by Serge Persky
Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
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 generalknowledge of Russian literature as it is to-day. The author, SergePersky, has subordinated purely critical material, because he wantshis readers to form their own judgments and criticize forthemselves. The element of literary criticism is not, however, byany means entirely lacking.
In the original text, there is a thorough and exhaustive treatmentof the "great prophet" of Russian literature--Tolstoy--but thetranslator has deemed it wise to omit this essay, because so muchhas recently been written about this great man.
As the title of the book is "Contemporary Russian Novelists," theessay on Anton Tchekoff, who is no longer living, does not rightlybelong here, but Tchekoff is such an important figure in modernRussian literature and has attracted so little attention fromEnglish writers that it seems advisable to retain the essay thattreats of his work.
Finally, let me express my sincerest thanks to Dr. G. H. Maynadierof Harvard for his kind advice; to Miss Edna Wetzler for herunfailing and valuable help, and to Miss Carrie Harper, who has goneover 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, aknowledge of its past is indispensable. This knowledge will help usin understanding that which distinguishes it from other Europeanliteratures, not only from the viewpoint of the art which itexpresses, but also as the historical and sociological mirror of thenation'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 andcivilization during historic times, Russian literature passedthrough none of these stages. Instead of being a product of thepast, it is a protestation against it; instead of retracing the oldsuccessive stages, it appears, intermittently, like a lightsuddenly struck in the darkness. Its whole history is a longcontinual struggle against this darkness, which has gradually meltedaway beneath these rays of light, but has never entirely ceased toveil the general trend of Russian thought.
As a result of the unfortunate circumstances which characterize herhistory, Russia was for a long time deprived of any relations withcivilized Europe. The necessity of concentrating all her strength onfighting the Mongolians laid the corner-stone of a sort ofsemi-Asiatic political autocracy. Besides, the influence of theByzantine clergy made the nation hostile to the ideas and science ofthe Occident, which were represented as heresies incompatible withthe orthodox faith. However, when she finally threw off theMongolian yoke, and when she found herself face to face with Europe,Russia was led to enter into diplomatic relations with the variousWestern powers. She then realized that European art and science wereindispensable to her, if only to strengthen her in warfare againstthese States. For this reason a number of European ideas began tocome into Russia during the reigns of the last Muscovite sovereigns.But they assumed a somewhat sacerdotal character in passing throughthe filter of Polish society, and took on, so to speak, a dogmaticair. In general, European influence was not accepted in Russiaexcept with extreme repugnance and restless circumspection, untilthe accession of Peter I. This great monarch, blessed with unusualintelligence and a will of iron, decided to use all his autocraticpower in impressing, to use the words of Pushkin, "a new directionupon the Russian vessel;"--Europe instead of Asia.
Peter the Great had to contend against the partisans of ancienttradition, the "obscurists" and the adversaries of profane science;and this inevitable struggle determined the first character ofRussian literature, where the satiric element, which in essence isan attack on the enemies of reform, predominates. In organizinggrotesque processions, clownish masquerades, in which thelong-skirted clothes and the streaming beards of the honorablechampions of times gone by were ridiculed, Peter himself appeared asa pitiless destroyer of the ancient costumes and superannuatedideas.
The example set by the practical irony of this man was followed,soon after the death of the Tsar, by Kantemir, the first Russianauthor who wrote satirical verses. These verses were very muchappreciated in his time. In them, he mocks with considerable fervorthe ignorant contemners of science, who taste happiness only in thegratification of their material appetites.
At the same time that the Russian authors pursued the enemies oflearning with sarcasm, they heaped up eulogies, which bordered onidolatry, on Peter I, and, after him, on his successors. In thesepraises, which were excessively hyperbolical, there was always somesincerity. Peter had, in fact, in his reign, paved the way forEuropean civilization, and it seemed merely to be waiting for thesovereigns, Peter's successors, to go on with the work started bytheir illustrious ancestor. The most powerful leaders, and the firstrepresentatives of the new literature, strode ahead, then, hand inhand, but their paths before long diverged. Peter the Great wantedto use European science for practical purposes only: it was only tohelp the State, to make capable generals, to win wars, to helpsavants find means to develop the national wealth by industry andcommerce; he--Peter--had no time to think of other things. Butscience throws her light into the most hidden corners, and when itbrings social and political iniquities to light, then the governmenthastens to persecute that which, up to this time, it has encouraged.
