The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1903-03-14

tant relative. . mechanical draushtanan.
a. apprentice. In less than year no ran
away. From this on the child became Q
sort OF vagabond. staying only for WINE
In the shop Of painter Of the little images
or Scons that hang In Russian churches and
In the bedrooms Of the orthodox through
out the empire. Meantime, though cIassly
ignorant, he somehow learned to read and
In spare moments eagerly devoured the
trash that forms the staple mental food OF
the Russian poorer classes. The deeds OF
knights Grant, the herculean labors OF
legendary heroes. the miracles OF saints
and the feats Of giants. pirates and high
waymen made their impression on his
young mind and stamped their influence
on his later life and writings. Hence.
perhaps, the somewhat cheap idealism and
the frensied clamoring for the unattainable
that mar 80 much In his work that IL I'M
doubleday strong and true.
One Of his most oongenial employers
In those early days was river steamboat
cook Of literary taste, here described as
a giant In stature, q Samson In strength
and Thersites In manners. His trunk
full Of the odds and ends Of poetry. his
tory, fiction and theology. gave the youth
ful turnspit chance TO become acquainted
with literature Of a sort worth while and
gave him also his first inspiration and aim
In life. The long story Of his struggles
and wanderings. his sufierings and his
failures, his descents in to the very depths
and the sludge and murk Of abject misery
and his final emergence. Is as entertaining,
though by no means as poetical as fairy
tale. Never having mastered a trade
or fitted himself for any calling In which
skill is differentiated from brute labor,
he struggled along successfully as tramp.
apple hawker. railway Waterman, and
once In a At Of despair he actually at
tempted suicide.
At length, in 1892. he jotted down some
OF the incidents in his life. wove them into
a fantastic story and took the result to the
editor Of the principal newspaper in Tihis,
where he was then working. Tho story
was read and accepted on the spot, and
the thin. pale-faced vagrant had reached
the turning point In his career. Every
thing that he wrote was warmly welcomed
and eagerly discussed, and his art was
soon classed with that OF Tolstoy and Dos
toiefYsky.
Last year his popularity with all classes
Of his countrymen received the hallmark
OF official recognition by his election TO a
fauteuil in the Imperial Academy of Sciences
the highest honor to which q Russian
writer can aspire.
The contemporary portrait Of the ex-
tramp. a. given by Mr.. Dillon. is not I'M
tho features, uncommonly mobile, ex-
pressive and distinctly pleban. are readily
as belonging to the type known
as Slavonic. Although n certain ruddy
glow Of health announces the success with
which his complexion, at any rate. has
hitherto wthstood the pinch OF want and
irregular habits Of life, careful observer
cannot fail to note the deep burrows which
time has ploughed in his brow and the
bend In his broad, firm shoulders for which
the weight Of mere years-33 all told
cannot satisfactorily account. His gray.
lustrous eyes, ever restless. reflect every
mood and soul-state Of the man with the
fidelity Of psychic photography. He takes
q child-nke pleasure In warm appreciation
Of his work, to which he has become &C.
customed OF late. his features becoming
and his eagerness TO take
his pen and do better than he has yet
achieved bordering on real Impotence.
His smile, however. Is still that OF the old
lays Of storm and stress, sickly and sad,
his laugh rare and half-hearted. and his
voice, though neither weak nor shrill,
somewhat harsh and often hoarse.'
Tolstoy has said that whatever object
the artist may get himself to depict, what
we seek In each OF his creations IL the
artists soul And in all OF Gorky's striking
figuree, his tramps. outcasts, gipsies,
navvies. even In his ragged ruffians, with
their far-sounding phrases and their in
sincere and emotional raving for that
liberty which IL but hcense-the soul Of
their creator is not far TO seek. Hence
there il a s,meness and a certain lack Of
life about them all. Rustics and gipsies
talk like the writers Of socialstic editorials,
and sometimes we find an uneducatod
vaRrant expressing himself variously In
the manner Of Byron or Chateaubrinnd,
or speaking like n inember Of the imperial
academy Of st. Petersburg. While doing
full justice 90 the young Russians splendid
talent and his undoubtod genius. Mr., Dillon
concludes In spirit with which mos, reader
will agree: His efforts TO make fiction a
channel for the dissemination Of political
theories have turned out dismal failures
And 20 recommence the experiment. would
be suicidal A writer like him. who with
out education or trained taste exhibits.
even though spasmodicaly. such breadth
OF sympathy. such delicate sonsitiyeness
To human -orrow. aud such a rare gift of
those almost unutterable soul
states which exquisite pain and blank
despair induoe. can well afford Ia abandon
the husting- 90 professional demagogues