SLAVICA HELSINGIENSIA 36 Ben Hellman ВСТРЕЧИ ... - Helsinki.fi

SLAVICA HELSINGIENSIA 

36 

Ben Hellman 

 

 

MEETINGS AND CLASHES 

Articles on Russian Literature 

Helsinki 2009

SLAVICA HELSINGIENSIA 36 

Editors 

Arto Mustajoki, Pekka Pesonen, Jouko Lindstedt 

Copyright 2009 © by B. Hellman, 

D. Bulanin Publishing House (« »), 

Taylor and Francis Group (“Samuil Marshak: Yesterday and Today”) 

ISBN 978-952-10-5243-9 (paperback) 

ISBN 978-952-10-5244-6 (PDF) 

ISSN 0780-3281 

Published by Department of Slavonic and Baltic Languages and Literatures 

http://www.slav.helsinki.fi/eng/publications/sh.htm 

P.O. Box 24 (Unioninkatu 40 B) 

Finland 

Printed by Helsinki University Press

— CONTENTS 

.................................................................................................................... 5 

Foreword ........................................................................................................................... 6 

I. — THE FIRST WORLD WAR 

. 

.............................................................................................................................. 9 

! 

............................................................................................ 30 

. . ..................................................................... 43 

....................................................... 46 

II. — LEONID ANDREYEV 

What was the devil doing in Norway? The Norwegian motif in Leonid Andreev’s 

“Chert na svad’be” ...................................................................................................... 63 

. « » 

«, » ......................................................................... 71 

. . . « » ... 89 

................................................................... 100 

III. - — RUSSIAN-FINNISH 

CONTACTS 

On Ivan Konevskoi’s Finnish Roots ............................................................................ 113 

Aleksandr Kuprin and Finland ..................................................................................... 118 

Osip Mandelstam and Finland ..................................................................................... 161 

Biblion. A Russian Publishing House in Finland ........................................................ 175 

, . . -- 

..................................................................................................... 199 

IV. — CHILDREN’S LITERATURE 

«», 

.............................................................................................................. 235 

. . . ... 243 

« ». ........... 250 

Samuil Marshak: Yesterday and Today ....................................................................... 265 

V. — BIBLIOGRAPHY ......................................................... 287

25 , 

- 

. 

. - 

- 

. - 

. - 

 

(1914-1919 .), - 

. - 

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1985 2007 . , 

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, 

1990 . - 

. 

, 2009 

 

5

FOREWORD 

Looking back at a twenty-five-year period of research on Russian literature, certain 

features in the choice of subject and theme stand out. One of my major interests 

has been the Russian literature of the First World War. In my doctoral 

dissertation I focused on the impact of this war on the writing and thinking of 

the Russian Symbolists, while other writers, philosophers and aspects of the 

First World War have been dealt with in separate articles. My work on Leonid 

Andreyev’s writings has also to a large extent concentrated upon his last period, 

that is 1914-1919, and I have also been interested in his contacts with Finland. 

That leads us to a third recurrent theme in my research, namely Russo-Finnish 

cultural contacts, with figures like Andreyev, Aleksandr Kuprin, Osip Mandelstam 

and Aleksandr Sipelgas. The fourth section of this volume is dedicated to 

Russian children’s literature. The bibliography shows not only the first publication 

of the articles included, but also indicates which articles have been left out. 

The articles in this volume range from a period between 1985 and 2007. It 

goes without saying that new material and research have appeared since my earliest 

publications, but even so, for reasons of convenience, the articles are published 

in their original form, with only some minor changes and corrections. 

The initiative to republish a selection of my articles came from the Department 

of Slavic and Baltic Languages and Literatures at the Helsinki University, 

where I have had the privilege of working since 1990. I am grateful to receive 

this present from my colleagues on the occasion of my sixtieth birthday. 

Helsinki, January 2009 

Ben Hellman 

6

I. 

 

THE FIRST WORLD WAR

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26

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30 . 

1914, . . 1914, 181, 5 . 

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1915 , . . . . 

1915, . . . 

1915, 15059, 31 . . 

. .: . . 1916. . 50-56. 

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1918 

, . . 

- . 5-6:II, 1-32. 

, . . .: . 

. 1967 (reprint), 107-170. 

1908 , . . . 

1910 , . . . 

1912 , . . . 

1915 , . . 1915, 

14931, 28 . 

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14969, 17 . 

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7 . 

1915 , . . 1915, 14903, 

14 . 

1915 , . . 1, 3-5. 

1916 , . . 1916, 

15543, 7 . 

27

1916, . . 1916, 

15464, 26 . 

1908 , . . . 

1914 , . . 12:II, 97-107. 

1915 , . . . . . 

1915, 14734, 18 . 

1915, . , . 

1915, 15277, 18 . 

1916 , . . 1916, 58, 27 

. 

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1916, 82, 22 . 

1914 .. . . 1914 277. 2 . 

1914 - . 1914, 

230, 7 . 

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1916 , . . -. 

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. , 4. 

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1916 

. . 

, . . 

10:II, 1-22. 

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1914 , . . 12:II, 125-132. 

1915 , . . 9, 2-4. 

1915, . . 10:II, 1-18. 

1916 , . . 9:III, 20-27. 

1916, . . 1:III, 12-17. 

1911 , . . . 

1912 , . . . 

1914 , . . 52, 

12-13. 

1914, . . 12:II, 116-124. 

1915 

, . . , , - 

. . 

1915, . . 1915, 14933, 29 

. 

1915 , . . . . 

1915 

, . . . . . 

1915, 14612, 30 . 

1915 , . . 9-10, 19-21. 

1915 , . . 1915, 14859, 23 . 

1915 , . - . 1915, 

134, 17 . 

1915 , . - . 

1915, 88, 1 . 

28

1916 

, . . .: . 

., 147-150. 

Lowrie 1960 Lowrie, Donald A. Rebellious Prophet. A Life of Nicolai Berdyayev. 

New York. 

Riasanovsky 1952 Riasanovsky, Nicholas. V. Russia and the West in the Teaching of the 

Slavophiles. A Study of Romantic Ideology. Cambridge, Massachusetts. 

Scherrer 1973 Scherrer, Jutta. Die Petersburger Religiös-Philosophischen 

Vereinigungen.Die Entwicklung des religiösen Selbstverständnisses ihrer 

Intelligencija-Mitglieder (1901-1917). Forschungen zur Osteuropäischen 

Geschichte. Osteuropa-Institut an der freien Universität Berlin. 

Historische Veröffentlichungen. Band 19. Berlin. 

Soloviev 1959 Soloviev, Alexander V. Holy Russia. The History of a Religious-Social 

Idea. Musagetes XII. 'S-Gravenhage. 

Walicki 1975 Walicki, Andrzej. The Slavophile Controversy. History of a Conservative 

Utopia in Nineteenth-Century Russian Thought. Oxford. 

29

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1 Swaan W. The Gothic Cathedral. London, 1969. P. 321. . 18. 

1938 . 

2 . // . 1914. 10 . 207. 

3 . « » // .1914. 9 . 14362. 

4 . // . 1914. 10 . 275. 

5 // . . 1914. 9 . . . 206. 

6 Rolland R. Journal des années de guerre 1914-1919. Paris, 1952. P. 56. 

30

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8 // . . 1914. 10 . 14364. 

9 - . . ... // . . 1914. 10 . 14364. 

10 o- - 

// . 1914. 12 . 247. 

11 . // . . 1914. 9 . 14362. 

12 . // . . 1914. 10 . 14364. 

13 . // . 1914. 11 . 244. 

31

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. 

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21 . «La Cathédrale» 

22 . 

14 . // . 1914. 38. . 733. . : . 

// . 1914. 20. . 127. 

15 . : - 

// . ., 1914. . 182-183. 

16 . . . 2: . ., 1914. . 8-9. 

17 . // . ., 1914. . 185. 

18 . ! // . 1914. 40. . 763. 

19 . : . ., 1915. C. 33. 

20 . « ...» // . 

., 1914. . 199. 

21 Rostand E. Le vol de la Marseillaise. Paris, 1919. P. . 

22 : Lolo < .>. : . // 

. . 1914. 19 . 24. : . 1914. 43. . 4; . 

., 1915. . . . : // . 

1914. 3 . 266. .: . ., 1914. . 181. 

32

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Princeton, New Jersey, 1985. P. 224. 

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60

II. 

 

LEONID ANDREYEV

What was the devil doing in Norway? 

The Norwegian motif in Leonid Andreev’s “Chert na svad’be” 

In December 1915 Leonid Andreev published a short-story, “The Devil at the Wedding” 

(“Chert na svad’be”), in the newspaper Vechernie izvestiia. 1 The work was of 

no topical interest, as it had no connection with the World War, an event that Andreev 

otherwise was heavily involved in. It belonged to the genre of anecdotes, legends 

and folk tale pastiches that Andreev experimented with in the 1910s. In the 

short story the devil Chert Karlovich appears at a wedding, attracted by the atmosphere 

of love and mirth and warmed by memories of his own youth, but quite unintentionally 

he brings about a carnival atmosphere which ends in destruction and 

death. The time is not defined, except for the season – winter, but the setting is 

clearly indicated. Andreev writes in a rhythmical prose, and, like a refrain, the 

sketchily drawn background of the miniature drama is repeated: “And the gloomy 

wind blew on the gloomy Norwegian shore and gloomy fjord.” (“I mrachnyi veter 

pronessia po mrachnomu norvezhskomu beregu i mrachnomu fiordu.”) The wedding 

with its tragic finale is held in a small cottage on the shore of a Norwegian fjord. 

Some nautical terms strengthen the local colour. 

But what was the devil doing in Norway? “The Devil at the Wedding” is reminiscent 

of a folk tale, but it does not seem to have a Norwegian folk or fairy tale 

as its source. In the two collections of Norwegian fairy tales which were available 

in Russian translation in the early 20th century 2 the devil does appear in some of 

the tales. But the theme repeated here and in other Norwegian fairy tales is always 

the same – man eventually outwits his enemy, the devil. Andreev presents another 

type of conflict. His Chert Karlovich is a tragic figure. In his youth he was inspired 

by love and high ideals, but now, already in middle-age, he feels disappointed 

and betrayed in every respect. He can only watch the lost paradise from 

the outside. The wedding offers him an opportunity to relive feelings long since 

forgotten, but the nostalgic experience abruptly ends in catastrophe. 

