foreigners can comprehend almost equally well with Russians, is "Gospodá
Golovlévy" ("The Messrs. Golovléff"[39]). It contains that element of
the universal in humanity which his national satires lack, and it alone
would suffice to render him immortal. The type of Iúdiushka (little
Judas) has no superior in all European literature, for its cold,
calculating, cynical hypocrisy, its miserly ferocity. The book is a
presentment of old ante-reform manners among the landed gentry at their
worst.
The following favorite little story furnishes an excellent example of
Saltykóff's (Shtchedrín's) caustic wit and satire:
THE STORY OF HOW ONE PEASANT MAINTAINED TWO GENERALS.
Once upon a time there lived and flourished two Generals; and
as both were giddy-pated, by jesting command, at my desire,
they were speedily transported to an uninhabited island.
The Generals had served all their lives in some registry office
or other; they had been born there, reared there, had grown old
there, and consequently they understood nothing whatever. They
did not even know any words except, "accept the assurance of my
complete respect and devotion."
The registry was abolished as superfluous, and the Generals
were set at liberty. Being thus on the retired list, they
settled in Petersburg, in Podyátchesky (Pettifoggers) Street,
in separate quarters; each had his own cook, and received a
pension. But all of a sudden, they found themselves on an
uninhabited island, and when they awoke, they saw that they
were lying under one coverlet. Of course, at first they could
not understand it at all, and they began to talk as though
nothing whatever had happened to them.
"'Tis strange, your Excellency, I had a dream to-day," said one
General; "I seemed to be living on a desert island."
No sooner had he said this than he sprang to his feet. The
other General did the same.
"Heavens! What's the meaning of this? Where are we?" cried
both, with one voice.
Then they began to feel each other, to discover whether this
extraordinary thing had happened to them not in a dream, but in
their waking hours. But try as they might to convince
themselves that all this was nothing but a vision of their
sleep, they were forced to the conviction of its sad reality.
On one side of them stretched the sea, on the other side lay a
small plot of land, and beyond it again stretched the same
boundless sea. The Generals began to weep, for the first time
since the registry office had been closed.
They began to gaze at each other, and they then perceived that
they were clad only in their night-shirts, and on the neck of
each hung an order.
"How good a little coffee would taste now!" ejaculated one
General, but then he remembered what unprecedented adventure
had happened to him, and he began to cry again.
"But what are we to do?" he continued, through his tears; "if
we were to write a report, of what use would it be?"
"This is what we must do," replied the other General. "Do you
go to the east, your Excellency, and I will go to the west, and
in the evening we will meet again at this place; perhaps we
shall find something."
So they began their search to find which was the east and which
the west. They recalled to mind that their superior official
had once said, "If you wish to find the east, stand with your
eyes towards the north, and you will find what you want on your
right hand." They began to seek the north, and placed
themselves first in one position, then in another, and tried
all quarters of the compass in turn, but as they had spent
their whole lives in the registry office, they could decide on
nothing.
"This is what we must do, your Excellency; do you go to the
right, and I will go to the left; that will be better," said
the General, who besides serving in the registry office had
also served as instructor of calligraphy in the school for
soldiers' sons, and consequently had more sense.
So said, so done. One General went to the right, and saw trees
growing, and on the trees all sorts of fruits. The General
tried to get an apple, but all the apples grew so high that it
was necessary to climb for them. He tried to climb, but with no
result, except that he tore his shirt to rags. The General came
to a stream, the fish were swimming there in swarms, as though
in a fish-shop on the Fontánka canal. "If we only had such fish
in Pettifoggers Street!" said the General to himself, and he
even changed countenance with hunger.
The General entered the forest, and there hazel-hens were
whistling, blackcocks were holding their bragging matches, and
hares were running.
"Heavens! What victuals! What victuals!" said the General, and
he felt that he was becoming fairly sick at his stomach with
hunger.
There was nothing to be done; he was obliged to return to the
appointed place with empty hands. He reached it but the other
General was already waiting for him.
"Well, your Excellency, have you accomplished anything?"
"Yes, I have found an old copy of the 'Moscow News'; that is
all."
The Generals lay down to sleep again, but gnawing hunger kept
them awake. They were disturbed by speculations as to who
would receive their pension for them; then they recalled the
fruits, fish, hazel-hens, blackcock, and hares which they had
seen that day.
"Who would have thought, your Excellency, that human food, in
its original shape, flies, swims, and grows on trees?" said one
General.
"Yes," replied the other General; "I must confess that until
this day I thought that wheaten rolls came into existence in
just the form in which they are served to us in the morning
with our coffee."
"It must be that, for instance, if one desires to eat a
partridge, he must first catch it, kill it, pluck it, roast
it.... But how is all that done?"
"How is all that done?" repeated the other General, like an
echo. They fell into silence, and tried to get to sleep; but
hunger effectually banished sleep. Hazel-hens, turkeys,
sucking-pigs flitted before their eyes, rosy, veiled in a
slight blush of roasting, surrounded with cucumbers, pickles,
and other salads.
"It seems to me that I could eat my own boots now!" said one
General.
"Gloves are good also, when they have been worn a long time!"
sighed the other General.
All at once the Generals glanced at each other; an ominous fire
glowed in their eyes, their teeth gnashed, a dull roar forced
its way from their breasts. They began slowly to crawl toward
each other, and in the twinkling of an eye they were
exasperated to fury. Tufts of hair flew about, whines and
groans resounded; the General who had been a teacher of
calligraphy bit off his adversary's Order, and immediately
swallowed it. But the sight of flowing blood seemed to restore
them to their senses.
"The power of the cross defend us!" they exclaimed
simultaneously; "if we go on like this we shall eat each
other!"
"And how did we get here? What malefactor has played us this
trick?"
"We must divert our minds with some sort of conversation, your
Excellency, or there will be murder!" said the other General.
"Begin!" replied the other General.
"Well, for instance, what do you think about this, Why does the
sun rise first and then set, instead of acting the other way
about?"
"You are a queer man, your Excellency; don't you rise first,
then go to the office, write there, and afterward go to bed?"
"But why not admit this reversal of the order; first I go to
bed, have divers dreams, and then rise?"
"Hm, yes.... But I must confess that when I served in the
department I always reasoned in this fashion: now it is
morning, then it will be day, then supper will be served, and
it will be time to go to bed."
But the mention of supper plunged them both into grief, and
broke the conversation off short at the very beginning.
"I have heard a doctor say that a man can live for a long time
on his own juices," began one of the Generals.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, sir, it is; it appears that, the juices proper produce
other juices; these in their turn, engender still other juices,
and so on, until at last the juices cease altogether...."
"What then?"
"Then it is necessary to take some sort of nourishment."
"Tfu!"
In short, no matter what topic of conversation the Generals
started, it led inevitably to a mention of food, and this
excited their appetites still more. They decided to cease their
conversation, and calling to mind the copy of the "Moscow News"
which they had found, they began to read it with avidity.
"Yesterday," read one General, with a quivering voice, "the
respected governor of our ancient capital gave a grand dinner.
The table was set for one hundred persons, with wonderful
luxury. The gifts of all lands seemed to have appointed a
rendezvous at this magical feast. There was the golden sterlet
of the Sheksna, the pheasant, nursling of the Caucasian
forests, and strawberries, that great rarity in our north in
the month of February...."
"Tfu, heavens! Cannot your Excellency find some other subject?"
cried the other General in desperation, and taking the
newspaper from his companion's hand, he read the following: "A
correspondent writes to us from Túla: 'There was a festival
here yesterday at the club, on the occasion of a sturgeon being
caught in the river Upá (an occurrence which not even old
residents can recall, the more so as private Warden B. was
recognized in the sturgeon). The author of the festival was
brought in on a huge wooden platter, surrounded with cucumbers,
and holding a bit of green in his mouth. Doctor P., who was on
duty that day as presiding officer, saw to it carefully that
each of the guests received a piece. The sauce was extremely
varied, and even capricious.' ..."
"Permit me, your Excellency, you also seem to be not
sufficiently cautious in your choice of reading matter!"
interrupted the first General, and taking the paper in his
turn, he read: "A correspondent writes to us from Vyátka: 'One
of the old residents here has invented the following original
method of preparing fish soup: Take a live turbot, and whip
him as a preliminary; when his liver has become swollen with
rage.' ..."
The Generals dropped their heads. Everything on which they
turned their eyes--everything bore witness to food. Their own
thoughts conspired against them, for try as they would to
banish the vision of beefsteak, this vision forced itself upon
them.
