r cause, that anyone whom they did
not regard as definitely for them was at once considered an enemy, and
an impartial delineation of any character concerned in the political
struggle was bound to displease both parties. If a novelist drew a
Nihilist, he must be one or the other, a hero or a scoundrel, if either
the revolutionaries or the reactionaries were to be pleased. If in
England the militant suffragists suddenly had a huge mass of educated
opinion behind them and a still larger mass of educated public opinion
against them, and some one were to draw in a novel an impartial picture
of a suffragette, the same thing would happen. On a small scale, as far
as the suffragettes are concerned, it has happened in the case of Mr.
Wells. But if Turgenev's popularity suffered a shock in Russia from
which it with difficulty recovered, in western Europe it went on
increasing. Especially in England, Turgenev became the idol of all that
was eclectic, and admiration for Turgenev a hallmark of good taste....

"Fathers and Children" is as beautifully constructed as a drama of
Sophocles; the events move inevitably to a tragic close. There is not a
touch of banality from beginning to end, and not an unnecessary word;
the portraits of the old father and mother, the young Kirsanov, and all
the minor characters are perfect; and amidst the trivial crowd Bazarov
stands out like Lucifer, the strongest--the only strong character--that
Turgenev created, the first Nihilist--for if Turgenev was not the first
to invent the word, he was the first to apply it in this sense.

Bazarov is the incarnation of the Lucifer type that recurs again and
again in Russian history and fiction, in sharp contrast to the meek,
humble type of Ivan Durak. Lermontov's Pechorin was in some respects an
anticipation of Bazarov; so were the many Russian rebels. He is the man
who denies, to whom art is a silly toy, who detests abstractions,
knowledge, and the love of Nature; he believes in nothing; he bows to
nothing; he can break, but he cannot bend; he does break, and that is
the tragedy, but, breaking, he retains his invincible pride, and

"not cowardly puts off his helmet,"

and he dies "valiantly vanquished."

In the pages which describe his death Turgenev reaches the high-water
mark of his art, his moving quality, his power, his reserve. For manly
pathos they rank among the greatest scenes in literature, stronger than
the death of Colonel Newcome and the best