Iconfess，however，thatIdonotthinkofhimasapatriotandasocialistwhenIreadhim;heisthenpurelyapoet，whosegiftholdsmeraptabovetheworldwhereIhaveleftmytroublesomeandwearisomeselfforthetime。Idonotknowofanynovelsthatayoungendeavorerinfictioncouldmoreprofitablyreadthanhisfortheirlargeandsimplemethod，theirtrustofthereader’sintelligence，theirsympathywithlife。Withhimtheproblemsareallsolublebytheenlightenedandregeneratewill;thereisnobafflingFate，butahelpingGod。InBjornsonthereisnothingofIbsen’sscornfuldespair，nothingofhisanarchisticcontempt，buthisartisfullofthewarmthandcolorofapoeticsoul，withnotouchoftheicycynicismwhichfreezesyouintheother。IhavefeltthecoldfascinationofIbsen，too，andIshouldbefarfromdenyinghismightymastery，buthehasneverpossessedmewiththedelightthatBjornsonhas。
InthosedaysIreadnotonlyallthenewbooks，butImademanyforaysintothepast，andcamebacknowandthenwithrichspoil，thoughI
confessthatforthemostpartIhadmytroubleformypains;andIwishnowthatIhadgiventhetimeIspentontheEnglishclassicstocontemporaryliterature，whichIhavenottheleasthesitationinsayingIlikevastlybetter。Infact，Ibelievethatthepreferencefortheliteratureofthepast，exceptinthecaseofthegreatestmasters，ismainlytheaffectationofpeoplewhocannototherwisedistinguishthemselvesfromtheherd，andwhowishverymuchtodoso。
Thereismuchtobelearnedfromtheminornovelistsandpoetsofthepastaboutpeople’swaysofthinkingandfeeling，butnotmuchthatthemastersdonotgiveyouinbetterqualityandfullermeasure;andI
shouldsay，Readtheoldmastersandlettheirschoolsgo，ratherthanneglectanypossiblemasterofyourowntime。Aboveall，Iwouldnothaveanyonereadanoldauthormerelythathemightnotbeignorantofhim;thatismostbeggarly，andnogoodcancomeofit。Whenliteraturebecomesadutyitceasestobeapassion，andalltheschoolmasteringintheworld，solemnlyaddressedtotheconscience，cannotmakethefactotherwise。Itiswelltoreadforthesakeofknowingacertaingroundifyouaretomakeuseofyourknowledgeinacertainway，butitwouldbeamistaketosupposethatthisisaloveofliterature。
XXXII。TOURGUENIEF，AUERBACH
InthoseyearsatCambridgemymostnotableliteraryexperiencewithoutdoubtwastheknowledgeofTourguenief’snovels，whichbegantoberecognizedinalltheirgreatnessaboutthemiddleseventies。IthinktheymadetheirwaywithsuchofourpublicaswereabletoappreciatethembeforetheywereacceptedinEngland;butthatdoesnotmatter。Itisenoughforthepresentpurposethat’Smoke，’and’Lisa，’and’OntheEve，’and’DimitriRoudine，’and’SpringFloods，’passedoneafteranotherthroughmyhands，andthatIformedfortheirauthoroneoftheprofoundestliterarypassionsofmylife。
Inowthinkthatthereisafinerandtruermethodthanhis，butinitsway，Tourguenief’smethodisasfarasartcango。Thatistosay，hisfictionistothelastdegreedramatic。Thepersonsaresparelydescribed，andbrieflyaccountedfor，andthentheyarelefttotransacttheiraffair，whateveritis，withtheleastpossiblecommentorexplanationfromtheauthor。Theeffectflowsnaturallyfromtheircharacters，andwhentheyhavedoneorsaidathingyouconjecturewhyasunerringlyasyouwouldiftheywerepeoplewhomyouknewoutsideofabook。IhadalreadyconceivedofthepossibilityofthisfromBjornson，whopractisesthesamemethod，butIwasstilltoosunkeninthegrossdarknessofEnglishfictiontorisetoafullconsciousnessofitsexcellence。WhenIrememberedthedeliberateandimpertinentmoralizingofThackeray，theclumsyexegesisofGeorgeEliot，theknowingnodsandwinksofCharlesReade，thestage—carpenteringandlimelightingofDickens，eventhefineandimportantanalysisofHawthorne，itwaswithajoyfulastonishmentthatIrealizedthegreatartofTourguenief。
Herewasamasterwhowasapparentlynottryingtoworkoutaplot，whowasnoteventryingtoworkoutacharacter，butwasstandingasidefromthewholeaffair，andlettingthecharactersworktheplotout。Themethodwasrevealedperfectlyin’Smoke，’buteachsuccessivebookofhisthatIreadwasafreshproofofitstruth，arevelationofitstranscendentsuperiority。IthinknowthatIexaggerateditsvaluesomewhat;butthiswasinevitableinthefirstsurprise。ThesaneaestheticsofthefirstRussianauthorIread，however，haveseemedmoreandmoreanessentialpartofthesaneethicsofalltheRussiansIhaveread。ItwasnotonlythatTourgueniefhadpaintedlifetruly，butthathehadpainteditconscientiously。
