korolenko's stories of siberia
TRANSCRIPT
Korolenko's Stories of SiberiaAuthor(s): Lauren G. LeightonSource: The Slavonic and East European Review, Vol. 49, No. 115 (Apr., 1971), pp. 200-213Published by: the Modern Humanities Research Association and University College London, School ofSlavonic and East European StudiesStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4206366 .
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Korolenko's Stories of Siberia
LAUREN G. LEIGHTON
At a time when Russian literature was noted for its pessimistic naturalism, Vladimir Grigorevich Korolenko (i 853-1921) was con?
spicuous as an optimistic writer whose warmth and humour were
greatly appreciated by Russian readers of the late 19th century. He
had a firm faith in the goodness of men, and his essential humanity is
further emphasised by the fact that he began his literary career while
suffering administrative exile to Siberia.1 'Try to see things from a
more expressive point of view,' he advised young Maksim Gor'ky in
1895, 'much of your work is over-simplified. Life is dreary, but it has
been even more dreary before, and if it is to become brighter with
time, then, of course, it will not become so through despondency and
misanthropy, but through active efforts to do what can be done with it
as it is.'2 Between 1880 and 1915 Korolenko wrote a cycle of sixteen
stories of Siberia which were remarkable for their precise balance
between social message and literary achievement. As the art of
short story writing was greatly admired in Korolenko's time
(Chekhov once remarked, 'this is my favourite contemporary
writer')3 the Siberian cycle is worthy of attention both as an illustra?
tion of a writer's development of this skill and as the continuation of a
traditional Russian literary theme.
The origins of the theme of Siberia in Russian literature must be
sought in oral legends and songs and later in the 17th-century
autobiography of Avvakum, whom the Soviet folklorist M. K.
Azadovsky described as the author of the first Siberian literary
landscape.4 However, the theme only became popular in the early
19th century, first in the Siberian images in Ryleyev's civic verses, and later in the writings of the exiled Decembrists, particularly A. A.
Bestuzhev-Marlinsky, Prince A. I. Odoyevsky, Kyukherbeker and
Rayevsky. The theme of 'katorzhnaya Sibir" also occurs in the
memoirs and studies of non-literary Decembrists, and was continued
during the next half-century by many Russian writers, including the
historical novelist Kalashnikov, the poet Nekrasov and Dostoyevsky. The theme spread into other East Slavonic literatures, and recurs in
Lauren G. Leighton is an Assistant Professor of Russian at the University of Virginia. 1 Korolenko first fell foul of the authorities in 1876 for taking part in a student protest, suffered a series of imprisonments and exiles for several years, and was banished to the Yakut province along the Lena River after the assassination of Alexander II in 1881. See A. K. Kotov, V. G. Korolenko, Moscow, 1957, pp. 10-18.
2 V. G. Korolenko, Sobraniye sochineniy v desyati tomakh, Moscow, 1953-6, X (cited hereafter as SS), p. 232. 3 A. P. Chekhov, Sobraniye sochineniy v dvenadtsati tomakh, Moscow, 1960-4, XI, p. 182.
4 M. K. Azadovsky, Stat'i ofol'klore, Moscow-Leningrad, i960, p. 503.
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KOROLENKO'S STORIES OF SIBERIA 201
the poetry of Shevchenko and the Romantic setting of Slowacki's
Anhelli. These writers, as well as the lesser known authors, Kush-
chevsky, Naumov, Omulevsky, Shchapov, Yadrintsev and Mel'shin-
Yakubovich, established Siberia as a literary theme before the time of
Korolenko.5
Korolenko's Siberian cycle is usually divided into two groups, one
containing those stories actually written in Siberia and the other
those written or revised in the two decades after exile. This division
is justifiable, but the whole cycle may also be seen as a single group of stories revealing the development of the author's skill. The cycle is
composed oiChudnaya and Tashka (1880), Ubivets (1882), Son Makara
(1883), Sokolinets (1885), Soderzhayushchaya and Fyodor Bespriyutnyy
(1886), Cherkes (1888), Iskusheniye (1891), At-Davan (1892), Marusina
zaimka (1899), Ogon'ki, Posledniy luck and Gosudarevy Yamshchiki (1900), Moroz (1900-1) and Feodaly (1904).6
Chekhov greatly admired Korolenko's talent and made some
perceptive comments about his friend's craftsmanship. 'His colours
are light and lively', he remarked about the Siberian tales in 1888, 'his language is irreproachable, even if in places it is marred, and his
images are well-devised.' And in another letter of the same year to
the author himself, he noted: 'Your Sokolinets seems to me the most
salient literary work of recent times. It is written like an excellent
musical composition, in accordance with all the principles revealed
to an author by his instinct.'7 What Chekhov admired particularly about Korolenko's stories was their structural conformity with
techniques of composition, intuitively applied, and this assessment is
born out by close analysis. For each story of the Siberian cycle is an
elegant, polished, graceful and harmonious composition. Yet, in
spite of the careful structure of the stories, the use of such devices as
contrast and parallel, the creation of mood and setting, the fusion of
contrasting styles and modes of narration, and the use of language in
characterisation is instinctive.
