up a crowd of comrades and kill off all the Jews ... all, to the
very last one! Or, in general, do something that would place me high
above all men, so that I could spit on them from up there, and cry
to them: 'Dogs! Why do you live? You're all hypocritical rascals and
nothing more....'"
These people demand a boundless liberty, but how obtain it? All of
them dream of a certain organization which will let them feel
relieved of all their duties, of all the thousands of petty things
that make life hard, of all the small details, conventions, and
obligations which hold such an important place in our society. But
the time for heroic deeds has passed away, and the "restless" fight
in vain against the millions of men who are determined to keep their
habits and advantages.
Thus they are obliged to shake the dust off their feet and to leave
the ranks in which they are suffocating. No matter what they do or
what they try to do, their motto is, "each one for himself."
"Come," says a vagabond poetically to Thomas Gordeyev, "come with me
on the open road, into the fields and steppes, across the plains,
over the mountains, come out and look at the world in all its
freedom. The thick forests begin to murmur; their sweet voice
praises divine wisdom; God's birds sing its glory and the grass of
the steppe burns with the incense of the Holy Virgin.
"The soul is filled with an ardent yet calm joy, you desire nothing,
you envy no one.... And it is then that it seems as if on the whole
earth there is no one but God and you...."
The material inconveniences of such an existence hardly affect
Gorky's characters. Promtov, one of the prophets of individualism,
says, in speaking of himself:
"I have been 'on the road' for ten years, and I have not complained
of my fate to God. I don't want to tell you anything of this period,
because it is too tedious.... In general, it is the joyous life of a
bird. Sometimes, grain is lacking, but one must not be too exacting
and one must remember that kings themselves do not have pleasures
only. In a life like ours, there are no duties--that is the first
pleasure--and there are no laws, except those of nature--that is the
second. Without a doubt, the gentlemen of the police force bother
one at times ... but you find fleas even in the best hotels. As a
set-off, one can go to the right, or to the left, or straight ahead,
wherever your heart bids you go, and if you don't want to go
anywhere, after having provided yourself with bread from the hut of
some peasant, who will never refuse it, you can lie down until you
care to resume your travels...."
This is the final point at which all of the "restless" arrive,
believing that there they will find what they have always lacked.
Even the author himself shares their views up to a certain point:
"You have to be born in civilized society," he says, speaking of
himself, "in order to have the patience to live there all your life
without having the desire to flee from this circle, where so many
restrictions hinder you, restrictions sanctioned by the habit of
little poisoned lies, this sickly center of self-love, in one word,
all this vanity of vanities which chills the feelings and perverts
the mind, and which is called in general, without any good reason
and very falsely, civilization.
"I was born and brought up outside of it, and I am glad of that
fact. Because of it, I have never been able to absorb culture in
large doses, without feeling, at the end of a certain time, the
terrible need of stepping out of this frame.... It does one good to
go into the dens of the cities, where everything is dirty, but
simple and sincere; or even to rove in the fields or on the
highroads; one sees curious things there. It refreshes the mind; and
all you need in order to do it is a pair of sturdy legs...."
What then is the teaching that we get out of Gorky's works? For,
faithful to Russian tradition, he does not practise art for art's
sake. His "barefoot brigade" and his "restless" men are generally
considered as representative of his own ideals. The principle of "Do
what seems to you to be good"--a principle which is expressed by a
wandering and free life--ought to be justified, one thinks. Critics
have risen up against this ideal, trying to prove how incompatible
the kind of existence that he conceives is with a solid political
organization, and how far from reality the men are whom he
represents.
Doubtless, in real life, people are not as original and not as
heroic as Gorky represents them to be. And he himself agrees that
their inventive faculties are very highly developed. He shows this
in putting the following words into the mouth of Promtov:
"I have very probably exaggerated, but that's not of much
importance. For, if I have exaggerated what happened, my method of
exposition has shown the true state of my soul. Perhaps, I have
served you with an imaginary roast, but the sauce is made of the
purest truth."