And all at once an idea struck the General who had been a
teacher of calligraphy....
"How would it do, your Excellency," he said joyfully, "if we
were to find a peasant?"
"That is to say ... a muzhík?"
"Yes, exactly, a common muzhík ... such as muzhíks generally
are. He would immediately give us rolls, and he would catch
hazel-hens and fish!"
"Hm ... a peasant ... but where shall we find him, when he is
not here?"
"What do you mean by saying that he is not to be found? There
are peasants everywhere, and all we have to do is to look him
up! He is certainly hiding somewhere about because he is too
lazy to work!" This idea cheered the Generals to such a degree
that they sprang to their feet like men who had received a
shock, and set out to find a peasant.
They roamed for a long time about the island without any
success whatever, but at last the penetrating smell of
bread-crust and sour sheepskin put them on the track. Under a
tree, flat on his back, with his fists under his head, lay a
huge peasant fast asleep, and shirking work in the most
impudent manner. There were no bounds to the wrath of the
Generals.
"Asleep, lazybones!" and they flung themselves upon him; "and
you don't move so much as an ear, when here are two Generals
who have been dying of hunger these two days! March off, this
moment, to work!"
The man rose; he saw that the Generals were stern. He would
have liked to give them the slip, but they had become fairly
rigid when they grasped him.
And he began to work under their supervision.
First of all he climbed a tree and picked half a score of the
ripest apples for the Generals, and took one, a sour one, for
himself. Then he dug in the earth and got some potatoes; then
he took two pieces of wood, rubbed them together, and produced
fire. Then he made a snare from his own hair and caught a
hazel-hen. Last of all, he arranged the fire, and cooked such a
quantity of different provisions that the idea even occurred to
the Generals, "would it not be well to give the lazy fellow a
little morsel?"
The Generals watched the peasant's efforts, and their hearts
played merrily. They had already forgotten that they had nearly
died of hunger on the preceding day, and they thought, "What a
good thing it is to be a general--then you never go to
destruction anywhere."
"Are you satisfied, Generals?" asked the big, lazy peasant.
"We are satisfied, my dear friend, we perceive your zeal,"
replied the Generals.
"Will you not permit me to rest now?"
"Rest, my good friend, only first make us a rope."
The peasant immediately collected wild hemp, soaked it in
water, beat it, worked it--and by evening the rope was done.
With this rope the Generals bound the peasant to a tree so that
he should not run away, and then they lay down to sleep.
One day passed, then another; the big, coarse peasant became so
skilful that he even began to cook soup in the hollow of his
hand. Our Generals became jovial, light-hearted, fat, and
white. They began to say to each other that, here they were
living with everything ready to hand while their pensions were
accumulating and accumulating in Petersburg.
"What do you think, your Excellency, was there really a tower
of Babel, or is that merely a fable?" one General would say to
the other, as they ate their breakfast.
"I think, your Excellency, that it really was built; because,
otherwise, how can we explain the fact that many different
languages exist in the world?"
"Then the flood must have occurred also?"
"The flood did happen, otherwise, how could the existence of
antediluvian animals be explained? The more so as it is
announced in the 'Moscow News'...."
"Shall we not read the 'Moscow News'?"
Then they would hunt up that copy, seat themselves in the
shade, and read it through from end to end; what people had
been eating in Moscow, eating in Túla, eating in Pénza, eating
in Ryazán--and it had no effect on them; it did not turn their
stomachs.
In the long run, the Generals got bored. They began to refer
more and more frequently to the cooks whom they had left behind
them in Petersburg, and they even wept, on the sly.
"What is going on now in Pettifoggers Street, your Excellency?"
one General asked the other.
"Don't allude to it, your Excellency! My whole heart is sore!"
replied the other General.
"It is pleasant here, very pleasant--there are no words to
describe it; but still, it is awkward for us to be all alone,
isn't it? And I regret my uniform also."
"Of course you do! Especially as it is of the fourth class,[40]
so that it makes you dizzy to gaze at the embroidery alone!"
Then they began to urge the peasant: Take them, take them to
Pettifoggers Street! And behold! The peasant, it appeared, even
knew all about Pettifoggers Street; had been there; his mouth
had watered at it, but he had not had a taste of it!
"And we are Generals from Pettifoggers Street, you know!" cried
the Generals joyfully.
"And I, also, if you had only observed; a man hangs outside a
house, in a box, from a rope, and washes the wall with color,
or walks on the roof like a fly. I am that man," replied the
peasant.
And the peasant began to cut capers, as though to amuse his
Generals, because they had been kind to him, an idle sluggard,
and had not scorned his peasant toil. And he built a ship--not
a ship exactly, but a boat--so that they could sail across the
ocean-sea, up to Pettifoggers Street.
"But look to it, you rascal, that you don't drown us!" said the
Generals, when they saw the craft pitching on the waves.
"Be easy, Generals, this is not my first experience," replied
the peasant, and began to make preparations for departure.
The peasant collected soft swansdown, and lined the bottom of
the boat with it; having done this, he placed the Generals on
the bottom, made the sign of the cross over them, and set sail.
The pen cannot describe, neither can the tongue relate, what
terror the Generals suffered during their journey, from storms
and divers winds. But the peasant kept on rowing and rowing,
and fed the Generals on herrings.
At last, behold Mother Nevá, and the splendid Katherine Canal,
and great Pettifoggers Street! The cook-maids clasped their
hands in amazement at the sight of their Generals, so fat,
white, and merry! The Generals drank their coffee, ate rolls
made with milk, eggs, and butter, and put on their uniforms.
Then they went to the treasury, and the pen cannot describe,
neither can the tongue relate, how much money they received
there.
But they did not forget the peasant; they sent him a wineglass
of vódka and a silver five-kopék piece.[41] "Make merry, big,
coarse peasant!"
While Turgéneff represented the "western" and liberal element (with a
tinge of the "red") in the school of the '40's, and Gontcharóff stood
for the bourgeois and opportunist ideals of the St. Petersburg
bureaucrats, Count Lyéff Nikoláevitch Tolstóy penetrated more profoundly
into the depths of the spirit of the times than any other writer of the
period in the matter of analysis and skepticism which characterized that
school, and carried them to the extremes of pitiless logic and
radicalness, approaching more closely than any other to democratic and
national ideals. But notwithstanding all his genius, Count Tolstóy was
not able to free himself to any great extent from his epoch, his
environment, his contemporaries. His special talents merely caused him
to find it impossible to reconcile himself to the state of affairs
existing around him; and so, instead of progressing, he turned back and
sought peace of mind and a firm doctrine in the distant past of
primitive Christianity. Sincere as he undoubtedly is in his propaganda
of self-simplification and self-perfection--one might almost call it
"self-annihilation"--his new attitude has wrought great and most
regrettable havoc with his later literary work, with some few
exceptions.
And yet, in pursuing this course, he did not strike out an entirely new
path for himself; his youth was passed in an epoch when the ideal of
personal perfection and self-surrender stood in the foreground, and
constituted the very essence of Russian progress.
Count L. N. Tolstóy was born on August 28, O. S., 1828 (September 9th,
N. S.), in the village of Yásnaya Polyána, in the government of Túla.
His mother, born Princess Volkónsky (Márya Nikoláevna), died before he
was two years old, and his father's sister, Countess A. T. Osten-Saken,
and a distant relative, Madame T. A. Ergólsky, took charge of him. When
he was nine years old the family removed to Moscow, and his father died
soon afterwards. Lyéff Nikoláevitch, his brother Dmítry, and his sister
Márya then returned to the country estate, while his elder brother
Nikolái remained in Moscow with Countess Osten-Saken and studied at the
University of Moscow. Three years later, the Countess Osten-Saken died,
and another aunt on the father's side, Madame P. I. Yúshkoff, who
resided in Kazán, became their guardian. Lyéff Nikoláevitch went there
to live, and in 1843 he entered the University of Kazán in the
philological course, but remained in it only one year, because the
professor of history (who had quarreled with Tolstóy's relatives) gave
him impossibly bad marks, in addition to which he received bad marks
from the professor of German, although he was better acquainted with
that language than any other member of his course. He was compelled to
change to the law course, where he remained for two years. In 1848 he
took the examination for "candidate" in the University of St.
