The enthusiastic Turgenef writes a letter about the dead master, and calls him a great man. "In my land only he is great with whom I speak, and only while I am speaking with him," had said Paul the father; and Nicolas proved a worthy son. "In Russia there shall be no great men," saith the Tsar; and Turgenef is arrested. High-stationed dame indeed intercedes for the gifted culprit. "But remember, madame," she is told, "he called Gogol a great man." "Ah," high-stationed protectress replies, "I knew not that he committed _that_ crime!" Which crime, accordingly, Turgenef expiates with one month's imprisonment in the dungeon, and two years' banishment to his estates. Only when the heir to the throne himself appeased his enraged sire was Turgenef allowed to go in peace. Once master over himself again, Turgenef hesitated no longer. He loved, indeed, his country much, but he loved freedom more; and like a bird fresh from the cage away flew Turgenef beyond the sea. The migrating bird returns, indeed, in the spring; but for Turgenef there was no longer any spring on Russian soil, and once abroad, he became an exile for life. 13. I have said that the heroes of his six great novels are not photographs, but types. I venture to say that neither Turgenef himself nor any other Russian ever knew _a_ Bazarof, _a_ Paul Kirsanof, _a_ Rudin, _a_ Nezhdanof. But as in the generic image of Francis Galton the traits of all the individuals are found whose faces entered into the production of the image, so in the traits of Turgenef's types every one can recognize some one of _his_ acquaintance. And such is the life which the master breathes into his creations, that they become not only possible to the reader, but they actually gain flesh and blood in his very presence.