attacked with such pitiless cruelty, that the revolutionists decided
to have recourse to the red terror in order to fight the white
terror which was cutting down their ranks. The secret goal of this
movement was to replace the autocratic regime with political
institutions emanating from the will of the people. In order to
accomplish its reforms more quickly, this party, which called itself
the "Popular Will," incited several attempts at murder; Russia then
witnessed dynamite outrages against imperial trains and palaces, and
finally, the assassination of the Emperor Alexander II. For a moment
the autocratic regime seemed to totter under these sudden and fierce
blows, but it soon recovered. The white terror proved to be
stronger than the red. Many executions and banishments helped to
crush the partisans of the "Popular Will;" then, when the movement
had been checked, the authorities began to repress even the
slightest desire for independence on the part of the press, the
universities, or any other institutions which could do good to the
people. Dejection and disillusion dominated this period from 1880 to
1900, which has been so faithfully portrayed in the works of
Tchekoff.
Nevertheless, in spite of the fact that their ideals had come to
nought, those of the red terror had not disappeared, and hope
remained in their breasts.
Tchekoff was still living when new symptoms of fermentation appeared
in Russia, and he could have alluded to this in his later works. But
he did not have a fighting nature, and, in his solitude, he looked
at conditions with melancholy scepticism. There was need of a man, a
writer--like Gorky several years later--born right in the midst of
this movement, who would be the very product of it, and for whom its
ideas would be a reason for existence.
Veressayev was this man and writer, and it is as much by his
political opinions as by his literary talents that he gained such a
wide-spread reputation. If his works are not always irreproachable
from a literary standpoint, they are always accurate in describing
exactly what the author himself has seen and lived through.
* * * * *
Veressayev, in three great stories, gives us the three phases of the
movement between 1880 and 1900. These three stories, "Astray," "The
Contagion" and "At the Turn," are of such extreme importance, that
in the following pages there will be a detailed analysis of each of
them.
The two protagonists of the story, "Astray," are Dr. Chekanhov and
his cousin Natasha. The former is at the end of his moral life, the
latter is on the threshold, and both of them are "astray," because
the one has not found the road on which to travel through life, and
the other is just beginning to look for it. The entire existence of
Chekanhov is dominated by the idea that it is _his duty to serve the
people_, which was the basis of the activity of the "narodnikis."
According to him, the "intellectuals," who represent a small and
privileged fraction of the population, are the debtors of the people
and ought to pay their debt by giving the people knowledge and
comfort. This theory is burned into his very soul; it is the leading
thought that directs all of his actions. At this epoch, few men
showed such absolute devotion. From 1880 to 1890, after the cruel
suppression of the movement of the "narodnikis," there was a stop in
this revolutionary activity. Unaware of this pacification, Chekanhov
makes great exertions; as a doctor, he combats disease and saves
several people. But how exhaust the source of this evil, this
misery, which is increased by a despotic social order? Chekanhov
spends his energy in vain; where else shall he apply his strength?
The famine of 1891! Dr. Chekanhov speaks only of his despair: "A
terrible malady beats down on one after another of the inhabitants;
it is an epidemic of typhoid caused by the privations which left us
numb and weak." In 1892 an epidemic of cholera broke out. In spite
of the prayers of his parents, the young man rushes off to the most
infected district. One day, he penetrates into an infected hovel.
The children are sprawling everywhere, the mother is foolish and
stupid, and the father, weakened by prison labor, has come down with
cholera. The wife forbids the doctor, whom she accuses of poisoning
the sick, to approach her husband. Scorning the danger, in order to
encourage the sick man, the doctor drinks out of the very cup which
the invalid has used. Nothing counts with him as long as he can
inspire confidence and save people from death.
"What good is there in love between good and strong people," adds
Chekanhov, after having noted down this cure in his "Journal,"
"since it results only in miserable abortions? And why are the
people held down to work which is so rough and unpleasant? What
motive supports them in their painful labor? Is it the desire to
preserve their infected hovels?"