Petersburg. "I knew literally nothing," he says of himself, "and I
literally began to prepare myself for the examination only one week in
advance." He obtained his degree of candidate, or bachelor of arts, and
returned to Yásnaya Polyána, where he lived until 1851, when he entered
the Forty-fourth Battery of the Twentieth Brigade of Artillery as
"yúnker" or supernumerary officer, with no official rank, but eligible
to receive a commission as ensign, and thence advance in the service.
This battery was stationed on the Térek River, in the Caucasus, and
there Tolstóy remained with it until the Crimean War broke out. Thus
during the first twenty-six years of his life he spent less than five
years in towns, the rest in the country; and this no doubt laid the
foundation for his deep love for country life, which has had so profound
an effect upon his writings and his views of existence in general.
The dawning of his talent came during the four years he spent in the
Caucasus, and he wrote "Childhood," "The Incursion," "Boyhood," "The
Morning of a Landed Proprietor," and "The Cossacks." During the Turkish
campaign he was ordered to the staff of Prince M. D. Gortchakóff, on the
Danube, and in 1855 received the command of a mountain battery, and took
part in the fight at Tchérnaya, and the siege of Sevastópol. The
literary fruits of this experience were "Sevastópol," in December, May,
and August, three sketches.
It is convenient to finish his statistical history at this point with
the statement that in 1862 he married, having firmly resolved, two years
previously, that he never would do so, and clinched the bargain with
himself by selling the big manor-house at Yásnaya Polyána for
transportation and re-erection elsewhere. Between that date and 1888 he
had a family of fifteen[42] children, of whom seven are still alive.
In his very first efforts in literature we detect certain
characteristics which continue to distinguish him throughout his career,
and some of which, on attaining their legitimate and logical development
seem, to the ordinary reader, to be of extremely recent origin. In
"Childhood" and "Boyhood" ("Youth," the third section, was written late
in the '50's) we meet the same keen analysis which is a leading feature
in his later works, and in them is applied with such effect to women and
to the tender passion, neither of which elements enters into his early
works in any appreciable degree. He displays the most astounding genius
in detecting and understanding the most secret and trivial movements of
the human soul. In this respect his methods are those of a miniature
painter. Another point must be borne in mind in studying Tolstóy's
characters, that, unlike Turgéneff, who is almost exclusively objective,
Tolstóy is in the highest degree subjective, and has presented a study
of his own life and soul in almost every one of his works, in varying
degrees, and combined with widely varying elements. In the same way he
has made use of the spiritual and mental state of his relatives. For
example, who can fail to recognize a self-portrait from the life in
Levín ("Anna Karénin"), and in Prince Andréi Bolkónsky ("War and
Peace")? And the feminine characters in these great novels are either
simple or composite portraits of his nearest relations, while many of
the incidents in both novels are taken straight from their experience or
his own, or the two combined.
It is useless to catalogue his many works with their dates in this
place. Unquestionably the finest of them (despite the author's present
erroneous view, that they constitute a sin and a reproach to him) are
his magnificent "War and Peace" and "Anna Karénin." Curiously enough,
neither met with prompt or enthusiastic welcome in Russia when they
first made their appearance.[43] The public had grown used to the very
different methods of the other celebrated romance-writers of the '40's,
with whom we have already dealt. Gontcharóff had accustomed them to the
delineation of character by broad, sweeping strokes; Dostoévsky to
lancet-like thrusts, penetrating the very soul; Turgéneff to tender
touches, which produced soft, melting outlines. It was long before they
could reconcile themselves to Tolstóy's original mode of painting a vast
series of miniature portraits on an immense canvas. But the effect of
this procedure was at last recognized to be the very acme of throbbing,
breathing life itself. Moreover, it became apparent that Tolstóy's
theory of life was, that great generals, statesmen, and as a whole, all
active persons who seem or try to control events, do nothing of the
kind. Somewhere above, in the unknown, there is a power which guides
affairs at its own will, and (here is the special point) deliberately
thwarts all the efforts of the active people. According to his
philosophy, the self-contained, thoroughly egotistical natures, who are
wedded solely to the cult of success, generally pass through this
earthly life without any notable disasters; they attend strictly to
their own selfish ends, and do not attempt to sway the destinies of
others from motives of humanity, patriotism, or anything else in the
lofty, self-sacrificing line. On the contrary, the fate of the people
who are endowed with tender instincts, who have not allowed self-love to
smother their humanity, who are guilty only of striving to attain some
lofty, unselfish object in life, are thwarted and repressed, balked and
confounded at every turn. This is particularly interesting in view of
his latter-day exhortations to men, on the duty of toiling for others,
sacrificing everything for others. Nevertheless, it must stand as a
monument to the fidelity of his powers of analysis of life in general,
and of the individual characters in whose lot he demonstrates his
theory.
This contrast between the two conflicting principles, a haughty
individualism and peaceable submission to a higher power, of which the
concrete representative is the mass of the population, is set forth with
especial clearness in "War and Peace," where the two principal heroes,
Prince Andréi Bolkónsky and Pierre Bezúkoff, represent individualism.
In "Anna Karénin," in the person of his favorite hero, Konstantín Levín,
Tolstóy first enunciates the doctrine of moral regeneration acquired by
means of physical labor, and his later philosophical doctrines are the
direct development of the views there set forth. He had represented a
hero of much earlier days, Prince Nekhliúdoff, in "The Morning of a
Landed Proprietor," as convinced that he should make himself of use to
his peasants; and he had set forth the result of those efforts in terms
which tally wonderfully well with his direct personal comments in "My
Confession," of a date long posterior to "Anna Karénin." "Have my
peasants become any the richer?" he writes; "have they been educated or
developed morally? Not in the slightest degree. They are no better off,
and my heart grows more heavy with every passing day. If I could but
perceive any success in my undertaking; if I could descry any
gratitude--but no; I see false routine, vice, distrust, helplessness! I
am wasting the best years of my life in vain."
But Nekhliúdoff--Tolstóy was not alone in devoting himself to his
peasants; before he withdrew to the country he had led a gay life in St.
Petersburg, after resigning from the army, and in writing his fine
peasant story, "Polikúshka," setting up peasant-schools on his estate,
and the like, he was merely paying his tribute to the spirit of the time
(which reached him even in his seclusion), and imitating the innumerable
village schools and Sunday schools in the capitals (for secular
instruction of the laboring classes who were too busy for education
during the week) in which the aristocratic and educated classes in
general took a lively interest.[44] But the leisure afforded by country
life enabled him to compose his masterpieces. "War and Peace," which was
begun in 1864, was published serially in "The Russian Messenger,"
beginning in 1865, and in book form in 1869, and "Anna Karénin," which
was published serially in the same journal, in 1875-1876. His style is
not to be compared to that of Turgéneff, with its exquisite harmony,
art, and sense of proportion. Tolstóy writes carelessly, frequently
repeats himself, not infrequently expresses himself ambiguously or
obscurely. But the supreme effect is produced, nevertheless.
At last came the diametrical change of views, apparently, which led to
this supreme artist's discarding his art, and devoting himself to
religious and philosophical writings for which neither nature nor his
training had fitted him. He himself dates this change from the middle of
the '70's, and it must be noted that precisely at this period that
strong movement called "going to the people," i. e., devoting one's self
to the welfare of the peasants, became epidemic in Russian society.
Again, as fifteen or twenty years previously, Count Tolstóy was merely
swept onward by the popular current. But his first pamphlet on his new
propaganda is ten years later than the date he assigns to the change.
Thereafter for many years he devoted his chief efforts to this new class
of work, "Life," "What Is to Be Done?" "My Confession," and so forth,
being the more bulky outcome. Some of the stories, written for the
people during this interval, are delightful, both in tone and artistic
qualities. Others are surcharged with "morals," which in many cases
either directly conflict with the moral of other stories in the same
volume, or even with the secondary moral of the same story. Even his
last work--"in my former style," as he described it--"Resurrection," has
special doctrines and aims too emphatically insisted upon to permit of
the reader deriving from it the pure literary pleasure afforded by his
masterpieces. In short, with all due respect to the entire sincerity of
this magnificent writer, it must be said that those who would enjoy and
appreciate him rightly, should ignore his philosophico-religious
treatises, which are contradictory and confusing to the last degree. As
an illustration, let me cite the case of the famine in Russia of
1891-92. Great sums of money[45] were sent to Count Tolstóy, chiefly
from America, and were expended by him in the most practicable and
irreproachable manner--so any one would have supposed--for the relief of
the starving peasants. Count Tolstóy and his assistants lived the life
of the peasants, and underwent severe hardships; the Count even fell
ill, and his wife was obliged to go to him and nurse him. It would seem
that his conscience had no cause for reproach, and that the situation
was an ideal one for him. But before that famine was well over, or the
funds expended, he wrote a letter to a London newspaper, in which he
declared that helping people by means of money was all wrong--positively
a sin. He felt that collecting and distributing money was not the best
thing of which he was capable, and called it "making a pipe of one's
self," personal service with brains, heart, and muscles being the only
right service for God or man. This service he certainly rendered, and
without the money he could not have rendered it.