Tourgueniefwasofthatgreatracewhichhasmorethananyotherfullyandfreelyutteredhumannature，withouteitherfalseprideorfalseshameinitsnakedness。HisthemeswereoftenestthoseoftheFrenchnovelist，buthowfarhewasfromhandlingthemintheFrenchmannerandwiththeFrenchspirit！Inhishandssinsufferednodramaticpunishment;itdidnotalwaysshowitselfasunhappiness，inthepersonalsense，butitwasalwaysunrest，andwithoutthehopeofpeace。Iftheenddidnotappear，thefactthatitmustbemiserablealwaysappeared。
LifeshoweditselftomeindifferentcolorsafterIhadoncereadTourguenief;itbecamemoreserious，moreawful，andwithmysticalresponsibilitiesIhadnotknownbefore。MygayAmericanhorizonswerebathedinthevastmelancholyoftheSlav，patient，agnostic，trustful。
Atthesametimenaturerevealedherselftomethroughhimwithanintimacyshehadnothithertoshownme。Therearepassagesinthiswonderfulwriteralivewithatruththatseemsdrawnfromthereader’sownknowledge;whoelsebutTourgueniefandone’sownmostsecretselfeverfeltalltherich，sadmeaningofthenightairdrawinginattheopenwindow，ofthefiresburninginthedarknessonthedistantfields？
Itryinvaintogivesomenotionofthesubtlesympathywithnaturewhichscarcelyputitselfintowordswithhim。Asforthepeopleofhisfiction，thoughtheywereofordersandcivilizationssoremotefrommyexperience，theywereoftheeternalhumantypeswhoseoriginandpotentialitieseveryonemayfindinhisownheart，andIfelttheirverityineverytouch。
Icannotdescribethesatisfactionhisworkgaveme;Icanonlyimpartsomesenseofit，perhaps，bysayingthatitwaslikeahappinessIhadbeenwaitingforallmylife，andnowthatithadcome，Iwasrichlycontentforever。IdonotmeantosaythattheartofTourgueniefsurpassestheartofBjornson;IthinkBjornsonisquiteasfineandtrue。ButtheNorwegiandealswithsimpleandprimitivecircumstancesforthemostpart，andalwayswithasmallworld;andtheRussianhastodowithhumannatureinsideofitsconventionalshells，andhissceneisoftenaslargeasEurope。EvenwhenitisasremoteasNorway，itisstillrelatedtothegreatcapitalsbythehistoryifnottheactualityofthecharacters。MostofTourguenief’sbooksIhavereadmanytimesover，allofthemIhavereadmorethantwice。ForanumberofyearsI
readthemagainandagainwithoutmuchcaringforotherfiction。ItwasonlytheotherdaythatIreadSmokethroughoncemore，withnodiminishedsenseofitstruth，butwithsomewhatlessthanmyfirstsatisfactioninitsart。PerhapsthiswasbecauseIhadreachedthepointthroughmyacquaintancewithTolstoywhereIwasimpatientevenoftheartificethathiditself。In’Smoke’Iwasnowawareofanartificethatkeptoutofsight，butwasstillalwayspresentsomewhere，invisiblyoperatingthestory。
ImustnotfailtoownthegreatpleasurethatIhavehadinsomeofthestoriesofAuerbach。ItistruethatIhavenevercaredgreatlyfor’OntheHeights，’whichinitsdealingwithroyaltiesseemstoofaralooffromtheordinaryhumanlife，andwhichonthemoralsidefinallyfadesoutintoaGermanmistiness。ButIspeakofitwiththeimperfectknowledgeofonewhowasneverabletoreaditquitethrough，andIhavereallynorighttospeakofit。Thebookofhisthatpleasedmemostwas’Edelweiss，’which，thoughthestorywassomewhattoocatastrophical，seemedtomeadmirablygoodandtrue。Istillthinkitverydelicatelydone，andwithadeepinsight;butthereissomethinginallAuerbach’sworkwhichintheretrospectaffectsmeasifitdealtwithpigmies。
XXXIII。CERTAINPREFERENCESANDEXPERIENCES
Ihavealwayslovedhistory，whetherintheannalsofpeoplesorinthelivesofpersons，andIhaveatalltimesreadit。IamnotsurebutI
ratherpreferittofiction，thoughIamawarethatinlookingbackoverthisrecordofmyliterarypassionsImustseemtohavecaredforverylittlebesidesfiction。IreadatthetimeIhavejustbeenspeakingof，nearlyallthenewpoetryasitcameout，andIconstantlyrecurredtoitinitsmossiersources，whereitsprangfromthegreenEnglishground，ortrickledfromtheantiqueurnsofItaly。
