MARTYRS AND MAKERS OF MEN.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 13996, 31 August 1907, Page 7

MARTYRS AND MAKERS OF MEN.

A SOCIALISTIC SOUL STUDY,

It is just about seven years ago since, Jn the pages of " The Pilot," the attention of English-speaking readers was directed to -tho strango history of a Russian tramp of genius, Alexcx Maximovitch Pjesclikov, better known as Maxim Gorky (Maximus the Bitter), a pseudonym deliberately chosen at,the outset of his canwr by a young Muscovite novelist, who, by | reason of the courageous manner in which, l;e struck out into tho social currents which were agitating his country, hap within the last decade blossomed forili as tho most popular story teller in the Russian Empire, Leo Tolstoi himself not excepted. Tlio late Dr Garnett, in an introduction to a collection of Maxim Gorky's short stories, translated from the Russian, anil published in England in 1902, points to the case of Gorky as a good examnlo of tlic midden rage that may attack a public for a man's writings; for although Gorky has been writing Bince 1894 ho only "arrived," so far as ' English readers are concerned, three or four years ago. He has not yet reached the age of 40; 10 years ago ho was employod in; the repairing works of the railway m Tiflis as a simple artisan. To-day he ranks among the leading intellects of Russia.-'

Tho secret of this sudden and widespread popularity is explainable in r. number of ways, and for different reasons according to the nationality' of his audience, ifans Ostwald, whoso brief biography of Gorky is a fine piece of psychological analysis, declares that it is only in connection with the evolution of Russian society and Russian literature that; this young novelist as a phenomenon becomes intelligible. And he then proceeds to t'xplain that , The educated Russian docs not regard nis, national literature as tho intellectual flower of his nation; it must essentially be a mirror of actual social occurrences, of the-cultural phraso in which any particular work is originated. The Russian author does not conceive his task to lie exclusively in pandering to tho lesthetc enjoyment of his readers, in exciting' and diverting them, and in providing them with sensational episodes. Literature of this type finds no home in the Russia of to-day. Since the first possessed a literature of her own, Russia has demanded something more from her writers. An autlior must, be able to express the shades of public opinion. It 16 his task to give voicc and form to what is circulating through the various social classcs and setting them in motion. What they cannot voice in words, what is only palpitating and thrilling through them, is what _he must express in language, and his business is to create .men from the. universal tendencies—nay, more, it is his task to reorganise these tendencies.

And Dr Gamctfc probably rightly diagnoses tho roaaon of Gorky's acceptance by a largo class of English readers when lie'says: . Gorky, who has come into literature

out of tho ' ranks of the manual labourers, and the tramps, brings into tlio bored atmosphere of the culturod class something of the vigour and directness which belong, to the outcasts .who live from day to day by their witfi, and are always face to face with the harshest realities. To this directness and vigour of tone Gorky joins a delicacy of poetic feeling which has lum to give vary 'profound studies oft the Russian character—a«' in Ignat and Mayakin in Ms novel " Foma Gordyeff" and in his story, "KonovaJov." , , In Gorky's sketches tho public find also tho feeling for common humanity, asympathy with the most degraded outcast, a bitter appreciation of life's brutalities, and a discontent with all slavish-

iices, expressed in a manner so fresh and vigorous that Russians aro' not unnaturally looking to the author to give pcoplo the lead in a political direction—a new direction which nobody can exactly define.

But outside Russia, Gorki's attraction lies not so much in the political and BQiaalistic tendencies of Lis writings, although these may by do means be disregarded in his merits as an artistic writer, lioro lie shows liis powers, in the sense that every honest analysis of life, artistically put, is a natural corrective of those melodramatic, pretensious, psoudo-preseu-latio(is whjoh British and American fictionmongers serve lip in ever-increasing quantities for tlio delectation of the undisccrning crowd. Besides which Gorky lias a literary stylo and distinction which go far to atono for tlio unrelieved brutality and sordid real ism of many of his characters and presentations. For, as one critic forcibly Las itNo one can take up Gorky's works •without being impressed by the richness and variety of his vocabulary, ( and it is not too much to; say that no. other Russian writer uses, or has used, so many foreign terms (English and French especially), or has coined 50 many new • words, from extraneous -western sources. It is also plain from internal evidonco that ho has studied history, philosophy, and science with enthusiasm. •