Nothing could more perfectly illustrate this point of view than the
following little story, written in 1881, called "The Two Brothers and
the Gold."
In ancient times there lived not far from Jerusalem two
brothers, the elder Afanásy, the younger Ioánn. They dwelt on a
hill not far from the town, and subsisted on what people gave
them. Every day the brothers spent in work. They did not toil
at their own work, but at the work of the poor. Wherever there
were men overwhelmed with work, wherever there were sick
people, orphans and widows, thither went the brothers, and
there they toiled and nursed the people, accepting no
remuneration. In this wise did the brothers pass the whole week
apart, and met only on Saturday evening in their abode. Only on
Sunday did they remain at home, praying and chatting together.
And the angel of the Lord descended to them and blessed them.
On Monday they parted and each went his way. Thus the two
brothers lived for many years, and every week the angel of the
Lord came down and blessed them.
One Monday as the brothers were starting out to work, and had
already separated, going in different directions, Afanásy felt
sorry to part with his beloved brother, and halted and glanced
back. Ioánn was walking, with head bowed, in his own direction,
and did not look back. But all of a sudden, Ioánn also halted,
and as though catching sight of something, began to gaze
intently in that direction, shading his eyes with his hand.
Then he approached what he had espied there, suddenly leaped to
one side, and without looking behind him fled down the hill and
up the hill, away from the spot, as though a fierce wild beast
were pursuing him. Afanásy was amazed and went back to the
place in order to find out what had so frightened his brother.
As he came near he beheld something gleaming in the sunlight.
He approached closer. On the grass, as though poured out of a
measure, lay a heap of gold.... And Afanásy was the more
amazed, both at the gold, and at his brother's leap.
"What was he frightened at, and what did he flee from?" said
Afanásy to himself. "There is no sin in gold, the sin is in
man. One can do evil with gold, but one can also do good with
it. How many orphans and widows can be fed, how many naked men
clothed, how many poor and sick healed with this gold. We now
serve people, but our service is small, according to the
smallness of our strength, but with this gold we can serve
people more." Afanásy reasoned thus with himself, and wished to
tell it all to his brother, but Ioánn had gone off out of
earshot, and was now visible on the opposite mountain, no
bigger than a beetle.
And Afanásy took of his garment, raked into it as much gold as
he was able to carry, flung it on his shoulders and carried it
to the city. He came to the inn, gave the gold over to the
innkeeper, and went back after the remainder. And when he had
brought all the gold he went to the merchants, bought land in
the town, bought stone and timber, hired workmen, and began to
build three houses. And Afanásy dwelt three months in the town
and built three houses in the town, one house, an asylum for
widows and orphans, another house, a hospital for the sick and
the needy, a third house for pilgrims and paupers. And Afanásy
sought out three pious old men, and he placed one over the
asylum, another over the hospital, and the third over the
hostelry for pilgrims. And Afanásy had three thousand gold
pieces left. And he gave a thousand to each old man to
distribute to the poor. And people began to fill all three
houses, and men began to laud Afanásy for what he had done.
And Afanásy rejoiced thereat so that he did not wish to leave
the city. But Afanásy loved his brother, and bidding the people
farewell, and keeping not a single gold piece for himself, he
went back to his abode in the same old garment in which he had
quitted it.
Afanásy came to his mountain and said to himself, "My brother
judged wrongly when he sprang away from the gold and fled from
it. Have not I done better?"
And no sooner had Afanásy thought this, than suddenly he
beheld, standing in his path and gazing sternly at him, that
angel who had been wont to bless them. And Afanásy was
stupefied with amazement and could utter only, "Why is this,
Lord?" And the angel opened his mouth and said, "Get thee
hence! Thou art not worthy to dwell with thy brother. Thy
brother's one leap is more precious than all the deeds which
thou hast done with thy gold."
And Afanásy began to tell of how many paupers and wanderers he
had fed, how many orphans he had cared for, and the angel said
to him, "That devil who placed the gold there to seduce thee
hath also taught thee these words."
And then did Afanásy's conscience convict him, and he
understood that he had not done his deeds for the sake of God,
and he fell to weeping, and began to repent. Then the angel
stepped aside, and left open to him the way, on which Ioánn was
already standing awaiting his brother, and from that time forth
Afanásy yielded no more to the temptation of the devil who had
poured out the gold, and knew that not by gold, but only by
labor, can one serve God and men.
And the brothers began to live as before.[46]
Unfortunately, the best of Tolstóy's peasant stories, such as
"Polikúshka," "Two Old Men" (the latter belonging to the recent
hortatory period), and the like, are too long for reproduction here. But
the moral of the following, "Little Girls Wiser than Old Men," is
irreproachable, and the style is the same as in the more important of
those written expressly for the people.
Easter fell early that year. People had only just ceased to use
sledges. The snow still lay in the cottage yards, but rivulets
were flowing through the village; a big puddle had formed
between the cottages, from the dung-heaps, and two little
girls, from different cottages, met by this puddle--one
younger, the other older. Both little girls had been dressed in
new frocks by their mothers. The little one's frock was blue,
the big one's yellow, with a flowered pattern. Both had red
kerchiefs bound about their heads. The little girls came out to
the puddle, after the morning service in church, displayed
their clothes to each other, and began to play. And the fancy
seized them to paddle in the water. The younger girl was on the
point of wading into the pool with her shoes on, but the elder
girl says, "Don't go Malásha, thy mother will scold. Come, I'll
take off my shoes, and do thou take off thine." The little
lasses took off their shoes, tucked up their frocks and waded
into the puddle, to meet each other. Malásha went in up to her
knees, and says, "It's deep, Akuliushka--I'm afraid" "Never
mind," says she; "it won't get any deeper. Come straight
towards me." They began to approach each other, and Akúlka
says, "Look out, Malásha, don't splash, but walk quietly." No
sooner had she spoken, than Malásha set her foot down with a
bang in the water, and a splash fell straight on Akúlka's
frock. The sarafán was splashed, and some of it fell on her
nose and in her eyes as well. Akúlka saw the spot on her frock,
got angry at Malásha, stormed, ran after her, and wanted to
beat her. Malásha was frightened when she saw the mischief she
had done, leaped out of the puddle, and ran home. Akúlka's
mother came along, espied the splashed frock and spattered
chemise on her daughter. "Where didst thou soil thyself, thou
hussy?" "Malásha splashed me on purpose." Akálka's mother
seized Malásha, and struck her on the nape of the neck. Malásha
shrieked so that the whole street heard her. Malásha's mother
came out. "What art thou beating my child for?" The neighbor
began to rail. One word led to another, the women scolded each
other. The peasant men ran forth, a big crowd assembled in the
street. Everybody shouted, nobody listened to anybody else.
They scolded and scolded. One gave another a punch, and a
regular fight was imminent, when an old woman, Akúlka's
grandmother, interposed. She advanced into the midst of the
peasants, and began to argue with them. "What are you about, my
good men? Is this the season for such things? We ought to be
joyful, but you have brought about a great sin." They paid no
heed to the old woman, and almost knocked one another down, and
the old woman would not have been able to dissuade them had it
not been for Akúlka and Malásha. While the women were
wrangling, Akúlka wiped off her frock, and went out again to
the puddle in the space between the cottages. She picked up a
small stone and began to dig the earth out at the edge of the
puddle, so as to let the water out into the street. While she
was digging away, Malásha came up also, and began to help her
by drawing the water down the ditch with a chip. The peasant
men had just come to blows, when the little girls had got the
water along the ditch to the street, directly at the spot where
the old woman was parting the men.
The little girls came running up, one on one side, the other on
the other side of the rivulet. "Hold on, Malásha, hold on!"
cried Akúlka. Malásha also tried to say something, but could
not speak for laughing.
