tragic with the comic, deserve, in this brief analysis, special
attention. In the first act, there is a students' picnic at which
Olga and Gloukortzev, still full of happiness, are present. The
spectator is drawn by personal sympathy to the student Onoufry, a
good fellow, always drunk, who makes fun of others and himself. We
see him again in the second act, when Gloukortzev finds out about
Olga's life. The poignant scene between the poor girl and her lover
is heightened and softened by the arrival of the students, to whom
Gloukortzev tells his sorrow. The last two acts take place in Olga's
home. The mother brings her daughter a rich "client." And, in the
next room, Gloukortzev suffers terribly, because he knows that his
beloved is still leading an infamous life. In the same room, in the
fourth act, we are present at an orgy, during which the student
quarrels with an officer who has come to spend the night with Olga.
But Onoufry, interfering in time, prevents an affray the issue of
which would probably have been fatal. When the curtain falls,
Gloukortzev, intoxicated, is weeping; at his side is Olga, also
weeping, while Onoufry and the officer are singing: "The days of our
lives are as short as the life of a wave."
This drama, as well as most of Andreyev's plays, has been produced
with great success in Russia and also in Europe.
VII
DMITRY MEREZHKOVSKY
Unlike Gorky, Andreyev, and Tchekoff, Merezhkovsky was brought up in
the midst of comfort and elegance; he received a correct and careful
education; fate was solicitous for him, in that it allowed him to
develop that spirit of objective observation and calm meditation
which permits a man to look down on the spectacle of life, and
indulge in philosophical speculations very often divorced from
reality.
The son of an official of the imperial court, Merezhkovsky was born
in St. Petersburg in 1865. In this city he received his entire
education, and here he gained the degree of bachelor of letters in
1886.
He began his literary career with some poems which won for him a
certain renown. In 1888, he published his first collection, and then
a second in 1892, "The Symbols." At the same time, he published
several translations from Greek and Latin authors.
As he was a friend of the unfortunate Nadson, and a pupil of the
humanitarian Pleshcheyev, Merezhkovsky wrote at first under the
influence of the liberal ideas of his early masters. His verses,
always harmonious, and a little affected, soon belied this tendency
and very frankly revealed his preferences. In the first collection
of his poems, vibrant with generous ideas, he proclaimed that he
wanted, above all, "the joy of life," and that a poet should not
have any other cult than that of beauty.
The poem called "Vera" was his first real success. The extreme
simplicity of the plot--the unfortunate love of a young professor
and of a young weakly girl who dies of consumption in the very
flower of youth--and the very faithful reproduction of the
intellectual life of Russia in 1880, give to this work the
importance of a document in some ways almost historic.
This poem is like a last tribute paid by the author to the
humanitarian and realistic tendencies of Russian literature.
Afterward, yielding to the inclinations of his nature and his taste
for classical antiquity, Merezhkovsky insensibly changed. While
acquiring, both in prose and in verse, an incontestable mastery, he
could now look only for a cold and haughty beauty which was
sufficient unto itself. The beginning was hard, but then all came
easier. After critical articles on the trend of modern literature,
he published "The Reprobate," a bold dithyrambic on ancient Greek
philosophy. The poetry that followed was clearly Epicurean and in
complete contradiction to the altruistic tendencies of the
neo-Christian period, which found an arch enemy in Nietzsche, whose
philosophy evidently influenced Merezhkovsky. However, this
evolution did not have a very favorable effect on his poetry; it
bordered on an art the clarity of which approached dryness, while at
the same time its lack of tenderness reduced its symbolism to an
artificial lyricism or to lifeless allegories.
* * * * *
Merezhkovsky works with untiring constancy to glorify antiquity. He
has made excellent translations of Sophocles, Euripides, and of
"Daphne and Chloe," that idyl of Longus that charmed both Goethe and
Catherine II. He chooses the characters of his new poems from Greek
and Latin mythology, and from themes inspired by an ardent love of
paganism. He has written three prose works of considerable value:
"The Death of the Gods," "The Resurrection of the Gods,"[12] and
"Peter and Alexis." The general idea of all of these is the struggle
between Greek polytheism and Christianity, between Christ and
Antichrist, to use the author's expression, or, as Dostoyevsky used
to say, between the "man-God" and the "God-man."
