and poetry of Corot; Tolstoï,

-the simple grandeur of Rousseau; Dostoyevski,

-the tragic severity of Millet.</p>

-

-<p>Dostoyevski’s romances have been translated

-into French, and, to my astonishment, they are

-greatly enjoyed by the French. This places me

-at ease in discussing him. I should never have

-been believed, in attempting to present an analysis

-of this strange character, if these books, which

-reflect and typify their author, had not been well

-known among us. At the same time, the books

-can scarcely be understood without some knowledge

-of the life of him who created them. I had

-almost said, whose life and sufferings were portrayed

-in them; but the one expression partly

-implies the other.</p>

-

-<p>On entering into an examination of the life

-and works of this man, I must present to the

-reader scenes invariably sad, sometimes terrible,

-sometimes funereal. Those persons should not

-attempt to read them who object to visiting hospitals,

-courts of justice, or prisons; or who have

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span>

-a horror of visiting graveyards at night. I cannot

-conscientiously throw a cheerful glamour

-upon what both destiny and character have

-made sombre throughout. Some will, at least,

-follow me with confidence. At all events, the

-Russia of the past twenty years will remain an

-inexplicable enigma to those who ignore the

-work which has made the most lasting impression

-upon this country, and shaken it to its foundations.

-We must, then, examine the books which

-have performed such a work, and, first of all, and

-more dramatic than all, the life of him who conceived

-them.</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="One">I.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>He was born at Moscow, in 1821, in the charity

-hospital. Destiny decreed that his eyes should

-first open upon the sad spectacle which was to

-be ever before them, and upon the most terrible

-forms of misery. His father, a retired military

-surgeon, was attached to this establishment. His

-family belonged to one of those lower orders of

-the nobility from which minor functionaries are

-generally chosen, and possessed a small estate

-and a few serfs in the province of Tula. The

-child was sometimes taken out to this country

-place; and these first visions of country life occasionally

-reappear in his works, but very rarely.

-Contrary to the habit of the other Russian

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span>

-authors, who adore nature, and especially love

-the place where they were reared, Dostoyevski

-is not attracted in this direction. He is

-a psychologist; the human soul absorbs his

-entire vision; the scenes of his choice are the

-suburbs of large cities, and miserable alleys. In

-his childish recollections, which almost invariably

-give their coloring to an author’s mind, you never

-feel the influence of peaceful woods and broad,

-open skies. The source from whence his imagination

-draws its supplies will give you glimpses of

-hospital courts, pallid faces under the regulation

-white cap, and forms clothed in brown robes;

-and you will encounter the timid gaze of the

-“Degraded” and “Insulted.”</p>

-

-<p>Dostoyevski was one of a numerous family of

-children, and his life as a child was not one of luxury.

-After leaving a Moscow school, his father

-procured admission for the two elder sons, Alexis

-and Feodor, to the military engineering school at

-St. Petersburg. The two brothers, bound together

-by a common aptitude for literature, were

-always deeply attached to each other, and greatly

-depended, in all the crises of life, upon each

-other’s mutual support. We gain much knowledge

-of the interior life of Feodor Mikhailovitch,

-(Dostoyevski) through his letters to his brother

-Alexis in his “Correspondence.” Both felt themselves

-out of place in this school, which, for

-them, took the place of a University training. A

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span>

-classical education was just what Dostoyevski

-needed; it would have given him that refinement

-and balance which is gained by an early training

-in the best literature. He made up for the want

-of it as best he could, by reading Pushkin and

-Gogol, and the French romance-writers, Balzac,

-Eugene Sue, and George Sand, who seems to have

-had a strong influence upon his imagination.

-But Gogol was his favorite master. The humble

-world which attracted him most was revealed to

-him in “Dead Souls.”</p>

-

-<p>Leaving the school in 1843 with the grade of

-sub-lieutenant, he did not long wear his engineer’s

-uniform. A year later he sent in his resignation,

-to devote himself exclusively to literary

-occupations. From this day, the fierce struggle

-of our author with poverty began which was to

-last forty years. After the father’s death the

-meagre patrimony was divided among the children,

-and it quickly vanished. The young Feodor

-undertook translations for journals and publishers.

-For forty years his correspondence,

-which recalls that of Balzac, was one long agonizing

-lament; a recapitulation of debts accumulating

-and weighing upon him, a complaint of the

-slavish life he led. For years he is never sure of

-his daily bread, except in the convict prison.</p>

-

-<p>Although Dostoyevski became hardened to

-material privations, he was not proof against the

-moral wounds which poverty inflicts; the pitiable

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span>

-pride which formed the foundation of his character

-suffered terribly from everything which

-betrayed his poverty. You feel the existence

-of this open wound in his letters; and all his

-heroes, the real incarnations of his own soul, suffer

-the same torture. Moreover, he was really ill,

-a victim of shattered nerves; and he became so

-visionary that he believed himself threatened

-with every imaginable disease. He left on his

-table sometimes, before retiring for the night, a

-paper upon which he wrote: “I may to-night

-fall into a lethargic sleep; be careful not to bury

-me before a certain number of days.” This was

-no trick of the imagination, but a presentiment of

-the fatal malady, of which he then felt the first

-symptoms. It has been stated that he contracted

-it in Siberia later than this; but a friend of his

-youth assures me that at this very time he was

-in the habit of falling down in the street foaming

-at the mouth. He always was, what he seemed to

-us to be in his latter years, but a frail bundle of

-irritable nerves; a feminine soul in the frame of

-a Russian peasant; reserved, savage, full of hallucinations;

-while the deepest tenderness filled his

-heart when he looked upon the sufferings of the

-lower classes.</p>

-

-<p>His work was his sole consolation and delight.

-He narrates in his letters projected plots for his

-romances with the most genuine enthusiasm; and

-the recollection of these first transports makes

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span>

-him put into the mouth of one of his characters,

-drawn from himself, the novelist who figures in

-“The Degraded and Insulted,”<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[J]</a> the following

-<span class="lock">expressions:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“If I ever was happy, it was not during the

-first intoxicating moments of success, but at the

-time when I had never read nor shown my manuscript

-to any one; during those long nights,

-passed in enthusiastic dreams and hopes, when

-I passionately loved my work; when I lived with

-my fancies, with the characters created by me, as

-with real relatives, living beings. I loved them;

-I rejoiced or mourned with them, and I have actually

-shed bitter tears over the misfortunes of my

-poor hero.”</p>

-

-<p>His first tale, “Poor People,” contained the

-germ of all the rest. He wrote it at the age of

-twenty-three. During the latter years of his life,

-he used to relate the story of this first venture.

-The poor little engineer knew not a single soul in

-the literary world, or what to do with his manuscript.

-One of his comrades, Grigorovitch, who

-became a man of considerable literary reputation,

-has confirmed this anecdote. He carried the

-manuscript to Nekrasof, the poet, and friend of

-poor authors.</p>

-

-<p>At three o’clock in the morning, Dostoyevski

-heard a knock at his door. It was Grigorovitch,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span>

-who brought Nekrasof in with him. The poet

-threw himself upon the young stranger’s neck,

-showing strong emotion. He had been up the

-whole night, reading the tale, and was perfectly

-carried away with it. He too lived the cautious

-and hidden life which at that time was the lot

-of every Russian writer. These two repressed

-hearts, mutually and irresistibly attracted to each

-other, now overflowed with all the generous enthusiasm

-of youth. The dawn of day found the

-three enthusiasts still absorbed in an exalted conversation

-and an interchange of thoughts, hopes,

-and artistic and poetical dreams.</p>

-

-<p>On leaving his protégé, Nekrasof went directly

-to Bielinski, the oracle of Russian literature, the

-only critic formidable to young beginners. “A

-new Gogol is born to us!” cried the poet, as he

-entered his friend’s house. “Gogols sprout up

-nowadays like mushrooms,” replied the critic,

-with his most forbidding air, as he took up the

-manuscript, handling it as if it were something

-poisonous, in the same way that all great critics

-of every country treat new manuscripts. But

-when Bielinski had read the manuscript through,

-its effect upon him was magical; so that when

-the trembling young man presented himself before

-his judge, the latter cried out <span class="lock">excitedly:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“Do you comprehend, young man, all the truth

-that you have described? No! at your age, that

-is quite impossible. This is a revelation of art,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span>

-an inspiration, a gift from on high. Reverence,

-preserve this gift! and you will become a great

-writer!”</p>

-

-<p>A few months later “Poor People” appeared in

-periodical review, and Russia ratified the verdict

-of its great critic. Bielinski’s astonishment was

-justifiable; for it seems incredible that any person

-of twenty could have produced a tragedy at once

-so simple and so heart-rending. In youth, happiness

-is our science, learned without a master, and

-we invent grand, heroic, showy misfortunes, and

-anguish which blazons its own sublimity. But

-how had this unhappy genius learned the meaning

-of that hidden, dumb, wearing misery before

-his time?</p>

-

-<p>It is but an ordinary story, told in a correspondence

-between two persons. An inferior

-clerk in a court of chancery, worn with years and

-toil, is passing on toward the decline of life, in a

-continual struggle with poverty and the accompanying

-tortures of wounded self-love. This

-ignorant and honest clerk, the butt of his comrades’

-ridicule, ordinary in conversation, of only

-medium intelligence, whose whole ambition is to

-be a good copyist, possesses, under an almost

-grotesque exterior, a heart as fresh, open, and

-affectionate as that of a little child; and I might

-almost say, sublimely stupid, indifferent to his own

-interests, in his noble generosity. This is the

-chosen type of all the best Russian authors, the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span>

-one which exemplifies what is noblest in the

-Russian character; as, for example, Turgenef’s

-Lukeria in the “Living Relics,” and the Karatayef

-of Tolstoï in “War and Peace.” But these are

-of the peasant class, whereas the character of

-Dievushkin, in “Poor People,” is raised some

-degrees higher in the intellectual and social scale.</p>

-

-<p>In this life, dark and cold as the long December

-night in Russia, there is one solitary ray of light,

-one single joy. In another poor lodging, just

-opposite the loft where the clerk copies his papers,

-lives a young girl, a distant relative, a solitary

-waif like himself, who can claim nothing in the

-world but the feeble protection of this friend.

-Both isolated, crushed by the brutal pressure of

-circumstances, these two unfortunates depend

-upon each other for mutual affection, as well as

-aid to keep them from starving. In the man’s

-affection there is a tender self-sacrifice, a delicacy,

-so much the more charming in that it accords not

-at all with the habitual bungling awkwardness of

-his ways and ideas; like a flower growing in sterile

-soil, among brambles, and betrayed only by its

-perfume. He imposes upon himself privations

-truly heroic, for the sake of comforting and

-gladdening the existence of his dear friend.

-These are, moreover, so well concealed that they

-are only discovered through some awkwardness

-on his part; as for him, they seem to him a matter

-of course. His sentiments are by turns those of

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span>

-a father, a brother, a good faithful dog. He would

-define them thus himself if called upon to analyze

-them. But although we well know a name for

-this feeling, let us not even whisper it to him; he

-would be overcome with shame at the mere mention

-of it.</p>

-

-<p>The woman’s character is drawn with marvellous

-art. She is very superior to her friend in

-mind and education; she guides him in all intellectual

-things, which are quite new to him.

-She is weak by nature, and tender-hearted, but less

-faithful and resigned than he. She has not wholly

-given up a desire for the good things of life. She

-continually protests against the sacrifices which

-Dievushkin imposes upon himself, she begs him

-not to trouble himself for her; but sometimes a

-longing cry for something she feels the deprivation

-of escapes her, or perhaps a childish desire for

-some trifle or finery. The two neighbors can only

-see each other occasionally, that they may give

-no occasion for malicious gossip, and an almost

-daily correspondence has been established between

-them. In these letters we read of their past, the

-hard lives they have lived, the little incidents of

-their every-day life, their disappointments; the

-terrors of the young girl, pursued by the vicious,

-who try to entrap her; the agonies of the poor

-clerk, working for his daily bread, trying so pitifully

-to preserve the dignity of his manhood

-through the cruel treatment of those who would

-strip him of it.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span>

-Finally, the crisis comes; Dievushkin loses his

-only joy in life. You think, perhaps, that a

-young lover comes to steal her from him, that

-love will usurp in her heart the place of sisterly

-affection. Oh, no! the tale is much more human,

-far sadder.</p>

-

-<p>A man who had once before sought out this

-young girl, with possibly doubtful intentions, offers

-her his hand. He is middle-aged, rich, of rather

-questionable character; but his proposition is an

-honorable one. Weary of wrestling against fate,

-persuaded perhaps also that she may thereby

-lighten some of the burdens of her friend, the

-unfortunate girl accepts the offer. Here the

-study of character is absolutely true to nature.

-The young girl, going suddenly from extreme

-poverty to luxury, is intoxicated for a moment

-by this new atmosphere, fine dresses, and jewels!

-In her cruel ingenuousness, she fills the last

-letters with details upon these grave subjects.

-From force of habit, she asks this kind Dievushkin,

-who always made all her purchases, to do an

-errand at the jeweller’s for her. Can her soul be

-really base, unworthy of the pure sentiment she

-had inspired? Not for a moment does the reader

-have such an impression, the writer knows so well

-how to maintain true harmony in his delineation

-of character. No, it is only that a little of youth

-and human nature have come to the surface in

-the experience of this long repressed soul. How

-can we grudge her such a trifling pleasure?</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span>

-Then this cruelty is explained by the complete

-misapprehension of their reciprocal feelings. With

-her it is only a friendship, which will ever be

-faithful, grateful, if perhaps a little less single;

-how can she possibly understand that for him it is

-nothing short of despair?</p>

-

-<p>It had been arranged that the wedded pair

-should start immediately after the marriage for a

-distant province. Up to the very last hour,

-Dievushkin replies to her letters, giving her the

-most minute details of the shopping that he has

-done for her, making great efforts to become

-versed in the subject of laces and ribbons. He

-only occasionally betrays a hint of the terror

-which seizes him at the thought of the near

-separation; but finally, in the last letter, his

-wounded heart breaks; the unhappy man sees

-before him the blank desolation of his future

-life, solitary, empty; he is no longer conscious of

-what he writes; but, in spite of all, his utter

-distress is kept back; he himself seems hardly

-yet to realize the secret of his own agony. The

-drama ends with an agonizing wail of despair,

-when he is left standing alone, behind the departing

-train.</p>

-

-<p>I should like to quote many passages; I hesitate,

-and find none. This is the highest eulogium

-that can be bestowed upon a romance. The

-structure is so solid, the materials so simple, and

-so completely sacrificed to the impression of the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span>

-whole, that a detached fragment quite loses its

-effect; it means no more than a single stone

-torn from a Greek temple, whose beauty consists

-in its general lines. This is the peculiar attribute

-of all the great Russian authors.</p>

-

-<p>Another trait is also common to them, in which

-Turgenef excelled, and in which perhaps Dostoyevski

-even surpassed him: the art of awaking

-with a single line, sometimes with a word, infinite

-harmonies, a whole series of sentiments

-and ideas. “Poor People” is a perfect specimen

-of this art. The words you read upon the paper

-seem to produce reverberations, as, when touching

-the key-board of an organ, the sounds produced

-awake, through invisible tubes, the great interior

-heart of harmony within the instrument, whence

-come its deepest tones of thunder.</p>

-

-<p>When you have read the last page you feel

-that you know the two characters as perfectly as

-if you had lived with them for years; moreover,

-the author has not told us a thousandth part of

-what we know of them, his mere indications are

-such revelations; for it seems he is especially

-effective in what he leaves unsaid, but merely

-suggests, and we are grateful to him for what he

-leaves us to imagine.</p>

-

-<p>Into this tender production Dostoyevski has

-poured his own nature, all his sensibility, his

-longing for sympathy and devotion, his bitter

-conception of life, his savage, pitiable pride. His

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span>

-own letters of this period are like Dievushkin’s,

-where he speaks of his inconceivable mortification

-on account of his “wretched overcoat.”</p>

-

-<p>In order to understand the high estimation of

-this work held by Bielinski and Nekrasof, and to

-realize its remarkable originality, we must remember

-its time and place in Russian literature. The

-“Annals of a Sportsman” did not appear until

-five years later. True, Gogol had furnished the

-theme in “Le Manteau,” but Dostoyevski substituted

-a suggestive emotion in place of his master’s

-fancy.</p>

-

-<p>He continued to write essays in the same vein,

-but they were less remarkable, and he even tried

-his hand at writing a farce; but destiny rudely

-led him back into his true path, and gave the

-man his peculiarly tragic physiognomy among

-writers.</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>About the year 1847 the students’ clubs already

-mentioned, which assembled to discuss the

-doctrines of Fourier and others, opened to receive

-political writers and army officers, and were at

-this time under the direction of a former student,

-the political agitator Petrachevski. The conspiracy

-headed by this man is still imperfectly understood,

-as well as the general history of that time.

-It is, however, certain that two different currents

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span>

-of ideas divided these circles. One embraced

-those of their predecessors, the revolutionists of

-December, 1825, who went no farther than to

-indulge in dreams of the emancipation and of a

-liberal government. The other set went far beyond

-their successors, the present nihilists, for they

-desired the total ruin of the entire social edifice.</p>

-

-<p>Dostoyevski’s character, as we have seen, made

-him an easy prey to radical ideas through his

-generosity as well as his hardships and his rebellious

-spirit. He has related how he was attracted

-toward socialism by the influence of his learned

-protector, Bielinski, who tried also to convert

-him to atheism.</p>

-

-<p>Our author soon became an enthusiastic member

-of the reunions inspired by Petrachevski.

-He was, undoubtedly, among the more moderate,

-or rather one of the independent dreamers. Mysticism,

-sympathy for the unfortunate, these must

-have been what attracted him in any political

-doctrine; and his incapacity for action made this

-metaphysician altogether harmless. The sentence

-pronounced upon him charged him with

-very pardonable errors: participation in the reunions;

-also in the discussions on the severity of

-the press censure; the reading or listening to the

-reading of seditious pamphlets, etc. These

-crimes seem very slight when compared with

-the severe punishment they provoked. The

-police force was then so inefficient that it for

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span>

-two years remained ignorant of what was going

-on in these circles; but finally they were betrayed

-by an unfaithful member.</p>

-

-<p>Petrachevski and his friends also betrayed

-themselves at a banquet in honor of Fourier,

-where they were discussing the destruction of

-family ties, property, kings, and deities. Dostoyevski

-took no part in these social banquets, that

-occurred just after those days of June in France

-which spread terror throughout all Europe, and

-only one year after other banquets which had

-overturned a throne. The Emperor Nicholas, although

-naturally humane, now forced himself to

-be implacable, entertaining the firm conviction

-that he was the chosen servant of God to save a

-sinking world. He was already meditating the

-emancipation of the serfs; by a fatal misunderstanding

-he was now going to strike down men,

-some of whom had committed no crime but that

-of desiring the same reform. History is only

-just when she seeks the motives of all consciences

-and the springs of their actions. But this was

-not a favorable time for explanations or cool

-judgments.</p>

-

-<p>On the 23d of April, 1849, at five o’clock in the

-morning, thirty-three persons looked upon as suspicious

-characters were arrested, the Dostoyevski

-brothers being among the number. The prisoners

-were carried to the citadel, and placed in solitary

-confinement in the gloomy casemates, which were

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span>

-haunted by the most terrible associations. They

-remained there eight months, with no distractions

-except the visits of the examining commissioners;

-finally, they were allowed the use of a few religious

-books. Feodor Mikhailovitch wrote once to

-his brother, who had been soon released through

-the want of sufficient evidence against him:

-“For five months I have lived upon my own substance;

-that is, upon my own brain alone….

-To think constantly, and receive no outside impression

-to renew and sustain thought, is wearing….

-I was as if placed under a receiver from

-which all the pure air was extracted….”</p>

-

-<p>On the 22d of December the prisoners were

-led out, without being informed of the sentence

-which had been pronounced upon them. There

-were now only 21, the others having been discharged.

-They were conducted to a square

-where a scaffold had been erected. The cold was

-intense; the criminals were ordered to remove all

-their clothing, except their shirts, and listen to

-the reading of the sentence, which would last for

-a half-hour. When the sheriff began to read,

-Dostoyevski said to the prisoner next him: “Is it

-possible that we are going to be executed?” The

-idea seemed to have occurred to him for the first

-time. His companion pointed to a cart, loaded

-with what appeared to be coffins covered over

-with a cloth. The last words of the sentence

-were: “They are condemned to death, and are

-to be shot.”</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span>

-The sheriff left the scaffold, and a priest mounted

-upon it with a cross in his hand, and exhorted the

-prisoners to confess. Only one responded to

-this exhortation; all the others kissed the cross.

-Petrachevski and two of the principal conspirators

-were bound to the pillar. The officer ordered

-the company of soldiers drawn up for the purpose

-to charge their weapons. As they were taking aim,

-a white flag was hoisted in front of them, when

-the twenty-one prisoners heard that the Emperor

-had commuted their penalty to exile in Siberia.

-The leaders were unbound; one of them, Grigoref,

-was struck with sudden insanity, and never recovered.</p>

-

-<p>Dostoyevski, on the contrary, has often assured

-me, as if he were really convinced of it, that

-he should inevitably have gone mad if he had

-not been removed by this and following disasters

-from the life he was leading. Before his

-imprisonment he was beset by imaginary maladies,

-nervous depression, and “mystic terrors,” which

-condition would certainly have brought about

-mental derangement, from which he was only

-saved by this sudden change in his way of life,

-and by the necessity of steeling himself against

-his overwhelming trials,—which may have been

-true, for it is said that imaginary evils are best

-cured by real ones; still, I cannot but think that

-there was some degree of pride in this affirmation.</p>

-

-<p>In each of his books he depicts a scene similar

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span>

-to what he himself experienced, and he has

-labored to make a perfect psychological study of

-the condemned prisoner who is about to die.

-You feel that these pages are the result of a

-nightmare, proceeding from some hidden recess of

-the author’s own brain.</p>

-

-<p>The imperial decree, which was less severe for

-him than for any of the rest, reduced his punishment

-to four years of hard labor, after which he

-was to serve as a common soldier, losing his rank

-among the nobles as well as all civil rights.</p>

-

-<p>The exiled prisoners started immediately in

-sledges for Siberia. At Tobolsk, after one night

-passed together, when they bade each other farewell,

-they were put in irons, their heads shaved,

-and they were then sent to their several destinations.

-It was at that temporary prison that they

-were visited by the wives of the revolutionists of

-December. These brave women had set a noble

-example. Belonging to the upper class, and

-accustomed to a life of luxury, they had renounced

-everything to follow their exiled husbands into

-Siberia, and for twenty-five years had haunted the

-prison gates. Learning now of the arrival of another

-set of refugees, they came to visit them,

-warned these young men of what was in store for

-them, and counselled them how best to support

-their hardships, offering to each of them all that

-they had to give, the Gospel.</p>

-

-<p>Dostoyevski accepted his, and throughout the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span>

-four years always kept it under his pillow. He

-read it every evening under the lamp in the

-dormitory, and taught others to read in it. After

-the hard day’s work, while his companions in

-chains were restoring their wasted energies in

-sleep, he obtained from his book a consolation

-more necessary still for a thinking man, a renewal

-of moral strength, and a support in bearing his

-trials. How can we imagine this intellectual

-man, with his delicate nervous organization, his

-overweening pride, his sensitive imagination,

-prone to exaggeration of every dreaded evil, condemned

-to the companionship of these low

-wretches in such a monotonous existence, forced

-to daily labor; and for the slightest negligence,

-or at the caprice of his keepers, threatened with a

-flogging by the soldiers! He was inscribed among

-the worst set of malefactors and political criminals,

-who were kept under military surveillance.</p>

-

-<p>They were employed in turning a grindstone

-for marble works, in demolishing old boats on

-the ice in winter, and other rough and useless

-labor.</p>

-

-<p>How well he has described the weariness of

-being forced to labor merely for the sake of being

-employed, feeling that his task is nothing but a

-gymnastic exercise. He has also said the severest

-trial of all, was never being allowed to be alone

-for a single moment for years. But the greatest

-torture of all for this writer, now at the height of

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span>

-his powers, incessantly haunted by images and

-ideas, was the impossibility of writing, of alleviating

-his lot by absorbing himself in some literary

-work. But he survived, and was strengthened and

-purified, and the personal history of this martyr

-can be read in his “Recollections of a Dead

-House,”<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[K]</a> which he wrote after he left the prison.

-How unjust is literary fame, and what a thing

-of chance it is! The name and work of Silvio

-Pellico are known throughout the civilized world.

-In France the book is one of the classics; and yet

-there, on the great highway of all fame and of all

-great thoughts, even the title of this tragic work

-of Dostoyevski’s was but yesterday quite unknown,—a

-book as superior to that of the Lombard

-prisoner, as the tales exceed his in horror.</p>

-

-<p>No work was ever more difficult to accomplish.

-Siberia, that mysterious land which was then only

-mentioned with extreme caution, must be freely

-described. It was, too, a former political prisoner

-who now undertook to walk over these burning

-coals and brave this cruel press-censure. He was

-successful; and he made us realize what exquisite

-refinement of suffering a man of the upper class,

-thrown amid such surroundings, was capable of

-enduring.</p>

-

-<p>He gives us the biography of such a man, who

-had been through many years of hard labor, the

-penalty of some small crime. This man, who is,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span>

-in reality, no other than Dostoyevski himself,

-occupies himself in psychological studies of these

-unfortunates, aiming constantly to show the divine

-spark always existing even in the most degraded.

-Many of them relate the story of their lives to

-him; with some he seeks to know nothing of

-their past, but contents himself with describing

-their moral natures in his broad, vague manner,

-which is also common to all the great Russian

-writers. These portraits, with their indistinct

-outlines, melting as into the grayness of the early

-dawn, recall Henner’s portraits when compared

-with those of Ingres. The language, too, which

-Dostoyevski purposely employs, of a popular type,

-is marvellously well fitted for his purpose.</p>

-

-<p>The greater part of these natures belong to a

-type of character which Dostoyevski seems

-peculiarly to enjoy analyzing; those natures

-which are subject to attacks of caprice, almost

-amounting to sudden or temporary insanity. In

-a romance of his, called “The Idiot,” he quotes an

-example of this kind, which he declares to be

-strictly true:—“Two peasants, of middle age

-and friends of long standing, arrived at an inn.

-Neither of them was at all intoxicated. They

-took their tea and ordered a bedroom, which they

-shared together. One of them had noticed that

-within the last few days his companion had worn

-a silver watch, which he never had seen him wear

-before. The man was no thief; he was an honest

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span>

-man, and, moreover, in very comfortable circumstances

-for a peasant. But this watch so struck

-his fancy that he conceived a most inordinate

-desire to possess it, which he could not repress.

-He seized a knife, and, as soon as his friend’s back

-was turned, he approached him noiselessly, raised

-his eyes to heaven, crossed himself, and devoutly

-murmured this prayer: ‘Lord, forgive me,

-through Jesus Christ!’ He then killed his friend

-with as much ease as he would a sheep, and took

-the watch.”</p>

-

-<p>Those persons who conceive a desire, when on

-the top of a high tower, to throw themselves into

-the abyss below, he says are often of a mild,

-peaceable, and quite ordinary type. Some natures

-apparently enjoy the anticipation of the

-horror they can inspire in others, and, in a fit of

-desperation, seem to court punishment as a

-solution of their condition of mind. Sometimes

-in these attacks of madness is mingled a vein of

-asceticism. Dostoyevski introduces an instance

-of this kind in “Crime and Punishment,” which

-illustrates the strange sense which the Russian

-peasant attaches to the idea of punishment, sought

-for itself, for its propitiatory <span class="lock">virtue:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“This prisoner was quite different from all the

-rest. He was a little pale thin man, about 60

-years of age. I was struck with his appearance

-the first time I saw him, there was so much calmness

-and repose about him. I particularly liked

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span>

-his eyes, which were clear and intelligent. I

-often talked with him, and have seldom met with

-so kindly a nature, so upright a soul. He was

-expiating in Siberia an unpardonable crime. In

-consequence of several conversions in his parish,

-a movement towards the old orthodoxy, the government,

-wishing to encourage these good tendencies,

-had an orthodox church built. This man,

-together with a few other fanatics, determined to

-‘resist for his faith’s sake,’ and set fire to the

-church. The instigators of the crime were all condemned

-to hard labor in Siberia. He had been a

-very successful tradesman at the head of a flourishing

-business. Leaving his wife and children at

-home, he accepted his sentence with firmness, in his

-blindness considering his punishment as a ‘witness

-to his faith.’ He was mild and gentle as a

-child, and one could not but wonder how he could

-have committed such a deed. I often conversed

-with him on matters of faith. He yielded up

-none of his convictions, but never in argument

-betrayed the least hatred or resentment; nor did

-I ever discover in him the least indication of

-pride or braggadocio. In the prison he was

-universally respected, and did not show a trace of

-vanity on this account. The prisoners called him

-‘our little uncle,’ and never disturbed him in

-any way. I could realize what sway he must

-have had over his companions in the faith.</p>

-

-<p>“In spite of the apparent courage with which

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span>

-he bore his fate, a secret constant pain, which he

-tried to hide from all eyes, seemed at times to

-consume him. We slept in the same dormitory.

-I waked one morning at four o’clock, and heard

-what sounded like stifled sobbing. The old man

-was sitting on the porcelain stove reading in a

-manuscript prayer-book. He was weeping bitterly,

-and I heard him murmur from time to

-time: ‘O Lord! do not forsake me! Lord,

-give me strength! My little children, my dearest

-little ones, we shall never see each other

-again!’ I felt such inexpressible pity for him!”</p>

-

-<p>I must also translate a terrible piece of realism,

-the death of Mikhailof: “I knew him but slightly;

-he was a young man about twenty-five years of

-age, tall, slender, and had a remarkably fine

-form. He belonged to the section in which the

-worst criminals were placed, and was always

-extremely reticent and seemed very sad and depressed.

-He had literally wasted away in prison.

-I remember that his eyes were very fine, and I

-know not why his image so often comes before

-me. He died in the afternoon of a fine, clear,

-frosty day. I remember how the sun shone

-obliquely through our greenish window-panes,

-thickly covered with frost. The bright shaft

-of sunlight shone directly upon this poor unfortunate,

-as he lay dying. Though he might have

-been unconscious, he had a hard struggle, the

-death agony lasting many hours. He had recognized

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span>

-no one since morning. We tried to relieve

-his suffering, which evidently was intense; he

-breathed with great difficulty, with a rattling

-sound, and his chest labored heavily. He threw

-off all his coverings and tore his shirt, as if the

-weight of it was insupportable. We went to his

-aid and took the shirt off. That emaciated body

-was a terrible sight, the legs and arms wasted to

-the bone, every rib visible like those of a skeleton.

-Only his chains and a little wooden cross remained

-upon him. His wasted feet might almost have

-escaped through the rings of the fetters.</p>

-

-<p>“For a half-hour before his death all sounds

-ceased in our dormitory, and no one spoke above

-a whisper, and all moved as noiselessly as possible.

-Finally his hand, wavering and uncertain, sought

-the little cross, and tried to tear it off, as if even

-that was too heavy a weight and was stifling him.

-They took it away, and ten minutes after he

-expired. They went to inform the guard, who

-came and looked indifferently upon the corpse,

-then went to call the health officer, who came

-immediately, approached the dead man with a

-rapid step which resounded in the silent chamber,

-and with a professional air of indifference,

-assumed for the occasion, felt his pulse, made a

-significant gesture as if to say that all was over,

-and went out. One of the prisoners suggested

-that the eyes should be closed, which was done

-by one of the others, who also, seeing the cross

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span>

-lying on the pillow, took it up, looked at it, and

-put it around Mikhailof’s neck; then he crossed

-himself. The face was already growing rigid, the

-mouth was half open, showing the handsome

-white teeth under the thin lips, which closely

-adhered to the gums. Finally, the second officer

-of the guard appeared in full uniform and helmet,

-followed by two soldiers. He slowly advanced,

-looking hesitatingly at the solemn circle of prisoners

-standing about him. When he drew near

-the body, he stopped short as if nailed to the

-spot. The spectacle of this wasted, naked form

-in irons evidently shocked him. He unfastened

-his helmet, took it off, which no one expected of

-him, and crossed himself reverentially. He was a

-gray-haired veteran officer, and a severe disciplinarian.

-One of the soldiers with him seemed

-much affected, and, pointing to the corpse, murmured

-as he left: ‘He, too, once had a mother!’

-These words, I remember, shot through me like

-an arrow…. They carried away the corpse,

-with the camp bed it lay upon; the straw

-rustled, the chains dragged clanking against the

-floor, breaking the general silence. We heard

-the second officer in the corridor sending some

-one for the blacksmith. The corpse must be

-unfettered….”</p>

-

-<p>This gives an example of Dostoyevski’s method,

-showing his persistence in giving all the minutiæ

-of every action. He shows us, how, sometimes,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span>

-among these tragic scenes, kind souls come to

-bring consolation to the exiles, as in the case of

-a widow who came daily to bring little gifts or a

-bit of news, or at least to smile upon the

-wretched creatures. “She could give but little,

-for she was very poor; but we prisoners felt that

-we had at least, close by the walls of our prison,

-one being wholly devoted to us,—and that was

-something.”</p>

-

-<p>On opening this book, the key-note from the

-very beginning has a tone so melancholy, so

-harrowing, that you wonder how long the author

-can continue in this vein, and how he can ever

-manage the gradation into another. But he is

-successful in this, as those will see who have the

-courage to go on as far as the chapter on corporal

-punishments, and the description of the hospital,

-to which the prisoners afterwards come to recover

-from the effects of these chastisements. It is

-impossible to conceive of sufferings more horrible

-than these, or more graphically portrayed.</p>

-

-<p>Nevertheless, Dostoyevski does not properly belong

-to the “natural school.” The difference is not

-easily explained, but there is a difference. Everything

-depends upon the master’s intention, which

-never deceives the reader. When the realistic

-writer only seeks to awake a morbid curiosity, we

-inwardly condemn him; but when it is evident

-that he is aiming to develop some moral idea, or

-impress a lesson the more strongly upon our

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span>

-minds, we may criticize the method, but we must

-sympathize with the author. His portrayals, even

-when disgusting to us, are ennobled, like the

-loathsome wound under the hands of the gentle

-Sister of Charity. This is the case with Dostoyevski.

-His object in writing was reform. With

-a cautious but pitiless hand, he has torn away

-the curtain which concealed this distant Siberian

-hell from the eyes of the Russians themselves.

-The “Recollections of a Dead House” gave the

-death-blow to the sentence of exile, as “Annals of

-a Sportsman” gave the signal for the abolition of

-serfdom. To-day I am thankful to say these

-repulsive scenes belong only to the history of the

-past; corporal punishment has been abolished, and

-the prisons in Siberia are regulated with as much

-humanity as with us. We can then pardon the

-tortures this author has inflicted upon us in his

-graphic recitals of these scenes of martyrdom.

-We must persevere and continue to the end, and

-we shall realize better than from a host of philosophical

-dissertations what things are possible in

-such a country, what has taken place there so

-recently, and how this writer could calmly relate

-such horrors without a single expression of revolt

-or astonishment. This reserved impartiality is, I

-know, partly his own peculiar style, and partly

-the result of the severe press-censure; but the

-fact that the writer can speak of these horrors as

-natural phenomena of social life, reminds us that

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">171</span>

-we are looking into a different world from ours,

-and must be prepared for all extremes of evil and

-good, barbarism, courage, and sacrifice. Those

-men who carried the Testament into the prison

-with them, those extreme souls are filled with the

-spirit of a Gospel which has passed through

-Byzantium, written for the ascetic and the martyr;

-their errors as well as their virtues are all derived

-from that same source. I almost despair of

-making this world intelligible to ours, which is

-haunted by such different images, moulded by

-such different hands.</p>

-

-<p>Dostoyevski has since said, many times, that the

-experience in Siberia was beneficial to him, that

-he had learned to love his brothers of the lower

-classes, and to discover nobleness even among the

-very worst criminals. “Destiny,” he said, “in

-treating me with the severity of a step-mother,

-became a true mother to me.”</p>

-

-<p>The last chapter of this work might be entitled:

-“A Resurrection.” In it are described, with rare

-skill, the sentiments of a prisoner as he approaches

-the time of his liberation. During the last few

-weeks, his hero has the privilege of obtaining a

-few books, and occasionally an odd number of a

-review. For ten years he had read nothing but

-his Gospel, had heard nothing of the outside

-world.</p>

-

-<p>In taking up the thread of life among his contemporaries,

-he experiences unusual sensations;

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</span>

-he enters into a new universe; he cannot explain

-many simple words and events; he asks himself,

-almost with terror, what giant strides his generation

-has made without him; these feelings must

-resemble those of a man who has been resuscitated.</p>

-

-<p>At last the solemn hour has come. He tenderly

-bids his companions farewell, feeling real regret

-at parting with them; he leaves a portion of his

-heart wherever he goes, even in a prison. He goes

-to the forge, his fetters fall, he is a free man!</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Three">III.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>The freedom which Dostoyevski entered into

-was, however, only a relative one. He entered a

-Siberian regiment as a common soldier. The new

-reign, two years after, in 1856, brought him pardon.

-At first he was promoted to the rank of officer, and

-his civil rights restored to him, and then authorized

-to send in his resignation. But it was a long time

-before he could obtain permission to leave the

-country, or to publish anything. At last, in 1859,

-after ten years of exile, he recrossed the Ural mountains

-and returned to a country which he found

-greatly changed, and at that moment palpitating

-with impatience and hope, on the eve of the Emancipation.

-He brought a companion with him from

-Siberia, the widow of one of his old comrades in the

-conspiracy of Petrachevski, whom he there met,

-fell in love with, and married. But, as in every

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span>

-phase of his life, this romantic marriage too was

-destined to be crossed by misfortune and ennobled

-by self-sacrifice. The young wife conceived a

-stronger attachment for another man, whom she

-threatened to join. For a whole year Dostoyevski’s

-letters prove that he was working to secure the

-happiness of his wife and his rival, writing constantly

-to his friends at St. Petersburg to help him

-to remove all obstacles to their union. “As for

-me,” he added, at the close of one of those letters,

-“God knows what I shall do! I shall either

-drown myself or take to drinking.”</p>

-

-<p>It was this page of his personal history which

-he reproduced in “The Degraded and Insulted,”

-the first of his romances which was translated into

-French, but not the best. The position of the

-confidant favoring a love affair which only

-brought despair for himself, was true to nature,

-for it was his own experience. Whether it was

-not skilfully presented, or whether we ourselves

-are more selfish by nature, I cannot say, but it is

-hard for us to accept such a situation, or not to

-see a ridiculous side to it. The general public

-cannot appreciate such subtleties. His characters

-are too melodramatic. On the very rare occasions

-when he draws his types from the upper classes,

-he always makes a failure, for he understands

-nothing of the complex and restrained passions of

-souls hardened by intercourse with the world.

-Natasha’s lover, the giddy creature for whom she

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span>

-has sacrificed everything, is not much better. I

-know that we must not expect lovers to be reasonable

-beings, and that it is more philosophical to admire

-the power of love, irrespectively of its object;

-but the general novel-reader is not supposed to be

-a philosopher; he would like the adored hero to

-be interesting at least, and would prefer even a

-rascal to an idiot. In France, at all events, we

-cannot endorse such a spectacle, although it is both

-true to nature and consoling; an exquisite type of

-woman devoted to a fool. Our gallantry, however,

-forces us to admit that a man of genius may be permitted

-to adore a foolish woman, but that is all we

-are willing to concede. Dostoyevski himself has

-surpassed the most severe criticisms of this work

-in his article on the “Degraded and Insulted”:

-“I realize that many of the characters in my book

-are puppets rather than men.”</p>

-

-<p>With these exceptions, we must acknowledge

-that we recognize the hand of a master in the two

-female characters. Natasha is the very incarnation

-of intense, jealous passion; she speaks and

-acts like a victim of love in a Greek tragedy.

-Nelly, a charming and pathetic little creature,

-resembles one of Dickens’ beautiful child characters.</p>

-

-<p>After his return to St. Petersburg, in 1865,

-Dostoyevski became absorbed in journalism. He

-conceived an unfortunate passion for this form of

-literature, and devoted to it the best years of his

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</span>

-life. He edited two journals to defend the ideas

-which he had adopted. I defy any one to express

-these ideas in any practical language. He took a

-position between the liberal and the <dfn>Slavophile</dfn>

-parties, inclining more toward the latter. It was

-a patriotic form of religion, but somewhat mysterious,

-with no precise dogmas, and lending itself to

-no rational explanation. One must either accept

-or reject it altogether. The great error of the

-<dfn>Slavophile</dfn> party has been to have filled so many

-pages of paper for twenty-five years, in arguing

-out a mere sentiment. Whoever questions their

-arguments is considered incapable of understanding

-them; while those who do not enter into the

-question at all are despised, and taxed with profound

-ignorance.</p>

-

-<p>At this time of transition, during the first

-years following the Emancipation, men’s ideas, too

-long repressed, were in a state of vertigo, of

-chaotic confusion. Some were buoyed up with

-the wildest hopes; others felt the bitterness of

-disenchantment, and many disappointed enthusiasts

-embraced Nihilism, which was taken up at

-this time by romance writers as well as by politicians.

-Dostoyevski abandoned his purely artistic

-ideals, withdrew from the influence of Gogol, and

-consecrated himself to the study of this new

-doctrine.</p>

-

-<p>From 1865, our author experienced a series of

-unfortunate years. His second journal was unsuccessful,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">176</span>

-failed, and he was crushed under the

-burden of heavy debts incurred in the enterprise.

-He afterwards lost his wife, as related above, and

-also his brother Alexis, his associate in his literary

-labors. He fled to escape his creditors, and

-dragged out a miserable existence in Germany

-and Italy. Attacks of epilepsy interrupted his

-work, and he only returned home from time to

-time to solicit advance pay from his editors. All

-that he saw in his travels seems to have made

-no impression upon him, with the exception of

-an execution he witnessed at Lyons. This spectacle

-was retained in his memory, to be described

-in detail by characters of his future romances.</p>

-

-<p>In spite of his illness and other troubles, he

-wrote at this time three of his longest novels,—“Crime

-et Châtiment,” “l’Idiot,” and “Les

-Possédés.” “Crime and Punishment” was

-written when he was at the height of his powers.

-It has been translated, and can therefore be

-criticised. Men of science who enjoy the study of

-the human soul, will read with interest the profoundest

-psychological study which has been

-written since Macbeth. The curious of a certain

-type will find in this book the entertaining mode

-of torture which is to their taste; but I think it

-will terrify the greater number of readers, and

-that very many will have no desire to finish it.

-We generally read a novel for pleasure, and not

-for punishment. This book has a powerful effect

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span>

-upon women, and upon all impressionable natures.

-The writer’s graphic scenes of terror are too

-much for a nervous organization. I have myself

-seen in Russia numerous examples of the infallible

-effect of this romance upon the mind. It can

-be urged that the Slav temperament is unusually

-susceptible, but I have seen the same impression

-made upon Frenchmen. Hoffmann, Edgar Poe,

-Baudelaire, all writers of this type, are mere

-mystics in comparison with Dostoyevski. In

-their fictions you feel that they are only pursuing

-a literary or artistic venture; but in “Crime and

-Punishment,” you are impressed with the fact

-that the author is as much horrified as you are

-yourself by the character that he has drawn from

-the tissue of his own brain.</p>

-

-<p>The subject is very simple. A man conceives

-the idea of committing a crime; he matures it,

-commits the deed, defends himself for some time

-from being arrested, and finally gives himself up

-to the expiation of it. For once, this Russian

-artist has adopted the European idea of unity of

-action; the drama, purely psychological, is made

-up of the combat between the man and his own

-project. The accessory characters and facts are

-of no consequence, except in regard to their influence

-upon the criminal’s plans. The first part,

-in which are described the birth and growth of

-the criminal idea, is written with consummate

-skill and a truth and subtlety of analysis beyond

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span>

-all praise. The student Raskolnikof, a

-nihilist in the true sense of the word, intelligent,

-unprincipled, unscrupulous, reduced to extreme

-poverty, dreams of a happier condition.

-On returning home from going to pawn a jewel

-at an old pawnbroker’s shop, this vague thought

-crosses his brain without his attaching much

-importance to <span class="lock">it:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“An intelligent man who had that old woman’s

-money could accomplish anything he liked; it is

-only necessary to get rid of the useless, hateful

-old hag.”</p>

-

-<p>This was but one of those fleeting thoughts

-which cross the brain like a nightmare, and which

-only assume a distinct form through the assent of

-the will. This idea becomes fixed in the man’s

-brain, growing and increasing on every page, until

-he is perfectly possessed by it. Every hard experience

-of his outward life appears to him to

-bear some relation to his project; and by a mysterious

-power of reasoning, to work into his plan

-and urge him on to the crime. The influence

-exercised upon this man is brought out into

-such distinct relief that it seems to us itself

-like a living actor in the drama, guiding the

-criminal’s hand to the murderous weapon. The

-horrible deed is accomplished; and the unfortunate

-man wrestles with the recollection of it as he did

-with the original design. The relations of the

-world to the murderer are all changed, through

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span>

-the irreparable fact of his having suppressed a

-human life. Everything takes on a new physiognomy

-and a new meaning to him, excluding from

-him the possibility of feeling and reasoning like

-other people, or of finding his own place in life.

-His whole soul is metamorphosed and in constant

-discord with the life around him. This is not

-remorse in the true sense of the word. Dostoyevski

-exerts himself to distinguish and explain the

-difference. His hero will feel no remorse until

-the day of expiation; but it is a complex and perverse

-feeling which possesses him; the vexation

-at having derived no satisfaction from an act so

-successfully carried out; the revolting against

-the unexpected moral consequences of that act;

-the shame of finding himself so weak and helpless;

-for the foundation of Raskolnikof’s character is

-pride. Only one single interest in life is left to

-him: to deceive and elude the police. He seeks

-their company, their friendship, by an attraction

-analogous to that which draws us to the extreme

-edge of a dizzy precipice; the murderer keeps up

-interminable interviews with his friends at the

-police office, and even leads on the conversation

-to that point, when a single word would betray

-him; every moment we fear he will utter the

-word; but he escapes and continues the terrible

-game as if it were a pleasure.</p>

-

-<p>The magistrate Porphyre has guessed the

-student’s secret; he plays with him like a tiger

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">180</span>

-with its prey, sure of his game. Then Raskolnikof

-knows he is discovered; and through several

-chapters a long fantastic dialogue is kept up between

-the two adversaries; a double dialogue,

-that of the lips, which smile and wilfully ignore;

-and that of the eyes which know and betray all.

-At last when the author has tortured us sufficiently

-in this way, he introduces the salutary influence

-which is to break down the culprit’s pride

-and reconcile him to the expiation of his crime.

-Raskolnikof loves a poor street-walker. The

-author’s clairvoyance divines that even the sentiment

-of love was destined in him to be modified,

-like every other, to be changed into a dull despair.</p>

-

-<p>Sonia is a humble creature, who has sold herself

-to escape starvation, and is almost unconscious

-of her dishonor, enduring it as a malady she cannot

-prevent. She wears her ignominy as a cross, with

-pious resignation. She is attached to the only

-man who has not treated her with contempt; she

-sees that he is tortured by some secret, and tries

-to draw it from him. After a long struggle the

-avowal is made, but not in words. In a mute

-interview, which is tragic in the extreme, Sonia

-reads the terrible truth in her friend’s eyes. The

-poor girl is stunned for a moment, but recovers

-herself quickly. She knows the remedy; her

-stricken heart cries <span class="lock">out:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“We must suffer, and suffer together … we

-must pray and atone … let us go to prison!…”</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span>

-Thus are we led back to Dostoyevski’s favorite

-idea, to the Russian’s fundamental conception of

-Christianity: the efficacy of atonement, of suffering,

-and its being the only solution of all difficulties.</p>

-

-<p>To express the singular relations between these

-two beings, that solemn, pathetic bond, so foreign

-to every pre-conceived idea of love, we should

-make use of the word <em>compassion</em> in the sense in

-which Bossuet used it: the suffering with and

-through another being. When Raskolnikof falls

-at the feet of the girl who supports her parents

-by her shame, she, the despised of all, is terrified

-at his self-abasement, and begs him to rise. He

-then utters a phrase which expresses the combination

-of all the books we are studying: “It is

-not only before thee that I prostrate myself, but

-before all suffering humanity.” Let us here observe

-that our author has never yet once succeeded

-in representing love in any form apart

-from these subtleties, or the simple natural

-attraction of two hearts toward each other. He

-portrays only extreme cases; either that mystic

-state of sympathy and self-sacrifice for a distressed

-fellow-creature, of utter devotion, apart

-from any selfish desire: or the mad, bestial cruelty

-of a perverted nature. The lovers he represents

-are not made of flesh and blood, but of nerves

-and tears. Yet this realist evokes only harrowing

-<em>thoughts</em>, never disagreeable <em>images</em>. I

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span>

-defy any one to quote a single line suggestive of

-anything sensual, or a single instance where the

-woman is represented in the light of a temptress.

-His love scenes are absolutely chaste, and yet he

-seems to be incapable of portraying any creation

-between an angel and a beast.</p>

-

-<p>You can imagine what the <i lang="fr">dénouement</i> will be.

-The nihilist, half conquered, prowls for some time

-around the police office; and finally he acknowledges

-his guilt, and is condemned. Sonia teaches

-him to pray, and the wretched creatures go to

-Siberia. Dostoyevski gladly seizes the opportunity

-to rewrite, as a sort of epilogue, a chapter

-of his “Recollections of a Dead House.”</p>

-

-<p>Apart from the principal characters of this

-book, there are secondary characters and scenes

-which are impossible to forget, such is the impression

-they leave upon you after one reading.

-There is one scene where the murderer, always

-mysteriously attracted back to the fatal spot, tries

-to recall every detail of his crime; he even goes

-to pull the cracked bell of the apartment, in order

-to recall more vividly by this sound the impression

-of the terrible moment. Detached fragments of

-this work seem to lose their signification, and if

-you skip a few pages the whole thing becomes

-unintelligible. One may feel impatient with the

-author’s prolixity, but if he omits anything the

-magnetic current is interrupted. This I have

-been told by those who have tried the experiment.

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span>

-The reader requires as much of an effort

-of concentration and memory as for a philosophical

-treatise. This is a pleasure or a penalty

-according to the reader. Besides, a translation,

-however good, cannot possibly render the continuous

-smooth course of the original text, or give

-its under-currents of meaning.</p>

-

-<p>We cannot but pity the man who has written

-such a book, so evidently drawn from the substance

-of his own brain. To understand how he

-was led so to write, we must note what he once

-said to a friend in regard to his mental condition,

-after one of his severe attacks of illness:—“The

-state of dejection into which they plunge me

-makes me feel in this way: I seem to be like

-a criminal who has committed some terrible deed

-which weighs upon his conscience.” The review

-which published Dostoyevski’s novels often gave

-but a few pages at a time, followed by a brief

-note of apology. Every one understood that

-Feodor Mikhailovitch had had one of his severe

-attacks of illness.</p>

-

-<p>“Crime and Punishment” established the

-author’s popularity. Its appearance was the great

-literary event of the year 1866. All Russia was

-made ill by it, so to speak. When the book first

-appeared, a Moscow student murdered a pawnbroker

-in almost precisely the way described by

-the novelist; and I firmly believe that many subsequent

-attempts, analogous to this, may have

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span>

-been attributable to the influence of this book.

-Dostoyevski’s intention, of course, was undoubtedly

-to dissuade men from such acts by representing

-their terrible consequences; but he did

-not foresee that the intensity of his portrayals

-might act in an opposite sense, and tempt the

-demon of imitation existing in a certain type of

-brain. I therefore hesitate to pronounce upon the

-moral value of the work. Our writers may say

-that I am over-scrupulous. They may not admit

-that the moral value of a work of art is a thing

-to be taken into account in regard to the appreciation

-of it as a work of art. But does anything

-exist in this world wholly independent of a moral

-value?</p>

-

-<p>The Russian authors claim that they aim to

-nourish souls, and the greatest offence you could

-offer them would be to accuse them of making

-a collection of purposeless words. Dostoyevski’s

-novels will be judged either as useful or harmful

-according as one decides for or against the

-morality of public executions and sentences. It

-is an open question. For myself, I should decide

-against them.</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>In this work Dostoyevski’s talent had reached

-its culminating point. In “The Idiot,” “The

-Possessed,” and especially in “The Karamazof

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">185</span>

-Brothers,” many parts are intolerably tedious.

-The plot amounts to nothing but a framework

-upon which to hang all the author’s favorite

-theories, and display every type of his eccentric

-fancy. The book is nearly filled with conversations

-between two disputants, whose ideas are

-continually clashing, each trying to worm out the

-other’s secrets with the most cunning art, and

-expose some secret intrigue either of crime or of

-love. These interviews recall the terrible trials

-under Ivan the Terrible, or Peter the First; there

-is the same combination of terror, duplicity, and

-obstinacy still existing in the race. Sometimes

-the disputants attempt to penetrate the labyrinth

-of each other’s religious or philosophical beliefs.

-They vie with each other in the use of arguments,

-now fine-spun, now eccentric, like a pair of

-scholastic doctors of the Sorbonne. Some of

-these conversations recall Hamlet’s dialogues with

-his mother, Ophelia, or Polonius. For more than

-two hundred years critics have discussed the

-question whether Hamlet was mad when he thus

-spoke. When that question has been settled, the

-decision may be applied to Dostoyevski’s heroes.

-It has been said more than once that this writer

-and the heroes of his creation are simply madmen.

-They are mad in the same degree that Hamlet

-was. For my own part, I consider this statement

-neither an intelligent nor reasonable one. Such

-an opinion must be held only by those very short-sighted

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">186</span>

-people who refuse to admit the existence

-of states of mind different from those they know

-from personal experience.</p>

-

-<p>In studying Dostoyevski and his work, we must

-keep in mind one of his favorite phrases, which he

-often repeats: “Russia is a freak of nature.”

-A strange anomaly exists in some of these lunatics

-he describes. They are absorbed in the contemplation

-of their own minds, intent upon self-analysis.

-If the author leads them into action,

-they throw themselves into it impetuously, obedient

-to the irregular impulses of their nerves,

-giving free rein to their unbridled wills, which are

-uncontrollable as are elementary forces. Observe

-how minutely he describes every physical peculiarity.

-The condition of the body explains the

-perturbation of the soul. Whenever a character is

-introduced to us, he is never by any chance sitting

-comfortably by a table or engaged in any occupation.

-“He was extended upon a divan, with

-his eyes closed, although he was not asleep….

-He walked along the street without having any

-idea where he was…. He was motionless,

-his eyes absently fixed upon space.”…</p>

-

-<p>These people never eat; they drink tea through

-the night. Many are given to strong drink.

-They rarely sleep, and when they do they dream.

-There are more dreams described in Dostoyevski’s

-works than in the whole of our classic literature.

-They are nearly always in a “feverish condition.”

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">187</span>

-Whenever any of these creatures come into relations

-with their fellow-beings, you meet with such

-expression as these in almost every line:—“He

-shuddered … he sprang up with a bound …

-his features contracted … he became ashy pale

-… his lower lip trembled … his teeth chattered….”

-Sometimes there are long pauses in

-a conversation, when the disputants look fixedly

-into each other’s eyes.</p>

-

-<p>The writer’s most elaborate creation, and evidently

-his favorite one, the analysis of which fills

-a large volume, is “The Idiot.” Feodor Mikhailovitch

-has described himself in this character,

-in the way that many authors do: certainly not as

-he was, but what he wished to be considered. In

-the first place, “The Idiot” is subject to epilepsy;

-his attacks furnish a most convenient and effective

-climax for all emotional scenes. The author

-evidently greatly enjoys describing these; he

-assures us that the whole being is bathed in an

-ecstasy, for a few seconds preceding the attack.

-We are quite willing to take his word for this.

-The nickname “Idiot” becomes fixed upon the

-hero, Prince Myshkin, because his malady produced

-such an effect upon his faculties in childhood

-that he has always been eccentric. Starting

-with this pathological idea, this fictitious character

-is persistently developed with an astonishing consistency.</p>

-

-<p>Dostoyevski at first had the idea of producing

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">188</span>

-another Don Quixote, the ideal redresser of

-wrongs. Occasionally you feel the impress of this

-idea; but soon the author is carried away by his

-own creation; his aim is loftier, he creates in the

-soul in which he sees himself mirrored the most

-sublime, Christ-like qualities, he makes a desperate

-effort to elevate the character to the moral

-proportions of a saint. Imagine, if you can, an exceptional

-being, possessing the mind and reasoning

-faculties of a man, while his heart retains the simplicity

-of a child, who, in short, can personify the

-gospel precept: “Be as little children.” Such a

-character is Prince Myshkin, the “Idiot.” The

-nervous disease has, by a happy chance, produced

-this phenomenon; it has destroyed that part of

-the intellect which is the seat of all our defects:

-irony, arrogance, selfishness, avarice; while the

-noble qualities are largely developed. On leaving

-the hospital, this extraordinary young man is

-thrown into the current of ordinary life. It would

-seem that he must perish in such an atmosphere,

-not having the weapons of defence that others are

-armed with. Not so; his simple straightforwardness

-is stronger than any of the malicious tricks

-practised upon him; it carries him through every

-difficulty, saves him from every snare. His innocent

-wisdom has the last word in all discussions;

-he utters phrases proceeding from a profound

-asceticism, such as this, addressed to a dying man:—“Pass

-on before us, and forgive us our happiness.”—Elsewhere

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">189</span>

-he says: “I fear I am unworthy

-of my sufferings—” and many similar

-expressions. He lives among a set of usurers,

-liars, and rascals. These people treat him as they

-would an idiot, but respect and venerate him;

-they feel his influence, and become better men.

-The women also laugh at the idiot at first, but

-they all end by falling desperately in love with

-him; while he responds to their adoration only by

-a tender pity, a compassionate love, the only sort

-that Dostoyevski permits his favorite characters

-to indulge in.</p>

-

-<p>The writer constantly returns to his ruling

-idea, the supremacy of the suffering and poor in

-spirit. Why do all the Russian idealists, without

-exception, cry out against prosperity in life?

-What I believe to be the secret, unconscious solution

-of this unreasonable feeling is this: they feel

-the force of that fundamental truth, that the life

-of a living, acting, thinking being must perforce

-be a mixture of good and evil. Whoever acts,

-creates and destroys at the same time, makes for

-himself a place in the world at the expense of

-some other person or thing. Therefore, if one

-neither acts nor thinks, this fatality must naturally

-be suppressed,—this production of evil as well as

-of good; and, as the evil he does has more effect

-than the good, he takes refuge in a non-existence.

-So these writers admire and sanctify the idiot,—the

-neutral, inactive being. It is true, he does no

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">190</span>

-good, but then he can do no evil: therefore,

-from the point of view of pessimists, in their

-conception of the world, he is the most admirable.</p>

-

-<p>As I read, I am overwhelmed by the number of

-these moral giants and monsters around me; but

-I cannot pass by one of the most striking of them,

-Rogozhin, the merchant, a very forcibly drawn figure.

-The twenty pages descriptive of the workings

-of passion in the heart of this man are written

-by the hand of a great master. Passion, in this

-strange nature, has developed to such intensity,

-and bestows upon the man such a gift of fascination,

-that the woman he loves accepts, in spite of

-herself, this savage whom she abhors, and moreover

-with the certainty that he will murder her.

-So he does; and, throughout an entire night,

-beside the bed where lies the body of his strangled

-victim, he calmly discusses philosophy with his

-friend. There is nothing melodramatic about this

-scene. It is simple as possible; to the author, at

-least, it appears quite natural; and this is why it

-makes us shiver with terror. I must also mention,—there

-are so few such touches in the work—the

-little drunken money-lender who “offers a prayer

-every night for the repose of the soul of Mme. du

-Barry.” Do not suppose that Dostoyevski means

-to enliven us with anything approaching a joke.

-Through the lips of this character, he seriously

-indulges in compassionate sympathy for the martyrdom

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">191</span>

-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">endured by Mme. du Barry during the</span><br>

-long passage of the cart through the streets and

-the struggle with the executioner. He evidently

-has always before him that half-hour of the 22d

-December, 1849.</p>

-

-<p>“Les Possédés” is a description of the revolutionary

-world of the Nihilists. This title is a

-slight modification of the Russian title, “The

-Demons,” which is too obscure. All Dostoyevski’s

-characters might be said to be <em>possessed</em>, as

-the word was understood in the Middle Ages. A

-strange, irresistible will urges them on, in spite of

-themselves, to commit atrocious deeds. Natasha,

-in “The Degraded and Insulted,” is an example;

-as also Raskolnikof, in “Crime and Punishment,”

-and Rogozhin, in “The Idiot,” besides all the conspirators

-who commit murder or suicide without

-any definite aim or motive. The history of the origin

-of “Les Possédés” is rather curious. Dostoyevski

-was always opposed to Turgenef in politics

-and even more seriously through literary jealousy.

-At this time, Tolstoï had not yet established his

-reputation; and the other two were the only competitors

-in the field ready to dispute empire over the

-imaginations of their countrymen. The inevitable

-rivalry between them amounted, on Dostoyevski’s

-part, to hatred. He was always the wronged

-party; and into this volume he most unjustifiably

-introduced his brother author under the

-guise of a ridiculous actor. But his secret, unpardonable

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">192</span>

-grievance was that Turgenef was the

-first to take up and treat the subject of Nihilism,

-introducing it into his celebrated novel, “Fathers

-and Sons.” Since 1861 Nihilism had, however,

-developed from a metaphysical doctrine into practical

-action. Dostoyevski wrote “Les Possédés”

-out of revenge; three years after, Turgenef accepted

-the challenge, by publishing “Virgin

-Soil.” The theme of both romances is the

-same—a revolutionary conspiracy in a small

-provincial town.</p>

-

-<p>The prize in this tilting match must be adjudged

-to the dramatic psychologist rather than

-to the gentle artist who created “Virgin Soil.”

-Dostoyevski lays bare the inmost recesses of

-those intricate natures more completely; the

-scene of Shatof’s murder is rendered with a diabolical

-power which Turgenef was utterly incapable

-of. Still, it must be admitted that Bazarof,

-the cynic in “Fathers and Sons,” was the imperishable

-prototype of all Nihilists who came after

-him. Dostoyevski felt this, and keenly regretted

-it. His book, however, may be called a prophecy

-as well as an explanation. It was truly prophetic;

-for in 1871, when anarchy was still in

-the process of fermentation, he looked deeply

-enough into the future to relate facts precisely

-analogous to what we have since seen developed.

-I attended the trials of the Nihilists and can testify

-that many of the men and the conspiracies

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">193</span>

-that were judged at that time were exact reproductions

-of those the novelist had previously

-created.</p>

-

-<p>The book is also an explanation; for the world

-will understand from it the true face of the problem,

-which is even to-day imperfectly understood,

-because its solution is sought only in politics.

-Dostoyevski presents to us the various classes of

-minds from which the sect is recruited. First,

-the simple unbeliever, who devotes all his capacity

-for religious fervor to the service of

-atheism.—The author illustrates this type by

-the following anecdote (in every Russian’s

-bedroom stands a little altar, with its holy

-images of the saints): “Lieutenant Erkel, having

-thrown down the images and broken them in

-pieces with an axe, arranged upon the tablets

-three atheistic books; then he lighted some

-church tapers and placed one before each volume.”—Secondly,

-there is the weak class, who

-feel the magnetism of the strong, and blindly follow

-their chiefs. Then the logical pessimists,

-among whom the engineer Kirilof is an example.

-These are inclined toward suicide, through moral

-inability to live. Their party takes advantage of

-these yielding natures; for a man without principles,

-who decides to die because he can settle

-upon no principles, is one who will easily lend

-himself to whatever is exacted of him. Finally,

-the worst class: those who will not hesitate to

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">194</span>

-commit murder, as a protest against the order of

-the world, which they do not comprehend, and in

-order to make a singular and novel use of their

-will power, to enjoy inspiring terror in others,

-and satisfy the animal cravings within them.</p>

-

-<p>The greatest merit of this confusing book,

-which is badly constructed, often ridiculous, and

-loaded with doubtful theories, is that it gives us,

-after all, a clear idea of what constitutes the real

-power of the Nihilists. This does not lie in the

-doctrines in themselves, nor in the power of

-organization of this sect, which is certainly overrated;

-it lies simply and only in the character of

-a few men. Dostoyevski thinks, and the revelations

-brought to light in the trials have justified

-his opinion, that the famous organization may be

-reduced to only a few local circles, badly organized;

-and that all these phantoms, central committees

-and executive committees, exist only in

-the imaginations of the adepts. On the other

-hand, he brings into bold relief those iron wills,

-those souls of frozen steel, in striking contrast

-with the timidity and irresolution of the legal

-authorities. Between these two poles he shows

-us the mass of weak natures, attracted toward

-that pole which is most strongly magnetized. It

-is, indeed, the force of character of these resolute

-men, and not their ideas, which has acted upon the

-Russian people; and here the piercing eye of the

-philosopher is keener than that of Russia herself.

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">195</span>

-Men become less and less exacting in regard to

-ideas, and more and more skeptical as to the way

-of carrying them out. Those who believe in the

-absolute virtue of doctrines are becoming every

-day more rare; but what is seductive to them is

-force of character, even if its energy be applied to

-an evil cause,—because it promises to be a guide,

-and guarantees a strong leadership, the very first

-requisition of any association of men. Man is

-the born slave of every strong will which he

-comes in contact with.</p>

-

-<p>The last period of Dostoyevski’s life, after the

-publication of this book, and his return to Russia,

-was somewhat easier and less melancholy. He

-had married an intelligent and courageous woman,

-who helped him out of his pecuniary embarrassments.

-His popularity increased, while the success

-of his books freed him from debt. Taking up

-journalism again, he established a paper in St.

-Petersburg, and finally an organ peculiarly his

-own, which he conducted quite by himself. It

-was called the “Note-book of an Author” (Carnet

-d’un Ecrivain), and it appeared—whenever

-he chose. It did not at all resemble what we call

-a journal or review, but might have been called

-something similar to the Delphic oracle. Into

-this encyclopædia, the principal work of his latter

-years, he poured all the political, social, and literary

-ideas which beset him, and related anecdotes

-and reminiscences of his life. I have already

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">196</span>

-stated what his politics were; but the obscure

-productions of this period can neither be analyzed

-nor controverted. This periodical, which first appeared

-just before the war with Turkey, reflected

-the states of enthusiasm and discouragement of

-Russia through those years of feverish patriotism.

-Everything could be found in this summary of

-dreams, in which every question relating to human

-life was mooted. Only one thing was wanting: a

-solid basis of doctrine that the mind could take

-hold of. There were occasionally some touching

-episodes and artistic bits of composition recalling

-the great novelist. The “Note-book of an

-Author” was in fact a success, although the public

-now really cared less for the ideas than for the

-person, and were, besides, so accustomed to and

-fond of the sound of his voice. His last book,

-“The Karamazof Brothers,” was so interminably

-long that very few Russians had patience to read

-it to the end. But it contains some scenes equal

-to his best of early days, especially that of the

-death of the child. The French novel grows ever

-smaller, is easily slipped into a travelling-bag, to

-while away a few hours on a journey; but the

-heavy Russian romance reigns long upon the

-family table in country homes, through the long

-winter evenings. I well remember seeing Dostoyevski

-entering a friend’s house, on the day his last

-novel appeared, with the heavy volumes under

-his arm; and his saying with pride: “They

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">197</span>

-weigh, at least, five pounds”;—a fact he should

-rather have regretted than have taken pride in.</p>

-

-<p>I should say here that the three books which

-best show the different phases of his talent are:

-“Poor People,” “Recollections of a Dead House,”

-and “Crime and Punishment.” As to the criticism

-of his works as a whole, every one will have

-to use his own judgment. We must look upon

-Dostoyevski as a phenomenon of another world,

-an abnormal and mighty monster, quite unique

-as to originality and intensity. In spite of his

-genius, you feel that he lacks both moderation and

-breadth. The world is not composed of shadows

-and tears alone. Even in Russia there is light

-and gayety, there are flowers and pleasures.

