Rudin is a brilliant man; his knowledge is diversified, he is an eloquent, irresistible debater, and he can talk interestingly on most subjects. Full of enthusiasm, prepared at all times to talk convincingly on subjects dear to his friends, ready to give advice and to analyse the emotions of himself and of others, he attracts the attention of everyone when he enters a room and begins to speak. His brilliant speech, his warm enthusiasm, his apparent sincerity impress his listeners with the fact that a powerful man is in their midst. But later this opinion is changed. At college the friends who listened so attentively to Rudin and who received inspiration from him, in turn became his enemies. Later in his life his patrons turned from him in the same manner, and his admirers ceased to admire. What caused the changes? The trouble with Rudin was that at heart he was as cold as ice. "He was a giant in words, and a pigmy in deeds." The enthusiasm of which he was so full springs altogether from the head. Thus he is capable for a time of impressing and of inspiring others, but only until they discover his great weakness: his inability to accomplish anything himself. This is clearly shown in the peasant student Bassitoff's admiration for Rudin, and in the attitude of Natalya towards him.

The supreme test comes to Rudin in the love of Natalya. A girl of seventeen, having lived in a secluded manner all her life, Natalya is completely fascinated by the advent of Rudin with his enthusiasm, his eloquence, his fine words. She listens to his discourses on politics, on literature, and on social problems as one charmed. Rudin plans his future, telling her of the many things he will do. He even sketches in many of the details. Natalya catches his enthusiasm, becomes interested in his future and the things he intends to accomplish, and before long is deeply in love with him. But her mother, Darya Alexyevna, learns of her daughter's love, and forbids her seeing Rudin again. Natalya knowing this arranges to meet Rudin in a secluded place. Her purpose is to fly with him: remembering his professions of love, she never dreams he will not take her with him. They meet. She tells him of her mother's objection to him, and declares that she loves him and will go with him anywhere. And what does Rudin say?

"There is no hope; we must submit."

And that expression sums up his character, shows clearly his weakness. He was all eloquent phrases, learned discourses, with much talk about what should be done, and what he would accomplish; but when it came to actions, he was helpless. And that was the trouble with the intellectual man of Turgenev's time.

In Rudin Turgenev represents Russia in the girl Natalya. To his mind his country was young, just awakening, eager for a leader. Natalya's ready acceptance of Rudin with his shallowness and his weakness, his enthusiasm and eloquence, and her complete disavowal of him when she realizes his helplessness where action is demanded, typifies Russia-her need and the men to whom she has turned for help, and who have proved themselves unequal to the task of working out her salvation.

In On the Eve Turgenev again represents his country by a young girl, Elena, one of the few beautiful woman characters of fiction. Like Natalya, Elena is imaginative, idealistic, eagerly looking out upon the unknown, and full of a serious courage. But unlike Natalya her life has not been entirely secluded. She has two friends-two lovers-Bersenyev the student, and Shubin the artist. These two men are close friends, even though they love the same girl. They have loved her a long while. Bersenyev is a philosopher, and altogether interested in philosophical problems. Shubin is a sculptor, full of poetry, of life, of playful moods, and of petulance. Of the two Elena prefers Bersenyev, because to her his aims seem loftier and his purposes more useful than those of Shubin.

And then there comes a change. A Bulgarian, Insarov, a college friend of Bersenyev's, is introduced to Elena. Insarov is in Russia in the interest of Bulgaria. His whole heart is filled with a desire to gain freedom for his country; every moment of his time is spent in furthering that desire. Elena becomes interested in Insarov's plans and purposes. What, thinks she, can be nobler than such love for one's country, such devotion to a cause? Surely, she exclaims, here is a man whom I can trust to do things. Shubin and Bersenyev no longer interest her; she has met a man who appeals infinitely more to her heart. From the moment she sees him she acknowledges him as her leader; and she soon is in love with him,

The difficulties surrounding their courtship are even greater than those confronting Natalya and Rudin. But neither Insarov nor Elena falters for a moment. When Insarov tells Elena he will marry her, but that they must leave at once for Bulgaria, the girl is overjoyed, although the step means separation from her people. Such action by Insarov simply proves him a man of action, not of words like Rudin. And her faith and trust in Insarov is not misplaced. Owing to sickness Insarov is prevented from ever reaching Bulgaria, but he dies in an attempt to further the cause of his country's liberty.

These two books are remarkable in their similarity. In each Russia is represented by a young girl: in the one by Natalya, and in the other by Elena. Each girl was earnestly seeking a man of purpose, of power, who would not only talk but act. Natalya thought she had found such a man in Rudin-the intellectual; but she soon discovered that her first estimate of him was altogether wrong, that in fact he was weak and helpless to accomplish the things he urged others and himself, too, to accomplish. Elena discarded Bersenyev the student, and Shubin of the artistic temperament, and turned to Insarov—a foreigner, yet a man with the noblest ideals and sincerest purposes. And Insarov measured up to her estimate of him.

