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Reading in Russia

 | 
Damiano Rebecchini
, 
Raffaella Vassena

V.N. Golitsyn Reads Anna Karenina: How One of Karenin’s Colleagues Responded to the Novel

William Mills Todd III

Résumé

While almost all 19th Russian novels were serialized in “thick journals,” we have almost no examples of readers responding to a novel’s installments as they appeared. A unique exception for Anna Karenina is provided by the diary of Prince V.M. Golitsyn (1847-32), which records his reactions to eight of the novel’s thirteen installments in The Russian Herald (Russkii vestnik) between 1875 and 1877. The Author essays a qualitative analysis of the contexts (Russian and French literature, the moral life of the Russian nobility) and the categories (elegance, decorum, morality, character development) that frame Golitsyn’s reading. Golitsyn’s sense of the literary field resembles that presented in Pierre Bourdieu’s Rules of Art, which is not surprising, because Golitsyn received his literary education abroad, in France. Golitsyn places Tolstoy among the Avant-garde populated by Zola and other unconsecrated realists, and he condemns Tolstoy for his “disgusting realism,” to which he prefers the more decorous, morally instructive fiction of Octave Feuillet. Golitsyn, who tends to read the installments in isolation from each other, gives valuable insight into contemporary taste and reading habits.

Texte intégral

Thou shalt not sit
With Statisticians nor commit
A social science.
W. H. Auden, “Under Which Lyre?” (1946)

1The epigraph to my paper comes from a poem that W. H. Auden read to the graduating seniors at Harvard in 1946. The poem, “Under which Lyre,” ends in a “hermetic decalogue,” of which the fifth commandment is this epigraph. I am invoking the sardonic Auden to make a virtue of necessity. My research into the reception of the serialized version of Anna Karenina, which appeared in the thick journal The Russian Herald (Russkii vestnik) in thirteen installments between 1875–1877, has yielded a number of published newspaper and journal reviews and a number of letters which respond to individual installments, but only one document in which a non-professional, non-journalistic reader addresses at length a significant sequence of the novel’s installments. I will first present its author and the text, then analyze its reading of the novel, and conclude with some reflections on why we might care about this single instance and how we might deal methodologically with it.

  • 1 My information on Vladimir Mikhailovich Golitsyn and his extensive family comes from Smith 2012 and (...)

2This document is the diary of Prince Vladimir Mikhailovich Golitsyn (1847–1932), a distinguished member of the large clan, which included centuries of state servitors, patrons of artists, including Beethoven and Serov, who later painted his portrait, later, scholars, a Catholic priest, and Hollywood producers.1 Born in Paris in 1847, Prince Golitsyn’s first language was French, although he would return to Russia and study natural history at Moscow University. He met, along the way, Napoleon III, Nicholas I, and Bismarck, as well as Baron d’Anthès, and Pushkin’s widow. He was between 26 and 28 years old when he read Anna Karenina.

  • 2 Tolstaya 2010: 734n86.
  • 3 Escarpit 1971: 59.

3In my title I have labeled Golitsyn “Karenin’s colleague.” Like Tolstoy’s fictional bureaucrat, Golitsyn was a civil servant who became a young governor. Like Karenin he stayed informed about European literature, although in a less caricaturable fashion. But here the similarity ends. Golitsyn made his career in Moscow, not in the imperial capital, and this career was remarkable for its liberal tendency, which cost him his governorship after only four years, and which again manifested itself in his four terms as mayor of Moscow, an elected position which he held from 1897–1905. He would, intellectually, have had more in common with Tolstoy’s Muscovite thinkers Katavasov and Koznyshev than with the scheming, sterile figures of Tolstoy’s Petersburg bureaucracy. Golitsyn was famously skeptical towards both the autocracy and communism, he became a pacifist, and his appeals for tolerance as Mayor of Moscow earned him the enmity of the Black Hundreds as well as the imperial government. He and his wife, whom he married four years before Anna Karenina began serialization, had ten children, eight of whom reached maturity and studied, among other non-classical subjects, law, medicine, physics, and philology. I have not yet discovered that Golitsyn knew Tolstoy personally, but it is not unlikely that they met, at least later in the century. Tolstoy’s wife reports in her memoirs that Golitsyn’s children were friendly with her children, especially Tatiana and Mikhail.2 But at least for the period which concerns us here, writer and reader existed in the state of separation that characterizes modern literary life for all but the most privileged readers, the ones covered in Robert Escarpit’s notion of the “cultured circuit.”3