The end that he is after, Gorky has shown us in his story, "The
Lecturer," which contains his theories on literature. In the person
of the lecturer, he addresses himself to the men who represent the
majority of the Russian cultivated classes. He begins by analyzing
himself carefully and discovers in himself many good feelings and
honest desires, but he feels that he lacks clear and harmonious
thought, a thing which keeps all the manifestations of life in
equilibrium. Numerous doubts torment him, and his mind has been so
moved with them, his heart so wounded, that, for a long time, he has
lived "empty inside."
"What have I to say to others?" he asks himself. "That which was
told them long ago, that which has always been told them, none of
which makes any one any better. But have I the right to teach these
ideas and convictions, if I, who was brought up according to them,
act so often in opposition to them?"
With his usual sincerity, it is not to be wondered at that he
answered this question in the negative, and, to cite the words of
one of his characters, that he "refused to live in the chains which
had already been forged for free thought, and to class himself under
the label of an ism."
He has not thought it profitable to hide his doubts and has not
feared to declare openly that none of the existing philosophies suit
him, and that he is trying to follow his own path. All of his work
is but the absolute image of his own uncertainties, of his
passionate researches, and of his constant "restlessness."
At times people have believed that he was a disciple of Nietzsche.
And, in truth, he has come under his influence, like so many other
Russian authors. But he has gone on mostly by himself, aided by his
acute sensibility, which has not, as yet, allowed him to adopt any
one system to the exclusion of all others, or to formulate a system
for his personal use.
"I know one thing," he says, "it is not happiness that we should
hope for. What should we do with it? The meaning of life does not
lie in the search for happiness, and the satisfaction of the
material appetites will never suffice to make a man fully contented
with himself. It is in beauty that we must look for the meaning of
life, and in the energy of the will! Every moment of our lives ought
to be devoted to some better end...."
However, he has very neatly set forth what he considers the task of
the author. According to him, the man of to-day has lost courage; he
interests himself too little in life, his desire to live with
dignity has grown weaker, "an odor of putrefaction surrounds him,
cowardice and slavery corrupt his heart, laziness binds his hands
and his mind." But, at the same time, life grows in breadth and
depth, and, from day to day, men are learning to question. And it
is the writer who ought to answer their questions; but he should not
content himself with straightening out the balance sheet of social
deterioration, and in giving photographs of daily life. The writer
must also awaken in the hearts of men a desire for liberty, and
speak energetically, in order to infuse in man an ardent desire to
create other forms of life.... "It seems to me," says Gorky, "that
we desire new dreams, gracious inventions, unforeseen things,
because the life which we have created is poor, dreary, and tedious.
The reality which formerly we wanted so ardently, has frozen us and
broken us down.... What is there to do? Let us try: perhaps
invention and imagination will aid man in raising himself so that he
may again glance for a moment at the place which he has lost on
earth."
All of Gorky's characters curse life, but without ceasing to love
it, because they "have the taste for life." Their complaints are
only a means by which the author hopes to raise up around him "that
revengeful shame and the taste for life" of which he so often
speaks. Here is the artful Mayakine, who, indignant at the
debasement of the younger generation, is ready to take the most
cruel means in order "to infuse fire into the veins" of his
contemporaries. Varenka Olessova, the heroine of a story,
incessantly repeats that people would be more interesting if they
were more animated, if they laughed, played, sang more, if they were
more audacious, stronger, and even more coarse and vulgar. Gorky
admires also the beautiful type, vigorous, with a rudimentary
mentality, which meets with his approval simply because he sees in
it a nature which is complete, untouched, and filled with a love of
life.
Gorky suffers miseries inherent in the mere fact of existence, but
he has found no remedy; he looks for consolations in the cult of
beauty, in the strength of free individuality, in the flight towards
a superior ideal. But he does not know where to find this superior
ideal, which vivifies everything. This is perhaps the reason why
people have thought they saw in his work the Nietzschean influence,
which praises an insistence on individuality in defiance of current
conventions, and gives us just as vague a solution as Gorky does.
