Best Russian short stories
This book contains the best short stories - translated and edited byThomas Seltzer
The queen of spades, by A.S. Pushkin; The cloak, by N.V. Gogol; The district doctor, by I.S. Turgenev; The Christmas tree & the wedding, by F.M. Dostoyevsky; God sees the truth, but waits, by L.N. Tolstoy; How a Muzhik fed two officials, by M.Y. Saltykov; The shades, by V.G. Korolenko; The signal, by V.N. Garshin; The darling, by A.P. Chekhov; The bet, by A.P. Chekhov; Vanka, By A.P. Chekhov; Hide & seek, by F.K. Sologub; Dethroned, by I.N. Potapenko; The servant; by S.T. Semyonov; One autumn night, by M.Gorky; Her lover, by M. Gorky; Lazarus by L.N. Andreyev; The revolutionist, by M.P. Artzybashev; The outrage, by A.I. Kuprin
From The Introduction:
Conceive the joy of a lover of nature who, leaving the art galleries, wanders out among the trees and wildflowers and birds that the pictures of the galleries have sentimentalised. It is some such joy that the man who truly loves the noblest in letters feels when tasting for the first time the simple delights of Russian literature. French and English and German authors, too, occasionally, offer works of lofty, simple naturalness; but the very keynote to the whole of Russian literature is simplicity, naturalness, voraciousness. Another essentially Russian trait is the entirely unaffected conception that the lowly are on a plane of equality with the so-called upper classes.
When the Englishman Dickens wrote with his profound pity and understanding of the poor, there was yet a bit of remoteness, perhaps, even, a bit of caricature, in his treatment of them. He showed their sufferings to the rest of the world with a “Behold how the other half lives!” The Russian writes of the poor, as it were, from within, as one of them, with no eye to the theatrical effect upon the well-to-do. There is no insistence upon peculiar virtues or vices.
The poor are portrayed just as they are, as human beings like the rest of us. A democratic spirit is reflected, breathing broad humanity, a true universality, an unstudied generosity that proceeds not from the intel¬ lectual conviction that to understand all is to forgive all, ^but from an instinctive feeling that no man has the right to -set himself up as a judge over another, that one can only observe and record. In 1834 two short stories appeared,
The Queen of Spades, by Pushkin, and The Cloak, by Gogol. The first was a finishing-off of the old, outgoing style of romanticism, and the other was the beginning of the new, characteristically Russian style. We read Pushkin’s Queen of Spades, the first story in the volume, and the likelihood is we shall enjoy it immensely. “But why is it Russian?” we ask.
The answer is, “It is not Russian.” It might have been printed in an American magazine under the name of John Brown. But, now, take the very next story in the volume, The Cloak. “Ah,” you exclaim, “a genuine Russian story, surely. You cannot palm it off on me over the name of Jones or Smith.” Why? Be¬ cause The Cloak for the first time strikes that truly Russian note of deep sympathy with the disinherited. It is not yet wholly free from artificiality, and so is not yet typical of the purely realistic fiction that reached its perfected development in Turgenev and Tolstoy.
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