4Golitsyn stayed in Moscow with much of his family after the revolution, suffering a series of setbacks and repressions, including the desecration of family graves and exile to the penal colony of Dmitrov, where he died in 1932 at age 84.

  • 4 Troyat 1967: 422; Tolstaya 2010: 190-91.

5Attentive readers of Anna Karenina will note that the Golitsyn name appears twice on its pages: In Part I, Ch. X a Prince Golitsyn is entertaining a lady friend in a private room of the restaurant where Stiva and Levin discuss love and marriage; in Part VI, Chapter XIV a Princess Golitsyna dies in childbirth because of inadequate medical care. Golitsyn, our reader, takes cognizance of neither in his diary. Nor does Golitsyn note, as scholars have done, that one of the sources for Anna Karenina may have been Princess Elizaveta Aleksandrovna Golitsyna, who left her husband to live openly and have a daughter with her lover, the antiquarian Nikolai Kiselev.4 Indeed, Golitsyn refuses to join what he calls “our salon experts” in “trying to guess which of our acquaintances Tolstoy intended to depict in this or that character.” Perhaps he does so because the text hit too close to home; in any case, he takes the high aesthetic ground: “this is too petty and poor a way of appreciating true talent, supposing that it only sketches portraits and does not create types by the force of its own creative genius.” Here he anticipates Oscar Wilde’s famous comment that Turgenev invented the Russian Nihilist.

6Golitsyn, who read Anna Karenina as it was appearing in The Russian Herald, kept a diary which is now preserved in the Manuscript Division of the former Lenin Library in his beloved Moscow. He would read the installments at the English Club, then record his impressions. He did not, evidently, have his own personal subscription. This fact of reading will remind us that while a “thick journal” such as The Russian Herald might have a subscription list of only 5000, that it would be read my many more than this, despite the underdeveloped state of Russian public libraries and reading public. Still, even allowing for ten readers a copy, it is hard to dispute Dostoevsky’s estimate that only one Russian in five hundred could read this level of literature. If Golitsyn discussed the novel with his fellow members or with his wife, an active patron of the arts, he does not record specific conversations in his diary. From his shocked reaction to the novel, he may not have considered it suitable for mixed company. But he does concede that the novel “occupies all minds, giving rise to all possible interpretations.”

7The novel Golitsyn was reading differs from the one we read with our students in many small ways; these involve Tolstoy’s subsequent editing, with help from Strakhov. And it differs in two large ways: first and, obviously, it was serialized, so Golitsyn had to read it in monthly intervals, with some very large gaps. From the chart of serialization appended to this paper, one can see that Tolstoy’s installments appeared sporadically over a threeyear period, and that Golitsyn seems to have missed the ones from the first two years which might have reached the Club after he had left Moscow for the summer. These gaps might also explain one aspect of his reading, which is that he compares the installments only in the most general terms, whether they seem to be rising or falling in quality. He does not become the close, phenomenologically hyperactive reader of our 1970s theories of literary reception, such as Wolfgang Iser, Roman Ingarden, or Stanley Fish.

