23 NOVEMBER 1867, Page 19

A RUSSIAN STORY.*

THERE will be severe disappointment in store for all who commence reading Fathers and Sons with the preconceived idea of finding in it a high-class novel, or even one tolerably interesting. It is visibly the product of a thoughtful writer, but for all that it is intolerably dull and heavy, being made up almost entirely of con- versations, with not a shred of action running through them. The hero of the story is amedical student called Bazarof, possessed of "long thin face, with a broad forehead, a nose thick above and sharper towards the end, large greenish eyes, and long drooping moustaches of a sandy hue," slammed up altogether as a "physi- ognomy expressing intelligence and confidence in himself." In default, apparently, of anything better to do, this Bazarof goes about dissecting frogs, and preaching the doctrines of the "Nihilists," or adherents of French Positivism as represented to exist in Russia. "He does not believe in principles, but he believes in frogs," says one of his non-admirers, giving a full length portrait of Bazarof, minus the greenish eyes and sandy moustaches. The entire plot of the novel consists in the medical student pay- ing visits to three different houses,—that of Areadi, his youthful disciple and admirer ; that of Madame Odintsof, a rich lady with whom he falls in love; and that of his own parents, in which latter dwelling he is attacked by typhus fever and dies. Whatever there is of interest in this terribly uneventful tale attaches to the fact of Bazarof falling in love with Madame Odintsof ; but even this episode is made unattractive by long dialogues, and an all but complete want of striking situations. Nevertheless, the author evidently intended to make the love affair not only the centre, but -the justification of his work, and he has succeeded so far as to render the story as tragic as absence of action can make it. The young " nihilist " who believes in nothing but what he can per- ceive with his senses, and who, with the usual pride of sceptics, fiercely boasts of his narrow views, is forced at last to acknow- ledge to himself that love is one of the things not to be explained by the facts of the dissecting-table, and with this knowledge he dies„ gnashing his teeth in agony at what he considers his defeat. Though not by any means a new theme, dove and " nihilism " are clearly capable of being shaped into a very good picture, if only * Father's and Sons. A NoveL By Ivan Serghe:evItch Turgenef. Tranaktted from the Mandan, with the approval of the Author, by Eugene Seinyler,'Ph.L. New York: Leypoldt and Holt. 1867.

the artist will take a little trouble with it. But as here pre- sented, it is a mere rough sketch, in which the duty of imagination is left entirely to the reader.

Most imperfect as it is as a work of art, aud not fulfilling even the ordinary conditions of a novel, M. Turgenef's book has never- theless some fine points. The character of Bazarof is one he has drawn with evident zest, so that, although he does nothing but talking, one gets to feel a certain interest in the green-eyed medical student. His farewell speech to young Arcadi, who

renounces "nihilism" with the intention of getting married, is very good in its way. "Bazarof slammed down the cover of his

trunk and stood up : 'Now I will repeat to you by way of ediett (for we need not deceive ourselves, we are separating for ever, and you must know it as well as I) you are doing wisely ; our rough, sad, vagabond existence does not suit you. You lack bold- ness, wickedness, but in return you are endowed with a youthful audacity and ardour, that does not suffice for the work which we others are pursuing. And' then, you gentlemen cannot go beyond a generous indignation, or a generous resignation, things which do not signify much. You think that you are great men ; you think yourselves at the pinnacle of human perfection when you have ceased to beat your servants ; and we, we ask only to fight with one another, and to beat. Our dust reddens your eyes ; our mire soils you. You are truly not of our height ; you admire yourselves complacently ; you take pleasure in reproaching yourselves. Al! that bores us. We have other things to do than to admire or reproach ourselves ; we must have other men broken on the wheel.' Here follows a long conversation between Bazarof and Arcadi, parts of which are reallyamusing. "See," said Arcadi suddenly, " see that dead leaf which has just detached itself from a plane tree, and which is falling to the ground : it flutters in the air exactly as a butterfly would do. Is it not strange ? That which is most sad and dead is like that which is gayest and fullest of life." "Oh, my dear Arcadi Nicolaivitch," exclaimed Bazarof, "I ask you as a favour not to talk poetically." "I speak as I feel. But, really, this is despotism. A thought comes to me : why should I not express it?" "True, but why should I not likewise say what I think? I think that it is indecent to talk poetically."