-Dostoyevski has never seen but one half of life;

-for he has never written any books except either

-sad or terrible ones. He is like a traveller who

-has seen the whole universe, and described what

-he has seen, but who has never travelled except by

-night. He is an incomparable psychologist when

-he studies souls either blackened by crime or

-wounded by sorrow; and as skilful a dramatist,

-but limited to scenes of terror and of misery. No

-one has carried realism to such an extreme point

-as he. He depicts real life, but soars above reality

-in a superhuman effort toward some new consummation

-of the Gospel. He possesses a double

-nature, from whatever side you view him: the

-heart of a Sister of Charity and the spirit of a

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">198</span>

-Grand Inquisitor. I think of him as belonging to

-another age, to the time of great sacrifices and

-intense devotion, hesitating between a St. Vincent

-de Paul and a Laubardemont, preceding the first

-in his search for destitute children, lingering behind

-the other, unwilling to lose the last crackling

-of the funeral pile.</p>

-

-<p>According as we are affected by particular examples

-of his talent, we call him a philosopher,

-an apostle, a lunatic, a consoler of the afflicted, or

-the torturer of a tranquil mind; the Jeremiah of

-the prison or the Shakespeare of the mad-house.

-Every one of these appellations belongs to him;

-but no one of them, taken alone, will suffice.

-What he himself said of his race, in “Crime and

-Punishment,” we may say of <span class="lock">him:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“The soul of the Russian is great, like his vast

-country; but terribly prone to everything fantastic

-and excessive; it is a real misfortune to be

-great without any special genius.”</p>

-

-<p>I subscribe to this; but also to the opinion that

-I have heard expressed upon this book by one of

-our masters of psychology: “This author opens

-up unknown horizons, and discloses souls different

-from ours; he reveals to us a new world of

-beings, with stronger natures, both for good and

-evil, having stronger wills and greater endurance.”</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">199</span></p>

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Five">V.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>I must apologize for returning to personal

-recollections in order to make this sketch complete,

-and must therefore recall the man himself,

-and give some idea of his extraordinary influence.

-By chance I met Feodor Mikhailovitch many times

-during the last three years of his life. The impression

-he made upon you was as profound as was

-that of the most striking scenes of his romances;

-if you had once seen him, you would never forget

-him. His appearance exactly corresponded with

-his life and its work. He was short and spare,

-and seemed to be all nerves; worn and haggard

-at the age of sixty. He was, in fact, prematurely

-old, and looked ill, with his long beard and blond

-hair, but, in spite of all, as vivacious as ever.

-His face was of the true peasant type of Moscow:

-the flat nose; the small, twinkling eyes, full of

-fire and tenderness; the broad forehead, all

-seamed with wrinkles, and with many indentations

-and protuberances; the sunken temples,

-and, most noticeable of all, a mouth of inexpressible

-sadness. I never saw in any human face

-such an expression of accumulated sorrow—as if

-every trial of soul and body had left its imprint

-upon it. You could read in his face better than

-in any book his recollections of the dead house,

-and his long experience of terror, mistrust, and

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">200</span>

-martyrdom. His eyelids, lips, and every fibre of

-his face quivered with nervous contractions. His

-features would grow fierce with anger when excited

-over some subject of discussion, and at

-another time would wear the gentle expression

-of sadness you so often see in the saints on the

-ancient Slavonic altar-pieces, so venerated by the

-Slav nation. The man’s nature was wholly plebeian,

-with the curious mixture of roughness,

-sagacity, and mildness of the Russian peasant,

-together with something incongruous—possibly

-an effect of the concentration of thought illumining

-this beggar’s mask. At first he rather repelled

-you, before his strange magnetism had begun to

-act upon you. He was generally taciturn, but

-when he spoke it was in a low tone, slow and

-deliberate, growing gradually more earnest, and

-defending his opinions without regard to any one.

-While sustaining his favorite theme of the superiority

-of the Russian lower classes, he often

-observed to ladies in the fashionable society he

-was drawn into, “You cannot pretend to compare

-with the most inferior peasant.”</p>

-

-<p>There was not much opportunity for literary

-discussion with Dostoyevski. He would stop you

-with one word of proud disdain. “We possess

-the best qualities of every other people, and our

-own peculiar ones in addition; therefore we can

-understand you, but you are not capable of understanding

-us.”</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">201</span>

-May I be forgiven, but I shall now attempt to

-prove the contrary. In spite of his assertion, his

-views on European life were laughably ingenuous.

-I remember well one of his tirades against

-the city of Paris, one evening when the inspiration

-seized him. He spoke of it with fiery indignation,

-as Jonah would have spoken concerning

-Nineveh. I remember the very <span class="lock">words:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“Some night a prophet will appear in the ‘Café

-Anglais’! He will write on the wall the three

-words of fire; that will be the signal for the end

-of the old world, and Paris will be destroyed in

-fire and blood, in all its pride, with its theatres

-and its ‘Café Anglais.’” In the seer’s imagination,

-this inoffensive establishment represented

-the heart of Sodom, a den of enticing and infernal

-orgies, which he thought it his duty to

-call down curses upon. He enlarged long and

-eloquently upon this theme.</p>

-

-<p>He often reminded me of J. J. Rousseau. That

-pedantic genius has often come before me since I

-have studied the character and works of this distrustful

-philanthropist of Moscow. Both entertained

-the same notions, had the same combination

-of roughness and ideality, of sensibility and

-ill-humor, as well as the same deep sympathy for

-humanity which compels the attention of their

-contemporaries. After Rousseau, no man had

-greater literary defects than Dostoyevski: boundless

-self-love, over-sensitiveness, jealousy, and

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">202</span>

-spite, none knew better how to win the hearts of

-his fellow-men by showing them how they filled

-his heart. This writer, so forbidding in society,

-was the idol of a large proportion of the young

-men of Russia, who awaited with feverish impatience

-the appearance of his novels, as well as his

-periodical; who consulted him as they would a

-spiritual adviser and director, and sought his help

-in all moral questions.</p>

-

-<p>The most important work of the latter years of

-his life was to reply to the scores of letters which

-brought to him the echo of strangers’ grievances.

-One must have lived in Russia during those

-troublous times, to understand the ascendancy he

-obtained over the world of “Poor People” in

-their search for a new ideal, as well as over the

-class just above the very poor. The influence of

-Turgenef’s literary and artistic work was most

-unjustly eclipsed; Tolstoï with his philosophy

-influenced only the most intellectual minds, but

-Dostoyevski won all hearts and obtained a most

-powerful sway over them. In 1880, at the time

-of the inauguration of the monument to Pushkin,

-when all the Russian authors assembled in full

-force to celebrate the fête, Dostoyevski’s popularity

-entirely obliterated that of all his rivals. The

-audience sobbed when he addressed them. They

-bore him in triumph in their arms; the students

-crowded upon the platform and took possession

-of it, that they might see and be near him and

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">203</span>

-touch him; and one of these young enthusiasts

-swooned from emotion when he had succeeded in

-reaching him. The current of feeling ran so high

-that had he lived a few years longer he would

-have found himself in a very difficult position.

-In the official hierarchy of the empire there is no

-place for plants of such exuberant growth; no

-field for the influence of a Goethe or a Voltaire.

-In spite of his consistency in politics and his perfect

-orthodoxy, the old exile would have seriously

-risked being compromised by his blind

-partisans, and even considered dangerous. They

-only realized on the day of his death how dangerous

-he was.</p>

-

-<p>Although I regret to finish this sombre sketch

-with a funereal scene, I cannot refrain from

-speaking of the apotheosis accorded to him, and

-the impression it made upon me, for it will show,

-more than any extended criticism, what this man

-was to his native country. On the 10th of February,

-1881, some friends of Dostoyevski told me

-that he had died the preceding night, after a short

-illness. We went to his house to attend the service

-which the Russian Church holds twice a day

-over the remains of the dead, from the time of

-the decease until the burial. He lived in a populous

-quarter of St. Petersburg. We found an

-immense crowd before the door and on the staircase,

-and with great difficulty threaded our way

-to the study, where the great author lay. It was

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">204</span>

-a small apartment, strewn with papers and pamphlets,

-and crowded by the visitors, who filed

-around the coffin, which rested upon a little table

-at one end of the room. I saw that face for the

-first time at peace, utterly free from pain. He

-seemed to be happily dreaming under the profusion

-of roses, which quickly disappeared, divided

-among the crowd as relics. The crowd increased

-every moment, all the women were in tears, the

-men boisterously pushing and crowding, eager to

-see his face. The temperature of the room became

-suffocating, being closed quite tightly from

-the air, as Russian rooms are in winter. Suddenly

-the air seemed to be exhausted, all the candles

-went out, and only the little flickering lamp

-before the holy images remained. Just at this

-moment, in the darkness, there was a terrible rush

-from the staircase, bringing a new influx of people.

-It seemed as if the whole crowd outside

-were mounting the stairs; the first comers were

-hurled against the coffin, which tottered—the

-poor widow, crowded, with her two children,

-between the table and the wall, threw herself

-over the body of her husband, and held it,

-screaming with terror. For a few moments we

-thought the corpse would be crushed under foot

-by the crowd. It oscillated, pressed upon by this

-mass of humanity, by the ardent and brutal

-affection of the rushing throngs below. At this

-moment there came before me a rapid vision of

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">205</span>

-the author’s whole work, with all the cruelty, terror,

-and tenderness he tried to portray in it.

-This throng of strangers seemed to assume

-names and forms quite familiar to me. Fancy

-had sketched them in books, but now they stood

-living before me, taking part in a similar scene of

-horror. His characters seemed to have come to

-torment him, even after death, to bring him their

-rough homage, even to the profanation of the

-object of it. He would have appreciated just

-such exaggerated homage.</p>

-

-<p>Two days after, this vision was repeated more

-completely, and on a larger scale. The 12th

-February, 1881, was a memorable day in Russia.

-Except on the occasion of the death of Skobelef,

-there were never seen in St. Petersburg such

-significant and imposing obsequies. From an

-early hour the whole population were standing

-in the street, one hundred thousand persons

-along the line where the procession was to pass.

-More than twenty thousand persons followed it.

-The government was alarmed, fearing some serious

-disturbance. They thought the corpse might

-be seized, and they had to repress the students

-who wanted to have the chains of the Siberian

-prisoner carried behind the funeral car. The

-timorous officials insisted upon preventing all

-risk of a revolutionary uprising. This was at

-the time of the most important of the Nihilist conspiracies,

-only one month previous to that one

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">206</span>

-which cost the Tsar his life, during the time

-of that experiment of the liberal leader, Loris

-Melikof. Russia was at this moment in a state

-of fermentation, and the most trifling incident

-might produce an explosion. Loris thought it

-wiser to associate himself with the popular sentiment

-than to try to crush it out. He was right;

-the wicked designs of a few men were absorbed

-in the general grief. Through one of those unexpected

-combinations, of which Russia alone possesses

-the secret, all parties, all adversaries, all

-the disjointed fragments of the empire, now came

-together, through the death of this man, in a

-general communion of grief and enthusiasm.

-Whoever witnessed this funeral procession saw

-this country of contrasts illustrated in all its

-phases; the priests who chanted the service, the

-students of the universities, the school children,

-the young female students from the medical

-schools, the Nihilists, easily recognized by their

-peculiarities of dress and bearing, the men wearing

-a plaid over the shoulder, the spectacles and

-closely cut hair of the women; all the literary

-and scientific societies, deputations from every

-part of the empire, old Muscovite merchants,

-peasants, lackeys, and beggars. In the church

-waited the official dignitaries, the minister of

-public instruction, and the young princes of the

-imperial family.</p>

-

-<p>A forest of banners, crosses, and wreaths were

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">207</span>

-borne by that army, which was made up of such

-various elements, and produced in the spectator

-such a medley of impressions. To me everything

-that passed seemed an illustration of the author’s

-work, formed of elements both formidable and

-restless, with all their folly and grandeur. In

-the first rank, and most numerous, were those he

-loved best, the ‘poor people,’ the ‘degraded,’

-the ‘insulted,’ the ‘possessed’ even, glad to take

-part in leading the remains of their advocate over

-this path of glory;—but accompanying and surrounding

-all were the uncertainty and confusion

-of the national life, as he had painted it, filled

-with all the vague hopes that he had stirred.</p>

-

-<p>The crowd pressed into the little church, decked

-with flowers, and into the cemetery around it.

-Then there was a Babel of words. Before the

-altar the high-priest discoursed of God and of

-eternity, while others took the body to carry it

-to the grave, and discoursed of glory. Official

-orators, students, <dfn>Slavophile</dfn> and liberal committees,

-men of letters and poets,—every one came

-there to set forth his own ideal, to claim the

-departed spirit for his cause, and parade his own

-ambition over this tomb.</p>

-

-<p>While the winter wind bore away all this eloquence

-with the rustling leaves and the snow-dust

-raised by the spades of the grave-diggers, I made

-an effort to make, in my own mind, a fair estimate

-of the man’s moral worth and of his life’s work.

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">208</span>

-I felt as much perplexed as when I had to pronounce

-judgment upon his literary merit. He had

-sympathized with the people, and awakened sympathy,

-and even piety, in them. But what excessive

-ideas and what moral convulsions he engendered!

-He had given his heart to the cause, it is

-true; but unaccompanied by reason, that inseparable

-companion of the heart. I reviewed the

-whole course of that strange life;—born in a hospital,

-to a youth of poverty, illness, and trial,

-exiled to Siberia, then sent to the barracks, ever

-pursued by poverty and distress, always crushed,

-and yet ennobled by a labor which was his salvation.

-I now felt that this persecuted life should

-not be judged by our standards, which may not

-apply to his peculiar case, and that I must leave

-him to Him who judges all hearts according to

-their true merits. When I bent over his grave,

-covered with laurel wreaths, the farewell words

-which came to my lips were those of the student

-to the poor abandoned girl, and which express

-Dostoyevski’s entire creed: “It is not only before

-thee that I prostrate myself, but before all

-suffering humanity!”</p>

-

-

-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[J]</a>

- An English translation was published in 1886, under the

-title, “Injury and Insult.”</p>

-

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[K]</a>

- Published also under the title “Buried Alive.”</p>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">209</span>

-<h3>

-CHAPTER <abbr title="Six">VI.</abbr><br>

-<br>

-<span class="allsmcap">NIHILISM AND MYSTICISM.—TOLSTOÏ.</span>

-</h3>

-</div>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">In</span> Turgenef’s artistic work, illustrative of the

-national characteristics, we have witnessed the

-birth of the Russian romance, and how it has naturally

-tended toward the psychological classification

-of a few general types; or, perhaps, more

-justly, toward the contemplation of them, when

-we consider with what serenity this artist’s moral

-investigations were conducted. Dostoyevski has

-shown a spirit quite contrary to this, uncultured

-and yet subtile, sympathetic, tortured by tragic

-visions, morbidly preoccupied by exceptional and

-perverted types. The first of these two writers

-was constantly coquetting, so to speak, with liberal

-doctrines: the second was a <dfn>Slavophile</dfn> of the

-most extreme type.</p>

-

-<p>In Tolstoï, other surprises are reserved for us.

-Younger by ten years than his predecessors, he

-hardly felt the influences of 1848. Attached to

-no particular school, totally indifferent to all political

-parties, despising them in fact, this solitary,

-meditative nobleman acknowledges no master and

-no sect; he is himself a spontaneous phenomenon.

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">210</span>

-His first great novel was contemporary with

-“Fathers and Sons”, but between the two great

-novelists there is a deep abyss. The one still

-made use of the traditions of the past, while he

-acknowledged the supremacy of Western Europe,

-and appropriated to himself and his work what he

-learned of us; the other broke off wholly with the

-past and with foreign bondage; he is a personification

-of the New Russia, feeling its way out of

-the darkness, impatient of any tendency toward

-the adoption of our tastes and ideas, and often incomprehensible

-to us. Let us not expect Russia

-to do what she is incapable of, to restrict herself

-within certain limits, to concentrate her attention

-upon one point, or bring her conception of life

-down to one doctrine. Her literary productions

-must reflect the moral chaos which she is passing

-through. Tolstoï comes to her aid. More truly

-than any other man, and more completely than

-any other, he is the translator and propagator of

-that condition of the Russian mind which is called

-Nihilism. To seek to know how far he has accomplished

-this, would be to turn around constantly

-in the same circle. This writer fills the double

-function of the mirror which reflects the light

-and sends it back increased tenfold in intensity,

-producing fire. In the religious confessions which

-he has lately written, the novelist, changed into a

-theologian, gives us, in a few lines, the whole history

-of his soul’s <span class="lock">experience:—</span></p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">211</span>

-“I have lived in this world fifty-five years;

-with the exception of the fourteen or fifteen years

-of childhood, I have lived thirty-five years a Nihilist

-in the true sense of the word,—not a socialist

-or a revolutionist according to the perverted sense

-acquired by usage, but a true Nihilist—that is,

-subject to no faith or creed whatever.”</p>

-

-<p>This long delayed confession was quite unnecessary;

-the man’s entire work published it,

-although the dreadful word is not once expressed

-by him. Critics have called Turgenef the father

-of Nihilism because he had given a name to the

-malady, and described a few cases of it. One

-might as well affirm the cholera to have been introduced

-by the first physician who gave the

-diagnosis of it, instead of by the first person attacked

-by the scourge. Turgenef discovered the

-evil, and studied it objectively; Tolstoï suffered

-from it from the first day of its appearance, without

-having, at first, a very clear consciousness of

-his condition; his tortured soul cries out on every

-page he has written, to express the agony which

-weighs down so many other souls of his own race.

-If the most interesting books are those which

-faithfully picture the existence of a fraction of

-humanity at a given moment of history, this age

-has produced nothing more remarkable, in regard

-to its literary quality, than his work. I do not

-hesitate in giving my opinion that this writer,

-when considered merely as a novelist, is one of

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">212</span>

-the greatest masters in literature our century has

-produced. It may be asked how we can venture

-to express ourselves so strongly of a still living

-contemporary, whose overcoat and beard are

-familiar objects in every-day life, who dines, reads

-the papers, receives money from his publishers and

-invests it, who does, in short, just what other men

-do. How can we thus elevate a man before his

-body has turned to ashes, and his name become

-transfigured by the accumulated respect of several

-generations? As for me, I cannot help seeing

-this man as great as he will appear after death, or

-subscribing voluntarily to Flaubert’s exclamation,

-as he read Turgenef’s translation of Tolstoï, and

-cried in a voice of thunder, while he stamped

-heavily upon the <span class="lock">ground:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“He is a second Shakespeare!”</p>

-

-<p>Tolstoï’s troubled, vacillating mind, obscured

-by the mists of Nihilism, is by a singular and not

-infrequent contradiction endowed with an unparalleled

-lucidity and penetration for the scientific

-study of the phenomena of life. He has a clear,

-analytical comprehension of everything upon the

-earth’s surface, of man’s internal life as well as of

-his exterior nature: first of tangible realities,

-then the play of his passions, his most volatile

-motives to action, the slightest disturbances of

-his conscience. This author might be said to

-possess the skill of an English chemist with the

-soul of a Hindu Buddhist. Whoever will undertake

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">213</span>

-to account for that strange combination will

-be capable of explaining Russia herself.</p>

-

-<p>Tolstoï maintains a certain simplicity of nature

-in the society of his fellow-beings which seems to

-be impossible to the writers of our country; he

-observes, listens, takes in whatever he sees and

-hears, and for all time, with an exactness which

-we cannot but admire. Not content with describing

-the distinctive features of the general physiognomy

-of society, he resolves them into their

-original elements with the most assiduous care;

-always eager to know how and wherefore an act

-is produced; pursuing the original thought behind

-the visible act, he does not rest until he has laid it

-bare, tearing it from the heart with all its secret

-roots and fibres. Unfortunately, his curiosity will

-not let him stop here. Of those phenomena which

-offer him such a free field when he studies them

-by themselves, he wishes to know the origin, and

-to go back to the most remote and inaccessible

-causes which produced them. Then his clear

-vision grows dim, the intrepid explorer loses his

-foothold and falls into the abyss of philosophical

-contradictions. Within himself, and all around

-him he feels nothing but chaos and darkness; to

-fill this void and illuminate the darkness, the

-characters through which he speaks have recourse

-to the unsatisfactory explanations of metaphysics,

-and, finally, irritated by these pedantic sophistries,

-they suddenly steal away, and escape from

-their own explanations.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">214</span>

-Gradually, as Tolstoï advances in life and in

-his work, he is more and more engulfed in doubt;

-he lavishes his coldest irony upon those children

-of his fancy who try to believe and to discover

-and apply a consistent system of morality. But

-under this apparent coldness you feel that his

-heart sobs out a longing for what he cannot find,

-and thirsts for things eternal. Finally, weary of

-doubt and of search, convinced that all the calculations

-of reason end only in mortifying failure,

-fascinated by the mysticism which had long lain

-in wait for his unsatisfied soul, the Nihilist suddenly

-throws himself at the feet of a Deity,—and

-of what a Deity we shall see hereafter.</p>

-

-<p>In finishing this chapter, I must speak of the

-singular phase into which the writer’s mind has

-fallen of late. I hope to do this with all the reserve

-due to a living man, and all due respect for a

-sincere conviction. There is nothing to me more

-curious than his statement of the actual condition

-of his own soul. It is a picture of the crisis

-which the Russian conscience is now passing

-through, seen in full sunlight, foreshortened, and

-upon a lofty height. This thinker is the perfect

-type of a multitude of minds, as well as their

-guide; he tries to say what these minds confusedly

-feel.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">215</span></p>

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="One">I.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>Leo Nikolaievitch (Tolstoï) was born in the

-year 1828. The course of his external life has

-offered nothing of interest to the lovers of

-romance, being quite the same as that of Russian

-gentlemen in general. In his father’s house in

-the country, and afterwards at the University of

-Kazan, he received the usual education from foreign

-masters which gives to the cultivated classes

-in Russia their cosmopolitan turn of mind. He

-then entered the army and spent several years in

-the Caucasus in a regiment of artillery, and was

-afterwards transferred at his request to Sebastopol.

-He went through the famous siege in the

-Crimean War, which he has illustrated by three

-striking sketches: “Sebastopol in December, in

-May, and in August.” Resigning his position

-when peace was declared, Count Tolstoï first

-travelled extensively, then settled at St. Petersburg

-and Moscow, living in the society of his own

-class. He studied society and the court as he

-had studied the war—with that serious attention

-which tears away the masks from all faces and

-reads the inmost heart. After a few winters of

-fashionable life, he left the capital, partly, it is

-said, to escape from the different literary circles

-which were anxious to claim him among their

-votaries. In 1860, he married and retired to his

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">216</span>

-ancestral estate, near Tula, where he has remained

-almost constantly for twenty-five years.

-The whole history of his own life is hardly disguised

-in the autobiography he wrote, entitled,

-“Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth.” The evolution

-of his inward experience is further carried

-out in the two great novels, “War and Peace”

-and “Anna Karenina,” and ends, as might have

-been foreseen, with the theological and moral

-essays which have for some years quite absorbed

-his intellectual activity.</p>

-

-<p>I believe the author’s first composition, while

-he was an officer in the army of the Caucasus,

-must have been the novelette published later

-under the title, “The Cossacks.” This is the

-least systematic of all his works, and is perhaps

-the one which best betrays the precocious originality

-of his mind, and his remarkable power of

-seeing and representing truth. This book marks

-a date in literature: the definite rupture of Russian

-poetry with Byronism and romanticism in

-the very heart of their former reign. The influence

-of Byron was so strong that the prejudiced

-eyes of the poets saw the Orient in which they

-lived through their poetical fancy, which transfigured

-both scenery and men. Attracted like so

-many other writers toward this region, Tolstoï,

-or, rather, Olenin, the hero of the Cossacks (I

-believe them to be one and the same), leaves

-Moscow one beautiful evening, after a farewell

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">217</span>

-supper with his young friends. Weary of civilization,

-he throws off his habitual thoughts as he

-would a worn-out garment; his <dfn>troïka</dfn> bears him

-away to a strange country; he longs for a primitive

-life, new sensations, new interests.</p>

-

-<p>Our traveller installs himself in one of the little

-Cossack settlements on the river Terek; he adopts

-the life of his new friends, takes part in their

-expeditions and hunts; an old mountaineer, who

-somewhat recalls Fenimore Cooper’s “Leatherstocking,”

-undertakes to be his guide. Olenin

-quite naturally falls in love with the lovely

-Marianna, daughter of his host. Tolstoï will

-now show us the Orient in a new light, in the

-mirror of truth. For the lyric visions of his

-predecessors he substitutes a philosophical view

-of men and things. From the very first this

-acute observer understood how puerile it is to

-lend to these creatures of instinct our refinement

-of thought and feeling, our theatrical way

-of representing passion. The dramatic interest

-of his tale consists in the fatal want of mutual

-understanding that must, perforce, exist between

-the heart of a civilized being and that of a wild,

-savage creature, and the total impossibility of two

-souls of such different calibre blending in a

-mutual passion. Olenin tries in vain to cultivate

-simplicity of feeling. Because he dons a

-Circassian cap, he cannot at the same time

-change his nature and become primitive. His

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">218</span>

-love cannot separate itself from all the intellectual

-complications which our literary education

-lends to this passion. He <span class="lock">says:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“What there is terrible and at the same time

-interesting in my condition is that I feel that I

-understand Marianna and that she never will be

-able to understand me. Not that she is inferior

-to me,—quite the contrary; but it is impossible

-for her to understand me. She is happy; she is

-natural; she is like Nature itself, equable, tranquil,

-happy in herself.”</p>

-

-<p>The character of this little Asiatic, strange and

-wild as a young doe, is beautifully drawn. I

-appeal to those who are familiar with the East

-and have proved the falsity of those Oriental

-types invented by European literature. They

-will find in the “The Cossacks,” a surprising exposure

-of the falsity of that other moral world.

-Tolstoï has brought this country before us by

-his vivid and picturesque descriptions of its natural

-features. The little idyl serves as a pretext

-for magnificent descriptions of the Caucasus;

-steppe, forest, and mountain stand before us as

-vividly as the characters which inhabit them.

-The grand voices of Nature join in with and

-support the human voices, as an orchestra leads

-and sustains a chorus. The author, absorbed as

-he was afterwards in the study of the human soul,

-never again expressed such a profound sympathy

-with nature as in this work. At this time Tolstoï

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">219</span>

-was inclined to be both pantheist and pessimist,

-vacillating between the two. “Trois Morts,” a

-fragment of his, contains the substance of this

-<span class="lock">philosophy:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“The happiest man, and the best, is he who

-thinks the least and who lives the simplest life

-and dies the simplest death. Accordingly, the

-peasant is better than the lord, the tree is better

-than the peasant, and the death of an oak-tree is

-a greater calamity to the world than the death of

-an old princess.”</p>

-

-<p>This is Rousseau’s doctrine exaggerated: the

-man who thinks is not only a depraved animal

-but an inferior plant. But Pantheism is another

-attempt at a rational explanation of the universe:

-Nihilism will soon replace it. This monster has

-already devoured the inmost soul of the man,

-without his even being conscious of it. It is easy

-to be convinced of this when we read his “Childhood,

-Boyhood, and Youth.” It is the journal of

-the gradual awakening of an intelligence to life;

-it lays before us the whole secret of the formation

-of Tolstoï’s moral character. The author subjects

-his own conscience to that penetrating, inexorable

-analysis, which later he will use upon society; he

-tries his hand upon himself first of all. It is a

-singular book, lengthy, and sometimes trivial;

-Dickens is rapid and sketchy in comparison with

-him. In relating the course of a most ordinary

-journey from the country into Moscow, he counts

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">220</span>

-every turn of the wheels, notes every passing

-peasant, every guide-post. But this fastidious

-observance of details, applied to trivial facts, becomes

-a wonderful instrument when applied to

-human nature and to psychological researches. It

-throws light upon the man’s own inner conscience,

-without regard to his self-love; he sees himself as

-he is, and lays bare his soul with all its petty

-vanities, and the ingratitude and mistrust of an

-ill-humored child. We shall recognize this same

-child in the principal characters of his great

-novels, with its nature quite unchanged. I will

-quote two passages which show us the very foundation

-of Nihilism in the brain of a lad of <span class="lock">sixteen:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“Of all philosophical doctrines, the one which

-attracted me most strongly was skepticism; for a

-time it brought me to a condition verging upon

-madness. I would imagine that nothing whatever

-existed in the world except myself; that all

-objects were only illusions, evoked by myself just

-at the moment I gave attention to them, and

-which vanished the moment I ceased to think of

-them…. There were times when, possessed by

-this idea, I was brought into such a bewildered

-state that I would turn quickly around and look

-behind me, hoping to be able to pierce through

-the chaos which lay beyond me. My enfeebled

-mind could not penetrate through the impenetrable,

-and would lose by degrees in this wearisome

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">221</span>

-struggle the certainties which for the sake

-of my own happiness, I ought never to have

-sought. I reaped nothing from all this intellectual

-effort but an activity of mind which weakened

-my will-power, and a habit of incessant

-moral analysis which robbed every sensation of

-its freshness and warped my judgment on every

-subject….”</p>

-

-<p>Such a cry might have been uttered by a disciple

-of Schelling. But listen to what follows from the

-heart of a Russian, who speaks for his countrymen

-as well as <span class="lock">himself:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“When I remember how young I was, and the

-state of mind I was in, I realize perfectly how the

-most atrocious crimes might be committed without

-reason or a desire to injure any one, but, so to

-speak, from a sort of curiosity or an unconscious

-necessity of action. There are times when the

-future appears to a man so dark that he fears to

-look into it; and he totally suspends the exercise

-of his own reason within himself, and tries to persuade

-himself that there is no future and that

-there has been no past. At such moments, when

-the mind no longer controls the will, when the

-material instincts are the only springs of life

-left to us,—I can understand how an inexperienced

-child can, without hesitation or fear, and

-with a smile of curiosity, set fire to his own house,

-in which all those he loves best—father, mother,

-and brothers—are sleeping. Under the influence

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">222</span>

-of this temporary eclipse of the mind, which I

-might call a moment of aberration or distraction,—a

-young peasant lad of sixteen stands looking

-at the shining blade of an axe just sharpened,

-which lies under the bench upon which his old

-father has fallen asleep: suddenly he brandishes

-the axe, and finds himself looking with stupid

-curiosity, upon the stream of blood under the

-bench which is flowing from the aged head he has

-just cleft. In this condition of mind, a man likes

-to lean over a precipice and think: ‘What if I

-should throw myself over head first!’ or to put a

-loaded pistol to his forehead and think: ‘Suppose

-I should pull the trigger!’ or when he sees a

-person of dignity and consequence surrounded by

-the universal respect of all, and suddenly feels

-impelled to go up to him and take him by the

-nose, saying: ‘Come along, old fellow!’”</p>

-

-<p>This is pure childishness, you will say! So

-it would be in our steadier brains and more

-active lives, rarely disturbed by these attacks of

-nightmare. Turgenef has touched upon this

-national malady of his fellow-countrymen in his

-last tale, “Despair,” as well as Dostoyevski in

-many of his. There are several cases in “Recollections

-of a Dead House,” identical with those

-described by Tolstoï, although the two authors’

-treatment of this theme are so unlike. The word

-in their language which expresses this condition is

-quite untranslatable. <em>Despair</em> approaches it nearest;

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">223</span>

-but the condition is a mixture also of fatalism,

-barbarism, asceticism, and other qualities, or want

-of them. It may describe, perhaps, Hamlet’s

-mental malady or attack of madness, at the

-moment he ran his sword through Polonius, father

-of his Ophelia. It seems to be a sort of horrible

-fascination which belongs to cold countries, to a

-climate of extremes, where they learn to endure

-everything better than an ordinary fate, and prefer

-annihilation to moderation.</p>

-

-<p>Poor Russia! a tempest-tossed sea-gull, hovering

-over an abyss!</p>

-

-<p>Nihilist and pessimist,—are not these synonymous

-words, and must they not both exist in the

-same person? From this time, all Tolstoï’s productions

-would argue this to be the fact. A few

-short tales are a prelude to his two great novels,

-which we must now make a study of, as to them

-he devoted his highest powers and concentrated

-upon them his profoundest thought. His talent

-heretofore had produced but fragmentary compositions

-and sketches.</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>“War and Peace” is a picture of Russian

-society during the great Napoleonic wars, from

-1805 to 1815. We question whether this complicated

-work can be properly called a novel. “War

-and Peace” is a summary of the author’s observations

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">224</span>

-of human life in general. The interminable

-series of episodes, portraits, and reflections which

-Tolstoï presents to us are introduced through a

-few fictitious characters; but the real hero of this

-epic is Russia herself, passing through her desperate

-struggle against the foreign invader. The real

-characters, Alexander, Napoleon, Kutuzof, Speranski,

-occupy nearly as much space as the imaginary

-ones; the simple and rather slack thread of

-romance serves to bind together the various chapters

-on history, politics, philosophy, heaped pell-mell

-into this polygraph of the Russian world.

-Imagine Victor Hugo’s “Les Misérables” being

-re-written by Dickens in his untiring, exhaustless

-manner, then re-constructed by the cold,

-searching pen of Stendhal, and you may possibly

-form an idea of the general arrangement and

-execution of the work, and of that curious union

-of epic grandeur and infinitesimal analytical

-detail. I try to fancy M. Meissonier painting a

-panorama; I doubt if he could do it, but if he

-could his twofold talent would illustrate the

-double character of Tolstoï’s work.</p>

-

-<p>The pleasure to be derived from it resembles

-that from mountain-climbing; the way is often

-rough and wild, the path, as you ascend, difficult

-to find, effort and fatigue are indispensable; but

-when you reach the summit and look around you

-the reward is great. Magnificent vistas stretch

-beneath you; he who has never accomplished the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">225</span>

-ascent will never know the true face of the country,

-the course of its rivers or the relative situation

-of its towns. A stranger, therefore, who

-would understand Russia of the nineteenth century,

-must read Tolstoï; and whoever would undertake

-to write a history of that country would utterly

-fail in his task if he neglected to consult this

-exhaustless repository of the national life. Those

-who have a passion for the study of history will

-not, perhaps, grow impatient over this mass of

-characters and succession of trivial incidents with

-which the work is loaded down. Will it be the

-same with those who seek only amusement in a

-work of fiction? For these, Tolstoï will break up

-all previous habits. This incorrigible analyst is

-either ignorant of or disdains the very first method

-of procedure employed by all our writers; we

-expect our novelist to select out his character or

-event, and separate it from the surrounding chaos

-of beings and objects, making a special study of

-the object of his choice. The Russian, ruled by

-the sentiment of universal dependence, is never

-willing to cut the thousand ties which bind men,

-actions, thoughts, to the rest of the universe; he

-never forgets the natural mutual dependence of

-all things. Imagine the Latin and the Slav before

-a telescope. The first arranges it to suit himself;

-that is, he voluntarily foreshortens his range of

-vision, to make more distinct what he sees, and

-diminish the extent of it; the second requires the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">226</span>

-full power of the instrument, enlarges his horizon,

-and sees a confused picture, for the sake of seeing

-farther.</p>

-

-<p>In a passage in “Anna Karenina,” Tolstoï well

-defines the contrast between two such natures,

-and the mutual attraction they exert upon each

-other. Levin, the dreamer, meets one of his

-friends, who is of a methodical turn of mind.</p>

-

-<p>“Levin imagined that Katavasof’s clearness of

-conception came from the poverty and narrowness

-of his nature; Katavasof thought that Levin’s

-incoherency of ideas arose from the want of a

-well disciplined mind; but the clearness of Katavasof

-pleased Levin, and the natural richness of

-an undisciplined mind in the latter was agreeable

-to the other.”</p>

-

-<p>These lines sum up all the grounds of complaint

-that the Russians have to reproach us with

-in our literature, and those we have against

-theirs; which differences explain the pleasure

-the two races find in an interchange of their

-literary productions.</p>

-

-<p>It is easy to predict what impressions all readers

-of “War and Peace” and “Anna Karenina”

-will receive. I have seen the same effect invariably

-produced upon all who have read those

-books. At first, for some time, the reader will

-hardly find his bearings; not knowing whither he

-is being led, he will soon grow weary of the task

-that lies before him. But little by little he will

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">227</span>

-be drawn on, captivated by the complex action of

-all these characters, among whom he will find himself,

-as well as some of his friends, and will become

-most anxious to unravel the secret of their destinies.

-On closing the book, he feels a sense of

-regret, as if parting with a family with which he

-has been for years on terms of familiar intercourse.

-He has passed through the experience

-of the traveller thrown into the novelty of new

-society and surroundings; he feels annoyance

-and fatigue at first, then curiosity, and finally

-has formed deeply rooted attachments.</p>

-

-<p>What seems to me the distinction between the

-classic author and a conscientious painter of life as

-it is, like Tolstoï, is this: a book is like a drawing-room

-filled with strangers; the first type of

-author voluntarily presents you to this company

-at once, and unveils to you the thousand intertwining

-combinations, incidents, and intrigues

-going on there; with the second you must go

-forward and present yourself, find out for yourself

-the persons of mark, the various relations and

-sentiments of the entire circle, live, in fact, in the

-midst of this fictitious company, just as you have

-lived in society, among real people. To be able

-to judge of the respective merit of the two

-methods, we must interrogate one of the fundamental

-laws of our being. Is there any pleasure

-worth having which does not cost some little

-trouble? Do we not prefer what we have acquired

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">228</span>

-by an effort all our own? Let us reflect

-upon this. Whatever may be our individual

-preferences in regard to intellectual pleasure, I

-think we can agree on one point: in the old,

-well worn paths of literature, mediocrity may be

-tolerated; but when an author strikes out in a

-new path we cannot tolerate a partial success; he

-must write dramas equal to Shakespeare, and

-romances as good as Tolstoï’s, to give us a true

-picture of life as it is. This we have in “War

-and Peace,” and the question of its success has

-been decided in the author’s favor. When I visit

-with him the soldiers in camp, the court, and

-court society, which has hardly changed in the

-last half-century, and see how he lays bare the

-hearts of men, I cry out at every page I read:

-“How true that is!” As we go on, our curiosity

-changes into astonishment, astonishment into

-admiration, before this inexorable judge, who

-brings every human action before his tribunal,

-and forces from every heart its secrets. We feel

-as if drawn on with the current of a tranquil,

-never-ending stream, the stream of human life,

-carrying with it the hearts of men, with all their

-agitated and complicated movements and emotions.</p>

-

-<p>War is one of the social phenomena which has

-strongly attracted our author and philosopher.

-He is present at the Council of Generals and at

-the soldiers’ bivouac; he studies the moral condition

-of each; he understands the orders, and why

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">229</span>

-they should be obeyed. He presents to us the

-whole physiognomy of the Russian army. A

-minute description which he gives of a disorderly

-retreat is second only to Schiller’s “Camp of

-Wallenstein.” He describes the first engagement,

-the first cannon-shot, the fall of the first

-soldier, the agony of that long-dreaded moment.</p>

-

-<p>In the course of these volumes the imperial

-battles are portrayed; Austerlitz, Friedland, Borodino.

-Tolstoï talks of war like a man who has

-taken part in it; he knows that a battle is never

-witnessed by the participants. The soldier, officer,

-or general which the writer introduces never

-sees but a single point of the combat; but by the

-way in which a few men fight, think, talk, and

-die on that spot, we understand the entire action,

-and know on what side the victory will be.</p>

-

-<p>When Tolstoï wishes to give us a general description

-of anything, he ingeniously makes use of

-some artifice; as, for example, in the engagement

-at Schöngraben he introduces an aide-de-camp who

-carries an order the whole length of the line of battle.

-Then the corps commanders bring in their

-reports, not of what has taken place, but of what

-naturally ought to have taken place. How is

-this? “The colonel had so strongly desired to

-execute this movement, he so regretted not having

-been able to carry it out, that it seemed to

-him that all must have taken place as he wished.

-Perhaps it really had! Is it ever possible in such

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">230</span>

-confusion to find out what has or has not occurred?”—How

-perfect is this ironical explanation!

-I appeal to any soldier who has ever taken

-part in any action in war, and heard an account

-given of it by the other participants.</p>

-

-<p>We do not demand of this realistic writer the

-conventional ideas of the classic authors;—an entire

-army heroic as its leaders, living only for the

-great causes it accomplishes, wholly absorbed in

-its lofty aim. Tolstoï reveals human nature: the

-soldier’s life, careless, occupied with trifling

-duties; the officers, with their pleasures or

-schemes of promotion; the generals, with their

-ambitions and intrigues; all these seeming quite

-accustomed and indifferent to what to us appears

-extraordinary and imposing. However, the

-author, by dint of sheer simplicity, sometimes

-draws tears of sympathy from us for those unconscious

-heroes, such as, for example, the pathetic

-character of Captain Touchino, which recalls

-Renault, in “Servitude et Grandeur Militaires.”<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[L]</a>

-Tolstoï is severe upon the leaders of the Russian

-army; he reminds us of the councils of war after

-the late trials; he satirizes the French and German

-strategists by whom Alexander was surrounded;

-and, with his Nihilistic ideas, he

-thoroughly enjoys describing this Babel of

-tongues and opinions. With one man alone he

-secretly sympathizes—with the commander-in-chief,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">231</span>

-Kutuzof. And why?—Because he gave

-no orders, and went to sleep during the council,

-giving up everything to fate. All these descriptions

-of military life converge toward this idea,

-which is developed in the philosophical appendix

-to the novel; all action on the part of the commanders

-is vain and useless; everything depends

-upon the fortuitous action of small divisions, the

-only decisive factor being one of those unforeseen

-impulses or inspirations which at certain times

-impels an army. As regards battle array, who

-thinks of it on the spot when thousands of possible

-combinations arise? The military genius in

-command sees only the smoke; he invariably

-receives his information and issues his orders too

-late. Can the commander carry out any general

-plan who is leading on his troops, which number

-ten, fifty, or one hundred men out of one hundred

-thousand, within a small radius? The rest of the

-account you may find in the next day’s bulletins!

-Over the three hundred thousand combatants

-fighting in the plains of Borodino blows the wind

-of chance, bringing victory or defeat.</p>

-

-<p>Here is the same mystic spirit of Nihilism

-which springs up before every problem of life.</p>

-

-<p>After war, the study which Tolstoï loves best,

-come the intrigues of the higher classes of society

-and its centre of gravitation, the court. As differences

-of race grow less distinct as we approach

-the higher classes of society, the novelist creates

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">232</span>

-no longer merely Russian types, but general,

-human, universal ones. Since St. Simon, no one

-has so curiously unveiled the secret mechanism

-of court life. We are very apt to distrust writers

-of fiction when they attempt to depict these

-hidden spheres; we suspect them of listening

-behind doors and peeping through key-holes. But

-this Russian author is in his native element; he

-has frequented and studied the court as he has the

-army; he talks of his peers in their own language,

-and has had the same education and culture;

-therefore his information is copious and

-correct, like what you obtain from the comedian

-who divulges the secrets of the boards.</p>

-

-<p>Go with the author into the salons of certain

-ladies of the court; listen to the tirades of refugees,

-the opinions expressed upon Buonaparte, the

-intrigues of the courtiers, and that peculiar

-accent when they mention any member of the

-imperial family. Visit with him a statesman’s

-home; sit down at Speranski’s table (the man

-who “laughs a stage laugh”); mark the sovereign’s

-passage through a ball-room by the light

-which is visible upon every face from the moment

-he enters the apartment; above all, visit the

-death-bed of old Count Bezushof, and witness the

-tragedy which is being acted under the mask of

-etiquette; the struggle of base instincts around

-that speechless, expiring old man, and the general

-agitation. Here a sinister element, as elsewhere

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">233</span>

-a lofty one, lends marvellous force to the

-simple sincerity of the picture and to the restraint

-which propriety imposes upon faces and tongues.</p>

-

-<p>Every passage in which the Emperors Napoleon

-and Alexander appear in action or speech should

-be read in order to understand the place that

-Nihilism occupies in the Russian mind so far as

-regards the denial of the grandeur and respect

-accorded by general consent to such potentates.

-The writer speaks in a deferential tone, as if he

-would in no wise curtail the majesty of power;

-but by bringing it down to the most trivial exigencies

-of life he utterly destroys it. Scattered

-through the tale we find ten or twelve little

-sketches of Napoleon drawn with great care,

-without hostility or an approach to caricature; but

-merely by withdrawing him from the legendary

-halo surrounding him, the man’s greatness crumbles

-away. It is generally some physical peculiarity

-or trivial act, skilfully introduced, which

-seems quite incompatible with the sceptre and

-the imperial robes. With Napoleon, Tolstoï evidently

-takes great liberties; but it is curious to

-note these descriptive touches when applied to his

-own sovereign. With infinite precautions and

-perfect propriety, the spell of majesty is broken

-through the incongruity of the man’s actual habits

-and the formidable rôle he plays. I will quote

-one of the many examples of this kind (Alexander

-is at Moscow, in 1812; he receives the ovations

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">234</span>

-of his people at the Kremlin, at the solemn

-hour when war is proclaimed): “When the Tzar

-had dined, the master of ceremonies said, looking

-out of the window, ‘The people are hoping to see

-your Majesty.’ The emperor, who was eating a

-biscuit, rose and went out on the balcony. The

-people rushed towards the terrace. ‘Our emperor!

-Our father! Hurrah! Hurrah!’ cried the

-people. Many women and a few men actually

-wept for joy. Quite a large piece of the biscuit

-the emperor held in his hand broke off and fell

-upon the balustrade, and from that to the ground.

-The man nearest to it was a cab-driver, in a blouse,

-who made a rush for the piece and seized it.

-Others rushed upon the coachman; whereupon

-the emperor had a plateful of biscuit brought, and

-began to throw them from the balcony to the

-crowd. Pierre’s eyes became blood-shot; the

-danger of being crushed only excited him the

-more, and he pressed forward through the crowd.

-He could not have told why he felt that he positively

-must have one of those biscuit thrown by

-the hand of the Tzar….”</p>

-

-<p>Again, there is nothing more true to nature

-than the account of the audience granted by the

-Emperor of Austria to Bolkonski, who had been

-despatched as a courier to Brünn with the news

-of a victory of the allies. The writer describes

-so well the gradual disenchantment of the young

-officer, who sees his great battle vanish before his

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">235</span>

-eyes in the opinion of men. He quitted the

-scene of the exploit expecting to astonish the

-world with the announcement he now brings;

-but on his arrival at Brünn a bucket of cold

-water has been thrown over his dreams by the

-“polite” aide-de-camp, the minister of war, the

-emperor himself, who addresses a few words to

-him in an absent way—the ordinary questions as

-to the time of day, the particular spot where the

-affair took place, and the usual indispensable

-compliments. When he takes his leave, after

-reflecting upon the subject from the point of view

-of other men, according to their respective interests,

-poor Bolkonski finds his battle much diminished

-in grandeur, and also a thing of the past.</p>

-

-<p>“Andé felt that his whole interest and joy over

-the victory was sinking away from him into the

-indifferent hands of the minister of war and the

-‘polite’ aide-de-camp. His whole train of thought

-had become modified; there seemed to be nothing

-left to him but a dim, distant recollection of

-the battle.”</p>

-

-<p>This is one of the phenomena most closely analyzed

-by Tolstoï—this variable influence exerted

-upon man by his surroundings. He likes to

-plunge his characters successively into different

-atmospheres,—that of the soldier’s life, the country,

-the fashionable world,—and then to show us

-the corresponding moral changes in them. When

-a man, after having for some time been under the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">236</span>

-empire of thoughts and passions previously foreign

-to him, returns into his former sphere, his

-views on all subjects change at once. Let us

-follow young Nikolai Rostof when he returns

-from the army to his home, and back again to his

-cavalry regiment. He is not the same person,

-but seems to be possessed of two souls. On the

-journey back and forth to Moscow, he gradually

-lays aside or resumes the one which his profession

-requires.</p>

-

-<p>It is useless to multiply examples of Tolstoï’s

-psychological curiosity, which is ever awake. It

-forms the principal feature of his genius. He

-loves to analyze the human puppet in every part.

-A stranger enters the room; the author studies

-his expression, voice, and step; he shows us the

-depths of the man’s soul. He explains a glance

-interchanged between two persons, in which he

-discovers friendship, fear, a feeling of superiority

-in one of them; in fact, a perfect knowledge of

-the mutual relations of these two men. This

-relentless physician constantly feels the pulse of

-every one who crosses his path, and coolly notes

-down the condition of his health, morally speaking.

-He proceeds in an objective manner, never

-directly describing a person except by making

-him act out his characteristics.</p>

-

-<p>This fundamental precept of classic art has

-been adopted by this realistic writer in his desire

-to imitate real life, in which we learn to comprehend

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">237</span>

-people by trivial indications and by points

-of resemblance, without any information as to

-their position or qualities. A good deal of art is

-required to discern clearly in this apparent chaos,

-and you have a large choice in the formidable

-accumulation of details. Observe how, in the

-course of a conversation or the narration of some

-episode, Tolstoï makes the actors visibly present

-before us by calling our attention to one of their

-gestures, or some little absurd, peculiar habit, or

-by interrupting their conversation to show us

-the direction of their glances. This occurs constantly.</p>

-

-<p>There is also a good deal of wit in this serious

-style; not the flashes and sallies of wit that we

-are familiar with, but of a fine, penetrating quality,

-with subtle and singularly apt comparisons.</p>

-

-

-<p class="center">

-<abbr title="Three">III.</abbr><br>

-</p>

-

-<p>Among the numerous characters in “War and

-Peace,” the action is concentrated upon two only—Prince

-André Bolkonski and Pierre Bezushof.

-These remarkable types of character are well worthy

-of attention. In them the double aspect of

-the Russian soul, as well as of the author’s own,

-is reflected with all its harassing thoughts and

-contradictions. Prince André is a nobleman of

-high rank, looking down from his lofty position

-upon the life he despises; proud, cold, sceptical,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">238</span>

-atheistic, although at times his mind is tortured

-with anxiety concerning great problems.

-Through him the author pronounces his verdicts

-upon the historical characters of the time, and

-discourses of the various statesmen and their

-intrigues.</p>

-

-<p>André is received at Speranski’s. We know

-the wonderful influence acquired by this man,

-who almost established a new constitution in

-Russia. Speranski’s most striking trait, in Prince

-André’s opinion, was his absolute, unshaken faith

-in the force and legitimacy of reason. This trait

-was what particularly attracted André to him,

-and explains the ascendency that Speranski acquired

-over his sovereign and his country.

-André, having been seriously wounded at Austerlitz,

-lies on the battle-field, his eyes raised to

-heaven. The dying man <span class="lock">exclaims:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“Oh, could I now but say, ‘Lord, have pity

-upon me!’ But who will hear me? Shall I

-address an indefinite, unapproachable Power,

-which cannot itself be expressed in words, the

-great All or Nothing, or that image of God which

-is within the amulet that Marie gave me?…

-There is nothing certain except the nothingness

-of everything that I have any conception of, and

-the majesty of something beyond my conception!”</p>

-

-<p>Pierre Bezushof is more human in character,

-but his intelligence is of quite as mysterious a

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">239</span>

-quality. He is a stout man, of lymphatic temperament,

-absent-minded; a man who blushes

-and weeps easily, susceptible to love, sympathetic

-with all suffering. He is a type of the kind-hearted

-Russian noblemen, nervous, deficient

-in will, a constant prey to the ideas and influence

-of others; but under his gross exterior lives a

-soul so subtle, so mystic, that it might well be

-that of a Hindu monk. One day, after Pierre

-had given his word of honor to his friend André

-that he would not go to a midnight revel of some

-of his young friends, he hesitated when the hour

-of meeting came.</p>

-

-<p>“‘After all,’ he thought, ‘all pledges of words

-are purely conventional, without definite meaning,

-when you reflect about it. I may die to-morrow,

-or some extraordinary event take place, in

-consequence of which the question of honor or

-dishonor will not even arise.’</p>

-

-<p>“Reflections of this sort—destructive of all

-resolve or method—often occupied Pierre’s

-mind….” Tolstoï has skilfully made use of

-this weak nature, which is as receptive of all

-impressions as a photographer’s plate, to give us

-a clear conception of the chief currents of ideas

-in Russia in the reign of Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr>; these successively

-influence this docile adept with all their

-changes. We see the liberal movement of the

-earlier years of that reign developed in the mind

-of Bezushof, as afterwards the mystic and theosophic

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">240</span>

-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">maze of its later years. Pierre personifies</span><br>

-the sentiments of the people in 1812, the

-national revolt against foreign intervention, the

-gloomy madness of conquered Moscow, the burning

-of which has never been explained, nor is it

-known by whose hands it was kindled. This

-destruction of Moscow is the culminating point of

-the book. The scenes of tragic grandeur, simple

-in outline, sombre in color, are superior, I must

-acknowledge, to anything of the kind in literature.

-He pictures the entrance of the French

-into the Kremlin, the prisoners and lunatics

-roaming by night in freedom about the burning

-city, the roads filled with long columns of fugitives

-escaping from the flames, beside many other

-very striking episodes.</p>

-

-<p>Count Pierre remains in the burning city. He

-leaves his palace in plebeian guise, in a peasant’s

-costume, and wanders off like a person in a

-trance; he walks on straight before him, with a

-vague determination to kill Napoleon and be an

-expiatory victim and martyr for the people. “He

-was actuated by two equally strong impulses.

-The first was the desire to take his part of the

-self-sacrifice and universal suffering—a feeling

-which, at Borodino, had impelled him to throw

-himself into the thick of the battle, and which

-now drove him out of the house, away from the

-luxury and habitual refinements of his daily life,

-to sleep on the ground and eat the coarsest of

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">241</span>

-food. The second came from that indefinable,

-exclusively Russian sentiment of contempt for

-everything conventional and artificial, for all

-that the majority of mankind esteem most desirable

-in the world. Pierre experienced this

-strange and intoxicating feeling on the day of

-his flight, when it had suddenly been impressed

-upon him that wealth, power, life itself, all that

-men seek to gain and preserve with such great

-effort, were absolutely worthless, or, at least, only

-worth the luxury of the voluntary sacrifice of

-these so-called blessings.” And through page

-after page the author unfolds that condition of

-mind that we discovered in his first writings,

-that hymn of the <dfn>Nirvâna</dfn>, just as it must be sung

-in Ceylon or Thibet.</p>

-

-<p>Pierre Bezushof is certainly the elder brother

-of those rich men and scholars who will some day

-“go among the people,” and willingly share their

-trials, carrying a dynamite bomb under their

-cloaks, as Pierre carries a poniard under his,

-moved by a double impulse: to share the common

-suffering, and enjoy the anticipated annihilation

-of themselves and others. Taken prisoner by

-the French, Bezushof meets, among his companions

-in misfortune, a poor soldier, a peasant, with an

-uncultivated mind, one, indeed, rather beneath

-the average. This man endures the hardships

-on the march, through these terrible days, with

-the humble resignation of a beast of burden. He

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">242</span>

-addresses Count Pierre with a cheerful smile, a

-few ingenuous words, popular proverbs with but

-a vague meaning, but expressing resignation, fraternity,

-and, above all, fatalism. One evening,

-when he can keep up with the others no longer,

-the soldiers shoot him under a pine-tree, on the

-snow, and the man receives death with the same

-indifferent tranquillity that he does everything

-else, like a wounded dog—in fact, like the brute.

-At this time a moral revolution takes place in

-Pierre’s soul. Here I do not expect to be intelligible

-to my fellow-countrymen; I only record the

-truth. The noble, cultured, learned Bezushof

-takes this primitive creature for his model; he

-has found at last his ideal of life in this man, who

-is “poor in spirit,” as well as a rational explanation

-of the moral world. The memory and name of

-Karatayef are a talisman to him; thenceforward

-he has but to think of the humble <dfn>muzhik</dfn>, to feel

-at peace, happy, ready to comprehend and to love

-the entire universe. The intellectual development

-of our philosopher is accomplished; he has

-reached the supreme avatar, mystic indifference.</p>

-

-<p>When Tolstoï related this episode, he was

-twenty-five years of age. Had he then a presentiment

-that he should ever find his Karatayef,

-that he would pass through the same crisis, experience

-the same discipline, and come out of it

-regenerated? We shall see later on how he had

-actually prophesied his own experience, and that

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">243</span>

-from this time he, together with Dostoyevski, was

-destined to establish the ideal of nearly all contemporaneous

-literature in Russia. Karatayef’s

-name is legion; under different names and forms,

-this vegetative form of existence will be presented

-for our admiration. The perfection of human

-wisdom is the sanctification, deification of the

-brute element, which is kind and fraternal in a

-certain vague way. The root of the idea is

-<span class="lock">this:—</span></p>

-

-<p>The cultured man finds his reasoning faculties

-a hindrance to him, because useless, since they

-do not aid him to explain the object of his life;

-therefore it is his duty to make an effort to

-reject them, and descend from complications to

-simplicity, in life and thought. This is the aim

-and aspiration, under various forms, of Tolstoï’s

-whole work.</p>

-

-<p>He has written a series of articles on popular

-education. The leading idea is <span class="lock">this:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“I would teach the children of the common

-people to think and to write; but I ought rather

-to learn of them to write and to think. We seek

-our ideal beyond us, when it is in reality behind

-us. The development of man is not the means of

-realizing that idea of harmony which we bear

-within us, but, on the contrary, it is an obstacle in

-the way of its realization. A healthy child born

-into the world fully satisfies that ideal of truth,

-beauty, and goodness, which, day by day, he will

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">244</span>

-constantly continue to lose; he is, at birth, nearer

-to the unthinking beings, to the animal, plant,

-nature itself, which is the eternal type of truth,

-beauty, and goodness.”</p>

-

-<p>You can catch the thread of the idea, which is

-much like the contemplative mistiness of the

-ancient oriental asceticism. The Occident has not

-always been free from this evil; in its ascetic

-errors and deviations, it has ennobled the brute,

-and falsified the divine allegory of the “poor in

-spirit.” But the true source of this contagious

-spirit of renunciation is in Asia, in the doctrines

-of India, which spring up again, scarcely modified,

-in that frenzy which is precipitating a part of Russia

-toward an intellectual and moral abnegation,

-sometimes developing into a stupid quietism, and

-again to sublime self-devotion, like the doctrine of

-Buddha. All extremes meet.</p>

-

-<p>I will dwell no longer upon these scarcely intelligible

-abstractions, but would say a word concerning

-the female characters created by Tolstoï.

-They are very similar to Turgenef’s heroines,

-treated, perhaps, with more depth but less of tender

-grace. Two characters call for special attention.

-First, that of Marie Bolkonski, sister of

-André, the faithful daughter, devoted to the work

-of cheering the latter years of a morose old father;

-a pathetic figure, as pure in outline, under the firm

-touch of this artist, are the works of the old

-painters. Of quite another type is Natasha Rostof,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">245</span>

-the passionate, fascinating young girl, beloved

-by all, enslaving many hearts, bearing with her

-an exhalation of love through the whole thread of

-this severe work. She is sweet-tempered, straightforward,

-sincere, but the victim of her own extreme

-sensibility.</p>

-

-<p>Racine might have created a Marie Bolkonski;

-the Abbé Prévost would have preferred Natasha

-Rostof. Betrothed to Prince André, the only man

-she truly loves, Natasha yields to a fatal fancy for

-a miserable fellow. Disenchanted finally, she

-learns that André is wounded and dying, and

-goes to nurse him in a mute agony of despair. This

-part of the book presents the inexorableness of real

-life in its sudden calamities. After André’s death,

-Natasha marries Pierre, who has secretly loved

-her. French readers will be horror-stricken at

-these convulsions in the realms of passion; but it

-is like life, and Tolstoï sacrifices conventionality

-to the desire to paint it as it is. Do not imagine

-he sought a romantic conclusion. The young

-girl’s fickleness ends in conjugal felicity and the

-solid joys of home life. To these the writer devotes

-many pages, too many, perhaps, for our taste.

-He loves to dwell upon domestic life and joys;

-all other affections are in his eyes unwholesome

-exceptions—exciting his curiosity but not his

-sympathy. Thus he analyzes with a skilful pen,

-but with visible disgust, the flirtations and

-coquetry carried on in the <i lang="fr">salons</i> of St. Petersburg.

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">246</span>

-Like Turgenef, Tolstoï does not hold the ladies of

-court circles in high estimation.</p>

-

-<p>He has added a long philosophical appendix to

-his romance, in which he brings up again, in a

-doctrinal form, the metaphysical questions which

-have tormented him the most, and once more

-repeats that he is a fatalist. This appendix has

-not been translated in the French edition, and this

-is well, for no reader would voluntarily undergo

-the useless fatigue of wading through it. Tolstoï

-is unwise in pressing ideas by abstract reasoning

-which he is so skilful in illustrating through his

-characters; he does not realize how much more

-clearly his ideas are expressed in their language

-and action than in any of his own arguments.</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>“Anna Karenina,” which appeared periodically

-in a Moscow review, was the result of many years’

-study. The work was not published in full until

-1877, and its appearance was a literary event in

-Russia. I happened to be a witness of the curiosity

-and interest it excited there.</p>

-

-<p>The author intended this book to be a picture of

-the society of the present day, as “War and Peace”

-illustrated that of its time. The task offered the

-author more difficulties, for many reasons. In the

-first place, the present does not belong to us, as

-does the past; it deceives us, not having become

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">247</span>

-firmly established, so that we cannot get in all the

-necessary lines and figures to emphasize it, as we

-could a half-century later. Besides, the liberties

-that Tolstoï could take with deceased potentates

-and statesmen, as well as with ideas of the past, he

-could not allow himself with contemporary ideas

-and with living men. This second book on Russian

-life is not as much in the style of an epic,

-neither is it as strong or as complex, as the first;

-on the other hand, it is more agreeable to us, as

-having more unity of subject and more continuity

-of action; the principal character, too, is more

-perfectly developed. Although there are two

-suicides and a case of adultery, Tolstoï has in

-this work undertaken to write the most strictly

-moral book in existence, and he has succeeded.

-The main idea is duty accomplished uninfluenced

-by the passions. The author portrays an existence

-wholly outside of conventional lines of conduct;

-and, as a contrast, the history of a pure, legitimate

-affection, a happy home, and wholesome labor.

-He is too much of a realist, however, to picture

-an earthly paradise under any human conditions.</p>

-

-<p>Karenina, a statesman in the highest circles of

-St. Petersburg society, is a husband so greatly

-absorbed in the study of political economy as to

-be easily blinded and deceived in other matters.

-Vronski, the seducer of his wife’s affections, is a

-sincere character, devoted and self-sacrificing.

-Anna is a very charming woman, tender and faithful

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">248</span>

-where her affections are enlisted. Tolstoï has

-recourse neither to hysteria nor any nervous ailment

-whatever, to excuse her fall. He is sagacious

-enough to know that every one’s feelings are

-regulated by his or her peculiar organism; that

-conscience exerts contrary influences, and that it

-really exists, because it speaks and commands.

-Take, for example, the description of Anna’s first

-anxieties, during the night-journey between Moscow

-and St. Petersburg, when she first comprehends

-the state of her heart. These pages you

-can never forget. She discovers Vronski in the

-train, knows that he is following her, then listens

-to his avowal of love. The intoxicating poison

-steals into every vein, her will is no longer her

-own, the dream has begun.</p>

-

-<p>The writer takes advantage of every outward

-circumstance to illustrate and color this dream in

-his inimitable manner, according to his usual

-method. He describes the poor woman making

-an effort to fix her thoughts upon an English

-novel, the snow and hail rattling against the window-panes;

-then the sketches of fellow-travellers,

-the various sounds and rushing of the train

-through the night,—all assume a new and fantastic

-meaning, as accompaniments of the agony of love

-and terror which are struggling within that

-woman’s soul. When, the next morning, Anna

-leaves the train and steps upon the platform where

-her husband is awaiting her, she says to herself:

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">249</span>

-“Good heavens! how much longer his ears have

-grown!” This exclamation reveals to us the

-change that has taken place within her. How

-well the author knows how to explain a whole situation

-with a single phrase!</p>

-

-<p>From the first flutter of fear to the last contortions

-of despair, which lead the unhappy woman

-to suicide, the novelist exposes her inmost heart,

-and notes each palpitation. There is no necessity

-for any tragic complication to bring about the

-catastrophe. Anna has given up everything to

-follow her lover; she has placed herself in such a

-fatal predicament that life becomes impossible,

-which is sufficient to explain her resolve.</p>

-

-<p>In contrast with this wrecked life, the innocent

-affection of Kitty and Levin continues its smooth

-course. First, it is a sweet idyl, drawn with infinite

-grace; then the home, the birth of children,

-bringing additional joys and cares. This is the

-highly moral and dull theme of the English novel,

-one may say. It is similar, and yet not the same.

-The British tale-writer is almost always something

-of a preacher; you feel that he judges human

-actions according to some preconceived rule, from

-the point of view of the Established Church or of

-puritanic ideas. But Tolstoï is entirely free from

-all prejudices. I might almost say he has little

-anxiety as to questions of morality; he constructs

-his edifices according to his own idea of the best

-method; the moral lesson springs only from facts

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">250</span>

-and results, both bitter and wholesome. This is

-no book for the youth of twenty, nor for a lady’s

-boudoir,—a book containing no charming illusions;

-but a man in full maturity relates what experience

-has taught him, for the benefit of mankind.</p>

-

-<p>These volumes present an exception in regard

-to what is thought to guarantee the permanent

-success of a literary work. They will be read, and

-then reflected upon; we shall apply the observations

-to our own souls and to others’ (the most unimportant

-as well as the most general ones); then

-we shall go back to his model, which will invariably

-verify them. Years may pass after the first

-reading, notes accumulate on the margins of the

-leaves, as in many masterpieces of the classics

-you find at the bottom of the pages the explanatory

-remarks of generations of commentators.

