Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Eight/Chapter 1

by Leo Tolstoy

 

PART EIGHTH

 

CHAPTER I

Almost two months had passed by, half the hot summer was gone, but Sergyeï Ivanovitch had only just made up his mind to leave Moscow. An important event for him had just occurred. The year before he had finished his book, entitled, "An Essay on the Principles and the Forms of Government in Europe and in Russia," the fruit of six years of labor. The introduction, as well as some fragments from the book, had already appeared in the reviews, and certain parts had been read by the author to the people of his circle, so that the ideas contained in this treatise could not be a perfect novelty for the public; but nevertheless Sergyeï Ivanovitch expected that the book on its appearance would attract serious attention, and produce, if not a revolution in science, at least a powerful sensation in the learned world.

This book, after careful revision, had been published the year before, and distributed among the booksellers.

Though Sergyeï Ivanovitch answered reluctantly and with pretended indifference the questions of his friends who asked how the book was going, and though he refrained from inquiring of the booksellers how it was selling, nevertheless he followed eagerly and with strained attention every sign of the impression which his book was producing on society and literature.

But a week passed, a second, a third, and there was not a sign of any impression. His friends, specialists and savants, evidently out of politeness, spoke to him about it; but the rest of his acquaintances, not being interested in a book of scientific purport, did not speak about it at all. Society, also, which just at that time was preoccupied with entirely different matters, showed utter unconcern. In literary circles, also, during the lapse of a month, there was not a word about his book. Sergyeï Ivanovitch carefully calculated the time necessary for preparing critical reviews, but months passed by and there also was absolute silence.

Only in the Northern Beetle, in a facetious feuilleton regarding the singer Drabanti, who had lost his voice, a few scornful words were said in regard to Koznuishef's book, showing that it had already been criticized by all, and was given over to universal ridicule. At length, after three months, a critical article appeared in a journal of importance. Sergyeï Ivanovitch knew who the author was. He had met him once at Golubtsof's.

He was a very young and feeble critic, very clever as a writer, but perfectly uneducated, and cowardly in his private relations.

Notwithstanding Sergyeï Ivanovitch's contempt of the author, he began to read the article with extraordinary interest. It proved to be abominable.

Evidently, the critic understood the whole book just exactly as he should not have understood it. But he had so cleverly put together a selection of extracts, that for those who had not read the book—and apparently almost no one had read it—it was perfectly clear that the entire book, in spite of its high pretensions, was nothing but a tissue of pompous phrases, and these not always intelligible, as the critic's frequent interrogation points testified, and that the author of the work was a perfect ignoramus; and it was done in such a witty way that Sergyeï Ivanovitch himself could not deny the wit of it; but, after all, it was abominable.

Sergyeï Ivanovitch, in spite of the unusual conscientiousness with which he examined into the justice of these remarks, did not for a moment think of answering the ridiculous errors and blunders; but he could not help instantly remembering all the least details of his meeting and conversation with the author of the article. "Did I say anything to affront him?" said Sergyeï Ivanovitch.

And remembering how, when he met the young author of the article, he had shown up his ignorance in conversation, he, therefore, understood the animus of the criticism.

The appearance of this article was followed by a silence, unbroken by either voice or journal, and Sergyeï Ivanovitch saw that his six years' labor, into which he had put so much of his heart and soul, had been wasted.

And his position was made all the more trying because, now that his book was off his hands, he had nothing especial to occupy the larger part of his time.

He was bright, well educated, in perfect health, and very active; and he did not know how to employ his industry. Conversations with callers, visits to the club, and the meetings of committees, where there was a chance for him to talk, took some of his time; but he, a man long wonted to life in the city, did not permit himself to talk with every one, as his inexperienced brother did when he was in Moscow; so that he had much leisure and a superfluity of intellectual energy.

To his joy, just at this time, which was so trying to him because of the failure of his book, and after his interest in dissenters, American subjects, the famine in Samara, expositions, spiritualism, was exhausted, the Slavic question began to engross public attention; and Sergyeï Ivanovitch, who had been one of its earliest advocates, gave himself up to it with enthusiasm.

Among Sergyeï Ivanovitch's friends nothing else was thought about or talked about except the Serbian war. All the things that lazy people are accustomed to do was done for the help of these brother Slavs. Balls, concerts, dinners, matches, ladies' finery, beer, drinking-saloons,—everything bore witness of sympathy for the Slavs.

With much that was said and written on this subject, Sergyeï Ivanovitch could not agree. He saw that the Slav question was one of those fashionable movements that always carry people to extremes. He saw that many people with petty personal ends in view took part in it. He recognized that the newspapers made many useless and exaggerated statements, in order to attract attention to themselves, and belittle their rivals. He saw that in this common impulse of society, upstarts put themselves forward, and outdid one another in making a noise,—commanders-in-chief without an army, ministers without a ministry, journalists without a journal, party-leaders without partizans. He saw much that was childish and absurd; but he also saw and admired the enthusiasm which united all classes, and which it was impossible not to share.

The massacre of the Serbians, who professed the same faith, and spoke almost the same language, aroused sympathy for their sufferings, and indignation against their persecutors; and the heroism of the Serbs and Montenegrins, who were fighting for a great cause, aroused a universal desire to help their brethren, not only in word, but in deed.

But there was another phenomenon which delighted Sergyeï Ivanovitch especially. This was the manifestation of public opinion. Society actually spoke out its desires. "The national soul received expression," as Sergyeï Ivanovitch expressed it; and the more he studied this movement as a whole, the more evidently it seemed to him that it was destined to grow to enormous proportions and to constitute an epoch.

He devoted himself to the service of this great cause, and forgot to think about his book.

All his time was now so occupied that he could scarcely reply to the letters and demands made upon him.

He had worked all the spring and a part of the summer, and only in the month of July could he tear himself away to go to his brother in the country.

He went for a fortnight's vacation, and rejoiced to find even in the depths of the country, in the very holy of holies of the peasantry, the same awakening of the national spirit in which he himself and all the inhabitants of the capital and the large cities of the empire firmly believed.

Katavasof seized the opportunity to fulfil a promise he had made to visit Levin, and the two friends left town together.