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and Maschurin, young men like Markelof, like Solomin,
like Nezhdanof even, prepared the way for it.
The last twenty years of his life Turgenief passed
alternately in the two countries, Germany and France,
to which he was most indebted for his culture. He
lived in Baden-Baden and Paris. His relations to
Germany and France were, however, quite different.
Probably on account of ancient Russian tradition, and besides
in consequence of the nationality of Mme. Viardot, he
was far more closely bound to France than to Germany.
He had studied in Berlin, and the criticism of young
Hegelianism had refined and stimulated his mind. But,
although he worshipped Goethe as the master above all
others, and for a while in his youth was wholly absorbed
in Heine, although he continued to have friendly
relations with German authors and writers like Paul Heyse,
Ernst Dohn, and Ludwig Pietsch, spoke the language
fluently, and knew how to value the scientific greatness
of Germany, — in spite of all these bonds binding him
to that country, the Germans in his books, as in almost
all Russian romances and novels, are continually
represented in a highly satirical, and now and then even in
a hateful light. It is a weakness of German criticism
that it has not been able to see this evident fact. It is
true enough, as a general rule, that all nations describe
others without enthusiasm. A Russian woman, as drawn
by Victor Cherbuliez or Paul Heyse (Ladislaus Bolski,
“In Paradise,” Das Glück zu Rothenburg), never has
the good part. But there seems to have been a remnant
of national hate at the bottom of Turgenief’s soul.
Although, on the other hand, he did not fail to have
an eye to the deficiencies in the French culture, he
conducted himself in an entirely different manner in regard
to it. He felt that his art was wholly understood and
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