Andreev has not given his hero any Norwegian traits. His name – Chert Karlovich 

(i.e. Devil, the son of Karl) – tells us that he is not the chief devil, Satan himself, 

but of a more humble descent. His father appears to be a German with a Russian 

connection. It was common to demonise the German enemy during the First World 

War – the pact between the German Kaiser Wilhelm and Satan was a recurrent motif 

in Russian popular literature, but “The Devil at the Wedding” shows no traits of satire 

or allegorical depth. If we want to look for literary models it is Nikolay Gogol’s 

1 “Chert na svad’be” was published in Vechernie izvestiia on December 5, 1915, and the following 

year in the anthology Novaia zhizn’ I (M., 1916). It was not published until 1995 when 

it was included in a six volume edition of Andreev’s Sobranie sochinenii, a publication which 

in the following will be referred to as SS. 

2 Asb’ernson, Norvezhskie skazki. Perevod A. P. Ganzena. SPb, 1899 and Norvezhskie skazki. 

s.a., s. l. 

63

Ukrainian tales that come closest. Here the devils interfere with man’s life, creating 

chaos and confusion. Gogol’s devils are reminiscent of the young devils that appear 

at the wedding in Chert Karlovich’s company; they are no more than pranksters, 

busying themselves with pure mischief. 

Chert Karlovich exerts his disastrous influence on the wedding party with the 

help of music – a fiddle and a drum. Again there are parallels with Gogol’s 

world – the diabolic music performed in “The Sorochintsy Fair” (“Sorochinskaia 

iarmarka”) forces everybody to join in, and Gogol also excels in the kind of 

rhythmical sound repetitions that Andreev uses. Still, the choice of instruments 

belongs more to a Norwegian wedding than a Russian or Ukrainian one. And, 

further more, Andreev comes close to an all-European romantic tradition: “He 

(the Devil, BH) was said in the Middle Ages to own a violin with which he 

could set whole cities, grandparents and grandchildren, men and women, girls 

and boys, to dancing, dancing, until they fell dead from sheer exhaustion.” 3 The 

Devil was the greatest of all musicians, exerting his power over man with the 

help of his favourite instrument, the violin. For Chert Karlovich this power is, 

however, more of a curse than a blessing, since it works not in his own interest 

and is out of his own control. 

Then what was the devil doing in Norway? One explanation for the choice of 

setting is autobiographical: Andreev himself had visited Norway and seen the Atlantic 

coast with its fjords with his own eyes. I want to dwell in some detail upon 

this trip, richly and vividly presented in the letters that Andreev wrote to his wife 

during the journey, 4 since its link to “The Devil at the Wedding” is evident. 

Andreev had spent the summer of 1906 in Finland, where he became involved in 

the mutiny among Russian soldiers and sailors at the Sveaborg fortress, outside 

Helsinki. After the crushing of the uprising he chose to leave Finland immediately, 

without even waiting for his family. He could have stayed in Stockholm, 

in itself a safe place, while waiting to be reunited with his wife and son, but instead 

he took the opportunity to make a tourist trip to Norway. He outlined the 

route in advance for his wife: train from Stockholm to Trondheim 5 , boat to Bergen, 

arrival at Christiania after 10–11 days. He was to travel in the company of 

his friend, the lawyer Aleksei Staal (1872–1949). 

On the evening of 8 August Andreev and Staal left Stockholm by train. Three 

days later on the Swedish side of the border they broke their journey to go and 

see the Tännforsen, one of the biggest waterfalls in Scandinavia. On the same 

day (11 August) the two Russians arrived in Trondheim: 

3 Maximilian Rudwin, The Devil in Legend and Literature. La Salle, Illinois. 1973, p. 256. 

4 The letters have been published in Russian with comments by Davies, Richard, “I am Writing 

from the Depths of Scandinavia: Leonid Andreev’s Unpublished Correspondence with his 

First Wife in 1906”, Scottish Slavonic Review 14 (1990) pp. 61-99. 

5 Andreev is using the Russian (and German) spelling – Drontkheim. 

64

Now we are in Trondheim, a small town, far up in the north of Norway, 

located in a fjord. Right from the moment when the train passed 

the Norwegian border I was struck by the beauty – and I am talking 

about a rare, unprecedented beauty. When we chose to travel through 

T[rondheim], about which not even Brokar 6 says anything sensible, 

we expected something common, perhaps beautiful, perhaps even 

dull. But what we found was beauty, and a beauty that makes you feel 

like crying. Everything is exceptional – the contours, the colours, the 

mountains, the water, the buildings. Everything is young and bright – 

and everything is old, like pictures of old masters in a pinakothek. 7 

And everything is unreal. We travelled along the fjord at the sunset, 

and the mountains were blue and purple-red, and the ocean water, exceptionally 

sparkling, metallic, glittered with gold and blood, with 

verdure and azure. It was ebb-tide – and the ocean bed, uncovered 

right from the shore, reflected the sun and the clouds like a mirror. 

And in the night – the nights are still almost white here – we sat at 

the mole, by the lighthouse, and everything was rare and fairy talelike 

(skazochno). I have definitely never seen such beauty. In my present 

state of mind I am not easily moved – but this both moved and 

touched me, and something big stirred within me. 8 

In Trondheim Andreev and Staal spent two days while waiting for the next 

ship to Bergen. The evening of 12 August Andreev spent down at the mole, 

watching ships leaving for the North Cape, accompanied by music and fireworks. 

“And before that we went boating, marvelling at how big the waves, 

genuine ocean waves, are even in a small fjord.” 9 

On the next morning (13.8.) the Russian tourists went on foot to some waterfalls 

not far from Trondheim, obviously Øvre and Nedre Leirfoss by the River Nidelven, 

6 As Richard Davies states, it is unclear what book Andreev here (and in a later letter) is referring 

to, as there is no guide-book written by any Brocard (or Brochard). Davies suggest that it 

could be an inside joke between Andreev and his wife, where the real name of the author has 

been substituted by the name Brokar, who was “very well-known in Moscow as that of a firm 

of perfume and toiletries manufacture” (op. cit., p. 96). Actually, Mr Brokar himself, the 

owner of the firm, was an inhabitant of Moscow. Some of the references Andreev makes to 

“Brokar” reveal (as will be shown) that he is in fact using the most famous of all guide-book 

series of his time — Karl Baedeker’s and the volume Schweden und Norwegen nebst den 

wichtigesten Reiserouten durch Dänemark. Handbuch für Reisende (Leipzig, 1903). 

7 Andreev is refering to the Alte Pinakothek in Munchen, which he in the company of his wife 

had visited earlier in 1906 (op. cit., p. 97). 

8 Op. cit., p. 82. 

9 Op. cit., p. 84. 

65

an excursion recommended in Baedeker’s guide-book. Again Andreev was struck by 

the scenery: 

It is beautiful and does not smack of the north: everything is green, 

bright, cheerful, sometimes it reminds you of Volga-Zhiguli, sometimes 

of Switzerland. A lot of flowers, fruit is exceptionally cheap – as 

if you wou were somewhere in Central Europe. But no matter how 

beautiful the land is, I do not pay much attention to it but look for only 

one thing: the ocean, the ocean, the ocean! Also the land is beautiful, 

but common, while the ocean, even the local fjord, is dazzling, overwhelming. 

The sunsets are completely supernatural – only in the Crimea 

and by the Volga can you now and then see something similar. 

But there they are above the earth while here they are above the glittering, 

unusual water. 10 

In the evening Andreev and Staal left by boat for Bergen. Andreev had 

looked forward to seeing the ocean, but much to his disappointment the route 

(which in all lasted for 28 hours) went along the fjords. Only for three hours 

could he see nothing but the open ocean (evidently when they rounded the 

Stadtland cape): 

And furthermore, the ocean was in my honour calm as a lamb, and 

even at the place where, according to Brokar, it is always choppy, 11 

this time only two ladies felt sea-sick. […] It is true that at times you 

could vividly feel the might of the ocean, its power over man and 

towns, but only now and then. As for the fjords: Staal was enraptured 

by them, and it was obviously impressive, but I was indifferent as a 

herring to them. 12 

The next stop, the town of Bergen, also made a vivid impression upon Andreev: 

I like Bergen. It is one of those Norwegian towns over which the ocean has 

complete power: it determines the nature of building and clothing, it fills it 

with its smell of fish, masts, bursts into the streets, comes right up to the 

walls. There are so many boats, schooners, ships, that the harbour looks 

like a barrel of caviar, and the caviar is all these vessels. And they are all in 

motion, making a lot of noise, leaving for the ocean, arriving from the 

ocean, everywhere carrying with them a small part of the ocean – sunny, 

10 Op. cit., p. 85. 

11 Cf.: “Stadtlandet ist in Norwegen als Wetterscheide bekannt und der Stürme wegen 

verrufen. Auch im Sommer ist der Seegang oft unangenehm.” (Baedeker, op. cit., p. 365.) 

12 Davies, op. cit., p. 85. 

66

smelly, free. And the rain which is constantly falling in Bergen turns the 

people into complete amphibians. The people here love the rain, they are 

proud of it, and if there is no rain for two hours, they arrange a public 

prayer. Ten versts from B[ergen] you can see a cloudless sky, but here it is 

pouring. The small town is located in a hollow, surrounded by a ring of 

high mountains, and the clouds cover it like a tent. And indeed – this gives 

the town a peculiar beauty, strengthens its bond with the ocean, makes it 

almost submarine. But for a newcomer it is tough. It is warm and damp, as 

in a greenhouse – no wonder there is more than enough fruit here. 13 

From Bergen the Russian tourists travelled by horse via Hardangerfjorden, which, 

according to Andreev, was the real goal of the trip, 14 to Christiania. They returned to 

Stockholm by train on 21 August, meeting their families one day later. 

