I
In a recent article an eminent Russian publicist thus characterizes the modern literature of his native land:
It is quite clear: With the death of Tolstoy our literature also expired. Not orphaned, bereaved; it died, came to an end, perished....
In fact, what does our modern literature teach us? It positively preaches all the instincts, the complete “credo” of the bestialized criminal. Self-despite, sacrilege, sexual licentiousness, political mutiny, commendation of crime, hooliganish all-negation, stalest individualism, morals of an outlaw, the ideology of fratricide-Cain, the codex of an apache and Jack-the-Ripper.
Taking the above philippic cum grano salis, we must, however, consider it as a characteristic phenomenon illustrating the contemporaneous moods of Russian society in the process of its prolonged morbid crisis. For if literature is supposed to be the mirror of life; if in literature we find the true reflection of a people’s feelings, cravings, ideals, struggles,—then Russia presents the most vivid demonstration of this truth. In no other country has literature reflected real life with such a consequential and accurate preciseness as has that of the land of the Czar in all its epochs and stages. If, therefore, the modern Russian literature has a morbid aspect; if its heroes preach adultery, crime, free love, and praise the lowest mob instincts; if it does, and to a large extent it unquestionably does represent a base degradation, then we must needs look into the very life of that unhappy country in search for the causes of its mental affliction, then “something is the matter” with holy Russia.