IdonotthinkthatIhaveevercaredmuchformetaphysics，ortoreadmuchinthatway，butfromtimetotimeIhavedonesomethingofit。
Travels，ofcourse，Ihavereadaspartofthegreathumanstory，andautobiographyhasattimesappearedtomethemostdelightfulreadingintheworld;Ihaveatasteinitthatrejectsnothing，thoughIhaveneverenjoyedanyautobiographiessomuchasthoseofsuchItaliansashavereasonedofthemselves。
IsupposeIhavenotbeenagreatreaderofthedrama，andIdonotknowthatIhaveevergreatlyrelishedanyplaysbutthoseofShakespeareandGoldoni，andtwoorthreeofBeaumontandFletcher，andoneorsoofMarlow’s，andallofIbsen’sandMaeterlinck’s。ThetastefortheoldEnglishdramatistsIbelieveIhaveneverformed。
Criticism，eversinceIfilledmyselfsofullofitinmyboyhood，Ihavenotcaredfor，andoftenIhavefounditrepulsive。
Ihaveafondnessforbooksofpopularscience，perhapsbecausetheytooarepartofthehumanstory。
IhavereadsomewhatofthetheologyoftheSwedenborgianfaithIwasbroughtupin，butIhavenotreadothertheologicalworks;andIdonotapologizefornotlikingany。TheBibleitselfwasnotmuchknowntomeatanagewhenmostchildrenhavebeenobligedtoreaditseveraltimesover;thegospelswereindeedfamiliar，andtheyhavealwaysbeentomethesupremehumanstory;buttherestoftheNewTestamentIhadnotreadwhenamangrown，andonlypassagesoftheOldTestament，likethestoryoftheCreation，andthestoryofJoseph，andthepoemsofJobandEcclesiastes，withoccasionalPsalms。IthereforecametotheScriptureswithasenseatoncefreshandmature，andIcanneverbetoogladthatI
learnedtoseethemunderthevasterhorizonandinthetruerperspectivesofexperience。
AgainaslightsonthehumanstoryIhavelikedtoreadsuchbooksofmedicineashavefalleninmyway，andIseldomtakeupamedicalperiodicalwithoutreadingofallthecasesitdescribes，andinfacteveryarticleinit。
ButIdidnotmeantomakeeventhisslightdeparturefromthemainbusinessofthesepapers，whichistoconfidemyliterarypassionstothereader;heprobablyhashadagreatmanyofhisown。IthinkImayclassthe\"RingandtheBook\"amongthem，thoughIhaveneverbeenotherwiseadevoteeofBrowning。ButIwasstillnewlyhomefromItaly，orawayfromhome，whenthatpoemappeared，andwhetherornotitwasbecauseittookmesowiththeoldenchantmentofthatland，Igavemyheartpromptlytoit。Ofcourse，thereareterriblelongueursinit，andyoudogettiredofthesamestorytoldoverandoverfromthedifferentpointsofview，andyetitissuchagreatstory，andunfoldedwithsuchamagnificentbreadthandnoblefulness，thatonewhoblamesitlightlyblameshimselfheavily。Therearecertainbooksofit——\"Caponsacchi’sstory，\"
\"Pompilia’sstory，\"and\"CountGuido’sstory\"——thatIthinkoughttorankwiththegreatestpoetryeverwritten，andthathaveadirect，dramaticexpressionofthefactandcharacter，whichiswithoutrival。ThereisanobleandloftypathosinthecloseofCaponsacchi’sstatement，anartlessandmanlybreakfromhisself—controlthroughout，thatseemstomethelastpossibleeffectinitskind;andPompilia’sstoryholdsallofwomanhoodinit，thepurity，thepassion，thetenderness，thehelplessness。ButifIbegintopraisethisoranyofthethingsIhaveliked，IdonotknowwhenIshouldstop。Yes，asIthinkitover，the\"RingandtheBook\"appearstomeoneofthegreatfewpoemswhosesplendorcanneversufferlastingeclipse，howeveritmayhavepresentlyfallenintoabeyance。Ifithadimpossiblycomedowntousfromsomeeldertime，orhadnotbeensoperfectlymoderninitsrecognitionoffeelingandmotivesignoredbythelessconsciouspoetryofthepast，itmightberankedwiththegreatepics。
OfothermodernpoetsIhavereadsomethingsofWilliamMorris，likethe\"LifeandDeathofJason，\"the\"StoryofGudrun，\"andthe\"TrialofGuinevere，\"withapleasurelittlelessthanpassionate，andIhaveequallylikedcertainpiecesofDanteRossetti。IhavehadahighjoyinsomeofthegreatminorpoemsofEmerson，wherethegoddessmovesoverConcordmeadowswithagaitthatisGreek，andhersandalledtreadexpressesahighscornoftheindia—rubberbootsthattheAmericanmusesooftengetsaboutin。
