We in America are conversant with tramp literature. A number of writers
of considerable note have described what is commonly called the
underworld, among them Josiah Flynt and Jack London, who have ably
interpreted the life and psychology of the outcast. But with all due
respect for their ability, it must be said that, after all, they wrote
only as onlookers, as observers. They were not tramps themselves, in the
real sense of the word. In "The Children of the Abyss" Jack London
relates that when he stood in the breadline, he had money, a room in a
good hotel, and a change of linen at hand. He was therefore not an
integral part of the underworld, of the homeless and hopeless.
Never before has anyone given such a true, realistic picture of the
social depths as Maxim Gorki, himself a denizen of the underworld from
his early childhood. At the age of eight he ran away from his
poverty-stricken, dismal home, and for many years thereafter he lived
the life of the _bosyaki_. He tramped through the length and breadth of
Russia; he lived with the peasant, the factory worker and the outcast.
He knew them intimately; he understood their psychology, for he was not
only with them, but of them. Therefore Gorki has been able to present
such a vivid picture of the underworld.
"A Night's Lodging" portrays a lodging house, hideous and foul, where
gather the social derelicts,--the thief, the gambler, the ex-artist, the
ex-aristocrat, the prostitute. All of them had at one time an ambition,
a goal, but because of their lack of will and the injustice and cruelty
of the world, they were forced into the depths and cast back whenever
they attempted to rise. They are the superfluous ones, dehumanized and
brutalized.
In this poisonous air, where everything withers and dies, we
nevertheless find character. _Natasha_, a young girl, still retains her
wholesome instincts. She had never known love or sympathy, had gone
hungry all her days, and had tasted nothing but abuse from her brutal
sister, on whom she was dependent. _Vaska Pepel_, the young thief, a
lodger in the house, strikes a responsive chord in her the moment he
makes her feel that he cares for her and that she might be of spiritual
and moral help to him. _Vaska_, like _Natasha_, is a product of his
social environment.
_Vaska._ From childhood, I have been--only a thief.... Always I was
called Vaska the pickpocket, Vaska the son of a thief! See, it was
of no consequence to me, as long as they would have it so ... so
they would have it.... I was a thief, perhaps, only out of spite ...
because nobody came along to call me anything--thief.... You call me
something else, Natasha.... It is no easy life that I
lead--friendless; pursued like a wolf.... I sink like a man in a
swamp ... whatever I touch is slimy and rotten ... nothing is firm
... but you are like a young fir-tree; you are prickly, but you give
support.
There is another humane figure illuminating the dark picture in "A
Night's Lodging",--_Luka_. He is the type of an old pilgrim, a man whom
the experiences of life have taught wisdom. He has tramped through
Russia and Siberia, and consorted with all sorts of people; but
disappointment and grief have not robbed him of his faith in beauty, in
idealism. He believes that every man, however low, degraded, or
demoralized can yet be reached, if we but know how to touch his soul.
_Luka_ inspires courage and hope in everyone he meets, urging each to
begin life anew. To the former actor, now steeped in drink, he says:
_Luka._ The drunkard, I have heard, can now be cured, without
charge. They realize now, you see, that the drunkard is also a man.
You must begin to make ready. Begin a new life!
_Luka_ tries also to imbue _Natasha_ and _Vaska_ with new faith. They
marvel at his goodness. In simplicity of heart _Luka_ gives his
philosophy of life.
_Luka._ I am good, you say. But you see, there must be some one to
be good.... We must have pity on mankind.... Have pity while there
is still time, believe me, it is very good. I was once, for example,
employed as a watchman, at a country place which belonged to an
engineer, not far from the city of Tomsk, in Siberia. The house
stood in the middle of the forest, an out-of-the-way location ...
and it was winter and I was all alone in the country house. It was
beautiful there ... magnificent! And once ... I heard them
scrambling up!...
_Natasha._ Thieves!
_Luka._ Yes. They crept higher and I took my rifle and went outside.