The little girls ran thus, laughing at the chip, as it floated
down the stream. And they ran straight into the midst of the
peasant men. The old woman perceived them, and said to the men,
"Fear God! Here you have begun to fight over these same little
girls, and they have forgotten all about it long ago, and are
playing together again in love--the dear little things. They
are wiser than you!"
The men looked at the little girls, and felt ashamed of
themselves; and then the peasants began to laugh at themselves,
and went off to their houses.
"Except ye become as little children, ye shall not enter the
kingdom of heaven."
It is a pity that Count Tolstóy, the greatest literary genius of his
time, should put his immense talent to such a use as to provoke, on his
contradictions of himself, comment like the following, which is quoted
from a work by V. S. Soloviéff, an essayist and argumentative writer,
who quotes some one on this subject, to this effect:
"Sometimes we hear that the most important truth is in the
Sermon on the Mount; then again, we are told that we must till
the soil in the sweat of our brows, though there is nothing
about that in the Gospels, but in Genesis--in the same place
where giving birth in pain is mentioned, but that is no
commandment at all, only a sad fate; sometimes we are told that
we ought to give everything away to the poor; and then again,
that we never ought to give anything to anybody, as money is an
evil, and one ought not to harm other people, but only one's
self and one's family, but that we ought to work for others;
sometimes we are told that the vocation of women is to bear as
many healthy children as possible, and then, the celibate ideal
is held up for men and women; then again, eating no meat is the
first step towards self-perfection, though why no one knows;
then something is said against liquor and tobacco, then against
pancakes, then against military service as if it were the worst
thing on earth, and as if the primary duty of a Christian were
to refuse to be a soldier, which would prove that he who is not
taken into service, for any reason, is already holy enough."
This may be a trifle exaggerated, but it indicates clearly enough the
utter confusion which the teachings of Count Tolstóy produce on
ordinary, rational, well-meaning persons.[47] In short, he should be
judged in his proper sphere as one of the most gifted authors of any age
or country, and judged by his legitimate works in his legitimate
province, the novel, as exemplified by "War and Peace" and "Anna
Karénin."
The reform movement of the '60's of the nineteenth century ended in a
reaction which took possession of society as a whole during the '70's.
Apathy, dejection, disenchantment superseded the previous exultation and
enthusiastic impulse to push forward in all directions. Dull discontent
and irritation reigned in all classes of society and in all parties.
Some were discontented with the reforms, regarding them as premature,
and even ruinous; others, on the contrary, deemed them insufficient,
curtailed, only half-satisfactory to the needs of the country, and
merely exasperating to the public demands.
These conditions created a special sort of literary school, which made
its appearance in the middle of the '70's, and attained its complete
development in the middle of the '80's. We have seen that the same sort
of thing had taken place with every previous change in the public
sentiment. The first thing which impresses one in this school is the
resurrection of artistic feeling, a passion for beauty of imagery and
forms, a careful and extremely elegant polish imparted to literary
productions in technique. None of the authoritative and influential
critics preached the cult of pure art. Yet Gárshin, the most promising
of the young authors of the day, who was the very last person to be
suspected of that cult, finished his works with the utmost care, so that
in elegance of form and language they offer an example of faultless
perfection. There can be no doubt that this renaissance of the artistic
element of poetry, of beauty, was closely connected with the subsidence
of the flood-tide of public excitement and agitation, which up to that
time had carried writers along with it into its whirlpools, and granted
them neither the time nor the desire to polish and adorn their works,
and revel in beauty of forms.
Vsévolod Mikháilovitch Gárshin, the son of a petty landed proprietor in
the south of Russia, was born in 1855. Despite his repeated attacks of
profound melancholia, which sometimes passed into actual insanity, and
despite the brevity of his career (he flung himself down stairs in a fit
of this sort and died, in 1889), he made a distinct and brilliant mark
in Russian literature.
Gárshin's view of people in general was thus expressed: "All the people
whom I have known," he says, "are divided (along with other divisions of
which, of course, there are many: the clever men and the fools, the
Hamlets and the Don Quixotes, the lazy and the active, and so forth)
into two categories, or to speak more accurately, they are distributed
between two extremes: some are endowed, so to speak, with a good
self-consciousness, while the others have a bad self-consciousness. One
man lives and enjoys all his sensations; if he eats he rejoices, if he
looks at the sky he rejoices. In short, for such a man, the mere process
of living is happiness. But it is quite the reverse with the other sort
of man; you may plate him with gold, and he will continue to grumble;
nothing satisfies him; success in life affords him no pleasure, even if
it be perfectly self-evident. The man simply is incapable of
experiencing satisfaction; he is incapable, and that is the end of the
matter." And in view of his personal disabilities, it is not remarkable
that all his heroes should have belonged to the latter category, in a
greater or less degree, some of the incidents narrated being drawn
directly from his own experiences. Such are "The Red Flower," his best
story, which presents the hallucinations of a madman, "The Coward,"
"Night," "Attalea Princeps," and "That Which Never Happened." On the
other hand, the following have no personal element: "The Meeting," "The
Orderly and the Officer," "The Diary of Soldier Ivánoff," "The Bears,"
"Nadézhda Nikoláevna," and "Proud Aggei."
Another writer who has won some fame, especially by his charming
sketches of Siberian life, written during his exile in Siberia, is
Grigóry Alexándrovitch Matchtet, born in 1852. These sketches, such as
"The Second Truth," "We Have Conquered," "A Worldly Affair," are both
true to nature and artistic, and produce a deep impression.
Much more talented and famous is Vladímir Galaktiónovitch Korolénko
(1853), also the author of fascinating Siberian sketches, and of a more
ambitious work, "The Blind Musician." One point to be noted about
Korolénko is that he never joined the pessimists, or the party which
professed pseudo-peasant tendencies, and followed Count L. N. Tolstóy's
ideas, but has always preserved his independence. His first work, a
delightful fantasy, entitled "Makár's Dream," appeared in 1885.
Korolénko has been sent to Siberia several times, but now lives in
Russia proper,[48] and publishes a high-class monthly journal.
Until quite recently opinion was divided as to whether Korolénko or
Tchékoff was the more talented, and the coming "great author." As we
shall see presently, that question seems to have been settled, and in
part by Korolénko's friendly aid, in favor of quite another person.
Antón Pávlovitch Tchékoff (pseudonym "Tchekhonte," 1860) is the
descendant of a serf father and grandfather. His volumes of short
stories, "Humorous Tales," "In the Gloaming," "Surly People," are full
of humor and of brilliant wit. His more ambitious efforts, as to length
and artistic qualities, the productions of his matured talent, are "The
Steppe," "Fires," "A Tiresome History," "Notes of an Unknown," "The
Peasant," and so forth.
Still another extremely talented writer, who, unfortunately, has begun
to produce too rapidly for his own interest, is Ignáty Nikoláevitch
Potápenko (1856), the son of an officer in a Uhlan regiment, and of a
Little Russian peasant mother. His father afterwards became a priest--a
very unusual change of vocation and class--and the future writer
acquired intimate knowledge of views and customs in ecclesiastical
circles, which he put to brilliant use later on. A delicate humor is the
characteristic feature of his work, as can be seen in his best writings,
such as "On Active Service"[49] and "The Secretary of His Grace (the
Bishop)."
The former is the story of a talented and devoted young priest, who
might have obtained an easy position in the town, among the bishop's
officials, with certain prospect of swift promotion. He resolutely
declines this position, and requests that he may be assigned to a
village parish, where he can be "on active service." Every one regards
the request as a sign of an unsettled mind. After much argument he
prevails on his betrothed bride's parents to permit the marriage (he
cannot be ordained until he is married), and hopes to find a helpmeet
in her. The rest of the story deals with his experiences in the
unenviable position of a village priest, where he has to contend not
only with the displeasure of his young wife, but with the avarice of his
church staff, the defects of the peasants, the excess of attention of
the local gentlewoman, and financial problems of the most trying
description. It ends in his wife abandoning him, and returning with her
child to her father's house, while he insists on remaining at his post,
where, as events have abundantly proved, the ministrations of a truly
disinterested, devout priest are most sadly needed. It is impossible to
convey by description the charm and gentle humor of this book.
But acclaimed on all sides, by all classes of society, as the most
talented writer of the present day, is the young man who writes under
the name of Maxím Górky (Bitter). The majority of the critics
confidently predict that he is the long-expected successor of Count
L. N. Tolstóy. This gifted man, who at one stroke, conquered for himself
all Russia which reads, whose books sell with unprecedented rapidity,
whose name passes from mouth to mouth of millions, wherever intellectual
life glows, and has won an unnumbered host of enthusiastic admirers all
over the world, came up from the depths of the populace.