The\"CommemorationOde\"ofLowellhasalsobeenasourcefromwhichI
dranksomethingofthedivineecstasyofthepoet’sownexaltedmood，andIwouldsetthislevelwiththe’BiglowPapers，’highaboveallhisotherwork，andchiefofthethingsthisageofourcountryshallberememberedby。HolmesIalwaysloved，andnotforhiswitalone，whichissoobvioustoliking，butforthoserarerandricherstrainsofhisinwhichheshowshimselftheloverofnatureandthebrotherofmen。Thedeepspiritualinsight，thecelestialmusic，andthebroodingtendernessofWhittierhavealwaystakenmemorethanhisfierierappealsandhiscivicvirtues，thoughIdonotunderratethevalueoftheseinhisverse。
Myacquaintancewiththesemodernpoets，andmanyIdonotnamebecausetheyaresomany，hasbeencontinuouswiththeirwork，andmypleasureinitnotinconstantifnotequal。IhavespokenbeforeofLongfellowasoneofmyfirstpassions，andIhaveneverceasedtodelightinhim;butsomeoftheverynewestandyoungestofourpoetshavegivenmethrillsofhappiness，forwhichlifehasbecomelastinglysweeter。
LongafterIhadthoughtnevertoreadit——infactwhenIwas’nelmezzodelcammindinostravita’——IreadMilton’s\"ParadiseLost，\"andfoundinitamajesticbeautythatjustifiedtomethefameitwears，andeclipsedtheworthofthoselesserpoemswhichIhadignorantlyaccountedhisworthiest。Infact，itwasoneoftheliterarypassionsofthetimeI
speakof，anditsharedmydevotionforthenovelsofTourgueniefand（shallIownit？）theromancesofCherbuliez。Afterall，itisbesttobehonest，andifitisnotbest，itisatleasteasiest;itinvolvesthefewestembarrassingconsequences;andifIconfessthespellthattheRevengeofJosephNoirelcastuponmeforatime，perhapsIshallbeabletowhisperthereaderbehindmyhandthatIhaveneveryetreadthe\"AEneid\"ofVirgil;the\"Georgics，\"yes;butthe\"AEneid，\"no。Sometime，however，Iexpecttoreaditandtolikeitimmensely。ThatisoftenthecasewiththingsthatIhaveheldalooffromindefinitely。
Onefactofmyexperiencewhichthereadermay，findinterestingisthatwhenIamwritingsteadilyIhavelittlerelishforreading。Ifancy，thatreadingisnotmerelyapastimewhenitisapparentlythemerestpastime，butthatacertainmeasureofmind—stuffisusedupinit，andthatifyouareusingupallthemindstuffyouhave，muchorlittle，insomeotherway，youdonotreadbecauseyouhavenotthemind—stuffforit。AtanyrateitisinthissortonlythatIcanaccountformyfailuretoreadagreatdealduringfouryearsoftheamplestquietthatIspentinthecountryatBelmont，whitherweremovedfromCambridge。
Ihadpromisedmyselfthatinthisquiet，nowthatIhadgivenupreviewing，andwrotelittleornothinginthemagazinebutmystories，Ishouldagainreadpurelyforthepleasureofit，asIhadintheearlydaysbeforethecriticalpurposehadqualifieditwithabitteralloy。
ButIfoundthatnotbeingforcedtoreadanumberofbookseachmonth，sothatImightwriteaboutthem，Ididnotreadatall，comparativelyspeaking。TobesureIdawdledoveragreatmanybooksthatIhadreadbefore，andanumberofmemoirsandbiographies，butIhadnointensepleasurefromreadinginthattime，andhavenopassionstorecordofit。
Itmayhavebeenaperiodwhennonewthinghappenedinliteraturedeeplytostirone’sinterest;Ionlystatethefactconcerningmyself，andsuggestthemostplausibletheoryIcanthinkof。
Iwishalsotonoteanotherincident，whichmayormaynothaveitspsychologicalvalue。Animportanteventoftheseyearswasalongsicknesswhichkeptmehelplesssomesevenoreightweeks，whenIwasforcedtoreadinordertopasstheintolerabletime。ButinthismiseryIfoundthatIcouldnotreadanythingofadramaticcast，whetherintheformofplaysorofnovels。Themeresightoftheprintedpage，brokenupindialogue，wasanguish。YetitwasnottheexcitementofthefictionthatIdreaded，forIconsumedgreatnumbersofnarrativesoftravel，andwasnotintheleasttroubledbyhairbreadthescapes，orshipwrecks，orperilsfromwildbeastsordeadlyserpents;itwasthedramaticeffectcontrivedbytheplaywrightornovelist，andworkeduptointhespeechofhischaractersthatIcouldnotbear。IfoundalikeimpossiblestressfromtheSundaynewspaperwhichamistakenfriendsentintome，andwhichwithitsscare—headings，andartfullywroughtsensations，hadtheeffectoffiction，asinfactitlargelywas。
