In particular he makes me see
that even French realism is an artificial and feeble growth compared with
the spontaneous, unconscious realism of the Russians. If you talked to
Russians about realism they probably would not know quite what you meant.
And when you had at length made them understand they would certainly
exclaim: "Well, of course! But why all this fuss about a simple matter?"
Only a man who knows Russia very well, and who has a genuine affection for
the Russian character, could have written these chapters. And I am ready
to admit that they are more useful than many miles of appreciation in the
delicate balancing manner of, say, an Arthur Symons.
* * * * *
Mr. Baring raises again the vexed question of Tourgeniev's position. It is
notorious that Tourgeniev is much more highly appreciated outside Russia
than in it. One is, of course, tempted to say that Russians cannot judge
their own authors, for there is a powerful and morally overwhelming cult
for Tourgeniev in France, Germany, and England. I have myself said, sworn,
and believed that "On the Eve" is the most perfect example of the novel
yet produced in any country. And I am not sure that I am yet prepared to
go back on myself. However, it is absurd to argue that Russians cannot
judge their own authors.
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