most alluring promises, to which she signs the princess's name, and
has it mailed from St. Petersburg. Peredonov is at the height of
joy; but, being a prudent man, he does not want to marry before he
has received the nomination. He waits and waits for it, and,
meanwhile, he is not even sure of his position in the school. He
discovers enemies everywhere, and believes there are always spies at
his heels. In order to cajole the administration, he begins to
frequent the church, and to pay visits to the city authorities. He
assures the chief of police of his respect, and, in order to give a
glaring proof of his devotion to the established institutions, he
lodges information against a school-mistress of the locality. But
still the nomination does not come, and he lives in a continual
trance. The evil in him increases. He torments beasts and human
beings. He whips his pupils, throws nettles at his cat, and
maltreats his cook. He believes himself more and more in the power
of the demon, and terrible visions follow him:

"He saw running before him, a little, grey, noisy beast. It sneered,
its head trembled, and it ran quickly around Peredonov. When he
wanted to seize it, it escaped under the cupboard, only to reappear
a moment later...."

This strange book, written with rare perfection, had a great
success. To several readers who thought that they recognized the
author himself in the person of Peredonov (Sologoub had had the same
position as his hero for several years) the author replied in the
preface of a recent edition, by these malicious lines:

"Men like to be loved. They adore noble and elevated descriptions
and portrayals. They even search among the scum for a 'divine
spark.' They also are surprised and offended when any one offers
them a veracious and sombre picture. And most of them then do not
fail to declare: 'The author has described himself in his work.'
But no, my dear friends and readers, it is you, and only you, whom I
have painted in my book, 'The Little Demon.'"

In "The Charms of Navii" Sologoub happily blends fantasy and
reality. Revolutionary meetings alternate with improbable hypnotic
seances, and terrible cortèges of corpses contrast violently with
scenes of platonic and ethereal love.

The plot of the story, "The Old Home," is not less distressing than
the preceding one. A young revolutionary, condemned to death by
court-martial, has been executed, but for his dear ones this death
has never been a reality. His mother and sister, and even the old
servant, have not the strength to admit his disappearance. They wait
and wait for his return until their own death carries them off.

Another story, "The Crowd," shows us a "fair" at which pewter
goblets are being given away. These so excite the greediness of the
crowd that a fray results, in which three children are seriously
wounded. While dying, the unfortunates have terrible visions of life
and humanity. "It seemed to them that ferocious demons were
chuckling and sneering silently behind human faces. And this
masquerade lasted so long that the poor little tots thought that it
would never end...."

Sologoub is, above all, a chanter of death. Almost all of his works
unveil a murder, suicide, or madness. Moreover, the author, who
shows only the injustices, evils, and infamy of life, and who
affirms that the only happiness that he foresees for man is the
possibility of "creating for himself a chimera" by turning away from
reality, finds the clearest colors and the sweetest expressions in
speaking of death.

"There is not a surer and more tender friend on earth than death,"
says one of his heroes. "And if men fear the name of death, it is
because they do not know that it is the real life, eternal and
invariable. Life deceives very often, death never. It is sweet to
think of death, as it is to think of a dear friend, distant and yet
always close at hand.... One forgets all in the arms of the
consoling angel, the angel of death."

The ever supremely correct and beautiful language of Sologoub shows
the power of a master, and it is most regrettable that an artist of
his merit should confine himself to so morbid an art.

These then are the principal authors--some of whom have enjoyed an
immense popularity--who treat the "cursed questions:" the rights of
the flesh, the problem of death, and other equally "cursed"
problems.

The other writers are principally occupied with social questions,
and, without rigorously following in the steps of their
predecessors, remain, however, most of the time, realists.

Among these, Sergyev-Tzensky occupies a prominent place. The stories
of this writer show us beings who seem strangers to what is going on
around them. This peculiarity comes from the fact that Tzensky does
not understand the physical facts in the same way that the
naturalists do. For him, they are the manifestations of the will of
a supernatural entity, incomprehensible, inconceivable, and, at the
same time, clearly hostile to man.

