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CONTEMPORARY
RUSSIAN NOVELISTS
Translated from the French of Serge Persky
By FREDERICK EISEMANN
JOHN W. LUCE AND COMPANY
BOSTON 1913
_Copyright, 1912_
BY C. DELAGRAVE
_Copyright, 1913_
BY L. E. BASSETT
To
THE MEMORY OF
F. N. S.
BY
THE TRANSLATOR
PREFACE
The principal aim of this book is to give the reader a good general
knowledge of Russian literature as it is to-day. The author, Serge
Persky, has subordinated purely critical material, because he wants
his readers to form their own judgments and criticize for
themselves. The element of literary criticism is not, however, by
any means entirely lacking.
In the original text, there is a thorough and exhaustive treatment
of the "great prophet" of Russian literature--Tolstoy--but the
translator has deemed it wise to omit this essay, because so much
has recently been written about this great man.
As the title of the book is "Contemporary Russian Novelists," the
essay on Anton Tchekoff, who is no longer living, does not rightly
belong here, but Tchekoff is such an important figure in modern
Russian literature and has attracted so little attention from
English writers that it seems advisable to retain the essay that
treats of his work.
Finally, let me express my sincerest thanks to Dr. G. H. Maynadier
of Harvard for his kind advice; to Miss Edna Wetzler for her
unfailing and valuable help, and to Miss Carrie Harper, who has gone
over this work with painstaking care.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A Brief Survey of Russian Literature 1
II. Anton Tchekoff 40
III. Vladimir Korolenko 76
IV. Vikenty Veressayev 108
V. Maxim Gorky 142
VI. Leonid Andreyev 199
VII. Dmitry Merezhkovsky 246
VIII. Alexander Kuprin 274
IX. Writers in Vogue 289
CONTEMPORARY RUSSIAN NOVELISTS
I
A BRIEF SURVEY OF RUSSIAN LITERATURE
In order to get a clear idea of modern Russian literature, a
knowledge of its past is indispensable. This knowledge will help us
in understanding that which distinguishes it from other European
literatures, not only from the viewpoint of the art which it
expresses, but also as the historical and sociological mirror of the
nation's life in the course of centuries.
The dominant trait of this literature is found in its very origins.
Unlike the literatures of other European countries, which followed,
in a more or less regular way, the development of life and
civilization during historic times, Russian literature passed
through none of these stages. Instead of being a product of the
past, it is a protestation against it; instead of retracing the old
successive stages, it appears, intermittently, like a light
suddenly struck in the darkness. Its whole history is a long
continual struggle against this darkness, which has gradually melted
away beneath these rays of light, but has never entirely ceased to
veil the general trend of Russian thought.
As a result of the unfortunate circumstances which characterize her
history, Russia was for a long time deprived of any relations with
civilized Europe. The necessity of concentrating all her strength on
fighting the Mongolians laid the corner-stone of a sort of
semi-Asiatic political autocracy. Besides, the influence of the
Byzantine clergy made the nation hostile to the ideas and science of
the Occident, which were represented as heresies incompatible with
the orthodox faith. However, when she finally threw off the
Mongolian yoke, and when she found herself face to face with Europe,
Russia was led to enter into diplomatic relations with the various
Western powers. She then realized that European art and science were
indispensable to her, if only to strengthen her in warfare against
these States. For this reason a number of European ideas began to
come into Russia during the reigns of the last Muscovite sovereigns.
But they assumed a somewhat sacerdotal character in passing through
the filter of Polish society, and took on, so to speak, a dogmatic
air. In general, European influence was not accepted in Russia
except with extreme repugnance and restless circumspection, until
the accession of Peter I. This great monarch, blessed with unusual
intelligence and a will of iron, decided to use all his autocratic
power in impressing, to use the words of Pushkin, "a new direction
upon the Russian vessel;"--Europe instead of Asia.
Peter the Great had to contend against the partisans of ancient
tradition, the "obscurists" and the adversaries of profane science;
and this inevitable struggle determined the first character of
Russian literature, where the satiric element, which in essence is
an attack on the enemies of reform, predominates. In organizing
grotesque processions, clownish masquerades, in which the
long-skirted clothes and the streaming beards of the honorable
champions of times gone by were ridiculed, Peter himself appeared as
a pitiless destroyer of the ancient costumes and superannuated
ideas.
The example set by the practical irony of this man was followed,
soon after the death of the Tsar, by Kantemir, the first Russian
author who wrote satirical verses. These verses were very much
appreciated in his time. In them, he mocks with considerable fervor
the ignorant contemners of science, who taste happiness only in the
gratification of their material appetites.