But this enthusiasm for an ideal, vague as it is, this passionate
appeal for energy in the struggle, has awakened powerful echoes in
the hearts of the Russians, especially the younger of them. Gorky
suddenly became their favorite author, and it is to this warm
reception that he owes a great part of his renown. He has carried
the young along with him, and they have put their ideals in the
place which he had left empty.
If we now pass on to the first novels and dramas of Gorky, we shall
be struck by the fact that, in spite of the talent shown in them,
they are very inferior to his short stories. His former mastery is
not found, except in his later novels, which we shall take occasion
to mention presently.
"Thomas Gordeyev" contains some very fine passages, but is not very
successful as a whole. Thomas's father is a merchant on the banks of
the Volga; he is an energetic man who carries out all his ideas.
Whatever he is engaged on, whether business affairs, or a debauch,
or repentance thereof, he gives himself entirely to the impression
of the moment. Like other men of his class, moreover, he lives a
life which is a singular mixture of refinement and savagery. He
spends his time in drinking and working, as much for himself as for
his only son, Thomas, whose mother died in giving birth to him. The
child grows up under the care of his aunt and shows a serious
disposition toward study. Gradually, he feels the motives that make
men act, and he questions his father about them.
Before dying, the latter says to his son: "Don't count on men, don't
count on great events." In spite of the wealth which he inherits
Thomas is not happy; he has no friends; his colleagues, the
merchants, and especially his father's old friend, Mayakine, are
repulsive to him on account of their cupidity and their
unscrupulousness. Thomas does not love money and does not understand
its power, two things that people cannot forgive him for. Besides,
he does not know how to make use of the forces that are burning
within him. After having vainly sought for moral relief in
debauchery, he ends by proposing to strike a bargain with Mayakine
so that he can be freed from responsibility and go out and look for
happiness. He will give Mayakine his personal fortune if the latter
will look after his business affairs. But the old roue, who hopes to
get possession of the fortune in a surer way, refuses, and their
conversation turns into a quarrel.
As he does not work, Thomas indulges in many extravagances in
company with a journalist of very advanced ideas. Finally, one day
when he is at a fete at which are present all the wealthy members of
the merchant class, the young man, disgusted with their vices, rises
to apostrophize them in the most bitter terms. They throw themselves
on him, and he is arrested as a madman and put into an asylum. He
comes out, only to abandon himself to drink.
In "The Three," Gorky tells us the life story of Ilya Lounyev, a
poor creature, born in poverty, whose life is full of deceptions,
misfortunes, even crimes. Several times, Ilya has tried to lead a
decent life; but it is his sincerity that makes him lose his
position with the merchant for whom he works. He has believed in
beauty and in the purity of love, and he is deceived by the woman he
loves. Gradually all the baseness of the world becomes clear to him.
In a moment of jealousy he kills his mistress's lover, an old miser.
Several months later he publicly confesses his crime, and, in order
to escape from human justice, he commits suicide.
* * * * *
In his first two dramas, "The Smug Citizen," and "A Night's Refuge,"
as in his short stories, Gorky shows us his usual characters.
The Bessemenovs, comfortable, petty bourgeois, have given their
children an education. Their daughter, Tatyana, becomes a
school-teacher, but her profession does not please her. Peter, their
son, has been expelled from the university, in spite of his
indifference toward "new" ideas. The children are continually
harassed by their father, who bemoans the fact that he has given
them an education. Besides, another sadness troubles him: Nil, his
adopted son, whom he has had taught the trade of a mechanician,--an
alert and industrious fellow,--wants to marry Polya, a girl without
a fortune. The father is beside himself, for, if Nil marries, he
will never be in a condition to pay back the money that has been
spent on him. But Nil protests: he is young, and, some day, he will
repay his debt. He has not noticed that Tatyana is in love with him;
and the young girl has not strength enough to live through the
sorrow of seeing herself abandoned forever. She tries to commit
suicide, but does not succeed. While Tatyana is bemoaning her fate,
Peter has fallen in love with a young woman quite different from any
of the members of his family. Helen understands how sad Peter's
position is among these ignorant people, and she decides to marry
him, for pity as much as for love. The father is no more satisfied
with this match than he was with Nil's, and with death in his soul
he is present at the dismemberment of his family. While Helen takes
Peter, Nil goes off with Polya. The mother, a humble and kind woman,
does not understand the cause of all this dissension and, while
consoling the weeping Tatyana, she asks her husband: "Why are our
children punishing us so? Why do they make us suffer?" This play is
not dramatically effective and has never had a great success on the
stage.
