all the ornaments engraved on it by wide travel, sound culture, and
prolonged thought; but he can do no execution with it, because there
is no single, steady, informing purpose inside. The moment the girl's
resolution strikes against him, he gives forth a hollow sound. He is
like a stale athlete, who has great muscles and no vitality. To call
him a hypocrite would be to misjudge him entirely. He is more subtle
and complex than that. One of his acquaintances, hearing him spoken of
as Tartuffe, replies, "No, the point is, he is not a Tartuffe.
Tartuffe at least knew what he was aiming at." A man of small
intelligence who knows exactly what he wants is more likely to get it
than a man of brilliant intelligence who doesn't know what he wants,
is to get anything, or anywhere.

Perhaps Turgenev, who was the greatest diagnostician among all
novelists, felt that by constantly depicting this manner of man Russia
would realise her cardinal weakness, and some remedy might be found
for it--just as the emancipation of the serfs had been partly brought
about by his dispassionate analysis of their condition. Perhaps he
repeated this character so often because he saw Rudin in his own
heart. At all events, he never wearied of showing Russians what they
were, and he took this means of showing it. In nearly all his novels,
and in many of his short tales, he has given us a whole gallery of
Rudins under various names. In "Acia," for example, we have a charming
picture of the young painter, Gagin.

"Gagin showed me all his canvases. In his sketches there was a good
deal of life and truth, a certain breadth and freedom; but not one of
them was finished, and the drawing struck me as careless and
incorrect. I gave candid expression to my opinion.