As a matter of fact, while tramping through the country, consorting with murderers and thiovee and outcasts of evo'ry dogreo of wretchedness, he was perfecting 'his litcraiy equipment in a anal sense. While on the one hand he was studying human types at first hand, ho was also drinking deeply at the fount of those poetic geniuses, Shakespeaje, Goethe, awl Byron; and especially did he come under tho: influcrico of liyron.lndeed, one of his, warmest admirers and closest students has,eulogised his hero in the following glowing fashion Out; of the darkest deptlis of life, where .vice and crime' and miseiy abound, comes the Byron of. the twentieth centuny the poet of the vagabond, and the proletariat, Maxim Gorky. . Liko Byron's impassioned utterances, "borne on the tones of a wild and quite artless uielcdy," is Gorky's unbridled, powerful voico as he sings of tlio " madness of the brave," of the barefooted dreamers, who are proud of their idleness, who possess nothing and fear nothing, who ai'o gay in their misory though miserable in their joy. This, perhaps, goes far to explain the temporary eclipse which Gorky suffered rather more than a year ago when visiting America upon. a revolutionary campaign"] His enthusiastic reception in New York was followed by one of those periodic,-] 1 outbursts of morality on the part of the Americans which recalls a similar British outburst in respect- -to Byron. In his domestic complications Gorky violated the social canons of American society, while h:s espousal of tlio cause of the Idaho miners gave great political offence, lint. Gorky, in disgust, shook the dust off his shoos against tlio American cities and took prompt and grim revenge in his graphic and powerful skotch/' "New York: the City of tho lel low Devil," which appeared in tho Monthly Review of April last. A couple of brief paragraphs from this sketch may bo quoted as bringing out vividly the -motif of tho book now before us and also as illustrating tho fact that to a Russian America presents the same ghastlv social problems.and horrible iujustiers that Russia does to an American: Where staves labour much there can be Jio place for free, creative thought; there can only thrive ideas of destruction, the paisoned blossoms of revenge, tho violent protest of t-bo auimal. This much is dear, defacing the soul of mankind: people oust not. themselves look for mercy., Man has a right to revenge; this right is given him by his fellowjura.

I r-ee.n r.iuoh beggardom; its green, b'oodlcos, bone-stretched facc I #si acquainted with. Its oyes, dim ttiUi imngof and bunimg with avidity, cunning, rovanjoiul, or slavishly submivivo, and aJwra Inhuman everywhere I Lvo sren—yct Hie honors or destitution in East Side. Now Tort, iro blanker than ajiyUilng knoTO to me.

' " Comraaea" .Bj Usxiin Gorky. Lou floa:. Haldon cat Stoiglitoii. IHmeiliu It. J: Stark jjrf fa fcj, ft gy

Gorky is chiefly known to English readers by his "-Razskazui" (tales), of which a number have been* translated'and published; certainly lie has attempted one romance ("Foma Gordyoeff," issued in England under the title " The Man Who was Afraid "), but this is on the whole a disappointing performance, alt-hough jioisessed of some superlative merits. The descriptions of Volga scenery aro magnificeiit-, and the charactcrisation is masterly; but it is far too -long drawn out, and the narrative is swamped by floods of secondlate philosophy. ' The "appearance, therefore, of a second novel from Gorky's pen is an event of unusual literary, interest-, more especially seeing that, under the title of "Comrades," it deals with the revolutionary forcos which, fomenting under the surface of Russian society, ever and anon ■lvrmk forth in some assassination or revolt or bloody reprisal. And in his latest work tlio Russian novelist sketches in masterly and enthralling fashion the typ<-s of men and women who aro secretly working for the regeneration of their fatherland; at the same time he puts into tlnir mouths such a wholesale, uncompromising gospel of Socialism as certainly portends grave things for the future not only of the Czar's dominions, but of the "world at large. Read in connection with the proceedings at the Socialist -Conference, wo socm to get a glimpse of the universal educational process quietly at work leavening the mass of .the workers with revolutionary ideas and preparing them for that great uprising which must surely come. How difficult it is for the prosaic Western mind to enter into and rightly appreciate the dreams of-these socialist enthusiasts is aptly put by G. K. Chesterton when he says: Gorky is pre-eminently Russian, in that he is a revolutionist not because most Russians are revolutionists (for I imagine thoy aro not), but because most Russians—indeed, nearly all Russians,— are in that attitude of mind which makes revolution possible, r.n attitude of primary and dogma-tic assertion. To be a. revolutionist it is first necessary to be a Tevelationist.- It is necessary to believe in the sufficiency of some theory of the universe or the State. But in countries that liavo come under the influence of what- is called the evolutionary idea there has been no dramatic righting' of wrongs, and (unless the evolutionary idea loses "its hold) there never will be. These countries havc.no revolution; they liavo to put up ■with an inferior and largely fictitious thing which they call progress, The interest of the Gorky tale, like the interest of so many other Russian masterpieces, consists in this sharp, contact between a simplicity which wo in tlw West feel to be very old, and a rebelliousness 'which wo in the West feci to bo very new. We cannot in our graduated and polite civilisation quite make head or tail of the Russian anarch; wo can.only feel in a wuue way that his tale is the talo of the Missing Link, and that his bead is the head of the superman. But we cannot be quite certain whether his protest is the protest of the first anarchist against government or whether it is the protest of the last savago against civilisation. Following this somewhat lengthy introduction, which may perhaps servo to furnish understanding of the writer's viewpoint, we will proceed to a very brief examination of the book itself, prefacing our remarks, however, with the statement that the pages of " Comrades " aro quite free from the frankly realistic descriptions of scenes of vice , and sensuality which mark other of Gorky's talcs, and which, for instance, render Tolstoi's "Resurrection" unfit for family consumption. Tho book is uimleasant in iiarts. and contains much unrelieved pessimism, but it is a pessimism which preaches the gospel of revolt—revolt against the dreariness', the monotony, tlio ' inhumanity of drudgery •which keeps men and .women working at high pressure like machines in order that they may be able to earn just daily bread. ' l'avel, the hero of the story, is presentat a secret gathering of revolutionists who meet regularly in his cottage on the outskirts of the. village. When Natasha censed talking, Pavel arose and asked calmly: "Is filling our stomachs tlio only thing vro "want?"

