Part Eight: Chapter 1

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Almost two months had passed. The hot summer was half over, butSergey Ivanovitch was only just preparing to leave Moscow.

　　Sergey Ivanovitch's life had not been uneventful during thistime. A year ago he had finished his book, the fruit of sixyears' labor, "Sketch of a Survey of the Principles and Forms ofGovernment in Europe and Russia." Several sections of this bookand its introduction had appeared in periodical publications, andother parts had been read by Sergey Ivanovitch to persons of hiscircle, so that the leading ideas of the work could not becompletely novel to the public. But still Sergey Ivanovitch hadexpected that on its appearance his book would be sure to make aserious impression on society, and if it did not cause arevolution in social science it would, at any rate, make a greatstir in the scientific world.

　　After the most conscientious revision the book had last year beenpublished, and had been distributed among the booksellers.

　　Though he asked no one about it, reluctantly and with feignedindifference answered his friends' inquiries as to how the bookwas going, and did not even inquire of the booksellers how thebook was selling, Sergey Ivanovitch was all on the alert, withstrained attention, watching for the first impression his bookwould make in the world and in literature.

　　But a week passed, a second, a third, and in society noimpression whatever could be detected. His friends who werespecialists and savants, occasionally--unmistakably frompoliteness--alluded to it. The rest of his acquaintances, notinterested in a book on a learned subject, did not talk of it atall. And society generally--just now especially absorbed inother things--was absolutely indifferent. In the press, too, fora whole month there was not a word about his book.

　　Sergey Ivanovitch had calculated to a nicety the time necessaryfor writing a review, but a month passed, and a second, and stillthere was silence.

　　Only in the Northern Beetle, in a comic article on the singerDrabanti, who had lost his voice, there was a contemptuousallusion to Koznishev's book, suggesting that the book had beenlong ago seen through by everyone, and was a subject of generalridicule.

　　At last in the third month a critical article appeared in aserious review. Sergey Ivanovitch knew the author of thearticle. He had met him once at Golubtsov's.

　　The author of the article was a young man, an invalid, very boldas a writer, but extremely deficient in breeding and shy inpersonal relations.

　　In spite of his absolute contempt for the author, it was withcomplete respect that Sergey Ivanovitch set about reading thearticle. The article was awful.

　　The critic had undoubtedly put an interpretation upon the bookwhich could not possibly be put on it. But he had selectedquotations so adroitly that for people who had not read the book(and obviously scarcely anyone had read it) it seemed absolutelyclear that the whole book was nothing but a medley of high-flownphrases, not even--as suggested by marks of interrogation--usedappropriately, and that the author of the book was a personabsolutely without knowledge of the subject. And all this was sowittingly done that Sergey Ivanovitch would not have disownedsuch wit himself. But that was just what was so awful.

　　In spite of the scrupulous conscientiousness with which SergeyIvanovitch verified the correctness of the critic's arguments, hedid not for a minute stop to ponder over the faults and mistakeswhich were ridiculed; but unconsciously he began immediatelytrying to recall every detail of his meeting and conversationwith the author of the article.

　　"Didn't I offend him in some way?" Sergey Ivanovitch wondered.

　　And remembering that when they met he had corrected the young manabout something he had said that betrayed ignorance, SergeyIvanovitch found the clue to explain the article.

　　This article was followed by a deadly silence about the book bothin the press and in conversation, and Sergey Ivanovitch saw thathis six years' task, toiled at with such love and labor, hadgone, leaving no trace.

　　Sergey Ivanovitch's position was still more difficult from thefact that, since he had finished his book, he had had no moreliterary work to do, such as had hitherto occupied the greaterpart of his time.

　　Sergey Ivanovitch was clever, cultivated, healthy, and energetic,and he did not know what use to make of his energy.Conversations in drawing rooms, in meetings, assemblies, andcommittees--everywhere where talk was possible--took up part ofhis time. But being used for years to town life, he did notwaste all his energies in talk, as his less experienced youngerbrother did, when he was in Moscow. He had a great deal ofleisure and intellectual energy still to dispose of.

　　Fortunately for him, at this period so difficult for him from thefailure of his book, the various public questions of thedissenting sects, of the American alliance, of the Samara famine,of exhibitions, and of spiritualism, were definitely replaced inpublic interest by the Slavonic question, which had hithertorather languidly interested society, and Sergey Ivanovitch, whohad been one of the first to raise this subject, threw himselfinto it heart and soul.

　　In the circle to which Sergey Ivanovitch belonged, nothing wastalked of or written about just now but the Servian War.Everything that the idle crowd usually does to kill time was donenow for the benefit of the Slavonic States. Balls, concerts,dinners, matchboxes, ladies' dresses, beer, restaurants--everything testified to sympathy with the Slavonic peoples.

　　From much of what was spoken and written on the subject, SergeyIvanovitch differed on various points. He saw that the Slavonicquestion had become one of those fashionable distractions whichsucceed one another in providing society with an object and anoccupation. He saw, too, that a great many people were taking upthe subject from motives of self-interest and self-advertisement.He recognized that the newspapers published a great deal that wassuperfluous and exaggerated, with the sole aim of attractingattention and outbidding one another. He saw that in thisgeneral movement those who thrust themselves most forward andshouted the loudest were men who had failed and were smartingunder a sense of injury--generals without armies, ministers notin the ministry, journalists not on any paper, party leaderswithout followers. He saw that there was a great deal in it thatwas frivolous and absurd. But he saw and recognized anunmistakable growing enthusiasm, uniting all classes, with whichit was impossible not to sympathize. The massacre of men whowere fellow Christians, and of the same Slavonic race, excitedsympathy for the sufferers and indignation against theoppressors. And the heroism of the Servians and Montenegrinsstruggling for a great cause begot in the whole people a longingto help their brothers not in word but in deed.

　　But in this there was another aspect that rejoiced SergeyIvanovitch. That was the manifestation of public opinion. Thepublic had definitely expressed its desire. The soul of thepeople had, as Sergey Ivanovitch said, found expression. And themore he worked in this cause, the more incontestable it seemed tohim that it was a cause destined to assume vast dimensions, tocreate an epoch.

　　He threw himself heart and soul into the service of this greatcause, and forgot to think about his book. His whole time nowwas engrossed by it, so that he could scarcely manage to answerall the letters and appeals addressed to him. He worked thewhole spring and part of the summer, and it was only in July thathe prepared to go away to his brother's in the country.

　　He was going both to rest for a fortnight, and in the very heartof the people, in the farthest wilds of the country, to enjoy thesight of that uplifting of the spirit of the people, of which,like all residents in the capital and big towns, he was fullypersuaded. Katavasov had long been meaning to carry out hispromise to stay with Levin, and so he was going with him.