8The second large way in which his novel differs from ours involves division into parts. From the appendix one sees that only in four instances did the endings of the installments coincide with those of the parts in the novel’s separate edition. The exquisite archetectonics of the final version with their intricate “linkings” (stsepleniia), of which Tolstoy famously boasted in a letter to N. N. Strakhov of 23 April 1876, were replaced in the journal by divisions which in a number of instances foregrounded the novel’s most shocking scenes by placing them at the end of an installment: the consummation of the affair of Anna and Vronsky, Anna telling Karenin of her affair with Vronsky, Vronsky visiting the dying Anna, the birth of Kitty and Levin’s son. These were precisely the installments most offensive to Prince Golitsyn’s sense of decorum. In the separate edition of the novel they are certainly striking, but they are not foregrounded by the novel’s division into parts. Golitsyn is, therefore, responding to a more sensational novel than the one we read. I doubt that many of our contemporaries would echo his shocked reaction to what he calls “false realism” (lozhnyi realizm) and “disgusting realism” (otvratitel’nyi realizm), but we should be aware that he was reading a version different from the one we read.

9Golitsyn was not an aesthetician, nor a critic, nor a gifted interpreter, nor a particularly perceptive literary historian, but he was a thoughtful reader with strong opinions about aesthetics, fiction, morality, and the state of Russian society. His frame of literary reference was primarily crafted from canonical French and German fiction and poetry, with scant attention to Russian works and writers. War and Peace is the only other of Tolstoy’s works he mentions. Goncharov and Turgenev – the only other Russian novelists. Nor does Golitsyn refer to specific reviews of Anna Karenina, although he does refer to two contemporary critics, Evgenii Markov and Dmitrii Averkiev, Markov for a comparison between Turgenev and Tolstoy, Averkiev for a comparison between Homer and Gogol. He found the Markov useful, but Averkiev an instance of what he calls Russian literary over-confidence.

  • 5 Golitsyn 1875-77: Rossiiskaia Gosudarstvennaia Biblioteka (RGB), Fond 75, Vladimir Mikhailovich (GV (...)

10Golitsyn preferred to make up his own mind. Ten days before reading the first installment of the novel he makes a clear “profession de foi,” stating his general principles on the limits of fiction: “Literature as art, as a fine art par excellence, must not be defiled by anything which could defeat the sense of the elegant; in literature, as in society, there are rules of decorum (pravila prilichiia).”5 His reaction to Anna Karenina consistently asserts that these rules of decorum, for Golitsyn, should govern both the creatural and spiritual aspects of human life; for him this sense of decorum is the force which joins the aesthetic, the social, the moral, and the spiritual. He has, unlike Levin and Anna, who discuss aesthetics during their only meeting, in Part VII of the novel, no attraction to the emerging European literature which was challenging decorous conventions of representation in art and literature. Where Anna invokes Zola and Daudet as positive historical developments, Golitsyn harshly condemns what he thinks is Tolstoy’s attraction to them. Without citing this passage from the novel directly, Golitsyn responds to the installment in which it appears with his own position, one he has already asserted several times in his diary: “Anna Karenina continues to appear and continues to disturb me with its disgusting realism. The photographically faithful description of childbirth, no matter how faithful it may be, has no place in a work of fiction. Up to now Russian literature has been free from blind imitations of Zola, Sue and others; now the way is paved.” He clearly feared the power of Tolstoy’s example.

  • 6 Ruud 1982.

11For all of his sophistication, European education, and liberal political orientation, Golitsyn exhibits a traditional Russian regard for the cognitive and didactic powers of the written word. A critic in his diary of Russia’s autocratic government, a critic of conservative nationalists (such as Katkov), a skeptic toward the Russo-Turkish War, and “no fanatic” on religious matters, Golitsyn’s comments on Anna Karenina echo the official censor’s obligation to defend government, morals, religious dogma, and the personal honor of individuals.6 His strongest criticism of the novel involves its treatment of precisely these spheres of life, as he pays particular critical attention to the novel’s catering to the “scoffers and embryonic Bismarcks” of the Moscow opposition, to the novel’s treatment of the Anna, Vronsky, and Karenin triangle, and to the novel’s treatment of the wedding and sacrament of confession in Part V.

