Essays on Russian Novelists | Page 5

acquisition of any foreign language annihilates a considerable
number of prejudices. Henry James, who knew Turgenev intimately,
and who has written a brilliant and charming essay on his personality,
said that the mind of Turgenev contained not one pin-point of prejudice.
It is worth while to pause an instant and meditate on the significance of
such a remark. Think what it must mean to view the world, the
institutions of society, moral ideas, and human character with an
absolutely unprejudiced mind! We Americans are skinful of prejudices.
Of course we don't call them prejudices; we call them principles. But
they sometimes impress others as prejudices; and they no doubt help to
obscure our judgment, and to shorten or refract our sight. What would
be thought of a painter who had prejudices concerning the colours of
skies and fields?
The cosmopolitanism of the Russian novelist partly accounts for the
international effect and influence of his novels. His knowledge of
foreign languages makes his books appeal to foreign readers. When he
introduces German, French, English, and Italian characters into his
books, he not only understands these people, he can think in their
languages, and thus reproduce faithfully their characteristics not merely
by observation but by sympathetic intuition. Furthermore, the very fact
that Tolstoi, for example, writes in an inaccessible language, makes

foreign translations of his works absolutely necessary. As at the day of
Pentecost, every man hears him speak in his own tongue. Now if an
Englishman writes a successful book, thousands of Russians, Germans,
and others will read it in English; the necessity of translation is not
nearly so great. It is interesting to compare the world-wide appeal made
by the novels of Turgenev, Dostoevski, and Tolstoi with that made by
Thackeray and George Eliot, not to mention Mr. Hardy or the late Mr.
Meredith.
The combination of the great age of Russia with its recent intellectual
birth produces a maturity of character, with a wonderful freshness of
consciousness. It is as though a strong, sensible man of forty should
suddenly develop a genius in art; his attitude would be quite different
from that of a growing boy, no matter how precocious he might be. So,
while the Russian character is marked by an extreme sensitiveness to
mental impressions, it is without the rawness and immaturity of the
American. The typical American has some strong qualities that seem in
the typical Russian conspicuously absent; but his very practical energy,
his pride and self-satisfaction, stand in the way of his receptive power.
Now a conspicuous trait of the Russian is his humility; and his humility
enables him to see clearly what is going on, where an American would
instantly interfere, and attempt to change the course of events.* For,
however inspiring a full-blooded American may be, the most
distinguishing feature of his character is surely not Humility. And it is
worth while to remember that whereas since 1850, at least a dozen
great realistic novels have been written in Russian, not a single
completely great realistic novel has ever been written in the Western
Hemisphere.
*It is possible that both the humility and the melancholy of the Russian
character are partly caused by the climate, and the vast steppes and
forests, which seem to indicate the insignificance of man.
This extreme sensitiveness to impression is what has led the Russian
literary genius into Realism; and it is what has produced the greatest
Realists that the history of the novel has seen. The Russian mind is like
a sensitive plate; it reproduces faithfully. It has no more partiality, no
more prejudice than a camera film; it reflects everything that reaches its
surface. A Russian novelist, with a pen in his hand, is the most truthful
being on earth.

To an Englishman or an American, perhaps the most striking trait in the
Russian character is his lack of practical force--the paralysis of his
power of will. The national character among the educated classes is
personified in fiction, in a type peculiarly Russian; and that may be best
defined by calling it the conventional Hamlet. I say the conventional
Hamlet, for I believe Shakespeare's Hamlet is a man of immense
resolution and self-control. The Hamlet of the commentators is as
unlike Shakespeare's Hamlet as systematic theology is unlike the
Sermon on the Mount. The hero of the orthodox Russian novel is a
veritable "L'Aiglon." This national type must be clearly understood
before an American can understand Russian novels at all. In order to
show that it is not imaginary, but real, one has only to turn to
Sienkiewicz's powerful work, "Without Dogma," the very title
expressing the lack of conviction that destroys the hero.
"Last night, at Count Malatesta's reception, I heard by chance these two
words, 'l'improductivite slave.' I experienced the same relief as does a