-In this case, they need merely to say: “<cite>Confer

-vitam</cite>.”</p>

-

-<p>Tolstoï’s style is in this work the same as in

-“War and Peace.” He is like a scientific engineer

-who visits some great establishment where

-machines are manufactured. He studies the

-mechanism of every engine, examines the most

-trifling parts, measures the degree of steam-pressure,

-tries the balance-valves, studies the action of

-the pistons and gearing; he seeks eagerly to discover

-the central motive power, the invisible

-reservoir of force. While he is experimenting

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">251</span>

-with the machinery, we, outside spectators, see

-only the results of all this labor, the manufactures

-of delicate fabrics with infinite variety of designs—life

-itself.</p>

-

-<p>Tolstoï shows the same qualities and defects as

-in “War and Peace,” and gives the same tediously

-long descriptions. The parts devoted to the pictures

-of country life and rural occupations will

-seem, in France, a little dull. Unfortunately, in

-one sort of realistic description, we must know the

-locality to appreciate the artist’s effort and the

-resemblance of the picture. The description, for

-instance, of the races at Tsarskoe-Selo, so appreciated

-by Russian readers, could not have any

-more interest for us than the brilliant account of

-<i lang="fr">le grand prix de Paris</i> in “Nana” would have for

-the Muscovites; on the other hand, the portraits

-of Oblonski and Karenina will always retain their

-power, because they express human sentiments

-common to all countries and all times. I will

-carry the analysis of these novels no farther, for

-they will hardly admit of it; we could scarcely

-choose a path in this labyrinth for the reader;

-we must leave him the pleasure of losing himself

-in it.</p>

-

-<p>Tolstoï belongs to the “school of nature,” if

-extreme realism of description entitles him to

-that honor. He carries this tendency sometimes

-to great excess, even to coarseness. I might

-quote many examples of this kind, but they

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">252</span>

-would hardly bear translation, and might, occasionally,

-be almost revolting to us. He is also

-an <em>impressionist</em>, for his phrases often bring to us

-every material sensation produced by a sight,

-object, or sound.</p>

-

-<p>Finally, his being both pessimist and Nihilist

-gives him, as a narrator, almost the impassibility

-of a stoic. Persuaded of the vanity of all human

-action, he can maintain his own coolness in all his

-delineations, his condition resembling that of a

-man awaking from sleep at dawn, in the middle

-of a ball-room, who looks upon the whirling

-dancers around him as lunatics; or the man

-who, having eaten to repletion, enters a hall

-where people are dining, and upon whom the

-mechanical movements of the mouths and forks

-make a grotesque impression. In short, a writer

-who is a pessimist must assume the superiority of

-an inexorable judge over the characters he has

-created. Tolstoï employs all these methods,

-which he carries as far as any of our novelists

-do. Why is it, then, that he produces such a

-different impression upon the reader? The

-question as to how far he is both realist and

-impressionist in comparison with our authors is

-the important one. The whole secret is a question

-of degree. The truth is that what others

-have sought he has found and adopted. He

-leaves a large space for trifling details, because

-life is made up of them, and life is his study; but

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">253</span>

-as he never attacks subjects trifling in themselves,

-he after all gives to trifles only the secondary

-place which they hold in everything that

-demands our attention.</p>

-

-<p>As an <em>impressionist</em> he well knows how to produce

-certain rapid and subtle sensations, while he

-is never obscene or unhealthy in tone. “War

-and Peace” is put into the hands of all young

-girls in Russia. “Anna Karenina,” which touches

-upon a perilous subject, is considered a manual of

-morals.</p>

-

-<p>As to Tolstoï’s impassibility, though his coldness

-almost approaches irony, we feel, behind and

-within the man, the shadow of the Infinite, and

-bow before his right to criticise his fellow-man.

-Moreover, unlike our own authors, he is never

-preoccupied with himself or the effect he wishes to

-produce. He is more logical; he sacrifices style

-that he himself may be eclipsed, put aside entirely

-in his work. In his earlier years he was more solicitous

-in regard to his style; but of late he has

-quite renounced this seductive temptation. We

-need not expect of him the beautiful, flowing language

-of Turgenef. An appropriate and clear form

-of expression of his ideas is all we shall have. His

-phraseology is diffuse, sometimes fatiguing from

-too much repetition; he makes use of a great

-many adjectives, of all he needs to add the smallest

-touches of color to a portrait; while incidents

-rapidly accumulate, from the inexhaustible fund

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">254</span>

-of thought in the farthest recesses of his mind.

-From our point of view, this absence of style is

-an unpardonable defect; but to me it appears a

-necessary consequence of realism which does

-away with all conventionality. If style is a conventionality,

-might it not warp our judgment of

-facts presented to us? We must acknowledge

-that this contempt of style, if not to our taste,

-contributes to the impression of sincerity that

-we receive. Tolstoï, in Pascal’s way, “has

-not tried to show to us himself, but our own

-selves; we find in ourselves the truths presented,

-which before were utterly unknown to us, as in

-ourselves; this attracts us strongly to him who

-has enlightened us.”</p>

-

-<p>There is still another difference between Tolstoï’s

-realism and ours: he applies his, by preference,

-to the study of characters difficult to deal

-with, those made more inaccessible to the observer

-by the refinements of education and the

-mask of social conventionalities. This struggle

-between the painter and his model is deeply interesting

-to me and to many others.</p>

-

-<p>Count Tolstoï would no doubt commiserate us if

-he found us occupied in discussing his works; for

-the future he wishes to be only a philosopher and

-reformer. Let us, then, return to his philosophy.

-I have said already that the composition of

-“Anna Karenina,” written at long intervals,

-occupied many years of the author’s life, the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">255</span>

-moral fluctuations of which are reflected in the

-character of Constantin Levin, the child and

-confidant of his soul. This new incarnation of

-Bezushof, in “War and Peace,” is the usual hero

-of modern romance in Russia, the favorite type

-with Turgenef and with all the young girls. He

-is a country gentleman, intelligent, educated,

-though not brilliant, a speculative dreamer, fond

-of rural life, and interested in all the social questions

-and difficulties arising from it. Levin studies

-these questions, and takes his part in all the

-liberal emotions his country has indulged in for

-the last twenty years. Of course, his illusions

-and chimeras vanish, one after another, and his

-Nihilism triumphs bitterly over their ruins. His

-Nihilism is not of so severe a kind as that of

-Pierre Bezushof and Prince André. He drops

-the most cruel problems and takes up questions

-of political economy. A calm and laborious

-country life, with family joys and cares, has

-strangled the serpent. Years pass, and the tale

-goes on toward its close.</p>

-

-<p>But suddenly, through several moral shocks in

-his experience, Levin awakes from his religious

-indifference, and is tormented by doubts. He

-becomes overwhelmed with despair, when the

-<dfn>muzhik</dfn> appears who proves his saviour and instructor.

-His mind becomes clear through some

-of the aphorisms uttered by this wise peasant.

-He declares that “every evil comes from the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">256</span>

-folly, the wickedness of reason. We have only

-to love and believe, and there is no further difficulty.”

-Thus ends the long intellectual drama, in

-a ray of mystic happiness, a hymn of joy, proclaiming

-the bankruptcy and the downfall of

-reason.</p>

-

-<p>Reason has but a narrow sphere of its own, is

-only useful in a limited horizon, as the rag-picker’s

-lantern is merely of use to light up the few

-feet of space immediately around him, the heap

-of rubbish upon which he depends for subsistence.

-What folly it would be for the poor man to turn

-those feeble rays toward the starry heavens, seeking

-to penetrate the inscrutable mysteries of those

-fathomless spaces!</p>

-

-

-<h4>

-<abbr title="Five">V.</abbr>

-</h4>

-

-<p>The consolation of the doctrines of Quietism,

-the final apotheosis of Tolstoï’s entire literary

-work, was yet in reserve for him, revealed

-through an humble apostle of these doctrines.

-He too was destined to find his Karatayef.</p>

-

-<p>After the appearance of “Anna Karenina,” a

-new production from this author was impatiently

-anticipated. He undertook a sequel to “War

-and Peace,” and published the first three chapters

-of the work, which promised to be quite equal to

-his preceding novels; but he soon abandoned the

-undertaking. Only a few stories for children

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">257</span>

-now appeared, some of which were exquisitely

-written. In them, however, you could but feel

-that the soul of the author had already soared

-above terrestrial aims. At last, the report spread

-that the novelist had renounced his art, even

-wishing no allusion made to his former works, as

-belonging to the vanities of the age, and had

-given himself up to the care of his soul and the

-contemplation of religious themes. Count Tolstoï

-had met with Sutayef, the sectary of Tver.

-I will not here dwell upon this original character—a

-gentle idealist, one among the many peasants

-who preached among the Russian people the

-gospel of the Communists. The teachings and

-example of this man exerted a strong influence

-upon Tolstoï, according to his own statement,

-and caused him to decide what his true vocation

-was.</p>

-

-<p>We could have no excuse for intruding upon

-the domain of conscience, had not the author, now

-a theologian, invited us so to do, by publishing

-his late works, “My Confession,” “My Religion,”

-and “A Commentary on the Gospel.” Although,

-in reality, the press-censorship has never authorized

-the publication of these books, there are

-several hundred autographic copies of them in

-circulation, spread among university students,

-women, and even among the common people, and

-eagerly devoured by them. This shows how the

-Russian soul hungers for spiritual food. As Tolstoï

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">258</span>

-has expressed the desire that his work should

-be translated into French, we have every right to

-criticise it. But I will not abuse the privilege.

-The only books which can interest us as an explanation

-of his mental state are the first two.</p>

-

-<p>Even “My Confession” is nothing new to me.

-In his “Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth” we

-have the same revelation in advance, as well as

-from the lips of Bezushof and Levin. This is,

-however, a new and eloquent variation in the

-same theme, the same wail of anguish from the

-depths of a human soul. I will give a <span class="lock">quotation:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“I became sceptical quite early in life. For a

-time I was absorbed, like every one else, in the

-vanities of life. I wrote books, teaching, as others

-did, what I knew nothing of myself. Then I

-became thirsty for more knowledge. The study

-of humanity furnished no response to the constant,

-sole question of any importance to me—‘What

-is the object of my existence?’ Science

-responded by teaching me other things which I

-was not anxious to learn. I could but join in the

-cry of the preacher, ‘All is vanity!’ I would

-gladly have taken my life. Finally I determined

-to study the lives of the great majority of men

-who have none of our anxieties—those classes

-which you might say are superior to abstract

-speculations of the mind, but that labor and endure,

-and yet live tranquil lives and seem to have

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">259</span>

-no doubts as to the end and aim of life. Then I

-understood that, to live as they did, we must go

-back to our primitive faith. But the corrupt

-teachings which the church distributed among

-the lowly could not satisfy my reason; then I

-made a closer study of those teachings, in order

-to distinguish superstition from truth.”</p>

-

-<p>The result of this study is the doctrine brought

-forth under the title of “My Religion.” This

-religion is precisely the same as that of Sutayef,

-but explained with the aid of the theological and

-scientific knowledge of a cultivated scholar. It

-is, however, none the clearer for that. The

-gospel is subjected to the broadest rationalistic

-interpretation. In fact, Tolstoï’s interpretation

-of Christ’s doctrine of life is the same as the

-Sadducees’—that is, of life considered in a collective

-sense. He denies that the gospel makes

-any allusion to a resurrection of the body, or to

-an individual existence of the soul. In this unconscious

-Pantheism, an attempt at a conciliation

-between Christianity and Buddhism, life is considered

-as an indivisible entirety, as one individual

-soul of the universe, of which we are but

-ephemeral particles. One thing only is of consequence—morality;

-which is all contained in the

-precepts of the gospel, “Be ye perfect…. Judge

-not…. Thou shalt not kill, …” etc. Therefore

-there must be no tribunals, no armies, no

-prisons, no right of retaliation, either public or

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">260</span>

-private, no wars, no trials. The universal law of

-the world is the struggle for existence; the law

-of Christ is the sacrifice of one’s life for others.

-Neither Turkey nor Germany will attack us, if

-we are true Christians, if we study their advantage.

-Happiness, the supreme end of a life of

-morality, is possible only in the union of all men

-in believing the doctrine of Jesus Christ—that is,

-in Tolstoï’s version of it, not in that of the

-church; in the return to a natural mode of life,

-to communism, giving up cities and all business,

-as incompatible with these doctrines, and because

-of the difficulty of their application in such a life.

-To support his statements, the writer presents to

-us, with rare eloquence and prophetic vividness, a

-picture of a life of worldliness from birth to death.

-This life is more terrible in his eyes than that of

-the Christian martyrs.</p>

-

-<p>The apostle of the new faith spares not the

-established church; but, after relating his vain

-search for comfort in the so-called true orthodoxy,

-violently attacks this church from Sutayef’s

-point of view. He declares that she substitutes

-rites and formalities for the true spirit of the

-gospel; that she issues catechisms filled with

-false doctrines; that since the time of Constantine

-she has ruined herself by deviating from the

-law of God to follow that of the age; that she

-has now, in fact, become pagan. Finally, and

-this is the key-note and the most delicate point of

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">261</span>

-all, no attention should be paid to the commands

-and prohibitions of any temporal power as long

-as it ignores the truth. Here I will quote an

-incident illustrative of this <span class="lock">idea:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“Passing recently through the Borovitzki gate

-at Moscow, I saw an aged beggar seated in the

-archway, who was a cripple and had his head

-bound with a bandage. I drew out my purse to

-give him alms. Just then a fine-looking young

-grenadier came running down towards us from

-the Kremlin. At sight of him, the beggar rose

-terrified, and ran limping away until he reached

-the foot of the hill into the Alexander garden.

-The grenadier pursued him a short distance, calling

-after him with abusive epithets, because he had

-been forbidden to sit in the archway. I waited

-for the soldier, and then asked him if he could

-read.—‘Yes,’ he replied: ‘why do you ask?’—‘Have

-you read the Gospel?’—‘Yes.’—‘Have

-you read the passage in regard to giving bread to

-the hungry?’—I quoted the whole passage. He

-knew it, and listened attentively, seeming somewhat

-confused. Two persons, passing by, stopped

-to listen. Evidently, the grenadier was ill at ease,

-as he could not reconcile the having done a wrong

-act, while strictly fulfilling his duty. He hesitated

-for a reply. Suddenly his eyes lighted up

-intelligently, and, turning toward me, he said:

-‘May I ask you if you have read the military

-regulations?’ I acknowledged that I had not.—‘Then

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">262</span>

-you have nothing to say,’ replied the

-grenadier, nodding his head triumphantly, as he

-walked slowly away.”</p>

-

-<p>I have, perhaps, said enough respecting “My

-Religion”; but must give a literal translation of

-a few lines which show the superb self-confidence

-always latent in the heart of every <span class="lock">reformer:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“Everything confirmed the truth of the sense

-in which the doctrine of Christ now appeared to

-me. But for a long time I could not take in the

-strange thought that, after the Christian faith had

-been accepted by so many thousands of men for

-eighteen centuries, and so many had consecrated

-their lives to the study of that faith, it should be

-given to me to discover the law of Christ, as an

-entirely new thing. But, strange as it was, it was

-indeed a fact.”</p>

-

-<p>We can now judge what his “Commentary on

-the Gospel” would be. God forbid that I should

-disturb the new convert’s tranquillity! Fortunately,

-that would be impossible, however. Tolstoï

-joyously affirms, and with perfect sincerity, that

-his soul has at last found repose, as well as the

-true object of his life and the rock of his faith.

-He invites us to follow him, but I fear the hardened

-sceptics of Western Europe will refuse to

-enter into any discussion with him upon the new

-religion, which seems, moreover, almost daily to

-undergo modifications, according to its founder’s

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">263</span>

-new flights of thought. It eliminates gradually,

-more and more, the doctrine of a Divine Providence

-overruling all, and concentrates all duty,

-hope, and moral activity upon a single object,

-the reform of all social evils through Communism.</p>

-

-<p>This idea exclusively inspires the last treatise

-of Tolstoï which I read; it is entitled: “What,

-then, must be done?” This title is significant

-enough, and has been used many times in Russia

-since the famous novel by Tchernishevski was

-written. It expresses the anxious longing of all

-these men, and there is something touchingly

-pathetic in its ingenuousness. What, then, must

-be done? First of all, quit the populous cities and

-towns, and disband the work-people in the factories;

-return to country life and till the ground,

-each man providing for his own personal necessities.

-The author first draws a picture of wretchedness

-in a large capital, as he himself studied it

-in Moscow. Here his admirable powers of

-description reappear, together with the habit,

-peculiar to himself, of looking within his own

-soul, to discover and expose the little weaknesses

-and base qualities common to all of us; and he

-takes the same pleasure in the observation and

-denunciation of his own as men generally do in

-criticising those of others. He gives us all a side

-thrust when he says of <span class="lock">himself:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“I gave three roubles to that poor creature;

-and, beside the pleasure of feeling that I had done

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">264</span>

-a kind deed, I had the additional one of knowing

-that other people saw me do it….”</p>

-

-<p>The second part of the treatise is devoted to

-theory. We cannot relieve the poor and unfortunate

-for many reasons; First, in cities poverty

-must exist, because an overplus of workmen are

-attracted to them; secondly, our class gives them

-the example of idleness and of superfluous expenditure;

-thirdly, we do not live according to the

-doctrine of Christ: charity is not what is wanted,

-but an equal division of property in brotherly

-love. Let him who has two cloaks give to him

-who has none. Sutayef carries out this theory.</p>

-

-<p>Those who draw salaries are in a state of slavery,

-and an aggravated form of it; and the effect of

-the modern system of credit continues this slavery

-into their future. The alms we give are only an

-obligation we owe to the peasants whom we have

-induced to come and work in our cities to supply

-us with our luxuries. The author concludes by

-giving as the only remedy, a return to rural life,

-which will guarantee to every laborer all that is

-necessary to support life.</p>

-

-<p>He does not see that this principle involves,

-necessarily and logically, a return to an animal

-state of existence, a general struggle for shelter

-and food, instead of a methodical system of labor;

-and that in such a company there must be both

-wolves and lambs. He sees but one side of the

-question, the side of justice; he loses sight of the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">265</span>

-intellectual side, the necessity for mental development,

-which involves a division of labor.</p>

-

-<p>All this has no great attraction for us. We can

-obtain no original ideas from this apostle’s revelation;

-only the first lispings of rationalism in the

-religious portion, and in the social the doctrine of

-Communism; only the old dream of the millennium,

-the old theme, ever renewed since the Middle

-Ages, by the Vaudois, the Lollards and Anabaptists.

-Happy Russia! to her these beautiful

-chimeras are still new! Western Europe is astonished

-only, to meet them again in the writings of

-such a great author and such an unusually keen

-observer of human nature.</p>

-

-<p>But would not the condition of this man’s soul

-be the result of the natural evolution of his successive

-experiences? First, a pantheist, then nihilist,

-pessimist, and mystic. I have heard that Leo

-Nikolaievitch has defended himself energetically

-against being thought to have assumed the title of

-a mystic; he feels its danger, and does not think

-it applicable to one who believes that the heavenly

-kingdom is transferred to earth. Our language

-furnishes us no other word to express his condition;

-may he pardon us what seems to us the

-truth. I know that he would prefer to have me

-praise his doctrines and decry his novels. This I

-cannot do. I am so enraptured with the novels

-that I can only feel that the doctrines but deprive

-me of masterpieces which might have given me

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">266</span>

-additional enjoyment in the future. I have been

-lavish of praise, but only because of my thorough

-and sincere appreciation of the books. Now, however,

-that the author has reached a state of perfect

-happiness, he needs no more praise, and must be

-quite indifferent to criticism.</p>

-

-<p>We must, at least, recognize in Tolstoï one of

-those rare reformers whose actions conform to

-their precepts. I am assured that he exerts

-around him a most salutary influence, and has

-actually returned to the life of the primitive

-Christians. He daily receives letters from strangers,

-revenue officers, dishonest clerks, publicans

-of every type, who put into his hands the sums

-they have dishonestly acquired; young men asking

-his advice as well as fallen women who need

-counsel. He is settled in the country, gives

-away his wealth, lives and labors with his peasant

-neighbors. He draws water, works in the

-fields, and sometimes makes his own boots. He

-does not wish his novels alluded to. I have seen

-a picture of him in a peasant’s costume working

-with a shoemaker’s awl in his hand. Should not

-this creator of masterpieces feel that the pen is

-the only tool he should wield? If the inspiration

-of great thoughts is a gift we have received from

-Heaven as a consolation for our fellow-beings, it

-seems to me an act of impiety to throw away this

-talent. The human soul is the author’s field of

-action, which he is bound to cultivate and fertilize.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">267</span>

-From Paris, where Tolstoï is so highly appreciated,

-comes back to him again the touching, last

-request of his dying friend which to me was

-inspired by a higher religious sentiment than that

-of <span class="lock">Sutayef:—</span></p>

-

-<p>“This gift comes to you from whence come all

-our gifts. Return to your literary labors, great

-author of our beloved Russia!”</p>

-

-<p>I shall not pretend to draw any definite or

-elaborate conclusions from these initiatory explorations

-into Russian literature. To make them

-complete, we should study the less prominent

-writers, who have a right to bear their testimony

-as to the actual condition of the nation. If,

-moreover, the writer of this book has succeeded

-in presenting his own ideas clearly, the reader

-should draw his own conclusions from the perusal

-of it; if the author has failed, any added defence

-of his ideas would be superfluous, and have little

-interest or value for the reader.</p>

-

-<p>We have witnessed the at first artificial

-growth of this literature, for a long time subjected

-to foreign influence; a weak and servile

-type of literature, giving us no enlightenment

-whatever as to the actual interior condition of

-its own country, which it voluntarily ignored.

-Again, when turning to its natal soil to seek its

-objects of study it has become vigorous. Realism

-is the proper and perfect instrument which it has

-employed, applied with equal success to material

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">268</span>

-and spiritual life. Although this realism may

-occasionally lack method and taste, and is at the

-same time both diffuse and subtile, it is invariably

-natural and sincere, ennobled by moral

-sentiments, aspirations toward the Divine, and

-sympathy for humanity. Not one of these novelists

-aims merely at literary fame, but all are

-governed by a love of truth as well as of justice,—a

-combination of great importance, and well

-worth our serious reflection, betraying and explaining

-to us, moreover, the philosophical conceptions

-of this race.</p>

-

-<p>The Russians seek religious truth because they

-find the formulas of their doctrines insufficient for

-them, and the negative arguments which satisfy

-us would be entirely opposed to all their instincts.

-Their religious doubts govern, cause,

-and characterize all their social and political

-questions and difficulties. The Slav race, under

-the guise of its apparent orthodoxy, has not yet

-found its true path, but seeks it still in every

-grade of society. The formula they are looking

-forward to must comprise and answer to their

-double ideal of truth and justice. Moreover, the

-people still feel the influence of the old Aryan

-spirit; the cultivated classes also feel that of

-the teachings of the contemporaneous sciences;

-hence the resurrection of Buddhism which we

-now witness in Russia; for I cannot otherwise

-qualify these tendencies. We see in them the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">269</span>

-condition of the ancient Hindus vacillating between

-an extremely high morality and Nihilism,

-or a metaphysical Pantheism.</p>

-

-<p>The spirit of Buddhism in its great efforts

-toward the extension of evangelical charity has

-penetrated the Russian character, which naturally

-has such intense sympathy for human nature, for

-the humblest creatures, for the forsaken and unfortunate.

-This spirit decries reason and elevates

-the brute, and inspires the deepest compassion in

-the heart. Moreover, this simple love of the

-neighbor and infinite tenderness for the suffering

-gives a peculiarly pathetic quality to their literary

-works. The initiators of this movement, after

-having written for the benefit of their peers and the

-cultivated classes, are strongly drawn toward the

-people. Gogol with his bitter irony devoted himself

-to the study of suffering humanity. Turgenef

-pictured it from his own artistic standpoint rather

-than from that of an apostle. Tolstoï, his sceptical

-investigations being over, has become the most

-determined of the apostles of the unfortunate.</p>

-

-<p>But beyond these mental tortures, beneath the

-extreme Nihilism of a Tolstoï and the intellectual

-morbidness of a Dostoyevski, we feel that there is

-a rich fund of vitality, a fountain of truth and

-justice, which will surely triumph in the future.</p>

-

-

-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[L]</a>

- By Alfred de Vigny, author of “Cinque-Mars.”</p>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">271</span>

-<h3 class="ls">

-INDEX.

-</h3>

-</div>

-<hr class="short">

-

-<ul>

-<li class="ifrst">Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Anna Karenina</cite>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Annals of a Sportsman</cite>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Ascension of Christ, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Assia</cite>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst">Bielinski, <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Bohemians, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Book of the Dove</cite>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Boris Godunof</cite>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Buried Alive</cite>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst">Catherine <abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth</cite>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Commentary on the Gospel, A</cite>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Cossacks, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Crime and Punishment</cite>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst"><cite>Dead Souls</cite>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Degraded and Insulted, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Demon, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Derzhavin, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Despair</cite>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Dimitri Roudine</cite>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Domostroi</cite>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Dostoyevski, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst"><cite>Evenings at a Farm Near Dikanka</cite>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst"><cite>Fathers and Sons</cite>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Freemasonry, <a href="#Page_41">41</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">French Revolution, The, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst">Gogol, <a href="#Page_56">56</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Gortchakof, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Gregory of Tours, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Griboyedof, <a href="#Page_51">51</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Grigorovitch, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst"><cite>Idiot, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Ivan the Terrible, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Ivan Federof, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Ivanof, <a href="#Page_73">73</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Ivan Sergievitch, <a href="#Page_96">96</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst"><cite>Karamazof Brothers, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Karamzin, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Kheraskof, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Kiev, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Krylof, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Kutuzof, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst"><cite>Lear of the Steppe, A</cite>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Lermontof, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Letters to My Friends</cite>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Living Relics, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Lomonosof, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Loris Melikof, <a href="#Page_206">206</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst"><cite>Manteau, Le</cite>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Maximus, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Memoirs of a Nihilist</cite>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Muscovitism, <a href="#Page_41">41</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>My Confession</cite>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>My Religion</cite>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst">Nekrasof, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Nest of Nobles</cite>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Nestor, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Note-book of an Author</cite>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">272</span>Novikof, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>On the Eve</cite>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Onyegin</cite>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst"><cite>Pauvre Lise, La</cite>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Peter the Great, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Petrachevski, <a href="#Page_155">155</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Pétriade, La</cite>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Poltava, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Poor People</cite>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Possédés, Les</cite>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Prisoner of the Caucasus, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Pushkin, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst"><cite>Revizor, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Russian Drama, The, <a href="#Page_70">70</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst">Savonarola, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Sebastopol in December, in May, and in August</cite>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Skobelef, <a href="#Page_138">138</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Slavophile, <a href="#Page_90">90</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Slavophilism, <a href="#Page_41">41</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Smoke</cite>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Song of Igor, <a href="#Page_35">35</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">“Souls,” <a href="#Page_75">75</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Speranski, <a href="#Page_41">41</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Spring Floods</cite>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Sutayef, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst"><cite>Taras Bulba</cite>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Tchadayef, <a href="#Page_53">53</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Tchinovnism, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Tchitchikof</cite>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Tolstoï, <a href="#Page_215">215</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx"><cite>Trois Morts</cite>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Tsarskoe-Selo, Lyceum of, <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Turgenef, <a href="#Page_96">96</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Tutschef, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst">Ukraine, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst"><cite>Virgin Soil</cite>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Von Vizin, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst"><cite>War and Peace</cite>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a></li>

-

-

-<li class="ifrst">Zaporovian League, <a href="#Page_59">59</a></li>

-

-<li class="indx">Zhukovski, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></li>

-</ul>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-<h2 style="display: none; visibility: hidden;">Advertisements</h2>

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">273</span>

-<h3>

-A LIST OF ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS

-FROM THE RUSSIAN.

-</h3>

-</div>

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p class="unindent">DOSTOYEVSKI:—</p>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Buried Alive; Ten Years Penal Servitude in Siberia. Trans. from the

-Russian by Marie von Thilo; 8vo, London, 1881.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 12mo, New York, 1881.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Crime and Punishment; a Russian Realistic Novel; 8vo, London, 1886.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 12mo, New York, 1886.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Injury and Insult; trans. by F. Whishaw; 8vo, London, 1886.</p>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="p2 unindent">GOGOL:—</p>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Cossack Tales, trans. by Geo. Tolstoy; 8vo, London, 1860.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">St. John’s Eve, and Other Stories; from the Russian, by Isabel F. Hapgood;

-12mo, New York, 1886. Selected from “Evenings at the

-Farm” and “St. Petersburg Stories.”</p>

-</div>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p><i>Contents</i>:—St. John’s Eve, related by the sacristan of the Dikanka

-Church.—Old-Fashioned Farmers.—The Tale of How Ivan

-Ivanovitch Quarrelled with Ivan Nikiforovitch.—The Portrait.—The

-Cloak.</p>

-</div>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Taras Bulbá; a Tale of the Cossacks; from the Russian, by Isabel F.

-Hapgood; 12mo, New York, 1886.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Tchitchikoff’s Journeys, or Dead Souls; from the Russian, by Isabel F.

-Hapgood; 2 vols., 12mo, New York, 1886.</p>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="p2 unindent">PUSHKIN:—</p>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Captain’s Daughter; from the Russian; 4to, New York, 1884.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Eugene Onéguine, a romance of Russian life, in verse; trans, by Lt.-Col.

-Spalding; 8vo, London and New York, 1881.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Marie, a Story of Russian Love; from the Russian, by Marie H. de

-Zielinska; sq. 16mo, Chicago, 1876 (also 1880). (Same as the “Captain’s

-Daughter.”)</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Russian Romance; trans. by Mrs. J. B. Telfer; 8vo, London, 1875.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 8vo, London, 1880.</p>

-</div>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p><i>Contents</i>:—The Captain’s Daughter.—The Lady-Rustic.—The

-Pistol-Shot.—The Snow-Storm.—The Undertaker.—The Station-Master.—The

-Moor of Peter the Great.</p>

-</div>

-

-<p class="p2 unindent"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">274</span>TOLSTOÏ:—</p>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Anna Karenina; from the Russian, by N. H. Dole; 12mo, New York,

-1886.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, London, 1886.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Childhood, Boyhood, Youth: Reminiscences; from the Russian, by Isabel

-F. Hapgood; 12mo, New York, 1886. (An earlier translation seems

-to have been published in London, in 1862, under the title “Childhood

-and Youth.”)</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Christ’s Christianity; trans. from the Russian; 8vo, London, 1885.</p>

-</div>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p><i>Contents</i>:—How I Came to Believe.—What I Believe.—The

-Spirit of Christ’s Teaching.</p>

-</div>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">The Cossacks; from the Russian, by Eugene Schuyler; 2 vols., 8vo,

-London, 1878.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 16mo, New York, 1878.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">My Religion; trans. from the French by W. Huntington Smith; 12mo,

-New York, 1885. (The same as his “What I Believe.”)</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">War and Peace; from the French, by Clara Bell; 3 vols., 8vo, London,

-1886.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 6 vols., 16mo, New York, 1886.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">What I Believe; from the Russian, by Constantine Popoff; 8vo, London,

-1885.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 12mo, New York, 1886. (A translation from the French was

-published under the title “My Religion.”)</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">What People Live By; trans. by Aline Delano; 8vo, Boston, 1887. (A

-story of peasant life.)</p>

-</div>

-

-

-<p class="p2 unindent">TURGENEF:—</p>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Annals of a Sportsman; from the authorized French translation, by

-Franklin P. Abbott; 16mo, New York, 1885.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Annouchka: a Tale; from the French of the author’s own translation,

-by Franklin P. Abbott; 16mo, Boston, 1884.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Daughter of Russia; trans. by G. W. Scott; 4to, New York, 1882.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Dimitri Roudine; trans. from the French and German versions for

-“Every Saturday”; 16mo, New York, 1873.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 12mo, London, 1883.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Fathers and Sons; from the Russian, by Eugene Schuyler; 16mo, New

-York, 1867 and 1883.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, London, 1883.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">First Love, and Punin and Baburin; trans. from the Russian, by W.

-Ralston; 12mo, London, 1884.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Liza; trans. by W. R. S. Ralston; 2 vols., 8vo, London, 1869.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, New York, 1872.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, London, 1884.</p>

-</div>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p>(The title of the original and of the French translation is “A Nest

-of Nobles.”)</p>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">275</span></p>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Mumu, and The Diary of a Superfluous Man; from the Russian, by

-Henry Gersoni; 12mo, New York, 1884.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">On the Eve; from the Russian, by C. E. Turner; 12mo, London, 1871.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, American ed., with amendments; 16mo, New York, 1873.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Poems in Prose; trans. by Lilla C. Perry; 16mo, Boston, 1883.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Punin and Baburin; trans. by G. W. Scott; 4to, New York, 1882.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Russian Life in the Interior; 12mo, London, 1855.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Smoke, or Life at Baden; 2 vols., 8vo, London, 1868.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Smoke, or Life at Baden; from the author’s French version, by W. F.

-West; 16mo, New York, 1872.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 12mo, London, 1883.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Song of Triumphant Love; 4to, New York, 1883.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Spring Floods, trans. by Sophie Mitchell; also A Lear of the Steppe,

-trans. by W. H. Browne; 16mo, New York, 1874.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">An Unfortunate Woman; also Ass’ya; from the Russian, by H. Gersoni;

-12mo, New York, 1886. (“Ass’ya” is the same as “Annouchka.”)</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Virgin Soil; from the French, by T. S. Perry; 16mo, New York,

-1877.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 12mo, London, 1883.</p>

-

-<p class="unindent hanging">Virgin Soil; trans. by A. W. Dilke; 8vo, London, 1878.</p>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">276</span>

-<h3>

-THE SCHOOL OF HOME.

-</h3>

-</div>

-

-<p>Let the school of home be a good one. Let reading be

-such as to quicken the mind for better reading still; for

-the school at home is progressive.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>The baby is to be read to. What shall mother and

-sister and father and brother read to the baby?</p>

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Babyland.</span> Babyland rhymes and jingles; great big

-letters and little thoughts and words out of <span class="smcap">Babyland</span>.

-Pictures so easy to understand that baby quickly learns

-the meaning of light and shade, of distance, of tree, of

-cloud. The grass is green; the sky is blue; the flowers—are

-they red or yellow? That depends on mother’s

-house-plants. Baby sees in the picture what she sees in

-the home and out of the window.</p>

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Babyland</span>, mother’s monthly picture-and-jingle primer

-for baby’s diversion, and baby’s mother-help; 50 cents

-a year.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>What, when baby begins to read for herself? <span class="smcap">Our

-Little Men and Women</span> is made to go on with. <span class="smcap">Babyland</span>

-forms the reading habit. Think of a baby with the

-reading habit! After a little she picks up the letters

-and wants to know what they mean. The jingles are

-jingles still; but the tales that lie under the jingles

-begin to ask questions.</p>

-

-<p>What do Jack and Jill go up the hill after water for?

-Isn’t water down hill? Baby is outgrowing <span class="smcap">Babyland</span>.</p>

-

-<p>No more nonsense. There is fun enough in sense.

-The world is full of interesting things; and, if they come

-to a growing child not in discouraging tangles but an

-easy one at a time, there is fun enough in getting hold

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ii">ii</span>

-of them. That is the way to grow. <span class="smcap">Our Little Men

-and Women</span> helps such growth as that. Beginnings of

-things made easy by words and pictures; not too easy.

-The reading habit has got to another stage.</p>

-

-<p>A dollar for such a school as that for a year.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>Then comes <span class="smcap">The Pansy</span> with stories of child-life, travel

-at home and abroad, adventure, history old and new, religion

-at home and over the seas, and roundabout tales

-on the International Sunday School Lesson.</p>

-

-<p>Pansy the editor; <span class="smcap">The Pansy</span> the magazine. There

-are thousands and thousands of children and children of

-larger growth all over the country who know about Pansy

-the writer, and <span class="smcap">The Pansy</span> the magazine. There are

-thousands and thousands more who will be glad to know.</p>

-

-<p>A dollar a year for <span class="smcap">The Pansy</span>.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>The reading habit is now pretty well established; not

-only the reading habit, but liking for useful reading; and

-useful reading leads to learning.</p>

-

-<p>Now comes <span class="smcap">Wide Awake</span>, vigorous, hearty, not to say

-heavy. No, it isn’t heavy, though full as it can be of

-practical help along the road to sober manhood and womanhood.

-Full as it can be! There is need of play as

-well as of work; and <span class="smcap">Wide Awake</span> has its mixture of

-work and rest and play. The work is all toward self-improvement;

-so is the rest; and so is the play. $2.40

-a year.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>Specimen copies of all the Lothrop magazines for

-fifteen cents; any one for five—in postage stamps.</p>

-

-<p>Address D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">iii</span></p>

-

-<p>You little know what help there is in books for the

-average housewife.</p>

-

-<p>Take <cite>Domestic Problems</cite>, for instance, beginning with

-this hard question: “How may a woman enjoy the delights

-of culture and at the same time fulfil her duties to

-family and household?” The second chapter quotes from

-somebody else: “It can’t be done. I’ve tried it; but, as

-things now are, it can’t be done.”</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Diaz looks below the surface. Want of preparation

-and culture, she says, is at the bottom of a woman’s

-failure, just as it is of a man’s.</p>

-

-<p>The proper training of children, for instance, can’t be

-done without some comprehension of children themselves,

-of what they ought to grow to, their stages, the means of

-their guidance, the laws of their health, and manners.

-But mothers get no hint of most of these things until they

-have to blunder through them. Why not? Isn’t the

-training of children woman’s mission? Yes, in print, but

-not in practice. What is her mission in practice? Cooking

-and sewing!</p>

-

-<p>Woman’s worst failure then is due to the stupid blunder

-of putting comparatively trivial things before the most important

-of all. The result is bad children and waste of a

-generation or two—all for putting cooking and sewing

-before the training of children.</p>

-

-<p>Now will any one venture to say that any particular

-mother, you for instance, has got to put cooking and sewing

-before the training of children?</p>

-

-<p>Any mother who really makes up her mind to put her

-children first can find out how to grow tolerable children

-at least.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">iv</span></p>

-

-<p>And that is what Mrs. Diaz means by preparation—a

-little knowledge beforehand—the little that leads to more.</p>

-

-<p>It <em>can</em> be done; and <em>you</em> can do it! Will you? It’s a

-matter of choice; and you are the chooser.</p>

-

-<p class="muchsmaller">Domestic Problems. By Mrs. A. M. Diaz. $1. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>

-

-<p>We have touched on only one subject. The author

-treats of many.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>Dr. Buckley the brilliant and versatile editor of the

-<cite>Christian Advocate</cite> says in the preface of his book on

-northern Europe “I hope to impart to such as have never

-seen those countries as clear a view as can be obtained

-from reading” and “My chief reason for traveling in

-Russia was to study Nihilism and kindred subjects.”</p>

-

-<p>This affords the best clue to his book to those who

-know the writer’s quickness, freshness, independence,

-force, and penetration.</p>

-

-<p class="muchsmaller">The Midnight Sun, the Tsar and the Nihilist. Adventures and Observations in

-Norway, Sweden and Russia. By J. M. Buckley, LL. D. 72 illustrations, 376

-pages. $3. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>

-

-<p>Just short of the luxurious in paper, pictures and print.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>The writer best equipped for such a task has put into

-one illustrated book a brief account of every American

-voyage for polar exploration, including one to the south

-almost forgotten.</p>

-

-<p class="muchsmaller">American Explorations in the Ice Zones. By Professor J. E. Nourse, U. S. N.

-10 maps, 120 illustrations, 624 pages. Cloth, $3, gilt edges $3.50, half-calf $6.

-D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>

-

-<p>Not written especially for boys; but they claim it.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">v</span></p>

-

-<p>The wife of a U. S. lighthouse inspector, Mary Bradford

-Crowninshield, writes the story of a tour of inspection

-along the coast of Maine with two boys on board—for

-other boys of course. A most instructive as well as delightful

-excursion.</p>

-

-<p>The boys go up the towers and study the lamps and

-lanterns and all the devices by which a light in the night

-is made to tell the wary sailor the coast he is on; and so

-does the reader. Stories of wrecks and rescues beguile

-the waiting times. There are no waiting times in the

-story.</p>

-

-<p class="muchsmaller">All Among the Lighthouses, or Cruise of the Goldenrod. By Mary Bradford

-Crowninshield. 32 illustrations, 392 pages. $2.50. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>

-

-<p>There’s a vast amount of coast-lore besides.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>Mr. Grant Allen, who knows almost as much as anybody,

-has been making a book of twenty-eight separate parts,

-and says of it: “These little essays are mostly endeavors

-to put some of the latest results of science in simple,

-clear and intelligible language.”</p>

-

-<p>Now that is exactly what nine hundred and ninety-nine

-in a thousand of us want, if it isn’t dry. And it isn’t dry.

-Few of those who have the wonderful knowledge of what

-is going on in the learned world have the gift of popular

-explanation—the gift of telling of it. Mr. Allen has

-that gift; the knowledge, the teaching grace, the popular

-faculty.</p>

-

-<p class="muchsmaller">Common Sense Science. By Grant Allen. 318 pages. $1.50. D. Lothrop Company,

-Boston.</p>

-

-<p>By no means a list of new-found facts; but the bearings

-of them on common subjects.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">vi</span></p>

-

-<p>We don’t go on talking as if the earth were the centre

-of things, as if Galileo never lived. Huxley and Spencer

-have got to be heard. Shall we wait two hundred and

-fifty years?</p>

-

-<p>The book is simply an easy means of intelligence.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>There is nothing more dreary than chemistry taught as

-it used to be taught to beginners. There is nothing

-brighter and fuller of keen delight than chemistry taught

-as it can be taught to little children even.</p>

-

-<p class="muchsmaller">Real Fairy Folks. By Lucy Rider Meyer, A. M. 389 pages. $1.25. D. Lothrop

-Company, Boston.</p>

-

-<p>“I’ll be their teacher—give them private scientific

-lectures! Trust me to manage the school part!” The

-book is alive with the secrets of things.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>It takes a learned man to write an easy book on almost

-any subject.</p>

-

-<p>Arthur Gilman, of the College for Women, at Cambridge,

-known as the “Harvard Annex,” has made a little

-book to help young people along in the use of the dictionary.

-One can devour it in an hour or two; but the

-reading multiplies knowledge and means of knowledge.</p>

-

-<p class="muchsmaller">Short Stories from the Dictionary. By Arthur Gilman, M. A. 129 pages. 60

-cents. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>

-

-<p>An unconscious beginning of what may grow to be

-philology, if one’s faculty lies that way. Such bits of

-education are of vastly more importance than most of

-us know. They are the seeds of learning.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">vii</span></p>

-

-<p>Elizabeth P. Peabody at the age of eighty-four years

-has made a book of a number of essays, written during

-fifty years of a most productive life, on subjects of lasting

-interest, published forgotten years ago in <cite>Emerson’s Magazine</cite>,

-<cite>The Dial</cite>, Lowell’s <cite>Pioneer</cite>, etc.</p>

-

-<p class="muchsmaller">Last Evening with Allston and Other Papers. 350 pages. $1.50. D. Lothrop

-Company, Boston.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>The wife of Frémont, the Pathfinder of forty years

-ago and almost President thirty years ago, has written a

-bookful of reminiscences.</p>

-

-<p class="muchsmaller">Souvenirs of My Time. By Jessie Benton Frémont. 393 pages. $1.50. D. Lothrop

-Company, Boston.</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Frémont has long been known as a brilliant converser

-and story-teller. Her later years have been given

-to making books; and the books have the freshness and

-sparkle of youth.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>The literary editor of the <cite>Nation</cite> gathers together nearly

-a hundred poems and parts of poems to read to children

-going to sleep.</p>

-

-<p class="muchsmaller">Bedside Poetry, a Parents’ Assistant in Moral Discipline. 143 pages. Two bindings,

-75 cents and $1. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>

-

-<p>The poems have their various bearings on morals and

-graces; and there is an index called a key to the moralities.

-The mother can turn, with little search, to verses

-that put in a pleasant light the thoughts the little one

-needs to harbor. Hence the sub-title.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">viii</span></p>

-

-<p>Readers of poetry are almost as scarce as poetry—Have

-you noticed how little there is in the world? how

-wide the desert, how few the little oases?</p>

-

-<p class="muchsmaller">Through the Year with the Poets. Edited by Oscar Fay Adams. 12 bijou

-books of the months, of about 130 pages each. 75 cents each. D. Lothrop Company,

-Boston.</p>

-

-<p>Is it possible? Is there enough sweet singing ringing

-lustrous verse between heaven and earth to make twelve

-such books? There is indeed; and heaven and earth are

-in it!</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>Ginx’s Baby, a burlesque book of most serious purpose,

-made a stir in England some years ago; and, what is of

-more account, went far to accomplish the author’s object.</p>

-

-<p class="muchsmaller">Evolution of Dodd. By William Hawley Smith. 153 pages. $1. D. Lothrop

-Company, Boston.</p>

-

-<p>Dodd is the terrible schoolboy. How he became so;

-who is responsible; what is the remedy—such is the gist

-of the book.</p>

-

-<p>As bright as Ginx’s Baby. A bookful of managing

-wisdom for parents as well as teachers.</p>

-

-<hr class="short">

-

-<p>Questions such as practical boys and girls are asking

-their mothers all the year round about things that come

-up. Not one in ten of the mothers can answer one in ten

-of the questions.</p>

-

-<p class="muchsmaller">Household Notes and Queries, A Family Reference-Book. By the Wise Blackbird.

-115 pages. 60 cents.</p>

-

-<p>It is handy to have such a book on the shelf, and

-handier yet to have the knowledge that’s in it in one’s

-head.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">ix</span>

-<p class="center">

-<i>Classified List.—Pansy.</i><br>

-</p>

-

-<h3 class="sansserif">

-THE PANSY BOOKS.<br>

-</h3>

-</div>

-

-<p class="tall">There are substantial reasons for the great popularity of the

-“Pansy Books,” and foremost among these is their truth to nature

-and to life. The genuineness of the types of character which

-they portray is indeed remarkable.</p>

-

-<p class="tall">

-“Her stories move alternately to laughter and tears.”…<br>

-“Brimful of the sweetness of evangelical religion.”…<br>

-“Girl life and character portrayed with rare power.”…<br>

-“Too much cannot be said of the insight given into the true way

-of studying and using the word of God.”… These are a

-few quotations from words of praise everywhere spoken. The

-“Pansy Books” may be purchased by any Sunday-school without

-hesitation as to their character or acceptability.

-</p>

-

-<p class="p2 center">

-<i>Each volume 12mo, $1.50.</i><br>

-</p>

-

-

-<ul><li>Chautauqua Girls at Home.</li>

-<li>Christie’s Christmas.</li>

-<li>Divers Women.</li>

-<li>Echoing and Re-echoing.</li>

-<li>Endless Chain (An).</li>

-<li>Ester Ried.</li>

-<li>Ester Ried Yet Speaking.</li>

-<li>Four Girls at Chautauqua.</li>

-<li>From different Standpoints.</li>

-<li>Hall in the Grove (The).</li>

-<li>Household Puzzles.</li>

-<li>Interrupted.</li>

-<li>Julia Ried.</li>

-<li>King’s Daughter (The).</li>

-<li>Links in Rebecca’s Life.</li>

-<li>Mrs. Solomon Smith Looking On.</li>

-<li>Modern Prophets.</li>

-<li>Man of the House (The).</li>

-<li>New Graft on the Family Tree (A).</li>

-<li>One Commonplace Day.</li>

-<li>Pocket Measure (The).</li>

-<li>Ruth Erskine’s Crosses.</li>

-<li>Randolphs (The).</li>

-<li>Sidney Martin’s Christmas.</li>

-<li>Those Boys.</li>

-<li>Three People.</li>

-<li>Tip Lewis and his Lamp.</li>

-<li>Wise and Otherwise.</li>

-</ul>

-

-<hr>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">x</span></p>

-

-<p class="center">

-<i>Classified List.—Poetry.</i><br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>THROUGH THE YEAR WITH THE POETS.—December,

-January, February, March, April,

-May.</b> Arranged and compiled by <span class="smcap">Oscar Fay Adams</span>. Each

-75 cents.</p>

-

-<p>The cream of English literature, past and current, has been

-skimmed with a judicious and appreciative hand.—<cite>Boston Transcript.</cite></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WAIFS AND THEIR AUTHORS.</b> By <span class="smcap">A. A. Hopkins</span>.

-A collection of poems many of which are now for the

-first time published with the names of the authors. Quarto,

-cloth, gilt, $2.00; quarto, full gilt, gilt edges, $2.50.</p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WHEN I WAS A CHILD.</b> By <span class="smcap">Ernest W. Shurtleff</span>.

-Illustrated, $1.00.</p>

-

-<p>A simple, graceful poem, fresh with memories of school and

-vacation days, of games and sports in the country.—<cite>Chicago

-Advance.</cite></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR

-FLOCKS BY NIGHT.</b> Illustrated, $2.50.</p>

-

-<p>Nothing more exquisite in the way of a presentation book.—<cite>B.

-B. Bulletin.</cite></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WOMAN IN SACRED SONG.</b> Compiled and edited

-by <span class="smcap">Mrs. George Clinton Smith</span>. With an introduction by

-Frances E. Willard. Illustrated. $3.50.</p>

-

-<p>It gives a very full representation of the contributions of woman

-to sacred song, though of course the main bulk of this has been in

-modern times.—<cite>Illustrated Weekly.</cite></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>YOUNG FOLKS’ POETRY.</b> By A. P. and <span class="smcap">M. T.

-Folsom</span>. A choice selection of poems. 16mo, $1.00.</p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>YOUNG FOLKS’ SPEAKER.</b> A collection of Prose

-and Poetry for Declamations, Recitations and Elocutionary

-Exercises. Selected and arranged by <span class="smcap">Carrie Adelaide

-Cooke</span>. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, $1.00.</p>

-

-<p>It deserves to become a standard in the schools of the country.—<cite>B.

-B. Bulletin.</cite></p>

-

-<hr>

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">xi</span>

-

-<p class="center">

-<i>Classified List.—Standard Micellaneous.</i><br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>THE TRIPLE “E.”</b> By <span class="smcap">Mrs. S. R. Graham Clark</span>.

-12mo, paper, illustrated, 25 cts. Cloth, $1.50.</p>

-

-<p>It cannot fail to make a strong impression on the minds of those

-who read it.—<cite>B. B. Bulletin.</cite></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>THUCYDIDES.</b> Translated into English with marginal

-analysis and index. By <span class="smcap">B. Jowett</span>, M. A., Master of Balliol

-College, Professor of Greek in the University of Oxford, Doctor

-of Theology in the University of Leyden. Edited with

-introduction to American edition by Andrew P. Peabody, D. D.

-LL. D. 8vo, $3.50. Half calf, $6.00.</p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WARLOCK O’ GLENWARLOCK.</b> By <span class="smcap">George

-MacDonald</span>. 12mo, fully illustrated, $1.50.</p>

-

-<p>At his best, there are few contemporary novelists so well worth

-reading as MacDonald.—<cite>Boston Journal.</cite></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WEIGHED AND WANTING.</b> By <span class="smcap">George MacDonald</span>.

-12mo, cloth, $1.50.</p>

-

-<p><b>WHAT’S MINE’S MINE.</b> By <span class="smcap">George MacDonald</span>.

-$1.50.</p>

-

-<p>Let all who enjoy a book full of fire and life and purpose read

-this capital story.—<cite>Woman’s Journal.</cite></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WILD FLOWERS, AND WHERE THEY

-GROW.</b> By <span class="smcap">Amanda B. Harris</span>. 8vo, extra cloth,

-beautifully bound, gilt edges, $3.00.</p>

-

-<p>It is a book in which all true lovers of nature will delight.—<cite>B.

-B. Bulletin,.</cite></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WONDER STORIES OF SCIENCE.</b> Uniform with

-“Plucky Boys,” 12mo, cloth, $1.50.</p>

-

-<p>To improve as well as to amuse young people is the object of

-these twenty-one sketches, and they fill this purpose wonderfully

-well.—<cite>Texas Siftings.</cite></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WITHIN THE SHADOW.</b> By <span class="smcap">Dorothy Holroyd</span>.

-12mo, cloth, $1.25.</p>

-

-<p>“The author has skill in invention with the purest sentiment

-and good natural style.”—<cite>Boston Globe.</cite></p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">xii</span></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>HOLD UP YOUR HEADS, GIRLS!</b> By <span class="smcap">Annie H.

-Ryder</span>. $1.00.</p>

-

-<p>It is a book for study, for companionship, and the girl who reads

-it thoughtfully and with an intent to profit by it will get more real

-help and good from it than from a term at the best boarding-school

-in the country.—<cite>Boston Transcript.</cite></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>HONOR BRIGHT</b> (the story of). By <span class="smcap">Charles R. Talbot</span>,

-author of Royal Lowrie. 12mo, illustrated, $1.25.</p>

-

-<p>A charming story full of intense life.</p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>HOW TO LEARN AND EARN.</b> Half Hours in some

-Helpful Schools. By American authors. One hundred original

-illustrations, 12mo, extra cloth, $1.50.</p>

-

-<p>The book treats largely of public institutions, training schools,

-etc., and shows what may be accomplished by patient concentrated

-effort.—<cite>Farm and Fireside.</cite></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>HOW WE ARE GOVERNED.</b> By <span class="smcap">Anna Laurens

-Dawes</span>, 12mo, $1.50.</p>

-

-<p>An explanation of the constitution and government of the

-United States, national, State, and local.</p>

-

-<p>A concise, systematic, and complete study of the great principles

-which underlie the National existence.—<cite>Chicago Inter-Ocean.</cite></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>IN LEISLER’S TIMES.</b> A story-study of Knickerbocker

-New York. By E. S. Brooks. With twenty-four drawings by

-W. T. Smedley. $1.50.</p>

-

-<p>Though designedly for young folks’ reading, this volume is a

-very careful and minute study of a hitherto half-obscured and

-neglected phase of American history, and will be given a permanent

-place in historical literature.—<cite>American Bookseller.</cite></p>

-

-<p class="hanging unindent"><b>JOSEPHUS FLAVIUS, (the Works of).</b> A new

-edition of William Whiston’s Famous Translations. 8vo, cloth,

-gilt, 100 illustrations, $3.00. Household Edition. 12mo, cloth,

-gilt top, illustrated, $2.00.</p>

-

-<p>This edition is admirable and will make new friends for the easy

-and conceited old chronicler.—<cite>B. B. Bulletin.</cite></p>

-

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>Transcriber’s Note:</h3>

-</div>

-

-<p>This book was written in a period when many words had not become

-standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling

-variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been

-left unchanged. Obsolete and alternative

-spellings were left unchanged.</p>

-

-<p>Footnotes were lettered sequentially and were

-moved to the end of the chapter. Obvious printing errors, such as

-backwards, upside down, reversed order, or partially printed letters and punctuation, were corrected.

-Final stops missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations were

-added. Missing or duplicate letters at line endings were added or removed, as appropriate.

-Extraneous punctuation was removed.</p>

-

-<p>The following were changed:</p>

-

-<ul><li>added omitted word, <a href="#chg0">‘on’</a></li>

-<li>‘wook’ to <a href="#chg1">‘work’</a></li>

-<li>‘axamples’ to <a href="#chg2">‘examples’</a></li>

-<li>‘discourged’ to <a href="#chg3">‘discouraged’</a></li>

-</ul>

-

-<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RUSSIAN NOVELISTS ***</div>

