"Anna Karenina" and Similar Types of

Literature.

BY G. DAVID HOUSTON, PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, HOWARD UNIVERSITY, WASHINGTON, D. C.

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O copious is the criticism of Tolstoi's Anna Karenina that one shrinks from augmenting the amount. The only excuse for the present venture lies partly in the reflection that the grave immoral influence of the story has thus far escaped the pens of critics, and partly in the desire to raise the query of the propriety of this type of literature for classroom. study. That the story is an artistic and realistic portrayal of life may defy any adverse criticism; but not all phases of life, even under the caption of literature, leave a healthy impression of human nature. We are prone to believe, in these days, that whatever the literary few approve as masterpieces can be read with impunity by classes in literature. Anna Karenina is a flagrant example of such masterpieces. Regardless of what may be urged in favor of the artistic qualities, the philosophical, economic, and ethical precepts of the book, the story of an unfaithful wife, which story dominates the whole action, raises the question of the influence of such a theme on the minds of youthful students.

We seldom hesitate to condemn the commonplace detective story for its corrupting influence on the youth, and we are becoming justly more and more severe on the censurable moving-picture film; but when the great creators of fiction present us with such pictures as those of Anna Karenina, Mrs. Frankfort, Hester Prynne, and a vast host of this type, we receive with out-stretched hands such works, and bequeath them to posterity. The traditional deference paid to that comprehensive term "literature" sufficies to give such productions a conspicuous place in any reputable course in English Literature. Yet, very few themes can be more harmful to the cause of morality than that of the unfaithful wife. We may, of course, multiply the number of profitable lessons that are re

flected in such a pitiable picture of human frailty. We may urge with greater vehemence than ever that "the wages of sin is death”. We may, for example, hold up Anna's tragic end as the inevitable consequence of her evil conduct. In fact, all sorts of ethical truths press one another for expression. But after all, the framing of ethical lessons which may accrue from any piece of literature is the enterprise of critics. What Anna Karenina is capable of meaning in terms of moral significance is of less import to a class in literature than what it actually impresses on the minds of these youthful readers. Anna needs must evoke sympathy from every human breast, but to the youthful student of literature she must give the erroneous impression of woman's moral weakness, a theme which has never, strangely enough, failed to be popular; for woman's place on the pages of literature cannot, on the whole, be considered enviable.

The effect of Anna's losing struggle against overpowering forces within her is pathetically tragic, but her moral decay raises the pertinent query, "How could a woman, once a faithful wife and devoted mother, fall so low?" Yet, Tolstoi's marvelous power of giving verisimilitude to fiction makes us feel that we have before us a real woman, and not a creation of the imagination. We follow Anna step by step. We see her setting out on her sisterly mission, her first meeting with Vronsky, her subsequent interview with Vronsky during the snow storm, her encouragement of a clandestine love, her unfortunate illness, and her suicide. It is in this unflinching realism of Tolstoi, in this life-likeness of events, that the moral danger of the book lies.

The morality of any age, country, or race must obviously depend largely upon a strong womanhood. Literature, which is one of the greatest agencies of morality, ought by all means to present the exemplary ideals of womanhood; not what women ought not to do, but what they ought to do,-what they have done to ennoble mankind. The rebuke which the god of love gave Chaucer is just as applicable to the author of Anna Karenina,-"Why would you not speak well of women, as you have said evil?" Tolstoi makes the traditional blunder of building up a plot around woman's infidelity. Altogether too many novelists and dramatics have held up for inspection women defeated in their struggle against

temptation. The presence of many noble women on the pages of literature is no more compensatory for the injury done by the opposite tendency than indemnity is for the harm done by a railroad wreck. Is this kind of narrative a wise selection for classroom study?

Men and women of riper judgments may be expected to read Anna Karenina without deleterious consequences to their morals, and to interpret the story with varying degrees of introspection. But what about the youthful student? What is his conclusion when he sees this woman, previously good in every sense of the word, let an ungovernable and unpardonable love wreck her home, her honor, and her virtue? If the same student has had the misfortune to read consecutively a number of stories of this type, he may form a most unfavorable impression of womanhood. He may make a reprehensible generalization concerning the sex for which he should be educated to entertain profoundest respect. Surely, such stories keep alive the thought that woman cannot be entrusted with her own fortune, and that she is a mere malleable human substance, capable at best of being hardly more than a choice possession of man, seldom his equal or companion.