"Górky" Alexéi Maxímovitch Pyeshkóff was born in Nízhni Nóvgorod in 1868
or 1869. Socially, he belongs to the petty burgher class, but his
grandfather, on the paternal side, was reduced from an officer to the
ranks, by the Emperor Nicholas I., for harsh treatment of the soldiers
under his command. He was such a rough character that his son (the
author's father) ran away from home five times in the course of seven
years, and definitively parted from his uncongenial family at the age
of seventeen, when he went afoot from Tobólsk to Nízhni Nóvgorod, where
he apprenticed himself to a paper-hanger. Later on he became the
office-manager of a steamer company in Ástrakhan. His mother was the
daughter of a man who began his career as a bargee on the Volga, one of
the lowest class of men who, before the advent of steam, hauled the
merchandise-laden barks from Ástrakhan to Nízhni Nóvgorod, against the
current. Afterwards he became a dyer of yarns, and eventually
established a thriving dyeing establishment in Nízhni.
Górky's father died of cholera at Ástrakhan when the lad was four years
old. His mother soon married again, and gave the boy to his grandfather,
who had him taught to read and write, and then sent him to school, where
he remained only five months. At the end of that time he caught
smallpox, and his studies were never renewed. Meanwhile his mother died,
and his grandfather was ruined financially, so Górky, at nine years of
age, became the "boy" in a shoeshop, where he spent two months, scalded
his hands with cabbage soup, and was sent back to his grandfather. His
relations treated him with hostility or indifference, and on his
recovery, apprenticed him to a draftsman, from whose harshness he
promptly fled, and entered the shop of a painter of holy pictures. Next
he became scullion on a river steamer, and the cook was the first to
inculcate in him a love of reading and of good literature. Next he
became gardener's boy; then tried to get an education at Kazán
University, under the mistaken impression that education was free. To
keep from starving he became assistant in a bakery at three rubles a
month; "the hardest work I ever tried," he says; sawed wood, carried
heavy burdens, peddled apples on the wharf, and tried to commit suicide
out of sheer want and misery.[50] "Konováloff" and "Men with Pasts"[51]
would seem to represent some of the experiences of this period,
"Konováloff" being regarded as one of his best stories. Then he went to
Tzarítzyn, where he obtained employment as watchman on a railway, was
called back to Nízhni Nóvgorod for the conscription, but was not
accepted as a soldier, such "holy" men not being wanted. He became a
peddler of beer, then secretary to a lawyer, who exercised great
influence on his education. But he felt out of place, and in 1890 went
back to Tzarítzyn, then to the Don Province (of the Kazáks), to the
Ukraína and Bessarábia, back along the southern shore of the Crimea to
the Kubán, and thence to the Caucasus. The reader of his inimitable
short stories can trace these peregrinations and the adventures incident
to them. In Tiflís he worked in the railway shops, and in 1892 printed
his first literary effort, "Makár Tchúdra," in a local newspaper, the
"Kavkáz." In the following year, in Nízhni Nóvgorod, he made
acquaintance with Korolénko, to whom he is indebted for getting into
"great literature," and for sympathy and advice. When he published
"Tchelkásh," in 1893, his fate was settled. It is regarded as one of the
purest gems of Russian literature. He immediately rose to honor, and all
his writings since that time have appeared in the leading publications.
Moreover, he is the most "fashionable" writer in the country. But he
enjoys something more than mere popularity; he is deeply loved. This is
the result of the young artist's remarkable talent for painting
absolutely living pictures of both persons and things. The
many-sidedness of his genius--for he has more than talent--is shown,
among other things, by the fact that he depicts with equal success
landscapes, _genre_ scenes, portraits of women. His episode of the
singers in "Fomá Gordyéeff" (pp. 217-227) is regarded by Russian critics
as fully worthy of being compared with the scenes for which Turgéneff is
renowned. His landscape pictures are so beautiful that they cause a
throb of pain. But, as is almost inevitable under the circumstances,
most of his stories have an element of coarseness, which sometimes
repels.
In general, his subject is "the uneasy man," who is striving after
absolute freedom, after light and a lofty ideal, of which he can
perceive the existence somewhere, though with all his efforts he cannot
grasp it. We may assume that in this they represent Górky himself. But
although all his heroes are seeking the meaning of life, no two of them
are alike. His characters, like his landscapes, grip the heart, and once
known, leave an ineffaceable imprint. Although he propounds problems of
life among various classes, he differs from the majority of people, in
not regarding a full stomach as the panacea for the poor man. On the
contrary (as in "Fomá Gordyéeff," his most ambitious effort), he seems
to regard precisely this as the cause of more ruin than the life of "the
barefoot brigade," the tramps and stepchildren of Dame Fortune, with
whom he principally deals. His motto seems to be "Man shall not live by
bread alone." And because Górky bears this thought ever with him, in
brain and heart, in nerves and his very marrow, his work possesses a
strength which is almost terrifying, combined with a beauty as
terrifying in its way. If he will but develop his immense genius instead
of meddling with social and political questions, and getting into prison
on that score with disheartening regularity, something incalculably
great may be the outcome. It is said that he is now banished in polite
exile to the Crimea. If he can be kept there or elsewhere out of
mischief, the Russian government will again render the literature of its
own country and of the world as great a service as it has already more
than once rendered in the past, by similar means.
In the '70's and '80's Russian society was seized with a mania for
writing poetry, and a countless throng of young poets made their
appearance. No book sold so rapidly as a volume of verses. But very few
of these aspirants to fame possessed any originality or serious worth.
Poetry had advanced not a single step since the days of Nekrásoff and
Shevtchénko, so far as national independence was concerned.
The most talented of the young poets of this period was Semén
Yákovlevitch Nádson (1862-1887). His grandfather, a Jew who had joined
the Russian Church, lived in Kíeff. His father, a gifted man and a fine
musician, died young. His mother, a Russian gentlewoman, died at the age
of thirty-one, of consumption. At the age of sixteen, Nádson fell in
love with a young girl, and began to write poetry. She died of quick
consumption shortly afterwards. This grief affected the young man's
whole career, and many of his poems were inspired by it. He began to
publish his poems while still in school, being already threatened with
pulmonary trouble, on account of which he had been sent to the Caucasus
at the expense of the government, where he spent a year. In 1882 he
graduated from the military school, and was appointed an officer in a
regiment stationed at Kronstádt. There he lived for two years, and some
of his best poems belong to this epoch: "No, Easier 'Tis for Me to Think
that Thou Art Dead," "Herostrat," "Dreams," "The Brilliant Hall Has
Silent Grown," "All Hath Come to Pass," and so forth. He retired from
the military service in 1883, being already in the grasp of consumption.
His poems ran through ten editions during the five years which followed
his death, and still continue to sell with equal rapidity, so remarkable
is their popularity. He was an ideally poetical figure; moreover, he
charms by his flowing, musical verse, by the enthralling elegance and
grace of his poetical imagery, and genuine lyric inspiration. All his
poetry is filled with quiet, meditative sadness. It is by the music of
his verse and the tender tears of his feminine lyrism that Nádson
penetrates the hearts of his readers. His masterpiece is "My Friend, My
Brother," and this reflects the sentiment of all his work.[52] Here is
the first verse:
My friend, my brother, weary, suffering brother,
Whoever thou may'st be, let not thy spirit fail;
Let evil and injustice reign with sway supreme
O'er all the tear-washed earth.
Let the sacred ideal be shattered and dishonored;
Let innocent blood flow in stream--
Believe me, there cometh a time when Baal shall perish
And love shall return to earth.
Another very sincere, sympathetic, and genuine, though not great poet,
also of Jewish race, is Semén Grigórievitch Frug (1860-1916), the son
of a member of the Jewish agricultural colony in the government of
Khersón. He, like Nádson, believes that good will triumph in the end,
and is not in the least a pessimist.
Quite the reverse are Nikolái Maxímovitch Vilénkin (who is better known
by his pseudonym of "Mínsky" from his native government), and Dmítry
Sergyéevitch Merezhkóvsky (1865) who, as a poet, is generally bombastic.
His novels are better.
There are many other good, though not great, contemporary writers in
Russia, including several women. But they hardly come within the scope
of this work (which does not aim at being encyclopedic), as neither
their work nor their fame is likely to make its way to foreign readers
who are unacquainted with the Russian language. For those who do read
Russian there are several good handbooks of contemporary literature
which will furnish all necessary information.
