This interpenetration of the truth by love makes the unique value of the masterpieces he wrote in the middle part of his life—nel mezzo del cammin—and distinguishes his realism from the realism of Flaubert. The latter places his faith in refraining from loving his characters. Great as he may be, he lacks the Fiat lux! The light of the sun is not enough: we must have the light of the heart. The realism of Tolstoy is incarnate in each of his creatures, and seeing them with their own eyes he finds in the vilest reasons for loving them and for making us feel the chain of brotherhood which unites us to all.[1] By love he penetrates to the roots of life.
But this union is a difficult one to maintain. There are hours in which the spectacle of life and its suffering are so bitter that they appear an affront to love, and in order to save it, and to save his faith, a man must withdraw to such a height above the world that faith is in danger of losing truth as well. What shall he do, moreover, who has received at the hands of fate the fatal, magnificent gift of seeing the truth—the gift of being unable to escape from seeing it? Who shall say what Tolstoy suffered from the continual
- ↑ “The passionate love of the artist for his subject is the soul of art. Without love no work of art is possible.” (Letter of September, 1889.)
side, and loved him… It is the very essence of the soul. To love his neighbour, to love his enemies, to love all and each, is to love God in all His manifestations!… To love a creature who is dear to us is human love: to love an enemy is almost divine love!’” (Prince Andrei in War and Peace.)