The stories of the Siberian cycle are not identical in structure, but
it is evident that Korolenko preferred the frame story, and he used the
technique of skaz?particularised narration?in close conjunction with this form. A good example of this is the story mentioned by Chekhov, Sokolinets. The narrator is a perceptive member of the
intelligentsia, a stylised Korolenko-exile. Alone in his hut in the
taiga, he is visited by a strange and desperate young man, a neigh? bouring settler. During the long winter night the guest tells a story of his escape from a penal colony on Sakhalin Island. It is the story of
5 Azadovsky, op. cit., pp. 503-8. 6 Only Son Makara is readily available in several English translations, under the title Makafs Dream.
7 Chekhov, op. cit., pp. 182, 166.
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202 LAUREN G. LEIGHTON
harsh imprisonment, of the escape of twelve convicts, the violent
murder of a soldier, wanderings through Siberia, and finally the
secondary narrator's settlement in the lonely taiga. Told in a dignified
peasant vernacular sprinkled with prison and tramp slang, the story is framed by the main narrator's introduction, which establishes
mood and setting, and by his conclusion, the story's resolution with
the desperate visitor's return to the violent, but free life of a tramp.
Thus, in this simple frame structure there is told a 'brodyazh'ya
epopeya, poeziya vol'noy volyushki', the story of a man so haunted
by freedom that he chooses the deprivation of tramp life to the com?
parative comfort of settlement.
Sokolinets is especially attractive for the way in which Korolenko
establishes mood. The story opens with the main narrator lying in
his hut sunk in apathy. With that instinct admired by Chekhov, Korolenko centres not on the narrator's frame of mind, but on the
dreary, foreboding Siberian twilight. The fire is unlit, there is
'silence and gloom', the brief winter day expires in the cold fog,
light retreats through the windows until the gloom begins creeping from the corners of the hut, the walls seem to lean in menacingly from above. This mood is developed for fully two pages, with de?
scriptions of fog and frost in the fading twilight, and is then con?
trasted suddenly with a new, cheery setting appropriate to the
arrival of a guest. The fire is lit, the hut fills with its chatter and
crackling, 'something bright, lively, quick and restlessly garrulous burst into the hut', the corners and crannies light up, and the burning wood cracks forth like pistol shots.8 The contrast of mood and setting is both startling and natural, and the way is prepared for the lusty
sub-story. A frame story which employs skaz to perfection is Chudnaya, the
first story of the cycle and the first of Korolenko's literary efforts.
Like Sokolinets, this story is introduced by the stylised Korolenko, this time as he journeys to Siberia in the company of a guard, the
simple and kindly peasant Gavrilov. The story itself?Gavrilov's account of a disillusioned and dying young woman, obviously a
populist?is told and resolved by Gavrilov, and his conclusion is
elaborated upon by the main narrator to complete the frame and
restate the significance of the story in more educated terms. More
important than the structure of the work, however, is the use of skaz
narration, the establishment, from the onset, of Gavrilov's speech mannerisms. Gavrilov is a barely educated former peasant, accus?
tomed to an earthy environment, but kind in his actions and dignified in his behaviour. His speech is thus sprinkled with -to and -ka en?
clitics and he uses such peasant expressions as moi, choy, ekh, etak. 8 SS, I, pp. 131-3-
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korolenko's stories of siberia 203
Having served as a soldier, he has acquired a vocabulary of such
words as instruktsiya, v komandirovkakh and v paradkuda, while from his
duties as a Siberian convoy guard he has learned such words and
phrases as politichka and sdelala kakoye-nibud' kachestvo po etoy, po
politicheskoy chasti. He has been 'trained in grammar,' and his speech is by no means that of an illiterate. At the same time he has a modest
self-respect and does not resort to verbal affectation. His narration
thus strikes a dignified mean with such expressive means as votya vam,
gospodin, ezheli ne poskuchayete, sluchay odin rasskazhu or nu, govorit, v
sleduyushchiy raz naznachu tebya v podruchnyye. In syntax and vocabulary, as well as his present-tense narration, Gavrilov's character is ex?
tensively developed through such speech mannerisms.
