timate thoughts or feelings. And it is in this respect that
he differs so much from most of the writers of to-day, who give
themselves up completely to their attractive heroes and vituperate
their odious people. Kuprin's objective tendencies are best shown in
his story called "Peaceful Life."

A retired official, Nassedkine, who has been enriched by the
gratuities which he has exacted from those who have had to do
business with him, has made it his duty to play censor in his little
town. He makes use of a very discreet and edifying method: to all of
the citizens whose honor is in danger, he sends one or more
anonymous letters telling them of the "extent of their misfortune."

Nassedkine has just finished writing two laconic notes, one of which
is to a young woman whom he tells to visit one of her friends on a
certain day, when, he assures her, her husband is always to be found
there. At this moment the church bells ring, and Nassedkine, who is
religious, goes to vespers. On entering, he notices a fashionable
lady, all dressed in black, in a dark corner of the church.
Nassedkine, more than any one else, knows the heart-rending story of
this woman. She had recently, against her will, married an
excessively rich wood merchant who was almost forty years older than
she. One day, when she thought that her husband had gone off on
business, he returned unexpectedly and found her in the arms of one
of his employees. He had been warned that same morning, by an
anonymous letter, that his wife was deceiving him.

"Beside himself with rage, the merchant threw his employee out of
the house, and then satiated his brutal jealousy on his wife. He
struck her with his big, hobnailed boots; then he called his
coachman and valet, made her undress completely, and had each of
them in turn lash her beautiful body until, covered with blood, she
fainted away.

"And as the priest at the altar was reciting: 'Lord, I offer Thee
the tears of a woman who has sinned,' Nassedkine repeated this
phrase with satisfaction. Then he left the church in order to post
the two letters he had just written."

This characteristic dryness does not come, as one is liable to
think, from ill-disguised insensibility. Kuprin's soul, on the
contrary, is of such exquisitely fine texture that all human
emotions vibrate there. The few times when he has expressed himself
are enough to convince the reader. He has often pitied women with a
discreet, fraternal compassion.