-</body>

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+      The Russian Novelists | Project Gutenberg
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+ </head>
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RUSSIAN NOVELISTS ***</div>
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center">
+THE</p>
+
+<h1>RUSSIAN NOVELISTS</h1>
+
+<p class="p2 center">BY</p>
+
+<h2>E M <span class="allsmcap">DE</span> VOGÜÉ</h2>
+
+
+<p class="p4 center"><i class="smaller">TRANSLATED BY</i><br>
+<br>
+<span class="larger">JANE LORING EDMANDS</span></p>
+
+<p class="p4 center tall"><span class="ls">BOSTON<br>
+D. LOTHROP COMPANY</span><br>
+<span class="smaller">FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS</span>
+</p>
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center tall">
+<span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1887,<br>
+BY D. LOTHROP COMPANY.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<span class="smcap">Electrotyped</span><br>
+<span class="smcap">By C. J. Peters and Son, Boston.</span>
+</p>
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span>
+<h3>
+TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> spelling of Russian names is a matter of
+peculiar difficulty, and no fixed usage in regard to
+it has as yet been established. I have tried to
+follow the system presented in the Proceedings of
+the American Library Association for 1885, but
+it has been in some cases impossible for me to
+go back to the original Russian form as a starting-point.
+I have found it necessary to abridge
+M. de Vogüé’s work somewhat, in order to bring
+it within certain prescribed limits.</p>
+
+<p class="right r4">
+J. L. E.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span>
+<h3>
+<span class="ls">PREFACE</span>.
+</h3>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p><span class="smcap">In</span> offering this book to the constantly increasing
+class of persons interested in Russian literature,
+I owe them a little explanation in regard to
+the unavoidable omissions in these essays, as well
+as to their object and aim. The region we are
+approaching is a vast, almost unexplored one; we
+can only venture upon some of its highways,
+selecting certain provinces, while we neglect
+others.</p>
+
+<p>This volume does not claim to give a complete
+history of Russian literature, or a didactic treatise
+upon it. Such a work does not yet exist in
+Russia, and would be premature even in France.</p>
+
+<p>My aim is quite a different one. To do justice
+to both the dead and the living, in a history of the
+literature of only the past hundred years, I
+should but accumulate a quantity of names
+foreign to our ears, and a list of works which
+have never been translated. The entire political
+and social history of the three preceding reigns
+should be written, to properly explain the last.</p>
+
+<p>It appears to me better to proceed as a naturalist
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span>
+would do in his researches in a foreign
+country. He would collect specimens peculiarly
+characteristic of the climate and soil, and choose
+from among them a few individual types which
+are perfectly developed. He draws our attention
+to them, as best revealing to us the actual and
+peculiar conditions of life in this particular corner
+of the earth.</p>
+
+<p>This is my plan. I shall briefly touch upon the
+earliest Russian literature, and show how it became
+subjected to foreign influences, from which
+it was finally emancipated in the present century.</p>
+
+<p>From this time, I am embarrassed in choosing
+from such a rich supply of material, but I shall
+confine myself to a few individual types. This
+method is, besides, even more legitimate in Russia
+than in more recently settled countries. If you
+go through one hundred different villages between
+St. Petersburg and Moscow, you will see that, in
+feature, bearing, and costume the people seem to
+be remarkably similar; so that a few portraits,
+chosen at random, will describe the whole race,
+both as to physical and moral traits.</p>
+
+<p>This series of studies is principally devoted to
+the four distinguished contemporary writers,
+already well known in Europe by their translated
+works. I have tried to show the man as well as
+his work; and both, as illustrating the Russian
+national character. Without paying much attention
+to the rules of literary composition, I have
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span>
+been glad to make use of everything which would
+help me to carry out my design: of biographical
+details, personal recollections, digressions upon
+points of historical and political interest, without
+which the moral evolutions of a country so little
+known would be quite unintelligible. There is
+but one rule to be followed; to use every means
+of illuminating the object you wish to exhibit,
+that it may be thoroughly understood in all its
+phases. To this end, I have used the method of
+comparison between the Russian authors and those
+of other countries more familiar to us, as the
+surest and most rapid one.</p>
+
+<p>Some persons may express surprise that it
+is of her novelists that I demand the secret of
+Russia.</p>
+
+<p>It is because poetry and romance, the modes
+of expression most natural to this people, are
+alone compatible with the exigencies of a press-censure
+which was formerly most severe, and is
+even now very suspicious. There is no medium
+for ideas save through the supple meshes of fiction;
+so that the fiction which shields yet conveys
+these ideas assumes the importance of a doctrinal
+treatise.</p>
+
+<p>Of these two leading forms of literature, the
+first, poetry, absorbed the early part of the present
+century; the other, the novel, has superseded
+poetry, and monopolized the attention of the
+whole nation for the last forty years.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span>
+With the great name of Pushkin at the head of
+the list, the Russians consider the romantic period
+as the crowning point of their intellectual glory.
+I once agreed with them, but have had two motives
+for changing my opinion.</p>
+
+<p>In the first place, it would be quite useless to
+discuss works which we could not quote from;
+for the Russian poets have never been and never
+will be translated. The life and beauty of a lyric
+poem is in its arrangement of words and its
+rhythm; this beauty cannot be transferred into a
+foreign form. I once read a very admirable and
+exact Russian translation of Alfred de Musset’s
+“<cite>Nights</cite>”; it produced the same sensation as
+when we look upon a beautiful corpse; the soul
+had fled, like the divine essence which was the
+life of those charming verses.</p>
+
+<p>The task is yet more difficult when you attempt
+to transfer an idea from the most poetical language
+in Europe into one which possesses the
+least of that quality. Certain verses of Pushkin
+and Lermontof are the finest I know in any
+language. But in the fragment of French prose
+they are transferred into, you glean but a commonplace
+thought. Many have tried, and many
+more will continue to try to translate them,
+but the result is not worth the effort. Besides,
+it does not seem to me that this romantic
+poetry expresses what is most typical of the
+Russian spirit. By giving poetry the first rank
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span>
+in their literature, their critics are influenced
+by the <em>prestige</em> of the past and the enthusiasm
+of youth; for the passage of time adds
+lustre to what is past, to the detriment of the
+present.</p>
+
+<p>A foreigner can perhaps judge more truly in
+this case; for distance equalizes all remote objects
+on the same plane. I believe that the great novelists
+of the past forty years will be of more service
+to Russia than her poets. For the first time
+she is in advance of Western Europe through her
+writers, who have expressed æsthetic forms of
+thought which are peculiarly her own. This is
+why I choose these romances as illustrative of the
+national character. Ten years’ study of these
+works has suggested to me many thoughts relative
+to the character of this people, and the part
+it is destined to fill in the domain of intellect.
+As the novelist undertakes to bring up every
+problem of the national life, it will not be a
+matter of surprise if I make use of works of fiction
+in touching upon grave subjects and in the
+weaving together of some abstract thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>We shall see the Russians plead the cause of
+realism with new arguments, and better ones, in
+my opinion, than those of their rivals in the West.</p>
+
+<p>This work is an important one, and is the foundation
+of all the contests of ideas in the civilized
+world; revealing, moreover, the most characteristic
+conceptions of our contemporaries.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span>
+In all primitive literature, the classical hero
+was the only one considered worthy of attention,
+representing in action all ideas on religions, monarchical,
+social, and moral subjects, existing from
+time immemorial. In exaggerating the qualities
+of his hero, either for good or evil, the classic
+poet took for his model what he deemed should
+or should not be expected of him, rather than
+what such a character would be in reality.</p>
+
+<p>For the last century, other views have gradually
+prevailed. Observation, rather than imagination,
+has been employed. The writer constantly
+gives us a close analysis of actions and feelings,
+rather than the diversion and excitement of
+intrigues and the display of passions. Classic
+art was like a king who has the right to govern,
+punish, reward, and choose his favorites from
+an aristocracy, obliging them to adopt conventional
+rules as to manners, morals, and modes of
+speech. The new art tries to imitate nature in its
+unconsciousness, its moral indifference. It expresses
+the triumph of the masses over the individual,
+of the crowd over the solitary hero, of the
+relative over the absolute. It has been called
+natural, realistic; would the word democratic
+suffice to define it, or not? It would be short-sighted
+in us not to perceive that political
+changes are only episodes in the great and universal
+change which is taking place.</p>
+
+<p>Man has undertaken to explain the Universe,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span>
+and perceives that the existence itself, the greatness
+and the dangers of this Universe are the
+result of the incessant accumulation of infinitesimal
+atoms. While institutions put the ruling of
+states into the hands of the multitude, science
+gave up the Universe to the control of the atoms
+of which it is composed. In the analysis of all
+physical and moral phenomena, the ancient theories
+as to their origin are entirely displaced by the
+doctrine of the constant evolution of microscopic
+and invisible beings. The moral sciences feel the
+shock communicated by the discoveries in natural
+science. The psychologist, who studies the secrets
+of the soul, finds that the human being is the
+result of a long series of accumulated sensations
+and actions, always influenced by its surroundings,
+as the sensitive strings of an instrument
+vary according to the surrounding temperature.</p>
+
+<p>Are not these tendencies affecting practical life
+as well, in the doctrines of equality of classes,
+division of property, universal suffrage, and all
+the other consequences of this principle, which
+are summed up in the word democracy, the
+watchword of our times? Sixty years ago, the
+tide of the stream of democracy ran high, but now
+the stream has become an ocean, which is seeking
+its level over the entire surface of Europe. Here
+and there, little islets remain, solid rocks upon
+which thrones still stand, occasional fragments of
+feudal governments, with a clinging remnant of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span>
+caste privileges; but the most far-seeing of these
+monarchs and of these castes know well that
+the sea is rising. Their only hope is that a democratic
+organization may not be incompatible with
+a monarchical form; we shall find in Russia a
+patriarchal democracy growing up within the
+shadow of an absolute power.</p>
+
+<p>Literature, which always expresses the existing
+condition of society, could not escape this general
+change of base; at first instinctively, then as a
+doctrine, it regulated its methods and its ideals
+according to the new spirit. Its first efforts at
+reformation were awkward and uncertain; romanticism,
+as we know to-day, was but a bastard production.
+It was merely a reaction against the
+classic hero, but was still unconsciously permeated
+by the classic spirit. Men soon tired of this, and
+demanded of authors more sincerity, and representations
+of the world more conformable to the
+teachings of the positive sciences, which were
+gaining ground day by day. They demanded to
+know more of human life, of ideas, and the relations
+of human beings to each other. Then it
+was that realism sprung into existence, and was
+adopted by all European literature, and is still
+reigning, with the various shades of difference
+that we shall allude to. A path was prepared
+for it by the universal revolution I have spoken
+of; but a realization of the general causes of this
+revolution could alone give to literature a philosophical
+turn.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span>
+These great changes in men’s ideas were
+thought to be due to the advancement in scientific
+knowledge, and the resulting freedom of thought,
+which for a time inaugurated the worship of reason.
+But beyond the circle of truth already conquered
+appeared new and unknown abysses, and
+man found himself still a slave, oppressed by
+natural laws, in bondage to his passions. Then
+his presumption vanished. He fell back into
+uncertainty and doubt. Better armed and wiser,
+undoubtedly, but his necessities increased with
+the means of satisfying them. Disenchanted, his
+old instincts came back to him; he sought a
+higher Power,—but could find none. Everything
+conspired to break up the traditions of
+the past; the pride of reason, fully persuaded
+of its own power, as well as the aggravating
+stubbornness of orthodoxy. By a strange contradiction,
+the pride of intelligence increased
+with universal doubt which shattered all opinions.</p>
+
+<p>All the Sages having declared that the new
+theories regarding the universe were contrary to
+religious explanations, pride refused to make further
+researches. The defenders of orthodoxy have
+done little to facilitate matters. They did not
+understand that their doctrine was the fountain-head
+of all progress, and that they turned that
+stream from its natural direction by opposing the
+discoveries of science and all political changes.</p>
+
+<p>The strongest proof of the truth of a doctrine
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span>
+is the faculty of accommodating itself to all
+human developments, without changing itself, because
+it contains the germ of all the developments.
+The remarkable power of religion over
+men arises from this faculty; when orthodoxy
+does not recognize this gift, it depreciates its
+own strength.</p>
+
+<p>By reason of this misunderstanding, the responsibility
+of which should be shared by all parties,
+it has taken a long time to come to a perception
+of this simple truth. The world has been for
+eighteen centuries in a state of fermentation,
+through the gospel. Bossuet, one of those rare
+spirits which prophesy truly, realized this. He
+said:</p>
+
+<p>“Jesus Christ came into the world to overthrow
+all that pride has established in it; thence it is
+that his policy is in direct opposition to that of
+the age.”</p>
+
+<p>But this constant, active work of the gospel,
+although formerly acknowledged, is now denied
+by many; this gives to realism the harshness of
+its methods. The realist should acknowledge the
+present, abiding influence of the spirit of the
+gospel in the world. He should, above all, possess
+the religious sentiment; it will give him the
+charity he needs. The spirit of charity loses its
+influence in literature the moment it withdraws
+from its true source.</p>
+
+<p>To sum up what realism should be, I must seek
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span>
+a general formula, which will express both its
+method and the extent of its creative power. I
+can find but one, and it is a very old one; but
+I know of none better, more scientific, or which
+approaches nearer the secret of all <span class="lock">creation:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“And the Lord formed man of the dust of the
+ground.”—But, to complete the formula, and
+account for the dual nature of our humanity, we
+must add the text: “And breathed into his nostrils
+the breath of life, and man became a living
+soul—”</p>
+
+<p>This divine spark, derived from the source of
+universal life, is the spirit, the active and mysterious
+and incomprehensible element of our being,
+which baffles all our explanations, and without
+which we are nothing. At the point where life
+begins, there do we cease to comprehend.</p>
+
+<p>The realist is groping his way, trying his experiments
+in the creations of his brain, which
+breathe the spirit of truth, and speak with at
+least the accent of sincerity and sympathy.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span>
+<h3>
+CONTENTS.
+</h3>
+</div>
+
+<table>
+<tr><td class="tdr"><span class="muchsmaller">CHAPTER</span></td>
+    <td class="tdr1 muchsmaller" colspan="2">PAGE</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td></td>
+    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Translator’s Note</span></td>
+    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td></td>
+    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Preface</span></td>
+    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="One">I.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Epochs in Russian Literature</span></td>
+    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Two">II.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Romanticism.—Pushkin and Poetry</span></td>
+    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Three">III.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">The Evolution of Realism in Russia.—Gogol</span></td>
+    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Turgenef</span></td>
+    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Five">V.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">The Religion of Endurance.—Dostoyevski</span></td>
+    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Six">VI.</abbr></td>
+    <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Nihilism and Mysticism.—Tolstoï</span></td>
+    <td class="tdr1 vlb"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span>
+<p class="center xxl tall">
+THE RUSSIAN NOVELISTS.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="One">I.</abbr><br>
+<br>
+<span class="allsmcap">EPOCHS IN RUSSIAN LITERATURE.</span></h3>
+
+<h4><abbr title="One">I.</abbr></h4>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> studying those contemporary writers
+who alone will reveal to us the true Russian spirit
+and character, we must devote a little attention
+to their predecessors, in order to understand the
+Russian literature in its prolonged infancy, and
+its bearing upon that of the present day. We
+shall see how everything conspired to retard its
+development. Russian literature may be divided
+into four distinct epochs. The first, ending with
+the accession of Peter the Great, was in fact its
+mediæval age. In this epoch a wealth of national
+traditions had accumulated in its popular poetry
+and barbarous essays. The second period embraces
+the last century, from Peter the Great to
+Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr>, and, although seemingly progressive,
+was the least fruitful one, because its literature
+was but a servile imitation of that of the
+Occident. The third, the short epoch of romanticism,
+produced a brilliant set of poets, whose
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span>
+works were of value to the general world of letters.
+But they were hot-house blooms, produced by a
+culture imported from abroad, and give but little
+idea of the true properties of their native soil.</p>
+
+<p>Forty years ago a new epoch began. Russia
+has finally produced something spontaneous and
+original. In the realistic novel, Russian genius
+has at last come to a realizing sense of its own
+existence; and, while bound indissolubly to the
+past, it already lisps and stammers the programme
+of its future. We shall see how this genius has
+soared from darkness and obscurity, acting already
+a part in history, although continually repressed
+by history’s cruel wrongs and injustice and its
+brusque changes of situation. We must recall too
+the intellectual origin of this race and its moral
+peregrinations, and then we can make more allowance
+for what there is of gloom, irresolution,
+and obscurity in its literature.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>The Russian people are afflicted with a national,
+a historical malady, which is partly hereditary,
+partly contracted during the course of its
+existence. The hereditary part is that proclivity
+of the Slavonic mind towards that negative
+doctrine which to-day we call Nihilism, and which
+the Hindu fathers called <dfn>Nirvâna</dfn>. In fact, if we
+would understand Russia well, we must recall to
+our minds what she has learned from ancient India.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span>
+Many philosophers of the present day in Russia
+fully accept the doctrines of Buddha, and boast
+with pride of the purity of their Aryan blood,
+bringing forward many arguments in support of
+this claim. First, there is the fact that the physical
+type is very marked in families in which the
+Tartar blood has never mingled. Many a Moscow
+student or peasant from certain provinces might,
+except for his light complexion, easily pass in a
+street of Lahore or Benares for a native of the
+valley of the Ganges. Moreover, they have strong
+philological arguments. The old Slavonic dialect
+is declared by linguists to more nearly approach
+the Sanscrit than does the Greek of the very
+earliest epochs. The grammatical rules are identical.
+Speak of the <dfn>Vêda</dfn> to any Russian peasant,
+and you will find he needs no explanation; the verb
+<dfn>vêdat</dfn> is one in constant use by him. If he should
+mention the word “fire,” it will be the original
+one used by his ancestors who worshipped that
+element. Numberless examples could be quoted
+to prove this close relation to the original Sanscrit;
+but this is still more strongly shown by an
+analytical study of the Russian mind and character.
+The Hindu type of mind may be easily recognized
+in the Slavonic intellectual type. By studying
+the revolutions of India one could easily
+understand possible convulsions in Russia. The
+most able authors state the Buddhist revolution
+to have arisen from a social rather than a religious
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span>
+reaction of the popular sentiment against the spirit
+of caste, against the fixed organizations of society.
+Like Christianity in the West, Buddhism was in
+the extreme East the revelation, the personification
+of charity and meekness, of moral and social
+freedom, which were to render life more tolerable
+to multitudes of human beings bowed under the
+yoke of an implacable theocracy.</p>
+
+<p>The best doctrines, in order to succeed, must
+permit certain exaggerations for the fanciful and
+imaginative, and tolerate certain errors which
+attract minds warped by prolonged sufferings. To
+the latter, Christianity offers asceticism; Buddhism
+promises them the joys of annihilation,
+the Nirvâna. Nihilism is the word invented by
+Burnouf as a translation of <dfn>Nirvâna</dfn>. Max
+Müller says that the Sanscrit word really means
+“the action of extinguishing a light by blowing
+it out.” Will not this definition explain
+Russian Nihilism, which would extinguish the
+light of civilization by stifling it, then plunge
+back into chaos.</p>
+
+<p>Undoubtedly, numerous and more recent causes
+have acted upon the national mind producing
+this peculiar state of discouragement, which in
+violent natures has developed into a furious
+desire to destroy every existing condition, because
+all are bad. Moreover, Christianity has lent a
+new formula to what there was of good in the
+old instincts. Its influence has been profound,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span>
+accounting for the spirit of fraternity and self-sacrifice
+so admirable in this people. But I cannot
+help thinking that with this stolid race we
+must go back to the habits of thought of very
+ancient times in order to realize what their natural
+inclinations and difficulties would be.</p>
+
+<p>We shall now see how these have been aggravated
+or modified by a series of accidents. I
+know of no people which has been so overwhelmed
+by its own fate; like a river which has
+changed its course over and over again, or the life
+of one of those men who seem fated to begin
+several different careers in life and succeed in
+none.</p>
+
+<p>The Western nations have developed under
+much more favorable conditions. After the
+forced establishment and final withdrawal of
+Islamism, they enjoyed a long period of comparative
+peace, several centuries in which they
+could work out the problem of life. Constant
+revolutions and wars did not wholly throw
+them off the track which they had marked out
+for themselves from the outset.</p>
+
+<p>Russia, on the contrary, seems to have offered
+a free field for the most radical experiments, in
+which its poor people have been involved every
+two or three hundred years, just as they were
+well started in a new direction. Plunged into
+the most barbarous and heathenish anarchy, different
+tribes waged war there for two or three
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span>
+centuries after these had wholly ceased in France.
+Then Christianity came, but from a Byzantine,
+the least pure source; a vitiated Christianity,
+enervated by oriental corruption. The Russian
+people were fated to become wholly Greek in
+religion, laws, and government, thus commencing
+a new epoch in history. Would this germ of a
+new life have time to develop?</p>
+
+<p>Two hundred years after the baptisms at Kiev,
+Russia was overwhelmed by the Mongolian invasion.
+Asia returned to demand its prey and to
+seize the young Christian territory, which was
+already gravitating toward Europe. Pagans from
+the beginning, the Tartars became Mohammedans,
+remained wholly Asiatic, and introduced oriental
+customs among their Russian subjects. Not until
+the fifteenth century, when the Renaissance was
+dawning upon western Europe, did Russia begin
+to throw off this Tartar yoke. They freed themselves
+by a succession of strong efforts, but very
+gradually. The Crescent did not disappear from
+the Volga until 1550, leaving behind it traces of
+the oriental spirit for all time.</p>
+
+<p>The Russian people were now crushed by an
+iron despotism, made up of Mongolian customs
+and Byzantine ceremonies. Just emancipated from
+foreign oppression, they were forced to cultivate
+the soil. Boris Godunof condemned them to
+serfdom, by which their whole social condition
+was changed in one day, with one stroke of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span>
+pen,—that unfortunate St. George’s day which
+the <dfn>muzhik</dfn> would curse for three hundred years
+to come.</p>
+
+<p>In the next century Russia was invaded from
+the Occident. Poland obtained one-half of its
+territory and ruled at Moscow. The Poles were
+afterwards expelled, when the nation could take
+time to breathe and assert itself again. Naturally,
+it then turned toward Asia and its own
+traditions.</p>
+
+<p>Now appeared upon the scene a rough pilot in
+the person of Peter the Great, to guide the helm
+of this giant raft which was floating at random,
+and direct it toward Europe. At this epoch
+occurred the strangest of all the experiments
+tried by history upon Russia. To continue the
+figure, imagine a ship guided towards the West
+by the captain and his officers, while the entire
+crew were bent upon sailing for the East. Such
+was the strange condition of affairs for one hundred
+and fifty years, from the accession of Peter
+to the death of the Emperor Nicholas; the consequences
+of which condition are still observable.
+The sovereign and a few men he called to his aid
+abjured oriental life entirely, and became Europeans
+in ideas, politics, language, and dress. Little
+by little, the upper classes followed this example
+during the latter part of the last century.</p>
+
+<p>During the first half of the present one, the
+influence of Europe became still stronger, affecting
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span>
+administration, education, etc., drawing a
+small part of the masses with it; but the nation
+remained stolid, rebellious, with its eyes turned
+toward the East, as were the prayers of their
+Tartar masters. Only forty years ago the Western
+light illumined the highest peaks alone, while
+the broad valleys lay buried in the shadows of a
+past which influences them still.</p>
+
+<p>This entire period presents a condition of affairs
+wholly unique. An immense population was led
+by a small class which had adopted foreign ideas
+and manners, and even spoke a strange language;
+a class which received its whole intellectual, moral,
+and political food and impetus from Germany,
+England, or France, as the case might be;—always
+from outside. The management of the
+land itself was frequently confided to foreigners—“pagans,”
+as the Russian peasants called them.
+Naturally, these foreigners looked upon this
+country as a vast field open to them for the
+collection of taxes and recruits; and whose destiny
+it was to furnish them with everything
+necessary in carrying out their projects,—their
+diplomatic combinations on the chess-board of all
+Europe.</p>
+
+<p>There were, of course, some exceptions—some
+attempts at restoring national politics and interior
+reform; but total ignorance of the country as
+well as of its language was the rule. Grandparents
+are still living in Russia, who, while they
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span>
+speak French perfectly, are quite incapable of
+speaking, or at least of writing, in the language
+of their grandchildren.</p>
+
+<p>Since the time of Catherine, a series of generations
+living in the Parisian elegance and luxury
+of the days of Louis XV., of the Empire, and the
+Restoration, have suffered with the French all their
+revolutionary shocks, shared in all their aspirations,
+been influenced by all their literature, sympathized
+in all their theories of administration
+and political economy;—and these do not even
+trouble themselves to know how a <dfn>muzhik</dfn> of the
+provinces lives, or what he has to endure. These
+political economists do not even know how Russian
+wheat is raised, which Pushkin declares to
+grow differently from the English wheat.</p>
+
+<p>So the people, left to themselves, merely vegetated,
+and developed according to the obscure
+laws of their oriental nature. We can imagine
+what disorder would arise in a nation so formed
+and divided.</p>
+
+<p>In France, historical events have gradually
+formed a middle class; a natural connecting link
+between the two extremes of society. In Russia
+this middle class did not exist, and is still wanting,
+there being nothing to fill the intervening
+space. The whole depth of the abyss was
+realized by those Russians who became enlightened
+enough to understand the state of their
+country during the latter years of the reign of
+Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span>
+A national fusion was developed, as it usually is
+on the battle-fields, where the Russians fell side by
+side before the invader. This movement, however,
+was very gradual, and Russia was virtually
+divided into two distinct classes until the death
+of the Emperor Nicholas, when the necessity of a
+more orderly condition of affairs was universally
+felt, giving rise to a social revolution which
+resulted in the emancipation of the serfs.</p>
+
+<p>For the last quarter of a century, every conscientious
+and strong-minded man has worked to
+perform his part towards the common object:
+the establishment of a solid and united country.
+But they met with terrible obstacles; for they
+must abolish the past, heal all differences, and
+conciliate all parties.</p>
+
+<p>As a world travelling through space, drawn by
+opposite attractions, is divided, bursts asunder,
+one fragment rushing to join the distant star
+which calls it, while the greater portion of the
+planet continues to gravitate towards the nearer
+spheres; and as, in spite of all opposing forces,
+these two separated fragments of a world tend to
+re-unite, no matter what spaces divide them, or
+with what a shock they must meet, having
+acquired such increased velocity;—so was it
+with Russia, made up of so many dissimilar elements,
+attracted at different times by opposite
+poles; now tossed from Europe to Asia, and
+back again from Asia to Europe, and finally
+divided against itself.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span>
+This condition is what I called the Russian
+national malady, which has plunged this people
+into the deepest discouragement and confusion.
+To historical misfortunes, we may add the peculiarities
+of soil and climate in which the Russian
+drama has been enacted. The severe, interminable
+winter interrupts man’s work and depresses his
+spirit. In the southern part, the scanty vegetation
+does not incite him to wrestle with nature and vie
+with her in energy and devotion. Is it not true that
+man’s mind is modelled according to the nature
+of his abiding-place? Must not a country having
+a limited horizon, and forms strongly and sharply
+defined, tend to the development of individuality,
+to clearness of conception, and persevering effort?
+The larger portion of Russia has nothing analogous
+to this; only, as Tacitus says, a “monotonous
+alternation of wild wood and reeking marsh.”
+(“<i lang="la">Aut silvis horrida, aut paludibus fœda</i>”); endless
+plains with no distinct horizon, no decisive
+outlines, only a mirage of snow, marsh, or sand.
+Everywhere the infinite, which confuses the mind
+and attracts it hopelessly. Tolstoï has well described
+it as “that boundless horizon which
+appeals to me so strongly.”</p>
+
+<p>The souls of this people must resemble those
+who sail on a long voyage; self-centered, resigned
+to their situation, with impulses of sudden, violent
+longing for the impossible. Their land is made
+for a tent-life, rather than for dwelling in houses;
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span>
+their ideas are nomadic, like themselves. As the
+winds bear the arctic cold over the plains from
+the White Sea to the Black, without meeting any
+resisting obstacle, so invasions, melancholy, famine,
+servitude, seize and fill these empty stretches
+rapidly and without hindrance. It is a land
+which is calculated to nourish the dim, hereditary,
+confused aspirations of the Russian heart,
+rather than those productions of the mind which
+give an impetus to literature and the arts.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, we shall see how the persistent
+seed will develop under this severe sky and amid
+such untoward influences, saved by the eternal
+spring which exists in all human hearts of every
+climate.</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Two">II.</abbr><br>
+</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> middle age of Russian literature, or the
+period ending with the accession of Peter the
+Great, produced first: ecclesiastical literature,
+comprising sermons, chronicles, moral and instructive
+treatises. Secondly: popular literature,
+consisting of epic poems, characteristic sonnets
+and legends. The former resembles that of
+western Europe, being in the same vein, only
+inferior to it.</p>
+
+<p>Throughout Christendom, the Church was
+for a long time the only educator; monk and
+scholar being almost synonymous words; while
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span>
+outside the pale of the Church all was barbarism.
+At first, the writer was a mere mechanical
+laborer, or Chinese scribe, who laboriously copied
+the Gospels and the ancient Scriptures. He was
+respected as possessing one of the arcana of life,
+and as specially gifted through a miracle from on
+high. Many generations of monks passed away
+before the idea occurred to these humble copyists
+to utilize their art in recording their own personal
+impressions. At first there were homilies, mere
+imitations of those of the Byzantine fathers; then
+lives of saints; and the legendary lore of the monastery
+of Kiev, the great centre of prayer and holy
+travail of the whole Slavonic world. Here originated
+the first approach to romance of that time,
+its Golden Legend, the first effort of the imagination
+towards the ideal which is so seductive to
+every human soul. Then came the chronicles of
+wars, and of their attendant and consequent evils.
+Nestor, the father of Russian history, noted down
+his impressions of what he saw, in a style similar
+to that of Gregory of Tours.</p>
+
+<p>From the thirteenth to the fifteenth century,
+these feeble germs of culture were nearly crushed
+out of existence by the Tartar invasion; and even
+the translation of the Bible into the Slavonic language
+was not accomplished until the year 1498.</p>
+
+<p>In 1518, Maximus, a Greek monk, who had
+lived in Florence with Savonarola, came to Moscow,
+bringing with him the first specimens of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span>
+printing. He reformed the schools, and collected
+around him a group of men eager for knowledge.
+About this time the so-called civil deacons, the
+embryo of future <dfn>tchinovnism</dfn>,<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> began to assist
+the students of Latin and Greek in their translations.</p>
+
+<p>Father Sylvester also wrote the “Domostroi,” a
+treatise on morals and domestic economy; a practical
+encyclopædia for Russians of the sixteenth
+century.</p>
+
+<p>In the second half of this century Ivan the
+Terrible introduced printing into Russia. A
+part of the venerable building he erected at
+Moscow for a printing establishment is still
+standing. He tried to obtain from Germany
+skilful hands in the new art, but they were refused
+him. Each sovereign jealously guarded
+every master of the great secret, as they did good
+alchemists or skilful workers in metals.</p>
+
+<p>A Moscow student, Ivan Fedorof, cast some
+Slavonic characters, and used them in printing
+the Acts of the Apostles, in 1564. This is the
+most ancient specimen of typography in Russia.
+He, the first of Russian printers, was accused of
+heresy, and obliged to fly for his life. His
+wretched existence seemed a prophetic symbol
+of the destiny reserved for the development of
+thought in his native country. Fedorof took
+refuge with some magnates of Lithuania, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span>
+printed some books in their castles; but his
+patrons and protectors tore him from his beloved
+work, and forced him to cultivate the land. He
+wrote of himself:—“It was not my work to sow
+the grain, but to scatter through the earth food
+for the mind, nourishment for the souls of all
+mankind.” He fled to Lemberg, where he died
+in extreme poverty, leaving his precious treasure
+to a Jew.</p>
+
+<p>The seventeenth century produced a few specimens
+of secular literature. But it was an unfavorable
+time, a time of anxiety, of usurpations; and
+afterwards came the Polish invasion. When intellectual
+life again awoke, theological works were
+the order of the day; and even up to the time of
+Peter the Great, all the writers of note were theologians.</p>
+
+<p>The development of general literature in Russia
+was precisely analogous to that of Western
+Europe, only about two centuries later, the seventeenth
+century in Russia corresponding to the
+fifteenth in France. With popular literature, or
+folk-lore, however, the case is quite otherwise;
+nowhere is it so rich and varied as with the
+Slavonians.</p>
+
+<p>Nature and history seem to have been too
+cruel to this people. Their spirits rise in rebellion
+against their condition, and soar into that
+fantastic realm of the imagination, above and outside
+the material world; a realm created by the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span>
+Divine Being for the renewal of man’s spirit, and
+giving him an opportunity for the play of his
+fancy. According to the poet Tutschef, “Our
+earthly life is bathed in dreams, as the earth by
+ocean’s waves.” Their songs and myths are the
+music of history, embracing their whole national
+life, and changing it into dreams and fancies.
+The Cossack fisher-folk have sung them upon
+their mighty rivers for more than eight centuries.</p>
+
+<p>When, in the future, Russia shall produce her
+greatest and truest poets, they have only to draw
+from these rich sources, an inexhaustible store.
+Never can they find better material; for the imagination
+of that anonymous author, the people, is
+the more sublime, and its heart more truly poetical,
+because of its great faith, simplicity, and
+many sorrows. What poem can compare with
+that description of the universe in a book, written
+in the fifteenth century, called “Book of the
+<span class="lock">Dove”?—</span></p>
+
+<p>“The sun is the fire of love glowing in the
+Lord’s face; the stars fall from his mantle….
+The night is dark with his thoughts; the break
+of day is the glance of his eye….”</p>
+
+<p>And where can the writers of the modern
+realistic Russian novel find tenderer touches or
+more sharply bitter allusions than in the old
+dramatic poem, “The Ascension of Christ”?
+Jesus, as he is about to rise to heaven, thus
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span>
+consoles the sorrowing crowd clustered around
+<span class="lock">him:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“Weep not, dear brethren! I will give you a
+mountain of gold, a river of honey; I will leave
+you gardens planted with vines, fruits, and manna
+from heaven.” But the Apostle John interrupts
+him, <span class="lock">saying:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“Do not give them the mountain of gold, for
+the princes and nobles will take it from them,
+divide it among themselves, and not allow our
+brothers to approach. If thou wishest these
+unfortunates to be fed, clothed, and sheltered,
+bestow upon them Thy Holy Name, that they may
+glorify it in their lives, on their wanderings
+through the earth.”</p>
+
+<p>The song of “The Band of Igor,” an epic poem,
+describing the struggle with the pagan hordes
+from the south-west, and supposed by some
+authors to have been inspired by Homer, is the
+most ancient, and the prototype of all others of
+the Middle Age. The soul of the Slavonic poet of
+this time is Christian only in name. The powers
+he believes in are those of nature and the
+universe. He addresses invocations to the rivers,
+to the sea, to darkness, the winds, the sun. The
+continual contrast between the beneficent Light
+and the evil Darkness recalls the ancient Egyptian
+hymns, which always describe the eternal contest
+between day and night.</p>
+
+<p>Pushkin says of the “Song of Igor,” the origin of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span>
+which is much disputed among scholars: “All our
+poets of the eighteenth century together had not
+poetry enough in them to comprehend, still less
+to compose, a single couplet of this ‘Song of
+Igor.’”</p>
+
+<p>This epic poetry of Russia strikes its roots in
+the most remote antiquity of Asia, from Hindu
+and Persian myths, as well as from those of the
+Occident. It resembles the race itself in its
+growth and mode of development, oscillating
+alternately between the east and the west.
+Thus has the Russian mind oscillated between the
+two poles of attraction. In this period of its
+growth, it remembers and imitates more than it
+creates; but the foreign images it receives and
+reflects assume larger contours and more melancholy
+colors; a tinge of plaintiveness, as well as
+of brotherly love and sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>Not so with the period we now enter. Literature
+is now reduced to a restricted form, like the
+practice of an art, cultivated for itself and following
+certain rules. It is an edifice constructed by
+Peter the Great, in which the author becomes a
+servant of the state, with a set task like the rest
+of the government officials. All must study in
+the school of Western Europe, and must accomplish
+in the eighteenth century what France did
+in the sixteenth. Even the Slavonic language
+itself must suffer innovations and adopt foreign
+terms. Before this, all books were written in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span>
+the Old Slavonic language of the church, which
+influenced also all scientific and poetical productions.</p>
+
+<p>The change which came about naturally in
+France, as the result of an intellectual revolution,
+for which the minds of the people were already
+ripe, was in Russia brought about by a single
+will; being the artificial work of one man who
+aroused the people from slumber before their
+time.</p>
+
+<p>A new style of literature cannot be called into
+being, as an army can be raised, or a new code of
+laws established, by an imperial order or decree.
+Let us imagine the Renaissance established in
+France by Philippe le Bel! Such an attempt was
+now made in Russia, and its unsatisfactory results
+are easily accounted for.</p>
+
+<p>Peter established an Academy of Science at St.
+Petersburg, sending its members abroad for a time
+at first to absorb all possible knowledge, and
+return to use it for the benefit of the Russian
+people. This custom prevailed for more than a
+century. The most important of these scholars
+was Lomonosof, the son of a poor fisherman of
+the White Sea. Having distinguished himself at
+school, he was taken up by the government and
+sent into Germany. Returning to supplant the
+German professors, whom he found established at
+St. Petersburg, he bequeathed to his country a
+quite remarkable epic poem on Peter the Great,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span>
+called “La Pétriade,” for which his name is
+revered by his countrymen.</p>
+
+<p>The glorious reign of Catherine <abbr title="Two">II.</abbr> should have
+added something to the literary world. She was
+a most extraordinary woman. She wrote comedies
+for her own theatre at the Hermitage, as
+well as treatises on education for the benefit of
+her grandchildren, and would gladly have been
+able to furnish native philosophers worthy to vie
+with her foreign courtiers; but they proved mere
+feeble imitators of Voltaire. Kheraskof wrote the
+“Rossiade” and Sumarokof, called by his contemporaries
+the Russian Racine, furnished the court
+with tragedies. But two comedies, “Le Brigadier,”
+and “Le Mineur,” by Von Vizin, have
+more merit, and are still much read and highly
+appreciated. These form a curious satire on the
+customs of the time. But the name of Derzhavin
+eclipses all others of this epoch. His works were
+modelled somewhat after Rousseau and Lefranc de
+Pompignan, and are fully equal to them.</p>
+
+<p>Derzhavin had the good-fortune to live to a
+ripe old age, and in court life through several
+reigns; thus having the best of opportunities to
+utilize all striking events. Each new accession to
+the throne, victories, anniversaries, all contributed
+to inflate his national pride and inspire his muse.</p>
+
+<p>But his high-flown rhetoric is open to severe
+criticism, and his works will be chiefly valued
+as illustrative of a glorious period of Russian
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span>
+history, and as a memorial of the illustrious Catherine.
+Pushkin says of <span class="lock">him:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“He is far inferior to Lomonosof.—He neither
+understood the grammar nor the spirit of our language;
+and in time, when his works will have
+been translated, we shall blush for him. We
+should reserve only a few of his odes and
+sketches, and burn all the rest.”</p>
+
+<p>Krylof, the writer of fables in imitation of La
+Fontaine, deserves mention. He had talent enough
+to show some originality in a style of literature
+in which it is most difficult to be original; and
+wrote with a rude simplicity characteristically
+Russian, and in a vein much more vigorous than
+that of his model.</p>
+
+<p>Karamzin inaugurated a somewhat novel deviation
+in the way of imitation. He was an
+enthusiastic admirer of Rousseau. He was poet,
+critic, political economist, novelist, and historian;
+and bore a leading part in the literature of the
+latter part of the eighteenth century and the
+beginning of the nineteenth; a time including
+the end of Catherine’s reign and the early part
+of Alexander’s. It was a transition period between
+the classic and romantic schools of literature.
+Karamzin might be called the Rousseau and
+the Chateaubriand of his country. His voluminous
+history of Russia is of great merit, although
+he is sufficiently blinded by his patriotism to cause
+him to present a too flattering picture of a most
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span>
+cruel despotism; so that his assertions are often
+challenged by later writers. But the work is of
+great value as a most conscientious compilation of
+events and quotations, and the only one written
+up to the last twenty years; and in this respect
+Karamzin has no rival.</p>
+
+<p>He owed his renown, before writing his history,
+to a few little romances of a sentimental turn.
+The romantic story of “La pauvre Lise” especially
+was received with a furor quite out of
+proportion to its merit. Its popularity was such
+that it became the inspiration of artists and of
+decorators of porcelain. Lakes and ponds innumerable
+were baptized with the name of <i>Lise</i>, in
+memory of her sad fate. Such enthusiasm seems
+incredible; but we can never tell what literary
+effort may be borne on to undying fame by the
+wheel of fashion!</p>
+
+<p>The successive efforts of these secondary writers
+have contributed much to form the language of
+Russian literature as it now exists; Karamzin
+for its prose, Derzhavin for its poetry. In less
+than one hundred years the change was accomplished,
+and the way prepared for Pushkin, who
+was destined to supply an important place in Russian
+literature.</p>
+
+<p>Karamzin’s part in politics was quite at variance
+with his position in the world of letters.
+Although an imitator of Rousseau, he set himself
+against the liberal ideas of Alexander. He
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span>
+was opposed to the emancipation of the serfs, and
+became the champion of the so-called <dfn>Muscovitism</dfn>,
+which, forty years later, became <dfn>Slavophilism</dfn>. He
+lived in Moscow, where the conservative element
+was strongest, acting in opposition to Speranski,
+the prime minister.</p>
+
+<p>In 1811, Karamzin wrote a famous paper, addressed
+to his sovereign, called, “Old and New
+Russia,” which so influenced Alexander’s vacillating
+mind that it gave the death-blow to
+Speranski. In this paper he says: “We are
+anticipating matters in Russia, where there are
+hardly one hundred persons who know how to
+spell correctly. We must return to our national
+traditions, and do away with all ideas imported
+from the Occident. No Russian can comprehend
+any limitation of the autocratic power. The
+autocrat draws his wisdom from a fountain within
+himself, and from the love of his people,” etc.</p>
+
+<p>This paper contained the germ of every future
+demand of the Muscovite party.</p>
+
+<p>Karamzin is the pioneer of the <dfn>Slavophile</dfn> party,
+which would do away with all the reforms of
+Peter the Great, and reconstruct the original
+Russia as an ideal government, entirely free from
+any European ideas. As this political programme
+became a literary one, it is important to note its
+first appearance.</p>
+
+<p>Freemasonry, that embodiment of the spirit of
+mysticism, worked its way into Russia, brought
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span>
+from Sweden and Germany, during the reign of
+Catherine; and was at once taken up by the literary
+world, then led by Novikof. The greater
+part of the distinguished scholars and statesmen
+under Alexander, Karamzin among them, were
+interested in it, and spread through the country
+the philosophical works which deluged Europe.</p>
+
+<p>The French Revolution now broke out; and
+Catherine, becoming alarmed at the rapid spread
+of the new philosophy, ordered the lodges closed,
+had the suspicious books seized, and Novikof
+tried and condemned.</p>
+
+<p>But the new doctrines assumed greater force
+under Alexander, who encouraged them. The
+infatuation for this mysticism spread among all
+intelligent people. The state of mind of the
+upper classes has been faithfully depicted in the
+character of Pierre Bezushof, in “War and
+Peace,” the historical novel of Leon Tolstoï.
+(See the chapter which describes Pierre’s initiation
+into Freemasonry.) This condition of mind
+is not peculiar to the Russians. All Europe was
+obscured by it at the end of the eighteenth century;
+but in Russia it found free scope in the
+unsettled and confused state of affairs, where the
+thinking mind struggled against the influx of
+rationalism, while unwilling to accept the negative
+philosophy of the learned class. On this
+account, among others, the reign of Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr>
+presents a curious subject for study and contemplation.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span>
+It offered a point of meeting for every
+new current of thought which agitated Russia,
+as well as for everything that had been repressed
+throughout the reign of Nicholas. The Masonic
+lodges insensibly became a moving power in politics,
+which led to the liberal conspiracy crushed
+out in 1825. A horror of the revolutionary ideas
+of France, and the events of 1812, had produced
+a great change in the Russian mind; besides,
+Russia, now temporarily estranged from France,
+became more influenced by Germany; which fact
+was destined to have a considerable effect upon
+their literature. During the whole of the eighteenth
+century, France tutored the Russian mind
+in imitation of the classics. It now became inculcated
+with the romanticism of Germany.</p>
+
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[A]</a> Official rank.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span>
+<h3>
+CHAPTER <abbr title="Two">II.</abbr><br>
+<br>
+<span class="allsmcap">ROMANTICISM.—PUSHKIN AND POETRY.</span>
+</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Russia</span>—all Europe, in fact—was now enjoying
+a period of peace. A truce of twenty-five
+years lay between the great political wars and the
+important social struggles to come. During these
+years of romanticism, so short and yet so full,
+between 1815 and 1840 only, all intelligent minds
+in Russia seemed given up to thought, imagination,
+and poetry.</p>
+
+<p>Everything in this country develops suddenly.
+Poets appear in numbers, just as the flowers of
+the field spring forth after the sun’s hot rays have
+melted the snow. At this time poetry seemed
+to be the universal language of men. Only one of
+this multitude of poets, however, is truly admirable,
+absorbing all the rest in the lustrous rays of
+his genius,—the glorious Pushkin.</p>
+
+<p>He was preceded by Zhukovski, who was born
+twenty years earlier, and who also survived him.
+No critic can deny that Zhukovski was the real
+originator of romanticism in Russian literature;
+or that he was the first one to introduce it from
+Germany. His works were numerous. Perfectly
+acquainted with the Greek language, his version
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span>
+of Homer is most admirable. He also wrote several
+poems in the style of Schiller, Goethe, and
+Uhland; and many compositions, ballads, etc., all
+in the German style. He touched upon many
+Russian subjects, themes which Pushkin afterwards
+took up. In fact, he was to Pushkin what
+Perugino was to Raphael; yet every Russian will
+declare that the new romanticism of that time
+dates from Pushkin, and is identified with him.</p>
+
+<p>Zhukovski was one of those timid spirits which
+are born to be satellites, even though they rise
+before the sun in the pale dawn; but they only
+shine with reflected light, and their lustre becomes
+wholly absorbed in the rays of the rising luminary
+which replaces them.</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="One">I.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>To realize the importance of the part the poets
+of this period were destined to play, we must
+remember what a very small part of the population
+of this vast country could be called the
+educated class. At the beginning of the century,
+the education of the Muscovite aristocracy was
+confided entirely to the Jesuits, who had been
+powerfully supported by the Emperor Paul. In
+1811, Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr> replaced these foreign educators
+by native Russians, and founded the Lyceum
+of Tsarskoe-Selo, after the model of the Paris
+Lyceums.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span>
+Students were admitted according to birth and
+merit only. Pushkin and Gortchakof were the
+two who most distinguished themselves. The
+course of study was rather superficial. The students
+were on intimate terms with the soldiers
+of the Imperial Guard, and quartered in the
+imperial palace with them. Politics, patriotism,
+poetry, all together fomented an agitation, which
+ended with the conspiracy of December, 1825.</p>
+
+<p>Pushkin was at once recognized as a master in
+this wild throng, and was already famous as a
+poet. The old Derzhavin cast his own mantle
+upon Pushkin’s shoulders and pronounced him
+his heir. Pushkin possessed the gift of pleasing;
+but to understand his genius, we must not lose
+sight of his origin. His maternal grandfather was
+an Abyssinian negro, who had been a slave in the
+Seraglio of Constantinople, was stolen and carried
+to Russia by a corsair, and adopted by Peter the
+Great, who made him a general, and gave him in
+marriage to a noble lady of the court. The poet
+inherited some of his grandfather’s features; his
+thick lips, white teeth, and crisp curly hair. This
+drop of African blood, falling amid Arctic snows,
+may account for the strong contrasts and exaggerations
+of his poetic nature, which was a remarkable
+union of impetuosity and melancholy.</p>
+
+<p>His youth was passed in a wild whirl of pleasure
+and excess. He incurred while still young
+the imperial anger, by having written some insolent
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span>
+verses, as well as by committing some foolish
+pranks with some of the saints’ images; and was
+banished for a time to the borders of the Black
+Sea, where, enchanted by the delicious climate
+and scenery, his genius developed rapidly.</p>
+
+<p>He returned not much the wiser, but with his
+genius fully matured at the age of twenty-five.
+For a few short years following his return, he
+produced his greatest masterpieces with astonishing
+rapidity, and died at thirty-seven in a duel,
+the victim of an obscure intrigue. He had married
+a very beautiful woman, who was the innocent
+cause of his death. Lending an ear to certain
+calumnies concerning her, he became furiously
+jealous, and fought the fatal duel with an officer
+of the Russian guard.</p>
+
+<p>While we lament his sad fate, we can but reflect
+that the approach of age brings sadness with it,
+and most of all to a poet. He died young, in the
+prime of life and in the plenitude of his powers,
+giving promise of future possible masterpieces,
+with which we always credit such geniuses.</p>
+
+<p>It is impossible to judge of this man’s works
+from a review of his character. Though his heart
+was torn by the stormiest passions, he possessed
+an intellect of the highest order, truly classic in
+the best sense of the word. When his talent
+became fully matured, form took possession of
+him rather than color. In his best poems, intellect
+presides over sentiment, and the soul of the
+artist is laid bare.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span>
+To attempt to quote, to translate his precious
+words, would be a hopeless task. He himself said:
+“In my opinion, there is nothing more difficult, I
+might say impossible, than to translate Russian
+poetry into French; concise as our language is,
+we can never be concise enough.”</p>
+
+<p>In Latin one might possibly be able to express
+as many thoughts in as few words, and as beautifully.
+The charm vanishes with the translator’s
+touch; besides, the principal object of this book
+is to show how the peculiar type of Russian character
+is manifested in the works of the Russian
+writers. Neither do I think that Pushkin could aid
+us much in this study; although he was no servile
+imitator, like so many of his predecessors, it is
+none the less true that he drew his material from
+the great sources of European literature. He
+was educated from a child in French literature.
+His father knew Molière by heart, and his uncle
+was a great admirer of Béranger. When he entered
+the Lyceum he could scarcely speak his
+mother-tongue, but he had been fed with Voltaire
+from early childhood. His very first verses
+were written in French, and his first Russian
+rhymes were madrigals on the same themes. In
+the “Prisoner of the Caucasus,” written in 1824,
+we can feel the influence of Byron, whom he
+calls the “master of his thoughts.” Gradually
+he acquired more originality, but it is quite certain
+that but for Byron some of the most important
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span>
+of his poems, such as “Onyegin,” “The Bohemians,”
+several of his oriental poems, and even
+his admirable “Poltava,” would never have
+existed.</p>
+
+<p>During the latter years of his life, he had a
+passion for history, when he studied the historical
+dramas of Shakespeare. This he himself
+acknowledges in the preface to “Boris Godunof,”
+which is a Shakespearian drama on a Muscovite
+subject. In certain prose works he shows unmistakable
+proofs of the influence of Voltaire, as
+they are written in a style wholly dissimilar to
+anything in Russian prose.</p>
+
+<p>The <dfn>Slavophile</dfn> party like to imagine that
+Pushkin, in his “Songs of the Western Slavs,”
+has evoked the ancient Russian spirit; while he
+has merely translated some French verses into
+Russian. We must acknowledge the truth that
+his works, with the exception of “Onyegin,” and a
+few others, do not exhibit any peculiar ethnical
+stamp. He is influenced at different times, as
+the case may be, by his contemporaries in Germany,
+England, and France. He expresses universal
+sentiments, and applies them to Russian
+themes; but he looks from outside upon the
+national life, like all his contemporaries in letters,
+artistically free from any influence of his own race.
+Compare his descriptions of the Caucasus with
+those of Tolstoï in “The Cossacks.” The poet
+of 1820 looks upon nature and the Orientals with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span>
+the eye of a Byron or a Lamartine; while the
+observer of 1850 regards that spot of Asia as his
+ancestral mother-country, and feels that it partly
+belongs to him.</p>
+
+<p>We shall find that Pushkin’s successors possess
+none of his literary qualities. He is as
+concise as they are diffuse; as clear as they are
+involved. His style is as perfect, elegant, and
+correct as a Greek bronze; in a word, he has
+style and good taste, which terms cannot be applied
+to any of his successors in Russian literature.
+Is it taking away anything from Pushkin to
+remove him from his race and give him to the
+world and humanity at large? Because he was
+born in Russia, there is nothing whatever to
+prove that his works were thereby modified.
+He would have sung in the self-same way for
+England, France, or Italy.</p>
+
+<p>But, although he resembles his country so little,
+he served it well. He stirred its intellectual life
+more effectively than any other writer has done;
+and it is not too much to call him the Peter the
+Great of Russian literature. The nation gratefully
+recognizes this debt. To quote one of his
+own verses:—“The monument I have erected
+for myself is made by no mortal hand; and the
+grass will not have time to grow in the path that
+leads to it.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span></p>
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>Among the group of poets contemporaries of
+Pushkin only two are really worthy of mention,
+viz.: Griboyedof and Lermontof; but these two,
+although they died young, gave promise of great
+genius. The first of these left only one comedy,
+but that is the masterpiece of the Russian
+drama (“le Mal de Trop d’Esprit”). The
+author, unlike Pushkin, disdained all foreign
+literature, took pride in all the ancient Muscovite
+customs, and was Russian to the backbone.
+He painted the people and the peculiarities of his
+own country only, and so wonderfully well that
+his sayings have become proverbs. The piece is
+similar to the “Revizor” of Gogol, but, in my
+opinion, superior to it, being broader in spirit and
+finer in sentiment. Moreover, its satire never
+will grow old, for it is as appropriate to the present
+day as to the time for which it was written.</p>
+
+<p>Returning from Persia, where he had been sent
+as Russian minister to the Shah, he was murdered
+by a party of robbers, at the age of thirty
+four.</p>
+
+<p>Lermontof was the poet of the Caucasus, which
+he made the scene of all his poems. His short
+life of twenty-six years was spent among those
+mountains; and he was, like Pushkin, killed in a
+duel, just as he was beginning to be recognized
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span>
+as a worthy successor to him. Byron was also
+his favorite model, whom he, unhappily, strongly
+resembled in character. His most celebrated
+poem was “The Demon”; but he wrote many
+most picturesque and fascinating stanzas and
+short pieces, which are full of tenderness and
+melancholy. Though less harmonious and perfect
+than Pushkin’s, his verses give out sometimes
+a sadder ring. His prose is equal to his
+poetry, and many of his short sketches, illustrative
+of Caucasian life, possess a subtle charm.</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Three">III.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>Lermontof was the last and most extreme of
+the poets of the romantic period. The Byronic
+fever, now at its height, was destined soon to die
+out and disappear. Romanticism sought in history
+some more solid aliment than despair. A reaction
+set in; and writers of elegies and ballads
+turned their attention to historical dramas and
+the picturesque side of human life. From Byron
+they turned back to Shakespeare, the universal
+Doctor. Pushkin, in his “Boris Godunof,” and
+in the later poems of his mature period, devoted
+himself to this resurrection of the past; and his
+disciples followed in his wake. The rhetoric of
+the new school, not wholly emancipated from
+romanticism, was naturally somewhat conventional.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span>
+But Pushkin became interested in journalism;
+and polemics, social reforms, and many
+other new problems arising, helped to make
+romanticism a thing of the past. The young
+schools of philosophy found much food for thought
+and controversy. The question of the emancipation
+of the serfs, raised in the court of Alexander
+<abbr title="One">I.</abbr>, weighed heavily upon the national conscience.
+A suffering people cannot be fed upon rhetoric.</p>
+
+<p>In 1836, Tchadayef published his famous
+“Lettre Philosophique.” He was a man of the
+world, but a learned man and a philosopher.
+The fundamental idea of his paper was that Russia
+had hitherto been but a parasite, feeding upon
+the rest of Europe, and had contributed of itself
+nothing useful to civilization; had established no
+religious reforms, nor allowed any scope for free
+thought upon the leading questions of modern
+society. He <span class="lock">said:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“We have in our blood a principle which is
+hostile to civilization.”</p>
+
+<p>These were strong sentiments coming from the
+mouth of a Russian; but they afterwards found
+many echoing voices, which never before had put
+such crude truths into words. Tchadayef was
+claimed by the liberals as their legitimate father,
+his “Lettre Philosophique” was made a political
+pamphlet, and he himself was regarded as a revolutionary
+leader.</p>
+
+<p>Just at this time, Kant, Schelling, and Hegel
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span>
+were translated, and a great many young Russians
+now studied rationalism at its fountain-heads,
+in the different German universities. The
+preceding generation, which had become intoxicated
+with sentiment, was followed by a generation
+devoted to metaphysics. This new hobby
+was ridden with the enthusiasm peculiar to the
+Russians, and hairs which in Germany were split
+into four parts were subdivided in Moscow into
+eight.</p>
+
+<p>A writer nourished on the new doctrines, and
+who soon became leader of the liberal school,
+appeared at this time, and exercised a strong
+influence upon literature. It was the critic Bielinski.
+He was, perhaps, the only critic of his
+country really worthy of the name. He left a
+voluminous work, a perfect encyclopædia of
+Russian literature; rich in wisdom and in ideas,
+giving a fine historical account of the ancient
+literature, and defining with rare sagacity the
+tendencies of the new. He threw down many
+old idols, and ridiculed the absurd confidence in
+the writers of the classic period. In spite of his
+admiration for Pushkin, he points out many of the
+weak points of romanticism, and seems to fully
+realize the intellectual necessities of his time.
+The great novelists of modern Russia have been
+encouraged by his advice, and he has certainly
+shown himself to be a critic in advance of his own
+time, and the only one Russia has produced. The
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span>
+first sketches and tales of Gogol revealed to
+Bielinski the birth of this new art. He declared
+the age of lyric poetry was past forever, and that
+the reign of Russian prose romance had begun.
+Everything has justified this great writer’s prophecy.
+Since the time of Pushkin, their literature
+has undergone wonderful developments.
+The novelists no longer draw from outside
+sources, but from the natal soil, and it is they
+who will show us what a rich verdure can be produced
+from under those Arctic snows.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span>
+<h3>
+CHAPTER <abbr title="Three">III.</abbr><br>
+<br>
+<span class="allsmcap">THE EVOLUTION OF REALISM IN RUSSIA.—GOGOL.</span>
+</h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> first Russian tale or romance was published
+in 1799, but nothing of note appeared before
+1840; although we have seen what success
+Karamzin obtained with his touching romances,
+especially with “La Pauvre Lise.” Several historical
+romances also appeared about this time,
+(1820), inspired, no doubt, by the unprecedented
+popularity and success of those of Sir Walter
+Scott. But lyric poetry and romanticism had not
+lost their influence, and even Pushkin’s little historical
+tales savor more of the classic period, and
+are rather works of the imagination than studies
+from real life. The historical and so-called popular
+novel, however, with its superhuman heroes,
+was now becoming tedious; and authors were
+already appearing who had begun to observe the
+life around them attentively, and to take pleasure
+in studying something outside of themselves.
+The same causes conspired to produce, almost
+simultaneously, three writers destined to accomplish
+the same task: Dickens in England, Balzac
+in France, and Gogol in Russia. Gogol developed
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span>
+his work more slowly than the others at first, but
+collected rich materials for his successors. He
+may be called the first of Russian prose writers;
+and we shall see by a study of his character and
+works, what a foundation he laid for future progress
+in prose literature in his country, and what
+stirring controversies his books called forth.</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="One">I.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>Gogol was a Cossack, from Little Russia or
+Ukraine. For Russian readers, that is quite
+enough to explain the peculiar qualities of his
+mind and its productions, which were characterized
+by keen but kindly satire, with a tinge of
+melancholy ever running through and underneath
+it. He is the natural product of the land which
+gave him birth. This frontier country is subject
+to the contending influences of both north and
+south. For a few short months the sun revels
+there and accomplishes an almost miraculous
+work—an oriental brilliancy of light by day, and
+soft, enchanting nights under a sky resplendent
+with stars. Magnificent harvests from the fertile
+soil ensure an easy, joyous life; all trouble and
+sadness vanish with the melting snow, and spirits
+rise to general gayety and enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>But the boundless spaces, the limitless horizons
+of these sunny plains overwhelm the spirit; one
+cannot long feel joyous in the presence of Infinity.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span>
+The habit of thought becomes like that of the
+eye; is lost in space, develops an inclination to
+revery, which causes the mind to fall back upon
+itself, and the imagination is, so to speak, thrown
+inward.</p>
+
+<p>Winter transforms the Russian. Upon the
+Dnieper the winter is nearly as severe as on the
+Neva. There is nothing to check the icy winds
+from the north. Death comes suddenly to claim
+its reign. Both earth and man are paralyzed.
+Just as Ukraine was subjugated by the armies
+of Moscow, so it is taken possession of by the
+climate of Moscow. On this great battle-field
+nature carries out the plan of this country’s political
+history, the vicissitudes of which have no
+doubt contributed, as well as those of climate, to
+form its own peculiar physiognomy.</p>
+
+<p>Little Russia was at one time overrun by the
+Turks; and derived from its long association
+with them many oriental traits. Then it was subdued
+by Poland, which has transmitted something
+of its savage luxury to its vassal. Afterwards the
+Cossack leagues established there their republican
+spirit of independence. The traditions of this
+epoch are dearest of all to the heart of the Little
+Russian, who claims from them his inheritance of
+wild freedom and prowess. An ancient order of
+Cossack chivalry, the Zaporovian League, recruited
+from brigands and fugitive serfs, had always been
+in constant warfare, obeying no law but that of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span>
+the sword. Families who were descended directly
+from this stock (Gogol’s was one of them) inherited
+this spirit of revolt, as well as wandering
+instincts, and a love of adventure and the marvellous.
+The complex elements of this character,
+which is more free, jovial, and prompt in action
+than that of the native of Russia proper, have
+strongly influenced the literature of Russia
+through Gogol, whose heart clung with tenacity to
+his native soil. In fact, the first half of his life’s
+work is a picture of life in Ukraine, with its
+legends.</p>
+
+<p>Gogol (Nikolai Vasilievitch) was born near
+Poltava in 1809, in the very heart of the Cossack
+country. His grandfather, who was his first
+teacher, was regimental scribe to the Zaporovian
+League.<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> The child listened from infancy to the
+tales of this grandfather, inexhaustible tales of
+heroic deeds during the great wars with Poland,
+as well as thrilling exploits of these Corsairs of
+the Steppes. His young imagination was fed with
+these stories, tragedies of military life, and rustic
+fairy-tales and legends, which are given to us almost
+intact in his “Evenings at the Farm,” and in
+his poem of “Taras Bulba.” His whole surroundings
+spoke to him of an age of fable not long
+past; of a primitive poetry still alive in the customs
+of the people. This condensed poetry
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span>
+reaches us after passing through two prisms; the
+recollections of old age, which recalls while it
+regrets the past; and the impressions of a child’s
+fancy, which is dazzled by what it hears. This
+was the first and perhaps the most profitable part
+of the young boy’s education. He was afterwards
+put into an institution, where he was taught Latin
+and other languages; but, according to his biographers,
+he never excelled in scholarship. He
+must have made up for lost time later on; for all
+his contemporaries speak of his extensive reading
+and his perfect familiarity with all the literature
+of the Occident.</p>
+
+<p>His letters written to his mother before leaving
+school show already the bent of his mind. Keen,
+observant, and satirical, his wit is sometimes exercised
+at the expense of his comrades. He already
+showed signs of a deeply religious nature,
+and was ambitious too of a great career. His high
+hopes are sometimes temporarily crushed by a sudden
+depression or feeling of discouragement, and
+in his letters he declaims against the injustice of
+men. He feels the pervading influence of the
+Byronism of that time. “I feel as if called,” cries
+the young enthusiast, “to some great, some noble
+task, for the good of my country, for the happiness
+of my fellow-citizens and of all mankind.
+My soul feels the presence of an angel from
+heaven, calling, impelling me towards the lofty
+aim I aspire to.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span>
+A Russian who lived under the rule of the
+Emperor Nicholas, and was eager to work for the
+happiness of his fellow-men, had no choice of
+means. He must enter the government service, and
+laboriously climb the steps of the administrative
+hierarchy, which appropriates to itself every force
+of the community and nation. Having completed
+his studies, Gogol set out for St. Petersburg. It
+was in the year 1829, and he was twenty years
+of age. With empty pockets, but rich in illusions,
+he approached the capital just as his Cossack
+ancestors had entered the cities they conquered;
+thinking he had only to walk boldly forward and
+claim everything he desired. But the future author,
+destined to play so prominent a part in the
+life and literature of his country, must now put
+aside his dreams and taste the stern reality of life.
+A few weeks’ experience taught him that the great
+capital was for him more of a desert than his native
+steppe. He was refused everything he applied for;
+for a provincial with no letters of introduction
+could expect nothing else. In a fit of despair, he
+determined to leave St. Petersburg. One day,
+having received a small sum from his mother,
+which she had saved to pay off a mortgage on
+their house, instead of depositing the money in a
+bank, he jumped on board a ship to go—somewhere,
+anywhere—forward, into the great world;
+like a child who had become imbued with the
+spirit of adventure, from reading Robinson
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span>
+Crusoe. He left the boat at her first landing-place,
+which was Lubeck. Having wandered
+about the city for three days, he returned to St.
+Petersburg, cured of his folly, and resigned to
+bear patiently whatever was in store for him.</p>
+
+<p>With great difficulty he obtained a modest
+position in an office connected with the government,
+where he only remained one year, but where
+he received impressions which were to haunt his
+whole future life. It was here that he studied
+the model of that wretched hero of his work,
+“Le Manteau,” in flesh and blood.</p>
+
+<p>Becoming weary of his occupation, he attempted
+acting, but his voice was not thought strong
+enough. He then became a tutor in families of
+the aristocracy of St. Petersburg; and finally was
+appointed to a professorship in the University.
+But although he made a brilliant opening
+address, his pupils soon complained that he put
+them to sleep, and he lost the situation. It was
+at this juncture that he took refuge in literature.
+He published at first a few modest essays in the
+leading journals, which attracted some attention,
+and Zhukovski had introduced him to Pushkin.
+Gogol has related with what fear and trembling
+he rung one morning at the door of the great
+poet. Pushkin had not yet risen, having been up
+all night, as his valet said. When Gogol begged
+to be excused for disturbing one so occupied with
+his literary labors, the servant informed him that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span>
+his master had passed the night playing cards.
+What a disenchantment for an admirer of the
+great poet!</p>
+
+<p>But Gogol was warmly welcomed. Pushkin’s
+noble heart, too great for envy, enjoyed the success
+of others. His eager sympathy, lavish praise, and
+encouragement have produced legions of authors.
+Gogol, among them all, was his favorite. At first
+he advised him to write sketches descriptive of
+the national history and the customs of the people.
+Gogol followed his advice and wrote his “Evenings
+at a Farm near Dikanka.”<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a></p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>This book is a chronicle of scenes of the author’s
+childhood; and all his love and youthful
+recollections of the country of the Cossacks are
+poured from his heart into this book.</p>
+
+<p>A certain old man, whose occupation is that of
+raising bees, is the story-teller of the party. He
+relates tales of Little Russia, so that we see it
+under every aspect; and gives glimpses of scenery,
+rustic habits and customs, the familiar dialogues
+of the people, and all sorts of legends, both terrible
+and grotesque. The gay and the supernatural
+are strangely blended in these recitals, but the
+gay element predominates; for Gogol’s smile has
+as yet no bitterness in it. His laugh is the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span>
+hearty, frank laugh of the young Cossack who
+enjoys life. All this is related in racy, expressive
+language, full of words peculiar to Little Russia,
+curious local expressions, and those affectionate
+diminutives quite impossible to translate or express
+in a more formal language. Sometimes the
+author bursts forth in a poetical vein, when certain
+impressions or scenes of his native country
+float before his eyes. At the beginning of his
+“Night in May” is this paragraph:—“Do you
+know the beauty of the nights of Ukraine? The
+moon looks down from the deep, immeasurable
+vault, which is filled to overflowing and palpitating
+with its pure radiance. The earth is silver;
+the air is deliciously cool, yet almost oppressive
+with perfume. Divine, enchanting night! The
+great forest trees, black, solemn, and still, reposing
+as if oppressed with thought, throw out their
+gigantic shadows. How silent are the ponds!
+Their dark waters are imprisoned within the vine-laden
+walls of the gardens. The little virgin forest
+of wild cherry and young plum-trees dip their
+dainty roots timidly into the cold waters; their
+murmuring leaves angrily shiver when a little current
+of the night wind stealthily creeps in to caress
+them. The distant horizon sleeps, but above it and
+overhead all is palpitating life; august, triumphal,
+sublime! Like the firmament, the soul seems to
+open into endless space; silvery visions of grace
+and beauty arise before it. Oh! the charm of
+this divine night!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span>
+“Suddenly life, animation, spreads through forest,
+lake, and steppe. The nightingale’s majestic
+trill resounds through the air; the moon seems to
+stop, embosomed in clouds, to listen. The little
+village on the hill is wrapt in an enchanted slumber;
+its cluster of white cottages gleam vividly in
+the moonlight, and the outlines of their low walls
+are sharply clear-cut against the dark shadows.
+All songs are hushed; silence reigns in the homes
+of these simple peasants. But here and there a
+twinkling light appears in a little window of some
+cottage, where supper has waited for a belated
+occupant.”</p>
+
+<p>Then, from a scene like this, we are called
+to listen to a dispute and quarrel between two
+soldiers, which ends in a dance. Now the scene
+changes again. The lady of the lake, the Fate
+lady, rises from her watery couch, and by her
+sorceries unravels the web of fortune. Again,
+between the uproarious bursts of laughter, the
+old story-teller heaves a melancholy sigh, and
+relates a bit of pathos,—for a vein of sadness is
+always latent in the gay songs and legends of this
+people. These sharp contrasts fill this work with
+life and color. The book excited considerable attention,
+and was the more welcome as it revealed a
+corner of Russia then hardly known. Gogol had
+struck the right chord. Pushkin, who especially
+enjoyed humor, lauded the work to the skies;
+and it is still highly appreciated by Russians.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span>
+As for us, while we recognize its high qualities,