His story, "The Sadness of the Fields," testifies to this singular
conception. A farmer and his wife, good and peaceful people, have
for many years wished for a child. Up to this time, the six children
which the mother has given birth to have died in their infancy. They
are anxiously awaiting the seventh. Will this one live? Will not the
sadness of the fields, which puts its imprint on everything, kill it
as it has killed the others? Alas! the child is not viable, and the
mother dies in child-birth. They are buried, and "the fields and the
surrounding country forever keep their powerful and mysterious
melancholy."

"The Fluctuation" is one of the most curious and beautiful of all of
Tzensky's stories. Anton Antonovich, a rich and enterprising
merchant, of a very violent and unruly character, lives like a wolf
in his domains, alone with his family, without seeing any of his
neighbors. The peasants detest him. As his partners and helpers, he
always engages nonentities, without power of initiative, who blindly
follow his orders. Intellectual and energetic men cannot get along
with him. Men, beasts, and nature in its entirety, are considered by
this man as having been especially created for his service. The one
end of his life is wealth and power. The only beings he loves are
his wife and his three sons; but even they have to bow down to his
will.

One day, he buys some straw and insures it against fire. Sometime
later, it burns. They accuse him of having been the incendiary.
Ridiculous accusation! He is a millionaire and the straw barely cost
a few hundred rubles. The old man makes fun of the whole affair; he
insults the judge, his own lawyer, and even the jury. He feels the
impending misfortune, but his inborn violence carries him away from
prudence. He is condemned to hard labor and he succumbs to a
sickness that he has been feeling coming on for a long time. He had
made a pillager's nest for himself, and he died like a pillager,
abandoned even by those who were dear to him.

In Tzensky's short stories, "I Shall Soon Die," "Diphtheria,"
"Tedium," and "The Masks," there is something mysterious, fatal, and
terrible that constantly surrounds his people. As to his longer
works, "The Swamp in the Forest," and "Lieutenant Babayev," they
plunge the reader into the mad chaos of the often abnormal emotions
felt by the characters. These characters imagine the divine side of
human nature; they consider it as having existed before in the
essence of things, but the reality does not harmonize with their
dream. The authentication of this discord torments Tzensky's heroes
and their souls protest passionately, but in vain, against these
outrages.

Sergyev-Tzensky's style, graphic and pure, often strange, has found
imitators among the younger writers. Thus, Mouyzhel, who describes
village life, is visibly influenced by his writings. According to
him, the soul goes through life without understanding it, without
being able to ascribe any meaning to it. And he is so sincere, that
his works obtain the frankest sort of success.

While Mouyzhel studies peasant life, Simon Youshkevich, to the
exclusion of all else, makes a study of the poor Russian Jews. Some
of his stories have produced an overwhelming impression. They show
us beings, heaped up, pell-mell in the ghettos of the cities of
western and southern Russia, dirty and unwholesome ghettos, where
consumption and all kinds of terrible sickness reign. These stories,
often tragic, always sad, have given Youshkevich the name of
"chanter of human suffering."

In his earlier works--the best of which are "The Jews,"
"Tavern-Keeper Heimann," "The Innocents," "The Prologue" and "The
Assassin"--he devoted himself to portraying, not isolated persons,
but the immense Russian Jewish proletariat, with its sad past, its
bloody present, and its exalted faith in the future. Youshkevich has
created this sphere; he considers the poor people of the cities not
as a social class, but as a symbolic representation of an entire
organization. If his work is at times infected with romanticism and
some exaggeration the reader will gladly forget these imperfections
when he recognizes the fact that they are necessary to enable this
author to express the truth. What makes this writer unique, is that
he cannot be confounded with any one else. He has never influenced
any of his readers and, in turn, has never imitated any one. He made
himself what he is.

His last literary productions--with the exception of his very
touching drama, "Misere"--have been inferior to his former work.
But the abundance of the materials furnished by Jewish life would
still give this author opportunity to give us more of the
magnificently colored pictures that he gave us in his initial
productions.