"No!" no answered himself, looking hard in the direction of the three. "We want to bo men. We must show those who sit on our necks, and cover up our 'eyes,-'that we 6eo every thing, that we are not foolish, we are not animals, and that >ve do not want merely to eat, but also to live like decent human Ixmigs, We must show our enemies that tho lif? of servitude, of hard toil which they impose on us, does not hinder us from measuring up to them in intellect, and .is to spirit, that we rise far above them!" The mother listened-to his words, and a feeling of pride in her son stirred her bosom—how eloquently he spoke! "People with well-filled stomachs are, after all, not a. few, but honest- pcopje there are none," said the Little Russian.

"We ought to build a bridge across the boe of this rotten life to a future of soulful goodness. That's our task; that's what we have to <10, comrades!" The bulk of the villagers work at the factory, and the fearful monotony and deadening misery of the life they live y&a.r after year is powerfully pictured in the opening chapter . in burning, bitter phrases, which illustrate at onco Gorky's spirit and style: Every day the factory whistle bellowed forth its shrill, rearing, tremblinsr noises into the smoke-begrimed and greasy atmosphere of the working men's suburb; and, obedient to the summons of the power of steam, people poured out of little grey houses into the street.. With sombre faces they hastened forward like frightened, roaches, their muscles stiff from insufficient sleep. In tho chill morning 'twilight they walked through the narrow, unpaved 'street- to the tall stone cage that waited]for thorn with fold assurance, illumining their muddy road with scores of greasy, yellow, square eyes. The mud plashed under their feet- as if in mocking commiseration. Hoarse exclamations of sleepy voices wore heard; irritated, peevish, abusive language rent the air with malice; and. to welcome tho people, deafening sounds floated aJiout—the heavy wirirr of machinery, the dissatisfied snort of steam. Stevn and sombre, the black chimneys stretched their huge, thick sticks high above the village. 11l the evening, when the sun was setting, and red rays languidly glimmered upon the windows of the houses, the factoiy ejected its people like burned-out ashes,- and again they walked through the streets, with black, smoke-covered faecfi. radiating the sticky odour of machine oil and showing the gleam of hungry teeth. But now there was animation in their voices, and oven gladness. The servitude of hard toil was over for the day. Supper awaited them at home, and respite. The day was swallowed up by the factory : the machine sucked out" of men's muscles as much vigour as it needed. The day was blotted nut from life, not a trace of it left. Man made another imperceptible step toward his grave; but he saw closo before him the delights of vest, the joys of the odorous tavern, awl lie was satisfied.

Exhausted with toil, men drank swiftly, and in every heart there awoke and grew an incomprehensible, sickly irritation. It- demanded an outlet.

Clutching tenaciously at every pretext for unloading themselves of 'this disquiot.ing sensation.' they fell on one another for more trifles, with the spiteful ferocity of beasts, breaking into fierce quarrels which sometimes ended in fierinns injury and oil rare occasions even in .nurder.

_ This lurking malice steadily increased, inveterate as the incurable weariness in their muscles. They were born with this disease of the soul inherited fvnm their fathers. Like a- black shadow it occnnipaniecl them to their graves, spurring on their lives to crime, hideous in its aimless cruelty and brutality.