+the work does not wholly please us. Perhaps we
+are too old or morose to appreciate and enjoy
+these rustic jokes, and the comic scenes are perhaps
+a little coarse for our liking. It may be,
+too, that the enthusiastic readers of 1832 looked
+upon life with different eyes from ours; and that
+it is only the difference in time that biases our
+opinion. To them this book was wonderfully in
+advance of its time; to us it seems perhaps
+somewhat behind. Nothing is more difficult than
+to estimate what effect a work which is already
+old (especially if it be written in a foreign language)
+will produce <a id="chg0"></a>on our readers of to-day. Are
+we amused by the legend of “La Dame Blanche”?
+Certainly we are, for everybody enjoys it. Then
+perhaps the “Ladies of the Lake” of Gogol’s
+book will be amusing.</p>
+
+<p>In 1834 Gogol published his “Evenings near
+Mirgorod,” including a veritable ghost story, terror-inspiring
+enough to make the flesh creep.</p>
+
+<p>The principal work of this period of the author’s
+career, however, and the one which established
+his fame, was “Taras Bulba,” a prose epic,
+a poetical description of Cossack life as it was in
+his grandfather’s time. Not every writer of modern
+epics has been so fortunate as Gogol; to live
+at a time when he could apply Homer’s method to
+a subject made to his hand; only repeating, as he
+himself said, the narratives of his grandfather, an
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span>
+actual witness and actor in this Iliad. It was
+scarcely more than half a century since the breaking-up
+of the Zaporovian camps of the corsairs and
+the last Polish war, in which Cossack and Pole
+vied with each other in ferocious deeds of valor,
+license, and adventure. This war forms the subject
+of the principal scenes of this drama, which
+also gives a vivid picture of the daily life of the
+savage republic of the Zaporovian Cossacks. The
+work is full of picturesque descriptions, and possesses
+every quality belonging to an epic poem.</p>
+
+<p>M. Viardot has given us an honest version of
+“Taras Bulba,” giving more actual information
+about this republic of the Dnieper than any of
+the erudite dissertations on the subject. But what
+is absolutely impossible to render in a translation
+is the marvellous beauty of Gogol’s poetic prose.
+The Russian language is undoubtedly the richest
+of all the European languages. It is so very clear
+and concise that a single word is often sufficient
+to express several different connected ideas, which,
+in any other language, would require several
+phrases. Therefore I will refrain from giving any
+quotations of these classic pages, which are taught
+in all the Russian schools.</p>
+
+<p>The poem is very unequal in some respects.
+The love passages are inferior and commonplace,
+and the scenes of passion decidedly hackneyed in
+style and expression. In regard to epic poems,
+the truth is that the mould is worn out; it has
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span>
+been used too long; although Guizot, one of the
+best judges of this sort of composition, said that
+in his opinion “Taras Bulba” was the only modern
+epic poem worthy of the name.</p>
+
+<p>Even the descriptions of scenery in “Taras”
+do not seem to us wholly natural. We must
+compare them with those of Turgenef to realize
+how comparatively inferior they are. Both were
+students and lovers of nature: but the one artist
+placed his model before his easel in whatever
+attitude he chose; while to the other she was a
+despotic mistress, whose every fancy he humbly
+obeyed. This can be readily understood by a
+comparison of some of their works. Although I
+am not fond of epics, I have called particular attention
+to “Taras Bulba,” knowing what pride the
+Russians take in the work.</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Three">III.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>In 1835, Nikolai Vasilievitch (Gogol) gave up
+his position in the University, and left the public
+service for good. “Now I am again a free Cossack!”
+he wrote at this time, which was the time
+of his greatest literary activity.</p>
+
+<p>His novels now show him groping after realism,
+rather than indulging his fancy. Among the unequal
+productions of the transition period, “Le
+Manteau” is the most notable one. A late Russian
+politician and author once said to me: “Nous
+sommes tous sortis du manteau de Gogol.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span>
+“Le Manteau” (as well as the “Revizor,” “Inspector-General”)
+was the outgrowth of his one
+year’s experience in the government offices; and
+the fulfilment of a desire to avenge his life of
+a galley slave while there. These works were
+his first blows aimed at the administrative power.
+Gogol had always had a desire to write for the
+stage; and produced several satirical comedies;
+but none of them, except the “Revizor,” had any
+success. The plot of the piece is quite simple.
+The functionaries of a provincial government
+office are expecting the arrival of an inspector,
+who was supposed to come incognito to examine
+their books and accounts. A traveller chances to
+alight at the inn, whom they all suppose to be
+the dreaded officer of justice. Their guilty consciences
+make them terribly anxious. Each one
+attacks the supposed judge, to plead his own
+cause, and denounce a colleague, slipping into
+the man’s hand a generous supply of propitiatory
+roubles. Amazed at first, the stranger is, however,
+astute enough to accept the situation and
+pocket the money. The confusion increases,
+until comes the crash of the final thunderbolt,
+when the real commissioner arrives upon the
+scene.</p>
+
+<p>The intention of the piece is clearly marked.
+The venality and arbitrariness of the administration
+are exposed to view. Gogol says, in his
+“Confessions of an Author”: “In the ‘Revizor,’
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span>
+I tried to present in a mass the results arising from
+the one crying evil of Russia, as I recognized it
+in that year; to expose every crime that is committed
+in those offices, where the strictest uprightness
+should be required and expected. I meant
+to satirize the great evil. The effect produced
+upon the public was a sort of terror; for they felt
+the force of my true sentiments, my real sadness
+and disgust, through the gay satire.”</p>
+
+<p>In fact, the disagreeable effect predominated
+over the fun, especially in the opinion of a foreigner;
+for there is nothing of the French lightness
+and elegance of diction in the Russian style.
+I mean that quality which redeems Molière’s
+“Tartuffe” from being the blackest and most
+terrible of dramas.</p>
+
+<p>When we study the Russian drama, we can see
+why this form of art is more backward in that
+country than in any other. Poetry and romance
+have made more rapid strides, because they are
+taken up only by the cultivated class. There is
+virtually no middle class; and theatrical literature,
+the only diversion for the people, has
+remained in its infancy.</p>
+
+<p>There is an element of coarseness in the drollery
+of even the two masterpieces: the comedy
+by Griboyedof, “Le Mal de Trop d’Esprit,”
+and the “Revizor” by Gogol. In their satire
+there is no medium between broad fun and
+bitterness. The subtle wit of the French author
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span>
+ridicules without wounding; his keen witticism
+calls forth laughter; while the sharp,
+cutting satire of the Russian produces bitter
+reflection and regret. His drollery is purely
+national, and is exercised more upon external
+things and local peculiarities; while Molière rails
+at and satirizes humanity and its ways and weaknesses.
+I have often seen the “Revizor” performed.
+The amiable audience laugh immoderately
+at what a foreigner cannot find amusing, and
+which would be utterly incomprehensible to one
+not well acquainted with Russian life and customs.
+On the contrary, a stranger recognizes much
+more keenly than a Russian the undercurrent of
+pathos and censure. Administrative reform is
+yet too new in Russia for the public to be as
+much shocked as one would expect at the spectacle
+of a venal administration. The evil is so
+very old!</p>
+
+<p>Whoever is well acquainted with the Oriental
+character knows that their ideas of morality are
+broader, or, rather, more lax, than ours, because
+their ideas of the rights of the government are different.
+The root of these notions may be traced
+to the ancient principle of tribute money; the old
+claim of the powerful over the weak, whom they
+protect and patronize.</p>
+
+<p>What strikes us as the most astonishing thing
+in regard to this comedy is that it has been
+tolerated at all. We cannot understand, from
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span>
+what we know of the Emperor Nicholas, how he
+could have enjoyed such an audacious satire upon
+his government; but we learn that he himself
+laughed heartily, giving the signal for applause
+from his royal box. His relations with Gogol are
+very significant, showing the helplessness of the
+absolute power against the consequences of its own
+existence. No monarch ever did more to encourage
+talent, or in a more delicate way. Some one
+called his attention to the young author’s poverty.</p>
+
+<p>“Has he talent?” asked the Czar. Being
+assured that he had, the Emperor immediately
+placed the sum of 5000 roubles<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a> at his disposition,
+saying, with the greatest delicacy: “Do not let
+your protégé know that the gift comes from me;
+he would be less independent in the exercise of
+his talents.” The Emperor continued therefore
+in future to supply him incognito, through the
+poet Zhukovski. Thanks to the imperial munificence,
+this incorrigible traveller could expatriate
+himself to his heart’s content, and get rest and
+refreshment for future labors.</p>
+
+<p>The year 1836 was a critical one for Gogol.
+He became ill in body and mind, and the melancholy
+side of his nature took the ascendency.
+Although his comedy had been a great success at
+St. Petersburg and at court, such a work could
+not but excite rancor and raise up enemies for
+its author. He became morbidly sensitive, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span>
+considered himself the object of persecution. A
+nervous disease, complicated with hypochondria,
+began to undermine his constitution. A migratory
+instinct, which always possessed him in any crisis
+of his life, now made him resolve to travel; “to
+fly,” as he said. But he never returned to his
+country for any length of time, and only at long
+intervals; declaring, as Turgenef did some years
+later, that his own country, the object of his
+studies, was best seen from afar.</p>
+
+<p>After travelling extensively, Gogol finally settled
+at Rome, where he formed a strong friendship
+with the painter Ivanof, who for twenty years
+had been in retirement in a Capuchin monastery,
+working upon his picture, which he never finished,
+“The Birth of Christ.” The two friends became
+deeply imbued with an ascetic piety; and from
+this time dates the mysticism attributed to Gogol.
+But before his mind became obscured he collected
+his forces for his last and greatest effort. He carried
+away with him from Russia the conception of
+this work, which excluded all other thoughts from
+his mind. It ruled his whole existence, as Goethe
+was for thirty years ruled by his “Faust.”</p>
+
+<p>Gogol gave Pushkin the credit of having suggested
+the work to him, which never was finished,
+but which he wrestled with until he finally succumbed,
+vanquished by it. Pushkin had spoken
+to him of his physical condition, fearing a premature
+death; and urged him to undertake a great
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span>
+work, quoting the example of Cervantes, whose
+works previous to “Don Quixote” would never
+have classed him among the great authors. He
+suggested a subject, which he said he never should
+have given to any other person. It was the subject
+of “Dead Souls.” In spite of the statement,
+I cannot help feeling that “Dead Souls” was inspired
+by Cervantes; for, on leaving Russia, Gogol
+had gone at once to Spain, where he studied the
+literature of that country diligently; especially
+“Don Quixote,” which had always been his favorite
+book. It furnished a theme just suited to his
+plan; the adventures of a hero impelled to penetrate
+into every strange region and into every
+stratum of society; an ingenious excuse for presenting
+to the world in a series of pictures the
+magic lantern of humanity. Both works proceed
+from a satirical and meditative mind, the sadness
+of which is veiled under a smile, and both belong
+to a style unique in itself, entirely original. Gogol
+objected to his work being called a romance. He
+called it a poem, and divided it into songs instead
+of chapters. Whatever title may be bestowed
+upon Cervantes’ masterpiece may just as appropriately
+be applied to “Dead Souls.”</p>
+
+<p>His “poem” was to be in three parts. The first
+part appeared in 1842; the second, unfinished and
+rudimentary, was burned by the author in a
+frenzy of despair; but after his death it was
+printed from a copy which escaped destruction.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span>
+As to the third, it is perhaps interred with his
+bones, which repose in the cemetery at Moscow
+under the block of marble which bears his name.</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>It is well known that the Russian peasants or
+serfs, “Souls” as they were popularly called,
+were personal property, and to be traded with in
+exactly the same way as any other kind of property.
+A proprietor’s fortune was reckoned according
+to the number of male serfs he owned. If any
+man owned, for instance, a thousand of them, he
+could sell or exchange them, or obtain loans upon
+them from the banks. The owner was, besides,
+obliged to pay taxes upon them at so much a head.
+The census was taken only at long intervals, during
+which the lists were never examined. The
+natural changes of population and increase by
+births being supposed to make up for the deaths.
+If a village was depopulated by an epidemic,
+the ruling lord and master sustained the loss,
+continuing to pay taxes for those whose work was
+done forever.</p>
+
+<p>Tchitchikof, the hero of the book, an ambitious
+and evil-minded rascal, made this proposition to
+himself: “I will visit the most remote corners of
+Russia, and ask the good people to deduct from
+the number on their lists every serf who has
+died since the last census was taken. They will
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span>
+be only too glad, as it will be for their interest to
+yield up to me a fictitious property, and get rid
+of paying the tax upon it. I shall have my purchases
+registered in due form, and no tribunal
+will imagine that I require it to legalize a sale of
+dead men. When I have obtained the names of
+some thousands of serfs, I shall carry my deeds to
+some bank in St. Petersburg or Moscow, and
+raise a large sum on them. Then I shall be a
+rich man, and in condition to buy real peasants in
+flesh and blood.”</p>
+
+<p>This proceeding offers great advantages to the
+author in attaining his ends. He enters, with
+his hero, all sorts of homes, and studies social
+groups of all classes. The demand the hero
+makes is one calculated to exhibit the intelligence
+and peculiar characteristics of each proprietor.
+The trader enters a house and makes the
+strange proposition: “Give me up the number
+of your dead serfs,” without explaining, of course,
+his secret motives. After the first shock of surprise,
+the man comprehends more or less quickly
+what is wanted of him, and acts from instinct,
+according to his nature. The simple-minded give
+willingly gratis what is asked of them; the distrustful
+are on their guard, and try to penetrate
+the mystery, and gain something for themselves
+by the arrangement; the avaricious exact an exorbitant
+price. Tchitchikof finds some wretches
+more evil than himself. The only case which
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span>
+never occurs is an indignant refusal, or a denunciation;
+the financier well knew how few scruples
+he should have to contend with in his fellow-countrymen.</p>
+
+<p>The enterprise supplied Gogol with an inexhaustible
+source of both comic and touching incidents
+and situations. The skilful author, while
+he apparently ignores, under an assumption of
+pleasantry, the lugubrious element in what he
+describes, makes it the real background of the
+whole narrative, so that it reacts terribly upon
+the reader.</p>
+
+<p>The first readers of this work, and possibly
+even the author himself, hardly appreciated the
+force of these contrasts; because they were so
+accustomed to the horrors of serfdom that an
+abuse of this nature seemed to them a natural
+proceeding. But with time the effect of the book
+increases; and the atrocious mockery of using
+the dead as articles of merchandise, which seems to
+prolong the terrors of slavery, from which death
+has freed them, strikes the reader with horror.</p>
+
+<p>The types of character created by Gogol in this
+work are innumerable; but that of the hero is
+the most curious of all, and was the outgrowth of
+laborious study. Tchitchikof is not a Robert
+Macaire, but rather a serious Gil Blas, without his
+genius. The poor devil was born under an unlucky
+star. He was so essentially bad that he
+carried on his enterprise without seeming to realize
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span>
+the enormous immorality of it. In fact, he
+was wronging no one, in his own opinion.</p>
+
+<p>Gogol makes an effort to broaden this type of
+character, and include in it a greater number of
+individuals; and we can see thereby the author’s
+intention, which is to show us a type, a collective
+image of Russia herself, irresponsible for her
+degradation, corrupted by her own social condition.</p>
+
+<p>This is the real, underlying theory of “Dead
+Souls,” and of the “Revizor,” as well as of Turgenef’s
+“Annals of a Sportsman.” In all the
+moralists of this time we recognize the fundamental
+sophistry of Rousseau, who poisoned the
+reasoning faculties of all Europe.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the first part the author attempts
+a half-ironical, half-serious defence of Tchitchikof.
+After giving an account of his origin, he says:
+“The wise man must tolerate every type of character;
+he must examine all with attention, and
+resolve them into their original elements….
+The passions of man are as numberless as the
+sands upon the sea-shore, and have no points of
+resemblance; noble or base, all obey man in the
+beginning, and end by obtaining terrible power
+over him…. They are born with him, and he
+is powerless to resist them. Whether sombre or
+brilliant, they will fulfil their entire career.”…</p>
+
+<p>From this analysis, this argument of psychological
+positivism, the writer, in a roundabout
+way, goes back ingeniously to the designs of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span>
+Providence, which has ordered all for the best,
+and will show the right path out of this chaos.<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a></p>
+
+<p>What is after all most remarkable about the
+book is that it is the reservoir of all contemporary
+literature, the source of all future inventions.</p>
+
+<p>The realism, which is only instinctive in
+Gogol’s preceding works, is the main doctrine
+in “Dead Souls”; and of this he is fully conscious.
+The author thus apologizes for bringing
+the lower classes so constantly before the <span class="lock">reader:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“Thankless is the task of the writer who dares
+reproduce what is constantly passing before the
+eyes of all, unnoticed by our distracted gaze: all
+the disgusting little annoyances and trials of our
+every-day lives; the ordinary, indifferent characters
+we must constantly meet and put up with.
+How they hinder and weary us! Such a writer
+will not have the applause of the masses; contemporary
+critics will consider his creations
+both low and useless, and will assign him an
+inferior place among those writers who scoff at
+humanity. He will be declared wanting in
+heart, soul, and talent. For his critic will not
+admit those instruments to be equally marvellous,
+one of which reveals the sun and the other
+the motions of invisible animalculæ; neither will
+he admit what depth of thought is required to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span>
+make a masterpiece of a picture, the subject of
+which is drawn from the darker side of human
+life.”….</p>
+
+<p>Again, in one of his letters, he <span class="lock">says:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“Those who have analyzed my powers as a
+writer have not discerned the important element
+of my nature, or my peculiar bent. Pushkin
+alone perceived it. He always said that I was
+especially endowed to bring into relief the trivialities
+of life, to analyze an ordinary character, to
+bring to light the little peculiarities which escape
+general observation. This is, I think, my strong
+point. The reader resents the baseness of my
+heroes; after reading the book he returns joyfully
+to the light of day. I should have been
+pardoned had I only created picturesque villains;
+their baseness is what will never be pardoned.
+A Russian shrinks before the picture of
+his nothingness.”</p>
+
+<p>We shall see that the largest portion of the
+later Russian novels were all generated by the
+spirit of this initiative book, which gives to
+the Slav literature its peculiar physiognomy, as
+well as its high moral worth. We find in many
+a passage in “Dead Souls,” breathing through
+the mask of raillery and sarcasm, that heavenly
+sentiment of fraternity, that love for the despised
+and pity for the suffering, which animate all
+Dostoyevski’s writing. In another letter he
+<span class="lock">says:—</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span>
+“Pity for a fallen human creature is a strong
+Russian trait. There is no spectacle more touching
+than our people offer when they go to assist
+and cheer on their way those who are condemned
+to exile in Siberia. Every one brings what he
+can; provisions, money, perhaps only a few consoling
+words. They feel no irritation against the
+criminal; neither do they indulge in any exaggerated
+sentiment which would make a hero of him.
+They do not request his autograph or his likeness;
+neither do they go to stare at him out of curiosity,
+as often happens in more civilized parts of
+Europe. There is here something more; it is not
+that they wish to make excuses for the criminal,
+or wrest him from the hands of justice; but they
+would comfort him in his fallen condition; console
+him as a brother, as Christ has told us we
+should console each other.”</p>
+
+<p>In “Dead Souls,” the true sentiment is always
+masked, which makes it the more telling; but
+when the first part appeared, in 1842, it was
+received by some with stupefaction, by others
+with indignation. Were their countrymen a set
+of rascals, idiots, and poor wretches, without a
+single redeeming quality? Gogol wrote: “When
+I read the first chapters of my book to Pushkin,
+he was prepared to laugh, as usual whenever he
+heard anything of mine. But his brow soon
+clouded, and his face gradually grew serious.
+When I had finished, he cried, with a choking
+voice: ‘Oh, God! poor Russia!’”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span>
+Many accused the writer of having judged his
+fellow-countrymen from a sick man’s point of
+view; and considered him a traducer of mankind.
+They reminded him that, in spite of the
+evils of serfdom and the corruption of the administration,
+there were still plenty of noble hearts
+and honest people in the empire of Nicholas.
+The unfortunate author found that he had
+written too strongly. He must now make explanations,
+publish public letters and prefaces
+imploring his readers to suspend their judgment
+until he produced the second part of the poem,
+which would counteract the darkness of the first.
+But such was not the case. No bright visions
+proceeded from the saddened brain of the caricaturist.</p>
+
+<p>However, every one read the work; and its
+effect has never ceased increasing as a personification
+of the Russia of former times. It has
+for forty years been the foundation of the wit of
+the entire nation. Every joke has passed into a
+proverb, and the sayings of its characters have
+become household words. The foreigner who
+has not read “Dead Souls” is often puzzled in
+the course of conversation, for he is ignorant of
+the family traditions and the ideal ancestors they
+are continually referring to. Tchitchikof, his
+coachman Seliphan, and their three horses are,
+to a Russian, as familiar friends as Don Quixote,
+Sancho, and Rosinante can be to a Spaniard.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span></p>
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Five">V.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>Gogol returned from Rome in 1846. His
+health rapidly declined, and attacks of fever
+made any brain-work difficult for him. However,
+he went on with his work; but his pen
+betrayed the condition of his nerves. In a crisis
+of the disease he burned all his books as well as
+the manuscript of the second part of the poem.
+He now became absorbed in religious meditations;
+and, desiring to make a pilgrimage to the
+Holy Land, he published his last work, “Letters
+to my Friends,” in order to raise the necessary
+funds, and to “entreat their prayers for him,” as
+he said in his preface. These letters were written
+in a religious vein, but intermingled with
+literary arguments; and not one of his satirical
+works raised up for him so many enemies and
+such abuse as this religious treatise. It is difficult
+to account for the intense excitement it
+produced, and the lengthy arguments it called
+forth. The second half of the reign of Nicholas
+is a period but little understood. In the march
+of ideas of that time, there were already indications
+of the coming revolutionary movement
+among the young men, which was entirely
+opposed to the doctrines brought forward by
+Gogol. These contained a good deal of philosophy,
+as well as ancient truths, mingled with some
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span>
+new ideas, which are exactly those of the present
+day. But these, because they were new, were
+just what met with the strongest opposition; and
+he was now accused of taking upon himself the
+direction of consciences, and of arrogating to himself
+the right to do so by dint of his intellectual
+superiority. His letters present a curious combination
+of Christian humility and literary pride.
+He was declared to have fallen into mysticism;
+but any one who now reads his letters carefully
+cannot call him a mystic. The fact that he gave
+up writing to recover his health would only be
+considered at any other epoch reasonable and
+natural. Tolstoï, who has acted in a similar
+manner, protests against this epithet being applied
+to him. He, however, proposes to us a new
+theology, while Gogol clung to the established
+dogmas. Possibly what would have been called
+“mysticism” in 1840 would not have been looked
+upon as such two centuries earlier, any more than
+it is a half-century later.</p>
+
+<p>But what became of the poor author in the
+midst of the tempest he himself had raised? He
+went to Jerusalem and wandered for a time
+among its ancient ruins; hardly a wholesome
+sphere for a sick and morbid soul. Returning
+to Moscow, he was made welcome in the homes
+of friends. But the Cossack nature could not
+rest in any fixed spot. He had no money, for he
+had given everything he had to the poor. Since
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span>
+1844 the whole receipts from his works he gave
+to poor students. He brought with him only a
+small valise, which was crammed with newspaper
+articles, criticisms, and pamphlets written against
+him. This was all he possessed.</p>
+
+<p>A person who lived in a house which he often
+visited thus described him: “He was short, but
+the upper part of his body was too long; he
+walked with an uneven gait, was awkward and
+ungainly; his hair fell over his forehead in thick
+locks, and his nose was long and prominent. He
+conversed but little, and not readily. Occasionally
+a touch of his old gayety returned, especially
+when with children, whom he passionately loved.
+But he soon fell back into his hypochondria.”
+This description agrees with what Turgenef
+wrote of him, after his first visit to him. “There
+was a slight gleam of satire in his heavy eyes,
+which were small and dark. His expression was
+somewhat like that of a fox. In his general
+appearance there was something of the provincial
+schoolmaster.” Gogol had always been awkward
+and plain, which naturally produced in him a
+habitual timidity. This is perhaps why, according
+to his biographers, no woman ever crossed his path.
+We can therefore understand why he so rarely
+wrote of women.</p>
+
+<p>It is almost universally believed that he died
+from the effects of his excessive fastings and
+mortification of the flesh; but I have learned
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span>
+from reliable sources that an aggravation of his
+disease, with typhoid symptoms, caused his death.
+But little is known of his latter years. He aged
+rapidly, as Russians do, and ended his work at the
+time of life when others begin theirs. A mysterious
+fatality has attended nearly all the writers
+of his time, who have all died at about the
+age of forty. The children of Russia develop
+as her vegetation does. It grows quickly and
+matures young, but its magnificent growth is
+soon cut off, benumbed while still in perfection.
+At the age of thirty-three, after the publication
+of “Dead Souls,” the productive brain-power of
+Nikolai Vasilievitch was wellnigh ruined. At
+forty-three he died, on the 21st of February, 1852.
+The event of his death made but little sensation.
+The imperial favor had quite forgotten this
+writer. Even the governor of Moscow was criticized
+for putting on the regalia of his order to
+attend the funeral. Turgenef was exiled to his
+own distant estates as a punishment for having
+written a letter in which he called the deceased
+author “a great man.” Posterity, however, has
+ratified this title. Gogol may now be ranked,
+according to some critics, with the best English
+humorists; but I should place him rather between
+Cervantes and Le Sage. Perhaps it may
+be too soon to judge him. Should we appreciate
+“Don Quixote” now if Spanish literature had not
+been known for three hundred years? When we
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span>
+were children we laughed whenever an <dfn>alguazil</dfn> or
+an <dfn>alcalde</dfn> was mentioned.</p>
+
+<p>Gogol introduces us to an untried world. I
+must warn the reader that he will at first find
+difficulties—the strangest customs; an array of
+characters not in any way connected; names as
+strange as the people who bear them. He must
+not expect the attractive style or class of subjects
+of Tolstoï and Dostoyevski. <em>They</em> show us results,
+not principles; they tell of what we can
+better apprehend; for what they have studied is
+more common to all Europe. Gogol wrote of
+more remote times, and, besides, he and his work
+are thoroughly and exclusively Russian. To be
+appreciated by men of letters, then, his works
+must be admirably translated; which, unfortunately,
+has never yet been done. We must leave
+him, therefore, in Russia, where all the new authors
+of any distinction recognize in him their father
+and master. They owe to him their very language.
+Although Turgenef’s is more subtile and harmonious,
+its originator has more life, variety, and
+energy.</p>
+
+<p>One of the last sentences that fell from his pen,
+in his “Confessions of an Author,” was <span class="lock">this:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“I have studied life as it really is—not in
+dreams of the imagination; and thus have I come
+to a conception of Him who is the source of all
+life.”</p>
+
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[B]</a> <dfn>Zaporovian</dfn> commonwealth, so-called from “<dfn>Zaporozhtsi</dfn>,”
+meaning those who live beyond the rapids.</p>
+
+<p class="footnote" lang="fr"><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[C]</a> “Veillées dans un hameau près de Dikanka.”</p>
+
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[D]</a> About $4000.</p>
+
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[E]</a> The quotation of this paragraph in full should be given
+here, in order to obtain a clear understanding of Gogol’s
+thought; but the French translator has omitted too much.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span>
+<h3>
+CHAPTER <abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr><br>
+<br>
+<span class="allsmcap">TURGENEF.</span>
+</h3>
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="One">I.</abbr>
+</h4>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">While</span> the name of Gogol was temporarily lost
+in oblivion during the years preceding the Crimean
+war, his spirit was shedding its ripening influences
+upon the thinking minds of his country. I know
+of no parallel example in the history of literature,
+of an impulse so spontaneous and vigorous as
+this. Every author of note since 1840 has belonged
+to the so-called “school of nature.” The
+poets of 1820 had drawn their inspiration from
+their own personality. The novel-writers of 1840
+found theirs in the spirit of humanity, which
+might be called social sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>Before studying the great writers of this epoch,
+we must take note of the elements which produced
+them, and glance for a moment at the
+curious movement which ripened them.</p>
+
+<p>Russia could not escape the general fermentation
+of 1848; although this immense country
+seemed to be mute, like its frozen rivers, an intense
+life was seething underneath. The rivers are
+seemingly motionless for six months of the year;
+but under the solid ice is running water, and the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span>
+phenomena of ever-increasing life. So it was
+with the nation. On the surface it seemed silent
+and inert under the iron rule of Nicholas. But
+European ideas, creeping in, found their way
+under the great walls, and books passed from
+hand to hand, into schools, literary circles, and
+even into the army.</p>
+
+<p>The Russian Universities were then very insufficient.
+Their best scholars quitted them unsatisfied,
+and sought more substantial nourishment in
+Germany. Besides, it being the fashion to do so,
+there was also a firm conviction that this was
+really necessary. The young men returned from
+Berlin or Göttingen crammed with humanitarian
+philosophy and liberal notions; armed with ideas
+which found no response in their own country, full,
+as it was, of malcontents and fault-finders. These
+suspicious missionaries from western Europe were
+handed over to the police, while others continued
+to study in the self-same school. These young
+fellows, returning from Germany with grapes
+from the promised land, too green as yet for their
+countrymen, formed a favorite type with authors.
+Pushkin made use of it, and Turgenef afterwards
+gave us some sketches from nature made during
+his stay in Berlin. On their return, these students
+formed clubs, in which they discussed the foreign
+theories in low and impassioned voices, and initiated
+their companions who had remained at
+home. These young thinkers embraced a transcendental
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span>
+philosophy, borrowed from Hegel, Stein,
+and Feuerbach, as well as from Saint-Simon,
+Fourier and Proudhon in France. These metaphysics,
+of course, were a mask which covered
+more concrete objects and more immediate interests.
+Two great intellectual schools divided
+Russia, and took the place of political parties.</p>
+
+<p>The <dfn>Slavophile</dfn> party adhered to the views of
+Karamzin and protested against the unpatriotic
+blasphemies of Tchadayef. For this party nothing
+whatever existed outside of Russia, which was to
+be considered the only depository of the true
+Christian spirit, and chosen to regenerate the
+world.</p>
+
+<p>In opposition to these Levites, the liberal school
+of the West had appeared; a camp of Gentiles,
+which breathed only of reforms, audacious arguments,
+and coming revolutions; liberalism developing
+into radicalism. But, as all social and
+political discussions were prohibited in Russia,
+these must be concealed under the disguise of
+philosophy, and be expressed in its hieroglyphics.
+The metaphysical subtleties in these literary
+debates did little to clear up the obscurity of the
+ideas themselves, which are very difficult to
+unravel and comprehend. In attempting to
+understand the controversies in Russia at this
+time, you feel as if watching the movements of a
+complicated figure in the ballet; where indistinct
+forms are seen moving behind a veil of black
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span>
+gauze, intended to represent clouds, which half
+conceal the dancers.</p>
+
+<p>The liberals of 1848 carried on the ideas of the
+revolutionaries of December, 1825; as the Jacobins
+developed those of the Girondists. But the difference
+between the ideals of the two generations is
+very marked, showing the march of time and of
+ideas. The revolutionists of 1825 were aristocrats,
+who coveted the elegant playthings fashionable
+in London and Paris—a charter and a Parliament.
+They were ambitious to place their
+enormous, unwieldy country under a new and
+fragile government. They played the conspirator
+like children, but their game ended tragically;
+for they were all exiled to Siberia or elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>When this spirit awoke twenty years after, it
+had dreamed new dreams. This time it aimed at
+the entire remodelling of our poor old world.
+The Russians now embraced the socialist and
+democratic ideas of Europe; but, in accepting
+these international theories, they did not see how
+inapplicable they were to Russia at this time.
+Penetrated as they were with the rationalistic
+and irreligious spirit of the eighteenth century,
+they have nothing in common with the grave
+sympathy of such men as Dostoyevski and
+Tolstoï. These are realists that love humanity;
+but the others were merely metaphysicians, whose
+love for humanity has changed into hatred of
+society.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span>
+Every young writer of the “school of nature”
+produced his socialistic romance, bitterly satirical,
+and showing the influence of George Sand and
+Eugène Sue. But an unsuccessful conspiracy
+headed by Petrachevski put an end temporarily
+to this effervescence of ideas. Russia became
+calm again, while every sign of intellectual life
+was pitilessly repressed, not to stir again until
+after the death of the Emperor Nicholas. The
+most violent of the revolutionists had secured
+their property in foreign lands; and all authors
+were either condemned or exiled. Many of them
+followed Petrachevski to Siberia. Turgenef was
+among the most fortunate, having been exiled to
+his own estates in the country. The <dfn>Slavophile</dfn>
+party itself did not wholly escape punishment and
+exile. Even the long beards, which formed a part
+of their patriotic programme, had no better fate
+than their writings. All were forbidden to wear
+them. The government now suppressed all the
+scientific missions and pilgrimages to the German
+Universities, which had produced such bad results.
+While Peter the Great drove his subjects out
+of the Empire to breathe the air of Europe,
+Nicholas forced his to remain within it. Passports
+could only be obtained with great difficulty,
+and at the exorbitant price of 500 roubles. In
+every University and seminary of learning in
+the Empire, the teaching of philosophy was forbidden,
+as well as the classics; and all historical
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span>
+publications were subject to a severe control,
+which was almost equivalent to a prohibition.
+There were now but seven small newspapers
+printed in all Russia, and these were filled with
+the most insignificant facts. The wars in Hungary
+and in the East were hardly alluded to. The
+first article of any consequence appeared in 1857.
+The absurd severity exercised towards the press
+furnished material for a long and amusing article
+in the leading journal. The word <dfn>liberty</dfn> was
+underscored wherever and in whatever sense it
+occurred, as the word <dfn>King</dfn> was, during the
+reign of Terror in France.</p>
+
+<p>These years of “terror” have since furnished
+much amusement for the Russians; but those
+who passed through them, warmed by the enthusiasm
+and illusions of youth, have always retained,
+together with the disinclination to express
+themselves frankly, a vein of pathos throughout
+their writings. Besides, the liberty granted to
+authors in the reign of Alexander <abbr title="Two">II.</abbr> was only
+a relative one; which explains why they returned
+instinctively to novel-writing as the only mode
+of expression which permitted any undercurrent of
+meaning. In this agreeable form we must seek for
+the ideas of that time on philosophy, history, and
+politics; for which reason I have dwelt on the
+importance of studying the Russian novelists
+attentively. In their romances, and only in
+them, shall we find a true history of the last
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span>
+half-century of their country, and form a just
+idea of the public for which the works were
+written.</p>
+
+<p>This people’s way of reasoning and their demands
+are peculiar to themselves. In France,
+we expect of a romance what we expect of any
+work of art, according to the degree of civilization
+we have reached; something to afford us a refined
+amusement; a diversion from the serious
+interests of life; merely a passing impression.
+We read books as a passing pedestrian looks
+at a picture displayed in some shop window,
+casually, on his way to his business. They regard
+the masters of their language quite otherwise
+in Russia. What for us is a temporary
+gratification is to them the soul’s daily bread;
+for they are passing through the golden age of
+their literature. Their authors are the guides of
+the race, almost the creators of their language;
+their poets are such according to the ancient
+and full sense of the word—<dfn>vates</dfn>, poet, prophet.</p>
+
+<p>In Russia, the small educated class have perhaps
+surpassed us in cultivation; but the lower
+classes are just beginning to read with eagerness,
+faith, and hope; as we read Robinson Crusoe at
+twelve years of age. Their sensitive imaginations
+are alive to the full effect these works are calculated
+to produce. Journalism has not scattered
+their ideas and lessened their power of attention.
+They draw no comparisons, and therefore believe.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span>
+<em>We</em> consider “Fathers and Sons,” and “War
+and Peace” merely novels. But to the merchant
+of Moscow, the son of the village priest, the
+country proprietor, either of these works is almost
+like a national Bible, which he places upon the
+shelf holding the few books which represent to
+him an encyclopædia of the human mind. They
+have the importance and signification for him
+that the story of Esther had for the Jews, and the
+adventures of Ulysses for the Athenians.</p>
+
+<p>Our readers will pardon these general considerations,
+which seemed to us necessary before
+approaching the three most prominent figures of
+this period, which we choose from among many
+others as the most original of the two groups
+they divide into. Dostoyevski will represent to
+us the opinions of the <dfn>Slavophile</dfn> or national
+school; Turgenef will show us how many can
+remain thoroughly Russian without breaking off
+their connections with the rest of Europe; and
+how there can be realists with a feeling for art
+and a longing to attain a lofty ideal. He belonged
+to the liberal party, which claims him as its
+own; but this great artist, gradually freeing himself
+from all bounds, soars far above the petty
+bickerings of party strife.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span></p>
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>Turgenef’s talent, in the best of his productions,
+draws its inspiration directly from his beloved
+father-land. We feel this in every page we read.
+This is probably why his contemporaries long preferred
+him to any of his rivals. In letters, as
+well as in politics, the people instinctively follow
+the leaders whom they feel belong to them; and
+whose spirit and qualities, even whose failings,
+they share in common. Ivan Sergievitch Turgenef
+possessed the dominant qualities of every
+true Russian: natural kindness of heart, simplicity,
+and resignation. With a remarkably powerful
+brain, he had the heart of a child. I never
+met him without realizing the true meaning of
+the gospel words, ‘poor in spirit’; and that that
+quality can be the accompaniment of a scientific
+mind and the soul of an artist. Devotion, generosity,
+brotherly love, were perfectly natural to
+him. Into the midst of our busy and complicated
+civilization he seemed to drop down as if from
+some pastoral tribe of the mountains; and to
+carry out his ideas under our sky as naturally as
+a shepherd guides his flocks in the steppe.</p>
+
+<p>As to his personal appearance, he was tall, with
+a quiet dignity in his manner, features somewhat
+coarse; and his finely formed head and searching
+glance brought to mind some Russian patriarch of
+the peasant class; only ennobled and transfigured
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span>
+by intellectual cultivation, like those peasants
+of old who became monks and perhaps saints.
+He gave me the impression of a person possessing
+the native frankness of the peasant, while
+endowed with the inspiration of genius; and who
+had reached a high intellectual elevation without
+having lost anything of his natural simplicity and
+candor. Such a comparison could not, surely,
+offend one who so loved his people!</p>
+
+<p>Now, when the time has come to speak of his
+work, my heart fails me, and I feel disposed to
+throw down my pen. I have spoken of his
+virtues; why should we say more, or dwell upon
+the brilliant qualities of his mind, adding greater
+eulogies? But those who know him well are few,
+and they will soon die and be forgotten. We
+must then try to show to others what that great
+heart has left of itself in the works of his imagination.
+These are not few, and show much persevering
+labor. The last complete edition of his
+works comprises not less than ten volumes: romances,
+novels, critical and dramatic essays. The
+most notable of these have been carefully translated
+into French, under the direction of the
+author himself; and no foreigner’s work has ever
+been as much read and appreciated in Paris as his.</p>
+
+<p>The name of Turgenef was well known, and
+had acquired a literary reputation in Paris, at the
+beginning of the present century; for a cousin
+of the author’s, Nikolai Ivanovitch (Turgenef),<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span>
+after having distinguished himself in the government
+service under Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr>, was implicated
+in the conspiracy of December, 1825, and exiled
+by the Emperor Nicholas. He spent the remainder
+of his life in Paris, where he published his
+important work, “Russia and the Russians.” He
+was a distinguished man and an honest thinker,
+if perhaps a little narrow, and one of the most
+sincere of those who became liberals after 1812.
+Faithful to his friends who were exiled to Siberia,
+he became their advocate, and also warmly pleaded
+the cause of the emancipation of the serfs; so
+that his young cousin continued a family tradition
+when he gave the death-blow to slavery with
+his first book.</p>
+
+<p>Turgenef was born in 1818, on the family
+estate in Orel, and his early years were passed in
+this solitary place, in one of those “Nests of
+Nobles” which are so often the scene of his
+novels. According to the fashion of that time,
+he had both French and German tutors, which
+were considered a necessary appendage in every
+nobleman’s household. His mother-tongue was
+held in disrepute; so his first Russian verses were
+read in secret, with the help of an old servant.
+Fortunately for him, he acquired the best part of
+his education out on the heaths with the huntsmen,
+whose tales were destined to become masterpieces,
+transformed by the great author’s pen.
+Passing his time in the woods, and running over
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span>
+the marshes in pursuit of quail, the poet laid in a
+rich stock of imagery and picturesque scenes
+with which he afterwards clothed his ideas. In
+the imagination of some children, while thought
+is still sleeping, impressions accumulate, one
+by one, like the night-dew; but, in the awakening
+dawn, the first ray of the morning sun will
+reveal these glittering diamonds.</p>
+
+<p>After going to school at Moscow, and through
+the University at St. Petersburg, he went, as
+others did, to conclude his course of study in
+Germany. In 1838, he was studying the philosophy
+of Kant and Hegel at Berlin. He said of
+himself later in regard to this: “The impulse
+which drew the young men of my time into a
+foreign land reminds me of the ancient Slavs
+going to seek for chiefs from beyond the seas.
+Every one felt that his native country, morally
+and intellectually considered, was great and rich,
+but ill regulated.<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a> For myself, I fully realized
+that there were great disadvantages in being
+torn from one’s native soil, where one had been
+brought up; but there was nothing else to be
+done. This sort of life, especially in the sphere to
+which I belonged, of landed proprietors and serfdom,
+offered me nothing attractive. On the contrary,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span>
+what I saw around me was revolting—in
+fact, disgusting—to me. I could not hesitate long.
+I must either make up my mind to submit, and
+walk on quietly in the beaten track; or tear myself
+away, root and branch, even at the risk of
+losing many things dear to my heart. This I
+decided to do. I became a cosmopolitan, which I
+have always remained. I could not live face to
+face with what I abhorred; perhaps I had not sufficient
+self-control or force of character for that.
+At any rate, it seemed as if I must, at all hazards,
+withdraw from my enemy, in order to be able to
+deal him surer blows from a distance. This mortal
+enemy was, in my eyes, the institution of serfdom,
+which I had resolved to combat to the last
+extremity, and with which I had sworn never to
+make peace. It was in order to fulfil this vow
+that I left my country….”</p>
+
+<p>The writer will now become a European; he
+will uphold the method of Peter the Great,
+against those patriots who have entrenched themselves
+behind the great Chinese wall. Reason,
+good laws, and good literature have no fixed
+country. Every one must seize his treasure wherever
+he can find it, in the common soil of humanity,
+and develop it in his own way. In reading
+the strong words of his own confession we are led
+to a feeling of anxiety for the poet’s future. Will
+politics turn him from his true course? Fortunately
+they did not. Turgenef had too literary
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span>
+and contemplative a nature to throw himself into
+that vortex. But he kept his vow of taking his
+aim—and a terrible one it was—at the institution
+of serfdom. The contest was fierce, and the
+war was a holy one.</p>
+
+<p>Returning to Russia, Turgenef published some
+poems and dramatic pieces; but he afterward excluded
+all these from the complete edition of his
+works; and, leaving Russia again, he sent his first
+prose work, “Annals of a Sportsman,” which was
+to contribute greatly to his fame as a novelist, to
+a St. Petersburg review. He continued to send
+various little bombshells, from 1847 to 1851, in the
+form of tales and sketches, hiding their meaning
+under a veil of poetry. The influence of Gogol
+was perceptible in his work at this time, especially
+in his comprehension of nature. His scenes were
+always Russian, but the artist’s interpretation was
+different from Gogol’s, having none of his rough
+humor and enthusiasm, but more delicacy and
+ideality. His language too is richer, more flowing,
+more picturesque and expressive than any Russian
+author had yet attained to; and it perfectly
+translates the most fugitive chords of the grand
+harmonious register of nature. The author
+carries us with him into the very heart of his
+native country.</p>
+
+<p>The “Annals of a Sportsman” have charmed
+many French readers, much as they must lose
+through the double veil of translation and our
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span>
+ignorance of the country. Indeed we must have
+lived in the country described by Turgenef to fully
+appreciate the way in which he presents on every
+page the exact copy of one’s personal impressions;
+even bringing to the senses every delicate odor
+breathed from the earth. Some of his descriptions
+of nature have the harmonious perfection of a
+fantastic symphony written in a minor key.</p>
+
+<p>In the “Living Relics,” he wakes a more human,
+more interior chord. On a hunting expedition, he
+enters by chance an abandoned shed, where he
+finds a wretched human being, a woman, deformed,
+and unable to move. He recognizes in her a
+former serving-maid of his mother’s, once a gay,
+laughing girl, now paralyzed, stricken by some
+strange and terrible disease. This poor creature,
+reduced to a skeleton, lying forgotten in this miserable
+shed, has no longer any relations with the
+outside world. No one takes care of her; kind
+people sometimes replenish her jar with fresh
+water. She requires nothing else. The only sign
+of life, if life it can be called, is in her eyes and
+her faint respiration. But this hideous wreck of
+a body contains an immortal soul, purified by
+suffering, utterly resigned, lifted above itself, this
+simple peasant nature, into the realms of perfect
+self-renunciation.</p>
+
+<p>Lukeria relates her misfortune; how she was
+seized with this illness after a fall in the dark;
+how she had gone out one dark evening to listen
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span>
+to the songs of the nightingales; how gradually
+every faculty and every joy of life had forsaken
+her.</p>
+
+<p>Her betrothed was so sorry; but, then, afterwards
+he married; what else could he do? She
+hopes he is happy. For years her only diversion
+has been to listen to the church-bells and the
+drowsy hum of the bees in the hives of the apiary
+near by. Sometimes a swallow comes and flutters
+about in the shed, which is a great event, and
+gives her something to think about for several
+weeks. The people that bring water to her are
+so kind, she is so grateful to them! And gradually,
+almost cheerfully, she goes back with the
+young master to the memories of old days, and
+reminds him how vain she was of being the leader
+in all the songs and dances; at last, she even tries
+to hum one of those songs.</p>
+
+<p>“I really dreaded to have this half-dead creature
+try to sing. Before I could speak, she uttered a
+sound very faintly, but the note was correct; then
+another, and she began to sing, ‘In the Fields’
+… as she sang there was no change of expression
+in her paralyzed face or in her fixed eyes. This
+poor little forced voice sounded so pathetically,
+and she made such an effort to express her whole
+soul, that my heart was pierced with the deepest
+pity.”</p>
+
+<p>Lukeria relates her terrible dreams, how Death
+has appeared before her; not that she dreads his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span>
+coming, but he always goes away and refuses
+to deliver her. She refuses all offers of assistance
+from her young master; she desires nothing, needs
+nothing, is perfectly content. As her visitor is
+about to leave her, she calls him back for a last
+word. She seems to be conscious (how feminine
+is this!) of the terrible impression she must have
+made upon him, and <span class="lock">says:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“Do you remember, master, what beautiful hair
+I had? you know it reached to my knees…. I
+hesitated a long time about cutting it off; but
+what could I do with it as I am? So—I cut it
+off…. Adieu, master!”</p>
+
+<p>All this cannot be analyzed any more than the
+down on a butterfly’s wing; and yet it is such a
+simple tale, but how suggestive! There is no
+exaggeration; it is only one of the accidents of
+life. The poor woman feels that if one believes in
+God, there are things of more importance than
+her little misfortune. The point which is most
+strongly brought forward, however, in this tale,
+and in nearly all the others, is the almost stoical
+resignation, peculiar to the Russian peasant, who
+seems prepared to endure anything. This author’s
+talent lies in his keeping the exquisite balance
+between the real and the ideal; every detail is
+strikingly and painfully real, while the ideal shines
+through and within every thought and fact. He
+has given us innumerable pictures of master, overseer,
+and serf; clothing every repulsive fact with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span>
+a grace and charm, seemingly almost against his
+will, but which are born of his own poetical
+nature.</p>
+
+<p>It is not wholly correct to say that Turgenef
+<em>attacked</em> slavery. The Russian writers never
+attack openly; they neither argue nor declaim.
+They describe, drawing no conclusions; but they
+appeal to our pity more than to our anger. Fifteen
+years later Dostoyevski published his “Recollections
+of a Dead-House.” He took the same
+method—without expressing a word of indignation,
+without one drop of gall; he seems to think
+what he describes quite natural, only somewhat
+pathetic. This is a national trait.</p>
+
+<p>Once I stopped for one night at an inn in Orel,
+our author’s native place. Early in the morning,
+I was awakened by the beating of drums.
+I looked down into the market-place, which
+was full of soldiers drawn up in a square, and a
+crowd of people stood looking on. A pillory had
+been erected in the square, a large, black, wooden
+pillar, with a scaffolding underneath. Three poor
+fellows were tied to the pillar, and had parchments
+on their backs, giving an account of their
+misdeeds. These thieves seemed very docile, and
+almost unconscious of what was being done to
+them. They made a picturesque group, with
+their handsome Slavonic heads, and bound to
+this pillar. The exhibition lasted long; the
+priests came to bless them; and when the cart
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span>
+came to carry them back to prison, both soldiers
+and people rushed after them, loading them with
+eatables, small coins, and words of sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>The Russian writer who aims to bring about
+reforms, in like manner displays his melancholy
+picture, with spasms of indulgent sympathy for
+the evils he unveils. The public needs but a hint.
+This time it understood. Russia looked upon
+serfdom in the mirror he showed her, and shuddered.
+The author became celebrated, and his
+cause was half gained. The censorship, always
+the last to become convinced, understood too, at
+last. Serfdom was already condemned in the
+heart of the Emperor Nicholas, but the censorship
+does not always agree with the Emperor; it
+is always procrastinating; sometimes it is left far
+behind, perhaps for a whole reign. It will not
+condemn the book, but keeps its eye upon the
+author.</p>
+
+<p>Gogol died at this time, and Turgenef wrote a
+strong article in praise of the dead author. This
+article appears to-day entirely inoffensive, but
+the author himself thus speaks of <span class="lock">it:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“In regard to my article on Gogol, I remember
+one day at St. Petersburg, a lady in high position
+at court was criticizing the punishment inflicted
+upon me, as unjust and undeserved, or, at least,
+too severe. Some one replied: ‘Did you not
+know that he calls Gogol “a great man” in that
+article?’ ‘That is not possible.’ ‘I assure you he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span>
+did.’ ‘Ah! in that case, I have no more to say; I
+am very sorry for him, but now I understand
+their severity.’”</p>
+
+<p>This praise, justly accorded to a great author,
+procured for Turgenef a month of imprisonment
+and banishment to his own estates. But this
+tyranny was, perhaps, a blessing in disguise.
+Thirty years before, Pushkin had been torn from
+the dissipations of the gay capital, where his
+genius would have been lost, and was exiled to
+the Orient, where it developed into a rich bloom.
+If Turgenef had remained at this time in St.
+Petersburg, he might have been drawn, in his
+hot-headed youth, by compromising friendships,
+into some fruitless political broil; but, exiled to
+the solitude of his native woods, he spent several
+years there in literary <a id="chg1"></a>work; studying the humble
+life around him, and collecting materials for
+his first great novels.</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Three">III.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>Turgenef always declared himself as no admirer
+of Balzac. This was, no doubt, true; for
+they had no points of resemblance in common.
+Still I cannot but think that that sworn disciple
+of Gogol and of the “school of nature” must have
+received some suggestions from our great author.
+Turgenef, like Balzac, gave us the comedy of
+human life in his native country; but to this
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span>
+great work he gave more heart and faith, and less
+patience, system, and method, than the French
+writer. But he possessed the gift of style, and a
+racy eloquence, which are wanting in Balzac.</p>
+
+<p>If one must read Balzac in France in order to
+retrace the lives of our predecessors, this is all
+the more true of Turgenef in Russia.</p>
+
+<p>This author sharply discerned the prevailing
+current of ideas which were developed in that
+period of transition,—the reign of Nicholas and
+the first few years of the reign of Alexander <abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>
+It required a keen vision to apprehend and
+describe the shifting characters and scenes of
+that period, vivid glimpses of which we obtain
+from his novels written at that time.</p>
+
+<p>His first one of this period is “Dimitri Roudine.”
+The hero of the story is an eloquent
+idealist, but practically inefficient in action. His
+liberal ideas are intoxicating, both to himself
+and others; but he succumbs to every trial of
+life, through want of character. With the best
+principles and no vices whatever, except, perhaps,
+an excess of personal vanity, he commits deeds in
+which he is his own dupe. He is at heart too
+honest to profit by offered opportunities, which
+would give him advantage over others; and, with
+no courage either for good or evil undertakings,
+he is always unsuccessful, and always in want of
+money. He finally realizes his inefficiency, in old
+age, and dies in extreme poverty.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span>
+The characters of the prosaic country life in
+which the hero’s career is pictured are marvellously
+well drawn. These practical people, whose
+ideas are nearly on a level with the earth which
+yields them their livelihood, prosper in all things.
+They have comfortable incomes, good wives, and
+congenial friends; while the enthusiastic idealist,
+in spite of his intellectual superiority, falls even
+lower. It is the triumph of prosaic fact over
+idealism. In this introductory work, the author
+touched keenly upon one of the greatest defects
+of the Russian character, and gave a useful lesson
+to his fellow-countrymen; showing them that magnificent
+aspirations are not all-sufficient, but they
+must be joined to practical common-sense, and
+applied to self-government. “Dimitri Roudine”
+is a moral and philosophical study, inciting to
+thought and interesting to the thinking mind. It
+was a question whether the author would be as
+skilful in the region of sentiment, whether he
+would succeed in moving the heart.</p>
+
+<p>His “Nest of Nobles”<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a> was his response; and
+it was, perhaps, his greatest work, although not
+without defects. It is less interesting than the
+other, as the development of the plot drags somewhat;
+but when once started, and fully outlined,
+it is carried out with consummate skill.</p>
+
+<p>The “Nest of Nobles” is one of the old provincial,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span>
+ancestral mansions in which many generations
+have lived. In this house the young girl is
+reared, who will serve as a prototype for the
+heroine of every Russian novel. She is simple
+and straightforward, not strikingly beautiful or
+gifted, but very charming, and endowed with an
+iron will,—a trait which the author invariably
+refuses to men, but he bestows it upon every
+young heroine of his imagination. This trait
+carries them through every variety of experience
+and the most extreme crises, according as they
+are driven by fate.</p>
+
+<p>Liza, a girl of twenty, has been thus far wholly
+insensible to the attractions of a handsome government
+official, whose attentions her mother has
+encouraged. Finally, weary of resistance, the
+young girl consents to an engagement with him,
+when Lavretski, a distant relative, appears upon
+the scene. He is a married man, but has long
+been separated from his wife, who is wholly
+unworthy of him. She is an adventuress, who
+spends her time at the various Continental watering-places.
+There is nothing whatever of the
+hero of romance about him; he is a quiet, kind-hearted,
+and unhappy being, serious-minded and
+no longer young. Altogether, a man such as is
+very often to be met with in real life. He and
+the young heroine are drawn together by a mysterious
+attraction; and, just as the man, with his
+deeper experience of life, recognizes with terror
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span>
+the nature of their mutual feelings, he learns of
+the death of his wife, through a newspaper article.
+He is now free; and, that very evening, in
+the old garden, both hearts, almost involuntarily,
+interchange vows of eternal affection. The description
+of this scene is beautiful, true to nature,
+and exceedingly refined. The happiness of the
+lovers lasts but a single hour; the news was
+false, and the next day Lavretski’s wife herself
+appears most unexpectedly upon the scene.</p>
+
+<p>We can easily see what an opportunity the
+author here has for the delineation of the inevitable
+revulsion and tumult of feeling called forth;
+but with what delicacy he leads those two purest
+of souls through such peril! The sacrifice is
+resolutely made by the young girl; but only after
+a fearful struggle by the lover. The annoying
+and hated wife disappears again, while the reader
+fondly hopes the author will bring about her
+speedy death. Here again those who wish only
+happy <i lang="fr">dénouements</i> must close the book. Mme.
+Lavretski does not die, but continues the gayest
+kind of a life, while Liza, who has known of life
+only the transient promise of a love, which lasted
+through the starry hours of one short evening in
+May, carries her wounded heart to her God, and
+buries herself in a convent.</p>
+
+<p>So far, this is a virtuous and rather old-fashioned
+story, suitable for young girls. But we must read
+the farther development of the tale, to see with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span>
+what exquisite art and love for truth the novelist
+has treated his subject. There is not the slightest
+approach to insipid sentimentality in this sad
+picture; no outbursts of passion; but, with a chaste
+and gentle touch, a restrained and continually increasing
+emotion is awakened, which rends the
+heart. The epilogue of this book, only a few
+pages in length, is, and will always be, one of the
+gems of Russian literature.</p>
+
+<p>Eight years have passed in the course of the
+story; Lavretski returns one morning in spring to
+the old mansion. It is now inhabited by a new
+generation, for the children have become young
+men and women, with new sentiments and interests.
+The new-comer, hardly recognized by them,
+finds them in the midst of their games. The story
+opened in the same way, and we seem to have
+gone back to the beginning of it. Lavretski seats
+himself upon the same spot where he once pressed
+for a moment in his the hand of the dear one, who
+ever since that blissful hour has been counting the
+beads of her rosary in a cloister.</p>
+
+<p>The young birds of the old nest can give no
+answer to the questions he longs to ask, for they
+have quite forgotten the vanished one; and they
+return to their game, in which they are quite
+absorbed. He reflects, in his desolation, how the
+self-same words describe the same scene of other
+days: nature’s smile is quite the same; the same
+joys are new to other children; just as, in a sonata
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span>
+of Chopin’s, the original theme of the melody
+recurs in the finale.</p>
+
+<p>In this romance, the melancholy contrast between
+the perennity of nature and the change
+and decay of man through the cruel and pitiless
+work of time is very strikingly portrayed. We
+have become so attached to the former characters
+painted by our author, that these children, in the
+heyday of their lives, are almost hateful to us.</p>
+
+<p>I am strongly tempted to quote these pages in
+full, but they would lose too much in being
+separated from what precedes them; and, unwillingly
+leaving the subject, I can only apply to
+Turgenef his own words in regard to one of his
+<span class="lock">heroes:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“He possessed the great secret of that divine
+eloquence which is music; for he knew a way to
+touch certain chords in the heart which would
+send a vibrating thrill through all the others.”</p>
+
+<p>The “Nest of Nobles” established the author’s
+renown. Such a strange world is this that poets,
+conquerors, women also, gain the hearts of men
+the more effectually by making them suffer and
+weep. All Russia shed tears over this book; and
+the unhappy Liza became the model for all the
+young girls. No romantic work since “Paul and
+Virginia” had produced such an effect upon the
+people. The author seems to have been haunted
+by this type of woman. His Ellen in “On the
+Eve” has the same indomitable will. She has a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span>
+serious, reserved, and obstinate nature, has been
+reared in solitude; and, free from all outside influences,
+and scorning all obstacles, she is capable of
+the most complete self-renunciation. But in this
+instance the circumstances are quite different.
+The beloved one is quite free, but cast out by his
+family. As Liza fled to the cloister in spite of the
+supplications of her friends, so Ellen joins her
+lover and devotes herself to him, not suspecting
+for a moment her act to be in any way a criminal
+one; but it is redeemed, in any case, by her
+devoted constancy through a life of many trials.
+These studies of character show a keen observation
+of the national temperament. The man is
+irresolute, the woman decided; she it is who rules
+fate, knows what she wants to do, and does it.
+Everything which, with our ideas, would seem in
+a young girl like boldness and immodesty, is
+pictured by the artist with such simplicity and
+delicacy that we are tempted to see in it only the
+freedom of a courageous, undaunted spirit.
+These upright and passionate natures which he
+creates seem capable of anything but fear, treachery,
+and deceit.</p>
+
+<p>The poet seems to have poured the accumulated
+emotion of his whole youth into the “Nest of
+Nobles” as a vent to the long repressed sentiment
+of his inmost heart. He now set himself to study
+the social conditions of the life around him; and
+in the midst of the great intellectual movement
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span>
+of 1860, on the eve of the emancipation, he wrote
+“Fathers and Sons.” This book marks a date in
+the history of the Russian mind. The novelist
+had the rare good-fortune to recognize a new
+growth of thought, and to give it a fixed form
+and name, which no other had been able to do.</p>
+
+<p>In “Fathers and Sons,” an old man of the past
+generation, discussing his character of Bazarof,
+asked: “What is your opinion of Bazarof?”—“What
+is he?—he is a <dfn>nihilist</dfn>,” replied a
+young disciple of the terrible medical student.—“What
+do you say?”—“I say he is a <dfn>nihilist</dfn>!”—“Nihilist?”
+repeated the old man. “Ah, yes! that
+comes from the Latin word <dfn>nihil</dfn>, and our Russian
+word <dfn>nitchevo</dfn>; as well as I can judge, that
+must be a man who will neither acknowledge nor
+admit anything.”—“Say, rather,” added another,
+“who respects nothing.”—“Who considers everything
+from a critical point of view,” resumed the
+young man.—“That is just the same thing.”—“No,
+it is not the same thing; a nihilist is a man
+who bows to no authority, and will admit no principle
+as an article of faith, no matter how deeply
+respected that principle may be.”</p>
+
+<p>We must go back still farther than the Latin
+to find the root of the word and the philosophy
+it expresses; to the old Aryan stock, of which
+the Slavonic race is one of the main branches.
+Nihilism is the Hindu <dfn>nirvâna</dfn>; the yielding of
+the primitive man before the power of matter and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span>
+the obscurity of the moral world; and the nirvâna
+necessarily engenders a furious reaction in
+the conquered being, a blind effort to destroy that
+universe which can crush and circumvent him.
+But I have already touched upon this subject,
+which is too voluminous to dwell upon here. So
+Nihilism, as we understand it, is only in its embryo
+state in this famous book of Turgenef’s. I would
+merely call the attention of the reader to another
+passage in this book which reveals a finer understanding
+of the word than volumes written upon
+the subject. It is in another discussion of
+Bazarof’s character, this time between an intelligent
+young girl and a young disciple of Bazarof,
+who honestly believes himself a nihilist.
+She <span class="lock">says:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“Your Bazarof you cannot understand, neither
+can he understand you.”—“How so?”—“How
+can I explain it?… He is a wild animal, and we,
+you and I, are tamed animals.”</p>
+
+<p>This comparison shows clearly the shade of
+difference between Russian Nihilism and the
+similar mental maladies from which human nature
+has suffered from time immemorial down to the
+present day.</p>
+
+<p>This hero of Turgenef’s has many traits in
+common with the Indian heroes of Fenimore
+Cooper, who are armed with a tomahawk, instead
+of a surgeon’s knife. Bazarof’s sons seem, at first
+sight, much like our revolutionists; but examine
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span>
+them more closely, and you will discover the distinction
+between the wild and the tamed beast.
+Our worst revolutionists are savage dogs, but the
+Russian nihilist is a wolf; and we now know that
+the wolf’s rage is the more dangerous of the two.</p>
+
+<p>See how Bazarof dies! He has contracted
+blood-poison by dissecting the body of a typhoid
+subject. He knows that he is lost. He endures
+his agony in mute, haughty, stolid silence; it is
+the agony of the wild beast with a ball in his
+body. The nihilist surpasses the stoic; he does
+not try to complete his task before death; there
+is nothing that is worth doing.</p>
+
+<p>The novelist has exhausted his art to create
+a deplorable character, which, however, is not
+really odious to us, excepting as regards his inhumanity,
+his scorn for everything we venerate.
+These seem intolerable to us. With the tamed
+animal, this would indicate perversion, disregard
+of all rules; but in the wild beast it is instinct,
+a resistance wholly natural. Our moral sense is
+ingeniously disarmed by the author, before this
+victim of fate.</p>
+
+<p>Turgenef’s creative power and minute observation
+of details in this work have never been
+excelled by him at any period of his literary
+career. It is very difficult, however, to quote
+passages of his, because he never writes single
+pages or paragraphs for their individual effect;
+but every detail is of value to the <i lang="fr">ensemble</i> of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span>
+work. I will merely quote a passing sketch of a
+character, which seems to me remarkably true to
+life; that of a man of his own country and his
+own time; a high functionary of St. Petersburg;
+a future statesman, who had gone into one of the
+provinces to examine the petty government
+officials.</p>
+
+<p>“Matthew Ilitch belonged to what were called
+the younger politicians. Although hardly over
+forty years of age, he was already aiming to
+obtain a high position in the Government, and
+wore two orders on his breast. One of them,
+however, was a foreign, and quite an ordinary
+one. He passed for one of the progressive party,
+as well as the official whom he came to examine.
+He had a high opinion of himself; his
+personal vanity was boundless, although he
+affected an air of studied simplicity, gave you
+a look of encouragement, listened with an indulgent
+patience. He laughed so good-naturedly
+that, at first, you would take him for a ‘good
+sort of fellow.’ But, on certain occasions, he
+knew how to throw dust in your eyes. ‘It is
+necessary to be energetic,’ he used to say; ‘energy
+is the first quality of the statesman.’ In spite of
+all, he was often duped; for any petty official with
+a little experience could lead him by the nose at
+will.</p>
+
+<p>“Matthew Ilitch often spoke of Guizot with
+admiration; he tried to have every one understand
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span>
+that he did not belong to the category of
+those who followed one routine; but that he was
+attentive to every phase and possible requirement
+of social life. He kept himself familiar with all
+contemporary literature, as he was accustomed to
+say, in an off-hand way. He was a tricky and
+adroit courtier, nothing more; he really knew
+nothing of public affairs, and his views were of no
+value whatever; but he understood managing his
+own affairs admirably well; on this point he
+could not be duped. Is not that, after all, the
+principal thing?”</p>
+
+<p>In the intervals of these important works, Turgenef
+often wrote little simple sketches, in the
+style of his “Annals of a Sportsman.” There are
+more than twenty of these exquisitely delicate
+compositions. One of them, entitled “Assia,”<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</a>
+of about sixty pages, is a perfect gem in its way,
+and is a souvenir of his student-life in Germany,
+and of a love-passage experienced there.</p>
+
+<p>The young student loves a young Russian girl
+without being quite conscious of his passion.
+His love being evidently reciprocated, the young
+girl, wounded by his hesitation, suddenly disappears,
+and he knows too late what he has lost.
+I will quote at hazard a few lines of this poem in
+prose, which is only the prelude of this unconscious
+passion.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span>
+The two young people are walking, one summer
+evening, on the banks of the Rhine.</p>
+
+<p>“I stood and looked upon her, bathed as she
+was in the bright rays of the setting sun. Her
+face was calm and sweet. Everything around us
+was beaming with intensity of light; earth, air,
+and water.</p>
+
+<p>“‘How beautiful it is!’ I said, involuntarily
+lowering my voice.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Yes,’ she said, in the same tone, without
+raising her eyes. ‘If we were birds, you and I,
+would we not soar away and fly? … we should
+be lost in those azure depths…. But—we are
+not birds.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Our wings may grow,’ I replied. ‘Only live
+on and you will see. There are feelings which
+can raise us above this earth. Fear not; you will
+have your wings.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘And you,’ she said; ‘have you ever felt
+this?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘It seems to me that I never did, until this
+moment,’ I said.</p>
+
+<p>“Assia was silent, and seemed absorbed in
+thought. I drew nearer to her. Suddenly she
+<span class="lock">said:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“‘Do you waltz?’ ‘Yes,’ I replied, somewhat
+perplexed by this question.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Come, then,’ she said; ‘I will ask my brother
+to play a waltz for us. We will imagine we are
+flying, and that our wings have grown….’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span>
+“It was late when I left her. On recrossing
+the Rhine, when midway between the two shores,
+I asked the ferryman to let the boat drift with the
+current. The old man raised the oars, and the
+royal stream bore us on. I looked around me,
+listened, and reflected. I had a feeling of unrest,
+and felt a sudden pang at my heart. I raised my
+eyes to the heavens; but even there there was no
+tranquillity. Dotted with glittering stars, the
+whole firmament was palpitating and quivering.
+I leaned over the water; there were the same
+stars, trembling and gleaming in its cold, gloomy
+depths. The agitation of nature all around me
+only increased my own. I leaned my elbows
+upon the edge of the boat; the night wind, murmuring
+in my ears, and the dull plashing of the
+water against the rudder irritated my nerves,
+which the cool exhalations from the water could
+not calm. A nightingale was singing on the
+shore, and his song seemed to fill me with a
+delicious poison. Tears filled my eyes, I knew
+not why. What I now felt was not that aspiration
+toward the Infinite, that love for universal
+nature, with which my whole being had been
+filled of late; but I was consumed by a thirst, a
+longing for happiness,—I could not yet call it by
+its name, but for a happiness beyond expression,
+even if it should annihilate me. It was almost
+an agony of mingled joy and pain.</p>
+
+<p>“The boat floated on, while the old boatman sat
+and slept, leaning forward upon his oars.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span></p>
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>The emancipation of the serfs, the dream of
+Turgenef’s life, had become an accomplished fact,
+and was, moreover, the inaugurator of other great
+reforms. There was a general joyous awakening
+of secret forces and of hopes long deferred. The
+years following 1860, which were so momentous
+for Russia, wrought a change in the interior life
+of the poet and author. Torn from his native
+land by the ties of a deathless friendship, to
+which he unreservedly devoted the remainder of
+his life, he left Russia, never to return except at
+very rare intervals. He established himself first
+at Baden, afterwards settled permanently in
+Paris. Every desire of his heart as man, author,
+and patriot had been gratified. He had helped to
+bring about the emancipation. His literary fame
+followed him, and his works were translated into
+many languages.</p>
+
+<p>But, after some years of silence and repose,
+this poet’s soul, which through youth had rejoiced
+in its dreams and anticipations, suffered
+the change which must come to our poor human
+nature. He was not destined in his old age to
+realize his ideals.</p>
+
+<p>In 1868 his great novel “Smoke” appeared.
+It exhibited the same talent, riper than ever with
+the maturity of age; but the old faith and candor
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span>
+were wanting. Were we speaking of any other
+man, we should say that he had become bitter;
+but that would be an exaggeration in speaking of
+Turgenef, for there was no gall in his temperament.
+But there are the pathetic touches of a
+disenchanted idealist, astonished to find that his
+most cherished ideas, applied to men, cannot
+make them perfect. This sort of disappointment
+sometimes carries an author to injustice; his pencil
+shades certain characters too intensely, so that
+they are less true to nature than those of his older
+works. The phase of society described in “Smoke”
+exhibits a class of Russians living abroad, who do
+not, perhaps, retain in their foreign home the
+best qualities of their native soil: noble lords and
+questionable ladies, students and conspirators.
+The scene is laid at Baden, where the author
+could study society at his leisure. Of this confusing
+throng of army officers, rusticating princesses,
+boastful Slavophiles, and travelling clerks,
+he has given us many a vivid glimpse. But the
+book, as a whole, is an exaggeration; and this
+impression is all the stronger as the author evidently
+does not consider his characters of an
+exceptional type, but intends to faithfully represent
+Russian society, both high and low. Moreover,
+the artist has modified his style. He
+formerly presented his array of ideas, and left
+his readers to judge of them for themselves; but