[12] Also called "The Romance of Leonardo da Vinci, the
Forerunner."
This struggle touches upon the gravest problem that can occupy the
human mind, and continually puts before us this perplexing question:
"Should the purpose of life be only the search for happiness and
beauty, or must we admit, as a law of nature, the dogma of suffering
and death?" The former of these conceptions found its supreme
formula in Greek paganism. The ultimate expansion of the latter
leads us, on the one hand, to faith,--to the religion of sacrifice,
and, on the other hand, into the domain of philosophy,--to the
destruction of the desire to live, as conceived by Schopenhauer. It
is this struggle between the two principles of Hellenic philosophy
and Christian faith that Merezhkovsky has tried to show us by
fixing, in his novels, the historic moments when this struggle
reached its greatest intensity; and by making appear in these
periods the characters who, according to him, are most typical and
representative. For this reason he has chosen to give his readers
pictures of the three epochs which he considers as culminating:
first, the last attempt made to restore the worship of the gods a
short time after the Emperor Constantine had brought about their
ruin; secondly, the Renaissance, which, in spite of triumphant
Christianity, shows us a glorious renewal of the arts and sciences
of antiquity; finally, the beginning of the 18th century, the reign
of Peter the Great, who tried to make a place for the gods of
antiquity in Russia, where they were regarded with horror by the
orthodox clergy.
* * * * *
In his novel, "The Death of the Gods," Merezhkovsky has painted the
first of these epochs, the different phases of which revolve about
the principal hero, the emperor Julian the Apostate. In "The
Resurrection of the Gods" he develops, in sumptuous frescoes, the
age of the Renaissance, personified by Leonardo da Vinci, who best
typifies the character and tendencies of that time. In "Peter and
Alexis," he retraces Russian life in the beginning of the 18th
century, when it was dominated by the extraordinary character of
Peter the Great.
Julian the Apostate was one of the last idolaters of expiring
paganism. But he could do nothing against the infatuation of the
masses who were embracing the new religion, and it was in vain that
he employed both so much kindness and so much violence in order to
suppress Christianity. The reign of the gods was irrevocably ended.
His soul filled with rage when he saw that he was powerless to
change the course of events. He ended by undertaking a foolhardy
expedition into Persia, thinking that that was the only way in which
to defeat Christ, triumph over the "cursed" religion, and bring
back victoriously the altars of the dead gods. But the Olympians on
whom he had counted were of no service to him. According to the
Christian legend, it was then, at the moment of death, that he cried
out: "Galilean, thou hast conquered!" They say that he added: "Let
the Galileans conquer, for the victory will be ours, ... later. The
gods will come back ... we shall all be gods."
This scene is one of the finest in the book. Surrounded by some
faithful friends, Julian speaks, with his last breath, the words
which one of these friends, the historian Ammianus Marcellinus, has
recorded.
"His voice was low but clear. His whole presence breathed forth
intellectual triumph, and from his eyes there still gleamed
invincible will. Ammianus's hand trembled as he wrote. But he knew
that he was writing on the tables of history, and transmitting to
future generations the words of a great emperor:
"'Listen, friends; my hour is come, perhaps too soon. But you see
that I, like an honest debtor, rejoice in giving back my life to
Nature, and feel in my soul neither pain nor fear; nothing but
cheerfulness, and a presentiment of eternal repose.... I have done
my duty, and have nothing to repent. From the days when, like a
hunted animal, I awaited death in the palace of Marcellum, in
Cappadocia, up to the time when I assumed the purple of the Roman
Caesars, I have tried to keep my soul spotless. If I have failed to
do all that I desired, do not forget that our earthly deeds are in
the hands of Fate. And now I thank the Eternal Ruler for having
allowed me to die, not after a long sickness nor at the hands of an
executioner, but on the battlefield, in full youth, with work ahead
of me still to be done.... And, my dear friends, tell both my
friends and my enemies, how the Hellenes, endowed with divine
wisdom, can die....'"
