PART VII

INTRODUCTION TO S. T. SEMËNOV'S PEASANT STORIES

I LONG ago laid down for myself the rule of judging every artistic production from three aspects, first from the side of its content; in how far is that which the artist reveals from a new side important and necessary for man; for any production is, I think, a work of art only if it reveals a new side of life: secondly, in how far is the form of the work good, beautiful, and in accord with its contents: and thirdly, to what extent is the relation of the artist to his subject sincere, that is, in how far does he believe in what he presents to us. This last quality always seems to me the most important in artistic work. It gives its force to a work of art, and makes it infectious, that is, it evokes in the spectator, the hearer, or the reader those feelings which the artist himself experiences. And Semenov possesses that quality in the highest degree. There is a well-known story of Flaubert's which Turgenev has translated, La légende de Julien l'hospitalier; the last episode, intended to be the most touching in the story, is one in which Julien lies down in the same bed with a leper and warms him with his own body. This leper is Christ, who carries off Julien to heaven with him. All this is told with great mastery, but I always remain perfectly cold when I read that story. I feel that the author himself would not have done and would not even have wished to do what his hero does, and therefore I myself do not wish to do it and do not experience any agitation at reading of this amazing exploit. But Semenov describes the simplest story and it always

touches me. A village youth comes to Moscow to find a place and, helped by a coachman from his part of the country who is living with a rich merchant, he gets a job as the yardporter's assistant. This place had previously been held by an old man. The merchant, by his coachman's advice, had discharged the old man and taken the lad in his place. The lad comes in the evening to begin his service, and standing in the yard he hears the old man complain in the porter's lodge that through no fault of his he has been dismissed, merely to give place to a younger man. The lad suddenly feels pity for the old man and is ashamed to have pushed him out. He considers the matter, hesitates, and finally decides to give up the situation which he needs so much and would have been so glad to take.

All this is told in such a way that every time I read it I feel that the author would not only have wished to, but certainly would, have acted in that way under similar circumstances; his feelings infect me and I feel pleased, and it seems to me that I too should have done, or have been ready to do, something good.

Sincerity is Semenov's chief merit. But besides that, his content is always important: important because it relates to the most important class in Russia, the peasantry, whom Semenov knows as only a peasant can know them who himself lives in the laborious village; and the content of his stories is also important because, in them all, the chief interest is not in external events or in the peculiarity of the life, but in the way men approach or fall away from the ideal of Christian truth, which is present clearly and firmly in the author's soul and supplies him with a safe standard and appraisement of the quality and importance of human actions. The form of the stories fully corresponds to their content: it is serious and simple, the details are always correct, and there

are no false notes.

What is particularly good is the language,

often quite original in its expressions, but always natural and strikingly strong and picturesque, in which the characters of the story speak.

PART VIII

INTRODUCTION TO THE WORKS OF GUY DE

MAUPASSANT

(This article was written by Tolstoy in 1894, to serve as preface to a Russian edition of a selection of Guy de Maupassant's stories.)

It was, I think, in 1881 that Turgenev while visiting me took out of his portmanteau a small French book entitled La Maison Tellier, and gave it to me.

"Read it some time," said he in an off-hand way just as, a year before, he had given me a number of Russian Wealth that contained an article by Gárshin, who was then only beginning to write. Evidently on this occasion, as in Gárshin's case, he was afraid of influencing me one way or the other and wished to know my own unbiassed opinion.

"It is by a young French writer," said he. "Have a look at it. It isn't bad. He knows you and appreciates you highly," he added as if wishing to propitiate me. "As a man he reminds me of Druzhínin. He is, like Druzhínin, an excellent son, an admirable friend, un homme d'un commerce sûr,1 and, besides that, he associates with the working people, guides them, and helps them. Even in his relations with women he reminds me of Druzhínin." And Turgenev told me something astonishing, incredible, of Maupassant's conduct in that respect.

That time (1881) was for me a period of most ardent inner reconstruction of my whole outlook on life, and in this reconstruction the activity called the fine arts, to which I had formerly devoted all my powers, had not only lost the im

1 A reliable man.

portance I formerly attributed to it, but had become simply obnoxious to me on account of the unnatural position it had hitherto occupied in my life, as it does generally in the estimation of the people of the well-to-do classes.

But to

And therefore such works as the one Turgénev was recommending to me did not then interest me in the least. please him I read the book he had handed me.

From the first story, La Maison Tellier, despite the indecency and insignificance of the subject of the story, I could not help recognizing that the author had what is called talent.

He possessed that particular gift called talent, which consists in the capacity to direct intense concentrated attention according to the author's tastes on this or that subject, in consequence of which the man endowed with this capacity sees in the things to which he directs his attention some new aspect which others have overlooked; and this gift of seeing what others have not seen Maupassant evidently possessed. But judging by the little volume I read, he unfortunately lacked the chief of the three conditions, besides talent, essential to a true work of art. These are: (1) a correct, that is, a moral relation of the author to his subject; (2) clearness of expression, or beauty of form, the two are identical; and (3) sincerity, that is, a sincere feeling of love or hatred of what the artist depicts. Of these three, Maupassant possessed only the two last and was quite lacking in the first. He had not a correct, that is a moral, relation to the subjects depicted.

Judging by what I read I was convinced that Maupassant possessed talent, that is to say, the gift of attention revealing in the objects and facts of life with which he deals qualities others have not perceived. He was also master of a beautiful style, expressing what he wanted to say clearly, simply, and with charm. He was also master of that condition of true artistic production without which a work of art does not produce its effect, namely, sincerity; that is, he did