Another story which demonstrates Korolenko's use of skaz and
frame structure is Moroz* In this story the secondary narrator,
Sokol'sky, is an educated government official who, if not as cultured
as the main narrator, is equally perceptive. He is a contrast to
Gavrilov, and this is also shown by his speech level. His story is the
dramatisation of the fate of a Polish exile, Ignatovich, a disillusioned
romantic who has developed a materialist's contempt for people, but
ultimately redeems himself by attempting to rescue a man abandoned
to the murderous frost. The story is ironic in that the impractical
Ignatovich goes in the wrong direction to the rescue and himself
freezes to death. The story's resolution is stated in Sokol'sky's observation that 'the romantic in him executed the materialist'.
Moroz is of particular value for its intuitive use of parallels between
the two narratives, This is most evident in the contrast between the
stylised Korolenko's comfortable use of educated speech and
Sokol'sky's less assured narration. Although Sokol'sky speaks a quite refined Russian, with no departures from grammatical norms, he
reveals his less secure status by resorting to such affected caiques as
ekstaticheskiy. The narratives of both men portray events on journeys down the Lena River post road. The stylised Korolenko is as con?
cerned with developing Sokol'sky's character as Sokol'sky is with
developing Ignatovich's. Both narrators make use of descriptions of
frost and thaw, both comment on coaches and way-stations. The
stylised Korolenko first develops a rapport with Sokol'sky when the
two men witness the escape of two mountain goats across the breaking ice of the Lena, and this prompts its parallel?Sokol'sky's anecdote
about Ignatovich's rescue of two wild ducks in a similar situation.
Particularised speech is used by still another secondary narrator, the hero of Ubivets who narrates one of the story's several short
chapters. Neither as educated as Sokol'sky nor as simple as Gavrilov, 'Killer' Mikhaylov falls somewhere between the two in social status
and speech level. If he employs a few of the same sort of peasantisms
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204 LAUREN G. LEIGHTON
as Gavrilov?the -to and -te enclitics, for example?his vocabulary is
more sophisticated and his syntax more refined. Thus, in his descrip? tion of prison life, he uses such expressions as kakoy-to legche, glupost'
odna, na skvernoye slovo and samyy skoryy narod. Like Gavrilov, he
narrates in the present tense, but has a higher opinion of himself, as
indicated by his determined use of the familiar form of address and
the absence of nets, das except in ways calculated to assert his
independence through irony. Ubivets also shows that Korolenko was not exclusively dependent
on the frame story. Mikhaylov is a coach driver who, having become
involved with a band of robbers, redeems himself by killing its
leader in defence of a woman and her children. Thanks to the
stupidity of the Tsarist bureaucracy, however, Killer cannot leave
the province until his trial, and he must earn his living by driving a coach through the taiga inhabited by the revenge-seeking robbers.
Through the use of skaz Mikhaylov is permitted to tell one part of his
story, his involvement with the robbers and his murder of their leader, but the events leading to his own murder are narrated by the
stylised Korolenko. The result is a series of chronologically ordered
chapters to develop the main story and, incidentally, to depict the
corrupt relationship between Siberian officials and local criminals, with a single flashback to make the main narrative more meaningful.
Through this adroit use of skaz in secondary narration, the reader
becomes more intimately familiar with the chief hero than would
otherwise be possible. Given the basic theme of cumbersome and
corrupt Tsarist justice?Mikhaylov asks only to be condemned or
acquitted of the murder, but the band's justice is swifter than the
government's?such a familiarity with Mikhaylov dramatises the
theme more effectively. Moreover, it involves the reader in the
desperation of a brave man determined to go his own way, using
only his reputation as a 'killer' to keep his foes at bay. Son Makara is not only the best known of Korolenko's stories, but is
structurally unique within the Siberian cycle. The story is told en?
tirely by the stylised Korolenko, but it is told in two parts which are
contrasted in form and integrated by structural parallels. The first
part, in conventional story form, tells of the brutal life and death of
Makar, a descendant of Russian peasants who has become as primi? tive as his Yakut neighbours. The second part is an allegory of
Makar's journey to the judgment of Toyon, a mythical god-figure.
Just as the story is dependent on passages filled with concrete nature
imagery, the allegory is built on a fusion of folkloristic and pseudo- Christian mythology. The setting of the story in the snow-filled
taiga?'silent and full of mystery'?is paralleled by the setting of the
allegory in a vast snow-covered plain over which 'the moon, exactly
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KOROLENKO S STORIES OF SIBERIA 205
like the bottom of a huge gold barrel, shone like the sun, illuminating the plain from edge to edge.' Taken together, the two parts dramatise the brutal harshness of life in the wilderness and the optimistic promise of consolation after death.