* * * * *
Revenge for the dying emperor was long in coming. But now, after
eleven centuries, the prophecy of Julian is accomplished: heroic
antiquity, everlastingly young, arises from the grave. On all sides
the gods are resurrected. Their marble effigies, so long buried,
reappear. Both the powerful and the humble receive them with
enthusiasm and rejoice at seeing them. It is an irresistible
outburst which carries with it all classes of the Italian people.
Like a wind-blown flame, Greek genius inspires a new life in the
world. But, while a sweeter and more humane moral feeling tries to
liberalize the church, the sombre voice of Savonarola, hardened by
the terrible corruption of manners, mounts ever more menacingly:
"Oh, Italy! oh, Rome! I am going to deliver you up into the hands of
a people who will efface you from among the nations. I see them, the
enemies who descend like hungry tigers.... Florence, what have you
done? Do you want me to tell you? Your iniquity has heaped up the
measure; prepare for a terrible plague! Oh, Lord, thou art witness
that I tried to keep off this crumbling ruin from my brothers; but I
can do no more, my strength is failing me. Do not sleep, oh, Lord!
Dost Thou not see that we are becoming a shame to the world? How
many times we have called to Thee! How many tears we have shed!
Where is Thy providence? Where is Thy goodness? Where is Thy
fidelity? Stretch forth Thy helping hand to us!"
And thus the antagonism between the "God-man" and the "man-God" of
Hellenic paganism expresses itself more strongly than ever before.
The picture of the Renaissance that Merezhkovsky paints for us is
very full, very rich, at times even a little overburdened with
episodes and people. One constantly rubs shoulders with Leonardo da
Vinci, the duchess Beatrice of Este, regent of Milan, the favorite
Lucrecia Crivelli, the mysterious Gioconda, Charles VIII, Louis XII
and Francis I, kings of France, and also with Caesar Borgia; we find
here the preaching of Savonarola, the death of the pope Alexander
VI (Borgia), Marshal Trivulce, the triumphal entry of the French
into Milan, the diplomacy of Niccolo Machiavelli. In fact, as has
been said above, there are too many events and characters.
* * * * *
Two centuries go by and now we come to the third novel, "Peter and
Alexis." The scene is in Russia, and the hero is Peter the Great,
whom Merezhkovsky represents as a worshipper of things Olympian. He
gives a magnificent description of the orgies held by the emperor in
honor of Bacchus and Venus, especially the latter, whose statue he
expressly ordered from Rome and installed in the Summer Garden at
St. Petersburg.
In a veritable fairyland of avenues, of yoke-elms and flower-beds in
geometric designs, of enormous baskets filled with the choicest
flowers, of straight canals, of ponds, of islets, of magnificent
fountains, such a fairyland as Watteau would have dreamed of, there
is a Venetian fete with all sorts of fire-works and illuminations;
small crafts, adorned with flags, are filled with men in golden
garments, girded with swords, and wearing three-cornered hats and
buckled shoes; and the women are dressed in velvet and covered with
jewels.
The Tsar himself opens the case, and helps in placing the goddess on
her pedestal. Again, as two hundred years before in Florence, the
resurrected goddess, Aphrodite, emerges from the grave. The cords
stretch, the pulleys creak; she rises higher and higher. Peter is
almost of the same superhuman height as the statue. And his face,
close to that of Aphrodite, remains noble: the man is worthy of the
goddess....
"The Immortal One--Aphrodite--was still the same that she was on the
hillside in Florence; she had progressed further and further, from
age to age, from people to people, halting nowhere, till in her
victorious march she had reached the very ends of the earth, the
Hyperborean Scythia, beyond which there is naught but darkness and
death...."
But what miseries this magnificent facade conceals! Not far off, on
an island in the river, one can see people who are watching the fete
and who think that they are present at one of the spectacles
forerunning doomsday. Among the crowd are seen the "raskolnik"
Cornelius, old Vitalya of the "runners," deserters, the merchant
Ivanov, the clerk Dokounine ... and several others. In the few
remarks that they exchange, we can see that, for them, Peter the
Great is the Antichrist, "the beast announced by the Gospel."