12But Golitsyn has more in mind than merely censoring the novel’s striking passages. In more positive terms he imagines a serious educational function for the novel. He is guarded, yet hopeful, in his aspirations for the impact of this fiction on its readership, and it is worth citing his response to the third installment:

This novel, it seems to me, has a very serious role to play: it will show the reader, in elegant and fascinating form, the fashion to which contemporary clandestine depravity can lead, depravity which has taken possession of the notorious highest level of society (primarily Petersburg). Depravity has been taken by this novel to such a terrifying extent that it may brand society with the mark of disgrace and shame, and the novel may save certain victims, who are prepared to fall into misfortune. It would be too hypothetical to assert that this novel will serve to improve society, but one can say with certainty that it will make many people become thoughtful about themselves, and this is already a great deal, especially with us, who are not used to thinking very much, and least of all about ourselves. This denunciatory-educational significance of the novel has come to light most clearly in its third part. I wish from my heart that it will continue this way, develop, and, unsparing and unslackening, reveal, discredit, and condemn certain phenomena of contemporary life, bearing witness to the vulgar decline of our moral force and to the disappearance of our self-awareness.

  • 7 Bourdieu 1995: 72, 80, 89, 90.

13Midway through the novel’s serialization Golitsyn felt that Anna Karenina had failed to do this. He found the Petersburg figures hollow, antipathetic dolls, lacking in personality. He refused the invitation issued by the novel’s daringly innovative double plot to see alternatives in the Levin-Kitty plot, and he dismissed out of hand the passages set in the countryside. So Golitsyn turned more moral edification to the contemporary French novelist, Octave Feuillet. Many contemporary readers may know Octave Feuillet only from the small part he plays in Pierre Bourdieu’s sociological study, The Rules of Art, in which Feuillet (1821 – 90), the first novelist accepted into the Academie Française, occupies the position of tame, commercially viable, bourgeois idealist as opposed to the scandalous, unconsecrated “realists,” such as Flaubert.7 Golitsyn treats Feuillet more admiringly than Bourdieu does:

In one of Octave Feuillet’s novels a woman who is not ruined, but who is carried away by the example of others and is embittered by life, is intending to make a mistake. She receives a note from a friend, ‘Vous serez bien malheureuse demain,’ and these few words stop her. What a profound knowledge of the human heart this feature of the author reveals, and together with this, what subtle taste, what elegant understanding! Yes, such reflection might stay many on the path to perdition. These words contain the profound truth that a soul which has still not completely lost the ability to realize the truth cannot help but be struck by it. I dare say that in Anna Karenina there is nothing resembling this in elegance and truthfulness. We Russians have still not attained to such ideas, and we shall not soon attain to them.

14The ease with which Feuillet’s character is made to see the error of her ways here suggests that Golitsyn was not in a position to appreciate the psychological complexities of Tolstoy’s principal characters.

15In all fairness to Golitsyn it should be noted that he did come to appreciate the final serialized installments of the novel. There is no response to Part VIII of the novel in his diary, the part that had to be published as a separate brochure when Katkov refused to print it in The Russian Herald.

16Let us in conclusion reflect for a moment on the value of such unique instances in our studies of readers and reading. Social science and history are not usually built on such unique testimonies, and even the exemplary studies made popular by the New Historicism of the 1990s usually gave us at least a handful of instances.

17Historical students of reading must deal with what they can find; they cannot conduct surveys, circulate questionnaires, conduct interviews. With The Russian Herald we cannot even count on subscription lists, because the records of the journal were consumed by fire in the early twentieth century. The Golitsyn family destroyed many of its papers when it was exiled from Moscow. Occasionally we get lucky, as with the census of 1897, which finally got around to inquiring into literacy, or the survey of peasant readers of Pushkin conducted in connection with the centennial of the national poet’s birth. With Anna Karenina we have a number of newspaper reviews of the opening installments of the novel, letters to the author and journal about particular installments of the novel, and the author’s own reflections on his unfolding novel.