Attheendoffouryearswewentabroadagain，andtraveltookawaytheappetiteforreadingascompletelyaswritingdid。IrecallnothingreadinthatyearinEuropewhichmovedme，andIthinkIreadverylittle，exceptthelocalhistoriesoftheTuscancitieswhichIafterwardswroteof。
XXXIV。VALDES，GALDOS，VERGA，ZOLA，TROLLOPE，HARDY
Infact，itwasnottillIreturned，andtookupmylifeagaininBoston，intheoldatmosphereofwork，thatIturnedoncemoretobooks。EventhenIhadtowaitforthetimewhenIundertookacriticaldepartmentinoneofthemagazines，beforeIfelttheriseoftheoldenthusiasmforanauthor。Thatistosay，IhadtobeginreadingforbusinessagainbeforeIbeganreadingforpleasure。OneofthefirstgreatpleasureswhichI
haduponthesetermswasinthebookofacontemporarySpanishauthor。
Thiswasthe’MartayMaria’ofArmandoPalacioValdes，anovelistwhodelightsmebeyondwordsbyhisfriendlyandabundanthumor，hisfeelingforcharacter，andhissubtleinsight。IlikeeveryoneofhisbooksthatIhaveread，andIbelievethatIhavereadnearlyeveryonethathehaswritten。AsImention’Riverito，Maximina，UnIdiliodeunInferno，LaHermanadeSanSulpizio，ElCuartoPoder，Espuma，’themerenamesconjureupthescenesandeventsthathavemovedmetotearsandlaughter，andfilledmewithavividsenseofthelifeportrayedinthem。
Ithinkthe’MartayMaria’oneofthemosttruthfulandprofoundfictionsIhaveread，and’Maximina’oneofthemostpathetic，and’LaHermanadeSanSulpizio’oneofthemostamusing。Fortunately，thesebooksofValdes’shavenearlyallbeentranslated，andthereadermaytestthematterinEnglish;thoughitnecessarilyhaltssomewhatbehindtheSpanish。
IdonotknowwhethertheSpaniardsthemselvesrankValdeswithGaldosornot，andIhavenowishtodecideupontheirrelativemerits。Theyarebothpresentpassionsofmine，andImaysayofthe’DonaPerfecta’ofGaldosthatnobook，ifIexceptthoseofthegreatestRussians，hasgivenmeakeeneranddeeperimpression;itisinfinitelypathetic，andisfullofhumor，which，ifmorecausticthanthatofValdes，isnotlessdelicious。ButIlikeallthebooksofGaldosthatIhaveread，andthoughheseemstohaveworkedmoretardilyoutofhisromanticismthanValdes，sincebehasworkedfinallyintosuchrealismasthatofLeonRoch，hisgreatnessleavesnothingtobedesired。
IhavereadoneofthebooksofEmiliaPardo—Bazan，called’Morrina，’
whichmustrankherwiththegreatrealistsofhercountryandage;she，too，hasthathumorofherrace，whichbringsusnearertheSpanishthananyothernon—Anglo—Saxonpeople。
AcontemporaryItalian，whomIlikehardlylessthanthesenobleSpaniards，isGiovanniVerga，whowrote’IMalavoglia，’or，aswecallitinEnglish，’TheHousebytheMedlarTree’：astoryofinfinitebeauty，tendernessandtruth。AsIhavesaidbefore，IthinkwithZolathatGiacometti，theItalianauthorof\"LaMorteCivile，\"haswrittenalmostthegreatestplay，allround，ofmoderntimes。
ButwhatshallIsayofZolahimself，andmyadmirationofhisepicgreatness？AbouthismaterialthereisnodisputingamongpeopleofourPuritanictradition。Itissimplyabhorrent，butwhenyouhaveoncegrantedhimhismaterialforhisownuse，itisidleandfoolishtodenyhispower。EveryliterarytheoryofminewascontrarytohimwhenItookup’L’Assommoir，’thoughunconsciouslyIhadalwaysbeenasmuchofarealistasIcould，butthebookpossessedmewiththesamefascinationthatIfelttheotherdayinreadinghis’L’Argent。’ThecriticsknownowthatZolaisnottherealistheusedtofancyhimself，andheisfullofthebestqualitiesoftheromanticismhehashatedsomuch;butforwhatheis，thereisbutonenovelistofourtime，orofany，thatoutmastershim，andthatisTolstoy。Formyownpart，IthinkthatthebooksofZolaarenotimmoral，buttheyareindecentthroughthefactsthattheynakedlyrepresent;theyareinfinitelymoremoralthanthebooksofanyotherFrenchnovelist。Thismaynotbesayingagreatdeal，butitissayingthetruth，andIdonotmindowningthathehasbeenoneofmygreatliterarypassions，almostasgreatasFlaubert，andgreaterthanDaudetorMaupassant，thoughIhaveprofoundlyappreciatedtheexquisiteartistryofboththese。NoFrenchwriter，however，hasmovedmesomuchastheSpanish，fortheFrencharewantinginthehumorwhichendearsthese，andisthequintessenceoftheircharm。
