Is Conrad Anti-Russian? [Volume: 7(1988), pp. 231-249]

IS CONRAD ANTI-RUSSIAN?
247
they severed Poland in this way from Greek. And this is precisely the period
described by Pascal, when official Russia sought out Greeks, sometimes
by chance, for reforms and revisions of the holy books and brought them
from afar. At the same time, a strong influence was reaching Moscow from
the Jesuit colleges in Smolensk and Polock, but it was a secular influence,
in part Latinizing, in part Polonizing, because Pascal curiously depicted
the Muscovite fashion among the enlightened boyars for Polish rhymed
verses. However the idea or proposition to turn to the Catholic Church
for help in revising the texts was and is out of the question.
Conrad was just about the last link in this process and although, as
we saw, he understands Russia, he could already "accomplish" nothing
himself, and what he revealed, he did timidly and only to those who have
ears to hear. He was suspended, as Poland herself, between two worlds,
no doubt faithfully and honestly. To add to what we referred to as the
imperceptible failing of the novel-despite its virtuosity-that is, its lack
of unity, one is led to suppose that the more profound unity is Conrad's
"Polishness." Yes. You can smile if you like, but it is almost like in the
anecdote, "The Elephant and the Polish Question." It was sufficient for
him and for an understanding of his innermost elusive self, for deciphering
his own unity, though too little, let's admit, for the unity of the novel.
But further discussion would take us too far, and we would not finish
soon. We were concerned whether Conrad was anti-Russian, and I believe
there is no doubt that in a profound sense, he was not.
C: It is evident that he stood on the side of the living heart of the
Russian people, which, although in a repulsive environment, possesses
an irreplaceable worth, and that might give us hope, without trying to
gloss over the problem, that the universal church, accepted out of good
will, will regenerate Russia.
B: To appreciate the receptiveness of this heart, its worth and its
hopes, it would be worth a deeper look than the general public knows,
especially the Western public, even the Catholics. Aside from the lessknown essays of Miliukov on Russian religiousness (a selection of which
has been translated into French) that present this world far in the past,
and aside from Chekhov's epic story about his stay in a cloister during
an Orthodox holiday, the best known is the character of Zosima in
Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov. But, it should be said, Dostoevsky
himself spoiled this impression, although not at all with epical dissonance
or maybe provocation; it is after all quite ambiguous, because despite the
pious expectations of the adherents of the elder, his body decomposed
immediately after death and began to smell bad. Nietzsche praised this
image from the historical point of view because, in his opinion, it accurately
portrayed Christians who literally expected that their saints would not