What Andreev found in Norway was a uniquely beautiful and colourful landscape 

with the fjords and the ocean being particularly impressive. 15 When arriving 

in Trondheim Andreev commented upon the beauty of the natural surroundings: 

“And in particular I had a lively sense of The Life of Man, as if the 

play with its eccentric but truthful and beautiful form has already been written 

somewhere here.” 16 The Norwegian scenery thus brought to mind a work which 

Andreev was working on at the moment – the drama The Life of Man (Zhizn’ 

cheloveka). Behind the parallel was the impression of a grandiose scale and a 

stylised form, a meeting-point between nature and art. Andreev finished his play 

a month later in Berlin, and it can be safely assumed that the reference to Norway 

which is found in the second scene of The Life of Man was added after his 

journey, as if, indeed, the play had already been partly written in Norway and 

Andreev only needed the trip to find its missing parts. 

The hero of The Life of Man, Man, is an architect, who spends his youth in 

poverty and need. Together with his wife he daydreams about a future when 

they will own two houses, one in Italy, the other in Norway: “[…] I plan to build 

a castle in Norway, up in the mountains. Down there is a fjord, but high up, on a 

13 Op. cit, pp. 85-86. 

14 

What probably caught Andreev’s attention was Baedeker’s recommendation: “Der 

Hardangerfjord ist der bekannteste unter der norwegischen Fjorden. Seine Schönheit wird seit 

alters gepriesen. [...] In der That kommen die norwegischen Gegensatze des oden eisigen 

Fjelds, der weiten Wasserflache des Fjords und der fruchtbaren, verhältnismässig dicht 

bewohnten Gelände [...] hier vortrefflich zur Erscheinung” (pp. 317-318). 

15 It had a “fairy tale-like” atmosphere, as he said about Trondheim. Andreev not only wrote 

down his immediate impressions but also recorded the Norwegian scenery with his camera; a 

large number of stereoscopic black-and-white photographs has been preserved from the trip 

(Davies, op. cit., p. 96). 

16 Op. cit., p. 82. 

67

mountain peak, there lies a castle.” As if he had seen Norway with his own eyes, 

Man illustrates his vision for his wife with a drawing: 

MAN: This is a fjord, do you see? […] Glittering, deep water, and here 

– red, black, brown stone. And here in the crack […] a patch of blue 

sky and a white, silent small cloud… 

MAN’S WIFE: Look, the white boat is reflected in the water, it’s like 

two white swans, breast to breast. 

MAN: And here the mountain is rising up, up. Down here it is cheerful 

and green, higher up it is gloomier, more and more severe. Sharp 

cliffs, black shadows, scraps and rags of clouds… 

MAN’S WIFE: It looks like a ruined castle. 17 

High above the fjord Man will build himself a kingly (tsarstvennyi) castle 

with thick walls and large windows. The castle will be heated by an enormous 

fireplace, which can swallow whole logs of pine-trees. Surrounded by books the 

couple will sit on a polar bear rug, drinking wine from an old golden goblet, 

used earlier by the Vikings, and eating chamois, grilled at a spit. 

For a moment Man and his Wife walk over to the window and draw back the 

curtains to see what is out there. Outside the castle they see another, hostile world: 

MAN’S WIFE: The snow is whirling! 

MAN: It is just like white horses rushing to and fro, just like myriads 

of frightened tiny spirits, pale with fear, looking for rescue in the night. 

I hear screams and wails… 

MAN’S WIFE: Oh, it is cold! I am trembling! 

MAN: Hurry to the fire! 18 

To shut out the frightening cold world of evil spirits they quickly cover the 

windows and put more logs on the fire-place. 

The Norway of The Life of Man is dualistic, divided into ups and downs. 

Down we have the Norway that Andreev himself had seen in 1906: a colourful, 

charming summer landscape, “cheerful and green”. Higher up we meet a mythical, 

black and white Norway, “gloomy, more and more severe”. It is a stylised, 

literary landscape, full of romantic reminiscences, which could well serve as the 

background to an existential drama. The castle of Man, reminiscent of the house 

that two years later Andreev built for himself in Vammelsuu, Finland, is the 

ideal place for challenging the powers of nature and, as such, is also a place of 

true creativity. 

17 SS II, p. 463. 

18 Ibid. 

68

Andreev met Norway again six years later in Henrik Ibsen’s play Peer Gynt, 

staged at The Moscow Art Theatre. 19 The theatrical sets had been created by the 

painter Nicholas Roerich in a fantastic, highly stylised manner. This was “a 

Norway that no traveller has even seen”, Andreev aptly commented in a 1919 

article on Roerich’s art. 20 Roerich had in fact refrained from joining 

Stanislavsky’s actors on their trip to Norway, as part of their work on the play, 

but instead he had chosen to create a mythical, fairy tale-like milieu of his own 

vision. The result had many similarities to Andreev’s Norwegian scenery. Andreev 

had seen Norway in August, saturated with bright summer colours, but 

both in The Life of Man and the short story “The Devil at the Wedding” he depicts 

a sterile winter landscape. He moved from the realistic “down” of the 

young architect’s vision to the more fanciful “up”. Similarly, in Roerikh’s production 

of Peer Gynt “the coloration gradually dims, becoming more and more 

monochromatic and austere”. In the final scene we see a severe, romantic landscape: 

“The hut, nestled in the towering pines of an icy winter kingdom, appears 

to be an oasis of human warmth.” 21 Like Peer Gynt and his ever faithful Solveig, 

Man and his Wife try to shut out the frightening, sinful outer world in order to 

set up their own, well sheltered nest. 

In Andreev’s “The Devil at the Wedding” the castle of The Life of Man has 

been reduced to a tiny cottage and the grandiose five-act play has turned into a 

three page simple folk tale pastiche. The change of genre reads like a bitter 

commentary on the past. In 1906, Andreev had felt “something big” stirring 

within him while travelling in Norway, ten years later his ambitions were considerably 

diminished. As a writer he was no longer able to captivate his audience 

as he had done with his earlier, grandiose expressionistic plays dealing with the 

19 Andreev’s first contacts with Norway and Norwegian culture had apparently been through 

Henrik Ibsen’s plays. At least three of them – An Enemy of the People (in Russian called Doctor 

Stockmann), When We Dead Awaken and The Wild Duck – he had seen at their first-nights 

at The Moscow Art Theatre, giving his impressions of them in his regular feuilletons for the 

newspaper Kur’er. Andreev did not write traditional reviews, but we can see from his writings 

that all the three plays made an extremely strong impression upon him, both from a thematic 

and poetical point of view. The theme of “the individual and the crowd” in An Enemy of the 

People was to be of great importance to Andreev himself, and a statement like “Under the 

pressure from the mad, egoistic, blinded crowd, honour and justice itself, truth perishes before 

the eyes of the indignant spectators” could be used in connection with many of Andreev’s 

own later works (Andreev, Leonid. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii. T. VI. SPb, 1913, p. 331). In 

When We Dead Awaken it was mainly the traits of symbolism that interested Andreev (SS VI, 

pp. 409-14), while concerning The Wild Duck he drew the paradoxical conclusion that the 

play, in spite of its tragic moments, was “a cheerful piece” (zhizneradostnaia veshch’) , which 

taught the audience to accept the lies that make you believe in life and to praise life in spite of 

everything (op. cit., pp. 431-35). 

20 Op. cit., p. 590. 

21 Jacqueline Decter, Nicholas Roerich: The Life and Art of a Russian Master. Vermont, 

Rochester, 1989, p. 80. 

69

ultimate questions of man’s life. The present time is shabby and futile and “The 

Devil at the Wedding” wavers between deeply felt emotions and tired laughter. 

The change in the choice of hero is also significant. It is no longer Man trying 

to shut out the evil powers from his life, for this time we witness the drama form 

the point of view of the outsider, the alienated loner with his cursed destiny. 

Happiness and love do exist, but Chert Karlovich is forever shut out from their 

world. His paradise is lost, a faint memory from the past. Seen from the year 

1915, Andreev’s Norwegian journey appeared to be a watershed. The letters sent 

from Norway not only bore witness to genuine feelings for the beauty of nature 

but also of deep love and longing for his wife. A few months later she was to die 

in Berlin, an event which Andreev never completely recovered from and which 

further deepened the gloomy pessimism of his work. There was no return to the 

strong, pure feelings that the Norwegian journey had awoken, they could only be 

relived in a mood of nostalgia. Chert Karlovich is placed in a Norway which is 

based upon the author’s own impressions from Trondheim, Bergen and the 

fjords, but which had been stripped off its realistic traits and turned into a 

mythical landscape – a process which had started in The Life of Man and, quite 

unintentionally, been picked up by the painter Nicholas Roerich in his work on 

Ibsen’s Peer Gynt. Likewise the mood had changed. The key word of the short 

story from 1915 is “gloom” and at the end of “The Devil at the Wedding” the 

whole wedding party disappears into the ice-cold ocean. Left on the shore is 

Chert Karlovich, a tragical figure, forever doomed to loneliness and sadness. 

70

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1961 , . . . 5. . 

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, 1915, 14632, 25 . 

1965 

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72. . 

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1978 , .. . . 2. 

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1938 , . 1914-1918. . 

1914 (), (). , , . , 

1914, 245, 24 . 

Andreev 1987 Andreev, Leonid. predskazanie. Sbornik 13. Study Group of 

Russian Revolution. Durham University, 107-110. 

Burjam 1905 B(urjam), A(delaine). Ett besök hos Leonid Andrejeff. Helsingfors-Posten 

12 ug. 1905, 215. 

Kaun 1924 Kaun, Alexander. Leonid Andreyev. A Critical Study. New York (Reprint 1970). 

Knapp 1975 Knapp, Bettina. Maurice Maeterlinck. New York 1975. 

NYT 1914 See Liberation in War. New York Times, 1914, 20689, 16 sept. 

Woodward 1969 Woodward, James B. Leonid Andreyev. A Study. Oxford. 

Wuolijoki 1986 Wuolijoki, Hella. Nuoruuteni kahdessa maassa. Espoo. 

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(1919). (1918-1919). .; 

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1922 . // : - 

..; . . 105-109. 

109

110

III. 