Youcannotbeatperfecteasewithafriendwhodoesnotjoke，andI
supposethisiswhatdeprivedmeofafinalsatisfactioninthecompanyofAnthonyTrollope，whojokesheavilyornotatall，andwhomIshouldotherwisemakeboldtodeclarethegreatestofEnglishnovelists;asitis，ImustputbeforehimJaneAusten，whosebooks，lateinlife，havebeenayouthfulrapturewithme。Evenwithout，muchhumorTrollope’sbookshavebeenavastpleasuretomethroughtheirsimpletruthfulness。
PerhapsiftheyweremorehumoroustheywouldnotbesotruetotheBritishlifeandcharacterpresentintheminthewholelengthandbreadthofitsexpansivecommonplaceness。Itistheirseriousfidelitywhichgivesthemavalueuniqueinliterature，andwhichifitwerecarefullyanalyzedwouldaffordaprincipleofthesamequalityinanauthorwhowasundoubtedlyoneofthefinestofartistsaswellasthemostPhilistineofmen。
Icameratherlate，butIcamewithalltheardorofwhatseemsmyperennialliteraryyouth，totheloveofThomasHardy，whomIfirstknewinhisstory’APairofBlueEyes。’Asusual，afterIhadreadthisbookandfeltthenewcharminit，Iwishedtoreadthebooksofnootherauthor，andtoreadhisbooksoverandover。IloveeventhefaultsofHardy;Iwilllethimplaymeanytrickhechooses（andheisnotaboveplayingtricks，whenheseemstogettiredofhisstoryorperplexedwithit），ifonlyhewillgoonmakinghispeasantstalk，andhisratheruncertainladiesgetinandoutoflove，andservethemselvesofeverychancethatfortuneoffersthemofhavingtheirownway。WeshrinkfromtheunmoralityoftheLatinraces，butHardyhasdivinedintheheartofourownracealingeringheathenism，which，ifnotGreek，hascertainlybeennomorebaptizedthantheneo—hellenismoftheParisians。Hisheroinesespeciallyexemplifyit，andIshouldbesafeinsayingthathisEthelbertas，hisEustacias，hisElfridas，hisBathshebas，hisFancies，arewhollypagan。Ishouldnotdaretoaskhowmuchoftheircharmcamefromthatfact;andtheauthordoesnotfailtoshowyouhowmuchharm，sothatitisnotonmyconscience。Hispeopleliveveryclosetotheheartofnature，andnoone，unlessitisTourguenief，givesyouaricherandsweetersenseofherunitywithhumannature。Hardyisagreatpoetaswellasagreathumorist，andifhewerenotagreatartistalsohishumorwouldbeenoughtoendearhimtome。
XXXV。TOLSTOY
Icomenow，thoughnotquiteintheorderoftime，tothenoblestofalltheseenthusiasms——namely，mydevotionforthewritingsofLyofTolstoy。
Ishouldwishtospeakofhimwithhisownincomparabletruth，yetIdonotknowhowtogiveanotionofhisinfluencewithouttheeffectofexaggeration。AsmuchasonemerelyhumanbeingcanhelpanotherI
believethathehashelpedme;hehasnotinfluencedmeinaestheticsonly，butinethics，too，sothatIcanneveragainseelifeinthewayI
sawitbeforeIknewhim。Tolstoyawakensinhisreaderthewilltobeaman;noteffectively，notspectacularly，butsimply，really。Heleadsyoubacktotheonlytrueideal，awayfromthatfalsestandardofthegentleman，totheManwhosoughtnottobedistinguishedfromothermen，butidentifiedwiththem，tothatPresenceinwhichthefinestgentlemanshowshisalloyofvanity，andthegreatestgeniusshrinkstothemeasureofhismiserableegotism。IlearnedfromTolstoytotrycharacterandmotivebynoothertest，andthoughIamperpetuallyfalsetothatsublimeidealmyself，stilltheidealremainswithme，tomakemeashamedthatIamnottruetoit。TolstoygavemehearttohopethattheworldmayyetbemadeoverintheimageofHimwhodiedforit，whenallCaesarsthingsshallbefinallyrendereduntoCaesar，andmenshallcomeintotheirown，intotherighttolaborandtherighttoenjoythefruitsoftheirlabor，eachonemasterofhimselfandservanttoeveryother。
Hetaughtmetoseelifenotasachaseofaforeverimpossiblepersonalhappiness，butasafieldforendeavortowardsthehappinessofthewholehumanfamily;andIcanneverlosethisvision，howeverIclosemyeyes，andstrivetoseemyowninterestasthehighestgood。Hegavemenewcriterions，newprinciples，which，afterall，werethosethataretaughtusinourearliestchildhood，beforewehavecometotheevilwisdomoftheworld。AsIreadhisdifferentethicalbooks，’WhattoDo，’