The allegorical form of Son Makara is distinct from the story form, yet there are structural parallels which reveal the precision with which Korolenko composed his works. The first part is structured initially on a consideration of Makar's hard life and then of his sinful action, the plundering of another man's traps. This is followed by him losing his way in the woods and wandering through the bitter cold to his death. The structure of the allegory parallels that of the story in reverse. It begins with Makar's awakening after death, continues with the journey across the plain to judgment, and ends with the judgment and Makar's salvation. The entire work is thus structured on a full circle through two different hemispheres. The structure is lent further sophistication by the erasure in the story of the lines separating dream and reality, life and death. Only subjectively, unconsciously, does the reader realise that both the death in the lonely woods and the allegory are two parts of a single dream. The true line of reality is thus drawn not between story and allegory, but between the description of Makar's life and the point where he falls asleep and dreams that he awakens to begin the quest into the woods for stolen furs.
Son Makara lacks skaz, but the use of particularised language is an essential ingredient. The narration is conducted by the stylised Korolenko, but not only does he tell the story from Makar's point of view, he does so with Makar's own speech mannerisms and, at the same time, uses this speech level to develop Makar's character. The result is both a deeply sympathetic treatment by the narrator of the main hero and a feeling on the part of the reader that he is listening to Makar himself. Thus, in describing Makar's life, the narrator observes: 'Whenever he was drunk, he would cry. "What a life we have," he would say, "O Lord!" Besides this, he would sometimes say he would like to cast it all aside and go away to the "mountain". There he would neither till nor sow, would not chop and haul wood, would not even grind wheat on the hand mill. He would only be saved.'9 With perfect tact Korolenko pictures Makar's heaven in exactly the same terms-tilling, sowing, chopping, hauling, grinding -that Makar would use. Makar's simple interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount is conveyed from his own naive and primitive point of view.
It is also in this story that Korolenko achieved the peak of his power of lyric expression, and this is seen clearly in his treatment of
9 SS, I, P. I,04. 3-S.E.E.R.
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206 LAUREN G. LEIGHTON
Makar's dream-death. Again, as if by instinct, Korolenko focuses
not so much on Makar himself as on the lonely taiga. As Makar
wanders aimlessly through the bitter night, he slowly freezes to death.
It becomes darker, and the moon disappears, the taiga falls silent, the
night offers neither illumination, nor hope. 'Makar became bitter in
his heart. . . the frost grew more bitter . . . the last echoes of the bell
drifted to him from the distant settlement. . . the sound of the bell
expired . . . and Makar died.' What started as a bright moonlit
night becomes darker, more alive, more hostile, and then vanishes
together with Makar's consciousness.10
The use of allegory distinguishes Son Makara sharply from the other
stories of the cycle, and does much to enhance its individuality. Korolenko was very much aware of V. M. Garshin's cultivation of
the allegory, and in a 'Literary Portrait' of Garshin, written in 1888, he devoted particular attention to his predecessor's Attalea princeps, an allegory of a hothouse palm which seeks its freedom by growing
through the glass roof of its comfortable prison. What was important about the work to Korolenko was that 'Garshin does not say, "such
is the lot of all that is beautiful on this earth, such are the inescapably eternal laws which punish all strivings toward light and freedom."
He says merely, "this is the way it is" with beautiful exotic plants in
harsh conditions.'11 There is little in common between Garshin's
allegory and Son Makara, of course, but Korolenko's evaluation does
indicate a basic feature of his own approach to the allegory, and in
fact all of his approach to literature. Whatever Korolenko's concern
for social message, he was above all a writer, and he did not preach
didactically. His allegory of Makar's journey to Toyon is a statement
of 'this is the way it is' in the view of a primitive person. It is a
sympathetic story told in the fantasy of both dream-world and folk-
loristic-Christian myth. The reader's sympathy, even pity, for
Makar is aroused not by direct pleas, but by Korolenko's own
sincere sympathy for his hero and by his depiction of the intimate
inner-being of one human person. Two other allegories of the cycle are Ogon'ki and Posledniy luch.