  • 8 Beliaeva 1977: 370-89.

18Golitsyn later wrote memoirs, and a section of his diary from 1917 was published a few years ago. But there is no indication that the sections of the diary devoted to 1875–77 were intended for a public wider than himself. Part narrative, part argumentative, part descriptive they offer a tantalizing view of reading under the constraints of serialization. We should, I think, resist our professorial temptation to grade his thoughts on the novel, even on the scale of reading competence devised by L. I. Beliaeva in the 1970s, one in which she evaluated readers by the wholeness, integration, and aesthetic competence of their responses.8 As fragmentary as Golitsyn’s response is, it is the one we have which most completely follows the novel through most of the process of serialization. At its worst, it shows us the perils of this mode of publication: rushing to judgment, isolated responses, lack of opportunity to appreciate the novel’s innovative construction and profound psychological treatment of its characters. At its best, it shows us the opportunities that serial publication afforded for taking a leisurely look at the relationship and potential relationship between novelistic discourse and the world from which it could be imagined. And the world it might move to reflection and moral action. Detailed qualitative analysis of such private reading, when attentive to the circumstances of writing, including the genre of the writing, can give tantalizing insight into the pragmatics of fiction in an age that is becoming increasingly distant from our own.

Bibliographie

Beliaeva L. I., 1977, “Tipy vospriiatiia khudozhestvennoi literatury (psikhologicheskii analiz),” in V. Ia. Kantorovich and Iu. B. Koz’menko, eds., Literatura i sotsiologiia: Sbornik statei, Moskva, Khudozhestvennaia literatura.

Bourdieu P., 1995, The Rules of Art: Genesis and Structure of the Literary Field, trans. Susan Emanuel, Stanford, Stanford University Press.

Escarpit R., 1971, Sociology of Literature, trans. Ernest Pick, London, Cass.

Galitzine A., 2002, The Princes Galitzine: Before 1917 – and Afterwards, Washington, Galitzine Books.

Golitsyn V. M., 1875 – 77, Dnevnik, RGB, Fond 75, GVM 5.

Gornaia V. Z., 1979, Mir chitaet “Annu Kareninu,” Moskva, Kniga.

Rudd C., 1982, Fighting Words: Imperial Censorship and the Russian Press, 1804–1906, Toronto, University of Toronto Press.

Smith D., 2012, Former People: The Final Days of the Russian Aristocracy, NY, Farrar, Strauss and Giroux.

Tolstaya S. A., 2010, My Life, ed. Andrew Donskov, trans. John Woodsworth and Arkadi Klioutchanski, Ottawa, University of Ottawa Press.

Troyat H., 1967, Tolstoy, NY, Dell.

Annexes

Appendix I: The serialization of Anna Karenina in The Russian Herald

*I.

January 1875

I:i-xiv [sep. ed. - xxiii]

Anna leaves the ball

*2.

February 1875

Ixv - IIx [sep. ed. - xi]

Consummation of the affair

*3.

March 1875

IIxi - xxvii [sep. ed. - xxix]

Anna tells Karenina of her affair

4.

April 1875

IIxxx - IIIx [sep. ed. - xii]

Levin sees Kitty in a carriage

1876

*5.

January 1876

IIIxi-xxviii [sep. ed. - xxxii]

Levin thinks of death, goes abroad

*6.

February 1876

IVi-xv [sep. ed. - xvii]

Vronsky visits Anna, who seems to be dying

*7.

March 1876

IVxvi-Vvi [sep. ed. - same]

Kitty and Levin leave for the country

8.

April 1876

Vvii-xix [sep. ed. -- xx]

Nikolai Levin dies, Kitty pregnant

9.

December 1876

End of Part V

Vronsky and Anna leave for the country after the scandal in the theater

1877

10.

January 1877

VIi-xii [sep. ed. xv]

Expulsion of Vasen’ka from Pokrovskoe

II.