Such is the tie that binds Peter the Great, Julian, and Leonardo
together. But this tie is weakened by the fact that Peter, an
essentially practical and utilitarian genius, was not the man to
become inspired with Hellenic poetry, and if the author introduces
the Tsar into the society of Julian the Apostate and of Leonardo da
Vinci, it is because Peter the Great was one of those indefatigable
strugglers, who, to attain their ends, put themselves above the
obligations of ordinary morality, one of those supermen, who
hesitate at nothing in satisfying the instincts of their egoisms, of
their dominating wills. In fact, the heroes of Merezhkovsky's novels
all belong in the category of the Nietzschean type of superman,
which explains their philosophical relationship and the sort of
trilogy which these three novels form. Thus, Julian the Apostate,
who tried in vain during his life to make history repeat itself, by
transplanting pagan traditions into a plot which had become unfit to
receive them, and who died in the effort to preserve a faith--does
not this man, then, incarnate that implacable pursuit of the
"integral personality" so extolled by Nietzsche? Leonardo da Vinci,
that great universal and keen mind, who gave himself over to all the
impulses of his creative genius, not caring whether the impulses are
worthy or harmful, appears as a luminous manifestation of that state
of the soul "beyond good and bad" which characterizes the superman.
And is not Peter the Great also a veritable superman; a man who,
through his iron will, upset all the ancient institutions of aged
Russia, and who did not even prevent the assassination of his son
Alexis, inasmuch as he thought that it was for the good of his
country?
At all events, the interest and value of "Peter and Alexis" does not
rest in its philosophic ideas and in the Nietzschean obsession, but
rather in the art with which Merezhkovsky faithfully depicts the
psychology of his heroes. The successive phases of this terrible
tragedy lead up to a striking climax, and set off, one against the
other, temperaments so entirely opposed that the reciprocal
tenderness of the father and son is transformed finally into
suspicion and hate, and the father resolves to sacrifice the life of
his son to what appears to him to be the right of the State. The
novel, although a little overburdened with details, is an excellent
analysis of the customs of the Russia of former times.
The source of the struggle between Peter and Alexis was known. Peter
represented the West and the new ideas, while Alexis represented the
Russia of old, rebellious to innovations which she considered
dangerous. The author thus symbolizes the eternal conflict between
the past and the future. He has analyzed with consummate art the
characters of his two heroes. Peter is a man full of contrasts; he
is, like many Russians, "a brute and a child," by turns violent and
gentle, knavish and simple, cruel and kind, practical and mystical,
proud and modest. Possessed of a prodigious activity, he conceives
tremendous projects which he immediately wants to put into
execution, inspecting everything, verifying everything, finding no
care beneath his dignity, talking to the workingmen as if he were
one of them, not making long speeches, and fiercely, with cries of
rage, fighting dishonest contractors and tradesmen.
Set over against this irascible father, endowed with herculean
strength, the Tsarevich Alexis, thin, pale, and delicate, makes a
sad figure. Most historians, following the example of Voltaire, have
represented this prince as a narrow-minded person, a victim of the
bigoted and intolerant education of the clergy. Merezhkovsky, a more
discreet psychologist, does not rely on these superficial data, but
shades the portrait admirably. He makes Alexis an intelligent man,
not like his father, but a man with a comprehensive, subtle spirit.
He probably was crushed by the powerful individuality of his father.
As he is closely in touch with the people, and knows their
aspirations, Alexis judges the work of his father with delicate
insight: "My father hopes," he says, "to do everything in a great
hurry. One, two, three, and the affair is settled. He does not
realize that things done hastily do not last...."
While Peter is aware of his unpopularity, his son is loved by the
townspeople, the peasants, and the clergy. They say that, "Alexis is
a man who seeks God and who does not want to upset everything: he is
the hope of the nation."
What the author has best shown in this novel is the degree to which
the high society of this time was, under its exterior gorgeousness,
barbarous and vulgar. A German girl, maid-of-honor to the wife of
Alexis, defines it in the following way: "Brandy, blood, coarseness.