At the end of these reflections could not Chekanhov, absolutely in
despair, have abandoned his task? No, he knew how to keep up his
devotion. Sacrificing his life for others, Chekanhov begins to love
life again. He says to himself: "Life is good ... but will it be for
a long time?" We do not catch the answer.
Furious voices are heard, and a savage and cruel mob calls him a
poisoner and hurls itself upon him, beating and striking him.
Exhausted by the blows and jeered at by those whom he had considered
his brothers in need and for whom he had put himself in constant
peril, he lies stretched out on his bed, suffering severely; but he
nourishes no grudge against his tormentors; on the contrary, his
apostle-like character is moved with pity at the thought of these
uncultured and ignorant beings so unconscious of the evil that they
are doing. And several days before his death he writes the following
tragic words in his "Journal," almost terrifying in their
simplicity:
"They have beaten me! They have beaten me like a mad dog because I
came to help them and because I used all my knowledge and strength,
in one word, gave all that I had. I am not thinking now about how
much I loved these people and how badly I feel at the way they have
treated me. I simply did not succeed in gaining their confidence; I
did succeed in making them believe in me for a while, but soon a
mere trifle was enough to plunge them back among their dark shadows
and to awaken in them an elemental, brutal instinct. And now I have
to die. I am not afraid of death, but of a tarnished life full of
empty remorse. Why have I struggled? In the name of what am I going
to die? I am only a poor victim stripped of the strength of an ideal
and cared for by no one.... It had to be so, for we were always
strangers to them, beings belonging to another world; we scornfully
avoid them, without trying to know them, and a terrible abyss
separates us from them."
It is interesting to note how Chekanhov is regarded by the new
generation and especially by the woman he loves, his cousin Natasha.
She believes in him, she expects a gospel of life from him; but
Chekanhov cannot respond to her; he adheres to such vague
expressions as: "work," "idea," "duty towards the people." He says
to her: "You want an idea which will dominate you entirely and which
will lead you to a definite goal; you want me to give you a
standard and say: 'Fight and die for it.' I have read more than you,
I have had more experience than you, but like you, _I Do Not Know_,
and that is our torture." According to Chekanhov, all of his
generation are in the same position: it is _Astray_, without a
guiding star, it is perishing without realizing it.... Finally, in
order to avoid the pressing questions of Natasha, who would like to
work and sacrifice herself for the poor, he points out to her the
salutary work of the village school-mistress. A few days later he
dies, welcoming death with joy.
* * * * *
While the people who were ending their existence and those who were
beginning it were so carefully looking for a field of action, the
uncultivated ground of Russian life was gradually being cleared by
the slow evolution of an economic movement. Between 1895 and 1900,
as a result of the natural development of national commerce, the
number of city workingmen grew to vast proportions and they formed
an important class, which, on account of its situation, was much
more qualified than the peasants to interest itself in the ideas of
socialism and liberty. So from the very midst of the people certain
individuals appeared capable of adopting progressive ideas; Marxism
awaited them, the theory which is the basis of European democratic
socialism. This doctrine was nothing new in Russia. But formerly,
the proletariat of the cities had been very little developed and the
Marxian doctrines had been of theoretical interest only.
"The Contagion" has for its heroine Natasha,--the Natasha that we
have already met, but how transformed! She has at last found her
bearings. If, in 1892, she was waiting for the right road to be
shown to her, in 1896 she was enthusiastically following the new
road opened by the doctrines of Marx.
In Zharoshenko's famous picture, "The Student," Uspensky notes
something new in this type of femininity. He calls it "the masculine
trait"; it is the mark of thought. He sees there the harmonious
fusion of a young girl and an adolescent boy, with an expression
neither feminine nor masculine, but exceptionally human. And this
transforms Zharoshenko's "Student" into a luminous personification,
unknown up to this time, a type which synthesizes "le type humain."
