A period rich in literary experience and new modes of expression does not necessarily presage the coming of a genius who will unify the unrelated modes into a symmetric, intrinsically artistic whole. But, given an ardent poetic soul and a time when the minds of men are agitated by high aspirations and hopes, the opportunity is favourable for that soul to become the focus of all the tendencies of the day, and to reflect the accumulated force as one bright light for long years to come. The conditions could not have been more auspicious for giving direction and meaning to Púshkin’s genius. Not only Derzhávin, Karamzín, Dmítriev, Zhukóvski, Bátyushkov, and Krylóv furnished him in his youth with varied poetical productions for his imitation, but a large number of minor poets, trained in the traditions of the eighteenth century, Merzlyakóv, Neledínski-Melétski, Dolgorúki, were still active during the formative time of his genius. And not only the external forms of verse had been carried to a high perfection in his schooldays. The liberalism of the Government in the beginning of Alexander’s reign, the stirring patriotism of the nation consequent upon the events of the year 1812, the crass obscurantism and reaction from above, and the secret organisations of the youthful idealists which soon after superseded the open progress of the previous decade,--all that combined to inspire the younger generation of poets with the seriousness and dignity of their mission.

In his evolution Púshkin passed through several stages. In _Ruslán and Lyudmíla_, which he wrote in 1820, the year of his first exile, he attempted to treat a popular subject in the Romantic style, but there is little of a native element in it. During his banishment to the south he came under the influence of Byron, and began his _Evgéni Onyégin_, the first real Russian novel. In _Borís Godunóv_ he came under the spell of Shakspere.

In the beginning of the new reign, Púshkin’s genius was clearly defined and, departing from the Byronism of his former productions, became completely original. At the same time he renounced the easy liberalism of his younger days, and placed himself in the service of the Tsar. Since he withdrew from the communion with the masses and preached an aristocratism in letters as well as life, his real importance in Russian literature has been obscured by the more democratic Gógol. The doctrine which he taught, that art is to be exercised for art’s sake and not polluted by contact with the vulgar, found no ready response in the troubled years of the second half of the century. Only now, when the battle for the masses has been fought, and literature is beginning to lose its didactic and political value, there is to be noticed a growing tendency to turn back to Púshkin as the fountainhead of Russian poetry. This just renewal of the cult of Púshkin has already had the marked effect of rediscovering and bringing to public notice the excellent creations of the poets of his school, Tyútchev, Fet, Máykov, Polónski, and others, and of stimulating the youngest generation of poets, whose names are just beginning to be heard, to higher efforts.

Many contemporary poets were inspired by the master. Délvig, Rylyéev, Baratýnski, Venevítinov, Yazýkov came under his influence, but they were not able to follow him in his eagle flight, and stopped at the earlier stages of his development. There were others who showed more individuality, or even opened up new avenues in literature. Griboyédov’s _Intelligence Comes to Grief_ stood out as the most remarkable drama that had till then appeared in Russia, as it had seized with great clearness the contradictory and indefinite tendencies of society, and indicated the coming conflict between Westerners and Slavophiles. But the indefinite tendencies of the time were reflected with far greater power in Lérmontov.

Lérmontov’s _Hero of Our Time_ is, to a certain extent, an autobiography. It is of the same spiritual family as _Evgéni Onyégin_, but the greater indefiniteness and disenchantment of its hero supply a true portrayal of the men of the thirties who had not yet come to have any well-defined aims in life. Men were dissatisfied with the past, saw all the misery and wretchedness that surrounded them, and wished for something better to come, but did not have the energy to rise above their surroundings and so lost themselves in contradictions and Byronic despair. The same subjective tone runs through all his shorter poems and through _The Demon_, that most precious flower of the whole Romantic school. Such is the sweetness of his verse and the wealth of his imagery that he is preferred by many foreign readers even to Púshkin.

