korolenko's stories of siberia

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.



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.



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-



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




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



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.




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,



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.




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.




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.




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).




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.




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.



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.



korolenko's stories of siberia

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