Close to Youshkevich should be placed the two young writers, Sholom
Ash and Izemann. Sholom Ash has principally depicted the Jewish
world and its psychology. "The God of Vengeance" is a touching
picture of the life of young Jewish girls who have been obliged to
prostitute themselves for a living. "Sabbatai-Zevi,"[19] a
philosophical poem, treats of the powerful personality of that
Jewish prophet and of the surroundings in which he passed his life.

 [19] A famous impostor of the 17th century: 1626-1676.

Izemann, who has written quite a few tales and stories, is a very
uneven author. His best work is "The Thorn Bush," a drama of the
life of the Russian-Jewish revolutionists. Manousse, the son of a
poor tinsmith, has been arrested, and then hanged for having taken
part in a terrorist uprising. His sister, Dara, engaged to the son
of a wealthy manufacturer, has, in her turn, been killed at a
barricade. She is carried back to her home, and there, revolver in
hand, the mother receives the soldiers. She falls mortally wounded
at the side of her fourteen year old son. Thus, the entire family
perishes. The last act of this sombre drama makes a tremendous
impression on the stage.

After having been a country doctor for several years, Eugene
Chirikov abandoned his practice in order to devote himself to
literature. His drama, "The Jews," has aroused great interest and
has been played with great success both in Russia and abroad. It is
one of the most significant works of this writer. The story concerns
itself with the children of a poor Jewish watchmaker, who are
infatuated with ideas of progress. Their infatuation is such, that
the daughter becomes engaged to a Gentile. A delirious mob invades
the houses of the Jews. The store of the poor watchmaker is not
spared, and the fiancée of the Gentile is ravished and then
murdered. The rapid action of the play makes it a dramatic "slice of
life."

The other plays and stories of this author give us pictures both of
the petty "bourgeois" and of the "intellectuals." Thus, "The
Strangers" tells the story of a group of "intellectuals" who have
strayed into a small market town in the provinces where all are
hostile to them. Then there is "The Invalids," which gives the story
of the life of an old man who, after having been exiled to Siberia
for several years on account of "advanced" ideas, returns to Russia
as confident as ever, ready to consecrate the rest of his life to
the people. Finally, "At the Bottom of the Court," "The Mysteries of
the Forest" and "Marya Ivanovna" are dramas from bourgeois life,
while "The Sorceress" is a play, taken from a national epic.

Not less well known than Chirikov, is Ossip Dymov. He forsook the
"Imperial Institute of Foresters" in order to devote himself to
literature. He has written numerous stories, among which "Vlass" is
the most captivating. It is the childhood of Vlass told by himself.
An observing little person, the child notices everything and
everybody around him. His father had killed himself before the child
was old enough to talk, and his mother, a very intelligent and stern
woman, alone had to care for four children. Vlass has an older
brother, Yuri, a sister, Olya, and a younger brother, Vladimir, a
kind and inoffensive creature. Life runs along smoothly in the
little country town. The days pass, one like the other, and the most
insignificant event takes on grave importance in this monotonous
life. One night, Vlass's young teacher is arrested and sent to
Siberia. A year later, a friend of the family, who has been in exile
a long time, comes back secretly and passes several days at the
house. Later on, it is "the beautiful, good aunt" who comes
unexpectedly; but she soon departs, leaving a mass of confused and
restless thoughts in the child's mind. Vlass ends his story with a
most pathetic account. Far away from the little town, in one of the
prisons of St. Petersburg, they are going to hang Yuri. The entire
family has broken down since they have heard the news, and they sit
up the night before the execution, trying, in thought, to alleviate
the torment of their cherished one.

In his other stories, the author paints nature in an original and
entirely personal manner. According to a Russian critic, the works
of Dymov breathe forth "the fresh breeze and the quickening aroma of
the forests."

