It lives and breathes from page to page with a swing and dash and go
that they rarely attain. Their mantle has fallen on his young
shoulders, and he promises to wear it royally.
Even so, but so helpless, hopeless, terrible is this life of Foma
Gordyeeff that we would be filled with profound sorrow for Gorky did
we not know that he has come up out of the Valley of Shadow. That he
hopes, we know, else would he not now be festering in a Russian
prison because he is brave enough to live the hope he feels. He
knows life, why and how it should be lived. And in conclusion, this
one thing is manifest: Foma Gordyeeff is no mere statement of an
intellectual problem. For as he lived and interrogated living, so in
sweat and blood and travail has Gorky lived.
PIEDMONT, CALIFORNIA.
November 1901.
THESE BONES SHALL RISE AGAIN
Rudyard Kipling, "prophet of blood and vulgarity, prince of
ephemerals and idol of the unelect"--as a Chicago critic chortles--is
dead. It is true. He is dead, dead and buried.
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