- 

RUSSIAN-FINNISH CONTACTS

On Ivan Konevskoi's Finnish Roots 

In the history of Russian symbolism, the poet Ivan Konevskoi (1877–1901) occupies 

a significant place. His first volume of poetry, Dreams and Thoughts (Mechty 

i dumy, 1900), shows him as a decadent, philosophical poet and essayist, wellread 

in modern European literature. Unfortunately, Konevskoi’s life ended a year 

later, when aged only 23 he drowned in the River Aa at Segewold (Sigulda), north 

of Riga. Konevskoi’s memory was upheld mainly by Valerii Briusov, who expressed 

his admiration for his friend in an essay, “The Wise Child” (“Mudroe ditia”, 

1901), and compiled a posthumous collection, Poetry and Prose (Stikhi i 

proza, 1904). A reprint of the book in 1971 renewed interest in Konevskoi. 

From Konevskoi’s collected works one can see that Finland played an influential 

role, both geographically and thematically. From the summer of 1899 

there are poems written in Viipuri (Viborg) 1 and Neuvola 2 and from the next 

summer, poems written in Imatra, Pellisenranta 3 and Rauhanranta. 4 The 

Kalevala folk epic was the source of inspiration for Konevskoi’s poem “The 

Song of the Exile: On a motif from The Kalevala” (“Pesn’ izgnannika: Na motiv 

iz Kalevaly”, 1899). 5 Finland both as a place to visit and as a literary theme 

had a long tradition in Russian literature. In Konevskoi’s case one can clearly 

talk about an influence from Vladimir Solov’ev, who had made Lake Saimaa 

famous through a circle of poems from the early nineties. The Kalevala had 

1 “Genius” (Konevskoi 1971, 89-90) and “Pred svetloi noch’iu” (1971, 91) are dated “Wiborg”, 

10 and 28 June. See also Lavrov 1991, 466 note 2. 

2 “Krainiaia duma” (Konevskoi 1971, 91-92) is dated 10 July 1899, Newola (sic!). The village 

Neuvola was located not far from Mustamäki railway station on the Carelian Isthmus. 

Konevskoi stayed from 2 July in Pension Lang (Lavrov 1991, 465, 466 note 2), the 

same pension where Maksim Gor’kii was to stay after his return to Russia in 1913. It was 

perhaps to Neuvola that Konevskoi went already in April of the same year. In a letter he 

wrote “I went for a few days to Finland, about 20 versts from Terijoki (to a place where 

N. M. Sokolov has settled for the spring)” (Jam-pol’skii 1979, 86). 

3 “Vskhlipyvaniia: Iz finskikh goloskov” (Konevskoi 1971, 111) is dated Pellisenranta, 8 

June 1900. Pellisenranta is located on the Southern shore of Lake Saimaa, not far from the 

famous Pension Rauha, where Konevskoi and his father stayed from late May (Lavrov 

1991, 502 note 7, 502-3). In a letter to Briusov, Konevskoi translated “rauha” quite correctly 

as “pokoi” (peace) but took it for a Swedish and not a Finnish word (ibid.). 

4 “Zatish’e” (Konevskoi 1971, 111-2) is dated Rauhanranta, 16 June 1900. Konevskoi left 

Rauhanranta and Finland on 20 June (Lavrov 1991, 507). Rauhanranta is located at the end of the 

Saimaa Channel as it approaches Viipuri. 

5 In the poem (Konevskoi 1971, 92-3) Konevskoi employs the motif of Lemminkäinen’s death and his 

awake-ning to life by his mother. Sariola (a synonym for Pohjola, the land beyond the sea in the 

north) and Manala (the place of the deceased) are also mentioned. The Finnish word for God, “Jumala”, 

is to be found as yet another link with The Kalevala in the poem “Vskhlipyvaniia: Iz finskikh 

goloskov” (1971, 111). 

113

eceived a great deal of attention in Russia at the turn of the century through 

Leonid Bel’skii’s translation from 1888. 

However, in Konevskoi’s case there was yet another important factor concerning 

his interest in Finland. Born in St. Petersburg and expressing “a deeply 

felt and subtly understood Russianness” in his works, 6 he was still very much 

aware of the fact that his paternal roots were to be found in Finland. His real 

name was Orraeus (in Russian spelt Oreus). In a letter he talks about the 

Viipuri region as a place which “for a long time was the native soil for some of 

my ancestors”. 7 Russian sources know of three generations of the Orraeus family, 

but Finnish literature offers the possibility to go back another three generations, 

to the early 17th century, in establishing Konevskoi’s background. 

The original name of the Orraeus family was Orre (in English, black grouse). 8 

The same name also appears in Sweden, where the family was raised to the 

nobility in the 17th century under the name of Orrfelt. However, there does not 

seem to be any connection between the Swedish and Finnish Orres. The first 

evidence we have concerning Konevskoi’s ancestors on his father’s side dates 

from the early 17th century. Jonas Orre came from Laitila, a village not far 

from Turku. It was his two sons, Anders and Axel, who Latinized their surname 

to Orraeus. Axel Orraeus graduated from Åbo Academy in 1640 and 

moved thereafter to Orimattila, south of Lahti. There he worked, first as assistant 

pastor and later as pastor, until his death around 1676. 

Both of Axel’s sons chose the ecclesiastical profession like their father. 

Gustaf Orraeus (1660–1733) was initially an army chaplain, later assistant pastor 

in Jääski, north of Viipuri. At the time of the Great Northern War he was 

working in Puumala, on the northern shore of Lake Saimaa. Here he was imprisoned 

by Russian troops and brought to St. Petersburg as a prisoner. This is 

presumably the first contact the Orraeus family had with Russia. Gustaf Orraeus 

was released on bail and ordered back to the Jääski parish in 1714. After 

the conclusion of peace in 1721, he again became a pastor in Puumala and was 

nine years later elected dean of the county. 

Gustaf Orraeus’ sons followed the established family tradition and became 

clergymen. The younger son, Magnus Orraeus (1703–1778), graduated in 

Viipuri in 1723. As Viipuri was situated in the territory of “Old Finland”, the 

part of Finland which according to the Uusikaupunki (Nystad) peace treaty of 

1721 had been added to Russia, one can say that this is the starting point of 

Konevskoi’s family’s move to Russia. Magnus Orraeus’ career was spent exclusively 

in the Taipalsaari parish in the southern part of the Lake Saimaa region, 

where he advanced from pastor to dean in 1771. In the next generation 

6 B(aran) 1985, 231. 

7 Morderer 1987, 177 note 56. 

8 The main information about the Orraeus family is taken from Bergholm 1901, pp. 976-80. 

114

the ecclesiastical tradition was finally broken. Of Gustaf Orraeus’ many children, 

one, David, went to England and became a merchant, changing his name 

to Orrhay. Another son, Gustaf Orraeus (1738–1811), became a respected doctor, 

scientist and agricultural specialist in Russia. A third son, Magnus Orraeus 

(1744–1819), Ivan Konevskoi’s great-grandfather, graduated in Viipuri in 1756 

and subsequently became the local civil governor. In the history of Viipuri, 

Magnus Orraeus (or Maksim, as he is called in Russian sources) is remembered 

as a fearless defender of Finnish rights against all attempts at Russification. 

Like his brother Gustaf, the scientist, he was eventually awarded the Russian 

title Actual Councillor of State. 

Magnus Orraeus died in 1819 in Viipuri, which by that time had again been 

added to what was now the Grand Duchy of Finland. The process of Russianization 

of the Orraeus family now proceeded rapidly as all the sons were employed 

either in the Russian army or in the Russian civil service. One of the 

daughters, Natalia, married a Russian physician, Nikolai Suthof, from St. Petersburg. 

The son Fredrik (born 1784), or Fedor in Russian, made a career in 

the army, where he advanced to Lieutenant General. In the 1840’s he was the 

head of Polotsk cadet-school and later inspector of the Russian army and navy. 

Fredrik’s brother Johan (1786–1863) was Ivan Konevskoi’s grandfather. In 

Russia known as Actual Councillor of State Ivan Maksimovich Oreus, he functioned 

for many years as Vice-Minister of Finance under Count Iegor Kankrin 

(1774–1845). During his last years he was the President of the Senate’s Third 

Department. 9 His wife’s maiden name was Zimmermann, probably the explanation 

of Ivan Konevskoi’s references to German descent. 

By the middle of the 19th century this branch of the Orraeus family had 

been completely Russianized, and from the Finnish perspective it became difficult 

to obtain information about its destiny. Axel Bergholm, the compiler of a 

large Finnish genealogy at the turn of the century, had no reliable sources on 

any descendants of Johan Orraeus, but, just to be sure, he included a Russian 

officer with the same name as a possible relative. This Johan Orraeus was indeed 

the son of the civil servant Ivan Oreus and the father of the future poet. 

Johan Orraeus, or Ivan Ivanovich Oreus (1830–1909), had received military 

training in the Preobrazhensky life guard regiment and the Nikolaevsky Academy. 

In the army he advanced to General of Infantry. As the head of the Military-Historical 

and Topographical Archive of the General Staff from 1863 onwards, 

10 he wrote a book on the Russian suppression of the Hungarian uprising 

in 1849 (Opisanie Vengerskoi voiny 1849 goda, 1880), and articles for Russian 

journals on military subjects. 11 He received several distinctions, including the 

9 Stepanov 1987, 181. Quoted from Pamiati Ivana Ivanovicha Oreusa (1910). See also Lavrov 

1991, 532-4. 

10 Stepanov 1987, 181. 

11 ntsiklopedicheskii slovar’ 1897, p. 138. 

115

prestigious White Eagle. 12 Ivan Orraeus was distinguished enough to be included 

in the Brokgaus and Efron Encyclopedia, an encyclopedia for which he 

himself wrote articles on military history and strategy. 

Ivan Orraeus was married to Elizaveta Anichkova, who died in 1891, the 

first Russian to appear in the family on Konevskoi’s father’s side. The earlier 

wives of the Orraeus family had, according to their names, been of either 

Swedish-speaking Finnish (Bloom, Alopaeus, Mollerus) or German origin (von 

Daehn, Zimmermann). 