The latter work is based on the familiar narrator's sojourn at a way- station along the Lena, a tiny settlement which because of its location
in the far north and behind two mountains enjoys only one instant of
sunlight each year. The last rays of the sun represent the 'last rays' of
two Russian families (perhaps Decembrists) whose descendants are
dying out in this isolated Siberian outpost. And when Korolenko's
memories return to Siberia he remembers that desolate place and
'the last gleams of the setting sun fading in the sorrowful eyes of the last descendant of a line becoming extinct. . . .'
io SS, I, pp. 112-4. 11 SS, VIII, p. 238,
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KOROLENKO'S STORIES OF SIBERIA 207
Undoubtedly the shortest story in Russian literature is Korolenko's
allegory Ogon'ki. Defined as 'a poem in prose,' the work is brief and
simple. The familiar narrator, while travelling by night in a rowing boat down a Siberian river, sees lights which seem to be close but
turn out to be far away?'but nevertheless . . . nevertheless, ahead
there are lights!' G. A. Byaly, who has done extensive work on the
life and works of Korolenko, has gone so far as to assert that Ogon'ki
'provides the key to an understanding of the entire Siberian cycle? life flows along between gloomy banks, but nevertheless . . . never?
theless, ahead there are lights.'12 Russia's revolutionary youth received the work as nothing less than a manifesto, and given Korolenko's known optimism and social conscience, it was inter?
preted as an affirmation that Russia and the world were on the
verge of revolution and social happiness. Korolenko's optimism was
not so detached from reality, however, and he interpreted the
allegory quite differently. 'In the essay Ogon'ki I did not mean to say that after an arduous transition there would come about a final* calm
and general happiness,' he wrote in a letter of 1912. 'No?up there
ahead begins a new stage. Life consists of constant striving, achieve?
ment and new striving. ... In my view, humanity has already seen
many "beacons", reached them and striven on.'13 Beyond the work's
social optimism and its impact on the young generation of the time
lies the story's literary value, for in both its charm of idea and
beauty of tone it amounts to a tiny vignette, a prose poem which
justifies the effort of all those Russians who have since added it to the
repertoire of their memory.
Closely linked to Korolenko's adept use of different levels of
language in the structure and characterisation of his stories is his
effective and unusual fusion of two apparently irreconcilable styles. His stories of Siberia stand as a synthesis of the lyric expression of
Turgenev's ?apiski okhotnika and the documentary exposition of
Dostoyevsky's %apiski iz myortvogo doma.1* Many of the stories are
thus characterised by a mixture of journalistic passages and lyrical
descriptions. The achievement of a unity of exposition on the basis of
such contrasting styles is no mean feat, and it is relevant to note here
that Korolenko sub-titled many of the stories 'essays' {ocherki) to
signify his dual, literary-journalistic, motivation in writing the
Siberian cycle.
Lyrical descriptions seem to serve three purposes in the stories of
Siberia. First, they cement the structure, making what would other?
wise be simple essays into short stories with a fictional appeal. Second, they establish mood and setting. And third, as has already
i2 G. A. Byaly, V. G. Korolenko, Moscow-Leningrad, 1949, p. 263. !3 SS, X, p. 486. 14 Byaly, op. cit., pp. 316-7.
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208 LAUREN G. LEIGHTON
been demonstrated by the treatment of Makar's dream death, they dramatise the human situation, emphasising the basic theme of
human existence amidst the most terrifying physical deprivations. It is evident, for example, that the stories share a single mood. In
contrast with the charming and placid steppe setting of Turgenev's
J?apiski okhotnika, the settings of Korolenko's stories are imbued with a
mood of gloom which is in keeping with the ominous natural milieu
of the Siberian forests. One illustration of this is in the descriptions of
the black night through which Killer Mikhaylov of Ubivets journeys to his eventual death. The night has thickened into 'an utterly dark
gloom' of autumn, 'the sky is completely covered with heavy clouds,' it is impossible to distinguish forms even a few feet away. 'It was
drizzling lightly, with a gentle sound in the trees . . . the rain fell in
the dense taiga with a rustle and a mysterious murmur.'15 Much of
Korolenko's lyrical power lies in such intuitive use of contrasts. A
striking example of this is in the story part of Son Makara. Korolenko
apparently felt the need of a contrast to his descriptions of the snow-
filled night and the silent solitude of the taiga, and he found it in a
description of a Tartar inn filled with the drunken inhabitants of the
settlement. 'Within the close hut it was stifling. The acrid smoke of
makhorka hung in a single cloud, drawn sluggishly toward the
hearth fire.' The room is filled with drunken men whose 'faces were
sweaty and red.' In the corner sits a drunken Yakut, swaying back
and forth on a pile of straw: 'He dragged from his throat savage,
grating sounds, repeating in sing-song that tomorrow is a big holiday, but today he is drunk.'16 Here the hazy stifling atmosphere contrasts
?and thus dramatises?the stark black and white colouring of the
taiga setting, yet, at the same time, its depressing mood is contrary to
the clear purity of the winter night outside. Curiously, Korolenko
originally intended to dramatise the contrast between the dreary
monotony of Siberia and the quick pace of life in Petersburg. Having once abandoned this theme, however, he discarded an opening
description of the bustling capital and replaced it with this more
modest substitute.17
Although there is an obvious difference between Korolenko's
Siberia and Turgenev's steppes, there is a perceptibly Turgenevian
quality to Korolenko's lyrical nature passages. Byaly is well justified in the statement that Korolenko considered himself 'a fanatic
devote of Turgenev'.18 The Siberian stories are thus filled with
descriptions of the 'angry . . . unusually swift and sullen' Lena with
its 'looming cliffs, abysses, gorges'. A 'chill dampness' reigns over the
is SS, I, p. 57- 16 SS, I, p. 107. 17 See L. S. Kulik, Sibir skiye rasskazy V. G. Korolenko, Kiev, 1961, pp. 36-7. i8 Byaly, op. cit., p. 310.