Pavels father" habitually ill-nscd his wife, and finally drank himself to death, the son bem? preserved from following in his father's footsteps by coming into co.r.tr>ct with some revolutionists,' who gavo JijQi aspiraliong jp anpther dirsctiju. • Ilis

mother, Conscious of the*'change in her son, inquires of him the peason, and asks, "What do you read all .the time?" Without looking at'her, Pavel spoke, not loudly, but for some reason very, sternly: ■ • - ■ • "I am reading forbidden books. They are forbidden tor be read because they tell the truth about our—aboutHho working men's life. They are printed in secrecy, and if I am found vitluthfim.' I will be put in prison—l will be put in prison because I want to know tiro truth.. • •• Breathing suddenly became difficult.for hc-v. Opening her eyes'wide, she looked at her son, and, he seemed now to her, as.if almost a stranger. His voice was mfleront, lower,: deeper, Jie mnchea his ,thin, downy, moustachV and looked oddly aslant into the corner, grew, anxious for her son and pitied "Why do you |do this, Pasha?" He raised his head, looked at her, and said in' a low, calm voice: I want to kiiow the truth." liis voice sounded placid, but firms and Ins o ves (lashed resolution. She understood with her heart that her son had eojisecreated, himself for ever to something mysterious, and awful. Every- • llf e had always appeared to her inevuable; she was accustomed to submit without thought,.and now, too, she only wept softly, finding no words, but in tier heart 3lio was oppressed with sorrow and distress,

rhe mother m perhaps the finest character m the book, and the way in which Her long-crashed spirit, gradually "unfolds as she sees; .'her son imprisoned, harshly used, and finally banifilied to Siberia fot the sake of what -he bslievee to he the wuth ib very finely worked out. fcach individual in the little-group of revolutionists' is a t-vpe illustrating 'tlio unswerving resolve , and liigh-nunded winch enables young men and young girls, some of them delicately nurtured to devote themselves to a cause which means social ostracism, imprisonment-, starvation, tortura, and even death « i c ' l '. er€ d upon for tho sole purposo of benefiting tliedr fellow -workers. This is tho sort of ''Comradeship" the book portrays When the ."'Little Russian " £ i his lovo for Natasha should not find consummation in marm»o tavel points out that in their cause there is jio room for marriagea. A stem asceticism alone will meet, the needs of the case, and lie clinches his argument by remarking: — Thats not for us-! -How ca.u you attain completion? It does not exist'for you. If you love the- future you must renounce everything in the iiresent— everything, brother!" T ."J* 1 ® I ' B I,aKl , for a'man!" said the Little Bussinn in a lowered voice. < "What else can bo done? Think!"

The incidents of •the abortive strike at toe factory and the May Day procession, are exccfdirigly -.veil told: while the ■heroism with which the mother, her son behind prison bans, continues the distribution of the ■ literature which means the education of the people cannot fail to excite the reader's,.enthusiasm. Wo must refer the wader to the book itself for an .exposition of the Gospel of nocinlism whioli Gorky puts' into the mouths of his leading characters, This is a book'to be read not . once but many times, and tlie reading and re-reading will givo the.thoughtful much food for "meditation. In the light of its pages much that has hitherto appeared mysterious in the Russian situation and tlie comparative slowness with which evente move in that great and far-off Empire stand explained. And l v.'c venture the prophccy that " Comrades " will do ; much to further establish Maxim Gorky's already well established literary reputation. The book concludes'with a. truly tragic 6pcne. The mother, her 6on's voice silenced by banishment to Siberia, essays to carry 011 Ids work. Detected in the act of distributing the proscribed literature, she lifts up her voice to the crowd who gather to witness'the arrest. The gendarmes surround her. She was pushed in the neck and the back, beaten about the 6houlders, on tlie head. Everything began to turn around, grow giddy in a dark whirlwind of shouts, howls, whistles. Something,thick and deafening crept into her ear, beat in her throat, chfiked her. The floor under her feet began to shake, givin" way. Her legs bent, her body trembled, burned with pain, grew heavy, and staggered powerless. But" her. eyes wero not extinguished, and t-hoy saw' many other . eyes which flashed and gleamed with the bold, 6harp fire known to her, with tho fire dear to her heart. She was pushed somewhere into a door.

■ She snatched her hand away from tho gendarmes and caugh't- hold of the doorpost. "You will not- drown the 'truth in seas of blood " They struck her hand.

Somebody seized her neck and began to .choke her. There was a rattle in her throat-;

"You poor, sorry creatures—'