by Serge Persky
VIII
ALEXANDER KUPRIN
The work of Kuprin contrasts strongly with the writings of hispredecessors and of his contemporaries. It would be useless to tryto connect him with Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, or Gorky. This does notmean that he came under foreign influence. As a matter of fact hiswork clearly shows the imprint of Slavic genius and receives itsrichness from qualities which have always appeared in Slavicliterature,--sincerity and accuracy of observation, a passionatelove for all manifestations of modern life, lyrical fullness, andpower of suggestion. But Alexander Kuprin does not depict adepts ofthe "religion of pity," nor the psychology of the abnormal, the"pathological case," so curious and rare, and so dear to the authorof "Crime and Punishment."[16] He does not reincarnate the sadgenius of Korolenko. He is equally separated from Tolstoy and Gorky.He is himself. That is to say, he is an exquisite story-teller,profound and touching, who imposes neither thesis nor moral uponhis reader, but paints life as it appears to him,--not seen throughthe medium of a temperament,--but in all sincerity, without too muchardor or too much indifference.
[16] Dostoyevsky.
This author was born in 1870. After having attended the Cadet Schooland the Military School at Moscow, he entered military service as anactive lieutenant in 1890, but resigned seven years later in orderto devote his time to literature. Before this, he had publishedseveral stories.
In spite of the undeniable talent which is found in his earlierwritings, the public hesitated to praise him. Certain luckycircumstances, however, favored the beginning of his work. One ofhis relatives, at the start, offered him a position on a magazinewhich she was then editing. This was a wonderful opportunity forhim, for usually at his age the more gifted writers are stillgroping around for light. But merit alone seldom suffices to formthe basis of literary fame. Scandal is often necessary toconsecrate, as one might say, a growing reputation. Kuprin, withoutseeking to start a scandal, did so, in spite of himself, when hepublished "The Duel," a study of military life, in which he showedthe most absolute impartiality.
To his great surprise, the public accepted this book as a newindictment of the army. It was because the Manchurian campaign wasso recent. Every portrayal of military life passed as a violentsatire on the corrupt and disgraced army. Kuprin in vain tried tochange this unexpected judgment. As he was an ardent partisan of thetheory of "art for art's sake," he could not allow a purpose to beattributed to his work. He had only faithfully portrayed what he hadwitnessed in the course of his brief career. But in order tostrengthen his defence, he alleged reasons which could not beunderstood in an altruistic country. Besides, several of hisstories, such as, "The Wedding," full of the dissolute life led bythe officers in their garrisons, "The Inquest," where the authorshows the violences to which the Russian soldiers are subjected,"The Night's Lodging," and "The Ensign of the Army," whichstigmatize certain lace-bedecked "Lovelaces," only help to nullifyhis best arguments. In short, his fame spread rapidly and the youngwriter had to accept the renown that became his.
* * * * *
From that time on Kuprin's road was mapped out. According to thedictates of his fancy he depicts thousands of the ever-changing,different aspects of life. He is equally impelled to write aboutpetty tradesmen, actors, acrobats, and sinners in the Crimea. Tothe accomplishment of his task, he brings an over-minute and cruelobservation. With the genius that is his he dwells on certainimportant, carefully selected traits of people who live intensely.
In "The Disciple," we see a young sharper on a boat on the Volga. Hehas the tired eyes of a precocious old man, stubby fingers, and thehands of a murderer alert to strike the fatal blow. He has justfleeced a party of travelers, and he discovers, in a savoryconversation with an old cheat, who has found him out, that his soulis being consumed with insatiable desires. And as the old sharperadmires the "savoir-faire" of his young friend, the latter observes,not without scorn, that they belong to two very different categoriesof sharpers. "Among you old fellows," he sneers, "there wasromanticism. You loved beautiful women, champagne, music and thesong of the tziganes.... We, however, we others are tired ofeverything. Fear and debauch are equally unknown to us...."
After the sharper we have the spy in "Captain Rybnikov." He passesfor a Siberian, and says that he has been wounded in theRusso-Japanese war. He goes out into society a great deal, and ismost commonly seen in the military offices and in the best "salons"of St. Petersburg. One night, when he is asleep at a courtesan'shouse, he mutters the war-cry of Japan: "Banzai! Banzai!" Thecourtesan denounces him to a policeman who happens to be there, andthe pseudo-captain, who is no other than a colonel in the Japanesearmy, is arrested.
Before leaving the military world, let us analyze "The Delirium."Captain Markov has been ordered by the government to suppress therevolution in certain provinces. Disgusted with the duty of dailyexecutioner, the officer frets himself into a high fever. Anon-commissioned officer enters to ask him to decide the fate ofthree men who have been arrested the previous night, one of whom isan old man with a peaceful and strangely beautiful face. Thesergeant knows that they ought to be shot, but these executions areso repulsive to him, that he is anxious to have the sentence ofdeath confirmed by his chief, who seems to him to have the soleresponsibility.