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KOROLENKO S STORIES OF SIBERIA 209
river and 'there is an almost uninterrupted twilight'. When the frost
strikes, the mountainous banks 'become lighter, more ethereal' and
they 'slip away into the vague, luminous distance, scintillating, almost illusory.' The last rays of Posledniy luck are described in a
lyrical passage reminiscent of the sunrise in Turgenev's Bezhin lug: 'Several brilliant golden rays spluttered wildly in the depths of the
cleft between the two mountains, piercing an aperture in the dense
wall of the woods. Fiery sparks spewed down in wisps, into the dark
deeps and ravines, tearing out of the chill blue dusk now a tree, now
the crest of a schistous crag, now the tiny mountain meadow.'19
The influence of Turgenev's ?apiski okhotnika is detectable not only in the lyrical descriptions, however, but also in narrative techniques. This is not true of mode of narration at all times, since Korolenko
uses diverse modes where Turgenev used one narrator with one
point of view. But it is true in the general use of a stylised author-
narrator, and there are many similarities between the two narrators.
Both narrators are perceptive members of the intelligentsia, both are
detached, almost clinical observers of predominantly human
situations, both have a similar sense of humour, both are keenly conscious of their natural milieu, both convey distinct personalities without intruding rudely on the action being narrated, both have the
artistic good sense not to force their point of view on their characters, and both, without losing their objectivity, betray deep sympathy for
their characters. The stylised Korolenko differs from the stylised
Turgenev-hunter in the absence of the tone of superiority in narra?
tion. Moreover, whereas the stylised Turgenev's treatment of the
narod is somewhat idealised, with only a few glimpses of stark
brutality among his peasants, the stylised Korolenko makes an effort
to 'de-idealise' the narod, showing their cruelty with an almost brutal
naturalism. This is the difference between Korolenko's description of
the Tartar tavern in Son Makara and Turgenev's earlier description of the drunken bout in the inn of Pevtsy. Where Turgenev ascribes
much of the brutality to the serf-owners of Zapiski okhotnika, Koro?
lenko does not hesitate to reveal the savage, as well as the kind, features of his Siberian people. In Moroz the local people laugh at the
sight of a stranger freezing to death; in Ubivets a coachman describes
the torture of a thief in detail; in Sokolinets the desperate tramp describes the murder of a Russian soldier by the convicts. Quite
obviously, the personalities of the two narrators are different, and
each has a different perception of reality. Korolenko learned from Dostoyevsky the value of straightforward
documentation of facts.20 This is evident in most of the Siberian
19 SS, pp. 380, 385. 20 For a study of Dostoyevsky's influence on Korolenko see Byaly, op. cit., pp. 316-7.
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210 LAUREN G. LEIGHTON
stories, but it is an overwhelming feature of the composition of
Yashka. The story deals with the magnificent persistence of a possessed sectarian who, locked in a cell, completely isolated from other human
beings, is determined to be recognised as an individual. Tied to this
basic theme of human endurance is the narrator's careful documenta?
tion of prison life, and detailed descriptions of the physical milieu of
the prison itself. The empty corridors, the high windows, the small
square court-yard, the cell-chambers, the blackened doors, and the
grey dirty wall, have none of that lyrical expressiveness of Turgenev.