At the same time that the Russian authors pursued the enemies of
learning with sarcasm, they heaped up eulogies, which bordered on
idolatry, on Peter I, and, after him, on his successors. In these
praises, which were excessively hyperbolical, there was always some
sincerity. Peter had, in fact, in his reign, paved the way for
European civilization, and it seemed merely to be waiting for the
sovereigns, Peter's successors, to go on with the work started by
their illustrious ancestor. The most powerful leaders, and the first
representatives of the new literature, strode ahead, then, hand in
hand, but their paths before long diverged. Peter the Great wanted
to use European science for practical purposes only: it was only to
help the State, to make capable generals, to win wars, to help
savants find means to develop the national wealth by industry and
commerce; he--Peter--had no time to think of other things. But
science throws her light into the most hidden corners, and when it
brings social and political iniquities to light, then the government
hastens to persecute that which, up to this time, it has encouraged.
The protective, and later hostile, tendencies of the government in
regard to authors manifested themselves with a special violence
during the reign of Catherine II. This erudite woman, an admirer of
Voltaire and of the French "encyclopedistes," was personally
interested in writing. She wrote several plays in which she
ridiculed the coarse manners and the ignorance of the society of her
time. Under the influence of this new impulse, which had come from
one in such a high station in life, a legion of satirical journals
flooded the country. The talented and spiritual von Vizin wrote
comedies, the most famous of which exposes the ignorance and cruelty
of country gentlemen; in another, he shows the ridiculousness of
people who take only the brilliant outside shell from European
civilization. Shortly, Radishchev's "Voyage from Moscow to
St. Petersburg" appeared. Here the author, with the fury of
passionate resentment, and with sad bitterness, exposes the
miserable condition of the people under the yoke of the high and
mighty. It was then that the empress, Catherine the Great, so gentle
to the world at large and so authoritative at home, perceiving that
satire no longer spared the guardian principles necessary for the
security of the State, any more than they did popular superstitions,
manifested a strong displeasure against it. Consequently, the
satirical journals disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. Von
Vizin, who, in his pleasing "Questions to Catherine" had touched on
various subjects connected with court etiquette, and on the miseries
of political life, had to content himself with silence. Radishchev
was arrested, thrown into a fortress, and then sent to Siberia.
They went so far as to accuse Derzhavin, the greatest poet of this
time, the celebrated "chanter of Catherine," in his old age, of
Jacobinism for having translated into verse one of the psalms of
David; besides this, the energetic apostle of learning, Novikov, a
journalist, a writer, and the founder of a remarkable society which
devoted itself to the publication and circulation of useful books,
was accused of having had relations with foreign secret societies.
He was confined in the fortress at Schluesselburg after all his
belongings had been confiscated. The critic and the satirist had had
their wings clipped. But it was no longer possible to check this
tendency, for, by force of circumstances, it had been planted in the
very soul of every Russian who compared the conditions of life in
his country with what European civilization had done for the
neighboring countries.
Excluded from journalism, this satiric tendency took refuge in
literature, where the novel and the story trace the incidents of
daily life. Since the writers could not touch the evil at its
source, they showed its consequences for social life. They
represented with eloquence the empty and deplorable banality of the
existence forced upon most of them. By expressing in various ways
general aspirations towards something better, they let literature
continue its teaching, even in times particularly hostile to
freedom of thought, like the reign of Nicholas I, the most typical
and decided adversary of the freedom of the pen that Europe has ever
seen. Literature was, then, considered as an inevitable evil, but
one from which the world wanted to free itself; and every man of
letters seemed to be under suspicion. During this reign, not only
criticisms of the government, but also praises of it, were
considered offensive and out of place. Thus, the chief of the secret
police, when he found that a writer of that time, Bulgarine, whose
name was synonymous with accuser and like evils, had taken the
liberty to praise the government for some insignificant improvements
made on a certain street, told him with severity: "You are not asked
to praise the government, you must only praise men of letters."
Nothing went to print without the authorization of the general
censor, an authorization that had to be confirmed by the various
parts of the complex machine, and, finally, by a superior committee
which censored the censors. The latter were themselves so terrorized
that they scented subversive ideas even in cook-books, in technical
musical terms, and in punctuation marks. It would seem that under
such conditions no kind of literature, and certainly no satire,
could exist. Nevertheless, it was at this period that Gogol produced
his best works. The two most important are, his comedy "The
Revizor," where he stigmatizes the abuses of administration, and
"Dead Souls," that classic work which de Voguee judges worthy of
being given a place in universal literature, between "Don Quixote"
and "Gil Blas," and which, in a series of immortal types,
flagellates the moral emptiness and the mediocrity of life in high
Russian society at that time.
