st, the appeals which they individually made to
Humanity were as dissimilar as the currents of their lives, and equally
dissimilar in effect.

The magic flute of Rousseau's eloquence breathed fanaticism into his
disciples, and a desire to mass themselves against the foes of liberty.
Tolstoy's trumpet-call sounds a deeper note. It pierces the heart,
summoning each man to the inquisition of his own conscience, and to
justify his existence by labour, that he may thereafter sleep the sleep
of peace.

The exaltation which he awakens owes nothing to rhythmical language
nor to subtle interpretations of sensuous emotion; it proceeds from a
perception of eternal truth, the truth that has love, faith, courage,
and self-sacrifice for the cornerstones of its enduring edifice.

NOTE--Owing to circumstances entirely outside the control of
the editor some of these translations have been done in
haste and there has not been sufficient time for revision.

The translators were chosen by an agent of the executor and
not by the editor.

LIST OF POSTHUMOUS WORKS, GIVING DATE WHEN EACH WAS FINISHED OR LENGTH
OF TIME OCCUPIED IN WRITING.

Father Serge. 1890-98.
Introduction to the History of a Mother. 1894.
Memoirs of a Mother. 1894.
The Young Czar. 1894.
Diary of a Lunatic. 1896.
Hadji Murat. 1896-1904.
The Light that shines in Darkness. 1898-1901.
The Man who was dead. 1900.
After the Ball. 1903.
The Forged Coupon. 1904.
Alexis. 1905.
Diary of Alexander I. 1905.
The Dream. 1906.
Father Vassily. 1906.
There are no Guilty People. 1909.
The Wisdom of Children. 1909.
The Cause of it All. 1910.
Chodynko. 1910.
Two Travellers. Date uncertain.

THE FORGED COUPON

PART FIRST

I

FEDOR MIHAILOVICH SMOKOVNIKOV, the president of the local Income Tax
Department, a man of unswerving honesty--and proud of it, too--a
gloomy Liberal, a free-thinker, and an enemy to every manifestation of
religious feeling, which he thought a relic of superstition, came home
from his office feeling very much annoyed. The Governor of the province
had sent him an extraordinarily stupid minute, almost assuming that his
dealings had been dishonest.

Fedor Mihailovich felt embittered, and wrote at once a sharp answer. On
his return home everything seemed to go contrary to his wishes.

It was five minutes to five, and