The protective, and later hostile, tendencies of the government inregard to authors manifested themselves with a special violenceduring the reign of Catherine II. This erudite woman, an admirer ofVoltaire and of the French "encyclopedistes," was personallyinterested in writing. She wrote several plays in which sheridiculed the coarse manners and the ignorance of the society of hertime. Under the influence of this new impulse, which had come fromone in such a high station in life, a legion of satirical journalsflooded the country. The talented and spiritual von Vizin wrotecomedies, the most famous of which exposes the ignorance and crueltyof country gentlemen; in another, he shows the ridiculousness ofpeople who take only the brilliant outside shell from Europeancivilization. Shortly, Radishchev's "Voyage from Moscow toSt. Petersburg" appeared. Here the author, with the fury ofpassionate resentment, and with sad bitterness, exposes themiserable condition of the people under the yoke of the high andmighty. It was then that the empress, Catherine the Great, so gentleto the world at large and so authoritative at home, perceiving thatsatire no longer spared the guardian principles necessary for thes
ecurity of the State, any more than they did popular superstitions,manifested a strong displeasure against it. Consequently, thesatirical journals disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. VonVizin, who, in his pleasing "Questions to Catherine" had touched onvarious subjects connected with court etiquette, and on the miseriesof political life, had to content himself with silence. Radishchevwas arrested, thrown into a fortress, and then sent to Siberia.They went so far as to accuse Derzhavin, the greatest poet of thistime, the celebrated "chanter of Catherine," in his old age, ofJacobinism for having translated into verse one of the psalms ofDavid; besides this, the energetic apostle of learning, Novikov, ajournalist, a writer, and the founder of a remarkable society whichdevoted 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 hisbelongings had been confiscated. The critic and the satirist had hadtheir wings clipped. But it was no longer possible to check thistendency, for, by force of circumstances, it had been planted in thevery soul of every Russian who compared the conditions of life inhis country with what European civilization had done for theneighboring countries.
Excluded from journalism, this satiric tendency took refuge inliterature, where the novel and the story trace the incidents ofdaily life. Since the writers could not touch the evil at itssource, they showed its consequences for social life. Theyrepresented with eloquence the empty and deplorable banality of theexistence forced upon most of them. By expressing in various waysgeneral aspirations towards something better, they let literaturecontinue its teaching, even in times particularly hostile tofreedom of thought, like the reign of Nicholas I, the most typicaland decided adversary of the freedom of the pen that Europe has everseen. Literature was, then, considered as an inevitable evil, butone from which the world wanted to free itself; and every man ofletters seemed to be under suspicion. During this reign, not onlycriticisms of the government, but also praises of it, wereconsidered offensive and out of place. Thus, the chief of the secretpolice, when he found that a writer of that time, Bulgarine, whosename was synonymous with accuser and like evils, had taken theliberty to praise the government for some insignificant improvementsmade on a certain street, told him with severity: "You are not askedto praise the government, you must only praise men of letters."
Nothing went to print without the authorization of the generalcensor, an authorization that had to be confirmed by the variousparts of the complex machine, and, finally, by a superior committeewhich censored the censors. The latter were themselves so terrorizedthat they scented subversive ideas even in cook-books, in technicalmusical terms, and in punctuation marks. It would seem that undersuch conditions no kind of literature, and certainly no satire,could exist. Nevertheless, it was at this period that Gogol producedhis best works. The two most important are, his comedy "TheRevizor," where he stigmatizes the abuses of administration, and"Dead Souls," that classic work which de Voguee judges worthy ofbeing 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 highRussian society at that time.
At the same time, Griboyedov's famous comedy, "Intelligence Comes toGrief," which the censorship forbade to be produced or evenpublished, was being circulated in manuscript form. This comedy, averitable masterpiece, has for its hero a man named Chatsky, who wascondemned as a madman by the aristocratic society of Moscow onaccount of his independent spirit and patriotic sentiments. It istrue that in all of these works the authors hardly attack importantpersonages or the essential bases of political organization. Thefunctionaries and proprietors of Gogol's works are "petites gens,"and the civic pathos of Chatsky aims at certain individuals and notat the national institutions. But these attacks, cleverly veilingthe general conditions of Russian life, led the intelligent readerto meditate on certain questions, and it also permitted satire tolive through the most painful periods. Later, with the coming of thereforms of Alexander II, satire manifested itself more openly inthe works of Saltykov, who was not afraid to use all his talent inscourging, with his biting sarcasm, violence and arbitrariness.
Another salient trait of Russian literature is its tendency towardrealism, the germ of which can be seen even in the mostold-fashioned works, when, following the precepts of the West, theywere taken up first with pseudo-classicism, and then with theromantic spirit which followed.
Pseudo-classicism had but few worthy representatives in Russia, ifwe omit the poet Derzhavin, whom Pushkin accused of having a poorknowledge of his mother tongue, and whose monotonous work showssigns of genius only here and there.