When the future symbolist poet Ivan Ivanovich Oreus was born in 1877, the 

Orraeus family had ceased to exist in Finland. 13 Yet one can see in his case 

conscious attempts to search for Finnish roots. The two summers in Finland 

were spent in the region where his family had roots two centuries earlier. His 

pen-name, used for the first time in print in 1899 but invented as early as 

1893, 14 has a Finnish connection, as it is a reference to the monastery at 

Konevitsa (in Russian: Konevets) on Lake Ladoga. 15 As a private person he 

could still sometimes even use his Finnish name; a dedication from 1899 is 

signed “Johann Orreus”. 16 

According to his friends, Ivan Konevskoi claimed that his forefathers were 

Swedish Varangians, among them Sineus, 17 a brother of the legendary founder 

of Kievan Rus’, Riurik. This “Varangian theory” Konevskoi also presented in 

poems, but it was clearly more a part of a personal poetic mythology than a 

claim to historical fact. There are not even any evidences of Scandinavian 

roots, 18 as all Konevskoi’s paternal ancestors, starting from the early 17th century, 

were Finns with, apparently, Finnish as their mother tongue. The Orraeus 

family offers an example of how a Finnish family is gradually Russianized, 

originally being priests in the South-Eastern part of Finland and later becoming 

civil servants and military officers in Russia. Connections between Finland and 

Russia were established again through the poet Ivan Konevskoi, but with him 

this branch of the Orraeus family ended in 1901. 

12 Stepanov 1987, 181. 

13 In the Vanhakirkko (Old Church) park, in the centre of Helsinki, is the grave of Senator 

Anders Vilhelm Orraeus (1761–1826), a second cousin of Ivan Konevskoi’s grandfather. 

14 Morderer l987, 177 note 56 

15 Konevskoi also wrote a poem about the Konevitsa monastery, “S Konevtsa” (1898) 

(Konevskoi 1971, 36-7). 

16 Stepanov 1987, 195. 

17 Stepanov 1987, 181. 

18 Ivan Konevskoi's father claimed that the family had come from Sweden (Lavrov 1991, 

542), a claim repeated in for ex. Lavrov 1994, 91. 

116

LITERATURE 

B(aran), H(enryk). Konevskoi, Handbook of Russian Literature. Ed. By Victor 

Terras. New Haven, 1985, 231. 

Bergholm, Axel. Sukukirja: Suomen aatelittomia sukuja. Vol. II. Helsinki, 

1901, 976–80. 

ntsiklopedicheskii slovar’ Brokgausa i Efrona. Vol. 43 (XXII), St. Petersburg, 

1897, 138. 

Iampol’skii, I.G. (publ.), Ivan Konevskoi: Pis’ma k Vl.V. Gippiusu, in: Ezhegodnik 

rukopisnogo otdela Pushkinskogo doma na 1977 god. Leningrad, 

1979, 79–98. 

Konevskoi, Ivan. Sobranie sochinenii. Slavische Propyläen: Texte in Neu- und 

Nachdrücken. Vol. 107. Munich, 1971. 

Lavrov, A.V., Konevskoi, Ivan, Russkie pisateli 1800–1917: Biograficheskii 

slovar’. Vol. III. Moscow, 1994, 51–2. 

Lavrov, A.V., Morderer, V. Ia., Parnis, A.E. (eds.), Perepiska s I. I. Oreusomottsom, 

in: Valerii Briusov i ego korrespondentsiia. Literaturnoe 

nasledstvo. Vol. 98:1. Moscow, 1991, 532–50. 

Lavrov, A.V., Morderer, V. Ia., Parnis, A.E. (eds.), Perepiska s Iv. Konevskim 

(1898–1901), in: Valerii Briusov i ego korrespondentsiia. Literaturnoe 

nasledstvo. Vol. 98:1. Moscow, 1991, 424–532. 

Morderer, V. Ia., Blok i Ivan Konevskoi, in: Aleksandr Blok: Novye materialy i 

issledovaniia. Literaturnoe nasledstvo. Vol. 92: IV. Moscow, 1987, 151– 

78. 

Pamiati Ivana Ivanovicha Oreusa (1830–1909): Po vospominaniiam druzei i 

pochtitelei. Ed. M. Budagov. St. Petersburg, 1910. 

Stepanov, N.L., Ivan Konevskoi: Poet mysli, in: Aleksandr Blok: Novye 

materialy i issledovaniia. Literaturnoe nasledstvo. Vol. 92: IV. Moscow, 

1987, 180–202. 

117

Aleksandr Kuprin and Finland * 

At the beginning of the 20th century Finland came to occupy a special place in 

the life and work of several Russian writers. Its natural environment and mythology 

had been attracting poets since the times of Batjuškov and Baratynskij. 

Now the Karelian Isthmus became a popular resort for the St. Petersburg intelligentsia, 

and Helsinki also started to attract visitors. Finnish national culture and 

democracy were seen as models to be emulated by Russia. Important contacts 

were formed with the Finnish intelligentsia, and for a time the liberal and radical 

forces of both countries joined forces in their struggle for political and social 

changes. 

Maksim Gor’kij, Leonid Andreev and Aleksandr Kuprin were the Russian 

writers who established the closest ties with Finland. Of these, it is Kuprin’s 

contacts that have attracted the least attention. 1 This despite the fact that Kuprin, 

according to his own words, visited Helsinki eleven times 2 (Kuprin 1919), personally 

got to know several leading Finnish writers, and wrote some interesting 

sketches about Finland. The following is an attempt to trace both Kuprin’s visits 

to Finland and his contacts with the Finnish intelligentsia, as well as to outline 

both his image of the country and the introduction of his writings in Finland. 

About his first visit to Finland Kuprin wrote in 1907: “I remember that about 

five years ago, I happened to travel to Imatra for one day together with the writers 

Bunin and Fedorov. We returned [to St. Petersburg, BH] late in the evening.” 

(Kuprin 1958 VI: 622.) This journey to Imatra has never been dated exactly, but 

it seems likely that it took place in September 1900. There is no evidence concerning 

Kuprin’s whereabouts at that time, but we know that Ivan Bunin spent 

two weeks in St. Petersburg in September in the company of Aleksandr Fedorov 

(Bunin 1973: 518). Furthermore, Fedorov has a poem, “Imatra” (Fedorov 1911 

IV: 48), from that year. 3 

The waterfall at Imatra was Finland’s internationally most famous tourist attraction. 

Since the reign of Tsar Nicholas I it had been visited by a steadily increasing 

number of Russian travelers. These included writers who traditionally 

depicted their feelings in front of the majestic scenery in poems or travels. (Hirn 

1958: 324–328.) Ivan Bunin apparently never wrote about his impressions of 

Imatra, but Kuprin remembered it in a surprising connection about ten years 

later. In the novel Jama (1909-15, The Pit) he used the waterfall of Imatra as a 

simile when stressing the stamina and drive of the Jewish procurer Gorizont: 

“And truly he had almost as much energy as the waterfall of Imatra!” (Kuprin 

1958 V: 133). 

* The article is written together with Kirsti Ekonen (Helsinki). 

118

Connected with the visit to Imatra is a scene that Kuprin witnessed in 

Antrea, a railway station located between Imatra and Viipuri. Returning to 

St. Petersburg in the evening, the train stopped at the Antrea station, and the 

three Russian writers went out to have something to eat. Kuprin was very 

impressed by the extravagant stand-up buffet at the small station restaurant 

and by the trust which was shown for the visitors, who were expected to pay 

for their meal without any supervision. All the more shocking was it for Kuprin 

to witness the rude behaviour and condescending attitude towards everything 

Finnish of two Russian businessmen travelling in the same train. 

The meeting between a generous Finland and a vulgar and greedy Russia 

became for him a symbol of the cultural gulf between the two countries. 4 

(Kuprin 1958 VI: 622-623.) 

Kuprin was introduced to the Finnish reading public in 1903, when an early short 

story of his, “Doznanie” (1894, Inquiry), was included in a Finnish anthology of 

modern Russian prose, Poimintoja (Odds and End). 5 Kuprin was here in the company 

not only of Anton exov, Nikolaj Lejkin and Vasilij Nemirovi-Danenko, but 

also of young Realists from the Sreda-group: Maksim Gor’kij, Aleksandr Serafimovi, 

Semen Juškevi and Nikolaj Telešov. The next year the same short story was 

published in a new translation and under another title in the newspaper Työmies, a 

social democratic publication. 

In the summer of 1905 the Karelian Isthmus played host to many Russian 

writers. This was partly due to the increasing fame of places like Kuokkala and 

Terijoki as summer resorts, but it was also connected with the greater political 

freedom that existed in the Grand Duchy of Finland. Gor’kij spent the summer – 

already his second – in Kuokkala, while Leonid Andreev rented a summerhouse 

in Vammelsuu, a village further up along the coast. In June Kuprin was invited by 

Gor’kij to Kuokkala. Gor’kij had just finished a new play, Deti solnca (The Children 

of the Sun) and he invited Kuprin for a reading on June 18. 6 The reading 

took place at the painter II’ja Repin’s house in Kuokkala (Kulešov 1983: 287). 

Five weeks later, on July 23, Kuprin and Gor’kij met again in Kuokkala, this 

time to discuss the establishment of a satirical journal. The Finnish press reported 

that the aim of the projected journal would be to attack the prevailing political 

conditions in Russia, but it was also emphasized that the journal would 

otherwise be open to divergent opinions (HP 1905). According to the painter 

Igor’ Grabar’ it was a social democratic publication, although the political situation 

required that this be kept secret (Grabar’ 1937: 215). It is not exactly clear 

who was present at this occasion at Gor’kij’s dacha, but writers like Kuprin, 

Leonid Andreev, Evgenij irikov, Skitalec and Sergej Elpaevskij have been 

mentioned (Kulešov 1983: 289), as have several famous Russian artists. As the 

journal was also planned to deal with questions related to Finland, some wellknown 

Finns had been invited: the architect Eliel Saarinen (1873-1950) as well 

as the painters Akseli Gallen-Kallela (1865-1931) and Eero Järnefelt (1863- 

1937). 7 This was apparently Kuprin’s first personal contact with representan- 

119

tives of the Finnish intelligentsia. Not much emerged from the planned cooperation 

this time. The first issue of the journal was published in December under 

the title Župel’, but the original plans were only modestly fulfilled. 8 

On August 12, a literary and musical soirée was organized at the casino in 

Terijoki. The money collected was meant for striking workers in Russia. The 

actress Marija Andreeva, Gor’kij’s civil wife, was mentioned as the official organizer 

of the soirée. The programme consisted both of readings by Maksim 

Gor’kij, Leonid Andreev, Aleksandr Kuprin, Skitalec, and Ivan Rukavišnikov 

and of music performed by the opera tenor Aleksandr Bogdanovi and the violinist 

Gurvin. The event was a major one with some 800 persons attending, most 

of them Russian summer visitors and students from St. Petersburg. (Karjala 

1905.) 

