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"Thomas Gordeyev" contains some very fine passages, but is not very successful as a whole. Thomas's father is a merchant on the banks of the Volga; he is an energetic man who carries out all his ideas. Whatever he is engaged on, whether business affairs, or a debauch, or repentance thereof, he gives himself entirely to the impression of the moment.
"Come," says a vagabond poetically to Thomas Gordeyev, "come with me on the open road, into the fields and steppes, across the plains, over the mountains, come out and look at the world in all its freedom. The thick forests begin to murmur; their sweet voice praises divine wisdom; God's birds sing its glory and the grass of the steppe burns with the incense of the Holy Virgin.
Why don't they send me "Foma Gordeyev"? I have read it only in bits, and one ought to read it straight through at a sitting as I have just read "Resurrection."
Gorky should not be published in parts; either he must write more briefly, or you must put him in whole as the Vyestnik Evropy does with Boborykin. "Foma," by the way, is very successful, but only with intelligent well-read people with the young also. YALTA, February 29, 1900. "Foma Gordeyev" is written all in one tone like a dissertation.
The journalist Yezhov, in "Thomas Gordeyev," expresses himself in the same manner, but even more decisively: "I should like to say to the intelligent classes: 'You people are the best in my country! Your life is paid for by the blood and tears of ten Russian generations! How much you have cost your country! And what do you for her? What have you given to life? What have you done?..."
I used to be the youngest literary man, but you have appeared on the scene and I became more dignified at once, and no one calls me the youngest now. YALTA, February 15, 1900. "Foma Gordeyev" and in a superb binding too is a precious and touching present; I thank you from the bottom of my heart. A thousand thanks! I have read "Foma" only in bits, now I shall read it properly.
Anyway, be a good fellow and a good comrade, and don't be angry with me for preaching at you like a head priest. Write to me. I look forward to "Foma Gordeyev," which I haven't yet read properly. There is no news. Keep well, I press your hand warmly. YALTA, February 10, 1900.
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