’MyConfession，’and’MyReligion，’IrecognizedtheirtruthwitharapturesuchasIhaveknowninnootherreading，andIrenderedthemmyallegiance，heartandsoul，withwhateversicknessoftheoneanddespairoftheother。Theyhaveityet，andIbelievetheywillhaveitwhileI
live。ItiswithinexpressibleastonishmentthatIbearthemattaintedofpessimism，asiftheteachingofamanwhoseidealwassimplegoodnessmustmeantheprevalenceofevil。Thewayheshowedmeseemedindeedimpossibletomywill，buttomyconscienceitwasandistheonlypossibleway。Ifthere，isanypointonwhichhehasnotconvincedmyreasonitisthatofourabilitytowalkthisnarrowwayalone。Eventhereheislogical，butasZolasubtlydistinguishesinspeakingofTolstoy’sessayon\"Money，\"heisnotreasonable。Solitudeenfeeblesandpalsies，anditisascomradesandbrothersthatmenmustsavetheworldfromitself，ratherthanthemselvesfromtheworld。ItwassotheearliestChristians，whohadallthingscommon，understoodthelifeofChrist，andIbelievethatthelatestwillunderstanditso。
IhavespokenfirstoftheethicalworksofTolstoy，becausetheyareofthefirstimportancetome，butIthinkthathisaestheticalworksareasperfect。Tomythinkingtheytranscendintruth，whichisthehighestbeauty，allotherworksoffictionthathavebeenwritten，andIbelievethattheydothisbecausetheyobeythelawoftheauthor’sownlife。
Hisconscienceisoneethicallyandoneaesthetically;withhiswilltobetruetohimselfhecannotbefalsetohisknowledgeofothers。I
thoughtthelastwordinliteraryarthadbeensaidtomebythenovelsofTourguenief，butitseemedlikethefirst，merely，whenIbegantoacquaintmyselfwiththesimplermethodofTolstoy。Icametoitbyaccident，andwithoutanymanner，ofpreoccupationinTheCossacks，oneofhisearlybooks，whichhadbeenonmyshelvesunreadforfiveorsixyears。IdidnotknowevenTolstoy’snamewhenIopenedit，anditwaswithakindofamazethatIreadit，andfeltwordbyword，andlinebyline，thetruthofanewartinit。
IdonotknowhowitisthatthegreatRussianshavethesecretofsimplicity。Somesayitisbecausetheyhavenotalongliterarypastandarenotconventionalizedbytheusageofmanygenerationsofotherwriters，butthiswillhardlyaccountforthebrotherlydirectnessoftheirdealingwithhumannature;theabsenceofexperienceelsewherecharacterizestheartistwithcrudeness，andsimplicityisthelasteffectofknowledge。Tolstoyis，ofcourse，thefirstoftheminthissupremegrace。HehasnotonlyTourguenief’stransparencyofstyle，uncloudedbyanymistofthepersonalitywhichwemistakenlyvalueinstyle，andwhichoughtnomoretobetherethantheartist’spersonalityshouldbeinaportrait;buthehasamethodwhichnotonlyseemswithoutartifice，butisso。Icangetatthemannerofmostwriters，andtellwhatitis，butIshouldbebaffledtotellwhatTolstoy’smanneris;
perhapshehasnomanner。Thisappearstometrueofhisnovels，which，withtheirvastvarietyofcharacterandincident，arealikeintheirsingleendeavortogetthepersonslivingbeforeyou，bothintheiractionandinthepeculiarlydramaticinterpretationoftheiremotionandcogitation。Thereareplentyofnoveliststotellyouthattheircharactersfeltandthoughtsoandso，butyouhavetotakeitontrust;
Tolstoyalonemakesyouknowhowandwhyitwassowiththemandnototherwise。Ifthereisanythinginhimwhichcanbecopiedorburlesqueditisthisabilityofhistoshowmeninwardlyaswellasoutwardly;itistheonlytraitofhiswhichIcanputmyhandon。
After’TheCossacks’Iread’AnnaKarenina’withadeepeningsenseoftheauthor’sunrivalledgreatness。IthoughtthatIsawthroughhiseyesahumanaffairofthatmostsorrowfulsortasitmustappeartotheInfiniteCompassion;thebookisasortofrevelationofhumannatureincircumstancesthathavebeensoperpetuallyliedaboutthatwehavealmostlostthefacultyofperceivingthetruthconcerninganillicitlove。Whenyouhaveonceread’AnnaKarenina’youknowhowfatallymiserableandessentiallyunhappysuchalovemustbe。ButthecharacterofKareninhimselfisquiteasimportantastheintrigueofAnnaandVronsky。Itiswonderfulhowsuchaman，cold，Philistineandevenmeanincertainways，towersintoasublimityunknown（tome，atleast），infictionwhenheforgives，andyetknowsthathecannotforgivewithdignity。Thereissomethingcrucial，andsomethingtriumphant，notbeyondthepower，buthithertobeyondtheimaginationofmeninthiseffect，whichisnotsolicited，notforced，notintheleastromantic，butcomesnaturally，almostinevitably，fromthemakeofman。