+now he often puts himself in the reader’s place,
+and expresses his own opinion very freely.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span>
+For the novelist or dramatist there are two
+ways of presenting moral theses; with or without
+his personal intervention. We will take the most
+familiar <a id="chg2"></a>examples. In Victor Hugo’s “Les Misérables,”
+there are two conceptions of duty and
+virtue, which are perfectly antagonistic, personified
+by Jean Valjean and Javert. They are so
+perfectly drawn that we might almost hesitate
+between them; but the author throws the whole
+weight of his eloquence on the one; he deifies
+one and depreciates the other, so that he forces
+the verdict from us. But in “Le Gendre de M.
+Poirier,” on the contrary, there are two conceptions
+of honor; two sets of irreconcilable ideas;
+those of the Marquis de Presle, and those of his
+father-in-law. The author keeps himself in the
+background. He presents his two characters with
+the same clear analyses of their merits and absurdities;
+and shows both the weak and the strong
+points of their arguments. Even to the very end
+we hesitate to judge between them; and it is this
+conflict of ideas which keeps up the interest of the
+drama.</p>
+
+<p>For myself, I prefer the second method. Besides
+being more artistic, it seems to approach
+nearer to real life, in which we can never see
+truth clearly, and in which good and evil are
+always so closely allied. Turgenef embraced this
+method in all his first studies of social life, and
+they were more just and true, in my opinion, than
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span>
+his later ones. In the last two, “Smoke” and
+“Virgin Soil,” he interferes noticeably, bringing
+forward his own opinions; but I acknowledge
+that these books contain many passages overflowing
+with vivid fancy and strong common-sense.
+He satirizes everything he disapproves, the <dfn>Slavophile</dfn>
+party, all the national peculiarities, especially
+that mania for declaring everything perfect that
+springs from Russian soil. His shafts of wit,
+which he employs to illustrate this infatuation, are
+very keen; for example, when he speaks of the
+“literature which is bound in Russia leather”;
+and when he says, “in my country two and two
+make four, but with more certainty than elsewhere.”</p>
+
+<p>After emptying his quiver, the author describes
+a love intrigue, in which he shows as ever his
+marvellous knowledge of the human heart. But
+here again his style has changed. Formerly he
+wrote of youthful affection, a loyal emotion, frank
+and courageous enough to brave the whole world;
+and woman seemed to interest him only in her
+early youth. But he depicts in “Smoke” and
+“Spring Floods” the most cruel passions, with
+their agonies, deceptions, and bottomless abysses.
+The virtuous young girl invariably comes in, but
+as if held in reserve to save the repentant sinner
+at the end. Some may prefer these tempestuous
+compositions to the delicious poetic harmonies of
+his first romances. It is a matter of taste, and I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span>
+would not decry the real merit of “Smoke,” which
+is a masterpiece in its way. I only affirm that on
+the approach of the evening of life the translucent
+soul of the poet has given us glimpses of sombre
+clouds and stormy skies. At the end of “Spring
+Floods,” after that wonderful scene, so true to
+life, exhibiting the weakness of the man and the
+diabolical power of the woman, there follow a few
+pages so full of rancor that you can but feel pity
+for the writer who can express such bitterness.</p>
+
+<p>In 1877, “Virgin Soil,” the last long important
+work, appeared: first in French, in a Paris journal,
+as if to feel its way; then the original could be
+risked in Russia with impunity, and had a free circulation.
+What a marked change the march of
+ideas had produced since the appearance of Turgenef’s
+article on Gogol! In this new work the
+author traversed a road which once would have led
+directly to Siberia. He had the ambition to describe
+the subterranean world which at that time
+was beginning to threaten the peace of the
+Empire. Having studied for twenty-five years
+every current of thought springing from Russian
+soil, the student thought to perfect his task by
+showing us the natural outgrowth of these currents.
+Since they disappeared under the earth,
+they must be investigated and attacked with a
+bold front.</p>
+
+<p>Turgenef was incited to the work partly from
+the appearance of a rival, who had already preceded
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span>
+him in this line. We shall see that “Virgin
+Soil” was an indirect response to “Les Possédés”
+of Dostoyevski. The effort was not wholly
+successful; as Turgenef had been away from his
+native land for fifteen years, he had not been able
+to watch narrowly enough the incessant transformation
+of that hidden, almost inaccessible
+world. Without the closest study from nature
+the artist’s work cannot produce striking results.
+The novelist intended to present the still unsettled
+tendencies of the nihilists in a characteristic
+and fixed form; but he failed to give clearness
+and outline to the work; the image refused
+to reflect its true form. This is why there is something
+vague and indistinct about the first part of
+“Virgin Soil,” which contrasts unfavorably with
+the clear-cut models of his early works.</p>
+
+<p>The author introduces us into the circle of
+conspirators at St. Petersburg. One of the young
+men, Neshdanof, has been engaged as a tutor in
+the house of a rich government official, in a distant
+province. He there meets a young girl of
+noble family, who is treated as a poor relation in
+the house. She is embittered by a long series of
+humiliations, and is struck with admiration for the
+ideas of the young apostle, more than for his personal
+attractions. They escape together, and form
+a Platonic union, working together among the
+common people, at the great cause of socialism.
+But Neshdanof is not fitted for the terrible
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span>
+work; he is a weak character, and a dreamer and
+poet. Distracted with doubts, and wholly <a id="chg3"></a>discouraged,
+he soon discovers that all is chaos within
+his soul. He does not love the cause to which he
+is sacrificing himself, and he knows not how best to
+serve it. Neither does he love the woman who has
+sacrificed herself for him, and he feels that he has
+lowered himself in her esteem. Weary of life,
+too proud to withdraw, and generous enough to
+wish to save his devoted companion before her
+reputation is lost, Neshdanof takes his life. He
+has found out that one of his friends, with more
+character than himself, has a secret attachment
+for Marianne. Before dying he joins the hands of
+those two enthusiastic beings. The romance ends
+with a fruitless conspiracy, which shows the utter
+uselessness of attempting to stir the people to
+revolution.</p>
+
+<p>Other revolutionary characters dimly float
+before the reader’s vision, who whisper unintelligible
+words. Those from among the higher
+classes are treated even more harshly than in
+“Smoke.” They have the same self-sufficiency,
+and are equally absurd without a single merit;
+and you feel that they are presented in a false
+light. Hence the work is abounding in caricatures,
+and shows a want of balance as a whole.</p>
+
+<p>On the other hand, the apostles of the new
+faith are surrounded with a halo of generosity
+and devotion. Between extreme egotism on one
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span>
+side, and stern faith and utter self-abnegation on
+the other, the idealist’s choice must fall. Naturally,
+the poet’s warm heart draws him to the most
+disinterested party of the two. He invests these
+rude natures with delicate sentiments, which
+clothe them with poetry; concealing from us,
+and even from himself, the revolting contrasts
+they present, and their brutal instincts. The
+wolfish, energetic Bazarof was of a type more
+true to nature.</p>
+
+<p>I think that Turgenef’s sensibility led him
+astray in his conception of the nihilists; while
+his good-sense did justice to their ideas, exhibited
+the puerility of their discourses and the
+uselessness of their blind hopes. The most valuable
+part of the book is where the writer demonstrates
+by facts the utter impossibility of uniting
+the propagandists and the people. Abstract arguments
+make no impression upon the peasant’s dull
+brain. Neshdanof attempts an harangue in an ale-house;
+the peasants force him to drink. The
+second glass of <dfn>vodka</dfn> intoxicates him completely,
+and he staggers away amid jeers and shouts.
+Another man, who tries to stir a village to
+revolt, is bound and given over to justice.</p>
+
+<p>At times Turgenef strikes exactly at the root
+of the evil, shows up the glaring faults of the
+revolutionary spirit, and exposes its weakness.
+Assuming too much responsibility, the nihilists
+wish to raise an ignorant populace at once to the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span>
+intellectual heights they have themselves reached;
+forgetting that time alone can accomplish such a
+miracle. They have recourse to cabalistic formulas,
+but their efforts are fruitless. The poet sees
+and explains all this; but, being a poet, he allows
+himself to be seduced by the sentimental beauty
+of the sacrifice, losing sight of the object; while
+the proved uselessness of the sacrifice only redoubles
+his indulgence towards the victims.</p>
+
+<p>This brings me to a point where I am obliged
+to touch upon a delicate subject. Certain political
+claims, discussed over the author’s tomb,
+have caused much anxiety in Russia; and bitter
+resentment threatened to mingle with the national
+grief. The Moscow papers published several severe
+articles about him before his death, in consequence
+of the appearance of his “Memoirs of a
+Nihilist” in a French paper. This autobiographical
+sketch is not a work of the imagination, for he
+obtained the story from the lips of a fellow-countryman
+who had escaped from a prison in Russia.</p>
+
+<p>This curious essay has the ring of truth about
+it, and no attempt at recrimination; giving an
+example of that strange psychological peculiarity
+of the Russian, who studies so attentively the
+moral effect of suffering upon his soul that he
+forgets to accuse the authors of his suffering.
+The sketch recalls vividly certain pages of Dostoyevski’s.
+But Turgenef’s ideas were not, at this
+time, well received by the Russians. They resented
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span>
+the too indulgent tone of his writings, and
+accused him of complicity with the enemies of
+the Empire. The radicals wished to claim him
+for their own; and it was hinted that he subscribed
+to support a seditious journal. This is,
+however, entirely improbable. Turgenef was open-hearted
+and generous to a fault. He gave freely
+and indiscriminately to any one that was suffering.
+His door and his purse were open to any fellow-countryman
+without reserve, and kind words were
+ever ready to flow from his lips. But, though
+always ready to help others, he certainly never
+gave his aid to any political intriguer. Was it
+natural that a man of his refinement and high culture
+should have aided the schemes of wild and
+fruitless political conspiracies? With the liberal
+ideas he adopted during his university life in Germany,
+in early youth, he was more inclined to
+cherish political dreams than to put his liberalism
+into practice. In fact, it is only necessary to read
+“Virgin Soil” attentively, to understand the position
+he proposed to maintain.</p>
+
+<p>But I am dwelling too long upon the political
+standing of a poet. This man, who was honest
+and true in the highest degree in all relations of
+life, must have been the same as to his politics.
+Those who questioned the colors he bore could
+ill afford to criticise him.</p>
+
+<p>About this time, Turgenef wrote five or six
+tales; one of which (“A Lear of the Steppe”),
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span>
+for its intensity of feeling, recalls the most beautiful
+parts of “The Annals of a Sportsman.” But
+I must not dwell upon these, but give a little
+attention to the productions of our author as a
+whole.</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Five">V.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>Ivan Sergievitch (Turgenef) has given us a
+most complete picture of Russian society. The
+same general types are always brought forward;
+and, as later writers have presented exactly similar
+ones, with but few modifications, we are
+forced to believe them true to life. First, the
+peasant; meek, resigned, dull, pathetic in suffering,
+like a child who does not know why he
+suffers; naturally sharp and tricky when not
+stupefied by liquor; occasionally roused to violent
+passion. Then, the intelligent middle class;
+the small landed proprietors of two generations.
+The old proprietor is ignorant and good-natured,
+of respectable family, but with coarse habits;
+hard, from long experience of serfdom, servile
+himself, but admirable in all other relations of
+life.</p>
+
+<p>The young man of this class is of quite a different
+type. His intellectual growth having been
+too rapid, he sometimes plunges into Nihilism.
+He is often well educated, melancholy, rich in
+ideas but poor in executive ability; always preparing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span>
+and expecting to accomplish something of
+importance, filled with vague and generous projects
+for the public good. This is the chosen
+type of hero in all Russian novels. Gogol introduced
+it, and Tolstoï prefers it above all others.</p>
+
+<p>The favorite hero of young girls and romantic
+women is neither the brilliant officer, the artist,
+nor rich lord, but almost universally this provincial
+Hamlet, conscientious, cultivated, intelligent,
+but of feeble will, who, returning from his studies
+in foreign lands, is full of scientific theories about
+the improvement of mankind and the good of the
+lower classes, and eager to apply these theories
+on his own estate. It is quite necessary that he
+should have an estate of his own. He will have
+the hearty sympathy of the reader in his efforts
+to improve the condition of his dependents.</p>
+
+<p>The Russians well understand the conditions of
+the future prosperity of their country; but, as
+they themselves acknowledge, they know not how
+to go to work to accomplish it.</p>
+
+<p>In regard to the women of this class, Turgenef,
+strange to say, has little to say of the mothers.
+This probably reveals the existence of some old
+wound, some bitter experience of his own. Without
+a single exception, all the mothers in his
+novels are either wicked or grotesque. He reserves
+the treasures of his poetic fancy for the young
+girls of his creation. To him the young girl of
+the country province is the corner-stone of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span>
+fabric of society. Reared in the freedom of country
+life, placed in the most healthy social conditions,
+she is conscientious, frank, affectionate,
+without being romantic; less intelligent than
+man, but more resolute. In each of his romances
+an irresolute man is invariably guided by a
+woman of strong will.</p>
+
+<p>Such are, generally speaking, the characters the
+author describes, which bear so unmistakably the
+stamp of nature that one cannot refrain from saying
+as he closes the book, “These must be portraits
+from life!” which criticism is always the
+highest praise, the best sanction of works of the
+imagination.</p>
+
+<p>But something is wanting to fully complete the
+picture of Russian life. Turgenef never has
+written of the highest class in society except
+incidentally and in his later works, and then in
+his bitterest vein. He was never drawn to this
+class, and was, besides, prejudiced against it.
+The charming young girl, suddenly raised to a
+position in this circle, becomes entirely perverted—is
+changed into a frivolous woman, with most
+disagreeable peculiarities of mind and temperament.
+The man, elevated to the new dignities of
+a high public position, adds to his native irresolution
+ostentatious pride and folly. We are
+forced to question these hasty and extreme statements.
+We must wait for Leo Tolstoï before
+forming our opinions. He will give us precisely
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span>
+the same types of the lower and middle classes as
+his predecessor; but he will also give a most
+complete analysis of the statesman, the courtier,
+and the noble dames of the court. He will finish
+the edifice, the foundations of which Turgenef
+has so admirably laid. Not that we expect of
+our author the complicated intrigues and extraordinary
+adventures of the old French romances.
+He shows us life as it is, not through a magic
+lantern. Facts interest him but little, for he
+only regards them as to their influence on the
+human soul. He loved to study character and
+sentiment, to seek the simplest personages of
+every-day life; and the great secret of his power
+lies in his having felt such deep interest in his
+models that his characters are never prosaic,
+while absolutely true to life. He says of Neshdanof,
+in “Virgin Soil”: “He makes realism
+poetic.” These, his own words, may be justly
+applied to himself. In exquisite and good taste
+he has, in fact, no rival. On every page we find
+a tender grace like the ineffable freshness of
+morning dew. A phrase of George Eliot’s, in
+“Adam Bede,” may well apply to him: “Words
+came to me as tears come when the heart is full
+and we cannot prevent them.”</p>
+
+<p>No writer ever had more sentiment or a greater
+horror of sentimentality; none could better express
+in a single phrase such crises, such remarkable
+situations. This reserve power makes his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span>
+work unique in Russian literature, which is
+always diffuse and elaborate. In his most unimportant
+productions there is an artistic conciseness
+equal to that of the great masters of the
+ancient classics. Such qualities, made still more
+effective by a perfection of style and a diction
+always correct and sometimes most exquisite,
+give to Turgenef a very high position in contemporary
+literature. Taine considered him one of
+the most perfect artists the world has produced
+since the classic period. English criticism, generally
+considered somewhat cold, and not given to
+exaggeration, places him among writers of the
+very first rank.</p>
+
+<p>I subscribe to this opinion whenever I take up
+any of his works to read once again; then I hesitate
+when I think of that marvellous Tolstoï,
+who captivates my imagination and makes me
+suspend my judgment. We must leave these
+questions of precedence for the future to decide.</p>
+
+<p>After the appearance of “Virgin Soil,” although
+Turgenef’s talent suffered no change, and his intelligence
+was as keen as ever, his mind seemed
+to need repose, and to be groping for some hidden
+path, as is often the case with young authors
+at the beginning of their career. There were
+good reasons for this condition of discouragement.
+Turgenef reaped many advantages, and some
+disadvantages, from his prolonged sojourn in our
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span>
+midst. At first, the study of new masters and
+the friendships and advice of Mérimée, were of
+great use to him. To this literary intercourse
+may be attributed the rare culture, clearness, and
+precision of his works, as distinguished from any
+other prose writer of his country. Later on he
+became an enthusiastic admirer of Flaubert, and
+made some excellent translations of his works.
+Then, next to the pioneers of the “School of
+Nature,” he adhered to their successors, fondly
+imagining himself to be one of them, giving ear
+to their doctrines, and making frantic efforts to
+conciliate these with his old ideals. Moreover, he
+felt himself more and more widely separated from
+his native land, the true source of all his ideas.
+He was sometimes reproached as a deserter.
+The tendencies of his last novels had aroused
+recrimination and scandal. Whenever he occasionally
+visited St. Petersburg or Moscow, he was
+received with ovations by the young men, but
+with extreme coldness in some circles. He was
+destined to live to see a part of his former adherents
+leave him and run to worship new idols.
+On his last appearance in Russia for the fêtes in
+honor of Pushkin, the Moscow students rushed to
+take him from his carriage, and bear him in their
+arms; but I remember that one day at St. Petersburg,
+returning from a visit to one of the nobility,
+Ivan Sergievitch (Turgenef) said to us, in
+a jesting tone, not quite free from bitterness:
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span>
+“Some one called me Ivan Nikolaievitch.”<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[I]</a>
+This little inadvertency would to us seem quite
+pardonable, for here we are, fortunately, not
+obliged to know every one’s father’s name. But,
+considering Russian customs, this oversight in
+the case of a national celebrity was an offence,
+and showed that he was already beginning to be
+forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>About this time I had the good-fortune to pass
+an evening with Turgenef and Skobelef. The
+young general spoke with his habitual eloquence
+and warmth of his hopes for the future, and
+expressed many great thoughts. The old author
+listened in silence, studying him meanwhile with
+that pensive, concentrated expression of the artist
+when he wishes to reproduce an image in
+form and color. The model was posing for the
+painter, who meant to engraft this remarkable
+character into one of his books; but Death did
+not permit the hero to live out his romance, nor
+the poet to write it.</p>
+
+<p>One day in the spring of 1883, the last time I
+had the honor of seeing Ivan Sergievitch, we
+spoke of Skobelef. He said: “I shall soon follow
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>It was too true. He was suffering terribly
+from the mortal illness of which he died soon
+after—a cancer in the spinal marrow. His eyes
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span>
+rested upon a landscape of Rousseau, his favorite
+painter, which represented an ancient oak, torn
+by the storms of many winters, now shedding its
+last crimson leaves in a December gale. There
+was an affinity between the noble old man and
+this picture which he enjoyed looking upon, a
+secret and mutual understanding of the decrees
+of Nature.</p>
+
+<p>He published three tales after being attacked
+with this fatal disease. It is an example of the
+irony of fate that the last of these was entitled
+“Despair.” This was his last analysis of the
+Russian character, which he had made his study
+for so many years, and reproduced in all his
+works.</p>
+
+<p>A few days before his death he took up his
+pen to write a touching epistle to his friend, Leo
+Tolstoï. In this farewell the dying author bequeathed
+the care and honor of Russian literature
+to his friend and rival. I give the closing words
+of this <span class="lock">letter:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“My very dear Leo Nikolaievitch, I have not
+written to you for a long time, for I have long
+been upon my death-bed. There is no chance for
+recovery; it is not to be thought of. I write
+expressly to tell you how very happy I am to
+have been a contemporary of yours; and to
+express a last, urgent request.</p>
+
+<p>“My friend, return to your literary labors.
+This gift has come to you from whence come
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span>
+all our gifts. Oh! how happy I should be could
+I feel that you will grant this request!…</p>
+
+<p>“My dear friend, great author of our beloved
+Russia, let me entreat you to grant me this request!
+Reply if this reaches you. I press you
+and yours to my heart for the last time. I can
+write no more…. I am weary!…”</p>
+
+<p>We can only hope that this exhortation will be
+obeyed by the only author worthy to take up the
+pen dropped by those valiant hands.</p>
+
+<p>Turgenef has left behind a rich legacy; for
+every page he ever wrote, with but very few
+exceptions, breathes a noble spirit; and his works
+will continue to elevate and warm the hearts of
+thousands.</p>
+
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[F]</a> 
+<span lang="fr">“Grande et riche, mais désordonnée.”</span> This historical
+phrase has become proverbial in Russia. It was used by the
+deputies of the Slavs when they demanded foreign chiefs to
+govern them.</p>
+
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[G]</a>
+ Published in English under the name of “Liza.”</p>
+
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[H]</a>
+ An English translation was published in 1884 under the
+title “<cite>Annouchka</cite>,” a tale.</p>
+
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[I]</a>
+ (V)itch added to the father’s name (meaning son of) is the
+masculine termination of proper names.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span>
+<h3>
+CHAPTER <abbr title="Five">V.</abbr>
+<br>
+<span class="allsmcap">THE RELIGION OF ENDURANCE.—DOSTOYEVSKI.</span>
+</h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">With</span> Dostoyevski, that true Scythian, who
+will revolutionize all our previous habits of
+thought, we now enter into the heart of Moscow,
+with its giant cathedral of St. Basil, like a
+Chinese pagoda as to form and decoration, and
+built by Tartar architects; but dedicated to the
+worship of the Christian’s God.</p>
+
+<p>Turgenef and Dostoyevski, although contemporaries,
+belonging to the same school, and borne
+on by the same current of ideas, present in their
+respective works many sharply defined contrasts;
+still, they possess one quality in common, the
+outgrowth of the period in which they lived—sympathy
+for humanity. In Dostoyevski, this
+sympathy has developed into an intense pity for
+the humbler class, which regards him and believes
+in him as its master.</p>
+
+<p>All contemporary forms of art have secret
+bonds in common. The same causes and sentiments
+which inclined these Russian authors to
+the study of real life attracted the great French
+landscape-painters of the same epoch to a closer
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span>
+observation of nature. The works of Corot,
+Rousseau, and Millet present to me a perfect
+idea of the common tendencies and personal
+peculiarities of the three types of talent I
+am attempting to analyze. Whichever of these
+painters we prefer, we shall be likely to be
+attracted by the corresponding writer. I would
+not force such a comparison; but to me Turgenef
+has the grace and poetry of Corot; Tolstoï,
+the simple grandeur of Rousseau; Dostoyevski,
+the tragic severity of Millet.</p>
+
+<p>Dostoyevski’s romances have been translated
+into French, and, to my astonishment, they are
+greatly enjoyed by the French. This places me
+at ease in discussing him. I should never have
+been believed, in attempting to present an analysis
+of this strange character, if these books, which
+reflect and typify their author, had not been well
+known among us. At the same time, the books
+can scarcely be understood without some knowledge
+of the life of him who created them. I had
+almost said, whose life and sufferings were portrayed
+in them; but the one expression partly
+implies the other.</p>
+
+<p>On entering into an examination of the life
+and works of this man, I must present to the
+reader scenes invariably sad, sometimes terrible,
+sometimes funereal. Those persons should not
+attempt to read them who object to visiting hospitals,
+courts of justice, or prisons; or who have
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span>
+a horror of visiting graveyards at night. I cannot
+conscientiously throw a cheerful glamour
+upon what both destiny and character have
+made sombre throughout. Some will, at least,
+follow me with confidence. At all events, the
+Russia of the past twenty years will remain an
+inexplicable enigma to those who ignore the
+work which has made the most lasting impression
+upon this country, and shaken it to its foundations.
+We must, then, examine the books which
+have performed such a work, and, first of all, and
+more dramatic than all, the life of him who conceived
+them.</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="One">I.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>He was born at Moscow, in 1821, in the charity
+hospital. Destiny decreed that his eyes should
+first open upon the sad spectacle which was to
+be ever before them, and upon the most terrible
+forms of misery. His father, a retired military
+surgeon, was attached to this establishment. His
+family belonged to one of those lower orders of
+the nobility from which minor functionaries are
+generally chosen, and possessed a small estate
+and a few serfs in the province of Tula. The
+child was sometimes taken out to this country
+place; and these first visions of country life occasionally
+reappear in his works, but very rarely.
+Contrary to the habit of the other Russian
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span>
+authors, who adore nature, and especially love
+the place where they were reared, Dostoyevski
+is not attracted in this direction. He is
+a psychologist; the human soul absorbs his
+entire vision; the scenes of his choice are the
+suburbs of large cities, and miserable alleys. In
+his childish recollections, which almost invariably
+give their coloring to an author’s mind, you never
+feel the influence of peaceful woods and broad,
+open skies. The source from whence his imagination
+draws its supplies will give you glimpses of
+hospital courts, pallid faces under the regulation
+white cap, and forms clothed in brown robes;
+and you will encounter the timid gaze of the
+“Degraded” and “Insulted.”</p>
+
+<p>Dostoyevski was one of a numerous family of
+children, and his life as a child was not one of luxury.
+After leaving a Moscow school, his father
+procured admission for the two elder sons, Alexis
+and Feodor, to the military engineering school at
+St. Petersburg. The two brothers, bound together
+by a common aptitude for literature, were
+always deeply attached to each other, and greatly
+depended, in all the crises of life, upon each
+other’s mutual support. We gain much knowledge
+of the interior life of Feodor Mikhailovitch,
+(Dostoyevski) through his letters to his brother
+Alexis in his “Correspondence.” Both felt themselves
+out of place in this school, which, for
+them, took the place of a University training. A
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span>
+classical education was just what Dostoyevski
+needed; it would have given him that refinement
+and balance which is gained by an early training
+in the best literature. He made up for the want
+of it as best he could, by reading Pushkin and
+Gogol, and the French romance-writers, Balzac,
+Eugene Sue, and George Sand, who seems to have
+had a strong influence upon his imagination.
+But Gogol was his favorite master. The humble
+world which attracted him most was revealed to
+him in “Dead Souls.”</p>
+
+<p>Leaving the school in 1843 with the grade of
+sub-lieutenant, he did not long wear his engineer’s
+uniform. A year later he sent in his resignation,
+to devote himself exclusively to literary
+occupations. From this day, the fierce struggle
+of our author with poverty began which was to
+last forty years. After the father’s death the
+meagre patrimony was divided among the children,
+and it quickly vanished. The young Feodor
+undertook translations for journals and publishers.
+For forty years his correspondence,
+which recalls that of Balzac, was one long agonizing
+lament; a recapitulation of debts accumulating
+and weighing upon him, a complaint of the
+slavish life he led. For years he is never sure of
+his daily bread, except in the convict prison.</p>
+
+<p>Although Dostoyevski became hardened to
+material privations, he was not proof against the
+moral wounds which poverty inflicts; the pitiable
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span>
+pride which formed the foundation of his character
+suffered terribly from everything which
+betrayed his poverty. You feel the existence
+of this open wound in his letters; and all his
+heroes, the real incarnations of his own soul, suffer
+the same torture. Moreover, he was really ill,
+a victim of shattered nerves; and he became so
+visionary that he believed himself threatened
+with every imaginable disease. He left on his
+table sometimes, before retiring for the night, a
+paper upon which he wrote: “I may to-night
+fall into a lethargic sleep; be careful not to bury
+me before a certain number of days.” This was
+no trick of the imagination, but a presentiment of
+the fatal malady, of which he then felt the first
+symptoms. It has been stated that he contracted
+it in Siberia later than this; but a friend of his
+youth assures me that at this very time he was
+in the habit of falling down in the street foaming
+at the mouth. He always was, what he seemed to
+us to be in his latter years, but a frail bundle of
+irritable nerves; a feminine soul in the frame of
+a Russian peasant; reserved, savage, full of hallucinations;
+while the deepest tenderness filled his
+heart when he looked upon the sufferings of the
+lower classes.</p>
+
+<p>His work was his sole consolation and delight.
+He narrates in his letters projected plots for his
+romances with the most genuine enthusiasm; and
+the recollection of these first transports makes
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span>
+him put into the mouth of one of his characters,
+drawn from himself, the novelist who figures in
+“The Degraded and Insulted,”<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[J]</a> the following
+<span class="lock">expressions:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“If I ever was happy, it was not during the
+first intoxicating moments of success, but at the
+time when I had never read nor shown my manuscript
+to any one; during those long nights,
+passed in enthusiastic dreams and hopes, when
+I passionately loved my work; when I lived with
+my fancies, with the characters created by me, as
+with real relatives, living beings. I loved them;
+I rejoiced or mourned with them, and I have actually
+shed bitter tears over the misfortunes of my
+poor hero.”</p>
+
+<p>His first tale, “Poor People,” contained the
+germ of all the rest. He wrote it at the age of
+twenty-three. During the latter years of his life,
+he used to relate the story of this first venture.
+The poor little engineer knew not a single soul in
+the literary world, or what to do with his manuscript.
+One of his comrades, Grigorovitch, who
+became a man of considerable literary reputation,
+has confirmed this anecdote. He carried the
+manuscript to Nekrasof, the poet, and friend of
+poor authors.</p>
+
+<p>At three o’clock in the morning, Dostoyevski
+heard a knock at his door. It was Grigorovitch,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span>
+who brought Nekrasof in with him. The poet
+threw himself upon the young stranger’s neck,
+showing strong emotion. He had been up the
+whole night, reading the tale, and was perfectly
+carried away with it. He too lived the cautious
+and hidden life which at that time was the lot
+of every Russian writer. These two repressed
+hearts, mutually and irresistibly attracted to each
+other, now overflowed with all the generous enthusiasm
+of youth. The dawn of day found the
+three enthusiasts still absorbed in an exalted conversation
+and an interchange of thoughts, hopes,
+and artistic and poetical dreams.</p>
+
+<p>On leaving his protégé, Nekrasof went directly
+to Bielinski, the oracle of Russian literature, the
+only critic formidable to young beginners. “A
+new Gogol is born to us!” cried the poet, as he
+entered his friend’s house. “Gogols sprout up
+nowadays like mushrooms,” replied the critic,
+with his most forbidding air, as he took up the
+manuscript, handling it as if it were something
+poisonous, in the same way that all great critics
+of every country treat new manuscripts. But
+when Bielinski had read the manuscript through,
+its effect upon him was magical; so that when
+the trembling young man presented himself before
+his judge, the latter cried out <span class="lock">excitedly:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“Do you comprehend, young man, all the truth
+that you have described? No! at your age, that
+is quite impossible. This is a revelation of art,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span>
+an inspiration, a gift from on high. Reverence,
+preserve this gift! and you will become a great
+writer!”</p>
+
+<p>A few months later “Poor People” appeared in
+periodical review, and Russia ratified the verdict
+of its great critic. Bielinski’s astonishment was
+justifiable; for it seems incredible that any person
+of twenty could have produced a tragedy at once
+so simple and so heart-rending. In youth, happiness
+is our science, learned without a master, and
+we invent grand, heroic, showy misfortunes, and
+anguish which blazons its own sublimity. But
+how had this unhappy genius learned the meaning
+of that hidden, dumb, wearing misery before
+his time?</p>
+
+<p>It is but an ordinary story, told in a correspondence
+between two persons. An inferior
+clerk in a court of chancery, worn with years and
+toil, is passing on toward the decline of life, in a
+continual struggle with poverty and the accompanying
+tortures of wounded self-love. This
+ignorant and honest clerk, the butt of his comrades’
+ridicule, ordinary in conversation, of only
+medium intelligence, whose whole ambition is to
+be a good copyist, possesses, under an almost
+grotesque exterior, a heart as fresh, open, and
+affectionate as that of a little child; and I might
+almost say, sublimely stupid, indifferent to his own
+interests, in his noble generosity. This is the
+chosen type of all the best Russian authors, the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span>
+one which exemplifies what is noblest in the
+Russian character; as, for example, Turgenef’s
+Lukeria in the “Living Relics,” and the Karatayef
+of Tolstoï in “War and Peace.” But these are
+of the peasant class, whereas the character of
+Dievushkin, in “Poor People,” is raised some
+degrees higher in the intellectual and social scale.</p>
+
+<p>In this life, dark and cold as the long December
+night in Russia, there is one solitary ray of light,
+one single joy. In another poor lodging, just
+opposite the loft where the clerk copies his papers,
+lives a young girl, a distant relative, a solitary
+waif like himself, who can claim nothing in the
+world but the feeble protection of this friend.
+Both isolated, crushed by the brutal pressure of
+circumstances, these two unfortunates depend
+upon each other for mutual affection, as well as
+aid to keep them from starving. In the man’s
+affection there is a tender self-sacrifice, a delicacy,
+so much the more charming in that it accords not
+at all with the habitual bungling awkwardness of
+his ways and ideas; like a flower growing in sterile
+soil, among brambles, and betrayed only by its
+perfume. He imposes upon himself privations
+truly heroic, for the sake of comforting and
+gladdening the existence of his dear friend.
+These are, moreover, so well concealed that they
+are only discovered through some awkwardness
+on his part; as for him, they seem to him a matter
+of course. His sentiments are by turns those of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span>
+a father, a brother, a good faithful dog. He would
+define them thus himself if called upon to analyze
+them. But although we well know a name for
+this feeling, let us not even whisper it to him; he
+would be overcome with shame at the mere mention
+of it.</p>
+
+<p>The woman’s character is drawn with marvellous
+art. She is very superior to her friend in
+mind and education; she guides him in all intellectual
+things, which are quite new to him.
+She is weak by nature, and tender-hearted, but less
+faithful and resigned than he. She has not wholly
+given up a desire for the good things of life. She
+continually protests against the sacrifices which
+Dievushkin imposes upon himself, she begs him
+not to trouble himself for her; but sometimes a
+longing cry for something she feels the deprivation
+of escapes her, or perhaps a childish desire for
+some trifle or finery. The two neighbors can only
+see each other occasionally, that they may give
+no occasion for malicious gossip, and an almost
+daily correspondence has been established between
+them. In these letters we read of their past, the
+hard lives they have lived, the little incidents of
+their every-day life, their disappointments; the
+terrors of the young girl, pursued by the vicious,
+who try to entrap her; the agonies of the poor
+clerk, working for his daily bread, trying so pitifully
+to preserve the dignity of his manhood
+through the cruel treatment of those who would
+strip him of it.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span>
+Finally, the crisis comes; Dievushkin loses his
+only joy in life. You think, perhaps, that a
+young lover comes to steal her from him, that
+love will usurp in her heart the place of sisterly
+affection. Oh, no! the tale is much more human,
+far sadder.</p>
+
+<p>A man who had once before sought out this
+young girl, with possibly doubtful intentions, offers
+her his hand. He is middle-aged, rich, of rather
+questionable character; but his proposition is an
+honorable one. Weary of wrestling against fate,
+persuaded perhaps also that she may thereby
+lighten some of the burdens of her friend, the
+unfortunate girl accepts the offer. Here the
+study of character is absolutely true to nature.
+The young girl, going suddenly from extreme
+poverty to luxury, is intoxicated for a moment
+by this new atmosphere, fine dresses, and jewels!
+In her cruel ingenuousness, she fills the last
+letters with details upon these grave subjects.
+From force of habit, she asks this kind Dievushkin,
+who always made all her purchases, to do an
+errand at the jeweller’s for her. Can her soul be
+really base, unworthy of the pure sentiment she
+had inspired? Not for a moment does the reader
+have such an impression, the writer knows so well
+how to maintain true harmony in his delineation
+of character. No, it is only that a little of youth
+and human nature have come to the surface in
+the experience of this long repressed soul. How
+can we grudge her such a trifling pleasure?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span>
+Then this cruelty is explained by the complete
+misapprehension of their reciprocal feelings. With
+her it is only a friendship, which will ever be
+faithful, grateful, if perhaps a little less single;
+how can she possibly understand that for him it is
+nothing short of despair?</p>
+
+<p>It had been arranged that the wedded pair
+should start immediately after the marriage for a
+distant province. Up to the very last hour,
+Dievushkin replies to her letters, giving her the
+most minute details of the shopping that he has
+done for her, making great efforts to become
+versed in the subject of laces and ribbons. He
+only occasionally betrays a hint of the terror
+which seizes him at the thought of the near
+separation; but finally, in the last letter, his
+wounded heart breaks; the unhappy man sees
+before him the blank desolation of his future
+life, solitary, empty; he is no longer conscious of
+what he writes; but, in spite of all, his utter
+distress is kept back; he himself seems hardly
+yet to realize the secret of his own agony. The
+drama ends with an agonizing wail of despair,
+when he is left standing alone, behind the departing
+train.</p>
+
+<p>I should like to quote many passages; I hesitate,
+and find none. This is the highest eulogium
+that can be bestowed upon a romance. The
+structure is so solid, the materials so simple, and
+so completely sacrificed to the impression of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span>
+whole, that a detached fragment quite loses its
+effect; it means no more than a single stone
+torn from a Greek temple, whose beauty consists
+in its general lines. This is the peculiar attribute
+of all the great Russian authors.</p>
+
+<p>Another trait is also common to them, in which
+Turgenef excelled, and in which perhaps Dostoyevski
+even surpassed him: the art of awaking
+with a single line, sometimes with a word, infinite
+harmonies, a whole series of sentiments
+and ideas. “Poor People” is a perfect specimen
+of this art. The words you read upon the paper
+seem to produce reverberations, as, when touching
+the key-board of an organ, the sounds produced
+awake, through invisible tubes, the great interior
+heart of harmony within the instrument, whence
+come its deepest tones of thunder.</p>
+
+<p>When you have read the last page you feel
+that you know the two characters as perfectly as
+if you had lived with them for years; moreover,
+the author has not told us a thousandth part of
+what we know of them, his mere indications are
+such revelations; for it seems he is especially
+effective in what he leaves unsaid, but merely
+suggests, and we are grateful to him for what he
+leaves us to imagine.</p>
+
+<p>Into this tender production Dostoyevski has
+poured his own nature, all his sensibility, his
+longing for sympathy and devotion, his bitter
+conception of life, his savage, pitiable pride. His
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span>
+own letters of this period are like Dievushkin’s,
+where he speaks of his inconceivable mortification
+on account of his “wretched overcoat.”</p>
+
+<p>In order to understand the high estimation of
+this work held by Bielinski and Nekrasof, and to
+realize its remarkable originality, we must remember
+its time and place in Russian literature. The
+“Annals of a Sportsman” did not appear until
+five years later. True, Gogol had furnished the
+theme in “Le Manteau,” but Dostoyevski substituted
+a suggestive emotion in place of his master’s
+fancy.</p>
+
+<p>He continued to write essays in the same vein,
+but they were less remarkable, and he even tried
+his hand at writing a farce; but destiny rudely
+led him back into his true path, and gave the
+man his peculiarly tragic physiognomy among
+writers.</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>About the year 1847 the students’ clubs already
+mentioned, which assembled to discuss the
+doctrines of Fourier and others, opened to receive
+political writers and army officers, and were at
+this time under the direction of a former student,
+the political agitator Petrachevski. The conspiracy
+headed by this man is still imperfectly understood,
+as well as the general history of that time.
+It is, however, certain that two different currents
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span>
+of ideas divided these circles. One embraced
+those of their predecessors, the revolutionists of
+December, 1825, who went no farther than to
+indulge in dreams of the emancipation and of a
+liberal government. The other set went far beyond
+their successors, the present nihilists, for they
+desired the total ruin of the entire social edifice.</p>
+
+<p>Dostoyevski’s character, as we have seen, made
+him an easy prey to radical ideas through his
+generosity as well as his hardships and his rebellious
+spirit. He has related how he was attracted
+toward socialism by the influence of his learned
+protector, Bielinski, who tried also to convert
+him to atheism.</p>
+
+<p>Our author soon became an enthusiastic member
+of the reunions inspired by Petrachevski.
+He was, undoubtedly, among the more moderate,
+or rather one of the independent dreamers. Mysticism,
+sympathy for the unfortunate, these must
+have been what attracted him in any political
+doctrine; and his incapacity for action made this
+metaphysician altogether harmless. The sentence
+pronounced upon him charged him with
+very pardonable errors: participation in the reunions;
+also in the discussions on the severity of
+the press censure; the reading or listening to the
+reading of seditious pamphlets, etc. These
+crimes seem very slight when compared with
+the severe punishment they provoked. The
+police force was then so inefficient that it for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span>
+two years remained ignorant of what was going
+on in these circles; but finally they were betrayed
+by an unfaithful member.</p>
+
+<p>Petrachevski and his friends also betrayed
+themselves at a banquet in honor of Fourier,
+where they were discussing the destruction of
+family ties, property, kings, and deities. Dostoyevski
+took no part in these social banquets, that
+occurred just after those days of June in France
+which spread terror throughout all Europe, and
+only one year after other banquets which had
+overturned a throne. The Emperor Nicholas, although
+naturally humane, now forced himself to
+be implacable, entertaining the firm conviction
+that he was the chosen servant of God to save a
+sinking world. He was already meditating the
+emancipation of the serfs; by a fatal misunderstanding
+he was now going to strike down men,
+some of whom had committed no crime but that
+of desiring the same reform. History is only
+just when she seeks the motives of all consciences
+and the springs of their actions. But this was
+not a favorable time for explanations or cool
+judgments.</p>
+
+<p>On the 23d of April, 1849, at five o’clock in the
+morning, thirty-three persons looked upon as suspicious
+characters were arrested, the Dostoyevski
+brothers being among the number. The prisoners
+were carried to the citadel, and placed in solitary
+confinement in the gloomy casemates, which were
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span>
+haunted by the most terrible associations. They
+remained there eight months, with no distractions
+except the visits of the examining commissioners;
+finally, they were allowed the use of a few religious
+books. Feodor Mikhailovitch wrote once to
+his brother, who had been soon released through
+the want of sufficient evidence against him:
+“For five months I have lived upon my own substance;
+that is, upon my own brain alone….
+To think constantly, and receive no outside impression
+to renew and sustain thought, is wearing….
+I was as if placed under a receiver from
+which all the pure air was extracted….”</p>
+
+<p>On the 22d of December the prisoners were
+led out, without being informed of the sentence
+which had been pronounced upon them. There
+were now only 21, the others having been discharged.
+They were conducted to a square
+where a scaffold had been erected. The cold was
+intense; the criminals were ordered to remove all
+their clothing, except their shirts, and listen to
+the reading of the sentence, which would last for
+a half-hour. When the sheriff began to read,
+Dostoyevski said to the prisoner next him: “Is it
+possible that we are going to be executed?” The
+idea seemed to have occurred to him for the first
+time. His companion pointed to a cart, loaded
+with what appeared to be coffins covered over
+with a cloth. The last words of the sentence
+were: “They are condemned to death, and are
+to be shot.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span>
+The sheriff left the scaffold, and a priest mounted
+upon it with a cross in his hand, and exhorted the
+prisoners to confess. Only one responded to
+this exhortation; all the others kissed the cross.
+Petrachevski and two of the principal conspirators
+were bound to the pillar. The officer ordered
+the company of soldiers drawn up for the purpose
+to charge their weapons. As they were taking aim,
+a white flag was hoisted in front of them, when
+the twenty-one prisoners heard that the Emperor
+had commuted their penalty to exile in Siberia.
+The leaders were unbound; one of them, Grigoref,
+was struck with sudden insanity, and never recovered.</p>
+
+<p>Dostoyevski, on the contrary, has often assured
+me, as if he were really convinced of it, that
+he should inevitably have gone mad if he had
+not been removed by this and following disasters
+from the life he was leading. Before his
+imprisonment he was beset by imaginary maladies,
+nervous depression, and “mystic terrors,” which
+condition would certainly have brought about
+mental derangement, from which he was only
+saved by this sudden change in his way of life,
+and by the necessity of steeling himself against
+his overwhelming trials,—which may have been
+true, for it is said that imaginary evils are best
+cured by real ones; still, I cannot but think that
+there was some degree of pride in this affirmation.</p>
+
+<p>In each of his books he depicts a scene similar
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span>
+to what he himself experienced, and he has
+labored to make a perfect psychological study of
+the condemned prisoner who is about to die.
+You feel that these pages are the result of a
+nightmare, proceeding from some hidden recess of
+the author’s own brain.</p>
+
+<p>The imperial decree, which was less severe for
+him than for any of the rest, reduced his punishment
+to four years of hard labor, after which he
+was to serve as a common soldier, losing his rank
+among the nobles as well as all civil rights.</p>
+
+<p>The exiled prisoners started immediately in
+sledges for Siberia. At Tobolsk, after one night
+passed together, when they bade each other farewell,
+they were put in irons, their heads shaved,
+and they were then sent to their several destinations.
+It was at that temporary prison that they
+were visited by the wives of the revolutionists of
+December. These brave women had set a noble
+example. Belonging to the upper class, and
+accustomed to a life of luxury, they had renounced
+everything to follow their exiled husbands into
+Siberia, and for twenty-five years had haunted the
+prison gates. Learning now of the arrival of another
+set of refugees, they came to visit them,
+warned these young men of what was in store for
+them, and counselled them how best to support
+their hardships, offering to each of them all that
+they had to give, the Gospel.</p>
+
+<p>Dostoyevski accepted his, and throughout the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span>
+four years always kept it under his pillow. He
+read it every evening under the lamp in the
+dormitory, and taught others to read in it. After
+the hard day’s work, while his companions in
+chains were restoring their wasted energies in
+sleep, he obtained from his book a consolation
+more necessary still for a thinking man, a renewal
+of moral strength, and a support in bearing his
+trials. How can we imagine this intellectual
+man, with his delicate nervous organization, his
+overweening pride, his sensitive imagination,
+prone to exaggeration of every dreaded evil, condemned
+to the companionship of these low
+wretches in such a monotonous existence, forced
+to daily labor; and for the slightest negligence,
+or at the caprice of his keepers, threatened with a
+flogging by the soldiers! He was inscribed among
+the worst set of malefactors and political criminals,
+who were kept under military surveillance.</p>
+
+<p>They were employed in turning a grindstone
+for marble works, in demolishing old boats on
+the ice in winter, and other rough and useless
+labor.</p>
+
+<p>How well he has described the weariness of
+being forced to labor merely for the sake of being
+employed, feeling that his task is nothing but a
+gymnastic exercise. He has also said the severest
+trial of all, was never being allowed to be alone
+for a single moment for years. But the greatest
+torture of all for this writer, now at the height of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span>
+his powers, incessantly haunted by images and
+ideas, was the impossibility of writing, of alleviating
+his lot by absorbing himself in some literary
+work. But he survived, and was strengthened and
+purified, and the personal history of this martyr
+can be read in his “Recollections of a Dead
+House,”<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[K]</a> which he wrote after he left the prison.
+How unjust is literary fame, and what a thing
+of chance it is! The name and work of Silvio
+Pellico are known throughout the civilized world.
+In France the book is one of the classics; and yet
+there, on the great highway of all fame and of all
+great thoughts, even the title of this tragic work
+of Dostoyevski’s was but yesterday quite unknown,—a
+book as superior to that of the Lombard
+prisoner, as the tales exceed his in horror.</p>
+
+<p>No work was ever more difficult to accomplish.
+Siberia, that mysterious land which was then only
+mentioned with extreme caution, must be freely
+described. It was, too, a former political prisoner
+who now undertook to walk over these burning
+coals and brave this cruel press-censure. He was
+successful; and he made us realize what exquisite
+refinement of suffering a man of the upper class,
+thrown amid such surroundings, was capable of
+enduring.</p>
+
+<p>He gives us the biography of such a man, who
+had been through many years of hard labor, the
+penalty of some small crime. This man, who is,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span>
+in reality, no other than Dostoyevski himself,
+occupies himself in psychological studies of these
+unfortunates, aiming constantly to show the divine
+spark always existing even in the most degraded.
+Many of them relate the story of their lives to
+him; with some he seeks to know nothing of
+their past, but contents himself with describing
+their moral natures in his broad, vague manner,
+which is also common to all the great Russian
+writers. These portraits, with their indistinct
+outlines, melting as into the grayness of the early
+dawn, recall Henner’s portraits when compared
+with those of Ingres. The language, too, which
+Dostoyevski purposely employs, of a popular type,
+is marvellously well fitted for his purpose.</p>
+
+<p>The greater part of these natures belong to a
+type of character which Dostoyevski seems
+peculiarly to enjoy analyzing; those natures
+which are subject to attacks of caprice, almost
+amounting to sudden or temporary insanity. In
+a romance of his, called “The Idiot,” he quotes an
+example of this kind, which he declares to be
+strictly true:—“Two peasants, of middle age
+and friends of long standing, arrived at an inn.
+Neither of them was at all intoxicated. They
+took their tea and ordered a bedroom, which they
+shared together. One of them had noticed that
+within the last few days his companion had worn
+a silver watch, which he never had seen him wear
+before. The man was no thief; he was an honest
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span>
+man, and, moreover, in very comfortable circumstances
+for a peasant. But this watch so struck
+his fancy that he conceived a most inordinate
+desire to possess it, which he could not repress.
+He seized a knife, and, as soon as his friend’s back
+was turned, he approached him noiselessly, raised
+his eyes to heaven, crossed himself, and devoutly
+murmured this prayer: ‘Lord, forgive me,
+through Jesus Christ!’ He then killed his friend
+with as much ease as he would a sheep, and took
+the watch.”</p>
+
+<p>Those persons who conceive a desire, when on
+the top of a high tower, to throw themselves into
+the abyss below, he says are often of a mild,
+peaceable, and quite ordinary type. Some natures
+apparently enjoy the anticipation of the
+horror they can inspire in others, and, in a fit of
+desperation, seem to court punishment as a
+solution of their condition of mind. Sometimes
+in these attacks of madness is mingled a vein of
+asceticism. Dostoyevski introduces an instance
+of this kind in “Crime and Punishment,” which
+illustrates the strange sense which the Russian
+peasant attaches to the idea of punishment, sought
+for itself, for its propitiatory <span class="lock">virtue:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“This prisoner was quite different from all the
+rest. He was a little pale thin man, about 60
+years of age. I was struck with his appearance
+the first time I saw him, there was so much calmness
+and repose about him. I particularly liked
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span>
+his eyes, which were clear and intelligent. I
+often talked with him, and have seldom met with
+so kindly a nature, so upright a soul. He was
+expiating in Siberia an unpardonable crime. In
+consequence of several conversions in his parish,
+a movement towards the old orthodoxy, the government,
+wishing to encourage these good tendencies,
+had an orthodox church built. This man,
+together with a few other fanatics, determined to
+‘resist for his faith’s sake,’ and set fire to the
+church. The instigators of the crime were all condemned
+to hard labor in Siberia. He had been a
+very successful tradesman at the head of a flourishing
+business. Leaving his wife and children at
+home, he accepted his sentence with firmness, in his
+blindness considering his punishment as a ‘witness
+to his faith.’ He was mild and gentle as a
+child, and one could not but wonder how he could
+have committed such a deed. I often conversed
+with him on matters of faith. He yielded up
+none of his convictions, but never in argument
+betrayed the least hatred or resentment; nor did
+I ever discover in him the least indication of
+pride or braggadocio. In the prison he was
+universally respected, and did not show a trace of
+vanity on this account. The prisoners called him
+‘our little uncle,’ and never disturbed him in
+any way. I could realize what sway he must
+have had over his companions in the faith.</p>
+
+<p>“In spite of the apparent courage with which
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span>
+he bore his fate, a secret constant pain, which he
+tried to hide from all eyes, seemed at times to
+consume him. We slept in the same dormitory.
+I waked one morning at four o’clock, and heard
+what sounded like stifled sobbing. The old man
+was sitting on the porcelain stove reading in a
+manuscript prayer-book. He was weeping bitterly,
+and I heard him murmur from time to
+time: ‘O Lord! do not forsake me! Lord,
+give me strength! My little children, my dearest
+little ones, we shall never see each other
+again!’ I felt such inexpressible pity for him!”</p>
+
+<p>I must also translate a terrible piece of realism,
+the death of Mikhailof: “I knew him but slightly;
+he was a young man about twenty-five years of
+age, tall, slender, and had a remarkably fine
+form. He belonged to the section in which the
+worst criminals were placed, and was always
+extremely reticent and seemed very sad and depressed.
+He had literally wasted away in prison.
+I remember that his eyes were very fine, and I
+know not why his image so often comes before
+me. He died in the afternoon of a fine, clear,
+frosty day. I remember how the sun shone
+obliquely through our greenish window-panes,
+thickly covered with frost. The bright shaft
+of sunlight shone directly upon this poor unfortunate,
+as he lay dying. Though he might have
+been unconscious, he had a hard struggle, the
+death agony lasting many hours. He had recognized
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span>
+no one since morning. We tried to relieve
+his suffering, which evidently was intense; he
+breathed with great difficulty, with a rattling
+sound, and his chest labored heavily. He threw
+off all his coverings and tore his shirt, as if the
+weight of it was insupportable. We went to his
+aid and took the shirt off. That emaciated body
+was a terrible sight, the legs and arms wasted to
+the bone, every rib visible like those of a skeleton.
+Only his chains and a little wooden cross remained
+upon him. His wasted feet might almost have
+escaped through the rings of the fetters.</p>
+
+<p>“For a half-hour before his death all sounds
+ceased in our dormitory, and no one spoke above
+a whisper, and all moved as noiselessly as possible.
+Finally his hand, wavering and uncertain, sought
+the little cross, and tried to tear it off, as if even
+that was too heavy a weight and was stifling him.
+They took it away, and ten minutes after he
+expired. They went to inform the guard, who
+came and looked indifferently upon the corpse,
+then went to call the health officer, who came
+immediately, approached the dead man with a
+rapid step which resounded in the silent chamber,
+and with a professional air of indifference,
+assumed for the occasion, felt his pulse, made a
+significant gesture as if to say that all was over,
+and went out. One of the prisoners suggested
+that the eyes should be closed, which was done
+by one of the others, who also, seeing the cross
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span>
+lying on the pillow, took it up, looked at it, and
+put it around Mikhailof’s neck; then he crossed
+himself. The face was already growing rigid, the
+mouth was half open, showing the handsome
+white teeth under the thin lips, which closely
+adhered to the gums. Finally, the second officer
+of the guard appeared in full uniform and helmet,
+followed by two soldiers. He slowly advanced,
+looking hesitatingly at the solemn circle of prisoners
+standing about him. When he drew near
+the body, he stopped short as if nailed to the
+spot. The spectacle of this wasted, naked form
+in irons evidently shocked him. He unfastened
+his helmet, took it off, which no one expected of
+him, and crossed himself reverentially. He was a
+gray-haired veteran officer, and a severe disciplinarian.
+One of the soldiers with him seemed
+much affected, and, pointing to the corpse, murmured
+as he left: ‘He, too, once had a mother!’
+These words, I remember, shot through me like
+an arrow…. They carried away the corpse,
+with the camp bed it lay upon; the straw
+rustled, the chains dragged clanking against the
+floor, breaking the general silence. We heard
+the second officer in the corridor sending some
+one for the blacksmith. The corpse must be
+unfettered….”</p>
+
+<p>This gives an example of Dostoyevski’s method,
+showing his persistence in giving all the minutiæ
+of every action. He shows us, how, sometimes,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span>
+among these tragic scenes, kind souls come to
+bring consolation to the exiles, as in the case of
+a widow who came daily to bring little gifts or a
+bit of news, or at least to smile upon the
+wretched creatures. “She could give but little,
+for she was very poor; but we prisoners felt that
+we had at least, close by the walls of our prison,
+one being wholly devoted to us,—and that was
+something.”</p>
+
+<p>On opening this book, the key-note from the
+very beginning has a tone so melancholy, so
+harrowing, that you wonder how long the author
+can continue in this vein, and how he can ever
+manage the gradation into another. But he is
+successful in this, as those will see who have the
+courage to go on as far as the chapter on corporal
+punishments, and the description of the hospital,
+to which the prisoners afterwards come to recover
+from the effects of these chastisements. It is
+impossible to conceive of sufferings more horrible
+than these, or more graphically portrayed.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, Dostoyevski does not properly belong
+to the “natural school.” The difference is not
+easily explained, but there is a difference. Everything
+depends upon the master’s intention, which
+never deceives the reader. When the realistic
+writer only seeks to awake a morbid curiosity, we
+inwardly condemn him; but when it is evident
+that he is aiming to develop some moral idea, or
+impress a lesson the more strongly upon our
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span>
+minds, we may criticize the method, but we must
+sympathize with the author. His portrayals, even
+when disgusting to us, are ennobled, like the
+loathsome wound under the hands of the gentle
+Sister of Charity. This is the case with Dostoyevski.
+His object in writing was reform. With
+a cautious but pitiless hand, he has torn away
+the curtain which concealed this distant Siberian
+hell from the eyes of the Russians themselves.
+The “Recollections of a Dead House” gave the
+death-blow to the sentence of exile, as “Annals of
+a Sportsman” gave the signal for the abolition of
+serfdom. To-day I am thankful to say these
+repulsive scenes belong only to the history of the
+past; corporal punishment has been abolished, and
+the prisons in Siberia are regulated with as much
+humanity as with us. We can then pardon the
+tortures this author has inflicted upon us in his
+graphic recitals of these scenes of martyrdom.
+We must persevere and continue to the end, and
+we shall realize better than from a host of philosophical
+dissertations what things are possible in
+such a country, what has taken place there so
+recently, and how this writer could calmly relate
+such horrors without a single expression of revolt
+or astonishment. This reserved impartiality is, I
+know, partly his own peculiar style, and partly
+the result of the severe press-censure; but the
+fact that the writer can speak of these horrors as
+natural phenomena of social life, reminds us that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">171</span>
+we are looking into a different world from ours,
+and must be prepared for all extremes of evil and
+good, barbarism, courage, and sacrifice. Those
+men who carried the Testament into the prison
+with them, those extreme souls are filled with the
+spirit of a Gospel which has passed through
+Byzantium, written for the ascetic and the martyr;
+their errors as well as their virtues are all derived
+from that same source. I almost despair of
+making this world intelligible to ours, which is
+haunted by such different images, moulded by
+such different hands.</p>
+
+<p>Dostoyevski has since said, many times, that the
+experience in Siberia was beneficial to him, that
+he had learned to love his brothers of the lower
+classes, and to discover nobleness even among the
+very worst criminals. “Destiny,” he said, “in
+treating me with the severity of a step-mother,
+became a true mother to me.”</p>
+
+<p>The last chapter of this work might be entitled:
+“A Resurrection.” In it are described, with rare
+skill, the sentiments of a prisoner as he approaches
+the time of his liberation. During the last few
+weeks, his hero has the privilege of obtaining a
+few books, and occasionally an odd number of a
+review. For ten years he had read nothing but
+his Gospel, had heard nothing of the outside
+world.</p>
+
+<p>In taking up the thread of life among his contemporaries,
+he experiences unusual sensations;
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</span>
+he enters into a new universe; he cannot explain
+many simple words and events; he asks himself,
+almost with terror, what giant strides his generation
+has made without him; these feelings must
+resemble those of a man who has been resuscitated.</p>
+
+<p>At last the solemn hour has come. He tenderly
+bids his companions farewell, feeling real regret
+at parting with them; he leaves a portion of his
+heart wherever he goes, even in a prison. He goes
+to the forge, his fetters fall, he is a free man!</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Three">III.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>The freedom which Dostoyevski entered into
+was, however, only a relative one. He entered a
+Siberian regiment as a common soldier. The new
+reign, two years after, in 1856, brought him pardon.
+At first he was promoted to the rank of officer, and
+his civil rights restored to him, and then authorized
+to send in his resignation. But it was a long time
+before he could obtain permission to leave the
+country, or to publish anything. At last, in 1859,
+after ten years of exile, he recrossed the Ural mountains
+and returned to a country which he found
+greatly changed, and at that moment palpitating
+with impatience and hope, on the eve of the Emancipation.
+He brought a companion with him from
+Siberia, the widow of one of his old comrades in the
+conspiracy of Petrachevski, whom he there met,
+fell in love with, and married. But, as in every
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span>
+phase of his life, this romantic marriage too was
+destined to be crossed by misfortune and ennobled
+by self-sacrifice. The young wife conceived a
+stronger attachment for another man, whom she
+threatened to join. For a whole year Dostoyevski’s
+letters prove that he was working to secure the
+happiness of his wife and his rival, writing constantly
+to his friends at St. Petersburg to help him
+to remove all obstacles to their union. “As for
+me,” he added, at the close of one of those letters,
+“God knows what I shall do! I shall either
+drown myself or take to drinking.”</p>
+
+<p>It was this page of his personal history which
+he reproduced in “The Degraded and Insulted,”
+the first of his romances which was translated into
+French, but not the best. The position of the
+confidant favoring a love affair which only
+brought despair for himself, was true to nature,
+for it was his own experience. Whether it was
+not skilfully presented, or whether we ourselves
+are more selfish by nature, I cannot say, but it is
+hard for us to accept such a situation, or not to
+see a ridiculous side to it. The general public
+cannot appreciate such subtleties. His characters
+are too melodramatic. On the very rare occasions
+when he draws his types from the upper classes,
+he always makes a failure, for he understands
+nothing of the complex and restrained passions of
+souls hardened by intercourse with the world.
+Natasha’s lover, the giddy creature for whom she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span>
+has sacrificed everything, is not much better. I
+know that we must not expect lovers to be reasonable
+beings, and that it is more philosophical to admire
+the power of love, irrespectively of its object;
+but the general novel-reader is not supposed to be
+a philosopher; he would like the adored hero to
+be interesting at least, and would prefer even a
+rascal to an idiot. In France, at all events, we
+cannot endorse such a spectacle, although it is both
+true to nature and consoling; an exquisite type of
+woman devoted to a fool. Our gallantry, however,
+forces us to admit that a man of genius may be permitted
+to adore a foolish woman, but that is all we
+are willing to concede. Dostoyevski himself has
+surpassed the most severe criticisms of this work
+in his article on the “Degraded and Insulted”:
+“I realize that many of the characters in my book
+are puppets rather than men.”</p>
+
+<p>With these exceptions, we must acknowledge
+that we recognize the hand of a master in the two
+female characters. Natasha is the very incarnation
+of intense, jealous passion; she speaks and
+acts like a victim of love in a Greek tragedy.
+Nelly, a charming and pathetic little creature,
+resembles one of Dickens’ beautiful child characters.</p>
+
+<p>After his return to St. Petersburg, in 1865,
+Dostoyevski became absorbed in journalism. He
+conceived an unfortunate passion for this form of
+literature, and devoted to it the best years of his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</span>
+life. He edited two journals to defend the ideas
+which he had adopted. I defy any one to express
+these ideas in any practical language. He took a
+position between the liberal and the <dfn>Slavophile</dfn>
+parties, inclining more toward the latter. It was
+a patriotic form of religion, but somewhat mysterious,
+with no precise dogmas, and lending itself to
+no rational explanation. One must either accept
+or reject it altogether. The great error of the
+<dfn>Slavophile</dfn> party has been to have filled so many
+pages of paper for twenty-five years, in arguing
+out a mere sentiment. Whoever questions their
+arguments is considered incapable of understanding
+them; while those who do not enter into the
+question at all are despised, and taxed with profound
+ignorance.</p>
+
+<p>At this time of transition, during the first
+years following the Emancipation, men’s ideas, too
+long repressed, were in a state of vertigo, of
+chaotic confusion. Some were buoyed up with
+the wildest hopes; others felt the bitterness of
+disenchantment, and many disappointed enthusiasts
+embraced Nihilism, which was taken up at
+this time by romance writers as well as by politicians.
+Dostoyevski abandoned his purely artistic
+ideals, withdrew from the influence of Gogol, and
+consecrated himself to the study of this new
+doctrine.</p>
+
+<p>From 1865, our author experienced a series of
+unfortunate years. His second journal was unsuccessful,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">176</span>
+failed, and he was crushed under the
+burden of heavy debts incurred in the enterprise.
+He afterwards lost his wife, as related above, and
+also his brother Alexis, his associate in his literary
+labors. He fled to escape his creditors, and
+dragged out a miserable existence in Germany
+and Italy. Attacks of epilepsy interrupted his
+work, and he only returned home from time to
+time to solicit advance pay from his editors. All
+that he saw in his travels seems to have made
+no impression upon him, with the exception of
+an execution he witnessed at Lyons. This spectacle
+was retained in his memory, to be described
+in detail by characters of his future romances.</p>
+
+<p>In spite of his illness and other troubles, he
+wrote at this time three of his longest novels,—“Crime
+et Châtiment,” “l’Idiot,” and “Les
+Possédés.” “Crime and Punishment” was
+written when he was at the height of his powers.
+It has been translated, and can therefore be
+criticised. Men of science who enjoy the study of
+the human soul, will read with interest the profoundest
+psychological study which has been
+written since Macbeth. The curious of a certain
+type will find in this book the entertaining mode
+of torture which is to their taste; but I think it
+will terrify the greater number of readers, and
+that very many will have no desire to finish it.
+We generally read a novel for pleasure, and not
+for punishment. This book has a powerful effect
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span>
+upon women, and upon all impressionable natures.
+The writer’s graphic scenes of terror are too
+much for a nervous organization. I have myself
+seen in Russia numerous examples of the infallible
+effect of this romance upon the mind. It can
+be urged that the Slav temperament is unusually
+susceptible, but I have seen the same impression
+made upon Frenchmen. Hoffmann, Edgar Poe,
+Baudelaire, all writers of this type, are mere
+mystics in comparison with Dostoyevski. In
+their fictions you feel that they are only pursuing
+a literary or artistic venture; but in “Crime and
+Punishment,” you are impressed with the fact
+that the author is as much horrified as you are
+yourself by the character that he has drawn from
+the tissue of his own brain.</p>
+
+<p>The subject is very simple. A man conceives
+the idea of committing a crime; he matures it,
+commits the deed, defends himself for some time
+from being arrested, and finally gives himself up
+to the expiation of it. For once, this Russian
+artist has adopted the European idea of unity of
+action; the drama, purely psychological, is made
+up of the combat between the man and his own
+project. The accessory characters and facts are
+of no consequence, except in regard to their influence
+upon the criminal’s plans. The first part,
+in which are described the birth and growth of
+the criminal idea, is written with consummate
+skill and a truth and subtlety of analysis beyond
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span>
+all praise. The student Raskolnikof, a
+nihilist in the true sense of the word, intelligent,
+unprincipled, unscrupulous, reduced to extreme
+poverty, dreams of a happier condition.
+On returning home from going to pawn a jewel
+at an old pawnbroker’s shop, this vague thought
+crosses his brain without his attaching much
+importance to <span class="lock">it:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“An intelligent man who had that old woman’s
+money could accomplish anything he liked; it is
+only necessary to get rid of the useless, hateful
+old hag.”</p>
+
+<p>This was but one of those fleeting thoughts
+which cross the brain like a nightmare, and which
+only assume a distinct form through the assent of
+the will. This idea becomes fixed in the man’s
+brain, growing and increasing on every page, until
+he is perfectly possessed by it. Every hard experience
+of his outward life appears to him to
+bear some relation to his project; and by a mysterious
+power of reasoning, to work into his plan
+and urge him on to the crime. The influence
+exercised upon this man is brought out into
+such distinct relief that it seems to us itself
+like a living actor in the drama, guiding the
+criminal’s hand to the murderous weapon. The
+horrible deed is accomplished; and the unfortunate
+man wrestles with the recollection of it as he did
+with the original design. The relations of the
+world to the murderer are all changed, through
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span>
+the irreparable fact of his having suppressed a
+human life. Everything takes on a new physiognomy
+and a new meaning to him, excluding from
+him the possibility of feeling and reasoning like
+other people, or of finding his own place in life.
+His whole soul is metamorphosed and in constant
+discord with the life around him. This is not
+remorse in the true sense of the word. Dostoyevski
+exerts himself to distinguish and explain the
+difference. His hero will feel no remorse until
+the day of expiation; but it is a complex and perverse
+feeling which possesses him; the vexation
+at having derived no satisfaction from an act so
+successfully carried out; the revolting against
+the unexpected moral consequences of that act;
+the shame of finding himself so weak and helpless;
+for the foundation of Raskolnikof’s character is
+pride. Only one single interest in life is left to
+him: to deceive and elude the police. He seeks
+their company, their friendship, by an attraction
+analogous to that which draws us to the extreme
+edge of a dizzy precipice; the murderer keeps up
+interminable interviews with his friends at the
+police office, and even leads on the conversation
+to that point, when a single word would betray
+him; every moment we fear he will utter the
+word; but he escapes and continues the terrible
+game as if it were a pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>The magistrate Porphyre has guessed the
+student’s secret; he plays with him like a tiger
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">180</span>
+with its prey, sure of his game. Then Raskolnikof
+knows he is discovered; and through several
+chapters a long fantastic dialogue is kept up between
+the two adversaries; a double dialogue,
+that of the lips, which smile and wilfully ignore;
+and that of the eyes which know and betray all.
+At last when the author has tortured us sufficiently
+in this way, he introduces the salutary influence
+which is to break down the culprit’s pride
+and reconcile him to the expiation of his crime.
+Raskolnikof loves a poor street-walker. The
+author’s clairvoyance divines that even the sentiment
+of love was destined in him to be modified,
+like every other, to be changed into a dull despair.</p>
+
+<p>Sonia is a humble creature, who has sold herself
+to escape starvation, and is almost unconscious
+of her dishonor, enduring it as a malady she cannot
+prevent. She wears her ignominy as a cross, with
+pious resignation. She is attached to the only
+man who has not treated her with contempt; she
+sees that he is tortured by some secret, and tries
+to draw it from him. After a long struggle the
+avowal is made, but not in words. In a mute
+interview, which is tragic in the extreme, Sonia
+reads the terrible truth in her friend’s eyes. The
+poor girl is stunned for a moment, but recovers
+herself quickly. She knows the remedy; her
+stricken heart cries <span class="lock">out:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“We must suffer, and suffer together … we
+must pray and atone … let us go to prison!…”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span>
+Thus are we led back to Dostoyevski’s favorite
+idea, to the Russian’s fundamental conception of
+Christianity: the efficacy of atonement, of suffering,
+and its being the only solution of all difficulties.</p>
+
+<p>To express the singular relations between these
+two beings, that solemn, pathetic bond, so foreign
+to every pre-conceived idea of love, we should
+make use of the word <em>compassion</em> in the sense in
+which Bossuet used it: the suffering with and
+through another being. When Raskolnikof falls
+at the feet of the girl who supports her parents
+by her shame, she, the despised of all, is terrified
+at his self-abasement, and begs him to rise. He
+then utters a phrase which expresses the combination
+of all the books we are studying: “It is
+not only before thee that I prostrate myself, but
+before all suffering humanity.” Let us here observe
+that our author has never yet once succeeded
+in representing love in any form apart
+from these subtleties, or the simple natural
+attraction of two hearts toward each other. He
+portrays only extreme cases; either that mystic
+state of sympathy and self-sacrifice for a distressed
+fellow-creature, of utter devotion, apart
+from any selfish desire: or the mad, bestial cruelty
+of a perverted nature. The lovers he represents
+are not made of flesh and blood, but of nerves
+and tears. Yet this realist evokes only harrowing