"I don't want you ever again to ask me such a question," criesMarkov, who has guessed the intention of his subordinate. "You knowwhat you ought to do." And he dismisses him. But the soldier remainsmotionless.
"What else do you want?" asks the captain.
"The men," answers the stubborn soldier, "are anxious to know whatto do with the ... old ... man...."
"Get out of here!" the officer roars, exasperated. "Do youunderstand?"
"Very well, captain. But as to-day is December 31, allow me to offeryou my best wishes for a happy New Year."
"Thank you, my friend," replies Markov in a voice which has suddenlybecome soft.
During the night the captain begins to rave. The old man whom he hasjust condemned to death appears and speaks to him. He says that hisname is Cain, and confesses the murder of his brother. Cursed byGod, he wanders disconsolately through the centuries, followed bythe groaning of his victim.
Just before dawn the sergeant awakens Markov.
"What about those three men?" asks the captain eagerly.
"Shot, captain!"
"And the old man? The old man?... what have you done with him?"
"We shot him along with the others, captain."
The next day Captain Markov asks for his discharge, having decidedto leave the army for good.
This story, which is one of the most powerful in Russian literature,would have been enough to bring the young writer renown, even if hehad never written anything else. But his work, which is alreadyimposing in amount, abounds in pages of great merit, and especiallyin well-constructed, brief, tragic stories.
Under this class should be mentioned "Humble People," a short story,the scene of which is laid in the extreme north. It is the story ofa close friendship between a nurse in a dispensary and aschool-teacher.
Snowed in by a terrible winter--a winter of seven months--these twofriends find in their daily meetings the only pleasure that can maketheir enforced solitude easier for them. However, in spite of theirmutual friendship, they often find their lot hard to endure. Andthey continually quarrel, only to become reconciled almostimmediately. But now an unexpected event comes to break the monotonyof their existence. They are invited to a dance, given by the priestof the neighboring village, and there they fall in love with twocharming young girls, who, they are happy to find, are notindifferent to them. Once at home, they bestow lavish praises ontheir new friends. With the touching devotion of simple and starvedhearts they speak about them as if the young girls already weretheirs.
"Mine has eyes of velvet," says the one.
"And mine has hair of pure gold," replies the other.
Gradually, however, their recollections grow weaker, and fade, justas flowers do. Th
eir sad life would have begun again if the springhad not come, and with it brought deliverance. The two friends, fullof new sprightliness, get up a fishing party one day. A foolishaccident makes them both fall into the river, and they are drowned.
* * * * *
"The End of a Story," which we are about to analyze, deserves, asdoes "Humble People," a special place in the work of Kuprin. It is alittle masterpiece of graceful emotion.
Kotik, a child of seven, and the son of a celebrated painter, teaseshis father to tell him a story. The father racks his memory. He hastold so many that his fount is almost dry.
Suddenly an idea comes to him. Is not his own life a tender,melancholy, and charming story? It is not a long time, twelve yearsat the most, since he was a poor, obscure painter, neglected by hismasters and tormented by the miseries of his life. Discouraged, heused continually to curse the hour in which he chose to devotehimself to art. One day, a young girl, believing in his talent, gavehim her hand and comforted him with her tenderness and angelicgoodness. And love had triumphed.
To-day his name is celebrated among the most famous, and hispaintings adorn the galleries of kings and emperors. The plot ofthe story is ready.
"Listen," says the father to his son. "There was once upon a time aking who, feeling that he was going to die, gathered his manychildren about him and said to them: 'I will leave my kingdom tothat one of you who can enter a marble palace situated in a verydense forest, and there light his torch from the sacred fire whichalways burns there. The forest is full of wild beasts and venomousserpents. The palace is guarded by three lions: Envy, Poverty, andDoubt.'
"The young people set out on the road. But, while the older onessearch outside of the forest for a road that is not beset withdangers, the youngest courageously starts on the regular path. Hethere is exposed to many dangers and temptations. Already, hisstrength failing, he feels that he is almost on the point ofsuccumbing, when a fairy appears and stretches forth her hand tohim. The young man blesses this providential aid. The fairy bringsback his courage and leads him to the palace."
Near them on the terrace, concealed by some plants, there sat ayoung and beautiful woman who was eagerly listening to the story.She was Kotik's mother, the fairy of the story, and the favoritepupil of the painter. Some of her paintings had already made asensation.
The story ended, the father led the child to his room and with thehelp of his nurse undressed him and put him to bed.
"He had started back towards the terrace, when suddenly two armsembraced his neck, while two sweet lips pressed against his.
"The story was finished."
With these words the story really ends.
Kuprin shows the same grace and the same delicate emotion in hisrecent story, "The Garnet Necklace," a tale which is analogous tothe legend of the troubadour Geoffrey Rudel, which has been madeinto a play by Rostand in his "Princesse Lointaine."