February 1877

VIxiii-xxix [sep. ed. xxxii]

Anna and Vronsky leave for Moscow

*12.

March 1877

VIIi-xv [sep. ed. xvi]

Birth of the Levins’ son

*13.

April 1877

VIIxvi-xxx [sep. ed. xxxi]

Death of Anna

NOTES:
1. Part VIII appeared as a separate booklet during the summer of 1877.
2. The first separate edition of the novel appeared in January 1878.
3. Only with installments 5, 9, 11 13 did the end of the installment coincide with the end of one of the novel’s eight parts.
*Installment to which Prince Vladimir Mikhailovich Golitsyn refers in his diary.

Appendix II: translation of Golitsyn’s diary entries on Anna Karenina

[Response to the first installment, 21 February 1875]

The first chapters of L. Tolstoy’s novel recently appeared. Rarely can one encounter in literature something more bright, more fragrant than this work, which promises to stand alongside War and Peace.

 

[Response to the second installment, 17 March 1875]

In the evening we were at a large and brilliant rout at the Meshchersky home. I can’t say that I enjoyed myself, although I prefer routs to balls. The recently published second part of Anna Karenina produced far from that pleasing impression which I experienced from the first. It turns out that the author has succumbed to a fashionable illness--the striving for false realism: there are phrases, even whole pages, which it is painful to read, especially when I see Tolstoy’s signature over them. Not a single author can quite free himself from realism, especially an author who has set himself the task of analyzing contemporary life, but why describe these sides of life with unconcealed satisfaction? Why, from a desire to expose the shortcomings and vices of society, voluntarily succumb to cynicism? Fortunately Count Tolstoy has not come to this, but many features of the second part of his novel make me think that even he is ready to give in to the general fascination, even he is ready to fall into this general defect of most contemporary authors, who take the fatal path of denouncing everything. As pleasing as it was to read the first part of Anna Karenina, so great was my disappointment upon reading certain details which found a place in the second.

[Response to the third installment, 15 April, 1875]

Anna Karenina continues to occupy all minds, giving rise to all possible interpretations. But the third part is marked by the same elegance and the same shortcomings as the first two. This novel, it seems to me, has to play a very serious role: it will show the reader, in elegant and fascinating form, the fashion to which contemporary clandestine depravity can lead, the depravity which has taken possession of the notorious highest level of society (primarily Petersburg). Depravity has been taken by this novel to such a terrifying extent that it may brand society with the mark of disgrace and shame, and it may save certain victims, who are prepared to fall into misfortune. It would be too hypothetical to assert that this novel will serve to improve society, but one can say with certainty that it will make many people become thoughtful about themselves, and this is already a great deal, especially with us, who are not used to thinking very much, and least of all about ourselves. This denunciatory-educational significance of the novel has come to light most clearly in its third part. I wish from the heart that it will continue this way, develop, and, unsparing and unslackening, reveal, discredit, and condemn certain phenomena of contemporary life, bearing witness to the vulgar decline of our moral force and to the disappearance of our self-awareness.

 

[Response to the fifth installment, 16 February 1876].

The continuation of Anna Karenina has appeared, and no small disenchantment has ensued. Indeed, as much as the first part was artistically polished, so much the succeeding parts reveal a gradual decline in talent, so much the latest part has cut off all hopes of seeing a work worthy of War and Peace. The development of the novel in this part is based on complete falsehood. The characters of the husband, the wife, and the lover are not in the least bearable; they strike me by their complete lack of anything elegant, any moral side, and, on the contrary, by their excess of hollowness and lack of personality. These are dolls, and, moreover, antipathetic dolls, inspiring neither love, nor respect, nor even sympathy. Then come endless passages on agriculture, on labor, which could quite freely be cast out of the novel, as they have no connection with it. In general, only those people could admire this new part of the novel who consider it their duty to admire everything signed by Tolstoy or those whose petty, trifling pride has been deluded by certain little ideas poking through the canvas of the novel. To the latter belongs the well-known Moscow circle of boudeurs and Bismarcks en herbe, who with malicious delight will applaud Tolstoy’s way of thinking about the government, but who, if they were the government, would not fail to shatter it under the weight of their scorn.