What is Turgenev seeking to show in these two novels? Primarily his distrust of his country's weakness. He knew only too well the shallowness and ineffectiveness of the intellectual Russian; and he knew that a different, an altogether new type of man, would have to be developed before many changes for the better could be brought about in his country. And that is the reason he makes the hero of On the Eve a Bulgarian - a foreigner.*

Russia, says Turgenev, is on the eve of an awakening; and when she does awake, when a portion of her vast potential energy is set free, she will astonish the other nations by the rapidity of her progress. Doubtless the Great War may mean the dawning of that brighter era for Russia which the great novelist looked forward to with such prophetic vision.

Raleigh, N. C.

H. ST. GEORGE TUCKER.

*NOTE.—I might mention here that many of the industrial improvements of Russia are attributed to the energy of the German element of the population. It may be interesting, too, to note that the conqueror of Premszyl is a Bulgarian-General Dimitrieff.

POPULAR FEASTS AND LEGENDS IN ITALY

The popular soul of Italy has from the remotest times consecrated every important occurrence, and has celebrated it with feasts, contests, fairs, tourneys, each having a special significance. Occasionally a traditional custom falls into desuetude and a festival is abolished, thus lessening the spiritual essence of legacies that had seemed to be consecrated forever. This is not frequent, for the Italian with his warm nature, his exquisite feeling, his ingenuity, and his nostalgic longings, is loath to adapt himself to the binding forms of modern life with its deafening noise of machinery, but still lingers in contemplation of his past history, and of traditions which are almost all glorious, poetical, and beautiful.

I intend here to write briefly in the order of their occurrence concerning some of the typical feasts that are still celebrated, and some of the traditions that still find an echo in the heart of the race and communicate to those who love them the delicate charm of former times.

The popular feasts that have been and are still most widely known outside of Italy are those of the Veglia del Redentore at Venice; the Corsa del Palio at Siena; and the Festa di Piedigrotta at Naples, not to mention the many and varied festivities of New Year, of Easter Sunday, of All Saints' Day, of Christmas; and in every city the feast of the Patron Saint, and for every individual, the ceremonies, often very curious, which mark the important dates and events of Christian life: the baptism, the confirmation, the first communion, the wedding, and the funeral.

The methods of celebrating days that are observed as holidays elsewhere differ widely in various parts of Italy. A typical instance, the New Year's festival at Bologna, will indicate how this celebration may depart from what is practised in other countries.

NEW YEAR AT BOLOGNA

The last day of December is about to vanish in the wintry stillness of the night and through the old winding streets of the

city, under the convent-like porticos that line the main thoroughfares, in the dim light of the lamps moves a fantastic and noisy crowd. Suddenly a chime is heard, and with it, in the distance, an indistinct but festive clamor of voices and laughter. Let us watch from a balcony. Eccolo! eccolo! shout many at a time, and shortly we see advancing the strangest and most picturesque procession in the world. A colossal white ox with majestic horns, splendidly decorated with ribbons of many colors, and with flowers around his neck, on his back, and hanging from his tail, leads the way. Beside the solemn beast a fine-looking peasant, tall and strong, with a swarthy face and the characteristic soft hat pulled down over his forehead, marches on with the slow gait of a ploughman and the gravity of a judge. It is the procession of the bue grasso (fat ox), of that same ox which the good Petroniani (the Bolognesi are called thus from their Patron Saint Petronio) have been admiring for a week past on two magnificent canvases exposed on the walls of the old Palazzo del Commune (City Hall). And the beast is the most coveted strenna of New Year for the lucky winner of the traditional lottery of the bue grasso.

A crier shouts, "Tickets for the bue grasso; only two cents each!" Whereupon the crowd hastens to buy the tickets which bear the image of the ox.

Midnight is about to strike and the square of San Petronio, the dream of great artists and poets, is unusually animated. Then suddenly silence prevails and all eyes are turned to the large city clock that marks implacably the flight of time. One minute! Everyone is still as if by order and all remain in a state of expectancy that has something solemn and sacred about it. Instantly from the lofty hill of San Michele in Bosco the cannon roars. It is the signal. While the city clock slowly strikes out the old year, hundreds, thousands of Roman candles are lighted and waved from the buildings and shine like a fantastic fire over the throng. Then a pyrotechnic dove lights simultaneously through the square the legend of the new year, glittering before everyone with the omen of good wishes and hope. The number! the number! All turn to the balcony of the Podestà where glowingly emerges from the green and reddish