At the same time, Griboyedov's famous comedy, "Intelligence Comes to
Grief," which the censorship forbade to be produced or even
published, was being circulated in manuscript form. This comedy, a
veritable masterpiece, has for its hero a man named Chatsky, who was
condemned as a madman by the aristocratic society of Moscow on
account of his independent spirit and patriotic sentiments. It is
true that in all of these works the authors hardly attack important
personages or the essential bases of political organization. The
functionaries and proprietors of Gogol's works are "petites gens,"
and the civic pathos of Chatsky aims at certain individuals and not
at the national institutions. But these attacks, cleverly veiling
the general conditions of Russian life, led the intelligent reader
to meditate on certain questions, and it also permitted satire to
live through the most painful periods. Later, with the coming of the
reforms of Alexander II, satire manifested itself more openly in
the works of Saltykov, who was not afraid to use all his talent in
scourging, with his biting sarcasm, violence and arbitrariness.
Another salient trait of Russian literature is its tendency toward
realism, the germ of which can be seen even in the most
old-fashioned works, when, following the precepts of the West, they
were taken up first with pseudo-classicism, and then with the
romantic spirit which followed.
Pseudo-classicism had but few worthy representatives in Russia, if
we omit the poet Derzhavin, whom Pushkin accused of having a poor
knowledge of his mother tongue, and whose monotonous work shows
signs of genius only here and there.
As to romanticism! Here we find excellent translations of the German
poets by Zhukovsky, and the poems of Lermontov and Pushkin, all
impregnated with the spirit of Byron. But these two movements came
quickly to an end. Soon realism, under the influence of Dickens and
Balzac, installed itself as master of this literature, and, in spite
of the repeated efforts of the symbolist schools, nothing has yet
been able to wipe it out. Thus, the triumph of realism was not, as
in the case of earlier tendencies, the simple result of the spirit
of imitation which urges authors to choose models that are in
vogue, but it was a response to a powerful instinct. The truth of
this statement is very evident in view of the fact that realism
appeared in Russian literature at a time when it was still a novelty
in Europe. The need of representing naked reality, without any
decorations, is, so to speak, innate in the Russian author, who
cannot, for any length of time, be led away from this practice. This
is the very reason why the Byronian influence, at the time of
Pushkin and Lermontov, lasted such a short time. After having
written several poems inspired by the English poet, Pushkin soon
disdained this model, which was the sole object of European
imitation. "Byron's characters," he says, "are not real people, but
rather incarnations of the various moods of the poet," and he ends
by saying that Byron is "great but monotonous." We find the same
thing in Lermontov, who was fond of Byron, not only in a transient
mood of snobbery, but because the very strong and sombre character
of his imagination naturally led him to choose this kind of intense
poetry. He was exerting himself to regard reality seriously and to
reproduce it with exactitude, at the very time when he was killed in
a duel at the youthful age of twenty-seven.
Pushkin's best work, his novel in verse, "Evgeny Onyegin," although
it came so early, was constructed according to realistic
principles; and although we still distinguish romantic tints, it is
a striking picture of Russian society at the beginning of the 19th
century. We find the same tendency in Lermontov's prose novel, "A
Hero of Our Times," in which the hero, Pechorin, has many traits in
common with Evgeny Onyegin. This book immediately made a deep
impression. It was really nothing more than a step taken in a new
direction by its author. But it was a step that promised much. An
absurd fatality destroyed this promise, and hindered the poet,
according to the expression of an excellent critic of that time,
from "rummaging with his eagle eye, among the recesses of the
world."
The works of writers of secondary rank, contemporaneous with the
above mentioned, also reveal a realistic tendency. Then appeared, to
declare it with a master's power, that genius of a realist, of whom
we have already made mention, Gogol. There was general enthusiasm;
Gogol absorbed almost the entire attention of the public and men of
letters. The great critic and publicist Byelinsky, in particular,
took it upon himself to elaborate in his works the theories of
realism; he formulated the program about 1850 under the name of the
"naturalistic school." Thus the germs of the past had expanded
triumphantly in the work of Gogol, and the way was now clear for
Turgenev, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Goncharov, Ostrovsky, and Pisemsky,
who, while enlarging the range and perfecting the methods of the
naturalistic school, conquered for their native literature the place
which it has definitely assumed in the world.
Although we may infer that Russian realism has its roots in a
special spiritual predilection, we must not nevertheless forget the
historical conditions which prepared the way for it and made its
logical development easy. Russian literature, called on to struggle
against tremendous obstacles, could hardly have gone astray in the
domain of a nebulous idealism.
The third distinctive trait of this literature is found in its
democratic spirit. Most of the heroes are not titled personages;
they are peasants, bourgeois, petty officials, students, and,
finally, "intellectuals." This democratic taste is explained by the
very constitution of Russian society.