In the work of Veressayev this student is Natasha. Reflection has
ripened her mind since her last talk with poor Chekanhov. She has
become a regular "mannish woman," having seen and thought a great
deal. She has traveled; she has lived in St. Petersburg and in the
south of Russia. Full of courage and energy, she claims to be fully
satisfied with her lot; she begs her companions to follow the road
she has found, and when they refuse she becomes angry with them. In
company with her comrade Dayev she vigorously attacks the
convictions of the men of Kisselev, who see sufficient safety in the
workingmen's associations; she rises up, in the name of Marxism,
against the "narodnikis," whom she considers ingenuous idealists;
she refuses to endorse the theories of the "intellectuals," who
oppose the thought of any great work, since they believe that
smaller deeds are more immediately realizable. When one of them, a
doctor, Troitsky, ends his conversation with her with these words:
"It is not necessary to wear one's brains out trying to solve
difficult problems while there is so much immediate need and so few
workers," she puts an end to the discussion. Shrugging her
shoulders, in a trembling voice she answers: "How can you live and
think as you do? New problems confront us, and you stand before them
and do nothing, because you have lost confidence. I can't work any
longer with you, because it would mean dedicating myself blindly to
'spiritual death.'"
Veressayev does not show us how she solves the problems of which she
speaks. The adepts of this sort of social apostleship usually
propagate their ideas among the workingmen, help them, and play a
part in conspiracies. Natasha offers herself up. But the censorship
has not allowed Veressayev to carry his subject on, and he has
limited himself to showing us Natasha in company with her friends
and disciples, giving herself up to oratorical tilts, discussing
principles, and uttering long discourses full of passion, faith, and
juvenile impatience,--discourses which unfortunately are mistaken in
their reasoning.
* * * * *
In realizing from the socialist ideal the logical and inevitable
consequence of capitalism, which continues according to a law
independent of human will, the Marxian doctrine dissipates the
doubts and consolidates the faith of those who adopt it. According
to this faith, the socialists do not have to create socialism, they
only have to cooeperate in the historical process which will
inevitably make socialism grow. In thus recognizing the supremity of
the law of history, socialism, utopian up to this time, becomes
scientific and, under its new form, it is no longer subject to the
influence of personal opinions, no matter how full of genius they
may be. But this "scientific socialism," which, on account of the
backwardness of political economy, could be only a step ahead, was
taken by the younger generation of Russia as the "dernier mot" of
the science. The result was, that several narrow and exclusive
dogmas were grafted on this doctrine. Thus, the theory of "class
struggle" transformed itself into the absolute negation of all
community interests between the diverse social strata. The
"materialistic"--or rather "economic"--point of view, according to
which the products of spiritual activity in the history of humanity
lose all independence, being only the consequences of economic
organization, generated scorn for all idealism; and the proletariat
character of the socialistic movement impelled society to divide
into two hostile and irreconcilable parts, one of which is made up
of the proletariats, the other of the elements opposed to socialism.
To this last party the enormous mass of half-starved peasants joined
itself. The peasants, according to the Marxian doctrine, cannot
understand socialism until they have become proletariats themselves,
instead of becoming miserable landed proprietors. And this
"proletariazation" of about 100,000,000 peasants, the fervent
Marxists consider a fatal and desirable event in the near future.
These theories, carried to excess, were sure to excite a reaction.
It manifested itself by a neo-idealistic movement, which found the
principal cause of social progress in the tendency of humanity to
attain supreme development and perfection. Then there were the
"narodnikis" who considered the "proletariazation" of the Russian
peasant impossible and inopportune. There were also the various
groups of Socialists who applauded the criticism that Bernstein made
on the Marxian orthodoxy. So several deviations were made from the
original theory; there were grave dissensions and interminable and
bitter controversies. All this occupies a large part of "At the
Turn," one of Veressayev's novels, in which these events are traced
with almost stenographic exactitude.