Instead, there is the emotionless recital of bare facts so characteristic
of Dostoyevsky in ZaP^s^ iz myortvogo doma. The other stories are also
filled with documentary descriptions. In Moroz is a sober and factual
description of the incredibly bitter Siberian frost. In the same story a
skyokla, or community meeting, is described, and in Feodaly a
rezidentsiya, an administrative office usually found at the junction of
river and road, is described in the full aura of bureaucracy. Much
documentary attention is paid to the Siberian scene, and it is possible to learn about the customs and caste system of coachmen in both
At-Davan and Gosudarevy-yamshchiki, of which the latter is based en?
tirely on exposition. In contrast to the many lyrical descriptions of
staging posts in the stories there is a straightforward documentary account in Cherkes.
When Korolenko's methods of characterisation are considered, a
curious similarity to Dostoyevsky's structural methods becomes
apparent. Whether or not Korolenko was aware of the polyphonic
composition of Dostoyevsky's novels?the conflicts between charac?
ters embodying irreconcilable metaphysical ideas?certain of the
Siberian stories are built on diaphonic debates between conflicting social types. Korolenko created or developed many social types?the convict, the sectarian, the desperate man {otchayannyy), the populist, the tramp, the coachdriver?and they are in large part the raison
d'etre of the cycle. They are not always in conflict because of the way in which the stylised Korolenko always establishes a rapport with
his secondary narrators. But diaphonic debates are crucial to the
structure of many of the stories and the composition of some is based
entirely on this duality of characterisation.
The story Yashka, for example, is built on the conflict between
Yashka and the prison bureaucracy, which attempts to isolate him, and prevent him from disrupting the status quo. The means by which
he persists in recognition of his dignity as a human being is to bang
constantly on the door with his feet, thus irritating the guards and
Byaly has devoted an entire chapter to the influences on Korolenko of Turgenev, Nekrasov, Saltykov-Shchedrin, Gleb Uspensky, Mernikov-Pechersky, Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy (see ibid., pp. 307-22).
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KOROLENKO S STORIES OF SIBERIA 211
encouraging his fellow prisoners. Even though his feet swell from the
constant banging, and he knows he will eventually be taken off to a
lunatic asylum, where his legs will be broken, he persists in his
magnificent struggle for recognition. In contrast to and in conflict
with Yashka is Mikeich, the prison guard who represents the pettiness of the prison bureaucracy, draws clear lines of obligation and
privilege between his 'social position' as a caretaker and the social
position of his charges. In his petty beliefs and cheap behaviour, he is
the antithesis to the fanatic sectarian.
The structure oiCherkes is also based on diaphonic characterisation.
The story is about the confrontation between two antithetical social
types?the gendarme Chepurnikov, another petty bureaucrat, and
the Circassian himself, one of Russian literature's most vivid des?
perate men. Narrated entirely by the stylised Korolenko, the story takes place in a staging-post where Chepurnikov and the local
officials conspire to trap the Circassian and rob him of the gold he
has looted. In contrast to the miserable personality of Chepurnikov, who counts the versts for which he is paid to deliver the narrator to
Siberia, is the colourful character of the Circassian. Like Mikhaylov of Ubivets and Yashka, he is an enduring and brave man, and his
crafty nature is conveyed in the scene where he first enters the trap, his eyes suddenly flashing in the light when he senses danger, his
swift estimation of the situation, his equally swift recovery of equa?
nimity and quick decision to brazen his way out by taking command
of a hostile situation. All of this is conveyed in a few sentences which
even permit the narrator, watching from a neutral corner, to detect a
nuance of sorrow in the Circassian's eyes. A story whose characterisations and structure are dependent on the
diaphonic method is Chudnaya. As has been stated, Gavrilov's
narrative deals with his relationship with a disillusioned young woman of the Populist movement, a dying young girl appropriately named Morozova. One Korolenko scholar, L. S. Kulik, has pointed out that 'in this story Korolenko put two worlds into conflict, the world of the strange young woman continually amazes and attracts
Gavrilov.'21 This attraction is demonstrated by the simple peasant- soldier's naive first impression of his charge. He is impressed that she
carries books, and the absence of any other belongings leads him to
conclude that her parents are not wealthy. She seems like a child to
him, and her pale complexion and red cheeks arouse his pity. The
irony of Chudnaya is that the roles of narod and intelligentsia are reversed by Gavrilov's pity for the girl, and all of his attempts to
comfort her?to 'go to the intelligentsia', so to speak?are rudely and
resentfully rejected. No matter how hard Gavrilov attempts to con- 21 Kulik, op. cit., p. 35.
