rmonious
thought, a thing which keeps all the manifestations of life in
equilibrium. Numerous doubts torment him, and his mind has been so
moved with them, his heart so wounded, that, for a long time, he has
lived "empty inside."

"What have I to say to others?" he asks himself. "That which was
told them long ago, that which has always been told them, none of
which makes any one any better. But have I the right to teach these
ideas and convictions, if I, who was brought up according to them,
act so often in opposition to them?"

With his usual sincerity, it is not to be wondered at that he
answered this question in the negative, and, to cite the words of
one of his characters, that he "refused to live in the chains which
had already been forged for free thought, and to class himself under
the label of an ism."

He has not thought it profitable to hide his doubts and has not
feared to declare openly that none of the existing philosophies suit
him, and that he is trying to follow his own path. All of his work
is but the absolute image of his own uncertainties, of his
passionate researches, and of his constant "restlessness."

At times people have believed that he was a disciple of Nietzsche.
And, in truth, he has come under his influence, like so many other
Russian authors. But he has gone on mostly by himself, aided by his
acute sensibility, which has not, as yet, allowed him to adopt any
one system to the exclusion of all others, or to formulate a system
for his personal use.

"I know one thing," he says, "it is not happiness that we should
hope for. What should we do with it? The meaning of life does not
lie in the search for happiness, and the satisfaction of the
material appetites will never suffice to make a man fully contented
with himself. It is in beauty that we must look for the meaning of
life, and in the energy of the will! Every moment of our lives ought
to be devoted to some better end...."

However, he has very neatly set forth what he considers the task of
the author. According to him, the man of to-day has lost courage; he
interests himself too little in life, his desire to live with
dignity has grown weaker, "an odor of putrefaction surrounds him,
cowardice and slavery corrupt his heart, laziness binds his hands
and his mind." But, at the same time, life grows in breadth and
depth, and, from day to day, men are learning to question. And it
is the writer who ought to answer their questions; but h