ong the stars, saw what was going on in their
village, and watched. Big as the evil is, in spite of it, the night
is beautiful and calm; justice is and will be calm and beautiful on
God's earth also; the universe awaits the moment when it can melt
into this justice, as the light of the moon melts into the night."

* * * * *

These, then, are Tchekoff's favorite themes, on which he has traced
numerous variations, always breathing forth a profound melancholy.

"The life of our industrial classes," he says, "is dark, and drags
itself along in sort of a twilight; as to the life of our common
people, workingmen and peasants, it is a black night, made up of
ignorance, poverty, and all sorts of prejudices."

But from this ocean of ignorance, of barbarity, of misery which
makes up the life of a peasant, Tchekoff has taken out the things of
most importance, things that always happen in the most solemn
moments of their existence.

"All," he says, in describing a religious procession in the country,
"the old man, his wife and the others, all stretch forth their hands
to the ikon of the holy Virgin, regard her ardently, and say through
their tears: 'Protectress! Virgin protectress!' And all seem to have
understood that the space between Heaven and Earth is not empty;
that the rich and the mighty have not swallowed up everything; that
there is protection against all wrongs, slavery, misery, the fatal
brandy...."

Besides, in a story entitled "My Life," Poloznev, speaking of the
peasants, expresses himself in the following manner:

"They were, for the most part, nervous and irritable people,
ignorant, and improvident, who could think of nothing but the grey
earth and black bread; a people who were crafty, but were stupid
about it, like the birds, who, when they want to hide themselves,
only hide their heads. They would not do the mowing for you for
twenty rubles, but they would do it for six liters of brandy,
notwithstanding the fact that with twenty rubles they can buy eight
times as much. What vice and foolishness! Nevertheless, one feels
that the life of the peasant has a great deal of depth. It makes no
difference that he, behind his plough, resembles an awkward beast,
or that he gets intoxicated. In spite of all, when you look at him
closely, you feel that he possesses the essential thing, the
sentiment of justice."

This love of justice Tchekoff has had occasion to observe even among
co