+<em>thoughts</em>, never disagreeable <em>images</em>. I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span>
+defy any one to quote a single line suggestive of
+anything sensual, or a single instance where the
+woman is represented in the light of a temptress.
+His love scenes are absolutely chaste, and yet he
+seems to be incapable of portraying any creation
+between an angel and a beast.</p>
+
+<p>You can imagine what the <i lang="fr">dénouement</i> will be.
+The nihilist, half conquered, prowls for some time
+around the police office; and finally he acknowledges
+his guilt, and is condemned. Sonia teaches
+him to pray, and the wretched creatures go to
+Siberia. Dostoyevski gladly seizes the opportunity
+to rewrite, as a sort of epilogue, a chapter
+of his “Recollections of a Dead House.”</p>
+
+<p>Apart from the principal characters of this
+book, there are secondary characters and scenes
+which are impossible to forget, such is the impression
+they leave upon you after one reading.
+There is one scene where the murderer, always
+mysteriously attracted back to the fatal spot, tries
+to recall every detail of his crime; he even goes
+to pull the cracked bell of the apartment, in order
+to recall more vividly by this sound the impression
+of the terrible moment. Detached fragments of
+this work seem to lose their signification, and if
+you skip a few pages the whole thing becomes
+unintelligible. One may feel impatient with the
+author’s prolixity, but if he omits anything the
+magnetic current is interrupted. This I have
+been told by those who have tried the experiment.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span>
+The reader requires as much of an effort
+of concentration and memory as for a philosophical
+treatise. This is a pleasure or a penalty
+according to the reader. Besides, a translation,
+however good, cannot possibly render the continuous
+smooth course of the original text, or give
+its under-currents of meaning.</p>
+
+<p>We cannot but pity the man who has written
+such a book, so evidently drawn from the substance
+of his own brain. To understand how he
+was led so to write, we must note what he once
+said to a friend in regard to his mental condition,
+after one of his severe attacks of illness:—“The
+state of dejection into which they plunge me
+makes me feel in this way: I seem to be like
+a criminal who has committed some terrible deed
+which weighs upon his conscience.” The review
+which published Dostoyevski’s novels often gave
+but a few pages at a time, followed by a brief
+note of apology. Every one understood that
+Feodor Mikhailovitch had had one of his severe
+attacks of illness.</p>
+
+<p>“Crime and Punishment” established the
+author’s popularity. Its appearance was the great
+literary event of the year 1866. All Russia was
+made ill by it, so to speak. When the book first
+appeared, a Moscow student murdered a pawnbroker
+in almost precisely the way described by
+the novelist; and I firmly believe that many subsequent
+attempts, analogous to this, may have
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span>
+been attributable to the influence of this book.
+Dostoyevski’s intention, of course, was undoubtedly
+to dissuade men from such acts by representing
+their terrible consequences; but he did
+not foresee that the intensity of his portrayals
+might act in an opposite sense, and tempt the
+demon of imitation existing in a certain type of
+brain. I therefore hesitate to pronounce upon the
+moral value of the work. Our writers may say
+that I am over-scrupulous. They may not admit
+that the moral value of a work of art is a thing
+to be taken into account in regard to the appreciation
+of it as a work of art. But does anything
+exist in this world wholly independent of a moral
+value?</p>
+
+<p>The Russian authors claim that they aim to
+nourish souls, and the greatest offence you could
+offer them would be to accuse them of making
+a collection of purposeless words. Dostoyevski’s
+novels will be judged either as useful or harmful
+according as one decides for or against the
+morality of public executions and sentences. It
+is an open question. For myself, I should decide
+against them.</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>In this work Dostoyevski’s talent had reached
+its culminating point. In “The Idiot,” “The
+Possessed,” and especially in “The Karamazof
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">185</span>
+Brothers,” many parts are intolerably tedious.
+The plot amounts to nothing but a framework
+upon which to hang all the author’s favorite
+theories, and display every type of his eccentric
+fancy. The book is nearly filled with conversations
+between two disputants, whose ideas are
+continually clashing, each trying to worm out the
+other’s secrets with the most cunning art, and
+expose some secret intrigue either of crime or of
+love. These interviews recall the terrible trials
+under Ivan the Terrible, or Peter the First; there
+is the same combination of terror, duplicity, and
+obstinacy still existing in the race. Sometimes
+the disputants attempt to penetrate the labyrinth
+of each other’s religious or philosophical beliefs.
+They vie with each other in the use of arguments,
+now fine-spun, now eccentric, like a pair of
+scholastic doctors of the Sorbonne. Some of
+these conversations recall Hamlet’s dialogues with
+his mother, Ophelia, or Polonius. For more than
+two hundred years critics have discussed the
+question whether Hamlet was mad when he thus
+spoke. When that question has been settled, the
+decision may be applied to Dostoyevski’s heroes.
+It has been said more than once that this writer
+and the heroes of his creation are simply madmen.
+They are mad in the same degree that Hamlet
+was. For my own part, I consider this statement
+neither an intelligent nor reasonable one. Such
+an opinion must be held only by those very short-sighted
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">186</span>
+people who refuse to admit the existence
+of states of mind different from those they know
+from personal experience.</p>
+
+<p>In studying Dostoyevski and his work, we must
+keep in mind one of his favorite phrases, which he
+often repeats: “Russia is a freak of nature.”
+A strange anomaly exists in some of these lunatics
+he describes. They are absorbed in the contemplation
+of their own minds, intent upon self-analysis.
+If the author leads them into action,
+they throw themselves into it impetuously, obedient
+to the irregular impulses of their nerves,
+giving free rein to their unbridled wills, which are
+uncontrollable as are elementary forces. Observe
+how minutely he describes every physical peculiarity.
+The condition of the body explains the
+perturbation of the soul. Whenever a character is
+introduced to us, he is never by any chance sitting
+comfortably by a table or engaged in any occupation.
+“He was extended upon a divan, with
+his eyes closed, although he was not asleep….
+He walked along the street without having any
+idea where he was…. He was motionless,
+his eyes absently fixed upon space.”…</p>
+
+<p>These people never eat; they drink tea through
+the night. Many are given to strong drink.
+They rarely sleep, and when they do they dream.
+There are more dreams described in Dostoyevski’s
+works than in the whole of our classic literature.
+They are nearly always in a “feverish condition.”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">187</span>
+Whenever any of these creatures come into relations
+with their fellow-beings, you meet with such
+expression as these in almost every line:—“He
+shuddered … he sprang up with a bound …
+his features contracted … he became ashy pale
+… his lower lip trembled … his teeth chattered….”
+Sometimes there are long pauses in
+a conversation, when the disputants look fixedly
+into each other’s eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The writer’s most elaborate creation, and evidently
+his favorite one, the analysis of which fills
+a large volume, is “The Idiot.” Feodor Mikhailovitch
+has described himself in this character,
+in the way that many authors do: certainly not as
+he was, but what he wished to be considered. In
+the first place, “The Idiot” is subject to epilepsy;
+his attacks furnish a most convenient and effective
+climax for all emotional scenes. The author
+evidently greatly enjoys describing these; he
+assures us that the whole being is bathed in an
+ecstasy, for a few seconds preceding the attack.
+We are quite willing to take his word for this.
+The nickname “Idiot” becomes fixed upon the
+hero, Prince Myshkin, because his malady produced
+such an effect upon his faculties in childhood
+that he has always been eccentric. Starting
+with this pathological idea, this fictitious character
+is persistently developed with an astonishing consistency.</p>
+
+<p>Dostoyevski at first had the idea of producing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">188</span>
+another Don Quixote, the ideal redresser of
+wrongs. Occasionally you feel the impress of this
+idea; but soon the author is carried away by his
+own creation; his aim is loftier, he creates in the
+soul in which he sees himself mirrored the most
+sublime, Christ-like qualities, he makes a desperate
+effort to elevate the character to the moral
+proportions of a saint. Imagine, if you can, an exceptional
+being, possessing the mind and reasoning
+faculties of a man, while his heart retains the simplicity
+of a child, who, in short, can personify the
+gospel precept: “Be as little children.” Such a
+character is Prince Myshkin, the “Idiot.” The
+nervous disease has, by a happy chance, produced
+this phenomenon; it has destroyed that part of
+the intellect which is the seat of all our defects:
+irony, arrogance, selfishness, avarice; while the
+noble qualities are largely developed. On leaving
+the hospital, this extraordinary young man is
+thrown into the current of ordinary life. It would
+seem that he must perish in such an atmosphere,
+not having the weapons of defence that others are
+armed with. Not so; his simple straightforwardness
+is stronger than any of the malicious tricks
+practised upon him; it carries him through every
+difficulty, saves him from every snare. His innocent
+wisdom has the last word in all discussions;
+he utters phrases proceeding from a profound
+asceticism, such as this, addressed to a dying man:—“Pass
+on before us, and forgive us our happiness.”—Elsewhere
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">189</span>
+he says: “I fear I am unworthy
+of my sufferings—” and many similar
+expressions. He lives among a set of usurers,
+liars, and rascals. These people treat him as they
+would an idiot, but respect and venerate him;
+they feel his influence, and become better men.
+The women also laugh at the idiot at first, but
+they all end by falling desperately in love with
+him; while he responds to their adoration only by
+a tender pity, a compassionate love, the only sort
+that Dostoyevski permits his favorite characters
+to indulge in.</p>
+
+<p>The writer constantly returns to his ruling
+idea, the supremacy of the suffering and poor in
+spirit. Why do all the Russian idealists, without
+exception, cry out against prosperity in life?
+What I believe to be the secret, unconscious solution
+of this unreasonable feeling is this: they feel
+the force of that fundamental truth, that the life
+of a living, acting, thinking being must perforce
+be a mixture of good and evil. Whoever acts,
+creates and destroys at the same time, makes for
+himself a place in the world at the expense of
+some other person or thing. Therefore, if one
+neither acts nor thinks, this fatality must naturally
+be suppressed,—this production of evil as well as
+of good; and, as the evil he does has more effect
+than the good, he takes refuge in a non-existence.
+So these writers admire and sanctify the idiot,—the
+neutral, inactive being. It is true, he does no
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">190</span>
+good, but then he can do no evil: therefore,
+from the point of view of pessimists, in their
+conception of the world, he is the most admirable.</p>
+
+<p>As I read, I am overwhelmed by the number of
+these moral giants and monsters around me; but
+I cannot pass by one of the most striking of them,
+Rogozhin, the merchant, a very forcibly drawn figure.
+The twenty pages descriptive of the workings
+of passion in the heart of this man are written
+by the hand of a great master. Passion, in this
+strange nature, has developed to such intensity,
+and bestows upon the man such a gift of fascination,
+that the woman he loves accepts, in spite of
+herself, this savage whom she abhors, and moreover
+with the certainty that he will murder her.
+So he does; and, throughout an entire night,
+beside the bed where lies the body of his strangled
+victim, he calmly discusses philosophy with his
+friend. There is nothing melodramatic about this
+scene. It is simple as possible; to the author, at
+least, it appears quite natural; and this is why it
+makes us shiver with terror. I must also mention,—there
+are so few such touches in the work—the
+little drunken money-lender who “offers a prayer
+every night for the repose of the soul of Mme. du
+Barry.” Do not suppose that Dostoyevski means
+to enliven us with anything approaching a joke.
+Through the lips of this character, he seriously
+indulges in compassionate sympathy for the martyrdom
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">191</span>
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">endured by Mme. du Barry during the</span><br>
+long passage of the cart through the streets and
+the struggle with the executioner. He evidently
+has always before him that half-hour of the 22d
+December, 1849.</p>
+
+<p>“Les Possédés” is a description of the revolutionary
+world of the Nihilists. This title is a
+slight modification of the Russian title, “The
+Demons,” which is too obscure. All Dostoyevski’s
+characters might be said to be <em>possessed</em>, as
+the word was understood in the Middle Ages. A
+strange, irresistible will urges them on, in spite of
+themselves, to commit atrocious deeds. Natasha,
+in “The Degraded and Insulted,” is an example;
+as also Raskolnikof, in “Crime and Punishment,”
+and Rogozhin, in “The Idiot,” besides all the conspirators
+who commit murder or suicide without
+any definite aim or motive. The history of the origin
+of “Les Possédés” is rather curious. Dostoyevski
+was always opposed to Turgenef in politics
+and even more seriously through literary jealousy.
+At this time, Tolstoï had not yet established his
+reputation; and the other two were the only competitors
+in the field ready to dispute empire over the
+imaginations of their countrymen. The inevitable
+rivalry between them amounted, on Dostoyevski’s
+part, to hatred. He was always the wronged
+party; and into this volume he most unjustifiably
+introduced his brother author under the
+guise of a ridiculous actor. But his secret, unpardonable
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">192</span>
+grievance was that Turgenef was the
+first to take up and treat the subject of Nihilism,
+introducing it into his celebrated novel, “Fathers
+and Sons.” Since 1861 Nihilism had, however,
+developed from a metaphysical doctrine into practical
+action. Dostoyevski wrote “Les Possédés”
+out of revenge; three years after, Turgenef accepted
+the challenge, by publishing “Virgin
+Soil.” The theme of both romances is the
+same—a revolutionary conspiracy in a small
+provincial town.</p>
+
+<p>The prize in this tilting match must be adjudged
+to the dramatic psychologist rather than
+to the gentle artist who created “Virgin Soil.”
+Dostoyevski lays bare the inmost recesses of
+those intricate natures more completely; the
+scene of Shatof’s murder is rendered with a diabolical
+power which Turgenef was utterly incapable
+of. Still, it must be admitted that Bazarof,
+the cynic in “Fathers and Sons,” was the imperishable
+prototype of all Nihilists who came after
+him. Dostoyevski felt this, and keenly regretted
+it. His book, however, may be called a prophecy
+as well as an explanation. It was truly prophetic;
+for in 1871, when anarchy was still in
+the process of fermentation, he looked deeply
+enough into the future to relate facts precisely
+analogous to what we have since seen developed.
+I attended the trials of the Nihilists and can testify
+that many of the men and the conspiracies
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">193</span>
+that were judged at that time were exact reproductions
+of those the novelist had previously
+created.</p>
+
+<p>The book is also an explanation; for the world
+will understand from it the true face of the problem,
+which is even to-day imperfectly understood,
+because its solution is sought only in politics.
+Dostoyevski presents to us the various classes of
+minds from which the sect is recruited. First,
+the simple unbeliever, who devotes all his capacity
+for religious fervor to the service of
+atheism.—The author illustrates this type by
+the following anecdote (in every Russian’s
+bedroom stands a little altar, with its holy
+images of the saints): “Lieutenant Erkel, having
+thrown down the images and broken them in
+pieces with an axe, arranged upon the tablets
+three atheistic books; then he lighted some
+church tapers and placed one before each volume.”—Secondly,
+there is the weak class, who
+feel the magnetism of the strong, and blindly follow
+their chiefs. Then the logical pessimists,
+among whom the engineer Kirilof is an example.
+These are inclined toward suicide, through moral
+inability to live. Their party takes advantage of
+these yielding natures; for a man without principles,
+who decides to die because he can settle
+upon no principles, is one who will easily lend
+himself to whatever is exacted of him. Finally,
+the worst class: those who will not hesitate to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">194</span>
+commit murder, as a protest against the order of
+the world, which they do not comprehend, and in
+order to make a singular and novel use of their
+will power, to enjoy inspiring terror in others,
+and satisfy the animal cravings within them.</p>
+
+<p>The greatest merit of this confusing book,
+which is badly constructed, often ridiculous, and
+loaded with doubtful theories, is that it gives us,
+after all, a clear idea of what constitutes the real
+power of the Nihilists. This does not lie in the
+doctrines in themselves, nor in the power of
+organization of this sect, which is certainly overrated;
+it lies simply and only in the character of
+a few men. Dostoyevski thinks, and the revelations
+brought to light in the trials have justified
+his opinion, that the famous organization may be
+reduced to only a few local circles, badly organized;
+and that all these phantoms, central committees
+and executive committees, exist only in
+the imaginations of the adepts. On the other
+hand, he brings into bold relief those iron wills,
+those souls of frozen steel, in striking contrast
+with the timidity and irresolution of the legal
+authorities. Between these two poles he shows
+us the mass of weak natures, attracted toward
+that pole which is most strongly magnetized. It
+is, indeed, the force of character of these resolute
+men, and not their ideas, which has acted upon the
+Russian people; and here the piercing eye of the
+philosopher is keener than that of Russia herself.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">195</span>
+Men become less and less exacting in regard to
+ideas, and more and more skeptical as to the way
+of carrying them out. Those who believe in the
+absolute virtue of doctrines are becoming every
+day more rare; but what is seductive to them is
+force of character, even if its energy be applied to
+an evil cause,—because it promises to be a guide,
+and guarantees a strong leadership, the very first
+requisition of any association of men. Man is
+the born slave of every strong will which he
+comes in contact with.</p>
+
+<p>The last period of Dostoyevski’s life, after the
+publication of this book, and his return to Russia,
+was somewhat easier and less melancholy. He
+had married an intelligent and courageous woman,
+who helped him out of his pecuniary embarrassments.
+His popularity increased, while the success
+of his books freed him from debt. Taking up
+journalism again, he established a paper in St.
+Petersburg, and finally an organ peculiarly his
+own, which he conducted quite by himself. It
+was called the “Note-book of an Author” (Carnet
+d’un Ecrivain), and it appeared—whenever
+he chose. It did not at all resemble what we call
+a journal or review, but might have been called
+something similar to the Delphic oracle. Into
+this encyclopædia, the principal work of his latter
+years, he poured all the political, social, and literary
+ideas which beset him, and related anecdotes
+and reminiscences of his life. I have already
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">196</span>
+stated what his politics were; but the obscure
+productions of this period can neither be analyzed
+nor controverted. This periodical, which first appeared
+just before the war with Turkey, reflected
+the states of enthusiasm and discouragement of
+Russia through those years of feverish patriotism.
+Everything could be found in this summary of
+dreams, in which every question relating to human
+life was mooted. Only one thing was wanting: a
+solid basis of doctrine that the mind could take
+hold of. There were occasionally some touching
+episodes and artistic bits of composition recalling
+the great novelist. The “Note-book of an
+Author” was in fact a success, although the public
+now really cared less for the ideas than for the
+person, and were, besides, so accustomed to and
+fond of the sound of his voice. His last book,
+“The Karamazof Brothers,” was so interminably
+long that very few Russians had patience to read
+it to the end. But it contains some scenes equal
+to his best of early days, especially that of the
+death of the child. The French novel grows ever
+smaller, is easily slipped into a travelling-bag, to
+while away a few hours on a journey; but the
+heavy Russian romance reigns long upon the
+family table in country homes, through the long
+winter evenings. I well remember seeing Dostoyevski
+entering a friend’s house, on the day his last
+novel appeared, with the heavy volumes under
+his arm; and his saying with pride: “They
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">197</span>
+weigh, at least, five pounds”;—a fact he should
+rather have regretted than have taken pride in.</p>
+
+<p>I should say here that the three books which
+best show the different phases of his talent are:
+“Poor People,” “Recollections of a Dead House,”
+and “Crime and Punishment.” As to the criticism
+of his works as a whole, every one will have
+to use his own judgment. We must look upon
+Dostoyevski as a phenomenon of another world,
+an abnormal and mighty monster, quite unique
+as to originality and intensity. In spite of his
+genius, you feel that he lacks both moderation and
+breadth. The world is not composed of shadows
+and tears alone. Even in Russia there is light
+and gayety, there are flowers and pleasures.
+Dostoyevski has never seen but one half of life;
+for he has never written any books except either
+sad or terrible ones. He is like a traveller who
+has seen the whole universe, and described what
+he has seen, but who has never travelled except by
+night. He is an incomparable psychologist when
+he studies souls either blackened by crime or
+wounded by sorrow; and as skilful a dramatist,
+but limited to scenes of terror and of misery. No
+one has carried realism to such an extreme point
+as he. He depicts real life, but soars above reality
+in a superhuman effort toward some new consummation
+of the Gospel. He possesses a double
+nature, from whatever side you view him: the
+heart of a Sister of Charity and the spirit of a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">198</span>
+Grand Inquisitor. I think of him as belonging to
+another age, to the time of great sacrifices and
+intense devotion, hesitating between a St. Vincent
+de Paul and a Laubardemont, preceding the first
+in his search for destitute children, lingering behind
+the other, unwilling to lose the last crackling
+of the funeral pile.</p>
+
+<p>According as we are affected by particular examples
+of his talent, we call him a philosopher,
+an apostle, a lunatic, a consoler of the afflicted, or
+the torturer of a tranquil mind; the Jeremiah of
+the prison or the Shakespeare of the mad-house.
+Every one of these appellations belongs to him;
+but no one of them, taken alone, will suffice.
+What he himself said of his race, in “Crime and
+Punishment,” we may say of <span class="lock">him:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“The soul of the Russian is great, like his vast
+country; but terribly prone to everything fantastic
+and excessive; it is a real misfortune to be
+great without any special genius.”</p>
+
+<p>I subscribe to this; but also to the opinion that
+I have heard expressed upon this book by one of
+our masters of psychology: “This author opens
+up unknown horizons, and discloses souls different
+from ours; he reveals to us a new world of
+beings, with stronger natures, both for good and
+evil, having stronger wills and greater endurance.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">199</span></p>
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Five">V.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>I must apologize for returning to personal
+recollections in order to make this sketch complete,
+and must therefore recall the man himself,
+and give some idea of his extraordinary influence.
+By chance I met Feodor Mikhailovitch many times
+during the last three years of his life. The impression
+he made upon you was as profound as was
+that of the most striking scenes of his romances;
+if you had once seen him, you would never forget
+him. His appearance exactly corresponded with
+his life and its work. He was short and spare,
+and seemed to be all nerves; worn and haggard
+at the age of sixty. He was, in fact, prematurely
+old, and looked ill, with his long beard and blond
+hair, but, in spite of all, as vivacious as ever.
+His face was of the true peasant type of Moscow:
+the flat nose; the small, twinkling eyes, full of
+fire and tenderness; the broad forehead, all
+seamed with wrinkles, and with many indentations
+and protuberances; the sunken temples,
+and, most noticeable of all, a mouth of inexpressible
+sadness. I never saw in any human face
+such an expression of accumulated sorrow—as if
+every trial of soul and body had left its imprint
+upon it. You could read in his face better than
+in any book his recollections of the dead house,
+and his long experience of terror, mistrust, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">200</span>
+martyrdom. His eyelids, lips, and every fibre of
+his face quivered with nervous contractions. His
+features would grow fierce with anger when excited
+over some subject of discussion, and at
+another time would wear the gentle expression
+of sadness you so often see in the saints on the
+ancient Slavonic altar-pieces, so venerated by the
+Slav nation. The man’s nature was wholly plebeian,
+with the curious mixture of roughness,
+sagacity, and mildness of the Russian peasant,
+together with something incongruous—possibly
+an effect of the concentration of thought illumining
+this beggar’s mask. At first he rather repelled
+you, before his strange magnetism had begun to
+act upon you. He was generally taciturn, but
+when he spoke it was in a low tone, slow and
+deliberate, growing gradually more earnest, and
+defending his opinions without regard to any one.
+While sustaining his favorite theme of the superiority
+of the Russian lower classes, he often
+observed to ladies in the fashionable society he
+was drawn into, “You cannot pretend to compare
+with the most inferior peasant.”</p>
+
+<p>There was not much opportunity for literary
+discussion with Dostoyevski. He would stop you
+with one word of proud disdain. “We possess
+the best qualities of every other people, and our
+own peculiar ones in addition; therefore we can
+understand you, but you are not capable of understanding
+us.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">201</span>
+May I be forgiven, but I shall now attempt to
+prove the contrary. In spite of his assertion, his
+views on European life were laughably ingenuous.
+I remember well one of his tirades against
+the city of Paris, one evening when the inspiration
+seized him. He spoke of it with fiery indignation,
+as Jonah would have spoken concerning
+Nineveh. I remember the very <span class="lock">words:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“Some night a prophet will appear in the ‘Café
+Anglais’! He will write on the wall the three
+words of fire; that will be the signal for the end
+of the old world, and Paris will be destroyed in
+fire and blood, in all its pride, with its theatres
+and its ‘Café Anglais.’” In the seer’s imagination,
+this inoffensive establishment represented
+the heart of Sodom, a den of enticing and infernal
+orgies, which he thought it his duty to
+call down curses upon. He enlarged long and
+eloquently upon this theme.</p>
+
+<p>He often reminded me of J. J. Rousseau. That
+pedantic genius has often come before me since I
+have studied the character and works of this distrustful
+philanthropist of Moscow. Both entertained
+the same notions, had the same combination
+of roughness and ideality, of sensibility and
+ill-humor, as well as the same deep sympathy for
+humanity which compels the attention of their
+contemporaries. After Rousseau, no man had
+greater literary defects than Dostoyevski: boundless
+self-love, over-sensitiveness, jealousy, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">202</span>
+spite, none knew better how to win the hearts of
+his fellow-men by showing them how they filled
+his heart. This writer, so forbidding in society,
+was the idol of a large proportion of the young
+men of Russia, who awaited with feverish impatience
+the appearance of his novels, as well as his
+periodical; who consulted him as they would a
+spiritual adviser and director, and sought his help
+in all moral questions.</p>
+
+<p>The most important work of the latter years of
+his life was to reply to the scores of letters which
+brought to him the echo of strangers’ grievances.
+One must have lived in Russia during those
+troublous times, to understand the ascendancy he
+obtained over the world of “Poor People” in
+their search for a new ideal, as well as over the
+class just above the very poor. The influence of
+Turgenef’s literary and artistic work was most
+unjustly eclipsed; Tolstoï with his philosophy
+influenced only the most intellectual minds, but
+Dostoyevski won all hearts and obtained a most
+powerful sway over them. In 1880, at the time
+of the inauguration of the monument to Pushkin,
+when all the Russian authors assembled in full
+force to celebrate the fête, Dostoyevski’s popularity
+entirely obliterated that of all his rivals. The
+audience sobbed when he addressed them. They
+bore him in triumph in their arms; the students
+crowded upon the platform and took possession
+of it, that they might see and be near him and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">203</span>
+touch him; and one of these young enthusiasts
+swooned from emotion when he had succeeded in
+reaching him. The current of feeling ran so high
+that had he lived a few years longer he would
+have found himself in a very difficult position.
+In the official hierarchy of the empire there is no
+place for plants of such exuberant growth; no
+field for the influence of a Goethe or a Voltaire.
+In spite of his consistency in politics and his perfect
+orthodoxy, the old exile would have seriously
+risked being compromised by his blind
+partisans, and even considered dangerous. They
+only realized on the day of his death how dangerous
+he was.</p>
+
+<p>Although I regret to finish this sombre sketch
+with a funereal scene, I cannot refrain from
+speaking of the apotheosis accorded to him, and
+the impression it made upon me, for it will show,
+more than any extended criticism, what this man
+was to his native country. On the 10th of February,
+1881, some friends of Dostoyevski told me
+that he had died the preceding night, after a short
+illness. We went to his house to attend the service
+which the Russian Church holds twice a day
+over the remains of the dead, from the time of
+the decease until the burial. He lived in a populous
+quarter of St. Petersburg. We found an
+immense crowd before the door and on the staircase,
+and with great difficulty threaded our way
+to the study, where the great author lay. It was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">204</span>
+a small apartment, strewn with papers and pamphlets,
+and crowded by the visitors, who filed
+around the coffin, which rested upon a little table
+at one end of the room. I saw that face for the
+first time at peace, utterly free from pain. He
+seemed to be happily dreaming under the profusion
+of roses, which quickly disappeared, divided
+among the crowd as relics. The crowd increased
+every moment, all the women were in tears, the
+men boisterously pushing and crowding, eager to
+see his face. The temperature of the room became
+suffocating, being closed quite tightly from
+the air, as Russian rooms are in winter. Suddenly
+the air seemed to be exhausted, all the candles
+went out, and only the little flickering lamp
+before the holy images remained. Just at this
+moment, in the darkness, there was a terrible rush
+from the staircase, bringing a new influx of people.
+It seemed as if the whole crowd outside
+were mounting the stairs; the first comers were
+hurled against the coffin, which tottered—the
+poor widow, crowded, with her two children,
+between the table and the wall, threw herself
+over the body of her husband, and held it,
+screaming with terror. For a few moments we
+thought the corpse would be crushed under foot
+by the crowd. It oscillated, pressed upon by this
+mass of humanity, by the ardent and brutal
+affection of the rushing throngs below. At this
+moment there came before me a rapid vision of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">205</span>
+the author’s whole work, with all the cruelty, terror,
+and tenderness he tried to portray in it.
+This throng of strangers seemed to assume
+names and forms quite familiar to me. Fancy
+had sketched them in books, but now they stood
+living before me, taking part in a similar scene of
+horror. His characters seemed to have come to
+torment him, even after death, to bring him their
+rough homage, even to the profanation of the
+object of it. He would have appreciated just
+such exaggerated homage.</p>
+
+<p>Two days after, this vision was repeated more
+completely, and on a larger scale. The 12th
+February, 1881, was a memorable day in Russia.
+Except on the occasion of the death of Skobelef,
+there were never seen in St. Petersburg such
+significant and imposing obsequies. From an
+early hour the whole population were standing
+in the street, one hundred thousand persons
+along the line where the procession was to pass.
+More than twenty thousand persons followed it.
+The government was alarmed, fearing some serious
+disturbance. They thought the corpse might
+be seized, and they had to repress the students
+who wanted to have the chains of the Siberian
+prisoner carried behind the funeral car. The
+timorous officials insisted upon preventing all
+risk of a revolutionary uprising. This was at
+the time of the most important of the Nihilist conspiracies,
+only one month previous to that one
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">206</span>
+which cost the Tsar his life, during the time
+of that experiment of the liberal leader, Loris
+Melikof. Russia was at this moment in a state
+of fermentation, and the most trifling incident
+might produce an explosion. Loris thought it
+wiser to associate himself with the popular sentiment
+than to try to crush it out. He was right;
+the wicked designs of a few men were absorbed
+in the general grief. Through one of those unexpected
+combinations, of which Russia alone possesses
+the secret, all parties, all adversaries, all
+the disjointed fragments of the empire, now came
+together, through the death of this man, in a
+general communion of grief and enthusiasm.
+Whoever witnessed this funeral procession saw
+this country of contrasts illustrated in all its
+phases; the priests who chanted the service, the
+students of the universities, the school children,
+the young female students from the medical
+schools, the Nihilists, easily recognized by their
+peculiarities of dress and bearing, the men wearing
+a plaid over the shoulder, the spectacles and
+closely cut hair of the women; all the literary
+and scientific societies, deputations from every
+part of the empire, old Muscovite merchants,
+peasants, lackeys, and beggars. In the church
+waited the official dignitaries, the minister of
+public instruction, and the young princes of the
+imperial family.</p>
+
+<p>A forest of banners, crosses, and wreaths were
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">207</span>
+borne by that army, which was made up of such
+various elements, and produced in the spectator
+such a medley of impressions. To me everything
+that passed seemed an illustration of the author’s
+work, formed of elements both formidable and
+restless, with all their folly and grandeur. In
+the first rank, and most numerous, were those he
+loved best, the ‘poor people,’ the ‘degraded,’
+the ‘insulted,’ the ‘possessed’ even, glad to take
+part in leading the remains of their advocate over
+this path of glory;—but accompanying and surrounding
+all were the uncertainty and confusion
+of the national life, as he had painted it, filled
+with all the vague hopes that he had stirred.</p>
+
+<p>The crowd pressed into the little church, decked
+with flowers, and into the cemetery around it.
+Then there was a Babel of words. Before the
+altar the high-priest discoursed of God and of
+eternity, while others took the body to carry it
+to the grave, and discoursed of glory. Official
+orators, students, <dfn>Slavophile</dfn> and liberal committees,
+men of letters and poets,—every one came
+there to set forth his own ideal, to claim the
+departed spirit for his cause, and parade his own
+ambition over this tomb.</p>
+
+<p>While the winter wind bore away all this eloquence
+with the rustling leaves and the snow-dust
+raised by the spades of the grave-diggers, I made
+an effort to make, in my own mind, a fair estimate
+of the man’s moral worth and of his life’s work.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">208</span>
+I felt as much perplexed as when I had to pronounce
+judgment upon his literary merit. He had
+sympathized with the people, and awakened sympathy,
+and even piety, in them. But what excessive
+ideas and what moral convulsions he engendered!
+He had given his heart to the cause, it is
+true; but unaccompanied by reason, that inseparable
+companion of the heart. I reviewed the
+whole course of that strange life;—born in a hospital,
+to a youth of poverty, illness, and trial,
+exiled to Siberia, then sent to the barracks, ever
+pursued by poverty and distress, always crushed,
+and yet ennobled by a labor which was his salvation.
+I now felt that this persecuted life should
+not be judged by our standards, which may not
+apply to his peculiar case, and that I must leave
+him to Him who judges all hearts according to
+their true merits. When I bent over his grave,
+covered with laurel wreaths, the farewell words
+which came to my lips were those of the student
+to the poor abandoned girl, and which express
+Dostoyevski’s entire creed: “It is not only before
+thee that I prostrate myself, but before all
+suffering humanity!”</p>
+
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[J]</a>
+ An English translation was published in 1886, under the
+title, “Injury and Insult.”</p>
+
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[K]</a>
+ Published also under the title “Buried Alive.”</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">209</span>
+<h3>
+CHAPTER <abbr title="Six">VI.</abbr><br>
+<br>
+<span class="allsmcap">NIHILISM AND MYSTICISM.—TOLSTOÏ.</span>
+</h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">In</span> Turgenef’s artistic work, illustrative of the
+national characteristics, we have witnessed the
+birth of the Russian romance, and how it has naturally
+tended toward the psychological classification
+of a few general types; or, perhaps, more
+justly, toward the contemplation of them, when
+we consider with what serenity this artist’s moral
+investigations were conducted. Dostoyevski has
+shown a spirit quite contrary to this, uncultured
+and yet subtile, sympathetic, tortured by tragic
+visions, morbidly preoccupied by exceptional and
+perverted types. The first of these two writers
+was constantly coquetting, so to speak, with liberal
+doctrines: the second was a <dfn>Slavophile</dfn> of the
+most extreme type.</p>
+
+<p>In Tolstoï, other surprises are reserved for us.
+Younger by ten years than his predecessors, he
+hardly felt the influences of 1848. Attached to
+no particular school, totally indifferent to all political
+parties, despising them in fact, this solitary,
+meditative nobleman acknowledges no master and
+no sect; he is himself a spontaneous phenomenon.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">210</span>
+His first great novel was contemporary with
+“Fathers and Sons”, but between the two great
+novelists there is a deep abyss. The one still
+made use of the traditions of the past, while he
+acknowledged the supremacy of Western Europe,
+and appropriated to himself and his work what he
+learned of us; the other broke off wholly with the
+past and with foreign bondage; he is a personification
+of the New Russia, feeling its way out of
+the darkness, impatient of any tendency toward
+the adoption of our tastes and ideas, and often incomprehensible
+to us. Let us not expect Russia
+to do what she is incapable of, to restrict herself
+within certain limits, to concentrate her attention
+upon one point, or bring her conception of life
+down to one doctrine. Her literary productions
+must reflect the moral chaos which she is passing
+through. Tolstoï comes to her aid. More truly
+than any other man, and more completely than
+any other, he is the translator and propagator of
+that condition of the Russian mind which is called
+Nihilism. To seek to know how far he has accomplished
+this, would be to turn around constantly
+in the same circle. This writer fills the double
+function of the mirror which reflects the light
+and sends it back increased tenfold in intensity,
+producing fire. In the religious confessions which
+he has lately written, the novelist, changed into a
+theologian, gives us, in a few lines, the whole history
+of his soul’s <span class="lock">experience:—</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">211</span>
+“I have lived in this world fifty-five years;
+with the exception of the fourteen or fifteen years
+of childhood, I have lived thirty-five years a Nihilist
+in the true sense of the word,—not a socialist
+or a revolutionist according to the perverted sense
+acquired by usage, but a true Nihilist—that is,
+subject to no faith or creed whatever.”</p>
+
+<p>This long delayed confession was quite unnecessary;
+the man’s entire work published it,
+although the dreadful word is not once expressed
+by him. Critics have called Turgenef the father
+of Nihilism because he had given a name to the
+malady, and described a few cases of it. One
+might as well affirm the cholera to have been introduced
+by the first physician who gave the
+diagnosis of it, instead of by the first person attacked
+by the scourge. Turgenef discovered the
+evil, and studied it objectively; Tolstoï suffered
+from it from the first day of its appearance, without
+having, at first, a very clear consciousness of
+his condition; his tortured soul cries out on every
+page he has written, to express the agony which
+weighs down so many other souls of his own race.
+If the most interesting books are those which
+faithfully picture the existence of a fraction of
+humanity at a given moment of history, this age
+has produced nothing more remarkable, in regard
+to its literary quality, than his work. I do not
+hesitate in giving my opinion that this writer,
+when considered merely as a novelist, is one of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">212</span>
+the greatest masters in literature our century has
+produced. It may be asked how we can venture
+to express ourselves so strongly of a still living
+contemporary, whose overcoat and beard are
+familiar objects in every-day life, who dines, reads
+the papers, receives money from his publishers and
+invests it, who does, in short, just what other men
+do. How can we thus elevate a man before his
+body has turned to ashes, and his name become
+transfigured by the accumulated respect of several
+generations? As for me, I cannot help seeing
+this man as great as he will appear after death, or
+subscribing voluntarily to Flaubert’s exclamation,
+as he read Turgenef’s translation of Tolstoï, and
+cried in a voice of thunder, while he stamped
+heavily upon the <span class="lock">ground:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“He is a second Shakespeare!”</p>
+
+<p>Tolstoï’s troubled, vacillating mind, obscured
+by the mists of Nihilism, is by a singular and not
+infrequent contradiction endowed with an unparalleled
+lucidity and penetration for the scientific
+study of the phenomena of life. He has a clear,
+analytical comprehension of everything upon the
+earth’s surface, of man’s internal life as well as of
+his exterior nature: first of tangible realities,
+then the play of his passions, his most volatile
+motives to action, the slightest disturbances of
+his conscience. This author might be said to
+possess the skill of an English chemist with the
+soul of a Hindu Buddhist. Whoever will undertake
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">213</span>
+to account for that strange combination will
+be capable of explaining Russia herself.</p>
+
+<p>Tolstoï maintains a certain simplicity of nature
+in the society of his fellow-beings which seems to
+be impossible to the writers of our country; he
+observes, listens, takes in whatever he sees and
+hears, and for all time, with an exactness which
+we cannot but admire. Not content with describing
+the distinctive features of the general physiognomy
+of society, he resolves them into their
+original elements with the most assiduous care;
+always eager to know how and wherefore an act
+is produced; pursuing the original thought behind
+the visible act, he does not rest until he has laid it
+bare, tearing it from the heart with all its secret
+roots and fibres. Unfortunately, his curiosity will
+not let him stop here. Of those phenomena which
+offer him such a free field when he studies them
+by themselves, he wishes to know the origin, and
+to go back to the most remote and inaccessible
+causes which produced them. Then his clear
+vision grows dim, the intrepid explorer loses his
+foothold and falls into the abyss of philosophical
+contradictions. Within himself, and all around
+him he feels nothing but chaos and darkness; to
+fill this void and illuminate the darkness, the
+characters through which he speaks have recourse
+to the unsatisfactory explanations of metaphysics,
+and, finally, irritated by these pedantic sophistries,
+they suddenly steal away, and escape from
+their own explanations.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">214</span>
+Gradually, as Tolstoï advances in life and in
+his work, he is more and more engulfed in doubt;
+he lavishes his coldest irony upon those children
+of his fancy who try to believe and to discover
+and apply a consistent system of morality. But
+under this apparent coldness you feel that his
+heart sobs out a longing for what he cannot find,
+and thirsts for things eternal. Finally, weary of
+doubt and of search, convinced that all the calculations
+of reason end only in mortifying failure,
+fascinated by the mysticism which had long lain
+in wait for his unsatisfied soul, the Nihilist suddenly
+throws himself at the feet of a Deity,—and
+of what a Deity we shall see hereafter.</p>
+
+<p>In finishing this chapter, I must speak of the
+singular phase into which the writer’s mind has
+fallen of late. I hope to do this with all the reserve
+due to a living man, and all due respect for a
+sincere conviction. There is nothing to me more
+curious than his statement of the actual condition
+of his own soul. It is a picture of the crisis
+which the Russian conscience is now passing
+through, seen in full sunlight, foreshortened, and
+upon a lofty height. This thinker is the perfect
+type of a multitude of minds, as well as their
+guide; he tries to say what these minds confusedly
+feel.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">215</span></p>
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="One">I.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>Leo Nikolaievitch (Tolstoï) was born in the
+year 1828. The course of his external life has
+offered nothing of interest to the lovers of
+romance, being quite the same as that of Russian
+gentlemen in general. In his father’s house in
+the country, and afterwards at the University of
+Kazan, he received the usual education from foreign
+masters which gives to the cultivated classes
+in Russia their cosmopolitan turn of mind. He
+then entered the army and spent several years in
+the Caucasus in a regiment of artillery, and was
+afterwards transferred at his request to Sebastopol.
+He went through the famous siege in the
+Crimean War, which he has illustrated by three
+striking sketches: “Sebastopol in December, in
+May, and in August.” Resigning his position
+when peace was declared, Count Tolstoï first
+travelled extensively, then settled at St. Petersburg
+and Moscow, living in the society of his own
+class. He studied society and the court as he
+had studied the war—with that serious attention
+which tears away the masks from all faces and
+reads the inmost heart. After a few winters of
+fashionable life, he left the capital, partly, it is
+said, to escape from the different literary circles
+which were anxious to claim him among their
+votaries. In 1860, he married and retired to his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">216</span>
+ancestral estate, near Tula, where he has remained
+almost constantly for twenty-five years.
+The whole history of his own life is hardly disguised
+in the autobiography he wrote, entitled,
+“Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth.” The evolution
+of his inward experience is further carried
+out in the two great novels, “War and Peace”
+and “Anna Karenina,” and ends, as might have
+been foreseen, with the theological and moral
+essays which have for some years quite absorbed
+his intellectual activity.</p>
+
+<p>I believe the author’s first composition, while
+he was an officer in the army of the Caucasus,
+must have been the novelette published later
+under the title, “The Cossacks.” This is the
+least systematic of all his works, and is perhaps
+the one which best betrays the precocious originality
+of his mind, and his remarkable power of
+seeing and representing truth. This book marks
+a date in literature: the definite rupture of Russian
+poetry with Byronism and romanticism in
+the very heart of their former reign. The influence
+of Byron was so strong that the prejudiced
+eyes of the poets saw the Orient in which they
+lived through their poetical fancy, which transfigured
+both scenery and men. Attracted like so
+many other writers toward this region, Tolstoï,
+or, rather, Olenin, the hero of the Cossacks (I
+believe them to be one and the same), leaves
+Moscow one beautiful evening, after a farewell
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">217</span>
+supper with his young friends. Weary of civilization,
+he throws off his habitual thoughts as he
+would a worn-out garment; his <dfn>troïka</dfn> bears him
+away to a strange country; he longs for a primitive
+life, new sensations, new interests.</p>
+
+<p>Our traveller installs himself in one of the little
+Cossack settlements on the river Terek; he adopts
+the life of his new friends, takes part in their
+expeditions and hunts; an old mountaineer, who
+somewhat recalls Fenimore Cooper’s “Leatherstocking,”
+undertakes to be his guide. Olenin
+quite naturally falls in love with the lovely
+Marianna, daughter of his host. Tolstoï will
+now show us the Orient in a new light, in the
+mirror of truth. For the lyric visions of his
+predecessors he substitutes a philosophical view
+of men and things. From the very first this
+acute observer understood how puerile it is to
+lend to these creatures of instinct our refinement
+of thought and feeling, our theatrical way
+of representing passion. The dramatic interest
+of his tale consists in the fatal want of mutual
+understanding that must, perforce, exist between
+the heart of a civilized being and that of a wild,
+savage creature, and the total impossibility of two
+souls of such different calibre blending in a
+mutual passion. Olenin tries in vain to cultivate
+simplicity of feeling. Because he dons a
+Circassian cap, he cannot at the same time
+change his nature and become primitive. His
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">218</span>
+love cannot separate itself from all the intellectual
+complications which our literary education
+lends to this passion. He <span class="lock">says:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“What there is terrible and at the same time
+interesting in my condition is that I feel that I
+understand Marianna and that she never will be
+able to understand me. Not that she is inferior
+to me,—quite the contrary; but it is impossible
+for her to understand me. She is happy; she is
+natural; she is like Nature itself, equable, tranquil,
+happy in herself.”</p>
+
+<p>The character of this little Asiatic, strange and
+wild as a young doe, is beautifully drawn. I
+appeal to those who are familiar with the East
+and have proved the falsity of those Oriental
+types invented by European literature. They
+will find in the “The Cossacks,” a surprising exposure
+of the falsity of that other moral world.
+Tolstoï has brought this country before us by
+his vivid and picturesque descriptions of its natural
+features. The little idyl serves as a pretext
+for magnificent descriptions of the Caucasus;
+steppe, forest, and mountain stand before us as
+vividly as the characters which inhabit them.
+The grand voices of Nature join in with and
+support the human voices, as an orchestra leads
+and sustains a chorus. The author, absorbed as
+he was afterwards in the study of the human soul,
+never again expressed such a profound sympathy
+with nature as in this work. At this time Tolstoï
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">219</span>
+was inclined to be both pantheist and pessimist,
+vacillating between the two. “Trois Morts,” a
+fragment of his, contains the substance of this
+<span class="lock">philosophy:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“The happiest man, and the best, is he who
+thinks the least and who lives the simplest life
+and dies the simplest death. Accordingly, the
+peasant is better than the lord, the tree is better
+than the peasant, and the death of an oak-tree is
+a greater calamity to the world than the death of
+an old princess.”</p>
+
+<p>This is Rousseau’s doctrine exaggerated: the
+man who thinks is not only a depraved animal
+but an inferior plant. But Pantheism is another
+attempt at a rational explanation of the universe:
+Nihilism will soon replace it. This monster has
+already devoured the inmost soul of the man,
+without his even being conscious of it. It is easy
+to be convinced of this when we read his “Childhood,
+Boyhood, and Youth.” It is the journal of
+the gradual awakening of an intelligence to life;
+it lays before us the whole secret of the formation
+of Tolstoï’s moral character. The author subjects
+his own conscience to that penetrating, inexorable
+analysis, which later he will use upon society; he
+tries his hand upon himself first of all. It is a
+singular book, lengthy, and sometimes trivial;
+Dickens is rapid and sketchy in comparison with
+him. In relating the course of a most ordinary
+journey from the country into Moscow, he counts
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">220</span>
+every turn of the wheels, notes every passing
+peasant, every guide-post. But this fastidious
+observance of details, applied to trivial facts, becomes
+a wonderful instrument when applied to
+human nature and to psychological researches. It
+throws light upon the man’s own inner conscience,
+without regard to his self-love; he sees himself as
+he is, and lays bare his soul with all its petty
+vanities, and the ingratitude and mistrust of an
+ill-humored child. We shall recognize this same
+child in the principal characters of his great
+novels, with its nature quite unchanged. I will
+quote two passages which show us the very foundation
+of Nihilism in the brain of a lad of <span class="lock">sixteen:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“Of all philosophical doctrines, the one which
+attracted me most strongly was skepticism; for a
+time it brought me to a condition verging upon
+madness. I would imagine that nothing whatever
+existed in the world except myself; that all
+objects were only illusions, evoked by myself just
+at the moment I gave attention to them, and
+which vanished the moment I ceased to think of
+them…. There were times when, possessed by
+this idea, I was brought into such a bewildered
+state that I would turn quickly around and look
+behind me, hoping to be able to pierce through
+the chaos which lay beyond me. My enfeebled
+mind could not penetrate through the impenetrable,
+and would lose by degrees in this wearisome
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">221</span>
+struggle the certainties which for the sake
+of my own happiness, I ought never to have
+sought. I reaped nothing from all this intellectual
+effort but an activity of mind which weakened
+my will-power, and a habit of incessant
+moral analysis which robbed every sensation of
+its freshness and warped my judgment on every
+subject….”</p>
+
+<p>Such a cry might have been uttered by a disciple
+of Schelling. But listen to what follows from the
+heart of a Russian, who speaks for his countrymen
+as well as <span class="lock">himself:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“When I remember how young I was, and the
+state of mind I was in, I realize perfectly how the
+most atrocious crimes might be committed without
+reason or a desire to injure any one, but, so to
+speak, from a sort of curiosity or an unconscious
+necessity of action. There are times when the
+future appears to a man so dark that he fears to
+look into it; and he totally suspends the exercise
+of his own reason within himself, and tries to persuade
+himself that there is no future and that
+there has been no past. At such moments, when
+the mind no longer controls the will, when the
+material instincts are the only springs of life
+left to us,—I can understand how an inexperienced
+child can, without hesitation or fear, and
+with a smile of curiosity, set fire to his own house,
+in which all those he loves best—father, mother,
+and brothers—are sleeping. Under the influence
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">222</span>
+of this temporary eclipse of the mind, which I
+might call a moment of aberration or distraction,—a
+young peasant lad of sixteen stands looking
+at the shining blade of an axe just sharpened,
+which lies under the bench upon which his old
+father has fallen asleep: suddenly he brandishes
+the axe, and finds himself looking with stupid
+curiosity, upon the stream of blood under the
+bench which is flowing from the aged head he has
+just cleft. In this condition of mind, a man likes
+to lean over a precipice and think: ‘What if I
+should throw myself over head first!’ or to put a
+loaded pistol to his forehead and think: ‘Suppose
+I should pull the trigger!’ or when he sees a
+person of dignity and consequence surrounded by
+the universal respect of all, and suddenly feels
+impelled to go up to him and take him by the
+nose, saying: ‘Come along, old fellow!’”</p>
+
+<p>This is pure childishness, you will say! So
+it would be in our steadier brains and more
+active lives, rarely disturbed by these attacks of
+nightmare. Turgenef has touched upon this
+national malady of his fellow-countrymen in his
+last tale, “Despair,” as well as Dostoyevski in
+many of his. There are several cases in “Recollections
+of a Dead House,” identical with those
+described by Tolstoï, although the two authors’
+treatment of this theme are so unlike. The word
+in their language which expresses this condition is
+quite untranslatable. <em>Despair</em> approaches it nearest;
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">223</span>
+but the condition is a mixture also of fatalism,
+barbarism, asceticism, and other qualities, or want
+of them. It may describe, perhaps, Hamlet’s
+mental malady or attack of madness, at the
+moment he ran his sword through Polonius, father
+of his Ophelia. It seems to be a sort of horrible
+fascination which belongs to cold countries, to a
+climate of extremes, where they learn to endure
+everything better than an ordinary fate, and prefer
+annihilation to moderation.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Russia! a tempest-tossed sea-gull, hovering
+over an abyss!</p>
+
+<p>Nihilist and pessimist,—are not these synonymous
+words, and must they not both exist in the
+same person? From this time, all Tolstoï’s productions
+would argue this to be the fact. A few
+short tales are a prelude to his two great novels,
+which we must now make a study of, as to them
+he devoted his highest powers and concentrated
+upon them his profoundest thought. His talent
+heretofore had produced but fragmentary compositions
+and sketches.</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>“War and Peace” is a picture of Russian
+society during the great Napoleonic wars, from
+1805 to 1815. We question whether this complicated
+work can be properly called a novel. “War
+and Peace” is a summary of the author’s observations
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">224</span>
+of human life in general. The interminable
+series of episodes, portraits, and reflections which
+Tolstoï presents to us are introduced through a
+few fictitious characters; but the real hero of this
+epic is Russia herself, passing through her desperate
+struggle against the foreign invader. The real
+characters, Alexander, Napoleon, Kutuzof, Speranski,
+occupy nearly as much space as the imaginary
+ones; the simple and rather slack thread of
+romance serves to bind together the various chapters
+on history, politics, philosophy, heaped pell-mell
+into this polygraph of the Russian world.
+Imagine Victor Hugo’s “Les Misérables” being
+re-written by Dickens in his untiring, exhaustless
+manner, then re-constructed by the cold,
+searching pen of Stendhal, and you may possibly
+form an idea of the general arrangement and
+execution of the work, and of that curious union
+of epic grandeur and infinitesimal analytical
+detail. I try to fancy M. Meissonier painting a
+panorama; I doubt if he could do it, but if he
+could his twofold talent would illustrate the
+double character of Tolstoï’s work.</p>
+
+<p>The pleasure to be derived from it resembles
+that from mountain-climbing; the way is often
+rough and wild, the path, as you ascend, difficult
+to find, effort and fatigue are indispensable; but
+when you reach the summit and look around you
+the reward is great. Magnificent vistas stretch
+beneath you; he who has never accomplished the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">225</span>
+ascent will never know the true face of the country,
+the course of its rivers or the relative situation
+of its towns. A stranger, therefore, who
+would understand Russia of the nineteenth century,
+must read Tolstoï; and whoever would undertake
+to write a history of that country would utterly
+fail in his task if he neglected to consult this
+exhaustless repository of the national life. Those
+who have a passion for the study of history will
+not, perhaps, grow impatient over this mass of
+characters and succession of trivial incidents with
+which the work is loaded down. Will it be the
+same with those who seek only amusement in a
+work of fiction? For these, Tolstoï will break up
+all previous habits. This incorrigible analyst is
+either ignorant of or disdains the very first method
+of procedure employed by all our writers; we
+expect our novelist to select out his character or
+event, and separate it from the surrounding chaos
+of beings and objects, making a special study of
+the object of his choice. The Russian, ruled by
+the sentiment of universal dependence, is never
+willing to cut the thousand ties which bind men,
+actions, thoughts, to the rest of the universe; he
+never forgets the natural mutual dependence of
+all things. Imagine the Latin and the Slav before
+a telescope. The first arranges it to suit himself;
+that is, he voluntarily foreshortens his range of
+vision, to make more distinct what he sees, and
+diminish the extent of it; the second requires the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">226</span>
+full power of the instrument, enlarges his horizon,
+and sees a confused picture, for the sake of seeing
+farther.</p>
+
+<p>In a passage in “Anna Karenina,” Tolstoï well
+defines the contrast between two such natures,
+and the mutual attraction they exert upon each
+other. Levin, the dreamer, meets one of his
+friends, who is of a methodical turn of mind.</p>
+
+<p>“Levin imagined that Katavasof’s clearness of
+conception came from the poverty and narrowness
+of his nature; Katavasof thought that Levin’s
+incoherency of ideas arose from the want of a
+well disciplined mind; but the clearness of Katavasof
+pleased Levin, and the natural richness of
+an undisciplined mind in the latter was agreeable
+to the other.”</p>
+
+<p>These lines sum up all the grounds of complaint
+that the Russians have to reproach us with
+in our literature, and those we have against
+theirs; which differences explain the pleasure
+the two races find in an interchange of their
+literary productions.</p>
+
+<p>It is easy to predict what impressions all readers
+of “War and Peace” and “Anna Karenina”
+will receive. I have seen the same effect invariably
+produced upon all who have read those
+books. At first, for some time, the reader will
+hardly find his bearings; not knowing whither he
+is being led, he will soon grow weary of the task
+that lies before him. But little by little he will
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">227</span>
+be drawn on, captivated by the complex action of
+all these characters, among whom he will find himself,
+as well as some of his friends, and will become
+most anxious to unravel the secret of their destinies.
+On closing the book, he feels a sense of
+regret, as if parting with a family with which he
+has been for years on terms of familiar intercourse.
+He has passed through the experience
+of the traveller thrown into the novelty of new
+society and surroundings; he feels annoyance
+and fatigue at first, then curiosity, and finally
+has formed deeply rooted attachments.</p>
+
+<p>What seems to me the distinction between the
+classic author and a conscientious painter of life as
+it is, like Tolstoï, is this: a book is like a drawing-room
+filled with strangers; the first type of
+author voluntarily presents you to this company
+at once, and unveils to you the thousand intertwining
+combinations, incidents, and intrigues
+going on there; with the second you must go
+forward and present yourself, find out for yourself
+the persons of mark, the various relations and
+sentiments of the entire circle, live, in fact, in the
+midst of this fictitious company, just as you have
+lived in society, among real people. To be able
+to judge of the respective merit of the two
+methods, we must interrogate one of the fundamental
+laws of our being. Is there any pleasure
+worth having which does not cost some little
+trouble? Do we not prefer what we have acquired
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">228</span>
+by an effort all our own? Let us reflect
+upon this. Whatever may be our individual
+preferences in regard to intellectual pleasure, I
+think we can agree on one point: in the old,
+well worn paths of literature, mediocrity may be
+tolerated; but when an author strikes out in a
+new path we cannot tolerate a partial success; he
+must write dramas equal to Shakespeare, and
+romances as good as Tolstoï’s, to give us a true
+picture of life as it is. This we have in “War
+and Peace,” and the question of its success has
+been decided in the author’s favor. When I visit
+with him the soldiers in camp, the court, and
+court society, which has hardly changed in the
+last half-century, and see how he lays bare the
+hearts of men, I cry out at every page I read:
+“How true that is!” As we go on, our curiosity
+changes into astonishment, astonishment into
+admiration, before this inexorable judge, who
+brings every human action before his tribunal,
+and forces from every heart its secrets. We feel
+as if drawn on with the current of a tranquil,
+never-ending stream, the stream of human life,
+carrying with it the hearts of men, with all their
+agitated and complicated movements and emotions.</p>
+
+<p>War is one of the social phenomena which has
+strongly attracted our author and philosopher.
+He is present at the Council of Generals and at
+the soldiers’ bivouac; he studies the moral condition
+of each; he understands the orders, and why
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">229</span>
+they should be obeyed. He presents to us the
+whole physiognomy of the Russian army. A
+minute description which he gives of a disorderly
+retreat is second only to Schiller’s “Camp of
+Wallenstein.” He describes the first engagement,
+the first cannon-shot, the fall of the first
+soldier, the agony of that long-dreaded moment.</p>
+
+<p>In the course of these volumes the imperial
+battles are portrayed; Austerlitz, Friedland, Borodino.
+Tolstoï talks of war like a man who has
+taken part in it; he knows that a battle is never
+witnessed by the participants. The soldier, officer,
+or general which the writer introduces never
+sees but a single point of the combat; but by the
+way in which a few men fight, think, talk, and
+die on that spot, we understand the entire action,
+and know on what side the victory will be.</p>
+
+<p>When Tolstoï wishes to give us a general description
+of anything, he ingeniously makes use of
+some artifice; as, for example, in the engagement
+at Schöngraben he introduces an aide-de-camp who
+carries an order the whole length of the line of battle.
+Then the corps commanders bring in their
+reports, not of what has taken place, but of what
+naturally ought to have taken place. How is
+this? “The colonel had so strongly desired to
+execute this movement, he so regretted not having
+been able to carry it out, that it seemed to
+him that all must have taken place as he wished.
+Perhaps it really had! Is it ever possible in such
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">230</span>
+confusion to find out what has or has not occurred?”—How
+perfect is this ironical explanation!
+I appeal to any soldier who has ever taken
+part in any action in war, and heard an account
+given of it by the other participants.</p>
+
+<p>We do not demand of this realistic writer the
+conventional ideas of the classic authors;—an entire
+army heroic as its leaders, living only for the
+great causes it accomplishes, wholly absorbed in
+its lofty aim. Tolstoï reveals human nature: the
+soldier’s life, careless, occupied with trifling
+duties; the officers, with their pleasures or
+schemes of promotion; the generals, with their
+ambitions and intrigues; all these seeming quite
+accustomed and indifferent to what to us appears
+extraordinary and imposing. However, the
+author, by dint of sheer simplicity, sometimes
+draws tears of sympathy from us for those unconscious
+heroes, such as, for example, the pathetic
+character of Captain Touchino, which recalls
+Renault, in “Servitude et Grandeur Militaires.”<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[L]</a>
+Tolstoï is severe upon the leaders of the Russian
+army; he reminds us of the councils of war after
+the late trials; he satirizes the French and German
+strategists by whom Alexander was surrounded;
+and, with his Nihilistic ideas, he
+thoroughly enjoys describing this Babel of
+tongues and opinions. With one man alone he
+secretly sympathizes—with the commander-in-chief,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">231</span>
+Kutuzof. And why?—Because he gave
+no orders, and went to sleep during the council,
+giving up everything to fate. All these descriptions
+of military life converge toward this idea,
+which is developed in the philosophical appendix
+to the novel; all action on the part of the commanders
+is vain and useless; everything depends
+upon the fortuitous action of small divisions, the
+only decisive factor being one of those unforeseen
+impulses or inspirations which at certain times
+impels an army. As regards battle array, who
+thinks of it on the spot when thousands of possible
+combinations arise? The military genius in
+command sees only the smoke; he invariably
+receives his information and issues his orders too
+late. Can the commander carry out any general
+plan who is leading on his troops, which number
+ten, fifty, or one hundred men out of one hundred
+thousand, within a small radius? The rest of the
+account you may find in the next day’s bulletins!
+Over the three hundred thousand combatants
+fighting in the plains of Borodino blows the wind
+of chance, bringing victory or defeat.</p>
+
+<p>Here is the same mystic spirit of Nihilism
+which springs up before every problem of life.</p>
+
+<p>After war, the study which Tolstoï loves best,
+come the intrigues of the higher classes of society
+and its centre of gravitation, the court. As differences
+of race grow less distinct as we approach
+the higher classes of society, the novelist creates
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">232</span>
+no longer merely Russian types, but general,
+human, universal ones. Since St. Simon, no one
+has so curiously unveiled the secret mechanism
+of court life. We are very apt to distrust writers
+of fiction when they attempt to depict these
+hidden spheres; we suspect them of listening
+behind doors and peeping through key-holes. But
+this Russian author is in his native element; he
+has frequented and studied the court as he has the
+army; he talks of his peers in their own language,
+and has had the same education and culture;
+therefore his information is copious and
+correct, like what you obtain from the comedian
+who divulges the secrets of the boards.</p>
+
+<p>Go with the author into the salons of certain
+ladies of the court; listen to the tirades of refugees,
+the opinions expressed upon Buonaparte, the
+intrigues of the courtiers, and that peculiar
+accent when they mention any member of the
+imperial family. Visit with him a statesman’s
+home; sit down at Speranski’s table (the man
+who “laughs a stage laugh”); mark the sovereign’s
+passage through a ball-room by the light
+which is visible upon every face from the moment
+he enters the apartment; above all, visit the
+death-bed of old Count Bezushof, and witness the
+tragedy which is being acted under the mask of
+etiquette; the struggle of base instincts around
+that speechless, expiring old man, and the general
+agitation. Here a sinister element, as elsewhere
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">233</span>
+a lofty one, lends marvellous force to the
+simple sincerity of the picture and to the restraint
+which propriety imposes upon faces and tongues.</p>
+
+<p>Every passage in which the Emperors Napoleon
+and Alexander appear in action or speech should
+be read in order to understand the place that
+Nihilism occupies in the Russian mind so far as
+regards the denial of the grandeur and respect
+accorded by general consent to such potentates.
+The writer speaks in a deferential tone, as if he
+would in no wise curtail the majesty of power;
+but by bringing it down to the most trivial exigencies
+of life he utterly destroys it. Scattered
+through the tale we find ten or twelve little
+sketches of Napoleon drawn with great care,
+without hostility or an approach to caricature; but
+merely by withdrawing him from the legendary
+halo surrounding him, the man’s greatness crumbles
+away. It is generally some physical peculiarity
+or trivial act, skilfully introduced, which
+seems quite incompatible with the sceptre and
+the imperial robes. With Napoleon, Tolstoï evidently
+takes great liberties; but it is curious to
+note these descriptive touches when applied to his
+own sovereign. With infinite precautions and
+perfect propriety, the spell of majesty is broken
+through the incongruity of the man’s actual habits
+and the formidable rôle he plays. I will quote
+one of the many examples of this kind (Alexander
+is at Moscow, in 1812; he receives the ovations
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">234</span>
+of his people at the Kremlin, at the solemn
+hour when war is proclaimed): “When the Tzar
+had dined, the master of ceremonies said, looking
+out of the window, ‘The people are hoping to see
+your Majesty.’ The emperor, who was eating a
+biscuit, rose and went out on the balcony. The
+people rushed towards the terrace. ‘Our emperor!
+Our father! Hurrah! Hurrah!’ cried the
+people. Many women and a few men actually
+wept for joy. Quite a large piece of the biscuit
+the emperor held in his hand broke off and fell
+upon the balustrade, and from that to the ground.
+The man nearest to it was a cab-driver, in a blouse,
+who made a rush for the piece and seized it.
+Others rushed upon the coachman; whereupon
+the emperor had a plateful of biscuit brought, and
+began to throw them from the balcony to the
+crowd. Pierre’s eyes became blood-shot; the
+danger of being crushed only excited him the
+more, and he pressed forward through the crowd.
+He could not have told why he felt that he positively
+must have one of those biscuit thrown by
+the hand of the Tzar….”</p>
+
+<p>Again, there is nothing more true to nature
+than the account of the audience granted by the
+Emperor of Austria to Bolkonski, who had been
+despatched as a courier to Brünn with the news
+of a victory of the allies. The writer describes
+so well the gradual disenchantment of the young
+officer, who sees his great battle vanish before his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">235</span>
+eyes in the opinion of men. He quitted the
+scene of the exploit expecting to astonish the
+world with the announcement he now brings;
+but on his arrival at Brünn a bucket of cold
+water has been thrown over his dreams by the
+“polite” aide-de-camp, the minister of war, the
+emperor himself, who addresses a few words to
+him in an absent way—the ordinary questions as
+to the time of day, the particular spot where the
+affair took place, and the usual indispensable
+compliments. When he takes his leave, after
+reflecting upon the subject from the point of view
+of other men, according to their respective interests,
+poor Bolkonski finds his battle much diminished
+in grandeur, and also a thing of the past.</p>
+
+<p>“Andé felt that his whole interest and joy over
+the victory was sinking away from him into the
+indifferent hands of the minister of war and the
+‘polite’ aide-de-camp. His whole train of thought
+had become modified; there seemed to be nothing
+left to him but a dim, distant recollection of
+the battle.”</p>
+
+<p>This is one of the phenomena most closely analyzed
+by Tolstoï—this variable influence exerted
+upon man by his surroundings. He likes to
+plunge his characters successively into different
+atmospheres,—that of the soldier’s life, the country,
+the fashionable world,—and then to show us
+the corresponding moral changes in them. When
+a man, after having for some time been under the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">236</span>
+empire of thoughts and passions previously foreign
+to him, returns into his former sphere, his
+views on all subjects change at once. Let us
+follow young Nikolai Rostof when he returns
+from the army to his home, and back again to his
+cavalry regiment. He is not the same person,
+but seems to be possessed of two souls. On the
+journey back and forth to Moscow, he gradually
+lays aside or resumes the one which his profession
+requires.</p>
+
+<p>It is useless to multiply examples of Tolstoï’s
+psychological curiosity, which is ever awake. It
+forms the principal feature of his genius. He
+loves to analyze the human puppet in every part.
+A stranger enters the room; the author studies
+his expression, voice, and step; he shows us the
+depths of the man’s soul. He explains a glance
+interchanged between two persons, in which he
+discovers friendship, fear, a feeling of superiority
+in one of them; in fact, a perfect knowledge of
+the mutual relations of these two men. This
+relentless physician constantly feels the pulse of
+every one who crosses his path, and coolly notes
+down the condition of his health, morally speaking.
+He proceeds in an objective manner, never
+directly describing a person except by making
+him act out his characteristics.</p>
+
+<p>This fundamental precept of classic art has
+been adopted by this realistic writer in his desire
+to imitate real life, in which we learn to comprehend
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">237</span>
+people by trivial indications and by points
+of resemblance, without any information as to
+their position or qualities. A good deal of art is
+required to discern clearly in this apparent chaos,
+and you have a large choice in the formidable
+accumulation of details. Observe how, in the
+course of a conversation or the narration of some
+episode, Tolstoï makes the actors visibly present
+before us by calling our attention to one of their
+gestures, or some little absurd, peculiar habit, or
+by interrupting their conversation to show us
+the direction of their glances. This occurs constantly.</p>
+
+<p>There is also a good deal of wit in this serious
+style; not the flashes and sallies of wit that we
+are familiar with, but of a fine, penetrating quality,
+with subtle and singularly apt comparisons.</p>
+
+
+<p class="center">
+<abbr title="Three">III.</abbr><br>
+</p>
+
+<p>Among the numerous characters in “War and
+Peace,” the action is concentrated upon two only—Prince
+André Bolkonski and Pierre Bezushof.
+These remarkable types of character are well worthy
+of attention. In them the double aspect of
+the Russian soul, as well as of the author’s own,
+is reflected with all its harassing thoughts and
+contradictions. Prince André is a nobleman of
+high rank, looking down from his lofty position
+upon the life he despises; proud, cold, sceptical,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">238</span>
+atheistic, although at times his mind is tortured
+with anxiety concerning great problems.
+Through him the author pronounces his verdicts
+upon the historical characters of the time, and
+discourses of the various statesmen and their
+intrigues.</p>
+
+<p>André is received at Speranski’s. We know
+the wonderful influence acquired by this man,
+who almost established a new constitution in
+Russia. Speranski’s most striking trait, in Prince
+André’s opinion, was his absolute, unshaken faith
+in the force and legitimacy of reason. This trait
+was what particularly attracted André to him,
+and explains the ascendency that Speranski acquired
+over his sovereign and his country.
+André, having been seriously wounded at Austerlitz,
+lies on the battle-field, his eyes raised to
+heaven. The dying man <span class="lock">exclaims:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh, could I now but say, ‘Lord, have pity
+upon me!’ But who will hear me? Shall I
+address an indefinite, unapproachable Power,
+which cannot itself be expressed in words, the
+great All or Nothing, or that image of God which
+is within the amulet that Marie gave me?…
+There is nothing certain except the nothingness
+of everything that I have any conception of, and
+the majesty of something beyond my conception!”</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Bezushof is more human in character,
+but his intelligence is of quite as mysterious a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">239</span>
+quality. He is a stout man, of lymphatic temperament,
+absent-minded; a man who blushes
+and weeps easily, susceptible to love, sympathetic
+with all suffering. He is a type of the kind-hearted
+Russian noblemen, nervous, deficient
+in will, a constant prey to the ideas and influence
+of others; but under his gross exterior lives a
+soul so subtle, so mystic, that it might well be
+that of a Hindu monk. One day, after Pierre
+had given his word of honor to his friend André
+that he would not go to a midnight revel of some
+of his young friends, he hesitated when the hour
+of meeting came.</p>
+
+<p>“‘After all,’ he thought, ‘all pledges of words
+are purely conventional, without definite meaning,
+when you reflect about it. I may die to-morrow,
+or some extraordinary event take place, in
+consequence of which the question of honor or
