ld its own against quantity. Although small numerically, the section
of Russian society which Turgenev represents is enormously interesting,
because it is the brain of the nation, the living ferment which alone
can leaven the huge unformed masses. It is upon them that depend the
destinies of their country. Besides, the artistic value of his works
could only be enhanced by his concentrating his genius upon a field
so familiar to him, and engrossing so completely his mind and his
sympathies. What he loses in dimensions he gains in correctness, depth,
wonderful subtlety and effectiveness of every minute detail, and the
surpassing beauty of the whole. The jewels of art he left us are like
those which nations store in the sanctuaries of their museums and
galleries to be admired, the longer they are studied. But we must look
to Tolstoi for the huge and towering monuments, hewn in massive granite,
to be put upon some cross way of nations as an object of wonder and
admiration for all who come from the four winds of heaven.

Turgenev did not write for the masses but for the _elite_ among men. The
fact that he has won such a fame among foreigners, and that the
number of his readers is widening every year, proves that great art
is international, and also, I may say, that artistic taste and
understanding is growing everywhere.

II

It is written that no man is a prophet in his own country, and from time
immemorial all the unsuccessful aspirants to the profession have found
their consolation in this proverbial truth. But for aught we know this
hard limitation has never been applied to artists. Indeed it seems
absurd on the face of it that the artist's countrymen, for whom
and about whom he writes, should be less fit to recognise him than
strangers. Yet in certain special and peculiar conditions, the most
unlikely things will sometimes occur, as is proved in the case of
Turgenev.

The fact is that _as an artist_ he was appreciated to his full value
first by foreigners. The Russians have begun to understand him, and to
assign to him his right place in this respect only now, after his death,
whilst in his lifetime his _artistic genius_ was comparatively little
cared for, save by a handful of his personal friends.

This supreme art told upon the Russian public unconsciously, as it was
bound to tell upon a nation so richly endowed with natural artistic
instinct. Turgenev was always the most widely read of Russian authors,
not