As to romanticism! Here we find excellent translations of the Germanpoets by Zhukovsky, and the poems of Lermontov and Pushkin, allimpregnated with the spirit of Byron. But these two movements camequickly to an end. Soon realism, under the influence of Dickens andBalzac, installed itself as master of this literature, and, in spiteof the repeated efforts of the symbolist schools, nothing has yetbeen able to wipe it out. Thus, the triumph of realism was not, asin the case of earlier tendencies, the simple result of the spiritof imitation which urges authors to choose models that are invogue, but it was a response to a powerful instinct. The truth ofthis statement is very evident in view of the fact that realismappeared in Russian literature at a time when it was still a noveltyin Europe. The need of representing naked reality, without anydecorations, is, so to speak, innate in the Russian author, whocannot, for any length of time, be led away from this practice. Thisis the very reason why the Byronian influence, at the time ofPushkin and Lermontov, lasted such a short time. After havingwritten several poems inspired by the English poet, Pushkin soondisdained this model, which was the sole object of Europeanimitation. "Byron's characters," he says, "are not real people, butrather incarnations of the various moods of the poet," and he endsby saying that Byron is "great but monotonous." We find the samething in Lermontov, who was fond of Byron, not only in a transientmood of snobbery, but because the very strong and sombre characterof his imagination naturally led him to choose this kind of intensepoetry. He was exerting himself to regard reality seriously and toreproduce it with exactitude, at the very time when he was killed ina duel at the youthful age of twenty-seven.
Pushkin's best work, his novel in verse, "Evgeny Onyegin," althoughit came so early, was constructed according to realisticprinciples; and although we still distinguish romantic tints, it isa striking picture of Russian society at the beginning of the 19thcentury. We find the same tendency in Lermontov's prose novel, "AHero of Our Times," in which the hero, Pechorin, has many traits incommon with Evgeny Onyegin. This book immediately made a deepimpression. It was really nothing more than a step taken in a newdirection by its author. But it was a step that promised much. Anabsurd 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 theworld."
The works of writers of secondary rank, contemporaneous with theabove mentioned, also reveal a realistic tendency. Then appeared, todeclare it with a master's power, that genius of a realist, of whomwe have already made mention, Gogol. There was general enthusiasm;Gogol absorbed almost the entire attention of the public and men ofletters. The great critic and publicist Byelinsky, in particular,took it upon himself to elaborate in his works the theories ofrealism; he formulated the program about 1850 under the name of the"naturalistic school." Thus the germs of the past had expandedtriumphantly in the work of Gogol, and the way was now clear forTurgenev, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Goncharov, Ostrovsky, and Pisemsky,who, while enlarging the range and perfecting the methods of thenaturalistic school, conquered for their native literature the placewhich it has definitely assumed in the world.
Although we may infer that Russian realism has its roots in aspecial spiritual predilection, we must not nevertheless forget thehistorical conditions which prepared the way for it and made itslogi
cal development easy. Russian literature, called on to struggleagainst tremendous obstacles, could hardly have gone astray in thedomain of a nebulous idealism.
The third distinctive trait of this literature is found in itsdemocratic 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 thevery constitution of Russian society.
The spirit of the literature of a nation is usually a reflection ofthe social class which possesses the preponderant influence from apolitical or economic standpoint or which is marked by the strengthof its numbers. The preponderance of the upper middle class inEngland has impressed on all the literature of that country the sealof morality belonging to that class; while in France, wherearistocracy predominated, one still feels the influence of thearistocratic traditions which are so brilliantly manifested in thepseudo-classic period of its literature. But many reasons havehindered the aristocracy and the bourgeoisie from developing inRussia. The Russian bourgeois was, for a long time, nothing but apeasant who had grown rich, while the noble was distinguished moreby the number of his serfs and his authority than by his moralsuperiority. Deprived of independence, these two classes blended andstill blend with the immense number of peasants who surround them onall sides and submerge them irresistibly, however they may wish tofree themselves.
Very naturally, the first Russian authors came from the class ofproprietors, rural lords, who were the most intelligent, not to saythe only intelligent people. In general, the life of the lord wasbarely distinguishable from that of the peasant. As he was usuallyreared in the country, he passed his childhood among the villagechildren; the people most dear to his heart, often more dear to himthan his father or mother, were his nurse and the otherservants,--simple people, who took care of him and gave him thepleasures of his youthful existence. Before he entered the localgovernment school, he had been impregnated with goodness and popularpoetry, drawn from stories, legends, and tales to which he had beenan ardent listener. We find the great Pushkin dedicating his mostpathetic verses to his old nurse, and we often see him inspired bythe most humble people. In this way, to the theoretic democracyimported from Europe is united, in the case of the Russian author, atreasure of ardent personal recollections; democracy is not for himan abstract love of the people, but a real affection, a tendernessmade up of lasting reminiscences which he feels deeply.
This then was the mental state of the most intelligent part of thisRussian nobility, which showed itself a pioneer of the ideas ofprogress in literature and life. There were even singular politicalmanifestations produced. Rostopchin said: "In France the shoemakerswant to become noble; while here, the nobles would like to turnshoemakers." But, in spite of all, the greater part of this caste,with its essential conservative instincts, was nothing more than aninert mass, without initiative, and incapable even of defending itsown interests except by the aid of the government.
Rostopchin did not suspect the profound truth of his capricioussaying.