Readers of Fathers and Sons are informed by the translator, M. Eugene Schuyler, that "a tempest was raised in Russia by its appearance ; passionate criticisms, calumnies, and viru- lent attacks abounded. Russians are not the least susceptible people in the world, and a true picture of two generations of any society would scarcely please those whose portraits are drawn." Here, as elsewhere in his five and a half pages of preface, the translator is creel upon the author. If M. Turgenef's is a "true picture,". it is impossible to imagine not only how it could give rise to "a tempest," or .to anything in the shape of "virulence," but how any boisterous and turbulent matters can subsist even for a moment in Russia. If the novel of Fathers and Sons leaves any idea at all as to Russian life, it is that it must be the most horribly drowsy, dull, and prosaic existence which mortals lead upon earth. There are five personages altogether figur- ing in the story of M. Turgenef, and except the hero, Bazarof, in whom there is a little vivacity, though not sustained by any means, the whole of them are unspeakably sluggish and obtuse, all their action consisting in eating, drinking, sleeping, and occasion- ally weeping a few tears. Of the five figures, three, the father of Bazarof, and the sire and uncle of Arcadi, represent the "Fathers, that is, according to M. Turgenef's translator, the elder genera- tion of Russians; while the younger tribe of the " Sons " is delineated in the two persons of Bazarof and Arcadi. Now, it is difficult to say which of them are most dismal and drowsy, the "Sons" or the "Fathers." There is not a-trace of wickedness in either of them, nor even of average energy directed to a definite purpose, and accomplishing definite ends, and it is very difi- cult-to understand how the perusal of the various conversations on miscellaneous subjects which the five worthies are holding in turn with each other could have created such a storm of excitement in the Empire of Russia, such a ".tempest," as that reported by M. Eugene Schuyler. Bazarof, central figure of M. Turgenef's novel, is simply a student of the Quartier Latin, indispensable ingredient of three-fourths of modern French romances ; he lives free and easy, studies a little, drinks hard, gets hold of pretty women when he has a chance to do so with- out too much trouble, and talks Comte with a Russian accent. For the rest, he is a very good fellow, with a thousand estimable qualities, and having expressed his perfect scorn of mankind, religion, virtue, and everything else, he finishes by sacrificing his life in the exercise of the loftiest charity, by attending the death-

bed of a poor wretch struck down by pyasmia. The other " Son " and the three " Fathers " are utterly common-place characters, that might figure with equal propriety in a novel of Gustaf Freytag, or of Octave Feuillet, or of Miss Braddon. Under these circumstances, it is extremely hard to discover the distinguishing merits of "the last specimen of modern Russian literature."

M. Turgenef's novel does not give vivid glimpses into actual Russian life, but what it says of the condition of the lower classes, particularly the emancipated serfs, called " peasants " by the translator, is a very dark picture indeed. Being an advanced Liberal, with opinions fortified by prison and exile, the author of Fathers and Sons does not seem a man likely to underrate the stu- pendous radical measure of serf emancipation, yet there are state- ments here and there which make it appear almost as if it had been a failure, at least for the time. "The peasants give me much trouble this year," said Nicholas Petrovitch to his son, "they do not pay their rent. What shall I do?" "Are you better satisfied with the day-labourers ?" asked Arcadi. "Yes," replied Nicholas Petrovitch, between his teeth, "but they get corrupted, that is the trouble. Besides, they do not work with real heartiness, and

spoil the tools." "The inhabitants of Marino were not free from care, and Nicholas Petrovitch had his good share of it. The farm gave him every day more trouble, and miserable and paltry annoyances. The hired workmen caused difficulties which were really insurmountable. Some demanded accounts, and required an increase of pay ; others left, after having received an advance of their pay ; the horses fell sick ; the harness was constantly giving out ; the work was badly done. A threshing-machine which had been brought from Moscow proved too heavy to be used ; a bolting-mill was broken the first time it was tried ; half of the cattle-sheds burned down, thanks to an old purblind servant, who went, in a high wind, to exorcise her cow with a pan of lighted charcoal ; and this old woman afterwards declared that the misfortune had happened because the master had taken it upon himself to have cheese and other novelties of the same nature made. The steward was suddenly attacked with laziness, and began to grow fat—as every Russian does who is fed on free bread.' His activity was con- fined to throwing a stone at a little pig which was passing, or to threatening a half naked child its soon as he saw Nicliiilas Petro- vitch; he slept almost all the rest of the time. The tenantry paid nothing, and stole wood ; often at night the guard drove away, not without a lively resistance, horses belonging to peasants, pasturing in the meadows. Nicholas Petrovitch had ordered a penalty for this offence ; but generally the captured animals were returned to their owners, after having spent some days in the master's stables. To crown all these annoyances, the peasants began to quarrel among themselves ; brothers asked for a distri- bution, their wives being no longer able to live under the same roof ; battles were continually taking place in the village ; a crowd of peasants assembled suddenly, as if in obedience to an order, in front of the overseer's office, reparing thence to their master's house, their faces bruised with fist blows, often in a state of intoxi- cation, and loudly calling for justice ; in the midst of the tumult, the sobs and shrill lamentations of the women, mingled with the vociferations and abusive words of the men." The immediate results of serf emancipation, as exhibited on the estate of Nicholas Petrovitch, are summed up in a few words. "The new mode of management that had just been adopted did not work smoothly, but creaked like a badly greased wheel, or a piece of furniture made of damp wood by a village carpenter." Not very flattering to the Imperial upholsterer.