ammunition, not with the object of ascertaining the justice of their
cause. The "fathers" were of course angry at Turgenev's diagnosis of
their weakness; the "sons" went into a veritable froth of rage at what
they regarded as a ridiculous burlesque of their ideas. But that is
the penalty that a wise man suffers at a time of strife; for if every
one saw the truth clearly, we should never fight each other at all.

Turgenev's subsequent statement, that so far from Bazarov being a
burlesque, he was his "favourite child," is hard to understand even
to-day. The novelist said that with the exception of Bazarov's views
on art, he himself was in agreement with practically all of the ideas
expressed by the great iconoclast. Turgenev probably thought he was,
but really he was not. Authors are poor judges of their own works, and
their statements about their characters are seldom to be trusted. Many
writers have confessed that when they start to write a book, with a
clear notion in their heads as to how the characters shall develop,
the characters often insist on developing quite otherwise, and guide
the pen of the author in a manner that constantly awakens his surprise
at his own work. Turgenev surely intended originally that we should
love Bazarov; as a matter of fact, nobody really loves him,* and no
other character in the book loves him for long except his parents. We
have a wholesome respect for him, as we respect any ruthless, terrible
force; but the word "love" does not express our feeling toward him. It
is possible that Turgenev, who keenly realised the need in Russia of
men of strong will, and who always despised himself because he could
not have steadily strong convictions, tried to incarnate in Bazarov
all the uncompromising strength of character that he lacked himself;
just as men who themselves lack self-assertion and cannot even look
another man in the eye, secretly idolise the men of masterful
qualities. It is like the sick man Stevenson writing stories of rugged