This truth burst forth in all its strength about 1870, the time ofthe great reforms undertaken by Alexander II, when the interests ofthe people were, for the first time, the order of the day. It wasat this period that a great deal of studying was being done withgreat enthusiasm and that a general infatuation for folklore and fora "union with the masses" was being shown. The desire to become"simplified," that is to say to have all people live the same kindof life, the appearance of a type, celebrated under the sarcasticname of "noble penitent" (meaning the titled man who is ashamed ofhis privileged position as if it were a humiliating and infamousthing), the politico-socialistic ideology of the first Slavophiles,still half conservative, but wholly democratic; all these thingswere the results of the manifestations which astonished Rostopchinand made the more intelligent class of Russians fraternize more withthe masses. In our day, this tendency has been eloquentlyillustrated by the greatest Russian artist and thinker, Tolstoy, whowas the very incarnation of the ideas named above, and who alwaysappears 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 thecrowd of peasants and workingmen packed into a third-classcompartment.
In the last half of the 19th century, Russian literature took afurther step in the way of democracy. It passed from the hands ofthe nobility into the hands of the middle class, as the conditionsunder which it existed brought it closer to the people and made ittherefore more accessible to their aspirations. It is no longer thegreat humanitarians of the privileged class who paint the miserableconditions among which people vegetate; it is the people themselveswho are beginning to speak of their miseries and of their hopes fora 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, morerecently still, in Tchekoff, Andreyev, and many others.
None of these writers belong to the aristocracy, and two ofthem--Tchekoff and Gorky--have come up from the masses: the formerwas the son of a serf, and the latter the son of a workingman. Letme add that, among the women of letters, the one who is mostdistinguished by her talent in describing scenes from popularlife--Mme. Dmitrieva--is the daughter of a peasant woman.
Thus, as we have shown, the Russian writers alone, under the coverof imaginative works which became expressive symbols, couldundertake a truly efficacious struggle against tyranny andarbitrariness. They found themselves in that way placed in apeculiar social position with corresponding duties. Men expectedfrom them, naturally, a new gospel and also a plan of conductnecessary in order to escape from the circle of oppression. The bestof the Russian writers have undertaken a difficult and periloustask; they have become the guides, and, so to speak, the "masters"of life. This tendency constitutes a new trait in Russianliterature, one of its most characteristic; not that otherliteratures have neglected it, but no other literature in the worldhas proclaimed this mission with such a degree of energy and withsuch a spirit of sacrifice. Never, in any other country, havenovelists or poets felt with such intensity the burden on theirsouls. At this point Gogol, first of all, became the victim of thisstate of things.
The enthusiasm stirred up by his works and by the immense hopes thathe had evoked suddenly elevated him to such a height in the minds ofhis contemporaries that he felt real anguish. Artist he was, and nowhe forced himself to become a moralist; he rushed into philosophicalspeculations which led him on to a nebulous mysticism, from whichhis talent suffered severely. When he realized what had happened,despair seized him, his ideas troubled him, and he died in terribleintellectual distress.
We see also the great admirer of Gogol--Dostoyevsky--under differentpretexts making known in almost all his novels and especially inhis magazine articles, "Recollections of an Author," his opinions onthe reforms about to be realized. He studies the problems ofcivilization which concern humanity in general, and particularlyinsists upon the mission of the Russian people, who are destined, hebelieves, to end all the conflicts of the world by virtue of asystem based upon Christian love and pity.
Turgenev, himself, although above all an artist, does not remainaloof from this educational work. In his "Annals of a Sportsman," heattacks bondage. And when it was abolished, and when in the veryheart of Russian society, among the younger generation, therevolutionists appeared, Turgenev attempted to paint these "newmen." Thus in his novel, "Fathers and Sons," he sketches in boldstrokes the character of the nihilist Bazarov. This celebrated typecannot, however, be considered a true representative of thementality of the "new men," for it gave only a few aspects of theircharacter, which, besides, did not have Turgenev's sympathy.
They are valued in an entirely different way by Chernyshevsky in hisnovel, "What Is To Be Done?" where the author, one of the mostpowerful representatives of the great movement toward freedom from1860 to 1870, carefully studied the bases of the new morals and themeans to be us
ed in struggling against the prejudices of the oldsociety. Finally let us mention Tolstoy, whose entire literaryactivity was a constant search for truth, till the day when his mindfound an answer to his doubts in the religion of love and harmonywhich he preached from then on.
The earnestness which sees an apostle in a writer has not ceased togrow and has almost blinded the public.
For example, Gorky needed only to write some stories in which heplaces before us beings belonging to the most miserable classes ofsociety, to be suddenly, and perhaps against his own will, elevatedto the role of prophet of a new gospel, of annunciator from whomthey were waiting for the Word, although one could also find theWord in the anti-socialistic circles which he depicts. Anothercontemporaneous author, Tchekoff, once wrote a story about theprecarious position of the workingman in the city; he showed howthis man, after he had become old and had gone back to his nativevillage, suffered even more misery than before instead of gettingthe rest he had hoped for. Immediately an ardent controversy tookplace between the two factions of the youth of that time, thePopulists and the Marxists. The former, defending the ruralpopulation, accused the author of having exaggerated and of havingonly superficially considered the question, while the otherstriumphed, confident in the activity of the people of the city.