Tolstoi, following many precedents, leaves us to feel that there must have been a preponderance of evil germs in Anna's organism, that under her savory reputation lay a contradictory character, that she was morally strong, only when temptation was absent. If Tolstoi had represented her at the beginning as a veritable Moll Flanders or Roxana, the immoral influence of the book would have been considerably diminished; for from such women the reader is free to expect any lapse of virtue. But by taking a woman from whom we expect the most exemplary behavior and infecting her, in the twinkling of an eye, with moral decay, the author consciously or unconsciously libels woman's fidelity. We have not, to be sure, any real account of Anna's life before her arrival in Moscow. Our only knowledge of her is gleamed from the remarks of others. On the day of her arrival, Dolly says:

"I know nothing about her that is not good, and our relations have always been good and friendly."

Then Tolstoi adds that Dolly could not do away with the impression left by her frequent visits with the Kareninas, at Peters

burg, that their home did not seem entirely pleasant, that there was something false in the family life. But such a reflection cannot properly be construed as indicating infidelity on Anna's part. Her husband was her senior by twenty years; so the "something false in their family life" may suggest a kind of incompatibility which sometimes results from such an inequality in ages.

Again, the remarks of Vronsky's mother ought not to pass unnoticed. She says:

"Anna Arkadyevna has a little boy about eight years old; she has never been separated from him before, and it troubles her." This little realistic touch connotes a real mother, not a Lady Capulet or a Lady Ashton, neither of whom supplies, in care and attention, the place of a real mother, but a devoted mother with those maternal instincts that are usually coexistent with wifely devotion. Moreover, Kitty alludes to Anna as the "great Petersburg Lady whose praise is in everybody's mouth." From such brief suggestive passages, and in absence of any contradictory information, we are constrained to believe that Anna was a faithful wife and a devoted mother before she went to Moscow on her errand of mercy. But as soon as temptation is thrown across her path, she stumbles and never recovers her moral equilibrium.

One grave moral objection to the story for classroom study is Anna's utter inability to assert at critical times her better nature. She is altogether too weak to be presented to a class of young people. The significant remark of Korsunsky at the ball sums up very succinctly Anna's character. He asks her for "a little waltz". She answers, "I don't dance when I can help it." Korsunsky rejoins, "But you can't help it tonight." And they dance. This is Anna's failing; she "can't help it." She has no moral control over herself. Beauty and grace she has in abundance, but moral inhibition is lacking. She becomes fascinated with Vronsky almost as soon as she meets him. As she gives him her hand for the first time, she feels "an answering pressure firm and energetic." At the ball, every time that Vronsky spoke to her, "her eyes sparkled, and a smile of happiness parted her ruby lips." Her better nature asserts itself in her resolution to return on the next day to Petersburg, but the irreparable damage has been done. While she speeds to her home, her mind still lingers in Moscow.

She fears her very state, as she feels her will-power leaving her. Then when Vronsky, who has followed her, greets her during the raging snow storm, she becomes so nervous that she waits momentarily for something to "snap in her brain." When she finally reaches home, neither husband nor son has his former attraction for her.

Anna's fascination ripens into a passion so intense that she elects the Witches' creed-"Fair is foul, and foul is fair." Openly and secretly she meets Vronsky, disregards social propriety, her husband's feelings, the sanctity of home, and even her own chastity. She deserts husband and son, travels abroad with Vronsky, boldly returns and lives, somewhat after the fashion of George Eliot, out of wedlock with the man she loves. But retribution is inevitable. Vronsky subsequently rewards her desertion of home, her devotion to him, and her sacrifice of chastity, with brutal indifference. Her jealousy becomes unbearable. She finds relief in suicide only.

Call Anna, if you will, one of many actual beings, but you do not remove the immoral influence of the story on youthful readers. It is a risk to make a classroom study of any work of fiction which represents the two sexes thus involved, regardless of the many instructive lessons which may be drawn by those capable of drawing them. Such stories, however, never fail to attract young readers; and paradoxical as it may sound, a story of vice has a peculiar fascination for young readers. The hero and the heroine naturally become models of conduct. To many a girl in her formative period Anna's infidelity becomes attractive because of the somewhat adventurous nature of Anna's career, just as the dare-devil character in fiction becomes often the ideal of many a youth. The reason is obvious. Imitation is as natural to mankind as any characteristic that can be mentioned. With advancing age, imitation of course becomes more and more supplanted by efforts at originality; but in youth imitation is most pronounced. The modern moving-picture mania furnishes numerous examples of the psychological effect of such representations; for the movingpictures, in spite of their many commendable features, inflame too often the passions of youth. Anna Karenina is equally as damaging to the morals of the young, and should therefore with