The characters are, Tanya, a fanatic Marxist; her brother, Tokarev,
whose soul is a field for spiritual battles; and Varenka, a village
school-mistress. There are several eccentric characters around them,
such as Serge, a young apostle of a somewhat Nietzschean egoism,
Antsov and others. Tanya is none other than Natasha of "Astray,"
with this great difference, however, that Tanya has found truth
already formulated for her, and does not have to grope about for it.
Nevertheless, the essential characteristics of the two girls are the
same. They both have the same joyous self-denial, the same love of
life, the same courage in face of difficulties, and also the same
faith in a better future. Tanya has lived during the whole winter
with her comrades in a region devastated by the famine, and she has
spent there all that she possesses. At Toliminsk, where she arrives
after a long walk, she speaks of her meagre living and tells amusing
stories without suspecting her wonderful heroism.
But this young girl, full of the joy of life and ready for any
sacrifices, is pitiless towards her theoretical adversaries and has
absolutely no compassion for them. The passage in "Crime and
Punishment," in which Dostoyevsky depicts one of his heroes in the
following manner: "He was young, he had abstract ideas, and was,
consequently, cruel," perfectly fits Tanya. Veressayev tells the
following incident: "One day, when she was at the station, some
peasants rushed down from the platform. A railroad guard struck one
of the peasants. The peasant put his head down and ran off....
Tanya, knitting her brows, said: 'That's good for him! Oh, these
peasants!' And her eyes lighted up with scorn and hate...."
Just as Tanya brings Natasha to our mind, so does Varenka make us
think of Dr. Chekanhov; the same feeling of duty governs them both.
But, while Chekanhov wanted to devote himself to the social problem,
without ever succeeding in doing so, because he did not exactly see
the principles, Varenka was able to devote herself to her work
without mental reservation. However, she refuses to, because she has
not enough enthusiasm for this sort of research. Her understanding,
which is deeper and broader than Tanya's, sees the error, the
narrowness of her doctrine; she cannot admit it, and, fired by a
desire to devote herself body and soul to some useful work, she
chooses the laborious profession of a school-mistress in the
village. But this humble and unpleasant career does not satisfy her.
Little by little ennui and anguish drive her to suicide.
Between Tokarev, Tanya's brother, and Varenka, the contrast is
complete. While still a student, he had accepted, with all the ardor
of youth, the idea of duty, and he desired to give himself up to the
cause of justice and truth; but, having encountered many obstacles,
he felt, when he had reached his thirtieth year, that the sacred
fire was going out.
He now dreamed only of his personal happiness, and of poor theories
that justified this egoism. An assured material existence, comfort,
a happy domestic life, work without risks, without sacrifices, but
useful enough in appearance to satisfy the conscience, attracted him
irresistibly. He then went to work to tear out his former ideas,
which had taken a pretty firm root. Urged on by his conscience,
which protested, he forced himself at times to resurrect his
youthful enthusiasm; he thought a great deal about morals, about
duty, and he read many books treating this subject; he says: "I
feel that something extremely necessary has left me. My feelings
about humanity have disappeared and nothing can replace them. I read
a great deal now, and I am directing my thoughts towards ethics. I
try to give morality a solid basis and I try to make clearer to
myself the various categories of duty.... And I blush to pronounce
the word, 'Duty.'"
Nevertheless, Tokarev tries, at times, to justify his inclinations
towards peaceable bourgeois prosperity to the struggling youth who
surround his sister Tanya. These cruel young people, however, answer
him only with sarcastic remarks, and caustic arguments, and do not
hesitate to express their doubts as to the sincerity of his
opinions. To his conscience, they are like a living reproach from
the past. Once he also was intolerant towards others as these people
are towards him to-day. And that is why he suffers under their
condemnation of him. He defends himself weakly, and after one of his
oratorical tilts, he falls into such spiritual depression, that he
almost thinks of suicide.
These, then, are the three main characters of Veressayev's novel. In
the background we have the secondary characters. We have the proud
proprietor and his wife, both of them liberals; we have the
pedagogue Osmerkov, who does not like talented people because they
bother everybody; and then there are the respectable inhabitants of
Gniezdelovka, Serge's father and mother, who are entirely absorbed
with their household and with cards.