Aleksandr Kuprin was the first to appear. His novel about army life, Poedinok 

(1905, The Duel) had been published just two months earlier and had been 

an imme-diate success. A Finnish student in the audience wrote: 

The curtain is finally rising in front of the restless audience and at the stage 

there stand a chair and a small table at which a stout gentleman sits down. 

He starts to read a chapter from The Duel, his last literary work, in a lively 

manner. But the audience demands yet another one, and he thus reads another, 

shorter chapter from the same book. This is the young Russian 

writer Aleksandr Kuprin, who is completely unknown here [in Finland, 

BH]. (Karjala 1905.) 

A gendarme present at the occasion noted down in his report that all the texts 

that had been read that evening in Terijoki had been of “an obvious tendentious 

character” (Krasnyj arxiv 1936: 66). As the event took place within the borders 

of Finland, no measures could be taken to stop it. 

Poedinok came to be Kuprin’s most famous novel. In 1906 it was translated into 

both Swedish and Finnish with the author’s permission. The Swedish translation, 

made in Sweden by Erik Nordenström, was the first to reach the public. 

The translation was appallingly bad and provoked the Finnish reviewer “E.G.” 9 

in Nya Pressen to call it “a literary maltreatment” of “a masterpiece”, advising 

the readers to turn instead to the French or German translation, or wait for the 

forthcoming Finnish one. The possibility of reading Kuprin in Russian was not 

mentioned; not many educated Finns knew Russian well enough to be able to 

read the original. The problem with Nordenström’s translation was that the 

translator had only a scant knowledge of the Russian language and no sense of 

style at all. Yet he had been presumptuous enough to fill out what he thought 

was “gaps” in Kuprin’s text with his own inventions and to “correct” the writer 

on issues concerning Russian realia. (E.G. 1906.) 

120

Criticism of Nordenström’s translation was also voiced by the art historian 

and literary critic Torsten Söderhjelm (1880-1908) in his review of Poedinok for 

the same newspaper. Söderhjelm read the novel against the background of the 

Russian revolution, praising its “masterly” picture of the reactionary Russian 

forces. Like Leonid Andreev’s Krasnyj smex (The Red Laugh), Kuprin’s Poedinok 

was an accusation, but whereas Andreev cursed the war itself, Kuprin criticized 

the life in the military barracks, a milieu that he knew thoroughly. All the 

details and situations in the novel stressed the same thing, “spiritual decline, the 

devastation of human forces, the complete levelling of the personality, the transformation 

of a throng of people into a herd of animals”. The parts in Kuprin’s 

novel which Söderhjelm pointed out as being weak were a lengthy, unnecessary 

love story plus a dialogue which tended to be too bookish. “The role of love 

novelist seems to suit the author as badly as the role of preacher”, Söderhjelm 

concluded in his otherwise very positive review. (T.S. 1906.) 

The Finnish translator of Poedinok was Eino Kalima (1882-1972), a young 

Finn who was studying Russian language and literature at Moscow University. 

Kalima’s first translation had been Leonid Andreev’s Krasnyj smex, and when he 

met Andreev in Helsinki in May 1906 he was already working on Kuprin’s novel. 

In his memoirs Kalima, later to become the head of the National Theatre and one 

of the leading Finnish theatre directors, recalls that he discussed Kuprin with Andreev, 

without giving any details about the conversation. (Kalima 1962: 165.) 

Poedinok appeared in Finnish in December 1906. In the advertisement the 

novel was highly praised: 

Kuprin’s long novel Kaksintaistelu was published one and a half year ago 

and was immediately acclaimed all over Russia as one of the most important 

Russian novels of the past few years. The book had a great influence 

on the best representatives of the officers corps, something which the 

many letters of thanks they have sent to the author for his honest depiction 

bear witness to. Kaksintaistelu has been translated into almost all the 

languages of Europe, and it has attracted attention everywhere, because 

of its deep humanity, healthy realism, and fresh poetry, all of which differentiate 

it from ordinary soldier novels. (US 1906.) 

Martti Wuori (1858-1934), who had played an important role in the 1880s 

and 1890s as an introducer and translator of Russian literature into Finnish, 

wrote about Kuprin’s novel for the cultural journal Aika. The review is full of 

praise for the artistic side of Poedinok. The plot is simple but “interesting, skillfully 

and logically developed” (Wuori 1907: 271). In Kuprin’s description of 

natural scenery and characters Wuori saw great mastery. “The clear-cut depiction 

of character which is typical of the best Russian writers (and which, I am 

sorry to say, our Finnish novelists, even the best, have not come close to matching) 

is here to be found in great measure. Virtually none of the many characters 

121

in the novel remains dim, obscure, just a name. Everyone has his own characteristic 

features, sometimes drawn with only a few strokes of the writer’s pen, but 

always memorable (…).” (Wuori 1907: 272.) 

According to Wuori, Poedinok represented tendentious literature, but he hastened 

to add that the novel was tendentious in the same positive way as Lev Tolstoj’s 

Sevastopol’skie rasskazy (Sevastopol sketches), Vsevolod Garšin’s short 

stories “etyre dnja” (“Four Days”), “Iz vospominanij rjadovogo Ivanova” 

(“From the Reminiscences of Private Ivanov”) and “Trus” (“The Coward”), and 

Vasilij Verešagin’s paintings of the horrors of war. Kuprin “unveils the glaring 

shortcomings of the military institution in an inspiring way and with the sharp 

pen of a talented artist” (Wuori 1907: 271). Unlike Leonid Andreev’s Krasnyj 

smex (the translation of which Wuori seemed to consider almost unnecessary) 

Poedinok was part of the classical realistic tradition in Russian literature and 

Wuori was therefore prepared to greet it with enthusiasm. 

In Uusi Suometar Kuprin’s novel was reviewed by the young and promising 

poet V. A. Koskenniemi (1885-1962). Koskenniemi started by placing Kuprin in 

the contemporary Russian literary field and giving him a characterization: “Together 

with Gor’kij and Andreev – of which two the star of the former has been 

setting as the star of the latter has been rising – Kuprin is the most prominent 

writer of Young Russia. He is not a genuine, revolutionary natural talent, as is 

Gor’kij, nor is he a strictly individual artistic soul, as is Andreev, but he is broader 

and psychologically deeper.” In opposition to Andreev’s “sick and one-sided view 

of life” Kuprin had, like Lev Tolstoj, “a healthy attitude towards life”. 

Poedinok was, according to Koskenniemi, neither an objective description nor 

a comment on the Russian revolution, but above all a psychological novel. 

Koskenniemi recommended the book to the kind of reader “who prefers psychological 

truthfulness to a thrilling intrigue, who in literature looks for the human 

being, the suffering and rejoicing human being”. He protested against the view 

that Poedinok was a tendentious novel; the main thing was that it was true to life, 

notwithstanding its “icily melancholy mood”, and that the author showed sympathy 

and forgiveness for all his characters. If it had a tendency, this did not in any 

case have a negative influence on the artistic and psychological side of the novel. 

The weakest part of Poedinok, in the eyes of Koskenniemi, was the portrait 

of the main hero plus the misleading title. But his conclusion was that translations 

of novels like Poedinok were of great importance for Finnish literature. It 

was precisely in Russian literature (Ivan Turgenev, Lev Tolstoj and now Kuprin) 

that the best psychological novels could be found. “In the novel of Kuprin there 

are a spiritual truth, simplicity and a very delicate view of life”, Koskenniemi 

concluded (V.A.K. 1907). 10 

Poedinok also caught the attention of the writer Maila Talvio (1871-1951). 

Kuprin’s novel was the first to be discussed at a student literary circle led by 

Talvio. The discussion, which took place on February 28, 1907, turned out to be 

122

very lively. (Tuulio 1963: 343.) Just a few months later Finnish writers were offered 

a chance to meet Kuprin in person, when he came to Helsinki. 

What seems to be Kuprin’s first visit to Helsinki had taken place in November 

1906 (Kuprin 1969: 225). Nothing is known about the nature of this trip. But 

Kuprin liked what he saw and a few months later he was back, this time for a 

longer time. The circumstances were not altogether happy. Kuprin’s first marriage 

had drifted into a critical stage, and in February 1907 he finally broke up 

with his wife Marija, leaving their home in St. Petersburg. After a period of 

heavy drinking he was advised by his doctor to seek treatment in a hospital for 

neurasthenia. (Kuprina-Iordanskaja 1966: 285, Kuprina 1979: 27.) The doctor 

was supported by Kuprin’s new love, Elizaveta Gejnrix, who agreed to marry 

him on the condition that he first cures his nervous condition (Kuprina 1979: 

27). Rather than stay in St. Petersburg Kuprin preferred to treat his health in the 

Helsinki Tallbacka sanatorium. On March 19 he left the Russian capital by train 

in the company of Gejnrix and his close friend, professor Fedor Batjuškov, a 

philologist and editor, arriving in Helsinki the next day. 11 

Tallbacka was a small, private nursing home located at Kammionkatu (today 

Sibeliuksenkatu) 8-10 in Töölö 12 , at that time the outskirts of Helsinki. In the 

Helsinki Street directory of 1906-1907 it was advertised as specializing in “internal 

diseases, especially nervous diseases”. It offered diet regimes for diabetes 

and gout as well as for overweight and underweight, under the supervision of 

specialists. The hydrotherapy at Tallbacka was of the most modern kind. 

(Adress- och yrkeskalender 1906: 422.) Whereas the adjacent Kammio hospital 

treated mentally deranged persons, morphine addicts and alcoholics, Tallbacka 

took care of “convalescents and patients with minor psychiatric disorders” 

(Bonsdorff 1985: 360). 