On the other hand, Gorky's second attempt, "A Night's Refuge," has
been enormously successful. Here, the author takes us into the world
of the barefoot brigade. Vasska Pepel, Vassilissa's lover, the
proprietor of the night refuge in which he sleeps, loves the sister
of his mistress, Natasha by name, a timid and dreamy young girl,
who blooms like a lily in this mire. The old vagabond, Luke, advises
the young girl to run off with Vasska, who wants to begin a new
life. But Vassilissa, jealous and evil as she is, has noticed the
coldness which her lover shows towards her. She avenges herself by
striking her younger sister whenever she can. Her plan was, with the
aid of Vasska, to kill her husband, Kostylev, and then to live
openly with her lover. But when she sees Vasska ready to leave with
Natasha, she starts a terrible scene, which ends in Vasska's killing
Kostylev without meaning to. Vassilissa and her lover are arrested
and Natasha disappears.
Although the characters of this play are vagabonds, they differ from
most of Gorky's creations, whose fiery and enthusiastic souls
usually discover a real beauty in the life they have chosen.
Alcoholism, prostitution, and misery have shut off these people who
live in the cellar. They have fallen so low, that conscience is a
useless luxury for them. It belongs to the rich only. One of them,
who is asked if he has a conscience, replies with sincere
astonishment: "What? Conscience?" And when the question is asked
again, he answers, "What good is conscience? I'm not a rich man."
The life of these people is worse than a nightmare: to-morrow they
will be cold, hungry, and drunk, just as they were yesterday.
Sometimes, perhaps, they feel like struggling against their evil
lot, but no one stretches forth a helping hand to them. They do not
dare think of the future, and they would like to forget the past.
One of them expresses his fear of life thus:
"At times, I'm afraid, brother; can you understand that?... I
tremble.... For, what is there after this?" And this fear smothers
all the energy in them. They are poor and scantily clothed, not only
in the material sense of the word, but also in the moral sense.
Money would not be necessary to save them, but a word of sympathy,
of love, a word that would give them the courage really to live.
And it is here that old Luke appears. He treats the men as if they
were children, and gains their confidence. In his words there is
manifested a real experience of things and people. As he says, "They
moulded me a lot," and that is why he became "tender." He knows just
the right word for every one. He assures the dying woman that:
"Eternal rest means happiness. Die, and you will have rest, you will
have no cares, and no one to fear. Silence will calm you! All you
have to do is remain lying down! Death pacifies and is tender. You
will appear before God, and He will say to you: 'Take her to
Paradise so that she may rest. I know that her life has been hard;
she is tired, give her peace.'" And the sick woman, who has dragged
out her existence so long, is consoled.
To the drunkard, a former actor who has fallen, Luke says: "Stop
drinking, pull yourself together and be patient. You will be cured,
and you will begin a new existence...." And he succeeds in awakening
a hope of a better life in the soul of the poor comedian, while he
himself, perhaps, hardly believes in the possible regeneration of
his protege.
After Luke's departure, the temporary dreams of these miserable
people vanish. One evening, when they are all gathered around a
bottle of brandy, they strike up a song. A friend, a baron by birth,
rushes into the cellar and announces that the actor has hung
himself, and that his corpse is hanging in the court. A deathlike
silence follows these words. All look at each other in fright. "Ah,
the fool!" finally murmurs a vagabond, "he spoiled our song...." The
hope in a better life that Luke had awakened in the actor made him
kill himself, when he saw that he had not enough strength to realize
this hope.