Dymov has also written some very well-liked plays, of which "Niyu"
is the most original. Niyu, a young woman, abandons her husband and
child in order to follow a poet, whose beautiful language and
touching poetry have won her admiration and brought her under his
spell. She hopes that her lover will create a new world, a higher
and nobler world than the every-day one, because he is a poet, that
is to say, one of the elect. The abandoned husband and the
uncared-for child desperately call out for their wife and mother. In
vain! However, the days that she passes with the poet are filled
with disenchantment, disillusion, and bitterness. Despairing, she
writes a letter to her old parents who live in a distant town, and
then commits suicide. And hardly is Niyu buried, when the poet,
although sadly affected by the premature loss of his companion,
again begins to charm and entrance by his beautiful words other
women, whose lives he ruins.

"Niyu" has had a tremendous success, because it brings a really new
formula into the theatrical world. Very little action, very few
"situations;" no artificial procedure: life; dialogue imitated from
reality; an atmosphere of despair and tedium in which three beings
cruelly struggle; sincere evolution, very much pessimism, and
happiness and love, constitute the traits that characterize this
very human piece of writing.

Mention should also be made of Sayitzev, certain of whose stories
are comparable to the aquarelles of a landscape painter. One of his
best works is "Agrafena," a touching picture of the life of a
peasant woman. During her lifetime, she was a domestic in the
cities, and when finally, bent under years of labor, she comes back
to her native village and her daughter, whom she has secretly
brought up at great pains, it is only to find that she has committed
suicide, having been abandoned by her lover.

Among others, should be mentioned Gussev-Orenburgsky, who has
written some very interesting stories about the Russian clergy;
Skitaletz, whose "Rural Tribunal" has had a great success, and has
been translated into several languages; Seraphimovich and Teleshov,
who, like Chirikov, depict the life of the "intellectuals," and
Olizhey, the psychologist of revolutionary spheres, known
particularly by his "The Day of Judgment," which tells of an
officer, a member of a council of war, who is forced to condemn his
future brother-in-law to death. This story leaves an indescribable
impression of terror and horror.

Let us finally mention Count Alexis Tolstoy, the homonym of the
great Russian thinker, to whom the critics predict a brilliant
future. His first work appeared in 1909. He generally depicts landed
proprietors. His recent stories, "The Asking in Marriage," and
"Beyond the Volga," show signs of great strength and power of
observation.

Among the women, there are three who show real talent. In fact, Mme.
Hippius-Merezhkovskaya is regarded as one of the founders of Russian
modernism. We are indebted to her for some rather daring verses and
some very good stories. The most recent of these, "The Creature," is
the curious history of a love-sick prostitute; "The Devil's Doll" is
an episode in the life of the Russian "intellectuals." Endowed with
a caustic spirit, she excels all others in literary criticism.

Then comes Mme. Verbitzkaya, who has declared herself a champion of
women, who, she thinks, should throw off the often tyrannical yoke
of their husbands. Her novels, "Vavochka," and "The Story of a
Life," have given her just renown. In "The Spirit of the Time" she
has tried, not without some success, to paint the immense picture of
the revolution of 1905. Her recent novel, "The Keys of Happiness,"
has had an enormous success.

Finally, mention should be made of Mme. Shepkina-Koupernik, who has
written some verses and charming stories, full of caressing
tenderness and delicate psychology. Her stories, in which she shows
us two old Italian masters, are very interesting. Thus, "Eternity in
a Moment" is delicious. In a painter's studio, a young model by
chance meets her old lover, who has also been reduced to posing in
studios. Happy at heart, the woman rushes toward him, but he pushes
her away: he is too miserable, he has fallen too low to dare to love
her again. Repulsed by him, she stands as if petrified, with death
in her soul, and her face changed by terrible despair. At this
moment the master enters; he looks at the young woman and utters a
cry of joy; finally he has found what he wants for his picture:
human traits ravaged by suffering and despair!

Russia is also indebted to this author for impeccable translations
of Rostand's "Princesse Lointaine" and "Chantecler."

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's Contemporary Russian Novelists, by Serge Persky