QUESTIONS FOR REVIEW
1. How was Russia influenced by the romantic movement in
western Europe?
2. Describe the character of the romances of the first period
of the fifties.
3. What important historical works appeared at this time?
4. What popular novels were written by Danilévsky?
5. What were the chief works of Mélnikoff, and why are they not
likely to be translated into English?
6. Describe the career and influence of Lyeskóff.
7. Why was the fame of Markóvitch's work short-lived?
8. What difficulties did Uspénsky encounter in his early
attempts at writing?
9. Describe the effect produced by his "Hard Labor" and "An
Eccentric Master."
10. What views of society did Zlatovrátsky express in his
writings?
11. Why did Ryeshétnikoff's "The Inhabitants of Podlípovo"
become widely popular?
12. Give an account of the experiences of Saltykóff.
13. How did he make use of the material gathered during his
exile?
14. How did his writings contribute some new words to the
Russian language?
15. What qualities does he show in "The Story of How One
Peasant Maintained Two Generals"?
16. Give the chief events in the life of Tolstóy.
17. What characteristics of style did he show in his earliest
writings?
18. How is he "subjective" in delineating his characters?
19. Why was his genius not at first appreciated?
20. What was his theory of life?
21. What change came into his life in the seventies?
22. How did this affect his writings?
23. How did his experience with famine sufferers affect his
views?
24. What were Gárshin's views of people in general?
25. How do his books bear out his theories?
26. What facts in Korolénko's life have influenced his literary
development?
27. What characteristics does Tchékoff show in his short
stories?
28. What is the story of Potápenko's "On Active Service"?
29. Give the leading events of Górky's career.
30. How is his many-sided genius shown?
31. What ideals are expressed in his work?
32. Why has Nádson's poetry such a firm hold on the popular
mind?
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Danilévsky: _Miróvitch._ _The Princess Tarakanova._
Potápenko: _A Russian Priest._ _A Father of Six._ _An
Occasional Holiday._
Maxím Górky: _Orlóff and His Wife._ _Fomá Gordyéeff._
(Translated by I. F. Hapgood.)
L. N. Tolstóy: All of his works are available in English
translations. There are several collections of his short
stories.
_The Humor of Russia._ (Selections.) E. L. Voynich.
D. S. Merezhkóvsky: _The Death of the Gods._ This is the first
part of a trilogy, and is an historical novel of the time of
Julian the Apostate. The other parts (announced for
publication) are: _Resurrection_ (time of Leonardo da Vinci)
and _The Anti-Christ_ (time of Peter the Great.)
FOOTNOTES:
[33] The "Old Ritualists" or _raskólniki_, are those who do not accept
the corrections to the Church books, and so forth, made in seventeenth
century, by the Patriarch Níkon.
[34] Count L. N. Tolstóy presented me with a copy of one of these
legends--a most distressing and improbable affair--with the remark,
"Lyeskóff has spoiled himself by imitating me." He meant that Lyeskóff
was imitating his little moral tales and legends, to which he had been
devoting himself for some time past. I agreed with Tolstóy, as to the
effect.
[35] Although she was very ill and weak, she was good enough to ask me
to visit her, a few months before she died, in 1889.
[36] Count L. N. Tolstóy told me that Uspénsky had never been
sufficiently appreciated. He also praised Zlatovrátsky highly.
[37] Former crown serfs repeatedly told me how free they had been--how
much better off than those of private persons.
[38] Naturally, it is this feature of his writings which made Count
Tolstóy laud him so highly to me.
[39] Or, "The Golovléffs," the above being the more formal translation.
Saltykóff was too ill to receive strangers when I was in Russia. But I
attended a requiem service over his body, at his home; another at the
Kazán Cathedral, where all the literary lights assembled; and went to
his funeral in the outlying cemetery, thereby having the good fortune to
behold one of the famous "demonstrations" in which the Russian public
indulges on such occasions.
[40] This refers to the Table of Ranks, established by Peter the Great.
The fourth class of officials from the top of the ladder, have attained
a very respectable amount of embroidery, dignity, and social position.
[41] About two cents and a half.
[42] I have seen the number variously stated at from eleven to thirteen;
but Countess Sophía Andréevna, his wife, told me there had been fifteen,
and I regard her as the final authority on this point, a very
interesting one, in view of some of his latter-day theories and
exhortations. Countess Tolstóy was the daughter of Dr. Behrs, of Moscow.
[43] Turgéneff, who afterwards called Tolstóy "The Great Writer of the
Russian Land," pronounced emphatically against him at this time; and so
did many others, who became his enthusiastic admirers.
[44] At this period, also, the peasant costume became the fashion in the
higher circles. Count Tolstóy is generally (out of Russia) assumed to be
the first and only wearer of such garments.
[45] This is a particularly interesting example to the people of America
and to me. I sent to Count Tolstóy over seven thousand dollars which
people throughout the length and breadth of the land had forwarded to me
for that purpose, and I turned thousands more in his direction. His
conscience is as uneasy and as fitful and illogical in pretty nearly all
other matters, which is a pity, because it is both lively and sincere,
though mistaken.
[46] It was to this sort of story that Count Tolstóy referred, when he
told me that Lyeskóff had spoiled his talent of recent years by
imitating him, Tolstóy.
[47] I have stated my own theory as to Count Tolstóy's incessant changes
of view, and his puzzling inconsistencies, in my "Russian Rambles." It
is not necessary or fitting that I should repeat it here.
[48] I tried to see him in Nízhni Nóvgorod, but although he was still
under police surveillance, the police could not tell me where to find
him, and I obtained the information from a photographer friend of his.
Unfortunately, he was then in the Crimea, gathering "material."
[49] Translated into English under the title "A Russian Priest." Another
volume contains two charming stories from the same circle, "A Father of
Six" and "An Occasional Holiday."
[50] He must have been at Kazán about the time I was there; and I have
often wondered if I saw him on the wharf, where I passed weary hours
waiting for the steamer.
[51] See "Orlóff and His Wife," in my translation, 1891.
[52] I do not attempt a metrical translation. Lines 1-3, 2-4, 5-7, 6-8,
rhyme in pairs.
INDEX
Adásheff, 54, 56.
Aksákoff, 141, 164.
Alexander I., 91, 101, 102, 105.
Archángel, 72.
Ástrakhan, 70, 227, 269.
Baratýnsky, 123.
Bárynya Sudárynya, 34.
Bátiushkoff, 106, 108.
Bogdanóvitch, 96, 97.
Book of Degrees, 61.
Book of Hours, 53, 59.
Briulóff, 206.
Búnin, 107.
Byelínsky, 139, 141, 143, 161, 165, 204, 213, 215.
Caucasus, 251, 252, 270, 272.
Danilévsky, 230.
Dáshkoff, 82.
Decembrists, 201, 215.
Délvig, 123.
Derzhávin, 82, 90, 96, 100, 114.
Dmítrieff, 92, 98, 105, 142.
Dmítry, St. of Rostóff, 63, 64.
Dmítry Donskóy (dmee-tree), 48.
Dniépr (Neepr), 2, 41, 147, 159.
Dolgorúky, 57.
Domostróy, 51.
Dostoévsky, 140, 161, 209, 212, 225, 254.
Drevlyáns, 41.
Dúroff, 214, 215.
Elizabeth, 68, 75, 76, 114, 230.
Féodor (fáy-o-dor), 47, 59.
Feódorovna, 108, 110, 206.
Feodósiy, 40.
Frug, 274.
Galítzyn, 69.
Gárshin, 265.
Glazátly, 56.
Gógol, 140, 141, 146-159, 161, 165, 167, 181, 189, 213, 215.
Gontcharóff, 140, 161-63, 220, 223, 250.
Górky, 268-272.
Gregory, 63.
Griboyédoff, 124, 128, 181.
Grigoróvitch, 140, 161, 163-64, 213.
House Regulator, 51.
Ígor (egor), 41.
Ígor's Raid, 44.
Ilarión, 39.
Ioánnovña, Anna, 69, 72, 75, 114.
Irkútsk, 199.
Iván (e-vahñ) the Terrible, 51.
Kamarýnskaya, 34.
Kantemír, 68, 69, 84.
Kápnist, 96.
Karamzín (ka-ram-zeen), 92, 98, 102, 106, 109, 111, 115, 124, 229.