* * * * *
"The Comrades" is a variation on this theme: old school friends, who
formerly had been wrapped up in a great ideal, are now living a life
of shabby prosperity, and they feel that they have deteriorated,
although they do not dare to confess it to each other.
And Veressayev profits by this to generalize on the causes of this
fatal fall after the unselfish enthusiasms of youth. He sees them
especially in a mysterious force: "The Invisible," already studied
by Maeterlinck, Ibsen, Tchekoff, and especially by de Maupassant;
and he sees them in the unhappy conditions of Russian history, which
created a social and political organization favorable only to those
who crawl along and not to those who plan.
* * * * *
Let us now analyze the stories in which Veressayev describes the
life of the people.
The story of "The Steppe" is as follows: One beautiful autumn
evening two men meet on the steppe. One of them, the forger Nikita,
is returning to his native land; he is wounded in the leg and it is
hard for him to walk. He is looking for work. The other is a
professional beggar.
The beggar, who is never hungry because he has no scruples, offers
Nikita something to eat. After resting a short while, the travelers
continue on their way. In the first village that they come to, the
pilgrim beggar makes a speech to the inhabitants and sells them
certain "sacred properties" which he keeps in his bag. After
pocketing gifts of money and various other things, the false pilgrim
pursues his way, still accompanied by Nikita. On the road once more,
he offers to share with his comrade the fruits of his "work," but
the latter refuses.
"What a fool!" cries the beggar, and bursts out laughing. But
Nikita, indignant, gives him a heavy blow and leaves him for good.
"For a Home" and "In Haste" gave Veressayev an opportunity to note
one of the characteristic traits of the ambitious villagers: their
strong desire to preserve their homes and to propagate the race.
In the first of these stories, two old people, Athanasius and his
wife, want to marry their daughter Dunka, but the "mir,"--the
assembly of peasants,--egotistical and inflexible towards people who
are growing weak, oppose them. "We have not enough land for our own
children," is the answer of the "mir." Dunka remains unmarried, and
dies at an early age. Her mother soon follows her. Old Athanasius
lives alone in his freezing "isba," which is in a state of ruin,
while the neighboring isbas, solid and austere, "spitefully watch
him die."
In the last story, we have a widower who is the father of five
children, and is therefore looking everywhere for a woman with some
bodily defect, because he knows that other women will not want to
have anything to do with him.
It is the same wish to preserve his home that makes a peasant go to
the city to earn his living while he leaves his family in the
country to take care of the house.
* * * * *
The peasant is, besides, entirely engrossed with the difficulties of
existence. Necessity often urges him to desperate acts.... Some, who
are almost starving, ingratiate themselves with the raftsmen. They
force wages down by asking only 5 copecks (5 cents) a day.... If
they are contented with this absurd pay, it is because they avoid
seeing how their little children are suffering at home. "It's hard
living at present; there is not enough space; ground is scarce and
there are too many people." "Men haven't room enough," says a
sad-looking man with prominent cheek-bones. "But," he goes on, "they
tell me that sickness has struck our village, and that the men are
losing blood! Is that true?" "Yes, it's true!" "So much the better!
That will clean out the people; it will be easier to live then," he
concludes, thoughtfully. (From "In the Cold Spell.")
In almost all the work of Veressayev a voice proclaims that the
Russian peasant is near his end; that he is not useful to any one.
The poverty of the villages is painted in the most sombre colors.
The people are unanimous in believing that the struggle for life has
become terrible. "On what will you live?" one asks the other. "The
earth does not nourish us. The holdings are small; in summer, one
must cultivate, and in winter the cottages have to be closed while
we look for work or charity. What is there to eat? Hay! Let us thank
God that the cattle have enough of that. Oats? We have to give four
hectoliters and two measures of our oats to the common granary....
And taxes and clothes? coal-oil, matches, tea, sugar? Tell me, how
can one live?"