told me that he could neither read or speak English, and, what is
still more remarkable, he said that he had never been in England! That
a critic of his power and reputation, interested as he was in English
literature, should never have had sufficient intellectual curiosity to
cross the English Channel, struck me as nothing short of amazing.

The acquisition of any foreign language annihilates a considerable
number of prejudices. Henry James, who knew Turgenev intimately, and
who has written a brilliant and charming essay on his personality,
said that the mind of Turgenev contained not one pin-point of
prejudice. It is worth while to pause an instant and meditate on the
significance of such a remark. Think what it must mean to view the
world, the institutions of society, moral ideas, and human character
with an absolutely unprejudiced mind! We Americans are skinful of
prejudices. Of course we don't call them prejudices; we call them
principles. But they sometimes impress others as prejudices; and they
no doubt help to obscure our judgment, and to shorten or refract our
sight. What would be thought of a painter who had prejudices
concerning the colours of skies and fields?

The cosmopolitanism of the Russian novelist partly accounts for the
international effect and influence of his novels. His knowledge of
foreign languages makes his books appeal to foreign readers. When he
introduces German, French, English, and Italian characters into his
books, he not only understands these people, he can think in their
languages, and thus reproduce faithfully their characteristics not
merely by observation but by sympathetic intuition. Furthermore, the
very fact that Tolstoi, for example, writes in an inaccessible
language, makes foreign translations of his works absolutely
necessary. As at the day of Pentecost, every man hears him speak in