The spirit of the literature of a nation is usually a reflection of
the social class which possesses the preponderant influence from a
political or economic standpoint or which is marked by the strength
of its numbers. The preponderance of the upper middle class in
England has impressed on all the literature of that country the seal
of morality belonging to that class; while in France, where
aristocracy predominated, one still feels the influence of the
aristocratic traditions which are so brilliantly manifested in the
pseudo-classic period of its literature. But many reasons have
hindered the aristocracy and the bourgeoisie from developing in
Russia. The Russian bourgeois was, for a long time, nothing but a
peasant who had grown rich, while the noble was distinguished more
by the number of his serfs and his authority than by his moral
superiority. Deprived of independence, these two classes blended and
still blend with the immense number of peasants who surround them on
all sides and submerge them irresistibly, however they may wish to
free themselves.
Very naturally, the first Russian authors came from the class of
proprietors, rural lords, who were the most intelligent, not to say
the only intelligent people. In general, the life of the lord was
barely distinguishable from that of the peasant. As he was usually
reared in the country, he passed his childhood among the village
children; the people most dear to his heart, often more dear to him
than his father or mother, were his nurse and the other
servants,--simple people, who took care of him and gave him the
pleasures of his youthful existence. Before he entered the local
government school, he had been impregnated with goodness and popular
poetry, drawn from stories, legends, and tales to which he had been
an ardent listener. We find the great Pushkin dedicating his most
pathetic verses to his old nurse, and we often see him inspired by
the most humble people. In this way, to the theoretic democracy
imported from Europe is united, in the case of the Russian author, a
treasure of ardent personal recollections; democracy is not for him
an abstract love of the people, but a real affection, a tenderness
made up of lasting reminiscences which he feels deeply.
This then was the mental state of the most intelligent part of this
Russian nobility, which showed itself a pioneer of the ideas of
progress in literature and life. There were even singular political
manifestations produced. Rostopchin said: "In France the shoemakers
want to become noble; while here, the nobles would like to turn
shoemakers." But, in spite of all, the greater part of this caste,
with its essential conservative instincts, was nothing more than an
inert mass, without initiative, and incapable even of defending its
own interests except by the aid of the government.
Rostopchin did not suspect the profound truth of his capricious
saying.
This truth burst forth in all its strength about 1870, the time of
the great reforms undertaken by Alexander II, when the interests of
the people were, for the first time, the order of the day. It was
at this period that a great deal of studying was being done with
great enthusiasm and that a general infatuation for folklore and for
a "union with the masses" was being shown. The desire to become
"simplified," that is to say to have all people live the same kind
of life, the appearance of a type, celebrated under the sarcastic
name of "noble penitent" (meaning the titled man who is ashamed of
his privileged position as if it were a humiliating and infamous
thing), the politico-socialistic ideology of the first Slavophiles,
still half conservative, but wholly democratic; all these things
were the results of the manifestations which astonished Rostopchin
and made the more intelligent class of Russians fraternize more with
the masses. In our day, this tendency has been eloquently
illustrated by the greatest Russian artist and thinker, Tolstoy, who
was the very incarnation of the ideas named above, and who always
appears to us as a highly cultured peasant. The hero of
"Resurrection" sums up in a few words this sympathy for the people:
"This is it, the big world, the true world!" he says, on seeing the
crowd of peasants and workingmen packed into a third-class
compartment.
In the last half of the 19th century, Russian literature took a
further step in the way of democracy. It passed from the hands of
the nobility into the hands of the middle class, as the conditions
under which it existed brought it closer to the people and made it
therefore more accessible to their aspirations. It is no longer the
great humanitarians of the privileged class who paint the miserable
conditions among which people vegetate; it is the people themselves
who are beginning to speak of their miseries and of their hopes for
a better life. The result is a deep penetration of the popular mind,
in conjunction with an acute, and sometimes sickly, nervousness,
which is shown in the works of the great Uspensky, and, more
recently still, in Tchekoff, Andreyev, and many others.
None of these writers belong to the aristocracy, and two of
them--Tchekoff and Gorky--have come up from the masses: the former
was the son of a serf, and the latter the son of a workingman. Let
me add that, among the women of letters, the one who is most
distinguished by her talent in describing scenes from popular
life--Mme. Dmitrieva--is the daughter of a peasant woman.
Thus, as we have shown, the Russian writers alone, under the cover
of imaginative works which became expressive symbols, could
undertake a truly efficacious struggle against tyranny and
arbitrariness. They found themselves in that way placed in a
peculiar social position with corresponding duties. Men expected
from them, naturally, a new gospel and also a plan of conduct
necessary in order to escape from the circle of oppression. The best
of the Russian writers have undertaken a difficult and perilous
task; they have become the guides, and, so to speak, the "masters"
of life. This tendency constitutes a new trait in Russian
literature, one of its most characteristic; not that other
literatures have neglected it, but no other literature in the world
has proclaimed this mission with such a degree of energy and with
such a spirit of sacrifice. Never, in any other country, have
novelists or poets felt with such intensity the burden on their
souls. At this point Gogol, first of all, became the victim of this
state of things.