This drama is the quintessence of all that Gorky has, up to this
time, written on the "ex-man," whom he has thoroughly "explored."
And the figure of old Luke is one of his most original and lifelike
creations.
His third important play, which, however, has never enjoyed the
popularity of "A Night's Refuge," is called: "The Children of the
Sun." The "children of the sun" are the elect of heaven, richly
endowed with talent and knowledge. They live in a world of noble
dreams, of elevated thoughts, enveloped though they are in the
greyness of life. There pass before them long processions of tired
and oppressed people. The latter, also, have been generated by the
strong sun; but the light has gone out for them, and they travel on
life's highway without joy or faith, among those who are proud of
their beauty or learning. The "children of the sun" are the
aristocrats of the soul. They have but one end: to make life
beautiful, good, and agreeable for all. They continually think of
making it easier, of soothing suffering, and of preparing a better
future. Their mission is a large one. They are not idle, but are men
who have the most elevated ends in view.
Between "the children of the sun" and "the children of the earth"
there is a deep abyss. They do not understand each other. The
"children of the sun" cannot admit the miseries and ugliness of
daily life. They have compassion for the people who work below them.
The "children of the earth" feel the superiority of the "children of
the sun," but their narrow-mindedness, continually absorbed by the
necessity of finding shelter and food, cannot rise to the
preoccupations of so elevated an order. However, life brings these
two worlds together in a common work; but their mere meeting on the
ground of practical interests produces a collision.
A third category constitutes the intermediary link. This is made up
of the university people, the representatives of the liberal
professions. As "intellectuals," they cannot equal the "children of
the sun," but they can understand them. They conceive the grandeur
of their moral activity. At the same time, these men are close to
the people. They are often obliged to mingle in the life of the
people, and more than the "children of the sun," they are capable of
enlarging their minds and ennobling their duties. But, while they
know and understand the duties of the people completely, they are
not yet strong enough to help them. This, then, is the general
meaning of the play.
* * * * *
Although this play is cleverly constructed, with a last act which is
pathetic and moving in its intensity, and produces a profound
impression, on the whole, unfortunately, it has the general
harshness of problem plays. Under its lyric vestments, its solid and
massive character appears too often. Gorky, a born observer,
inheritor of the realistic traditions of his country, could not help
turning aside, one day, from this ideological art, visibly
influenced by Tolstoy's dramas. The direct part that the romanticist
has played in the political events of his country sufficiently
proves that he has taken a different road from that taken by the
apostle of Yasnaya Polyana. With maturity, he felt the need of
hastening the denouement of the crisis in Russia, in actively
participating in its emancipation. From that time on, he chose his
heroes from a less singular environment. Instead of the philosophic
vagabonds, the neurasthenic "restless" ones, and the ex-men, he
chose the plebeian of the city and country, who is gradually
awakening from a sleep of ignorance and slavery. A remarkable story,
called "In Prison," all atremble with new sensations, inaugurates
this new style. A victim himself of the intolerance of "over-men,"
Gorky has incarnated his own revolts and hopes in the soul of his
hero, Misha, a brother of the revolutionary students who do not
hesitate to sacrifice their life or liberty for a principle or
ideal.
Written at the same time, the story called "The Soldiers" gives
proof of an equally careful incorporation of the claims of the
oppressed in a literary work.
The school-mistress, Vera, has conceived the daring project of
teaching the soldiers who are quartered in the village. She gets
some of them together at the edge of the neighboring woods and
there she tries to show them the ignominy of the roles they play in
times of uprisings. Angered by this unexpected talk, the soldiers
threaten the young girl. But her coolness and sincerity finally make
them listen to her with a respect mingled with admiration.
A third story, called "Slaves," in a masterful way retraces the
catastrophes of the now historical journey of January 9, 1905, at
the end of which, a crowd of 200,000 men, led by the famous pope
Gapon, went to the Tsar's palace to present their demands to him,
and were received with cannon shots.
These stories were followed by three works of great merit: "Mother,"
"A Confession," and "The Spy."