Geltov, a Russian petty official, loves the beautiful PrincessSheine with a desperate love. After long hesitation he decides tosend her a garnet necklace, with a tender and respectful noteenclosed. Alas! his gift is returned to him and the husband of theprincess angrily threatens the naive lover. The latter has not thestrength to face the situation, and commits suicide. But beforedying he writes to the princess:--
"I saw you for the first time eight years ago in a theatre, andsince that time I have loved you with boundless passion. It is notmy fault, Princess, that God has sent this great happiness to me....My life for the last eight years has been bound up in onethought,--you. Believe what I say, believe me because I am going todie.... I am neither a sick man nor an enthusiast.... I consider mylove for you as the greatest happiness that God could have givenme.... This happiness I have enjoyed for eight years. May God giveyou happiness, and may nothing henceforth trouble you...."
This naive and touching letter moves the princess. At the grave ofher unhappy lover, she recalls the words of an old friend of herfather's: "Perhaps he was an abnormal man or a maniac....Perhaps,--who knows?--your life was illumined by a love of whichwomen often dream, a kind of love that one does not see nowadays."
* * * * *
One can judge by these summaries how little Kuprin "pads" hisstories. Most of them are reduced to a commonplace anecdote, whichthe author is careful not to ornament in the least. He respectstruth to such a degree that he offers it to his readers in itsdisconcerting bareness. He would think that he was failing in hisduty as an observer if he disguised it by any literary mechanism.
His work, stripped of all general ideas and of all subjectiveaspects, is of a rather curious impersonality. Nothing ever betrayshis intimate thoughts or feelings. And it is in this respect thathe differs so much from most of the writers of to-day, who givethemselves up completely to their attractive heroes and vituperatetheir odious people. Kuprin's objective tendencies are best shown inhis story called "Peaceful Life."
A retired official, Nassedkine, who has been enriched by thegratuities which he has exacted from those who have had to dobusiness with him, has made it his duty to play censor in his littletown. He makes use of a very discreet and edifying method: to all ofthe citizens whose honor is in danger, he sends one or moreanonymous letters telling them of the "extent of their misfortune."
Nassedkine has just finished writing two laconic notes, one of whichis to a young woman whom he tells to visit one of her friends on acertain day, when, he assures her, her husband is always to be foundthere. At this moment the church bells ring, and Nassedkine, who isreligious, goes to vespers. On entering, he notices a fashionablelady, all dressed in black, in a dark corner of the church.Nassedkine, more than any one else, knows the heart-rending story ofthis woman. She had recently, against her will, married anexcessively rich wood merchant who was almost forty years older thanshe. One day, when she thought that her husband had gone off onbusiness, he returned unexpectedly and found her in the arms of oneof his employees. He had been warned that same morning, by ananonymous letter, that his wife was deceiving him.
"Beside himself with rage, the merchant threw his employee out ofthe house, and then satiated his brutal jealousy on his wife. Hestruck her with his big, hobnailed boots; then he called hiscoachman and valet, made her undress completely, and had each ofthem in turn lash her beautiful body until, covered with blood, shefainted away.
"And as the priest at the altar was reciting: 'Lord, I offer Theethe tears of a woman who has sinned,' Nassedkine repeated thisphrase with satisfaction. Then he left the church in order to postthe two letters he had just written."
This characteristic dryness does not come, as one is liable tothink, from ill-disguised insensibility. Kuprin's soul, on thecontrary, is of such exquisitely fine texture that all humanemotions vibrate there. The few times when he has expressed himselfare enough to convince the reader. He has often pitied women with adiscreet, fraternal compassion. He has also devoted many pages tothe sufferings of animals, be it the story of circus horses hurt bythe rolling of the ship, or the story of a kitten mutilated bywolves. Only a few words are needed to make us tender and to bringtears to our eyes. And it is with the eyes of a poet or a child thathe has viewed nature.
* * * * *
No one ever studies a Russian author without finally asking himselfwhat the author's influence was on the political manifestations ofsociety. The answer here is not hard to find: Kuprin, observer,artist, and painter of life, has had no influence. If we except onestory, "The Toast," in which he shows his deep affection for theoppressed classes, nothing in his work betrays even slightly hisopinions on this subject. Always, the thought of Kuprin deserts thesocial struggle to fly into more vast and serene surroundings thanthe theatre of wars and revolutions. And he is doubtless ready toexalt above this terrible struggle, the one thing that he judgeseternal, the love of woman.
"There have been kingdoms and kings," he says in his beautifulnovel, "Sulamite," "and the only trace that is left of
them is thewind in the desert. There have been long and pitiless wars, at theend of which the names of the leaders sparkled like stars: time haseffaced all memory of them.
"But the love of a poor girl of the vineyards and a great king[17]will never be effaced and will always live in the minds of men,because love is divinely beautiful, because every woman who loves isa queen, because love is stronger than death."
[17] Refers to Solomon.