 

[Response to the sixth and seventh installments, 8 April 1876].

In the new monthly parts of Anna Karenina our salon experts are trying to guess which of our acquaintances Tolstoy intended to depict in this or that character. This is too petty and poor a way of appreciating true talent, supposing that it only sketches portraits and does not create types by the force of its own creative genius. The latest part of this novel has offended many by depicting a confession and a wedding and presenting something of a critical analysis of these sacraments. Fiction writers, no matter what genius and talent they possess, should not touch upon the spiritual life of man; and so the depiction of confession is either a caricature or sacrilegious with respect to the human soul. And so it is in Anna: you sense the author’s mockery; you sense a desire to give all of this a ridiculous turn, and this is little conducive to the adornment of the work; it gives the novel little value. I am no fanatic, as is well known, but I cannot help saying that the unbelief, the absence of religion and respect for the religious life of the human soul impede the development of true talent.

 

[18 April 1876]

In one of Octave Feuillet’s novels a woman who is not ruined, but who is carried away by the example of others and is embittered by life, is intending to make a mistake. She receives a note from a friend, “Vous serez bien malheureuse demain,” and these few words stop her. What a profound knowledge of the human heart this feature of the author reveals, and together with this, what subtle taste, what elegant understanding! Yes, such reflection might stay many on the path to perdition. These words contain the profound truth that a soul which has still not completely lost the ability to realize the truth cannot help but be struck by it. I dare say that in Anna Karenina there is nothing resembling this in elegance and truthfulness. We Russians have still not attained to such ideas, and we shall not soon attain to them.

 

[Response to the twelfth installment, 31 March 1877]

Anna Karenina continues to appear and continues to disturb me with its disgusting realism. The photographically faithful description of childbirth, no matter how faithful it may be, has no place in a work of fiction. Up to now Russian literature has been free from blind imitations of Zola, Sue and others; now the way is paved.

 

[Response to the thirteenth installment, 2 May 1877]

I was at the Club yesterday, where I read the recently published penultimate part of Anna Karenina. I confess, it made a profound impression on me and has blotted out my dissatisfaction with the preceding parts.

Notes

1 My information on Vladimir Mikhailovich Golitsyn and his extensive family comes from Smith 2012 and from Alexandre Galitzine 2002. Most of the published memoirs of this large family address the twentieth century.

2 Tolstaya 2010: 734n86.

3 Escarpit 1971: 59.

4 Troyat 1967: 422; Tolstaya 2010: 190-91.

5 Golitsyn 1875-77: Rossiiskaia Gosudarstvennaia Biblioteka (RGB), Fond 75, Vladimir Mikhailovich (GVM) 5, p. 152. The translated passages are taken from Part 5 (1874-75), Part 6 (16 October 1875-19 August 1876), and Part 7 (20 August 1876-4 August 1877). My attention was drawn to the existence of the diaries by a brief mention of them in Gornaia 1979: 22.

6 Ruud 1982.

7 Bourdieu 1995: 72, 80, 89, 90.

8 Beliaeva 1977: 370-89.

Auteur

He is Harry Tuchman Levin Professor of Literature at Harvard University, where he has taught Russian and Comparative Literature since 1988. He was educated at Dartmouth College, the University of Oxford, Columbia University, and Leningrad State University. His publications include The Familiar Letter as a Literary Genre in the Age of Pushkin, Fiction and Society in the Age of Pushkin, and Literature and Society in Imperial Russia. He has written articles and edited collections on sociology of literature, literary theory, and nineteenth-century Russian literature. His three favourite readings are: A.S. Pushkin, Eugene Onegin; F.M. Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov; and W. Shakespeare, King Lear.

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