Chapter 3 one

The great heart and soul of Russia, which shone brightly on the earth a hundred years ago, was once, for my generation, the purest light shining on our youth.In the cloudy evening at the end of the nineteenth century, it was a soothing star, whose gaze was enough to attract and soothe our youthful souls.How many people in France think of Tolstoy not just as a beloved artist, but as a friend, the best friend, the only true friend in all of Europa art.Since I am also one of them, I would like to express my gratitude and respect for this sacred memory. I know that the days of knowing Tolstoy will never fade in my spirit.It was 1886, and after several years of germinating in secret, the wonderful flowers of Russian art suddenly appeared on the soil of France.Tolstoy's and Dostoevsky's translations were published simultaneously in all bookstores, and it was as fast and frantic as they were competing to be the first.Published in Paris between 1885 and 1887, Anna Karenina, Childhood and Youth, Polykushka, Death of Ivan Ilyich, Caucasus Short stories and popular short stories.In a few months, a few weeks, we find before our eyes a work that contains a whole great life, a work that reflects a people, a new world.

At that time, I entered the high school for the first time.My companions and I differ greatly in opinion.In our small group there were ironic and realistic thinkers like the philosopher Giorgio Dumas, poets like Suarez who passionately nostalgic for the Italian Renaissance, faithful believers in the classical tradition, Stendhals and Wagnerites, atheists and mystics, so many debates, so many discords; but in a few months, the sentiment of admiration for Tolstoy united us.Everyone loves him for different reasons: because each finds himself in it; and for all of us it is a revelation of life, a door to the vast universe.All around us, in our homes, in our provinces, the loud voices from the borders of Europa evoke the same sympathy, sometimes unexpected.Once, in my hometown of Nivernay, I heard a middle-class person who had never paid attention to art and cared about nothing, actually talked about "The Death of Ivan Ilyich" very moved.

Our eminent critic once held the view that the essence of Tolstoy's thought was drawn from our Romantic writers: George Sand, Victor Hugo.Needless to say that George Sand's influence on Tolstoy is indecent, Tolstoy can never bear George Sand's thoughts, and there is no need to deny the real influence of Rousseau and Stendhal on Tolstoy, In short, it would be wrong not to doubt his greatness and charm because of his ideas.The circle of thought in which art is alive is the narrowest.His strength does not lie in the thought itself, but in the expression he gives to it, in his personal tone, in the artist's character, in the breath of his life.

Whether Tolstoy's mind was affected or not - as we shall see later - Europa never heard a voice like his.How else can we account for the thrill of disbelief at hearing the music of the soul? ——And this voice we have been waiting for so long, our need is so urgent.Popular fashion has little effect on our sentiments.Most of us, like me, came to know Vaujuer's "On the Russian Novel" only after reading Tolstoy; his admiration pales in comparison to our admiration.Because d'Vauguet is especially critical of a writer.But for us, admiring the work is not enough: we live in it, and his work has become our work.Ours, because of his ardent life, because of the youth of his heart.Ours, because of the disillusionment of his wry smile, because of his merciless insight, because of their entanglement with death.Ours, because of his dream of fraternity and peace.Ours, for his deception of civilization, attacks violently.And also because of his realism, because of his mysticism.Because of his breath of nature, because of his sense of invisible force, because of his fascination with the infinite.

These works are now what The Sorrows of Young Werther was then: mirrors of our strengths, our weaknesses, our hopes and our terrors.We have not considered to reconcile all these contradictions, and put this complex soul reflecting the whole universe into the narrow religious and political category; Criticize him with your own partisan views.As if our cronies could once become the measure of genius! We are definitely not like today's critics who say: "There are two Tolstoys, one before the transformation and one after the transformation; one is good and the other is not good." For us, there is only one Tolstoy. Erst, we love him whole.Because we instinctively feel that in such a soul, everything has a position, everything is connected.