I looked up: two men ... as they were opening a window and so busy
that they did not see anything of me at all. I cried to them: "Heh
there ... get out of that" ... and would you think it, they fell on
me with a hand ax.... I warned them--"Halt," I cried, "or else I
fire" ... then I aimed first at one and then at the other. They fell
on their knees, saying, "Pardon us." I was pretty hot ... on account
of the hand ax, you remember. "You devils," I cried, "I told you to
clear out and you didn't ... and now," I said, "one of you go into
the brash and get a switch." It was done. "And now," I commanded,
"one of you stretch out on the ground, and the other thrash him"
... and so they whipped each other at my command. And when they had
each had a sound beating, they said to me: "Grandfather," said they,
"for the sake of Christ give us a piece of bread. We haven't a bite
in our bodies." They were the thieves, who had fallen upon me with
the hand ax. Yes ... they were a pair of splendid fellows.... I said
to them, "If you had asked for bread." Then they answered: "We had
gotten past that.... We had asked and asked and nobody would give us
anything ... endurance was worn out," ... and so they remained with
me the whole winter. One of them, Stephen by name, liked to take the
rifle and go into the woods ... and the other, Jakoff, was
constantly ill, always coughing ... the three of us watched the
place, and when spring came, they said, "Farewell, grandfather," and
went away--to Russia....
_Natasha._ Were they convicts, escaping?
_Luka._ They were ... fugitives ... they had left their colony ... a
pair of splendid fellows.... If I had not had pity on them--who
knows what would have happened. They might have killed me.... Then
they would be taken to court again, put in prison, sent back to
Siberia.... Why all that? You learn nothing good in prison, nor in
Siberia ... but a man, what can he not learn. Man may teach his
fellowman something good ... very simply.
Impressed and strengthened by _Luka's_ wonderful faith and vision, the
unfortunates make an attempt to rise from the social swamp. But he has
come too late into their lives. They have been robbed of energy and
will; and conditions always conspire to thrust them back into the
depths. When _Natasha_ and _Vaska_ are about to start out on the road to
a new life, fate overtakes them. The girl, during a scene with her
heartless sister, is terribly scalded by the latter, and _Vaska_,
rushing to the defense of his sweetheart, encounters her brutal
brother-in-law, whom he accidentally kills. Thus these "superfluous
ones" go down in the struggle. Not because of their vicious or degrading
tendencies; on the contrary, it is their better instincts that cause
them to be swept back into the abyss. But though they perish, the
inspiration of _Luka_ is not entirely lost. It is epitomized in the
words of one of the victims.
_Sahtin._ The old man--he lived from within.... He saw everything
with his own eyes.... I asked him once: "Grandfather, why do men
really live?" ... "Man lives ever to give birth to strength. There
live, for example, the carpenters, noisy, miserable people ... and
suddenly in their midst is a carpenter born ... such a carpenter as
the world has never seen: he is above all, no other carpenter can be
compared to him. He gives a new face to the whole trade ... his own
face, so to speak ... and with that simple impulse it has advanced
twenty years ... and so the others live ... the locksmiths and the
shoemakers, and all the rest of the working people ... and the same
is true of other classes--all to give birth to strength. Everyone
thinks that he for himself takes up room in the world, but it turns
out that he is here for another's benefit--for someone better ... a
hundred years ... or perhaps longer ... if we live so long ... for
the sake of genius.... All, my children, all, live only to give
birth to strength. For that reason we must respect everybody. We
cannot know who he is, for what purpose born, or what he may yet
fulfill ... perhaps he has been born for our good fortune ... or
great benefit."
No stronger indictment than "A Night's Lodging" is to be found in
contemporary literature of our perverse civilization that condemns
thousands--often the very best men and women--to the fate of the Vaskas
and Anyas, doomed as superfluous and unnecessary in society. And yet
they are necessary, aye, they are vital, could we but see beneath the
veil of cold indifference and stupidity to discover the deep humanity,
the latent possibilities in these lowliest of the low. If within our
social conditions they are useless material, often vicious and
detrimental to the general good, it is because they have been denied
opportunity and forced into conditions that kill their faith in
themselves and all that is best in their natures.
The so-called depravity and crimes of these derelicts are fundamentally
the depravity and criminal anti-social attitude of Society itself that
first creates the underworld and, having created it, wastes much energy
and effort in suppressing and destroying the menacing phantom of its own
making,--forgetful of the elemental brotherhood of man, blind to the
value of the individual, and ignorant of the beautiful possibilities
inherent in even the most despised children of the depths.