The enthusiasm stirred up by his works and by the immense hopes that
he had evoked suddenly elevated him to such a height in the minds of
his contemporaries that he felt real anguish. Artist he was, and now
he forced himself to become a moralist; he rushed into philosophical
speculations which led him on to a nebulous mysticism, from which
his talent suffered severely. When he realized what had happened,
despair seized him, his ideas troubled him, and he died in terrible
intellectual distress.
We see also the great admirer of Gogol--Dostoyevsky--under different
pretexts making known in almost all his novels and especially in
his magazine articles, "Recollections of an Author," his opinions on
the reforms about to be realized. He studies the problems of
civilization which concern humanity in general, and particularly
insists upon the mission of the Russian people, who are destined, he
believes, to end all the conflicts of the world by virtue of a
system based upon Christian love and pity.
Turgenev, himself, although above all an artist, does not remain
aloof from this educational work. In his "Annals of a Sportsman," he
attacks bondage. And when it was abolished, and when in the very
heart of Russian society, among the younger generation, the
revolutionists appeared, Turgenev attempted to paint these "new
men." Thus in his novel, "Fathers and Sons," he sketches in bold
strokes the character of the nihilist Bazarov. This celebrated type
cannot, however, be considered a true representative of the
mentality of the "new men," for it gave only a few aspects of their
character, which, besides, did not have Turgenev's sympathy.
They are valued in an entirely different way by Chernyshevsky in his
novel, "What Is To Be Done?" where the author, one of the most
powerful representatives of the great movement toward freedom from
1860 to 1870, carefully studied the bases of the new morals and the
means to be used in struggling against the prejudices of the old
society. Finally let us mention Tolstoy, whose entire literary
activity was a constant search for truth, till the day when his mind
found an answer to his doubts in the religion of love and harmony
which he preached from then on.
The earnestness which sees an apostle in a writer has not ceased to
grow and has almost blinded the public.
For example, Gorky needed only to write some stories in which he
places before us beings belonging to the most miserable classes of
society, to be suddenly, and perhaps against his own will, elevated
to the role of prophet of a new gospel, of annunciator from whom
they were waiting for the Word, although one could also find the
Word in the anti-socialistic circles which he depicts. Another
contemporaneous author, Tchekoff, once wrote a story about the
precarious position of the workingman in the city; he showed how
this man, after he had become old and had gone back to his native
village, suffered even more misery than before instead of getting
the rest he had hoped for. Immediately an ardent controversy took
place between the two factions of the youth of that time, the
Populists and the Marxists. The former, defending the rural
population, accused the author of having exaggerated and of having
only superficially considered the question, while the others
triumphed, confident in the activity of the people of the city.
The literary critic, however, in carefully studying the works of
these authors, tried to get at the real meaning,--the idea between
the lines. Gorky's philosophy has often been discussed; a great many
men of letters have tried to unravel what there was of pessimism, of
indifference or of mystic idealism in the soul of Tchekoff. This
everlasting habit, not to say this mania, of analyzing the mind or
soul of an author in order to get at his conception, his personal
doctrine of life, often leads to partial and erroneous conclusions,
especially when, as in most cases, the critic has only a very vague
idea of the main current of thought which formed the genesis of the
work.
The hopes and emotions which are aroused by every original
expression in literature, show more than ever what hopes are based
upon its role, the mission which has devolved on it to serve life,
by formulating the facts of the ideal to be realized.
But what is this ideal? What are these ideal aspirations? Of what
elements are they made up? What is the state of mind of the great
majority of Russian "intellectuals" in the midst of the enmity which
compromises and menaces them?
Thanks to the window pierced by Peter the Great in the thick
Muscovite wall, the Russian "intellectuals" have begun to have a
general idea of European civilization. They have admired the beauty
of this culture, and the greatness of European political and social
institutions, guarantees of the dignity of human beings; they have
endured mental suffering because they have found that in Russia such
independence would be impossible, and, consequently, they have had a
feeling of extreme bitterness, which has forced them either to deny
or calumniate the moral forces of their country, or to formulate
very strange theories about this situation. Thus at the end of the
first twenty-five years of the century, Chadayev, one of the most
original and brilliant thinkers of Russia, developed the following
thesis in his "Philosophical Letters":--the fatal course of history
having opposed the union of the Russian people with Catholicism,
through which European civilization developed, Russia found herself
reduced forever to the existence of an inert mass, deprived of all
interior energy, as can be shown adequately by her history, her
customs, and even the aspect of her national type with its
ill-defined traits and apathetic expression.
* * * * *
In the course of the terrible struggle which he waged against the
censorship and against influential persons evilly disposed toward
him, Pushkin cried out: "It was the idea of the devil himself that
made me be born in Russia!" And in one of his letters, he says,
"Naturally, I despise my country from east to west, but,
nevertheless, I hate to hear a stranger speak of it with scorn."