More original than Lérmontov was his contemporary Koltsóv. His middle-class surroundings had brought him in much closer contact with the people than Púshkin, and his neglected early education operated in favour of his poetic genius inasmuch as it kept him free from any traditional associations. When his talent became apparent to him, he for a short time tried his strength in the customary rhymed verses, especially of the type of Púshkin, whom he greatly admired and understood as few poets after him have done. But soon his native feeling asserted itself, and he began to draw his inspiration from popular songs. A number of poets before him, especially Délvig, had attempted this kind of composition, but none of them had even distantly brought to bear the same talent upon it as Koltsóv, and none after him have equalled him.

While Romanticism was scoring its greatest successes, and a novel-reading public was going into ecstasies over the impassioned stories of Bestúzhev-Marlínski, Gógol evolved his series of naturalistic stories, rising by pyramidal steps to his immortal _Dead Souls_, which appeared in the very year that Lérmontov and Koltsóv died. A new chord was struck,--one that reverberates even now through all Russian literature. The foundation was placed for a Russian school of belles-lettres, the first in its annals. All the peculiarities of Russian literature for all time to follow are the direct outcome of the tradition which begins with Gógol. His appearance, though startling and unexpected, was not unprepared. There has always been a strong element of sound naturalism in the Russian character. It shows frequently through the Byzantine shroud in the earliest times; it refreshes us in many a simple folktale; it is a pre-eminent characteristic of the thoughts and acts of Peter the Great; it craves expression in the exotic pseudo-classic rhetoric of the eighteenth century; it comes to the surface in Púshkin’s best productions. Gógol had even a direct predecessor in the manner of his stories in the person of Naryézhny who, being born in the same locality with him, had fallen back on the same rich narrative material of his native Little-Russia.

But in Gógol this naturalism was for the first time clearly expressed and completely freed from all foreign contamination. Not at once, however. He made his début with a Romantic idyl, and all his earlier productions are still tinged with the current mannerism. Only in 1836 appeared his _Cloak_, the prototype of all later Russian novels. He was not at once accepted by the public, so daring were his innovations, so disenchanting his realism, so appalling the wretchedness of Russia which he laid bare. He did not himself proceed consciously upon the new path, but by the inspiration of his genius. Later in life, therefore, when a reaction set in in his thoughts, he deeply regretted his earlier activity. But there was no retracing his steps. The critic Byelínski had subjected him to literary analysis, and had pronounced him the father of the new school. It seemed to him as if there had not even existed a literature before Gógol, and all previous writers henceforth barely eked out an anthology existence.

The conscious tendency towards realism in Russia was due to another fact. The predilection for the encyclopedic knowledge of France and its literature had come to an end in the thirties. Young men had become acquainted in Germany with the philosophy of Schelling and Hegel, and the circles of Moscow were ever more familiarising themselves with the more serious aspects of German science. Those who were not forgetful of their obligations to Europe gathered around Byelínski in their advocacy of a greater approach to Western ideals. Others, again, inspired by the conceptions of _nation_, _national spirit_, _national destiny_, which the German philosophers had evolved, were led to seclude themselves from all foreign influence by advocating the narrow tenets of Slavophilism. The Slavophiles have not produced one great author, for Khomyakóv is better known for his theological writings than for his poetry, and Aksákov, who had received his training before the thirties, wrote his _Family Chronicle_ in his old age, evidently under the influence of Gógol. All the great writers who are honoured abroad, Turgénev, Tolstóy, Dostoévski, have issued from the camp of the Westerners, and had received their impetus in the thirties and early in the forties.

After the year 1848 a reaction set in in letters, under the influence of the political gloom that had been cast over Europe, but especially over Russia. The censorship became more oppressive than ever, and a general apathy took possession of society. Periodicals ceased to exist, or were colourless and pedantic. The flimsiest society novels had pushed all the great literature of the previous decade into the background. The gloom hung over Russia until the end of the reign of Nicholas I., lighted up only by the flashes of the great authors who were passing through their apprenticeship.