Kuprin was admitted to Tallbacka on March 20, the day of his arrival, and 

was treated by doctor Knut Stjernvall for “neurasthenia”. After three weeks, on 

April 11, he was discharged as cured. (Tallbacka 1907.) Kuprin did not leave 

Helsinki immediately but moved to the centre of the town, to a boarding house 

kept by Anna Sjöberg (Kuprin 1969: 219) at Läntinen Henrikinkatu 12 (today 

Mannerheimintie 10), where his fiancée had been staying. 

Kuprin lived an indolent life in Helsinki. In a letter to Batjuškov, who had returned 

to St. Petersburg, Kuprin complained jokingly that at Tallbacka he felt as 

though he were in an isolation cell in the St. Petersburg prison “Kresty” and 

could not write anything (Kuprin 1969: 226). A few days later it was the collected 

works of Alexandre Dumas père and Victor Hugo that prevented him 

from working (Kuprin 1969: 226-227). Kuprin was nevertheless active socially, 

something which was noticed by the local Russian secret police, still uneasy after 

the Sveaborg mutiny in the preceding summer. In a report from Helsinki it 

was noted that 

123

on March 7 an unknown gentleman together with a young lady arrived in 

Helsinki from St. Petersburg, and after putting her in a boarding house, 

he himself settled down in a private sanatorium… The young lady’s 

place was visited by the librarian Igel’strem and professor Mandel’štam, 

both known for their alliance with the military organization. From the 

conversations between the above-mentioned persons it could be concluded 

that the unknown gentleman had come for some conspiratorial 

purpose… Asking in detail whether the soldiers were sufficiently prepared 

and whether the Sveaborg artillerymen could be counted on, he 

asked, among other things, what the commander of the Sveaborg fortress 

was like, receiving the answer that “the commander we can always deceive, 

as the old man has entered his second childhood”. After putting the 

unknown gentleman under thorough surveillance we succeeded in identifying 

him as Aleksandr Ivanovi Kuprin (the writer), who, under the pretext 

of treating his health, has arrived in Helsingfors with the young lady 

Elizaveta Moricevna Gejnrix. (Verzbickij 1978: 19.) 

Kuprin’s Russian acquaintances were Iosif Mandel’štam (1846-1911), professor 

of Russian language and literature at the Imperial Alexander University of 

Finland, and Andrej Igelström (1860-1927), librarian at the University Slavonic 

Library. Both were staunch opponents of the Russian politics of oppression in 

Finland and Igelström even had contacts with the local Russian revolutionaries. 

Nevertheless, on the basis of a letter, written by Kuprin to Batjuskov on March 

29, the truth about their discussions with Kuprin seems more prosaic than the 

version the agent presented: “I have visited Mandel’štam, and he has been to see 

me. I had lunch at Igel’strem’s place. It was boring, the food was bad, and during 

the lunch he kept droning on about something. He despises me for my indifference 

towards politics.” (Kuprin 1969: 227.) 

It seems likely that, even if the dates cannot be established with certainty, it was 

nevertheless already during this stay in Helsinki that Kuprin also came to know 

some Finnish writers. A close friendship was established with Eino Kalima, the 

Finnish translator of Poedinok. In his memoirs Kalima writes that Kuprin returned 

a few times to Tallbacka to take care of his health after “indulging” too much in St. 

Petersburg and Moscow, but that after a few days in the peaceful sanatorium he 

usually had had enough of the silence and asked Kalima to join him for an evening 

out. “It was through him that I got to know almost all the popular taverns in the 

Helsinki of that time”, writes Kalima, apparently also referring to Kuprin’s visit in 

1916-1917 (Kalima 1962: 318). 

Kuprin was also introduced to the writer Maila Talvio and her husband 

J. J. Mikkola (1866-1946), professor of Slavonic Languages at the Alexander 

University. At that time Mikkola’s stately wooden house at the Töölö Bay 

(Eläintarha 10, today Linnunlauluntie) was a literary salon, a meeting place not 

only for the local intelligentsia but also for foreign writers, artists and scholars 

124

as well. Among the Slavic visitors the home of professor Mikkola and his wife 

was jokingly referred to as “the general consulate of the Slavic people” 

(Koskenniemi 1946: 67). Besides Kuprin, it had also been visited by Maksim 

Gor’kij, Leonid Andreev and others. A letter of gratitude from Kuprin to Talvio 

(APPENDIX 1) testifies that Kuprin spent at least one evening at the home of 

professor J. J. Mikkola. 13 Perhaps it was in 1907 that Kuprin revealed to Talvio 

that he had been hesitating about what to do with the hero in his Poedinok, kill 

him off or allow him to stay alive (Talvio 1956: 312). 

As a student of professor Mikkola, Kalima was a frequent guest in the house on 

Töölö Bay, and it seems most likely that Kalima functioned as the intermediary 

when Kuprin met Talvio and Mikkola. Another of Kalima’s friends was 

V. A. Koskenniemi, who had written a favorable review of Poedinok. Koskenniemi 

also got to know Kuprin, perhaps in the home of Talvio and Mikkola. In his book 

about Maila Talvio, Koskenniemi talks about the “excellent novelist” Kuprin, the 

success of his Poedinok in Finland, and how fond he was of Finland, prolonging his 

stay in 1907 (Koskenniemi 1946: 67). Kuprin left Finland somewhere at the turn of 

the month April-May (Kulešov 1973: 265). 

Already during his stay at Tallbacka sanatorium Kuprin started to work on a 

sketch about Finland. As a model he was using Knut Hamsun’s “Lidt Paris” 

(1897, “A Little Bit of Paris”) (Kuprin 1969: 219). On the day he left Tallbacka 

Kuprin wrote to the editor of the journal Naš Žurnal (formerly Žizn’ Dlja Vsex), 

Viktor Miroljubov, about his plan (Kuprin 1969: 218-219). Kuprin went on 

working on his sketch during the whole of 1907, making several changes. He 

was also planning to have his article illustrated with views of Helsinki (the 

Ateneum Art Museum, Alexanterinkatu, “Novyj teatr”, that is the Swedish 

Theatre, and the statue of J. L. Runeberg), offering post-cards that he had bought 

in Helsinki (Kuprin 1969: 219). “Nemnožko Finljandii” (“A Little Bit of 

Finland”) was eventually published in 1908 without any illustrations in the February 

issue ( 1) of Naš Žurnal. 

“Nemnožko Finljandii” is written from the point of view of a Russian, coming 

to Helsinki by train. His first impression of Helsinki is that of “a real European 

town” (Kuprin 1958 VI: 613). Commenting upon the architecture the narrator 

crosses the Railway square (“half as big as the Field of Mars [in St. Petersburg, 

BH]”, 613), noting the National Theatre on the left and the Ateneum, the 

National Gallery, on the right, walks along Mikonkatu to Pohjoisesplanadi, 

which he characterizes as the local Nevskij Prospekt, passing the statue of 

J. L. Runeberg, the National Poet, until he reaches the market place, paying special 

attention to its enormous amount of beautiful and cheap flowers. 

Kuprin is impressed by everything he sees, implicitly presenting Finland and the 

Finns as a model for his countrymen. The crowds in the streets behave in a civilized 

way and can tell the right side from the left. The policemen are “handsome, elegant 

in a modest way and courteously polite” (614). No shouting or unnecessary disputes 

can be heard. The real masters of the streets are the children. The grownups willingly 

125

give way to the cheerful schoolchildren, who carry their textbooks in one hand and 

skates in the other. After watching these scenes Kuprin concludes: “It seems to me 

that one can bravely predict a great future for a people, who have fostered a respect 

for the children.” (614.) 

Kuprin also discerned the same caring attitude towards women. He had seen it 

already among the Finnish peasants in the small villages of Uusikirkko and Perkjärvi 

on Karelian Isthmus. In Helsinki the women were not only offered seats in 

the trams but they had also won seats in the Finnish Diet, a fact about which the 

Finns were rightly proud. Woman could furthermore be found in most professions. 

In the “ravintala”, that is “ravintola” (restaurant) 14 , Kuprin was served by 

“pretty girls, well dressed, and utterly well-behaved” (616). What astonished a 

Russian most was to find women working in saunas for men. As this was the subject 

of much speculation in Russia Kuprin hastened to assure that there was “no 

indecency” in this (616). As for prostitution, a social phenomenon that Kuprin 

was to penetrate in his next novel Jama, it was not legalized in Finland but it did 

exist in the form of casual contacts, discreetly made in the afternoon out on the 

streets. As informers on this question Kuprin was using a local Russian officer 

and a Finnish student. As to the physical appearance of Finnish women, Kuprin 

saw himself, with regret, forced to state that most of them were far from beautiful, 

adding that this was also the case with Russian women. The only exceptions to 

the rule could be found among the Swedish-speaking women. 

Nor did Kuprin find the Finnish men handsome. Even in the face of Finnish gentlemen 

he traced the hard life of a people which had been living in a country with a 

severe climate and a barren soil. Kuprin emphasized, however, one outstanding feature 

that the Finnish men and women had in common, that is “the beautiful eyes – 

calm, brave, bright blue” (617). This made Kuprin draw a parallel to the natural environment 

of Finland, “where high up among wild granite cliffs, crystal clear lakes are 

silently sleeping, reflecting the sky” (617). The picture reveals Kuprin’s familiarity 

with Evgenij Baratynskij’s influential poem “Finljandija” (1820, “Finland”). Another 

expression – “these clumsy, scraggy stepchildren of nature” (621) – shows that he 

was also looking at the Finns through the prism of Aleksandr Puškin and his poem 

Mednyj vsadnik (1833, The Bronze Horseman). In an article from 1933 Kuprin was 

again to allude to Puškin when characterizing the Finns: “the gloomy stepchildren of 

nature” (Kuprin 1933). 

In the eyes of Kuprin the Finns were “a genuine, strong, slow, serious peasant 

people” (617). To the list of admirable Finnish traits he added a love of flowers 

(“In the small town of Helsinki there are more flower shops than in St. Petersburg”, 

618-619), a practical view upon dressing and giving gifts, plus good 

physical training. In Finland both young and old, men and women practiced 

skating, skiing, swimming, and athletics, something which impressed Kuprin 

with his admiration of physical feats. 