Katherine II., 70, 77, 80, 82, 84, 85, 90, 91, 96, 100, 102, 114.
Kazán, 33, 52, 56, 97, 141, 251, 269.
Khémnitzer, 96-100.
Kheraskóff, 96, 97, 164.
Khersón, 158, 274.
Khomyakóff, 164.
Khvóshtchinsky, 234.
Kíeff (keef), 1, 2, 7, 29, 36, 39, 41, 47, 56, 61, 63, 67, 204, 207.
Koltzóff, 142-145, 194, 204.
Korolénko, 266.
Kostomároff, 230.
Kotoshíkin, 57.
Kozmá, Epistle to, 54.
Krizhánitz, 58.
Kronstádt, 273.
Krylóff (kree-lof), 98, 109, 112, 124, 189.
Kúrbsky, 53, 55.
Kúrotchkin, 210.
Kyríll, 3.
Kyríll of Nóvgorod, 40.
Lérmontoff, 116, 128, 138, 140, 150, 192.
Lomonósoff, 57, 69, 72-5, 97, 113, 128, 139, 140.
Lyeskóff, 231.
Máikoff, 140, 193.
Makáry, 48.
Markóvitch, 233.
Márlinsky, 146.
Matchtet, 266.
Maxím, the Greek, 50.
Mélnikoff, 230.
Merezhkóvsky, 274.
Methódy, 3.
Mikháilovitch, 57, 59, 61, 62.
Mináeff, 210.
Mínsky, 274.
Moghíla (mo-ghe-la), 56, 61, 63.
Moscow, 47, 48, 53, 55, 57, 61, 62, 63, 67, 69, 72, 76, 84, 102,
139, 143, 164, 167, 182, 186, 193, 210, 212, 215, 251.
Most Holy Governing Synod, 59, 68.
Mystery Plays, 63.
Nádson, 272-73.
Nekrásoff, 140, 161, 195-204, 209, 202.
Nertchínsk, 200, 201.
Nestor, 8, 40, 41.
Nicholas I., 108, 206.
Nikifór, 40.
Nikítin, 209.
Níkon, 58, 61.
Nízhni Nóvgorod, 269.
Nóvgorod, 2, 6, 7, 29, 62, 67.
Októikh, 52.
Olga, 41.
Olónetz, 31, 36, 91.
Orél (aryól), 164.
Orenburg, 207, 209.
Osten-Saken, 251.
Ostromír, 6.
Ostróvsky, 12, 161, 182-191.
Ostrózhsky, 53.
Ózeroff, 105.
Panáeff, 140, 196.
Patriarch, 58, 59, 62.
Paul I., 91, 101.
Peter the Great, 57, 58, 59, 66, 67, 70, 75, 113.
Petrashévsky, 209, 214, 215, 239.
Písemsky, 191.
Pleshtchéeff, 209, 210, 215.
Polónsky, 194.
Polótzky, 57, 59, 61, 63.
Poltáva, 147.
Posóshkoff, 67.
Potápenko, 267.
Preobrazhénsky, 91.
Prokópovitch, 68, 69, 75, 85.
Púshkin, 44, 92, 106, 109, 113-124, 126, 128, 139, 142, 143, 146,
165, 188, 189, 214, 229, 238.
Rázin Sténka, 33.
Róstislaff, 3.
Rúrik, 2, 61.
Russian News, 66.
Rýbnikoff, 31.
Ryeshétnikoff, 237.
Sadkó, 31.
St. Petersburg, 67, 73, 76, 80, 84, 126, 129, 140, 143, 164, 167,
186, 195, 205, 207, 210, 212, 255.
Saltykóff, 238.
Schelling, 138-39.
Shénshin, 193.
Shevtchénko, 204-9, 233.
Simbírsk, 161.
Slavyanophils, 139.
Smotrítzky, 57.
Soloviéff, 230, 263.
Sorótchinsky, 147.
Sóshenko, 205.
Spyéshneff, 215.
Stépennaya Kníga, 61.
Stogláva, 50.
Sumarókoff, 75-8, 97, 181.
Sylvester, 51, 54.
Tambóff, 91.
Tarakánoff, Princess, 230.
Tashkéntzians, 241.
Tatár, 10, 33, 36, 47, 48.
Tatíshtcheff, 68, 70.
Taúris, 158.
Tchasoslóff, 53.
Tchékoff, 266.
Tchernígoff, 67.
Tchernyshévsky, 226.
Tchetyá Mináya, 49.
Theatres, 63.
Tiflís, 126.
Tiútcheff, 194.
Tobólsk, 215.
Tolstóy, A. K., 191-3.
Tolstóy, L. N., 140, 141, 150, 161, 188, 218, 233, 250-65.
Trediakóvsky, 68, 71.
Tzárskoe Seló, 92, 114, 238.
Turgéneff, 140, 161, 164-80, 190, 220, 223, 250, 254.
Tver, 217.
Ufá, 141.
Ukraína, 156, 208, 270.
Uspénsky, 234, 236.
Vasílievitch, 51.
Vasíly, 47, 51.
Vilna, 205.
Vladímir, 1, 7, 29, 30, 39, 97.
Vladímir, Monomáchus, 43.
Voevóda, 56, 57.
Volhýnia, 53.
Vólkhoff, 76.
Von Vízin, 82, 90, 150, 181.
Vorónezh, 142, 143.
Vyátka, 239.
Yároslaff, 39.
Yaroslávl, 76.
Yavórsky, 68.
Yázykoff, 123, 124.
Yásnaya Polyána, 250-52.
Zagóskin, 146, 229.
Zaporózhian, 147.
Zhemtchúzhnikoff, 210.
Zhidyáta, Luká, 39.
Zhukóvsky, 106, 108, 115, 124, 143, 150, 192, 206, 208.
Zizánie-Tustanóvsky, 57.
Zlatovrátsky, 234, 236.
* * * * *
Transcriber's List of Corrections:
Page 45, "Pólovtzi" changed to "Pólovtzy." (... while the
Pólovtzy are called "accursed," in contrast with the orthodox
Russians.)
Page 53, "Ostrózhky" changed to "Ostrózhsky." (... the famous
Ostrózhsky Bible ...)
Page 65, "Góre-Zlostchástye" changed to "Góre-Zloshtchástye."
(... "The Tale of Góre-Zloshtchástye; How Góre-Zloshtchástye
Brought the Young Man to the Monastic State," ...)
Page 77, "Hóreff" changed to "Khóreff." (... in addition to
"Khóreff" and "Hamlet," "Dmítry the Pretender," and
"Mstíslaff.")
Page 95, "fiy" changed to "fly." (Naught! But I live, and on
hope's pinions fly)
Page 107, "seige" changed to "siege." (The peasants took him at
his word, and brought two young Turkish girls, who had been
captured at the siege of Bender.)
Page 137, "Lifeguardsmen" changed to "Lifeguardsman." (Then the
redoubtable Lifeguardsman Kiribyéevitch steps forth.)
Page 140, "constitute" changed to "constitutes." (His volume of
articles on Púshkin constitutes a complete critical history of
Russian literature ...)
Page 164, "Sergyévitch" changed to "Sergyéevitch." (Among the
writers who followed Grigoróvitch in his studies of peasant
life, was Iván Sergyéevitch Turgéneff ...)
Page 177, "benind" changed to "behind." (... he held the thief
beneath him, and was engaged in tying the man's hands behind his
back with his girdle.)
Page 221, "psycopathologist" changed to "psychopathologist."
(This doctor demonstrates that Dostoévsky was a great
psychopathologist ...)
Page 230, "Serébryani" changed to "Serébryany." (... "War and
Peace" and "Prince Serébryany," stand quite apart, and far above
all others.)
Page 233, "Alexándrevna" changed to "Alexándrovna." (Among these
was a well-known woman writer, Márya Alexándrovna Markóvitch
...)
Page 234, "Nilkolái" changed to "Nikolái." (... two men headed
the movement, Glyeb Ivánovitch Uspénsky and Nikolái Nikoláevitch
Zlatovrátsky.)
Page 246, "Viátka" changed to "Vyátka." (A correspondent writes
to us from Vyátka ...)
Page 274, "1866" changed to "1916." (... Semén Grigórievitch
Frug (1860-1916) ...)
Page 274, "Sergiéevitch" changed to "Sergyéevitch." (... Dmítry
Sergyéevitch Merezhkóvsky ...)
Page 278, "Pleshtchéef" changed to "Pleshtchéeff."