[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
THE QUEEN OF SPADES - Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin
THE CLOAK - Nikolai Vasilevich Gogol
THE DISTRICT DOCTOR - Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev
THE CHRISTMAS TREE AND THE WEDDING - Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky
GOD SEES THE TRUTH, BUT WAITS - Leo Nikolayevich Tolstoy
HOW A MUZHIK FED TWO OFFICIALS - Mikhail Yevgrafovich Saltykov
THE SHADES, A PHANTASY - Vladimir Galaktionovich Korolenko
THE SIGNAL - Vladimir Georgievich Garshin
THE DARLING - Anton Pavlovich Chekhov
THE BET - Anton Pavlovich Chekhov
VANKA - Anton Pavlovich Chekhov
HIDE AND SEEK - Fyodor Kuzmich Sologub
DETHRONED - Ignatii Nicholaevich Potapenko
THE SERVANT - S.T. Semyonov
ONE AUTUMN NIGHT - M. Gorky
HER LOVER - Maxim Gorky
LAZARUS - Leonid Nikolaevich Andreyev
THE REVOLUTIONIST - Mikhail Petrovich Artzybashev
THE OUTRAGE - Aleksandr Ivanovich Kuprin
INTRODUCTION
Conceive the joy of a lover of nature who, leaving the art galleries,
wanders out among the trees and wild flowers and birds that the
pictures of the galleries have sentimentalised. It is some such joy
that the man who truly loves the noblest in letters feels when tasting
for the first time the simple delights of Russian literature. French
and English and German authors, too, occasionally, offer works of
lofty, simple naturalness; but the very keynote to the whole of
Russian literature is simplicity, naturalness, veraciousness.
Another essentially Russian trait is the quite unaffected conception
that the lowly are on a plane of equality with the so-called upper
classes. When the Englishman Dickens wrote with his profound pity and
understanding of the poor, there was yet a bit; of remoteness,
perhaps, even, a bit of caricature, in his treatment of them. He
showed their sufferings to the rest of the world with a "Behold how
the other half lives!" The Russian writes of the poor, as it were,
from within, as one of them, with no eye to theatrical effect upon the
well-to-do. There is no insistence upon peculiar virtues or vices. The
poor are portrayed just as they are, as human beings like the rest of
us. A democratic spirit is reflected, breathing a broad humanity, a
true universality, an unstudied generosity that proceed not from the
intellectual conviction that to understand all is to forgive all, but
from an instinctive feeling that no man has the right to set himself
up as a judge over another, that one can only observe and record.
In 1834 two short stories appeared, _The Queen of Spades_, by Pushkin,
and _The Cloak_, by Gogol. The first was a finishing-off of the old,
outgoing style of romanticism, the other was the beginning of the new,
the characteristically Russian style. We read Pushkin's _Queen of
Spades_, the first story in the volume, and the likelihood is we shall
enjoy it greatly. "But why is it Russian?" we ask. The answer is, "It
is not Russian." It might have been printed in an American magazine
over the name of John Brown. But, now, take the very next story in the
volume, _The Cloak_. "Ah," you exclaim, "a genuine Russian story,
Surely. You cannot palm it off on me over the name of Jones or Smith."
Why? Because _The Cloak_ for the first time strikes that truly Russian
note of deep sympathy with the disinherited. It is not yet wholly free
from artificiality, and so is not yet typical of the purely realistic
fiction that reached its perfected development in Turgenev and
Tolstoy.
Though Pushkin heads the list of those writers who made the literature
of their country world-famous, he was still a romanticist, in the
universal literary fashion of his day. However, he already gave strong
indication of the peculiarly Russian genius for naturalness or
realism, and was a true Russian in his simplicity of style. In no
sense an innovator, but taking the cue for his poetry from Byron and
for his prose from the romanticism current at that period, he was not
in advance of his age. He had a revolutionary streak in his nature, as
his _Ode to Liberty_ and other bits of verse and his intimacy with the
Decembrist rebels show. But his youthful fire soon died down, and he
found it possible to accommodate himself to the life of a Russian high
functionary and courtier under the severe despot Nicholas I, though,
to be sure, he always hated that life. For all his flirting with
revolutionarism, he never displayed great originality or depth of
thought. He was simply an extraordinarily gifted author, a perfect
versifier, a wondrous lyrist, and a delicious raconteur, endowed with
a grace, ease and power of expression that delighted even the exacting
artistic sense of Turgenev. To him aptly applies the dictum of
Socrates: "Not by wisdom do the poets write poetry, but by a sort of
genius and inspiration." I do not mean to convey that as a thinker
Pushkin is to be despised. Nevertheless, it is true that he would
occupy a lower position in literature did his reputation depend upon
his contributions to thought and not upon his value as an artist.
"We are all descended from Gogol's _Cloak_," said a Russian writer.
And Dostoyevsky's novel, _Poor People_, which appeared ten years
later, is, in a way, merely an extension of Gogol's shorter tale. In
Dostoyevsky, indeed, the passion for the common people and the
all-embracing, all-penetrating pity for suffering humanity reach their
climax. He was a profound psychologist and delved deeply into the
human soul, especially in its abnormal and diseased aspects. Between
scenes of heart-rending, abject poverty, injustice, and wrong, and the
torments of mental pathology, he managed almost to exhaust the whole
range of human woe. And he analysed this misery with an intensity of
feeling and a painstaking regard for the most harrowing details that
are quite upsetting to normally constituted nerves. Yet all the
horrors must be forgiven him because of the motive inspiring them--an
overpowering love and the desire to induce an equal love in others. It
is not horror for horror's sake, not a literary _tour de force_, as in
Poe, but horror for a high purpose, for purification through
suffering, which was one of the articles of Dostoyevsky's faith.