The literary critic, however, in carefully studying the works ofthese authors, tried to get at the real meaning,--the idea betweenthe lines. Gorky's philosophy has often been discussed; a great manymen of letters have tried to unravel what there was of pessimism, ofindifference or of mystic idealism in the soul of Tchekoff. Thiseverlasting habit, not to say this mania, of analyzing the mind orsoul of an author in order to get at his conception, his personaldoctrine of life, often leads to partial and erroneous conclusions,especially when, as in most cases, the critic has only a very vagueidea of the main current of thought which formed the genesis of thework.
The hopes and emotions which are aroused by every originalexpression in literature, show more than ever what hopes are basedupon 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 whatelements are they made up? What is the state of mind of the greatmajority of Russian "intellectuals" in the midst of the enmity whichcompromises and menaces them?
Thanks to the window pierced by Peter the Great in the thickMuscovite wall, the Russian "intellectuals" have begun to have ageneral idea of European civilization. They have admired the beautyof this culture, and the greatness of European political and socialinstitutions, guarantees of the dignity of human beings; they haveendured mental suffering because they have found that in Russia suchindependence would be impossible, and, consequently, they have had afeeling of extreme bitterness, which has forced them either to denyor calumniate the moral forces of their country, or to formulatevery strange theories about this situation. Thus at the end of thefirst twenty-five years of the century, Chadayev, one of the mostoriginal and brilliant thinkers of Russia, developed the followingthesis in his "Philosophical Letters":--the fatal course of historyhaving opposed the union of the Russian people with Catholicism,through which European civilization developed, Russia found herselfreduced forever to the existence of an inert mass, deprived of allinterior energy, as can be shown adequately by her history, hercustoms, and even the aspect of her national type with itsill-defined traits and apathetic expression.
* * * * *
In the course of the terrible struggle which he waged against thecensorship and against influential persons evilly disposed towardhim, Pushkin cried out: "It was the idea of the devil himself thatmade 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 hiscountry, which he calls, "a squalid country of slaves and masters."And he salutes the Caucasian mountains as the immense screen whichmay hide him from the eyes of the Russian pachas. The Slavophilesthemselves, the patriots who in their way idealized both Russianorthodoxy and autocracy, and who were wrongly considered thechampions of the existing order of things, showed themselves no lesshostile. One of their most celebrated representatives, Khomyakov,sees in Russia "a land stigmatized" by serfdom, where all isinjustice, 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, headds: "The Russian is not partially European, but essentially so, inthe very largest sense of the word, because he watches, with animpartial love, the progress achieved by the various peoples ofEurope, while each one of _them_ appreciates, above all, theprogress of his own country, and often does not want to let theothers share it."
In spite of the seductive powers which European civilizationexercised upon Russia, the Russians perceived its weak sides, whichthey studied by the light of the ideal which they promisedthemselves to attain in some indefinite future, a future which theynevertheless hoped was near at hand.
To them, enthusiastic observers that they were, these defects becamemore apparent than to the Europeans themselves; as their criticalsense was not deadened by the wear of constant use, they saw in aclear light the inconveniences of certain institutions, theyperceived the sad consequences of the excessive triumph ofindividualism in its struggle for life, the enfranchisement of theproletariat, the satisfaction of the few at the cost of the many. Attimes the bases of this civilization seemed fragile to the Russians;they had a feeling that it was not finished; they also aspired moreand more to the harmonious equilibrium of society which appealed totheir ideal.
In a word, that which has always been called socialism, has had anirresistible attraction for the more intelligent Russians; all ofRussian literature is permeated with it, and it has developed allthe more easily because it found a favorable basis in Russia'snatural democracy.
During the period when this literature was most persecuted--that isto say in the second half of the 19th century--its most influentialrepresentatives were ardent socialists. Among them should bementioned the critic Byelinsky, the "Petracheviens,"--adepts in thedoctrine 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 CharlesDickens. The former was a socialist, the latter was a democrat.Their influence was very great in Russia; their works were read withardor, and gave rise to thoughts which escaped the severities of thecensor, but betrayed themselves in private conversation, as well asin certain literary circles.
All the celebrated writers of Europe who professed liberaltendencies met with a greater sympathy among the Russians of thattime than in their own country. Dickens, received with greatenthusiasm in Russia, was not appreciated by the English public. Hisexcellent translator, Vedensky, tried hard to persuade him to cometo Russia to live, where his talents would be valued at their trueworth. We can then readily understand how Dostoyevsky, in his"Memoirs of an Author," had the right to say that the Europeansocialistic-democrats had two countries, first their own, thenRussia.
