Silence (Andreyev/Cournos)/Foreword
MODERN AUTHORS' SERIES
SILENCE
BY
LEONIDAS ANDREIYEFF
Translated from the Russian
by
JOHN COURNOS
SECOND EDITION
PHILADELPHIA
BROWN BROTHERS
1910
Copyright, 1910
By BROWN BROTHERS
FOREWORD
When Maxim Gorky had finished writing that wonderful series of tramp stories which astonished by their force and originality the outside world no less than the native, when it became evident that his contact with the civilized world and his entry into the political arena had not served to add to his literary prestige, there appeared on the scene a young
man, by the name of Leonidas Andreiyeff, with a small volume of tales, fittingly dedicated to the author of "Chelkash."
It was one of those peculiarly timed events, which occur occasionally in the domain of literature no less in that of history, when a man of genius appears in our midst—in the nick of time, as it were—to carry on some unfinished work, and to hammer the next link in the chain of prevailing circumstances. Since this initial production Andreiyeff has been unusually prolific, having several volumes of short stories to his credit and a number of plays, the latter being a late development.
There are critics who are inclined to place Andreiyeff above Gorky. This is hardly fair to either man. Both are thorough moderns, both are rebels against the life that is, both have shown a decided leaning toward the Nietzschean view, the religion of individualism, have expounded through their art the place which the Ego occupies in our lives; both have attracted the young generation, have raised a storm of applause and protest from antagonistic factions, at the same time laying their impress upon their time by influencing armies of young writers. The rich, red blood, the crude blind force—are Gorky's; the refinement, the conscious artistry—are Andreiyeff's. Though linked in their literary sympathies, each man stands on his own footing.
Andreiyeff's earlier stories, one of which is presented here, are characterized particularly by their purely artistic quality, rather than by the iconoclastic spirit which marks his later work. "Silence" has no moral to teach, no idea to inculcate. It is simply a story—or better, a melancholy poem, in which the reader is subjected to a series of heart pangs, and is forced to listen to a music, in which the dominant motif is a terrible, oppressive and crushing silence. We are compelled to strain our ear to catch the least noise which might break that silence—but it never comes.