Lermontov, exiled to the Caucasus, ironically takes leave of his
country, which he calls, "a squalid country of slaves and masters."
And he salutes the Caucasian mountains as the immense screen which
may hide him from the eyes of the Russian pachas. The Slavophiles
themselves, the patriots who in their way idealized both Russian
orthodoxy and autocracy, and who were wrongly considered the
champions of the existing order of things, showed themselves no less
hostile. One of their most celebrated representatives, Khomyakov,
sees in Russia "a land stigmatized" by serfdom, where all is
injustice, lies, morbid laziness and turpitude.
Dostoyevsky, who shared some of the illusions of the Slavophiles,
speaks of Europe as "a land of sacred miracles." Nevertheless,
yielding to his desire to heighten the prestige of his country, he
adds: "The Russian is not partially European, but essentially so, in
the very largest sense of the word, because he watches, with an
impartial love, the progress achieved by the various peoples of
Europe, while each one of _them_ appreciates, above all, the
progress of his own country, and often does not want to let the
others share it."
In spite of the seductive powers which European civilization
exercised upon Russia, the Russians perceived its weak sides, which
they studied by the light of the ideal which they promised
themselves to attain in some indefinite future, a future which they
nevertheless hoped was near at hand.
To them, enthusiastic observers that they were, these defects became
more apparent than to the Europeans themselves; as their critical
sense was not deadened by the wear of constant use, they saw in a
clear light the inconveniences of certain institutions, they
perceived the sad consequences of the excessive triumph of
individualism in its struggle for life, the enfranchisement of the
proletariat, the satisfaction of the few at the cost of the many. At
times the bases of this civilization seemed fragile to the Russians;
they had a feeling that it was not finished; they also aspired more
and more to the harmonious equilibrium of society which appealed to
their ideal.
In a word, that which has always been called socialism, has had an
irresistible attraction for the more intelligent Russians; all of
Russian literature is permeated with it, and it has developed all
the more easily because it found a favorable basis in Russia's
natural democracy.
During the period when this literature was most persecuted--that is
to say in the second half of the 19th century--its most influential
representatives were ardent socialists. Among them should be
mentioned the critic Byelinsky, the "Petracheviens,"--adepts in the
doctrine of Fourier,--and that powerful agitator of ideas, Hertzen,
who founded the Russian free press in London. Among Western writers,
there were two well liked in Russia: George Sand and Charles
Dickens. The former was a socialist, the latter was a democrat.
Their influence was very great in Russia; their works were read with
ardor, and gave rise to thoughts which escaped the severities of the
censor, but betrayed themselves in private conversation, as well as
in certain literary circles.
All the celebrated writers of Europe who professed liberal
tendencies met with a greater sympathy among the Russians of that
time than in their own country. Dickens, received with great
enthusiasm in Russia, was not appreciated by the English public. His
excellent translator, Vedensky, tried hard to persuade him to come
to Russia to live, where his talents would be valued at their true
worth. We can then readily understand how Dostoyevsky, in his
"Memoirs of an Author," had the right to say that the European
socialistic-democrats had two countries, first their own, then
Russia.
The Russian writers who gave themselves up so passionately to this
influence,--still so new even in Europe,--not able to support their
political ideal, with a press, as it were, gagged by the censor,
engaged in the struggle along the line of customs. They attacked the
prejudices which clog the relations among men, and rose up against
family despotism and the inferior position of women from a civil and
economic point of view. But, between 1860 and 1870, when the
enfranchisement of the serfs reduced the power of the censor, all
that had been confined in the souls of the Russians burst forth.
Chernishevsky wrote economic articles on capital and on the
agricultural community; he studied the system of John Stuart Mill,
from which he deduced his socialistic conclusions, and his
reputation grew immediately at home and abroad. He became a leader
of thought among the new generation.
At the same time, the young critic Dobrolyubov, author of an
analytical study of Russian customs, "The Kingdom of Shadows,"
called the "intellectuals" to a struggle for the rights of the
oppressed people, and was ready himself to "drain the bitter cup
intended for those who have been sacrificed." Also at this time
there appeared the poet Nekrasov and the satirist Saltykov. The
former, a profound pessimist, described in his best verses the
bitter fate of the lower classes; the latter with his sarcasm
scathed bureaucratic arbitrariness, while from abroad was heard the
free ringing of "The Bell,"--a paper founded by Hertzen,--which
seemed to be announcing that freedom was coming. Two articles by the
poet Mikhailov on the situation of women started a vast movement.
The women soon filled the lecture-halls of the university, and the
class-rooms, and organized a veritable campaign to defend their
rights in the name of the principle of liberty. All the partisans of
democracy or socialism applauded them. The agitation became general;
it seemed as if they wanted to make up for lost time by this
tremendous activity; everywhere Sunday schools were started and
public libraries opened; workingmen's associations were formed on
socialistic principles, and the ardent younger generation spoke to
the ignorant masses and asked them to join them in the coming
struggle.