The Russian writers who gave themselves up so passionately to thisinfluence,--still so new even in Europe,--not able to support theirpolitical ideal, with a press, as it were, gagged by the censor,engaged in the struggle along the line of customs. They attacked theprejudices which clog the relations among men, and rose up againstfamily despotism and the inferior position of women from a civil andeconomic point of view. But, between 1860 and 1870, when theenfranchisement of the serfs reduced the power of the censor, allthat had been confined in the souls of the Russians burst forth.Chernishevsky wrote economic articles on capital and on theagricultural community; he studied the system of John Stuart Mill,from which he deduced his socialistic conclusions, and hisreputation grew immediately at home and abroad. He
became a leaderof thought among the new generation.
At the same time, the young critic Dobrolyubov, author of ananalytical study of Russian customs, "The Kingdom of Shadows,"called the "intellectuals" to a struggle for the rights of theoppressed people, and was ready himself to "drain the bitter cupintended for those who have been sacrificed." Also at this timethere appeared the poet Nekrasov and the satirist Saltykov. Theformer, a profound pessimist, described in his best verses thebitter fate of the lower classes; the latter with his sarcasmscathed bureaucratic arbitrariness, while from abroad was heard thefree ringing of "The Bell,"--a paper founded by Hertzen,--whichseemed to be announcing that freedom was coming. Two articles by thepoet Mikhailov on the situation of women started a vast movement.The women soon filled the lecture-halls of the university, and theclass-rooms, and organized a veritable campaign to defend theirrights in the name of the principle of liberty. All the partisans ofdemocracy or socialism applauded them. The agitation became general;it seemed as if they wanted to make up for lost time by thistremendous activity; everywhere Sunday schools were started andpublic libraries opened; workingmen's associations were formed onsocialistic principles, and the ardent younger generation spoke tothe ignorant masses and asked them to join them in the comingstruggle.
This epoch has been called "the moral springtime" of Russia, and intruth 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 theother. Up above, the government was making reforms prudently, as ifafraid of going too far; down below, a great transformation wastaking place. It was at this time that certain bold projects werecontemplated at which the government took fright. The "springtime"proved ephemeral. A triumphant reaction nipped in the bud thismovement towards emancipation, with all its hopes. In 1877, afterthe Russo-Turkish war, it seemed as if the movement were going tostart again. Less vast and less diverse, but more definite, itimmediately put all of its strength into the popular propaganda andshowed its activity by the assassination of the emperor and byseveral other crimes. It was a terrible struggle, till finally theleaders again succumbed under the mighty blows of their adversaries.The years that followed this defeat (1880-1905) were mostinauspicious in Russian life. A profound apathy deadened society,and an atmosphere of anguish and disillusion--which have leftvisible traces in Russian literature--weighed it down.
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In short, it may be said that Russian thought has always been ledaway by the theories of certain European parties who are mostopposed to political and social organization of the state.
The vigor, the clearness, and the force of negation with which thischaracteristic manifests itself in the ideas and customs of theRussian radical-socialists have often distorted, in the eyes ofother countries, opinions or doctrines which it is important topresent in their true light.
Thus, Bazarov, that nihilistic creation of Turgenev, appeared to theEnglish, French, and German public as a mystical hero not viable inhuman society, while Pisarev, one of the sanest of Russian critics,considers him as a model of the really free man. As to Turgenevhimself, he saw that the coming of this type would make concrete arising force worthy of holding attention and also of commanding somerespect.
In practical life, this negative force has found its most extremeexpression in what has already been pointed out, that is, in therevolutionary anarchism of Bakunin and in Tolstoy's recent theoriesof pacific anarchism, which are founded on the gospel. But, whilevery significant as great illustrations of certain sides of Russianmentality, neither the one nor the other of these anarchisticdoctrines, so opposed in their substance, can be considered as anexpression of the modern Russian socialistic movement. Having founda basis in the workingman movement of their country, the Russiansocialistic theoreticians have become more practical, and theiractivity turns back to the realm of European socialism, which is tobe 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 bourgeoiscustoms, so characteristic of the Russian "intellectuals." Taken inits literal sense, this word is inexact, since those to whom it wasapplied were inspired by a very high ideal. In a loose use of theword, nihilism has, on the contrary, a real significance, especiallyif one connects it with most of the Russian "intellectuals." Theliberal tendencies which were brewing in the realistic literature ofthe period from 1840 to 1850, and which manifested themselvessuddenly with particular strength during the tumultuous decadebetween 1860 and 1870, made the substance of the new theories andthe base of Russian mentality. These theories were very bold intheir negation, and it is for this reason that they have been called"nihilistic."
If this intellectual "elite" should some day triumph in Russia, willit be true to its moral idea of justice and liberty? It probablywill. We may then see the following phenomenon take place: therealization of the most advanced program of modern civilization inone of the most backward countries of Europe.