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212 LAUREN G. LEIGHTON
sole her, Morozova rebuffs him bitterly. She dies without realising that her former ideals were made a reality by this simple peasant who does not even understand her ideological debates with another
Populist. Beneath this social plane lies that concern for individuality that
raises Korolenko above the level of a mere ideologist. Although Gavrilov does not understand Morozova as a social being or as an
intellect, and he ultimately fails to communicate with her, he bridges the gap between them with his own sympathy for, and thus his
intuitive understanding of her. She dies without consolation, but the
experience transforms him, and he is haunted by his memory of that
pitiful figure of the 'strange woman'.
The characterisation of the desperate man and the tramp, who are
usually one and the same person in the writings of Korolenko, is a
prominent feature of the stories of Siberia. The type was of intense
concern to the writers of Korolenko's time, and his interpretation of
the character is relevant to the similar types created by Chekhov and
Gor'ky. In fact, the attitudes of the three writers to the type bordered
on a polemic. Gor'ky is famous for his stories of tramps, particularly the story entitled Chelkash (1895). Korolenko was aware of the story, and in a letter to Gor'ky of 1895 expressed agreement with N. K.
Mikhaylovsky that the work was too pessimistic and that Gor'ky's attitudes verged on 'signs of decadence'.22 In Chelkash Gor'ky dramatised the notion that man is free so long as he does not become
a slave to his acquisitive nature and refuses to be tied down to
property. When man seeks material possessions, he destroys his
freedom. The hero of the story is a smuggler who practices his pro? fession out of a need to survive, a desire for adventure, the challenge of danger, and the wild, desperate and free life it gives him. Chekhov
also cultivated the tramp as a social type, and in the story V ssylke
(1892) he dramatised the fates and attitudes of three men in exile?a
Russian nobleman, a Russian peasant-tramp and a Tartar. Whereas
both the nobleman and Tartar are desperate for homeland and
freedom, the tramp has cut all ties with men and property. If Chekhov's attitude is indicated by this story, he would seem to believe that when man cuts all ties with humanity, even with
property, he loses his humanity, and thus his freedom. The tramp of his story has reconciled himself to the bitterness and cruelty of life,
nothing affects him, nothing arouses his sympathy. But if he suffers
none of the desires of the other two characters, he has lost his passion for life, and thus his hope of freedom.
Korolenko's tramps and desperate men enter deeply into this
polemic, and the stories of Siberia reveal an emphatic attitude on
22 SS, X, p. 227.
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korolenko's stories of siberia 213
the author's part toward freedom and its relationship with property. To Korolenko the denial of property is always an act of desperation. Man is great, he seems to say, because he loves freedom so much that
he will even surrender property. But the pursuit of freedom at the
expense of property is always a cruel and violent action, and thus his
tramps are always desperate men. The hero ot Sokolinets, for example, has long since settled down to a productive and comparatively secure life as a settler, but he is haunted by his past freedom and
becomes increasingly desperate. Both his glory and his doom are
bound up with his final decision to return to the life of a tramp. In
Cherkes the lines of conflict are clearly drawn between Chepurnikov and the Circassian because the latter has possession of the gold, and
could not care less, while the gendarme is petty because he counts
copecks and covets gold. In Gosudarevy yamshchiki a chief character,
Ostrovsky, burns down his home and property after the death of his
wife and children in the cruel wilderness. So terrifying is this act to
the neighbouring Yakuts that he is able to bully them and take
revenge on them for their indifference to his family's survival. It is
clear throughout the Siberian cycle that Korolenko's sympathies lie
with the desperate and homeless and that he has contempt for the
acquisitive, the smug and the propertied characters. But the act of
seizing freedom is always an act of desperation, and it almost in?
evitably leads to deprivation, even self-destruction. Freedom, in
Korolenko's terms, is a quality which costs human beings a terrifying
price. And this is the final and most fundamental feature of Korolenko's
stories of Siberia. For the most distinctive and enduring feature of his
talent is the subordination of all other techniques to characterisation.
In structure, in mode of narration and point of view, in mood and
tone, in fusion of styles and use of varying speech levels, and in means
of expression, the stories deal first and always with human beings. All of Korolenko's compositional techniques are aimed at the dramatisation of human dilemmas, personal tragedies. The brave determination of Yashka, the pitiful figure of the strange girl, the
bitter life of Makar, the impractical character of Ignatovich, the
senseless death of Killer Mikhaylov, the desperate character of the
Circassian?these are the fundamentals which determine the com?
position of the stories of Siberia. With that curious combination of
reasoned composition and instinctive talent, Korolenko held out a
hope and promise, a realistic optimism, which few other writers
detected in the conditions of the time.
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