This epoch has been called "the moral springtime" of Russia, and in
truth it was a spring with all of its real splendors and illusions.
A sudden wave of life surged from one end of the empire to the
other. Up above, the government was making reforms prudently, as if
afraid of going too far; down below, a great transformation was
taking place. It was at this time that certain bold projects were
contemplated at which the government took fright. The "springtime"
proved ephemeral. A triumphant reaction nipped in the bud this
movement towards emancipation, with all its hopes. In 1877, after
the Russo-Turkish war, it seemed as if the movement were going to
start again. Less vast and less diverse, but more definite, it
immediately put all of its strength into the popular propaganda and
showed its activity by the assassination of the emperor and by
several other crimes. It was a terrible struggle, till finally the
leaders again succumbed under the mighty blows of their adversaries.
The years that followed this defeat (1880-1905) were most
inauspicious in Russian life. A profound apathy deadened society,
and an atmosphere of anguish and disillusion--which have left
visible traces in Russian literature--weighed it down.
* * * * *
In short, it may be said that Russian thought has always been led
away by the theories of certain European parties who are most
opposed to political and social organization of the state.
The vigor, the clearness, and the force of negation with which this
characteristic manifests itself in the ideas and customs of the
Russian radical-socialists have often distorted, in the eyes of
other countries, opinions or doctrines which it is important to
present in their true light.
Thus, Bazarov, that nihilistic creation of Turgenev, appeared to the
English, French, and German public as a mystical hero not viable in
human society, while Pisarev, one of the sanest of Russian critics,
considers him as a model of the really free man. As to Turgenev
himself, he saw that the coming of this type would make concrete a
rising force worthy of holding attention and also of commanding some
respect.
In practical life, this negative force has found its most extreme
expression in what has already been pointed out, that is, in the
revolutionary anarchism of Bakunin and in Tolstoy's recent theories
of pacific anarchism, which are founded on the gospel. But, while
very significant as great illustrations of certain sides of Russian
mentality, neither the one nor the other of these anarchistic
doctrines, so opposed in their substance, can be considered as an
expression of the modern Russian socialistic movement. Having found
a basis in the workingman movement of their country, the Russian
socialistic theoreticians have become more practical, and their
activity turns back to the realm of European socialism, which is to
be found in the doctrines of Karl Marx.
There was a time in Europe when they christened with the name
"nihilism" this active negation of civilization and of bourgeois
customs, so characteristic of the Russian "intellectuals." Taken in
its literal sense, this word is inexact, since those to whom it was
applied were inspired by a very high ideal. In a loose use of the
word, nihilism has, on the contrary, a real significance, especially
if one connects it with most of the Russian "intellectuals." The
liberal tendencies which were brewing in the realistic literature of
the period from 1840 to 1850, and which manifested themselves
suddenly with particular strength during the tumultuous decade
between 1860 and 1870, made the substance of the new theories and
the base of Russian mentality. These theories were very bold in
their negation, and it is for this reason that they have been called
"nihilistic."
If this intellectual "elite" should some day triumph in Russia, will
it be true to its moral idea of justice and liberty? It probably
will. We may then see the following phenomenon take place: the
realization of the most advanced program of modern civilization in
one of the most backward countries of Europe.
However paradoxical such a prevision may seem at first, it has a
fundamental element of truth. Two obstacles bar the way to
civilization and the normal development of new ideas, which are the
foundation of progress. First of all, there is the naive and boorish
ignorance of the common people; then the resistance which every
established society instinctively offers to ideas of reformation. Of
these two conservative forces, Russia knows but one, pure and simple
ignorance, while the second, which can have art and science as
powerful allies, is completely lacking. But ignorance cannot last
forever. It diminishes more and more; that is why the most advanced
ideas of European civilization naturally go hand in hand with
learning in Russia, and occupy all places which knowledge wins from
ignorance. Since the Russian has had a taste of science he has
become the champion of social and democratic ideas; the latter
develop even with elementary instruction, as can easily be seen by
observing the movements made among the workmen of the city, and also
among the more advanced elements of the peasant population.
These particulars had already attracted the attention of the
brilliant peace advocate and profound thinker, Hertzen, who,
distressed by the bloody reprisals of bourgeoise Europe, following
the Revolution of 1848, fixed his attention on Russia, from which he
expected great things,--among others, a new civilization freed from
the prejudices and customs which held it back in other countries.
Hertzen represented Russia as an immense plain where people were
getting rid of old thatched cottages, and at the same time
collecting the necessary materials for new habitations. He saw a
world in which no one lived as yet, but where life as it should be
was being prepared for. And this idea, which may seem exaggerated,
has a good deal of sense in it. Does not every backward nation,
which hastens to take her place in the circle of the more advanced
peoples of Europe, resemble a vessel into which a new wine is to be
poured?