However paradoxical such a prevision may seem at first, it has afundamental element of truth. Two obstacles bar the way tocivilization and the normal development of new ideas, which are thefoundation of progress. First of all, there is the naive and boorishignorance of the common people; then the resistance which everyestablished society instinctively offers to ideas of reformation. Ofthese two conservative forces, Russia knows but one, pure and simpleignorance, while the second, which can have art and science aspowerful allies, is completely lacking. But ignorance cannot lastforever. It diminishes more and more; that is why the most advancedideas of European civilization naturally go hand in hand withlearning in Russia, and occupy all places which knowledge wins fromignorance. Since the Russian has had a taste of science he hasbecome the champion of social and democratic ideas; the latterdevelop even with elementary instruction, as can easily be seen byobserving the movements made among the workmen of the city, and alsoamong the more advanced elements of the peasant population.
These particulars had already attracted the attention of thebrilliant peace advocate and profound thinker, Hertzen, who,distressed by the bloody reprisals of bourgeoise Europe, followingthe Revolution of 1848, fixed his attention on Russia, from which heexpected great things,--among others, a new civilization freed fromthe prejudices and customs which held it back in other countries.
Hertzen represented Russia as an immense plain where people weregetting rid of old thatched cottages, and at the same timecollecting the necessary materials for new habitations. He saw aworld in which no one lived as yet, but where life as it should bewas 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 advancedpeoples of Europe, resemble a vessel into which a new wine is to bepoured?
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If modern Russian literature has not deviated from its fundamentalprinciples, realism, democracy, and socialism, on the other hand, aradical change has taken place in society which has necessarily hadan influence on it. The populace is not the sombre, inert, andignorant multitude that it has been heretofore. Learning ispenetrating more and more; and as an advance-guard, it has theworkingmen of the city and the people of the suburbs. A feeling ofdignity, of human personality, and a love of liberty is awakening inthe 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 periodfrom 1905 to 1910--is preeminently a literature of fiercer and moreactive combat than ever before. As in times gone by, the heroes ofthis literature are common people. The writers choose them fromamong the students, schoolmasters, and school-mistresses of thevillage schools, who with complete disregard of self carry on thegreat work of popular education in the very heart of the country,without caring about the arbitrary power which menaces them, or themoral and material conditions of their lives. They al
so choose themfrom among the doctors of the districts who are worn out indespairing efforts to struggle against the terrible epidemics, andwho are also trying to improve hygienic conditions among thepeasants. In fine, among the heroes are included all who sacrificetheir personal interests for the general good.
The results of this terrible struggle against brute force are shownin the excessive nervousness of the combatants, who have becomedelirious with their aspirations towards liberty. Hatred of actualreality and distrust of those who have resigned themselves to ithave made them accept sympathetically the most extreme anduncompromising measures, and one often thinks one sees a certaingenerosity among the people who are at war with society,--often, itis true, for egotistical reasons, far removed from the great idealof reforms profitable to the masses. Such are the celebratedbarefoot brigade, the eternal vagabonds, the "lumpen-proletariat" ofGorky's early works.
Another favorite subject of the Russian authors is the antagonismwhich makes parents and children quarrel. But the children who wereradicals of the former generation have now became fathers, and areoften reproached by their sons for the practical impossibility ofthe ideal for which they vainly expended their strength, and, as aresult of which, they are worn out and useless. Veressayev andChirikov have written most on this point.
However, in spite of repeated attacks, the resistance has grown inintensity and the general uneasiness has spread without any one'sbeing able as yet to see any lasting or positive result. Thepessimism of various writers faithfully reflects this crisis.Andreyev, for instance, possesses an extraordinary intuition of theelement of tragic mysteriousness which envelops the slightestcircumstances of daily life. Tchekoff, the prominent author who dieda few years ago, has left us remarkably realistic sketches, where heobviously shows mental discouragement as a result of the struggle.Another contemporary writer, Korolenko, whose poetic talent recallsTurgenev to our minds, is distinguished, on the contrary, by theattempts he has made to set free the spark of life which exists inhuman beings who have broken down morally. All these writers havesuch a direct and powerful influence on contemporary youth that weare going to study them separately in this book, not exceptingTchekoff, whose influence is still enormous.
Since the death of the prophet of Yasnaya-Polyana,[1] Russianliterature cannot boast of any writers who compare with Turgenev,Dostoyevsky, Goncharov, or the dramatist Ostrovsky. The cause is tobe traced rather to circumstances than to the authors themselves.For social life to furnish material suitable for the artist'sdescription, it must first of all have types which show a certainconsistency, a more or less determined attitude. But it is futile tolook for either stability or precision in Russian life since Russiahas been going through continual crises. It would be just asdifficult for literature to record rapid changes of ideas, as for anartist to copy a model that cannot pose for him. Besides, mostcontemporary writers are struggling hard for the means ofsubsistence.
[1] Tolstoy.