Following as a corollary from the love and pity for mankind that make
a leading element in Russian literature, is a passionate search for
the means of improving the lot of humanity, a fervent attachment to
social ideas and ideals. A Russian author is more ardently devoted to
a cause than an American short-story writer to a plot. This, in turn,
is but a reflection of the spirit of the Russian people, especially of
the intellectuals. The Russians take literature perhaps more seriously
than any other nation. To them books are not a mere diversion. They
demand that fiction and poetry be a true mirror of life and be of
service to life. A Russian author, to achieve the highest recognition,
must be a thinker also. He need not necessarily be a finished artist.
Everything is subordinated to two main requirements--humanitarian
ideals and fidelity to life. This is the secret of the marvellous
simplicity of Russian-literary art. Before the supreme function of
literature, the Russian writer stands awed and humbled. He knows he
cannot cover up poverty of thought, poverty of spirit and lack of
sincerity by rhetorical tricks or verbal cleverness. And if he
possesses the two essential requirements, the simplest language will
suffice.
These qualities are exemplified at their best by Turgenev and Tolstoy.
They both had a strong social consciousness; they both grappled with
the problems of human welfare; they were both artists in the larger
sense, that is, in their truthful representation of life, Turgenev was
an artist also in the narrower sense--in a keen appreciation Of form.
Thoroughly Occidental in his tastes, he sought the regeneration of
Russia in radical progress along the lines of European democracy.
Tolstoy, on the other hand, sought the salvation of mankind in a
return to the primitive life and primitive Christian religion.
The very first work of importance by Turgenev, _A Sportsman's
Sketches_, dealt with the question of serfdom, and it wielded
tremendous influence in bringing about its abolition. Almost every
succeeding book of his, from _Rudin_ through _Fathers and Sons_ to
_Virgin Soil_, presented vivid pictures of contemporary Russian
society, with its problems, the clash of ideas between the old and the
new generations, and the struggles, the aspirations and the thoughts
that engrossed the advanced youth of Russia; so that his collected
works form a remarkable literary record of the successive movements of
Russian society in a period of preparation, fraught with epochal
significance, which culminated in the overthrow of Czarism and the
inauguration of a new and true democracy, marking the beginning,
perhaps, of a radical transformation the world over.
"The greatest writer of Russia." That is Turgenev's estimate of
Tolstoy. "A second Shakespeare!" was Flaubert's enthusiastic outburst.
The Frenchman's comparison is not wholly illuminating. The one point
of resemblance between the two authors is simply in the tremendous
magnitude of their genius. Each is a Colossus. Each creates a whole
world of characters, from kings and princes and ladies to servants and
maids and peasants. But how vastly divergent the angle of approach!
Anna Karenina may have all the subtle womanly charm of an Olivia or a
Portia, but how different her trials. Shakespeare could not have
treated Anna's problems at all. Anna could not have appeared in his
pages except as a sinning Gertrude, the mother of Hamlet. Shakespeare
had all the prejudices of his age. He accepted the world as it is with
its absurd moralities, its conventions and institutions and social
classes. A gravedigger is naturally inferior to a lord, and if he is
to be presented at all, he must come on as a clown. The people are
always a mob, the rabble. Tolstoy, is the revolutionist, the
iconoclast. He has the completest independence of mind. He utterly
refuses to accept established opinions just because they are
established. He probes into the right and wrong of things. His is a
broad, generous universal democracy, his is a comprehensive sympathy,
his an absolute incapacity to evaluate human beings according to
station, rank or profession, or any standard but that of spiritual
worth. In all this he was a complete contrast to Shakespeare. Each of
the two men was like a creature of a higher world, possessed of
supernatural endowments. Their omniscience of all things human, their
insight into the hiddenmost springs of men's actions appear
miraculous. But Shakespeare makes the impression of detachment from
his works. The works do not reveal the man; while in Tolstoy the
greatness of the man blends with the greatness of the genius. Tolstoy
was no mere oracle uttering profundities he wot not of. As the social,
religious and moral tracts that he wrote in the latter period of his
life are instinct with a literary beauty of which he never could
divest himself, and which gave an artistic value even to his sermons,
so his earlier novels show a profound concern for the welfare of
society, a broad, humanitarian spirit, a bigness of soul that included
prince and pauper alike.
Is this extravagant praise? Then let me echo William Dean Howells: "I
know very well that I do not speak of Tolstoy's books in measured
terms; I cannot."
The Russian writers so far considered have made valuable contributions
to the short story; but, with the exception of Pushkin, whose
reputation rests chiefly upon his poetry, their best work, generally,
was in the field of the long novel. It was the novel that gave Russian
literature its pre-eminence. It could not have been otherwise, since
Russia is young as a literary nation, and did not come of age until
the period at which the novel was almost the only form of literature
that counted. If, therefore, Russia was to gain distinction in the
world of letters, it could be only through the novel. Of the measure
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Wątki

Search