y published
many of the answers received from the young people of both sexes,
but these were all favorable to Andreyev.

In truth, all these judgments are too passionate. It is true that
"most of the critics have understood Andreyev only in a superficial
manner," as Tolstoy rightfully asserted. The double impression, for
instance, produced by "The Gulf," is the result of a simple
misunderstanding. Those who think that the adventure of young
Nemovetsky is a slice of life and characterizes certain
psychological states, have, without a doubt, the right to judge this
story as an indiscretion, and to reproach the author with a
deviation from morality; but Andreyev has not taken his hero from
reality; he has not tried to give us a picture of manners, but has
expressed an idea, born in his brain under the influence of the
philosophy of Nietzsche. It illustrates the terrible power and the
brutality of a dormant instinct lurking in the purest minds.

* * * * *

Besides, "The Gulf" and "In the Fog" are compositions which are
exceptional in the work of Andreyev. The idea that he mostly
presents is not the power of bestial instincts, but rather the
indestructible vitality of human feelings and aspirations towards a
better existence, which sometimes comes to light among the most
miserable and depraved people, and even among those who are in the
most abject material condition.

In the destiny of these beings, there are, however, rays of hope.
The slightest incident serves to transform them; suddenly their
hearts begin to beat happily, tears of tenderness moisten their
eyes, they vaguely feel the existence of something luminous and
good. A profound sensibility, an ardent love of life bursts forth
in their souls. This sensibility, this attachment to existence, form
the theme of four touching stories: "He Was," "Petka in the
Country," "The Cellar," and "The Angel."

The action of "He Was" takes place in a hospital, where a deacon, a
foolishly debonair man, who is attached to his stunted existence,
and a pessimistic merchant, thoroughly satiated, are at the point of
death. The deacon has an incurable sickness, and his days are
numbered. But he does not know it, and speaks with enthusiasm of the
pilgrimage he is going to make after he is cured, and of the
apple-tree in his garden, which he expects will bear a great deal of
fruit. The fourth Friday of Lent he is taken into the amphitheatre.
He comes b