Sometimes their effort to get food has so sapped their strength thatthey have not had enough time to finish their studies, nor enoughtranquillity of soul to apply their talents to an impartial view oflife and to incorporating in their work the documents which theyhave collected. Even in the writing of the best Russian authors ofto-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 Russianliterature for the past century has been able to express only a verysmall part of what it had to say. The Russian writer continuallysuffers from the constraint which forces him to check the flight ofhis inspiration in order to escape from the foolish and often stupidsternness of the pitiless censor. The poet Nekrasov shows us in oneof his poems an old soldier who has become a printer, and who speaksin the following manner of Pushkin:
"He was a good man, tipped very generously, but he never ceased torage against the censor. When he saw his manuscripts marked with redcrosses, he became furious. One day, in order to console him, Isaid:
"'Bah! why torment yourself?'
"'Why,' he cried, 'but it is blood that is flowing,--blood,--myblood!'"
A great deal of blood was thus shed. And in order to accentuate theaction of the censor the police dealt cruel blows to the authors.One day Pushkin was called to the head of the department. Theybelieved that they had recognized in one of his satires a certaingentleman, named N. G., who demanded that Pushkin be severelypunished. Unnerved by the cross-examination to which he was put, thepoet cried:
"But it isn't N. G. whom I have drawn!"
"Who is it, then?"
"It is you, yourself," replied the poet.
"That is madness, sir," the high dignitary cried out with wrath."You say that wood belonging to the state was stolen. And at thetime when these thefts were committed I was away."
"Then you do not recognize yourself in my satire?"
"No, a thousand times no!"
"And N. G. recognizes himself?"
"Not exactly, but as he is in the service of the government...."
"Well, is he its spokesman and champion? And why is it precisely hewho asks to have me arrested?"
"All right," replied the dignitary, suddenly becoming milder, "Ishall inform His Majesty of our conversation."
The affair ended without further complications. It should be notedthat the Tsar himself protected Pushkin, for Pushkin had got intotouch with him in order to influence him more successfully.Nevertheless, this acquaintance was only a new source of sufferingto the poet. In the case of certain less known writers themalevolence of the higher authorities often took on a tragic turn.For a single poem in which the poet Polezhayev described a students'debauch, the author was reduced by Nicholas I to the rank of acommon soldier. Sokolovsky, another writer of this time, not beingable to get a footing in literature, abandoned the pen, and likemany others, sought to forget his disappointment in drink. Forseveral years Hertzen was transferred from one place of exile toanother until he came to England. And how terrible was the fate ofthe talented poet of Little Russia, Shevchenko, who was exiled formany years to a corner of European Russia and forbidden to do anywriting or even painting, a thing that he loved above all! Andfinally, who does not know the sad comedy of Dostoyevsky, who wasmade to go through all the preparations for his execution, but wasfinally sent to that prison which he has so wonderfully described inhis recollections of "The Dead House"?
The Damocles' sword of defiant authority was suspended over the headof every Russian writer. The vocation of literature was filled withdanger and brought about actual tragedies in some families. Thus,Pushkin's father, fearing that the fury of the authorities wouldextend to him, began to hate all literature, and had seriousquarrels with his son. Griboyedov's mother threw herself at herson's feet and begged him not to write any more but rather to enterthe service of the State. In Griboyedov we have a sad example of agreat talent virtually buried alive by the censor. His comedy,"Intelligence Comes to Grief," is a masterful work, sparkling withsatiric warmth, the equal of which it would be hard to findanywhere. This first work, rich in promise, was never published norproduced. Discouraged, the author renounced literature, and on theadvice of his mother, accepted a position as ambassador to Persia,where he was killed in a riot.
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Not only does the censorship mutilate literary works, but it oftensuffocates the inspiration of the author. The Russian press haslately published a very interesting article on Nekrasov, explainingthe frequent interruptions of his activity by a momentary paralysisof his inspiration. Often, he writes, the ideas and poetic formswhich come to his mind are so strong that he need only take up hispen and write them down. But the thought that what he might writewould be condemned by the censor, stops him. It was, then, a longstruggle between the ideas which he wanted to express and theobstacles which hindered him. And when finally Nekrasov hadsmothered his inspiration, he was broken down and crushed by fatigueand disgust, and for a long time he stopped wr
iting. His friendsadvised him to jot down his ideas in spite of all, in the hope thatthey would be recognized by future generations when happier daysshould dawn on literature. He was not successful, because in orderto create his genius needed to feel a close bond between him and hisreaders. Thus the censor carried his brutal hand into the verylaboratory of thought.
Happily, since the movement toward reform between 1860 and 1870, theRussian censor has become more lenient and now no one says what wasonce said to the writer Bulgarin: "Your business is to describepublic activities, popular holidays, the theatre. Do not look forother topics." The number of subjects open to the press hasincreased. But the desire to live a free life has developed inliterature and in society alike, and as resistance to it has alsostrengthened, the pressure has remained relatively the same. Thecensor and the police continue to stifle the natural richness andthe power of the Russian mind. To-day, as before, Russian literatureis made up of just that small fraction of the whole which hasescaped government inquisition.
However, in spite of all the unheard-of constraints which weigh uponher, Russia has already given us such great authors, that we neednot hesitate to say that on the day when she regains liberty ofspeech and of pen, her literature will take its place among thefirst in the world.