+dishonor will not even arise.’</p>
+
+<p>“Reflections of this sort—destructive of all
+resolve or method—often occupied Pierre’s
+mind….” Tolstoï has skilfully made use of
+this weak nature, which is as receptive of all
+impressions as a photographer’s plate, to give us
+a clear conception of the chief currents of ideas
+in Russia in the reign of Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr>; these successively
+influence this docile adept with all their
+changes. We see the liberal movement of the
+earlier years of that reign developed in the mind
+of Bezushof, as afterwards the mystic and theosophic
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">240</span>
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">maze of its later years. Pierre personifies</span><br>
+the sentiments of the people in 1812, the
+national revolt against foreign intervention, the
+gloomy madness of conquered Moscow, the burning
+of which has never been explained, nor is it
+known by whose hands it was kindled. This
+destruction of Moscow is the culminating point of
+the book. The scenes of tragic grandeur, simple
+in outline, sombre in color, are superior, I must
+acknowledge, to anything of the kind in literature.
+He pictures the entrance of the French
+into the Kremlin, the prisoners and lunatics
+roaming by night in freedom about the burning
+city, the roads filled with long columns of fugitives
+escaping from the flames, beside many other
+very striking episodes.</p>
+
+<p>Count Pierre remains in the burning city. He
+leaves his palace in plebeian guise, in a peasant’s
+costume, and wanders off like a person in a
+trance; he walks on straight before him, with a
+vague determination to kill Napoleon and be an
+expiatory victim and martyr for the people. “He
+was actuated by two equally strong impulses.
+The first was the desire to take his part of the
+self-sacrifice and universal suffering—a feeling
+which, at Borodino, had impelled him to throw
+himself into the thick of the battle, and which
+now drove him out of the house, away from the
+luxury and habitual refinements of his daily life,
+to sleep on the ground and eat the coarsest of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">241</span>
+food. The second came from that indefinable,
+exclusively Russian sentiment of contempt for
+everything conventional and artificial, for all
+that the majority of mankind esteem most desirable
+in the world. Pierre experienced this
+strange and intoxicating feeling on the day of
+his flight, when it had suddenly been impressed
+upon him that wealth, power, life itself, all that
+men seek to gain and preserve with such great
+effort, were absolutely worthless, or, at least, only
+worth the luxury of the voluntary sacrifice of
+these so-called blessings.” And through page
+after page the author unfolds that condition of
+mind that we discovered in his first writings,
+that hymn of the <dfn>Nirvâna</dfn>, just as it must be sung
+in Ceylon or Thibet.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre Bezushof is certainly the elder brother
+of those rich men and scholars who will some day
+“go among the people,” and willingly share their
+trials, carrying a dynamite bomb under their
+cloaks, as Pierre carries a poniard under his,
+moved by a double impulse: to share the common
+suffering, and enjoy the anticipated annihilation
+of themselves and others. Taken prisoner by
+the French, Bezushof meets, among his companions
+in misfortune, a poor soldier, a peasant, with an
+uncultivated mind, one, indeed, rather beneath
+the average. This man endures the hardships
+on the march, through these terrible days, with
+the humble resignation of a beast of burden. He
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">242</span>
+addresses Count Pierre with a cheerful smile, a
+few ingenuous words, popular proverbs with but
+a vague meaning, but expressing resignation, fraternity,
+and, above all, fatalism. One evening,
+when he can keep up with the others no longer,
+the soldiers shoot him under a pine-tree, on the
+snow, and the man receives death with the same
+indifferent tranquillity that he does everything
+else, like a wounded dog—in fact, like the brute.
+At this time a moral revolution takes place in
+Pierre’s soul. Here I do not expect to be intelligible
+to my fellow-countrymen; I only record the
+truth. The noble, cultured, learned Bezushof
+takes this primitive creature for his model; he
+has found at last his ideal of life in this man, who
+is “poor in spirit,” as well as a rational explanation
+of the moral world. The memory and name of
+Karatayef are a talisman to him; thenceforward
+he has but to think of the humble <dfn>muzhik</dfn>, to feel
+at peace, happy, ready to comprehend and to love
+the entire universe. The intellectual development
+of our philosopher is accomplished; he has
+reached the supreme avatar, mystic indifference.</p>
+
+<p>When Tolstoï related this episode, he was
+twenty-five years of age. Had he then a presentiment
+that he should ever find his Karatayef,
+that he would pass through the same crisis, experience
+the same discipline, and come out of it
+regenerated? We shall see later on how he had
+actually prophesied his own experience, and that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">243</span>
+from this time he, together with Dostoyevski, was
+destined to establish the ideal of nearly all contemporaneous
+literature in Russia. Karatayef’s
+name is legion; under different names and forms,
+this vegetative form of existence will be presented
+for our admiration. The perfection of human
+wisdom is the sanctification, deification of the
+brute element, which is kind and fraternal in a
+certain vague way. The root of the idea is
+<span class="lock">this:—</span></p>
+
+<p>The cultured man finds his reasoning faculties
+a hindrance to him, because useless, since they
+do not aid him to explain the object of his life;
+therefore it is his duty to make an effort to
+reject them, and descend from complications to
+simplicity, in life and thought. This is the aim
+and aspiration, under various forms, of Tolstoï’s
+whole work.</p>
+
+<p>He has written a series of articles on popular
+education. The leading idea is <span class="lock">this:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“I would teach the children of the common
+people to think and to write; but I ought rather
+to learn of them to write and to think. We seek
+our ideal beyond us, when it is in reality behind
+us. The development of man is not the means of
+realizing that idea of harmony which we bear
+within us, but, on the contrary, it is an obstacle in
+the way of its realization. A healthy child born
+into the world fully satisfies that ideal of truth,
+beauty, and goodness, which, day by day, he will
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">244</span>
+constantly continue to lose; he is, at birth, nearer
+to the unthinking beings, to the animal, plant,
+nature itself, which is the eternal type of truth,
+beauty, and goodness.”</p>
+
+<p>You can catch the thread of the idea, which is
+much like the contemplative mistiness of the
+ancient oriental asceticism. The Occident has not
+always been free from this evil; in its ascetic
+errors and deviations, it has ennobled the brute,
+and falsified the divine allegory of the “poor in
+spirit.” But the true source of this contagious
+spirit of renunciation is in Asia, in the doctrines
+of India, which spring up again, scarcely modified,
+in that frenzy which is precipitating a part of Russia
+toward an intellectual and moral abnegation,
+sometimes developing into a stupid quietism, and
+again to sublime self-devotion, like the doctrine of
+Buddha. All extremes meet.</p>
+
+<p>I will dwell no longer upon these scarcely intelligible
+abstractions, but would say a word concerning
+the female characters created by Tolstoï.
+They are very similar to Turgenef’s heroines,
+treated, perhaps, with more depth but less of tender
+grace. Two characters call for special attention.
+First, that of Marie Bolkonski, sister of
+André, the faithful daughter, devoted to the work
+of cheering the latter years of a morose old father;
+a pathetic figure, as pure in outline, under the firm
+touch of this artist, are the works of the old
+painters. Of quite another type is Natasha Rostof,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">245</span>
+the passionate, fascinating young girl, beloved
+by all, enslaving many hearts, bearing with her
+an exhalation of love through the whole thread of
+this severe work. She is sweet-tempered, straightforward,
+sincere, but the victim of her own extreme
+sensibility.</p>
+
+<p>Racine might have created a Marie Bolkonski;
+the Abbé Prévost would have preferred Natasha
+Rostof. Betrothed to Prince André, the only man
+she truly loves, Natasha yields to a fatal fancy for
+a miserable fellow. Disenchanted finally, she
+learns that André is wounded and dying, and
+goes to nurse him in a mute agony of despair. This
+part of the book presents the inexorableness of real
+life in its sudden calamities. After André’s death,
+Natasha marries Pierre, who has secretly loved
+her. French readers will be horror-stricken at
+these convulsions in the realms of passion; but it
+is like life, and Tolstoï sacrifices conventionality
+to the desire to paint it as it is. Do not imagine
+he sought a romantic conclusion. The young
+girl’s fickleness ends in conjugal felicity and the
+solid joys of home life. To these the writer devotes
+many pages, too many, perhaps, for our taste.
+He loves to dwell upon domestic life and joys;
+all other affections are in his eyes unwholesome
+exceptions—exciting his curiosity but not his
+sympathy. Thus he analyzes with a skilful pen,
+but with visible disgust, the flirtations and
+coquetry carried on in the <i lang="fr">salons</i> of St. Petersburg.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">246</span>
+Like Turgenef, Tolstoï does not hold the ladies of
+court circles in high estimation.</p>
+
+<p>He has added a long philosophical appendix to
+his romance, in which he brings up again, in a
+doctrinal form, the metaphysical questions which
+have tormented him the most, and once more
+repeats that he is a fatalist. This appendix has
+not been translated in the French edition, and this
+is well, for no reader would voluntarily undergo
+the useless fatigue of wading through it. Tolstoï
+is unwise in pressing ideas by abstract reasoning
+which he is so skilful in illustrating through his
+characters; he does not realize how much more
+clearly his ideas are expressed in their language
+and action than in any of his own arguments.</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Four">IV.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>“Anna Karenina,” which appeared periodically
+in a Moscow review, was the result of many years’
+study. The work was not published in full until
+1877, and its appearance was a literary event in
+Russia. I happened to be a witness of the curiosity
+and interest it excited there.</p>
+
+<p>The author intended this book to be a picture of
+the society of the present day, as “War and Peace”
+illustrated that of its time. The task offered the
+author more difficulties, for many reasons. In the
+first place, the present does not belong to us, as
+does the past; it deceives us, not having become
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">247</span>
+firmly established, so that we cannot get in all the
+necessary lines and figures to emphasize it, as we
+could a half-century later. Besides, the liberties
+that Tolstoï could take with deceased potentates
+and statesmen, as well as with ideas of the past, he
+could not allow himself with contemporary ideas
+and with living men. This second book on Russian
+life is not as much in the style of an epic,
+neither is it as strong or as complex, as the first;
+on the other hand, it is more agreeable to us, as
+having more unity of subject and more continuity
+of action; the principal character, too, is more
+perfectly developed. Although there are two
+suicides and a case of adultery, Tolstoï has in
+this work undertaken to write the most strictly
+moral book in existence, and he has succeeded.
+The main idea is duty accomplished uninfluenced
+by the passions. The author portrays an existence
+wholly outside of conventional lines of conduct;
+and, as a contrast, the history of a pure, legitimate
+affection, a happy home, and wholesome labor.
+He is too much of a realist, however, to picture
+an earthly paradise under any human conditions.</p>
+
+<p>Karenina, a statesman in the highest circles of
+St. Petersburg society, is a husband so greatly
+absorbed in the study of political economy as to
+be easily blinded and deceived in other matters.
+Vronski, the seducer of his wife’s affections, is a
+sincere character, devoted and self-sacrificing.
+Anna is a very charming woman, tender and faithful
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">248</span>
+where her affections are enlisted. Tolstoï has
+recourse neither to hysteria nor any nervous ailment
+whatever, to excuse her fall. He is sagacious
+enough to know that every one’s feelings are
+regulated by his or her peculiar organism; that
+conscience exerts contrary influences, and that it
+really exists, because it speaks and commands.
+Take, for example, the description of Anna’s first
+anxieties, during the night-journey between Moscow
+and St. Petersburg, when she first comprehends
+the state of her heart. These pages you
+can never forget. She discovers Vronski in the
+train, knows that he is following her, then listens
+to his avowal of love. The intoxicating poison
+steals into every vein, her will is no longer her
+own, the dream has begun.</p>
+
+<p>The writer takes advantage of every outward
+circumstance to illustrate and color this dream in
+his inimitable manner, according to his usual
+method. He describes the poor woman making
+an effort to fix her thoughts upon an English
+novel, the snow and hail rattling against the window-panes;
+then the sketches of fellow-travellers,
+the various sounds and rushing of the train
+through the night,—all assume a new and fantastic
+meaning, as accompaniments of the agony of love
+and terror which are struggling within that
+woman’s soul. When, the next morning, Anna
+leaves the train and steps upon the platform where
+her husband is awaiting her, she says to herself:
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">249</span>
+“Good heavens! how much longer his ears have
+grown!” This exclamation reveals to us the
+change that has taken place within her. How
+well the author knows how to explain a whole situation
+with a single phrase!</p>
+
+<p>From the first flutter of fear to the last contortions
+of despair, which lead the unhappy woman
+to suicide, the novelist exposes her inmost heart,
+and notes each palpitation. There is no necessity
+for any tragic complication to bring about the
+catastrophe. Anna has given up everything to
+follow her lover; she has placed herself in such a
+fatal predicament that life becomes impossible,
+which is sufficient to explain her resolve.</p>
+
+<p>In contrast with this wrecked life, the innocent
+affection of Kitty and Levin continues its smooth
+course. First, it is a sweet idyl, drawn with infinite
+grace; then the home, the birth of children,
+bringing additional joys and cares. This is the
+highly moral and dull theme of the English novel,
+one may say. It is similar, and yet not the same.
+The British tale-writer is almost always something
+of a preacher; you feel that he judges human
+actions according to some preconceived rule, from
+the point of view of the Established Church or of
+puritanic ideas. But Tolstoï is entirely free from
+all prejudices. I might almost say he has little
+anxiety as to questions of morality; he constructs
+his edifices according to his own idea of the best
+method; the moral lesson springs only from facts
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">250</span>
+and results, both bitter and wholesome. This is
+no book for the youth of twenty, nor for a lady’s
+boudoir,—a book containing no charming illusions;
+but a man in full maturity relates what experience
+has taught him, for the benefit of mankind.</p>
+
+<p>These volumes present an exception in regard
+to what is thought to guarantee the permanent
+success of a literary work. They will be read, and
+then reflected upon; we shall apply the observations
+to our own souls and to others’ (the most unimportant
+as well as the most general ones); then
+we shall go back to his model, which will invariably
+verify them. Years may pass after the first
+reading, notes accumulate on the margins of the
+leaves, as in many masterpieces of the classics
+you find at the bottom of the pages the explanatory
+remarks of generations of commentators.
+In this case, they need merely to say: “<cite>Confer
+vitam</cite>.”</p>
+
+<p>Tolstoï’s style is in this work the same as in
+“War and Peace.” He is like a scientific engineer
+who visits some great establishment where
+machines are manufactured. He studies the
+mechanism of every engine, examines the most
+trifling parts, measures the degree of steam-pressure,
+tries the balance-valves, studies the action of
+the pistons and gearing; he seeks eagerly to discover
+the central motive power, the invisible
+reservoir of force. While he is experimenting
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">251</span>
+with the machinery, we, outside spectators, see
+only the results of all this labor, the manufactures
+of delicate fabrics with infinite variety of designs—life
+itself.</p>
+
+<p>Tolstoï shows the same qualities and defects as
+in “War and Peace,” and gives the same tediously
+long descriptions. The parts devoted to the pictures
+of country life and rural occupations will
+seem, in France, a little dull. Unfortunately, in
+one sort of realistic description, we must know the
+locality to appreciate the artist’s effort and the
+resemblance of the picture. The description, for
+instance, of the races at Tsarskoe-Selo, so appreciated
+by Russian readers, could not have any
+more interest for us than the brilliant account of
+<i lang="fr">le grand prix de Paris</i> in “Nana” would have for
+the Muscovites; on the other hand, the portraits
+of Oblonski and Karenina will always retain their
+power, because they express human sentiments
+common to all countries and all times. I will
+carry the analysis of these novels no farther, for
+they will hardly admit of it; we could scarcely
+choose a path in this labyrinth for the reader;
+we must leave him the pleasure of losing himself
+in it.</p>
+
+<p>Tolstoï belongs to the “school of nature,” if
+extreme realism of description entitles him to
+that honor. He carries this tendency sometimes
+to great excess, even to coarseness. I might
+quote many examples of this kind, but they
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">252</span>
+would hardly bear translation, and might, occasionally,
+be almost revolting to us. He is also
+an <em>impressionist</em>, for his phrases often bring to us
+every material sensation produced by a sight,
+object, or sound.</p>
+
+<p>Finally, his being both pessimist and Nihilist
+gives him, as a narrator, almost the impassibility
+of a stoic. Persuaded of the vanity of all human
+action, he can maintain his own coolness in all his
+delineations, his condition resembling that of a
+man awaking from sleep at dawn, in the middle
+of a ball-room, who looks upon the whirling
+dancers around him as lunatics; or the man
+who, having eaten to repletion, enters a hall
+where people are dining, and upon whom the
+mechanical movements of the mouths and forks
+make a grotesque impression. In short, a writer
+who is a pessimist must assume the superiority of
+an inexorable judge over the characters he has
+created. Tolstoï employs all these methods,
+which he carries as far as any of our novelists
+do. Why is it, then, that he produces such a
+different impression upon the reader? The
+question as to how far he is both realist and
+impressionist in comparison with our authors is
+the important one. The whole secret is a question
+of degree. The truth is that what others
+have sought he has found and adopted. He
+leaves a large space for trifling details, because
+life is made up of them, and life is his study; but
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">253</span>
+as he never attacks subjects trifling in themselves,
+he after all gives to trifles only the secondary
+place which they hold in everything that
+demands our attention.</p>
+
+<p>As an <em>impressionist</em> he well knows how to produce
+certain rapid and subtle sensations, while he
+is never obscene or unhealthy in tone. “War
+and Peace” is put into the hands of all young
+girls in Russia. “Anna Karenina,” which touches
+upon a perilous subject, is considered a manual of
+morals.</p>
+
+<p>As to Tolstoï’s impassibility, though his coldness
+almost approaches irony, we feel, behind and
+within the man, the shadow of the Infinite, and
+bow before his right to criticise his fellow-man.
+Moreover, unlike our own authors, he is never
+preoccupied with himself or the effect he wishes to
+produce. He is more logical; he sacrifices style
+that he himself may be eclipsed, put aside entirely
+in his work. In his earlier years he was more solicitous
+in regard to his style; but of late he has
+quite renounced this seductive temptation. We
+need not expect of him the beautiful, flowing language
+of Turgenef. An appropriate and clear form
+of expression of his ideas is all we shall have. His
+phraseology is diffuse, sometimes fatiguing from
+too much repetition; he makes use of a great
+many adjectives, of all he needs to add the smallest
+touches of color to a portrait; while incidents
+rapidly accumulate, from the inexhaustible fund
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">254</span>
+of thought in the farthest recesses of his mind.
+From our point of view, this absence of style is
+an unpardonable defect; but to me it appears a
+necessary consequence of realism which does
+away with all conventionality. If style is a conventionality,
+might it not warp our judgment of
+facts presented to us? We must acknowledge
+that this contempt of style, if not to our taste,
+contributes to the impression of sincerity that
+we receive. Tolstoï, in Pascal’s way, “has
+not tried to show to us himself, but our own
+selves; we find in ourselves the truths presented,
+which before were utterly unknown to us, as in
+ourselves; this attracts us strongly to him who
+has enlightened us.”</p>
+
+<p>There is still another difference between Tolstoï’s
+realism and ours: he applies his, by preference,
+to the study of characters difficult to deal
+with, those made more inaccessible to the observer
+by the refinements of education and the
+mask of social conventionalities. This struggle
+between the painter and his model is deeply interesting
+to me and to many others.</p>
+
+<p>Count Tolstoï would no doubt commiserate us if
+he found us occupied in discussing his works; for
+the future he wishes to be only a philosopher and
+reformer. Let us, then, return to his philosophy.
+I have said already that the composition of
+“Anna Karenina,” written at long intervals,
+occupied many years of the author’s life, the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">255</span>
+moral fluctuations of which are reflected in the
+character of Constantin Levin, the child and
+confidant of his soul. This new incarnation of
+Bezushof, in “War and Peace,” is the usual hero
+of modern romance in Russia, the favorite type
+with Turgenef and with all the young girls. He
+is a country gentleman, intelligent, educated,
+though not brilliant, a speculative dreamer, fond
+of rural life, and interested in all the social questions
+and difficulties arising from it. Levin studies
+these questions, and takes his part in all the
+liberal emotions his country has indulged in for
+the last twenty years. Of course, his illusions
+and chimeras vanish, one after another, and his
+Nihilism triumphs bitterly over their ruins. His
+Nihilism is not of so severe a kind as that of
+Pierre Bezushof and Prince André. He drops
+the most cruel problems and takes up questions
+of political economy. A calm and laborious
+country life, with family joys and cares, has
+strangled the serpent. Years pass, and the tale
+goes on toward its close.</p>
+
+<p>But suddenly, through several moral shocks in
+his experience, Levin awakes from his religious
+indifference, and is tormented by doubts. He
+becomes overwhelmed with despair, when the
+<dfn>muzhik</dfn> appears who proves his saviour and instructor.
+His mind becomes clear through some
+of the aphorisms uttered by this wise peasant.
+He declares that “every evil comes from the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">256</span>
+folly, the wickedness of reason. We have only
+to love and believe, and there is no further difficulty.”
+Thus ends the long intellectual drama, in
+a ray of mystic happiness, a hymn of joy, proclaiming
+the bankruptcy and the downfall of
+reason.</p>
+
+<p>Reason has but a narrow sphere of its own, is
+only useful in a limited horizon, as the rag-picker’s
+lantern is merely of use to light up the few
+feet of space immediately around him, the heap
+of rubbish upon which he depends for subsistence.
+What folly it would be for the poor man to turn
+those feeble rays toward the starry heavens, seeking
+to penetrate the inscrutable mysteries of those
+fathomless spaces!</p>
+
+
+<h4>
+<abbr title="Five">V.</abbr>
+</h4>
+
+<p>The consolation of the doctrines of Quietism,
+the final apotheosis of Tolstoï’s entire literary
+work, was yet in reserve for him, revealed
+through an humble apostle of these doctrines.
+He too was destined to find his Karatayef.</p>
+
+<p>After the appearance of “Anna Karenina,” a
+new production from this author was impatiently
+anticipated. He undertook a sequel to “War
+and Peace,” and published the first three chapters
+of the work, which promised to be quite equal to
+his preceding novels; but he soon abandoned the
+undertaking. Only a few stories for children
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">257</span>
+now appeared, some of which were exquisitely
+written. In them, however, you could but feel
+that the soul of the author had already soared
+above terrestrial aims. At last, the report spread
+that the novelist had renounced his art, even
+wishing no allusion made to his former works, as
+belonging to the vanities of the age, and had
+given himself up to the care of his soul and the
+contemplation of religious themes. Count Tolstoï
+had met with Sutayef, the sectary of Tver.
+I will not here dwell upon this original character—a
+gentle idealist, one among the many peasants
+who preached among the Russian people the
+gospel of the Communists. The teachings and
+example of this man exerted a strong influence
+upon Tolstoï, according to his own statement,
+and caused him to decide what his true vocation
+was.</p>
+
+<p>We could have no excuse for intruding upon
+the domain of conscience, had not the author, now
+a theologian, invited us so to do, by publishing
+his late works, “My Confession,” “My Religion,”
+and “A Commentary on the Gospel.” Although,
+in reality, the press-censorship has never authorized
+the publication of these books, there are
+several hundred autographic copies of them in
+circulation, spread among university students,
+women, and even among the common people, and
+eagerly devoured by them. This shows how the
+Russian soul hungers for spiritual food. As Tolstoï
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">258</span>
+has expressed the desire that his work should
+be translated into French, we have every right to
+criticise it. But I will not abuse the privilege.
+The only books which can interest us as an explanation
+of his mental state are the first two.</p>
+
+<p>Even “My Confession” is nothing new to me.
+In his “Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth” we
+have the same revelation in advance, as well as
+from the lips of Bezushof and Levin. This is,
+however, a new and eloquent variation in the
+same theme, the same wail of anguish from the
+depths of a human soul. I will give a <span class="lock">quotation:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“I became sceptical quite early in life. For a
+time I was absorbed, like every one else, in the
+vanities of life. I wrote books, teaching, as others
+did, what I knew nothing of myself. Then I
+became thirsty for more knowledge. The study
+of humanity furnished no response to the constant,
+sole question of any importance to me—‘What
+is the object of my existence?’ Science
+responded by teaching me other things which I
+was not anxious to learn. I could but join in the
+cry of the preacher, ‘All is vanity!’ I would
+gladly have taken my life. Finally I determined
+to study the lives of the great majority of men
+who have none of our anxieties—those classes
+which you might say are superior to abstract
+speculations of the mind, but that labor and endure,
+and yet live tranquil lives and seem to have
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">259</span>
+no doubts as to the end and aim of life. Then I
+understood that, to live as they did, we must go
+back to our primitive faith. But the corrupt
+teachings which the church distributed among
+the lowly could not satisfy my reason; then I
+made a closer study of those teachings, in order
+to distinguish superstition from truth.”</p>
+
+<p>The result of this study is the doctrine brought
+forth under the title of “My Religion.” This
+religion is precisely the same as that of Sutayef,
+but explained with the aid of the theological and
+scientific knowledge of a cultivated scholar. It
+is, however, none the clearer for that. The
+gospel is subjected to the broadest rationalistic
+interpretation. In fact, Tolstoï’s interpretation
+of Christ’s doctrine of life is the same as the
+Sadducees’—that is, of life considered in a collective
+sense. He denies that the gospel makes
+any allusion to a resurrection of the body, or to
+an individual existence of the soul. In this unconscious
+Pantheism, an attempt at a conciliation
+between Christianity and Buddhism, life is considered
+as an indivisible entirety, as one individual
+soul of the universe, of which we are but
+ephemeral particles. One thing only is of consequence—morality;
+which is all contained in the
+precepts of the gospel, “Be ye perfect…. Judge
+not…. Thou shalt not kill, …” etc. Therefore
+there must be no tribunals, no armies, no
+prisons, no right of retaliation, either public or
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">260</span>
+private, no wars, no trials. The universal law of
+the world is the struggle for existence; the law
+of Christ is the sacrifice of one’s life for others.
+Neither Turkey nor Germany will attack us, if
+we are true Christians, if we study their advantage.
+Happiness, the supreme end of a life of
+morality, is possible only in the union of all men
+in believing the doctrine of Jesus Christ—that is,
+in Tolstoï’s version of it, not in that of the
+church; in the return to a natural mode of life,
+to communism, giving up cities and all business,
+as incompatible with these doctrines, and because
+of the difficulty of their application in such a life.
+To support his statements, the writer presents to
+us, with rare eloquence and prophetic vividness, a
+picture of a life of worldliness from birth to death.
+This life is more terrible in his eyes than that of
+the Christian martyrs.</p>
+
+<p>The apostle of the new faith spares not the
+established church; but, after relating his vain
+search for comfort in the so-called true orthodoxy,
+violently attacks this church from Sutayef’s
+point of view. He declares that she substitutes
+rites and formalities for the true spirit of the
+gospel; that she issues catechisms filled with
+false doctrines; that since the time of Constantine
+she has ruined herself by deviating from the
+law of God to follow that of the age; that she
+has now, in fact, become pagan. Finally, and
+this is the key-note and the most delicate point of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">261</span>
+all, no attention should be paid to the commands
+and prohibitions of any temporal power as long
+as it ignores the truth. Here I will quote an
+incident illustrative of this <span class="lock">idea:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“Passing recently through the Borovitzki gate
+at Moscow, I saw an aged beggar seated in the
+archway, who was a cripple and had his head
+bound with a bandage. I drew out my purse to
+give him alms. Just then a fine-looking young
+grenadier came running down towards us from
+the Kremlin. At sight of him, the beggar rose
+terrified, and ran limping away until he reached
+the foot of the hill into the Alexander garden.
+The grenadier pursued him a short distance, calling
+after him with abusive epithets, because he had
+been forbidden to sit in the archway. I waited
+for the soldier, and then asked him if he could
+read.—‘Yes,’ he replied: ‘why do you ask?’—‘Have
+you read the Gospel?’—‘Yes.’—‘Have
+you read the passage in regard to giving bread to
+the hungry?’—I quoted the whole passage. He
+knew it, and listened attentively, seeming somewhat
+confused. Two persons, passing by, stopped
+to listen. Evidently, the grenadier was ill at ease,
+as he could not reconcile the having done a wrong
+act, while strictly fulfilling his duty. He hesitated
+for a reply. Suddenly his eyes lighted up
+intelligently, and, turning toward me, he said:
+‘May I ask you if you have read the military
+regulations?’ I acknowledged that I had not.—‘Then
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">262</span>
+you have nothing to say,’ replied the
+grenadier, nodding his head triumphantly, as he
+walked slowly away.”</p>
+
+<p>I have, perhaps, said enough respecting “My
+Religion”; but must give a literal translation of
+a few lines which show the superb self-confidence
+always latent in the heart of every <span class="lock">reformer:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“Everything confirmed the truth of the sense
+in which the doctrine of Christ now appeared to
+me. But for a long time I could not take in the
+strange thought that, after the Christian faith had
+been accepted by so many thousands of men for
+eighteen centuries, and so many had consecrated
+their lives to the study of that faith, it should be
+given to me to discover the law of Christ, as an
+entirely new thing. But, strange as it was, it was
+indeed a fact.”</p>
+
+<p>We can now judge what his “Commentary on
+the Gospel” would be. God forbid that I should
+disturb the new convert’s tranquillity! Fortunately,
+that would be impossible, however. Tolstoï
+joyously affirms, and with perfect sincerity, that
+his soul has at last found repose, as well as the
+true object of his life and the rock of his faith.
+He invites us to follow him, but I fear the hardened
+sceptics of Western Europe will refuse to
+enter into any discussion with him upon the new
+religion, which seems, moreover, almost daily to
+undergo modifications, according to its founder’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">263</span>
+new flights of thought. It eliminates gradually,
+more and more, the doctrine of a Divine Providence
+overruling all, and concentrates all duty,
+hope, and moral activity upon a single object,
+the reform of all social evils through Communism.</p>
+
+<p>This idea exclusively inspires the last treatise
+of Tolstoï which I read; it is entitled: “What,
+then, must be done?” This title is significant
+enough, and has been used many times in Russia
+since the famous novel by Tchernishevski was
+written. It expresses the anxious longing of all
+these men, and there is something touchingly
+pathetic in its ingenuousness. What, then, must
+be done? First of all, quit the populous cities and
+towns, and disband the work-people in the factories;
+return to country life and till the ground,
+each man providing for his own personal necessities.
+The author first draws a picture of wretchedness
+in a large capital, as he himself studied it
+in Moscow. Here his admirable powers of
+description reappear, together with the habit,
+peculiar to himself, of looking within his own
+soul, to discover and expose the little weaknesses
+and base qualities common to all of us; and he
+takes the same pleasure in the observation and
+denunciation of his own as men generally do in
+criticising those of others. He gives us all a side
+thrust when he says of <span class="lock">himself:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“I gave three roubles to that poor creature;
+and, beside the pleasure of feeling that I had done
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">264</span>
+a kind deed, I had the additional one of knowing
+that other people saw me do it….”</p>
+
+<p>The second part of the treatise is devoted to
+theory. We cannot relieve the poor and unfortunate
+for many reasons; First, in cities poverty
+must exist, because an overplus of workmen are
+attracted to them; secondly, our class gives them
+the example of idleness and of superfluous expenditure;
+thirdly, we do not live according to the
+doctrine of Christ: charity is not what is wanted,
+but an equal division of property in brotherly
+love. Let him who has two cloaks give to him
+who has none. Sutayef carries out this theory.</p>
+
+<p>Those who draw salaries are in a state of slavery,
+and an aggravated form of it; and the effect of
+the modern system of credit continues this slavery
+into their future. The alms we give are only an
+obligation we owe to the peasants whom we have
+induced to come and work in our cities to supply
+us with our luxuries. The author concludes by
+giving as the only remedy, a return to rural life,
+which will guarantee to every laborer all that is
+necessary to support life.</p>
+
+<p>He does not see that this principle involves,
+necessarily and logically, a return to an animal
+state of existence, a general struggle for shelter
+and food, instead of a methodical system of labor;
+and that in such a company there must be both
+wolves and lambs. He sees but one side of the
+question, the side of justice; he loses sight of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">265</span>
+intellectual side, the necessity for mental development,
+which involves a division of labor.</p>
+
+<p>All this has no great attraction for us. We can
+obtain no original ideas from this apostle’s revelation;
+only the first lispings of rationalism in the
+religious portion, and in the social the doctrine of
+Communism; only the old dream of the millennium,
+the old theme, ever renewed since the Middle
+Ages, by the Vaudois, the Lollards and Anabaptists.
+Happy Russia! to her these beautiful
+chimeras are still new! Western Europe is astonished
+only, to meet them again in the writings of
+such a great author and such an unusually keen
+observer of human nature.</p>
+
+<p>But would not the condition of this man’s soul
+be the result of the natural evolution of his successive
+experiences? First, a pantheist, then nihilist,
+pessimist, and mystic. I have heard that Leo
+Nikolaievitch has defended himself energetically
+against being thought to have assumed the title of
+a mystic; he feels its danger, and does not think
+it applicable to one who believes that the heavenly
+kingdom is transferred to earth. Our language
+furnishes us no other word to express his condition;
+may he pardon us what seems to us the
+truth. I know that he would prefer to have me
+praise his doctrines and decry his novels. This I
+cannot do. I am so enraptured with the novels
+that I can only feel that the doctrines but deprive
+me of masterpieces which might have given me
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">266</span>
+additional enjoyment in the future. I have been
+lavish of praise, but only because of my thorough
+and sincere appreciation of the books. Now, however,
+that the author has reached a state of perfect
+happiness, he needs no more praise, and must be
+quite indifferent to criticism.</p>
+
+<p>We must, at least, recognize in Tolstoï one of
+those rare reformers whose actions conform to
+their precepts. I am assured that he exerts
+around him a most salutary influence, and has
+actually returned to the life of the primitive
+Christians. He daily receives letters from strangers,
+revenue officers, dishonest clerks, publicans
+of every type, who put into his hands the sums
+they have dishonestly acquired; young men asking
+his advice as well as fallen women who need
+counsel. He is settled in the country, gives
+away his wealth, lives and labors with his peasant
+neighbors. He draws water, works in the
+fields, and sometimes makes his own boots. He
+does not wish his novels alluded to. I have seen
+a picture of him in a peasant’s costume working
+with a shoemaker’s awl in his hand. Should not
+this creator of masterpieces feel that the pen is
+the only tool he should wield? If the inspiration
+of great thoughts is a gift we have received from
+Heaven as a consolation for our fellow-beings, it
+seems to me an act of impiety to throw away this
+talent. The human soul is the author’s field of
+action, which he is bound to cultivate and fertilize.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">267</span>
+From Paris, where Tolstoï is so highly appreciated,
+comes back to him again the touching, last
+request of his dying friend which to me was
+inspired by a higher religious sentiment than that
+of <span class="lock">Sutayef:—</span></p>
+
+<p>“This gift comes to you from whence come all
+our gifts. Return to your literary labors, great
+author of our beloved Russia!”</p>
+
+<p>I shall not pretend to draw any definite or
+elaborate conclusions from these initiatory explorations
+into Russian literature. To make them
+complete, we should study the less prominent
+writers, who have a right to bear their testimony
+as to the actual condition of the nation. If,
+moreover, the writer of this book has succeeded
+in presenting his own ideas clearly, the reader
+should draw his own conclusions from the perusal
+of it; if the author has failed, any added defence
+of his ideas would be superfluous, and have little
+interest or value for the reader.</p>
+
+<p>We have witnessed the at first artificial
+growth of this literature, for a long time subjected
+to foreign influence; a weak and servile
+type of literature, giving us no enlightenment
+whatever as to the actual interior condition of
+its own country, which it voluntarily ignored.
+Again, when turning to its natal soil to seek its
+objects of study it has become vigorous. Realism
+is the proper and perfect instrument which it has
+employed, applied with equal success to material
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">268</span>
+and spiritual life. Although this realism may
+occasionally lack method and taste, and is at the
+same time both diffuse and subtile, it is invariably
+natural and sincere, ennobled by moral
+sentiments, aspirations toward the Divine, and
+sympathy for humanity. Not one of these novelists
+aims merely at literary fame, but all are
+governed by a love of truth as well as of justice,—a
+combination of great importance, and well
+worth our serious reflection, betraying and explaining
+to us, moreover, the philosophical conceptions
+of this race.</p>
+
+<p>The Russians seek religious truth because they
+find the formulas of their doctrines insufficient for
+them, and the negative arguments which satisfy
+us would be entirely opposed to all their instincts.
+Their religious doubts govern, cause,
+and characterize all their social and political
+questions and difficulties. The Slav race, under
+the guise of its apparent orthodoxy, has not yet
+found its true path, but seeks it still in every
+grade of society. The formula they are looking
+forward to must comprise and answer to their
+double ideal of truth and justice. Moreover, the
+people still feel the influence of the old Aryan
+spirit; the cultivated classes also feel that of
+the teachings of the contemporaneous sciences;
+hence the resurrection of Buddhism which we
+now witness in Russia; for I cannot otherwise
+qualify these tendencies. We see in them the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">269</span>
+condition of the ancient Hindus vacillating between
+an extremely high morality and Nihilism,
+or a metaphysical Pantheism.</p>
+
+<p>The spirit of Buddhism in its great efforts
+toward the extension of evangelical charity has
+penetrated the Russian character, which naturally
+has such intense sympathy for human nature, for
+the humblest creatures, for the forsaken and unfortunate.
+This spirit decries reason and elevates
+the brute, and inspires the deepest compassion in
+the heart. Moreover, this simple love of the
+neighbor and infinite tenderness for the suffering
+gives a peculiarly pathetic quality to their literary
+works. The initiators of this movement, after
+having written for the benefit of their peers and the
+cultivated classes, are strongly drawn toward the
+people. Gogol with his bitter irony devoted himself
+to the study of suffering humanity. Turgenef
+pictured it from his own artistic standpoint rather
+than from that of an apostle. Tolstoï, his sceptical
+investigations being over, has become the most
+determined of the apostles of the unfortunate.</p>
+
+<p>But beyond these mental tortures, beneath the
+extreme Nihilism of a Tolstoï and the intellectual
+morbidness of a Dostoyevski, we feel that there is
+a rich fund of vitality, a fountain of truth and
+justice, which will surely triumph in the future.</p>
+
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="footnote"><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[L]</a>
+ By Alfred de Vigny, author of “Cinque-Mars.”</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">271</span>
+<h3 class="ls">
+INDEX.
+</h3>
+</div>
+<hr class="short">
+
+<ul>
+<li class="ifrst">Alexander <abbr title="One">I.</abbr>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Anna Karenina</cite>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Annals of a Sportsman</cite>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Ascension of Christ, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Assia</cite>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst">Bielinski, <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Bohemians, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Book of the Dove</cite>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Boris Godunof</cite>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Buried Alive</cite>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst">Catherine <abbr title="Two">II.</abbr>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth</cite>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Commentary on the Gospel, A</cite>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Cossacks, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Crime and Punishment</cite>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst"><cite>Dead Souls</cite>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Degraded and Insulted, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Demon, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Derzhavin, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Despair</cite>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Dimitri Roudine</cite>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Domostroi</cite>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dostoyevski, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst"><cite>Evenings at a Farm Near Dikanka</cite>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst"><cite>Fathers and Sons</cite>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Freemasonry, <a href="#Page_41">41</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">French Revolution, The, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst">Gogol, <a href="#Page_56">56</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gortchakof, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gregory of Tours, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Griboyedof, <a href="#Page_51">51</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Grigorovitch, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst"><cite>Idiot, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ivan the Terrible, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ivan Federof, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ivanof, <a href="#Page_73">73</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ivan Sergievitch, <a href="#Page_96">96</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst"><cite>Karamazof Brothers, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Karamzin, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kheraskof, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kiev, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Krylof, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kutuzof, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst"><cite>Lear of the Steppe, A</cite>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lermontof, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Letters to My Friends</cite>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Living Relics, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lomonosof, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Loris Melikof, <a href="#Page_206">206</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst"><cite>Manteau, Le</cite>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Maximus, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Memoirs of a Nihilist</cite>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Muscovitism, <a href="#Page_41">41</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>My Confession</cite>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>My Religion</cite>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst">Nekrasof, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Nest of Nobles</cite>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Nestor, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Note-book of an Author</cite>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">272</span>Novikof, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>On the Eve</cite>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Onyegin</cite>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst"><cite>Pauvre Lise, La</cite>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Peter the Great, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Petrachevski, <a href="#Page_155">155</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Pétriade, La</cite>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Poltava, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Poor People</cite>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Possédés, Les</cite>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Prisoner of the Caucasus, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pushkin, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst"><cite>Revizor, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Russian Drama, The, <a href="#Page_70">70</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst">Savonarola, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Sebastopol in December, in May, and in August</cite>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Skobelef, <a href="#Page_138">138</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Slavophile, <a href="#Page_90">90</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Slavophilism, <a href="#Page_41">41</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Smoke</cite>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Song of Igor, <a href="#Page_35">35</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">“Souls,” <a href="#Page_75">75</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Speranski, <a href="#Page_41">41</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Spring Floods</cite>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sutayef, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst"><cite>Taras Bulba</cite>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Tchadayef, <a href="#Page_53">53</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Tchinovnism, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Tchitchikof</cite>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Tolstoï, <a href="#Page_215">215</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><cite>Trois Morts</cite>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Tsarskoe-Selo, Lyceum of, <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Turgenef, <a href="#Page_96">96</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Tutschef, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst">Ukraine, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst"><cite>Virgin Soil</cite>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Von Vizin, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst"><cite>War and Peace</cite>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a></li>
+
+
+<li class="ifrst">Zaporovian League, <a href="#Page_59">59</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Zhukovski, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></li>
+</ul>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<h2 style="display: none; visibility: hidden;">Advertisements</h2>
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">273</span>
+<h3>
+A LIST OF ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS
+FROM THE RUSSIAN.
+</h3>
+</div>
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p class="unindent">DOSTOYEVSKI:—</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Buried Alive; Ten Years Penal Servitude in Siberia. Trans. from the
+Russian by Marie von Thilo; 8vo, London, 1881.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 12mo, New York, 1881.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Crime and Punishment; a Russian Realistic Novel; 8vo, London, 1886.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 12mo, New York, 1886.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Injury and Insult; trans. by F. Whishaw; 8vo, London, 1886.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="p2 unindent">GOGOL:—</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Cossack Tales, trans. by Geo. Tolstoy; 8vo, London, 1860.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">St. John’s Eve, and Other Stories; from the Russian, by Isabel F. Hapgood;
+12mo, New York, 1886. Selected from “Evenings at the
+Farm” and “St. Petersburg Stories.”</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><i>Contents</i>:—St. John’s Eve, related by the sacristan of the Dikanka
+Church.—Old-Fashioned Farmers.—The Tale of How Ivan
+Ivanovitch Quarrelled with Ivan Nikiforovitch.—The Portrait.—The
+Cloak.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Taras Bulbá; a Tale of the Cossacks; from the Russian, by Isabel F.
+Hapgood; 12mo, New York, 1886.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Tchitchikoff’s Journeys, or Dead Souls; from the Russian, by Isabel F.
+Hapgood; 2 vols., 12mo, New York, 1886.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="p2 unindent">PUSHKIN:—</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Captain’s Daughter; from the Russian; 4to, New York, 1884.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Eugene Onéguine, a romance of Russian life, in verse; trans, by Lt.-Col.
+Spalding; 8vo, London and New York, 1881.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Marie, a Story of Russian Love; from the Russian, by Marie H. de
+Zielinska; sq. 16mo, Chicago, 1876 (also 1880). (Same as the “Captain’s
+Daughter.”)</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Russian Romance; trans. by Mrs. J. B. Telfer; 8vo, London, 1875.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 8vo, London, 1880.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><i>Contents</i>:—The Captain’s Daughter.—The Lady-Rustic.—The
+Pistol-Shot.—The Snow-Storm.—The Undertaker.—The Station-Master.—The
+Moor of Peter the Great.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="p2 unindent"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">274</span>TOLSTOÏ:—</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Anna Karenina; from the Russian, by N. H. Dole; 12mo, New York,
+1886.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, London, 1886.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Childhood, Boyhood, Youth: Reminiscences; from the Russian, by Isabel
+F. Hapgood; 12mo, New York, 1886. (An earlier translation seems
+to have been published in London, in 1862, under the title “Childhood
+and Youth.”)</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Christ’s Christianity; trans. from the Russian; 8vo, London, 1885.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><i>Contents</i>:—How I Came to Believe.—What I Believe.—The
+Spirit of Christ’s Teaching.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">The Cossacks; from the Russian, by Eugene Schuyler; 2 vols., 8vo,
+London, 1878.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 16mo, New York, 1878.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">My Religion; trans. from the French by W. Huntington Smith; 12mo,
+New York, 1885. (The same as his “What I Believe.”)</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">War and Peace; from the French, by Clara Bell; 3 vols., 8vo, London,
+1886.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 6 vols., 16mo, New York, 1886.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">What I Believe; from the Russian, by Constantine Popoff; 8vo, London,
+1885.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 12mo, New York, 1886. (A translation from the French was
+published under the title “My Religion.”)</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">What People Live By; trans. by Aline Delano; 8vo, Boston, 1887. (A
+story of peasant life.)</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="p2 unindent">TURGENEF:—</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Annals of a Sportsman; from the authorized French translation, by
+Franklin P. Abbott; 16mo, New York, 1885.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Annouchka: a Tale; from the French of the author’s own translation,
+by Franklin P. Abbott; 16mo, Boston, 1884.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Daughter of Russia; trans. by G. W. Scott; 4to, New York, 1882.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Dimitri Roudine; trans. from the French and German versions for
+“Every Saturday”; 16mo, New York, 1873.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 12mo, London, 1883.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Fathers and Sons; from the Russian, by Eugene Schuyler; 16mo, New
+York, 1867 and 1883.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, London, 1883.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">First Love, and Punin and Baburin; trans. from the Russian, by W.
+Ralston; 12mo, London, 1884.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Liza; trans. by W. R. S. Ralston; 2 vols., 8vo, London, 1869.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, New York, 1872.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, London, 1884.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>(The title of the original and of the French translation is “A Nest
+of Nobles.”)</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">275</span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Mumu, and The Diary of a Superfluous Man; from the Russian, by
+Henry Gersoni; 12mo, New York, 1884.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">On the Eve; from the Russian, by C. E. Turner; 12mo, London, 1871.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, American ed., with amendments; 16mo, New York, 1873.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Poems in Prose; trans. by Lilla C. Perry; 16mo, Boston, 1883.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Punin and Baburin; trans. by G. W. Scott; 4to, New York, 1882.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Russian Life in the Interior; 12mo, London, 1855.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Smoke, or Life at Baden; 2 vols., 8vo, London, 1868.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Smoke, or Life at Baden; from the author’s French version, by W. F.
+West; 16mo, New York, 1872.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 12mo, London, 1883.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Song of Triumphant Love; 4to, New York, 1883.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Spring Floods, trans. by Sophie Mitchell; also A Lear of the Steppe,
+trans. by W. H. Browne; 16mo, New York, 1874.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">An Unfortunate Woman; also Ass’ya; from the Russian, by H. Gersoni;
+12mo, New York, 1886. (“Ass’ya” is the same as “Annouchka.”)</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Virgin Soil; from the French, by T. S. Perry; 16mo, New York,
+1877.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging"><i>Same</i>, 12mo, London, 1883.</p>
+
+<p class="unindent hanging">Virgin Soil; trans. by A. W. Dilke; 8vo, London, 1878.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">276</span>
+<h3>
+THE SCHOOL OF HOME.
+</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Let the school of home be a good one. Let reading be
+such as to quicken the mind for better reading still; for
+the school at home is progressive.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>The baby is to be read to. What shall mother and
+sister and father and brother read to the baby?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Babyland.</span> Babyland rhymes and jingles; great big
+letters and little thoughts and words out of <span class="smcap">Babyland</span>.
+Pictures so easy to understand that baby quickly learns
+the meaning of light and shade, of distance, of tree, of
+cloud. The grass is green; the sky is blue; the flowers—are
+they red or yellow? That depends on mother’s
+house-plants. Baby sees in the picture what she sees in
+the home and out of the window.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Babyland</span>, mother’s monthly picture-and-jingle primer
+for baby’s diversion, and baby’s mother-help; 50 cents
+a year.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>What, when baby begins to read for herself? <span class="smcap">Our
+Little Men and Women</span> is made to go on with. <span class="smcap">Babyland</span>
+forms the reading habit. Think of a baby with the
+reading habit! After a little she picks up the letters
+and wants to know what they mean. The jingles are
+jingles still; but the tales that lie under the jingles
+begin to ask questions.</p>
+
+<p>What do Jack and Jill go up the hill after water for?
+Isn’t water down hill? Baby is outgrowing <span class="smcap">Babyland</span>.</p>
+
+<p>No more nonsense. There is fun enough in sense.
+The world is full of interesting things; and, if they come
+to a growing child not in discouraging tangles but an
+easy one at a time, there is fun enough in getting hold
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ii">ii</span>
+of them. That is the way to grow. <span class="smcap">Our Little Men
+and Women</span> helps such growth as that. Beginnings of
+things made easy by words and pictures; not too easy.
+The reading habit has got to another stage.</p>
+
+<p>A dollar for such a school as that for a year.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>Then comes <span class="smcap">The Pansy</span> with stories of child-life, travel
+at home and abroad, adventure, history old and new, religion
+at home and over the seas, and roundabout tales
+on the International Sunday School Lesson.</p>
+
+<p>Pansy the editor; <span class="smcap">The Pansy</span> the magazine. There
+are thousands and thousands of children and children of
+larger growth all over the country who know about Pansy
+the writer, and <span class="smcap">The Pansy</span> the magazine. There are
+thousands and thousands more who will be glad to know.</p>
+
+<p>A dollar a year for <span class="smcap">The Pansy</span>.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>The reading habit is now pretty well established; not
+only the reading habit, but liking for useful reading; and
+useful reading leads to learning.</p>
+
+<p>Now comes <span class="smcap">Wide Awake</span>, vigorous, hearty, not to say
+heavy. No, it isn’t heavy, though full as it can be of
+practical help along the road to sober manhood and womanhood.
+Full as it can be! There is need of play as
+well as of work; and <span class="smcap">Wide Awake</span> has its mixture of
+work and rest and play. The work is all toward self-improvement;
+so is the rest; and so is the play. $2.40
+a year.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>Specimen copies of all the Lothrop magazines for
+fifteen cents; any one for five—in postage stamps.</p>
+
+<p>Address D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">iii</span></p>
+
+<p>You little know what help there is in books for the
+average housewife.</p>
+
+<p>Take <cite>Domestic Problems</cite>, for instance, beginning with
+this hard question: “How may a woman enjoy the delights
+of culture and at the same time fulfil her duties to
+family and household?” The second chapter quotes from
+somebody else: “It can’t be done. I’ve tried it; but, as
+things now are, it can’t be done.”</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Diaz looks below the surface. Want of preparation
+and culture, she says, is at the bottom of a woman’s
+failure, just as it is of a man’s.</p>
+
+<p>The proper training of children, for instance, can’t be
+done without some comprehension of children themselves,
+of what they ought to grow to, their stages, the means of
+their guidance, the laws of their health, and manners.
+But mothers get no hint of most of these things until they
+have to blunder through them. Why not? Isn’t the
+training of children woman’s mission? Yes, in print, but
+not in practice. What is her mission in practice? Cooking
+and sewing!</p>
+
+<p>Woman’s worst failure then is due to the stupid blunder
+of putting comparatively trivial things before the most important
+of all. The result is bad children and waste of a
+generation or two—all for putting cooking and sewing
+before the training of children.</p>
+
+<p>Now will any one venture to say that any particular
+mother, you for instance, has got to put cooking and sewing
+before the training of children?</p>
+
+<p>Any mother who really makes up her mind to put her
+children first can find out how to grow tolerable children
+at least.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">iv</span></p>
+
+<p>And that is what Mrs. Diaz means by preparation—a
+little knowledge beforehand—the little that leads to more.</p>
+
+<p>It <em>can</em> be done; and <em>you</em> can do it! Will you? It’s a
+matter of choice; and you are the chooser.</p>
+
+<p class="muchsmaller">Domestic Problems. By Mrs. A. M. Diaz. $1. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>
+
+<p>We have touched on only one subject. The author
+treats of many.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>Dr. Buckley the brilliant and versatile editor of the
+<cite>Christian Advocate</cite> says in the preface of his book on
+northern Europe “I hope to impart to such as have never
+seen those countries as clear a view as can be obtained
+from reading” and “My chief reason for traveling in
+Russia was to study Nihilism and kindred subjects.”</p>
+
+<p>This affords the best clue to his book to those who
+know the writer’s quickness, freshness, independence,
+force, and penetration.</p>
+
+<p class="muchsmaller">The Midnight Sun, the Tsar and the Nihilist. Adventures and Observations in
+Norway, Sweden and Russia. By J. M. Buckley, LL. D. 72 illustrations, 376
+pages. $3. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>
+
+<p>Just short of the luxurious in paper, pictures and print.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>The writer best equipped for such a task has put into
+one illustrated book a brief account of every American
+voyage for polar exploration, including one to the south
+almost forgotten.</p>
+
+<p class="muchsmaller">American Explorations in the Ice Zones. By Professor J. E. Nourse, U. S. N.
+10 maps, 120 illustrations, 624 pages. Cloth, $3, gilt edges $3.50, half-calf $6.
+D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>
+
+<p>Not written especially for boys; but they claim it.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">v</span></p>
+
+<p>The wife of a U. S. lighthouse inspector, Mary Bradford
+Crowninshield, writes the story of a tour of inspection
+along the coast of Maine with two boys on board—for
+other boys of course. A most instructive as well as delightful
+excursion.</p>
+
+<p>The boys go up the towers and study the lamps and
+lanterns and all the devices by which a light in the night
+is made to tell the wary sailor the coast he is on; and so
+does the reader. Stories of wrecks and rescues beguile
+the waiting times. There are no waiting times in the
+story.</p>
+
+<p class="muchsmaller">All Among the Lighthouses, or Cruise of the Goldenrod. By Mary Bradford
+Crowninshield. 32 illustrations, 392 pages. $2.50. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>
+
+<p>There’s a vast amount of coast-lore besides.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>Mr. Grant Allen, who knows almost as much as anybody,
+has been making a book of twenty-eight separate parts,
+and says of it: “These little essays are mostly endeavors
+to put some of the latest results of science in simple,
+clear and intelligible language.”</p>
+
+<p>Now that is exactly what nine hundred and ninety-nine
+in a thousand of us want, if it isn’t dry. And it isn’t dry.
+Few of those who have the wonderful knowledge of what
+is going on in the learned world have the gift of popular
+explanation—the gift of telling of it. Mr. Allen has
+that gift; the knowledge, the teaching grace, the popular
+faculty.</p>
+
+<p class="muchsmaller">Common Sense Science. By Grant Allen. 318 pages. $1.50. D. Lothrop Company,
+Boston.</p>
+
+<p>By no means a list of new-found facts; but the bearings
+of them on common subjects.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">vi</span></p>
+
+<p>We don’t go on talking as if the earth were the centre
+of things, as if Galileo never lived. Huxley and Spencer
+have got to be heard. Shall we wait two hundred and
+fifty years?</p>
+
+<p>The book is simply an easy means of intelligence.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>There is nothing more dreary than chemistry taught as
+it used to be taught to beginners. There is nothing
+brighter and fuller of keen delight than chemistry taught
+as it can be taught to little children even.</p>
+
+<p class="muchsmaller">Real Fairy Folks. By Lucy Rider Meyer, A. M. 389 pages. $1.25. D. Lothrop
+Company, Boston.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll be their teacher—give them private scientific
+lectures! Trust me to manage the school part!” The
+book is alive with the secrets of things.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>It takes a learned man to write an easy book on almost
+any subject.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur Gilman, of the College for Women, at Cambridge,
+known as the “Harvard Annex,” has made a little
+book to help young people along in the use of the dictionary.
+One can devour it in an hour or two; but the
+reading multiplies knowledge and means of knowledge.</p>
+
+<p class="muchsmaller">Short Stories from the Dictionary. By Arthur Gilman, M. A. 129 pages. 60
+cents. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>
+
+<p>An unconscious beginning of what may grow to be
+philology, if one’s faculty lies that way. Such bits of
+education are of vastly more importance than most of
+us know. They are the seeds of learning.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">vii</span></p>
+
+<p>Elizabeth P. Peabody at the age of eighty-four years
+has made a book of a number of essays, written during
+fifty years of a most productive life, on subjects of lasting
+interest, published forgotten years ago in <cite>Emerson’s Magazine</cite>,
+<cite>The Dial</cite>, Lowell’s <cite>Pioneer</cite>, etc.</p>
+
+<p class="muchsmaller">Last Evening with Allston and Other Papers. 350 pages. $1.50. D. Lothrop
+Company, Boston.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>The wife of Frémont, the Pathfinder of forty years
+ago and almost President thirty years ago, has written a
+bookful of reminiscences.</p>
+
+<p class="muchsmaller">Souvenirs of My Time. By Jessie Benton Frémont. 393 pages. $1.50. D. Lothrop
+Company, Boston.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Frémont has long been known as a brilliant converser
+and story-teller. Her later years have been given
+to making books; and the books have the freshness and
+sparkle of youth.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>The literary editor of the <cite>Nation</cite> gathers together nearly
+a hundred poems and parts of poems to read to children
+going to sleep.</p>
+
+<p class="muchsmaller">Bedside Poetry, a Parents’ Assistant in Moral Discipline. 143 pages. Two bindings,
+75 cents and $1. D. Lothrop Company, Boston.</p>
+
+<p>The poems have their various bearings on morals and
+graces; and there is an index called a key to the moralities.
+The mother can turn, with little search, to verses
+that put in a pleasant light the thoughts the little one
+needs to harbor. Hence the sub-title.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">viii</span></p>
+
+<p>Readers of poetry are almost as scarce as poetry—Have
+you noticed how little there is in the world? how
+wide the desert, how few the little oases?</p>
+
+<p class="muchsmaller">Through the Year with the Poets. Edited by Oscar Fay Adams. 12 bijou
+books of the months, of about 130 pages each. 75 cents each. D. Lothrop Company,
+Boston.</p>
+
+<p>Is it possible? Is there enough sweet singing ringing
+lustrous verse between heaven and earth to make twelve
+such books? There is indeed; and heaven and earth are
+in it!</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>Ginx’s Baby, a burlesque book of most serious purpose,
+made a stir in England some years ago; and, what is of
+more account, went far to accomplish the author’s object.</p>
+
+<p class="muchsmaller">Evolution of Dodd. By William Hawley Smith. 153 pages. $1. D. Lothrop
+Company, Boston.</p>
+
+<p>Dodd is the terrible schoolboy. How he became so;
+who is responsible; what is the remedy—such is the gist
+of the book.</p>
+
+<p>As bright as Ginx’s Baby. A bookful of managing
+wisdom for parents as well as teachers.</p>
+
+<hr class="short">
+
+<p>Questions such as practical boys and girls are asking
+their mothers all the year round about things that come
+up. Not one in ten of the mothers can answer one in ten
+of the questions.</p>
+
+<p class="muchsmaller">Household Notes and Queries, A Family Reference-Book. By the Wise Blackbird.
+115 pages. 60 cents.</p>
+
+<p>It is handy to have such a book on the shelf, and
+handier yet to have the knowledge that’s in it in one’s
+head.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">ix</span>
+<p class="center">
+<i>Classified List.—Pansy.</i><br>
+</p>
+
+<h3 class="sansserif">
+THE PANSY BOOKS.<br>
+</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class="tall">There are substantial reasons for the great popularity of the
+“Pansy Books,” and foremost among these is their truth to nature
+and to life. The genuineness of the types of character which
+they portray is indeed remarkable.</p>
+
+<p class="tall">
+“Her stories move alternately to laughter and tears.”…<br>
+“Brimful of the sweetness of evangelical religion.”…<br>
+“Girl life and character portrayed with rare power.”…<br>
+“Too much cannot be said of the insight given into the true way
+of studying and using the word of God.”… These are a
+few quotations from words of praise everywhere spoken. The
+“Pansy Books” may be purchased by any Sunday-school without
+hesitation as to their character or acceptability.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2 center">
+<i>Each volume 12mo, $1.50.</i><br>
+</p>
+
+
+<ul><li>Chautauqua Girls at Home.</li>
+<li>Christie’s Christmas.</li>
+<li>Divers Women.</li>
+<li>Echoing and Re-echoing.</li>
+<li>Endless Chain (An).</li>
+<li>Ester Ried.</li>
+<li>Ester Ried Yet Speaking.</li>
+<li>Four Girls at Chautauqua.</li>
+<li>From different Standpoints.</li>
+<li>Hall in the Grove (The).</li>
+<li>Household Puzzles.</li>
+<li>Interrupted.</li>
+<li>Julia Ried.</li>
+<li>King’s Daughter (The).</li>
+<li>Links in Rebecca’s Life.</li>
+<li>Mrs. Solomon Smith Looking On.</li>
+<li>Modern Prophets.</li>
+<li>Man of the House (The).</li>
+<li>New Graft on the Family Tree (A).</li>
+<li>One Commonplace Day.</li>
+<li>Pocket Measure (The).</li>
+<li>Ruth Erskine’s Crosses.</li>
+<li>Randolphs (The).</li>
+<li>Sidney Martin’s Christmas.</li>
+<li>Those Boys.</li>
+<li>Three People.</li>
+<li>Tip Lewis and his Lamp.</li>
+<li>Wise and Otherwise.</li>
+</ul>
+
+<hr>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">x</span></p>
+
+<p class="center">
+<i>Classified List.—Poetry.</i><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>THROUGH THE YEAR WITH THE POETS.—December,
+January, February, March, April,
+May.</b> Arranged and compiled by <span class="smcap">Oscar Fay Adams</span>. Each
+75 cents.</p>
+
+<p>The cream of English literature, past and current, has been
+skimmed with a judicious and appreciative hand.—<cite>Boston Transcript.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WAIFS AND THEIR AUTHORS.</b> By <span class="smcap">A. A. Hopkins</span>.
+A collection of poems many of which are now for the
+first time published with the names of the authors. Quarto,
+cloth, gilt, $2.00; quarto, full gilt, gilt edges, $2.50.</p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WHEN I WAS A CHILD.</b> By <span class="smcap">Ernest W. Shurtleff</span>.
+Illustrated, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p>A simple, graceful poem, fresh with memories of school and
+vacation days, of games and sports in the country.—<cite>Chicago
+Advance.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR
+FLOCKS BY NIGHT.</b> Illustrated, $2.50.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing more exquisite in the way of a presentation book.—<cite>B.
+B. Bulletin.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WOMAN IN SACRED SONG.</b> Compiled and edited
+by <span class="smcap">Mrs. George Clinton Smith</span>. With an introduction by
+Frances E. Willard. Illustrated. $3.50.</p>
+
+<p>It gives a very full representation of the contributions of woman
+to sacred song, though of course the main bulk of this has been in
+modern times.—<cite>Illustrated Weekly.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>YOUNG FOLKS’ POETRY.</b> By A. P. and <span class="smcap">M. T.
+Folsom</span>. A choice selection of poems. 16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>YOUNG FOLKS’ SPEAKER.</b> A collection of Prose
+and Poetry for Declamations, Recitations and Elocutionary
+Exercises. Selected and arranged by <span class="smcap">Carrie Adelaide
+Cooke</span>. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p>It deserves to become a standard in the schools of the country.—<cite>B.
+B. Bulletin.</cite></p>
+
+<hr>
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">xi</span>
+
+<p class="center">
+<i>Classified List.—Standard Micellaneous.</i><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>THE TRIPLE “E.”</b> By <span class="smcap">Mrs. S. R. Graham Clark</span>.
+12mo, paper, illustrated, 25 cts. Cloth, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p>It cannot fail to make a strong impression on the minds of those
+who read it.—<cite>B. B. Bulletin.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>THUCYDIDES.</b> Translated into English with marginal
+analysis and index. By <span class="smcap">B. Jowett</span>, M. A., Master of Balliol
+College, Professor of Greek in the University of Oxford, Doctor
+of Theology in the University of Leyden. Edited with
+introduction to American edition by Andrew P. Peabody, D. D.
+LL. D. 8vo, $3.50. Half calf, $6.00.</p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WARLOCK O’ GLENWARLOCK.</b> By <span class="smcap">George
+MacDonald</span>. 12mo, fully illustrated, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p>At his best, there are few contemporary novelists so well worth
+reading as MacDonald.—<cite>Boston Journal.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WEIGHED AND WANTING.</b> By <span class="smcap">George MacDonald</span>.
+12mo, cloth, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>WHAT’S MINE’S MINE.</b> By <span class="smcap">George MacDonald</span>.
+$1.50.</p>
+
+<p>Let all who enjoy a book full of fire and life and purpose read
+this capital story.—<cite>Woman’s Journal.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WILD FLOWERS, AND WHERE THEY
+GROW.</b> By <span class="smcap">Amanda B. Harris</span>. 8vo, extra cloth,
+beautifully bound, gilt edges, $3.00.</p>
+
+<p>It is a book in which all true lovers of nature will delight.—<cite>B.
+B. Bulletin,.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WONDER STORIES OF SCIENCE.</b> Uniform with
+“Plucky Boys,” 12mo, cloth, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p>To improve as well as to amuse young people is the object of
+these twenty-one sketches, and they fill this purpose wonderfully
+well.—<cite>Texas Siftings.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>WITHIN THE SHADOW.</b> By <span class="smcap">Dorothy Holroyd</span>.
+12mo, cloth, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p>“The author has skill in invention with the purest sentiment
+and good natural style.”—<cite>Boston Globe.</cite></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">xii</span></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>HOLD UP YOUR HEADS, GIRLS!</b> By <span class="smcap">Annie H.
+Ryder</span>. $1.00.</p>
+
+<p>It is a book for study, for companionship, and the girl who reads
+it thoughtfully and with an intent to profit by it will get more real
+help and good from it than from a term at the best boarding-school
+in the country.—<cite>Boston Transcript.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>HONOR BRIGHT</b> (the story of). By <span class="smcap">Charles R. Talbot</span>,
+author of Royal Lowrie. 12mo, illustrated, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p>A charming story full of intense life.</p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>HOW TO LEARN AND EARN.</b> Half Hours in some
+Helpful Schools. By American authors. One hundred original
+illustrations, 12mo, extra cloth, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p>The book treats largely of public institutions, training schools,
+etc., and shows what may be accomplished by patient concentrated
+effort.—<cite>Farm and Fireside.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>HOW WE ARE GOVERNED.</b> By <span class="smcap">Anna Laurens
+Dawes</span>, 12mo, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p>An explanation of the constitution and government of the
+United States, national, State, and local.</p>
+
+<p>A concise, systematic, and complete study of the great principles
+which underlie the National existence.—<cite>Chicago Inter-Ocean.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>IN LEISLER’S TIMES.</b> A story-study of Knickerbocker
+New York. By E. S. Brooks. With twenty-four drawings by
+W. T. Smedley. $1.50.</p>
+
+<p>Though designedly for young folks’ reading, this volume is a
+very careful and minute study of a hitherto half-obscured and
+neglected phase of American history, and will be given a permanent
+place in historical literature.—<cite>American Bookseller.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="hanging unindent"><b>JOSEPHUS FLAVIUS, (the Works of).</b> A new
+edition of William Whiston’s Famous Translations. 8vo, cloth,
+gilt, 100 illustrations, $3.00. Household Edition. 12mo, cloth,
+gilt top, illustrated, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p>This edition is admirable and will make new friends for the easy
+and conceited old chronicler.—<cite>B. B. Bulletin.</cite></p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>Transcriber’s Note:</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>This book was written in a period when many words had not become
+standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling
+variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been
+left unchanged. Obsolete and alternative
+spellings were left unchanged.</p>
+
+<p>Footnotes were lettered sequentially and were
+moved to the end of the chapter. Obvious printing errors, such as
+backwards, upside down, reversed order, or partially printed letters and punctuation, were corrected.
+Final stops missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations were
+added. Missing or duplicate letters at line endings were added or removed, as appropriate.
+Extraneous punctuation was removed.</p>
+
+<p>The following were changed:</p>
+
+<ul><li>added omitted word, <a href="#chg0">‘on’</a></li>
+<li>‘wook’ to <a href="#chg1">‘work’</a></li>
+<li>‘axamples’ to <a href="#chg2">‘examples’</a></li>
+<li>‘discourged’ to <a href="#chg3">‘discouraged’</a></li>
+</ul>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RUSSIAN NOVELISTS ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>