Thevastprospects，thefar—reachingperspectivesof’WarandPeace’madeitasgreatasurpriseformeinthehistoricalnovelas’AnnaKarenina’
hadbeeninthestudyofcontemporarylife;anditspeopleandinterestsdidnotseemmoreremote，sincetheyareofacivilizationalwaysasstrangeandofahumanityalwaysasknown。
IreadsomeshorterstoriesofTolstoy’sbeforeIcametothisgreatestworkofhis：Iread’ScenesoftheSiegeofSebastopol，’whichissomuchofthesamequalityas’WarandPeace;’andIread’Policoushka’andmostofhisshortstorieswithasenseofmyunitywiththeirpeoplesuchasI
hadneverfeltwiththepeopleofotherfiction。
Hisdidacticstories，likeallstoriesofthesort，dwindleintoallegories;perhapstheydotheirworkthebetterforthis，withthesimpleintelligencestheyaddress;butIthinkthatwhereTolstoybecomesimpatientofhisofficeofartist，andpreferstobedirectlyateacher，herobshimselfofmorethanhalfhisstrengthwiththosehecanmoveonlythroughtherealizationofthemselvesinothers。Thesimplepathos，andtheapparentindirectnessofsuchataleasthatof’Poticoushka，’
thepeasantconscript，isofvastlymorevaluetotheworldatlargethanallhisparables;and’TheDeathofIvanIlyitch，’thePhilistineworldling，willturntheheartsofmanymorefromtheloveoftheworldthansuchpalefablesoftheearlyChristianlifeas\"WorkwhileyehavetheLight。\"Aman’sgiftsarenotgivenhimfornothing，andthemanwhohasthegreatgiftofdramaticfictionhasnorighttocastitawayortoletitrustoutindisuse。
Terribleasthe’KreutzerSonata’was，ithadamoraleffectdramaticallywhichitlostaltogetherwhentheauthordescendedtoexegesis，andappliedtomarriagethelessonofoneevilmarriage。Infine，Tolstoyiscertainlynottobeheldupasinfallible。Heisvery，distinctlyfallible，butIthinkhislifeisnotlessinstructivebecauseincertainthingsitseemsafailure。Therewasbutonelifeeverlivedupontheearthwhichwaswithoutfailure，andthatwasChrist’s，whoseerringandstumblingfollowerTolstoyis。Thereisnootherexample，nootherideal，andthechiefuseofTolstoyistoenforcethisfactinourage，afternineteencenturiesofhopelessendeavortosubstituteceremonyforcharacter，andthecreedforthelife。Irecognizethetruthofthiswithoutpretendingtohavebeenchangedinanythingbutmypointofviewofit。WhatIfeelsureisthatIcanneverlookatlifeinthemeanandsordidwaythatIdidbeforeIreadTolstoy。
Artistically，hehasshownmeagreatnessthathecanneverteachme。
IamlongpasttheagewhenIcouldwishtoformmyselfuponanotherwriter，andIdonotthinkIcouldnowinsensiblytakeonthelikenessofanother;buthisworkhasbeenarevelationandadelighttome，suchasIamsureIcanneverknowagain。Idonotbelievethatinthewholecourseofmyreading，andnotevenintheearlymomentofmyliteraryenthusiasms，Ihaveknownsuchuttersatisfactioninanywriter，andthissupremejoyhascometomeatatimeoflifewhennewfriendships，nottosaynewpassions，arerareandreluctant。ItisasifthebestwineatthishighfeastwhereIhavesatsolonghadbeenkeptforthelast，andIneednotdenyamiracleinitinordertoattestmyskillinjudgingvintages。Infact，Iprefertobelievethatmylifehasbeenfullofmiracles，andthatthegoodhasalwayscometomeattherighttime，sothatIcouldprofitmostbyit。IbelieveifIhadnotturnedthecornerofmyfiftiethyear，whenIfirstknewTolstoy，IshouldnothavebeenabletoknowhimasfullyasIdid。Hehasbeentomethatfinalconsciousness，whichhespeaksofsowiselyinhisessayon\"Life。\"
IcameinittotheknowledgeofmyselfinwaysIhadnotdreamtofbefore，andbeganatleasttodiscernmyrelationstotherace，withoutwhichweareeachnothing。Thesupremeartinliteraturehaditshighesteffectinmakingmesetartforeverbelowhumanity，anditiswiththewishtoofferthegreatesthomagetohisheartandmind，whichanymancanpayanother，thatIclosethisrecordwiththenameofLyofTolstoy。