* * * * *
If modern Russian literature has not deviated from its fundamental
principles, realism, democracy, and socialism, on the other hand, a
radical change has taken place in society which has necessarily had
an influence on it. The populace is not the sombre, inert, and
ignorant multitude that it has been heretofore. Learning is
penetrating more and more; and as an advance-guard, it has the
workingmen of the city and the people of the suburbs. A feeling of
dignity, of human personality, and a love of liberty is awakening in
the masses who have joined in the struggle which the "intellectuals"
are conducting against the passive forces of autocracy.
That is why the literature of this time--always excepting the period
from 1905 to 1910--is preeminently a literature of fiercer and more
active combat than ever before. As in times gone by, the heroes of
this literature are common people. The writers choose them from
among the students, schoolmasters, and school-mistresses of the
village schools, who with complete disregard of self carry on the
great work of popular education in the very heart of the country,
without caring about the arbitrary power which menaces them, or the
moral and material conditions of their lives. They also choose them
from among the doctors of the districts who are worn out in
despairing efforts to struggle against the terrible epidemics, and
who are also trying to improve hygienic conditions among the
peasants. In fine, among the heroes are included all who sacrifice
their personal interests for the general good.
The results of this terrible struggle against brute force are shown
in the excessive nervousness of the combatants, who have become
delirious with their aspirations towards liberty. Hatred of actual
reality and distrust of those who have resigned themselves to it
have made them accept sympathetically the most extreme and
uncompromising measures, and one often thinks one sees a certain
generosity among the people who are at war with society,--often, it
is true, for egotistical reasons, far removed from the great ideal
of reforms profitable to the masses. Such are the celebrated
barefoot brigade, the eternal vagabonds, the "lumpen-proletariat" of
Gorky's early works.
Another favorite subject of the Russian authors is the antagonism
which makes parents and children quarrel. But the children who were
radicals of the former generation have now became fathers, and are
often reproached by their sons for the practical impossibility of
the ideal for which they vainly expended their strength, and, as a
result of which, they are worn out and useless. Veressayev and
Chirikov have written most on this point.
However, in spite of repeated attacks, the resistance has grown in
intensity and the general uneasiness has spread without any one's
being able as yet to see any lasting or positive result. The
pessimism of various writers faithfully reflects this crisis.
Andreyev, for instance, possesses an extraordinary intuition of the
element of tragic mysteriousness which envelops the slightest
circumstances of daily life. Tchekoff, the prominent author who died
a few years ago, has left us remarkably realistic sketches, where he
obviously shows mental discouragement as a result of the struggle.
Another contemporary writer, Korolenko, whose poetic talent recalls
Turgenev to our minds, is distinguished, on the contrary, by the
attempts he has made to set free the spark of life which exists in
human beings who have broken down morally. All these writers have
such a direct and powerful influence on contemporary youth that we
are going to study them separately in this book, not excepting
Tchekoff, whose influence is still enormous.
Since the death of the prophet of Yasnaya-Polyana,[1] Russian
literature cannot boast of any writers who compare with Turgenev,
Dostoyevsky, Goncharov, or the dramatist Ostrovsky. The cause is to
be traced rather to circumstances than to the authors themselves.
For social life to furnish material suitable for the artist's
description, it must first of all have types which show a certain
consistency, a more or less determined attitude. But it is futile to
look for either stability or precision in Russian life since Russia
has been going through continual crises. It would be just as
difficult for literature to record rapid changes of ideas, as for an
artist to copy a model that cannot pose for him. Besides, most
contemporary writers are struggling hard for the means of
subsistence.
[1] Tolstoy.
Sometimes their effort to get food has so sapped their strength that
they have not had enough time to finish their studies, nor enough
tranquillity of soul to apply their talents to an impartial view of
life and to incorporating in their work the documents which they
have collected. Even in the writing of the best Russian authors of
to-day one often feels that there is something unfinished, or hasty,
as if their thoughts had not matured.
I do not think that it will be superfluous to add that all Russian
literature for the past century has been able to express only a very
small part of what it had to say. The Russian writer continually
suffers from the constraint which forces him to check the flight of
his inspiration in order to escape from the foolish and often stupid
sternness of the pitiless censor. The poet Nekrasov shows us in one
of his poems an old soldier who has become a printer, and who speaks
in the following manner of Pushkin:
"He was a good man, tipped very generously, but he never ceased to
rage against the censor. When he saw his manuscripts marked with red
crosses, he became furious. One day, in order to console him, I
said:
"'Bah! why torment yourself?'
"'Why,' he cried, 'but it is blood that is flowing,--blood,--my
blood!'"