It is hard to say which is most prominent,--perhaps it is
coarseness." The boyards[13] she describes as: "Impudent savages,
baptized bears, who only make themselves more ridiculous when they
try to ape the Europeans."
[13] Russian noblemen.
* * * * *
As is evident, these three works of Merezhkovsky belong to the
"genre" of the historical and philosophical novel which demands,
besides the power to call up past ages, a careful education and the
gift of clear-sightedness. And the novelist completely fulfills
these requirements. He knows his subject, he studies all the
necessary documents with the greatest care and follows every story
to its source; finally, before taking up his pen, he visits the
countries and the cities in which the stories take place. Thus, in
order better to understand Leonardo da Vinci, in order to live his
life, the author of "The Resurrection of the Gods" traversed Italy
and France from one end to the other, in the same way that he had
traveled all over Greece so that he could give us a more life-like
Julian. With the same care, he spent a long time reading Russian
historical documents in order to present the reader with a better
picture of the customs of the time of Peter the Great. The result is
a series of historical pictures, almost perfect in their accuracy.
If Merezhkovsky had no other merit than this faithful portrayal of
the past, his novels even then would be read with interest and
pleasure.
Some critics have remarked that the most glaring defect in his books
lies in their construction. His novels often disregard the laws
relating to this sort of literature, which demand the clever
grouping of the characters and events around a principal hero. It is
true that this unity and the sense of proportion absolutely
necessary for any sort of harmony are not to be found in his works.
The details predominate to the detriment of important facts; the
people of secondary importance are sometimes drawn better than the
heroes themselves, whose adventures are entirely unconnected. There
is a series of jumps from one situation to another, with gaps and
interruptions of considerable length, which break the chain of
events. It is for this reason that, instead of seeing a historical
fresco, we see a whole gallery of sketches, executed with subtle
artistry, but insufficiently connected with the main action of the
drama.
These observations apply especially to the first attempt of the
young author: "The Death of the Gods"; "The Resurrection of the
Gods" and "Peter and Alexis" are more skilfully composed. They
indicate a stronger tendency towards unity; one feels that an
infinitely firmer and more experienced brush has been used; the
colors are richer and they do not suffer from that monotony of
effect and of color so noticeable in "The Death of the Gods," where
the author too often uses the same devices. As to the characters of
Leonardo da Vinci and Peter the Great, they are very carefully
worked out, and the events in the lives of the Italian master and
the Russian Tsar are narrated with magnificent psychological
analysis, which forces the reader to sympathize with the heroes even
more than he would naturally.
Merezhkovsky has also been accused of being over-educated. The
innumerable documents presented do not bear closely enough upon the
action, the result being that many of his pages read like mere
annals. They interest the reader but do not move him. This is one
reason why some critics, essentially different in spirit from
Merezhkovsky, have believed themselves right in denying that he has
any talent. But this accusation falls of itself in the face of the
power of the inspiration which pervades his work, and the dramatic
sense which he displays in setting forth the events and personages.
It is impossible, for instance, to read without the deepest emotion
the story of the last days of Leonardo da Vinci, where the author
establishes the tragic contrast between the outward signs of glory,
the superficial honors with which this genius is overwhelmed, and
the moral solitude which afflicts him to the very end, which comes
when he is among people who are strangers to his soul. All the
childhood recollections of this same Da Vinci are full of charm.
There is a veritable master spirit shown in the chapters in which
the author portrays for us the enigmatic and seductive Mona Lisa.
Finally, he has given us a relief of rare energy in the terrible
struggle between Peter and Alexis, between the man of iron whom
nothing can affect and his son, kind and timid, who, while having a
mortal fear of his father, still loves him. As to certain pages,
like those which describe the strange inner life of the Tsarina
Marfa Matveyevna, "living by the light of candles, in an old house
savouring of the oil of night-lamps, the dust and the putrification
of centuries," these pages are a veritable tour de force if only
because of the plasticity and richness of the author's vocabulary.
Finally, what tragic horror there is in the supreme struggle where
the emperor, the assassin of his son, sees his isolation and feels
his weakness, "like a large deer gnawed at by flies and lice until
the blood runs!"
* * * * *