Two visits made a particularly deep impression upon Kuprin. One of them was 

to a newly built grammar school in the district of Töölö, just across the Street 

126

from Kuprin’s hospital, the other to the Ateneum, the art museum, in which Kuprin 

spent several days. Not only could the Finns boast a near total literacy, but 

also their schools were worthy of attention. The grammar school on Töölönkatu 

41-45 (today Töölön ala-asteen koulu) that Kuprin visited had been built a few 

years earlier. It was an impressive building in three floors. The first thing that 

struck Kuprin when entering the school was the fresh air, something which was 

attained not only with the help of a modern ventilation system but which was also 

the result of the Finnish love of fresh air. At every possible moment the windows 

were opened wide. When describing the gymnasium hall, the standard of equipment, 

which had no equivalent in Russia, and the interiors of the classrooms, Kuprin 

became almost lyrical: “Every detail serving the comfort and the benefit of 

the schoolchildren has been planned with great love and consideration. The form 

of the benches and the ink-pots, the maps, the collections, the classrooms for 

physics and natural sciences, the color of the walls, the enormous height of the 

rooms, the huge amount of light and air, and even such a small detail as the flowers 

in the windows, flowers that the schoolchildren themselves bring to the school 

with great pleasure, – all this indicates in a moving way a careful and clever, serious 

and loving attitude towards this matter.” (619-620.) 

What caught Kuprin’s attention at the Ateneum was above all the paintings of 

Albert Edelfelt (1854-1905), Akseli Gallen-Kallela (“I was in love – I cannot find 

any other word – with Gallen’s triptych with motifs from Kalevala” 15 [621]) and 

Eero Järnefelt. The latter two he had met in person two years before in Kuokkala. In 

the eyes of Kuprin these three painters represented the best of modern European art. 

But also the whole collection as such bore witness to the big creative potential of the 

Finns. The audience also impressed Kuprin. Whereas in Russia only the upper 

classes were to be seen at art exhibitions, at the Ateneum on Sundays one could see 

“the simplest of working people – workers, porters, servants, all dressed in their best, 

festive clothes” (621). 

A detail like this bore witness to what for Kuprin was the most important thing 

about Finland, that is its “genuine democracy”: “her children compound one undivided, 

healthy, working people, and not like in Russia – a few classes, of which 

the highest one shows the most refined colour of European veneer, and the lowest 

one lives the life of a cave man” (618). Unlike “the poet of Finland”, Evgenij 

Baratynskij, who had been depressed by the Finland he had encountered, finding 

its greatness in a mythological past, Kuprin was praising the present Finland and 

predicting it an even greater future, both economically and culturally: 

“[E]verything that I saw, strengthens in me the impression that the Finns are a 

peaceful, great, serious, steadfast people, and, furthermore, a people with good 

health, love of freedom, and a tender feeling for its severe motherland.” (621). 

Kuprin said that politics were foreign to him, but, as Fedor Kulešov has 

commented (1963: 371), his sketch proved the opposite. It was in fact not a mere 

chance that Kuprin decided to praise Finland in 1907. After the defeat of the 

revolution Russia had entered a period of reaction, and in Finland there were 

127

signs of a coming second wave of Russification. At the request of his Finnish 

friends, Maksim Gor’kij wrote an article, “O Finljandii” (“About Finland”), at 

about the same time as Kuprin. It was a call to Europe to defend Finland, a 

country with a developed culture and democracy, against Russia in the name of 

freedom. (Gor’kij 1953 XXIV: 520-521.) 

That Kuprin also was aware that Finland’s situation was threatened can be 

seen from the ending of his article: “Politics is completely foreign to me and I 

have never wanted to take the role of a prophet or organizer of the fate of the 

people. But whenever I read or hear about the slander of the Finns in the [Russian, 

BH] newspapers, something which is supposed to be done in the name of 

Russia’s honor and the unlimited Russian right of possession in all those countries 

within its magnetic field, every time I want to say about Finland: you cannot 

kill a hedgehog with bare hands.” (622.) By stressing the word “semi-free” 

(623) Kuprin made it clear that he supported greater freedom for Finland. 

Hardly ever had Finland been praised by a Russian writer in such an exalted 

tone at such a critical moment. The more astonishing it is to see that “Nemnožko 

Finljandii” long passed unnoticed in Finland. While Gor’kij’s article and, two 

years later, Valerij Brjusov’s poem “Finskomu narodu” (1910, “To the Finnish 

people”) were immediately translated, Kuprin had to wait two years for a Swedish 

and thirty years for a Finnish translation. 16 

After 1907 there was a temporary decline in Finland’s interest in Kuprin. 

Only scattered translations of his short stories were published in the newspapers 

and journals. In a letter to Kuprin in 1909 the Finn Uno Vuorjoki (1877-1944), a 

teacher of Russian language in a Helsinki school, asked for permission to translate 

some of his recent works into Finnish. Vuorjoki’s choice was excellent. He 

was interested in the fifth volume of Kuprin’s collected works, a volume which 

just had been published and which included masterpieces like “Olesja”, “Morskaja 

bolezn’” (“Seasickness”) and “Sulamif” (“Sulamith”). Kuprin, who was 

spending the spring and the summer in Žitomir, a town in the Ukraine where his 

sister lived (Kuprina 1979: 36-38), willingly gave his agreement (APPENDIX 

2). The plans were unfortunately canceled; instead of Kuprin, Vuorjoki eventually 

chose to translate another contemporary Russian writer, Mixail Arcybašev. 

Kuprin did not forget Finland, although there is no evidence of any visits between 

1907 and 1912. In the short story “Putešestvenniki” (“The Travellers”), 

published in the newspaper Re’ in March 1912, Finland was given the function 

of a dream, a life-lie that makes life easier for a downtrodden Russian policeofficer 

and his son. At work the man sees nothing but hooligans, thieves, and 

prostitutes, and the air is full of lies, curses, and screams. At home his wife is 

always nagging, and she is openly unfaithful to him. Kuprin is not idealizing the 

police-officer; he is again depicting the average Russian, who has uncritically 

accepted the reactionary view of the Finns as disloyal and ungrateful citizens of 

the Russian empire. But there are some extenuating circumstances: “But, you 

see, these damned Finns, even if they are swines and are always rebelling, they 

128

are exceptionally hospitable.” (Kuprin 1958 IV: 555.) The Finnish natural environment 

is also magnificent: 

– Oh, papa, we must go to Finland! the boy exclaims, and his green, 

small, always sad eyes widen and beam. The other day I read a description. 

It is so wonderful! Sluices, waterfalls, lakes… 

– And the forest, think about the forest they have… (Kuprin 1958 

IV: 554.) 

In the evening the man and his son bend their heads over a map and plan the 

rout through Finland and Russian Karelia with a guide-book in their hand. From 

Viipuri they want go along the Saimaa channel via the sluices up to Lake Saimaa. 

The boat journey would continue to Mikkeli and Kuopio. From Kuopio 

they would travel by train to Kajaani and then by boat along the rivers to Oulu. 

After a steam-boat ride to Tornio they would walk eastward, heading for Karelian 

Kemi and the White Sea. The plans are grand, but Kuprin makes it clear that 

the two Russians are only travelling on the map, and that the planned trip has, 

above all, a therapeutic function. 

In the same year Kuprin published in Sovremennyj mir, a journal edited by 

his first wife, Marija Kuprina-Jordanskaja, a translation of a poem by 

V. A. Koskenniemi (APPENDIX 3). About poetry writing Kuprin was to say a 

few years later: “I am neither very good at nor fond of writing poems myself, 

but I love to translate, and I do it with elegance and accuracy.” (Kuprina- 

Iordanskaja 1966: 309) The original, “Kesäyö kirkkomaalla” (“A Summer-night 

at a Churchyard”), was taken from Koskenniemi’s first volume of poetry, 

Runoja (1906) and might well have been suggested for translation by the Finnish 

poet himself upon some meeting with Kuprin. The elegiac feeling of the poem 

was a far cry from the thirst of life and vitality which had thus far dominated 

Kuprin’s own works and can be seen as a sign of a changing mood in the period 

of political reaction. 

In Finland Kuprin was again the object of discussion. In a survey of contemporary 

Russian literature for the journal Finsk Tidskrift the Swedish slavist and translator 

Alfred Jensen expressed his disgust with the prevailing “sexual-pornographic” 

trend. On account of the short story “Morskaja bolezn’” and the first part of the novel 

Jama Kuprin was included in this group. Jensen was upset by the thought that Kuprin 

had had the presumption to dedicate his novel about life in a Kiev brothel to 

mothers and young people: “Vice is always revolting when it is presented openly and 

coarsely rousing the senses in the arts. But twice as reprehensible it is when this 

profiteering on depraved taste wraps itself up in the cloak of guarding public morals.” 

(Jensen 1912: 271-272.) 

Jensen met with opposition a few months later in the newspaper Hufvudstadsbladet 

from an anonymous journalist. For him, Kuprin was still one of Russia’s 

“most prominent and talented writers”. Of the three leading writers – Mak- 

129

sim Gor’kij, Leonid Andreev and Aleksandr Kuprin – Kuprin seemed to be the 

one who had the greatest chance of reaching the Parnassus: 

His temperament is more versatile and more open-minded than 

Gor’kij’s and much more natural and artistic than Andreev’s. (…) 

Kuprin is now on the height of his creative power, with an eye for 

the realities of life which can be favorable compared to that of 

Tolstoj’s and with a plastic talent for form which brings to mind the 

greatest representatives of Russian literature. (-st 1912.) 

In 1912 the second book by Kuprin in Finnish appeared, Valkoinen villakoira 

(1912, The White Poodle). It included above all short stories about animals. The 

translator was Toivo Kaila (1884-1961), who had been studying in Moscow together 

with Kalima and who had also become a friend of Kuprin (Kaila 1954: 

68-69). In the foreword Kaila put forward the opinion that Kuprin, together with 

Vladimir Korolenko, could be found among the Russian writers who had best 

been able to maintain the pure artistic heritage through a period of decadence. 

Although Kuprin had not attracted as much attention as Gor’kij and Andreev, he 

had nevertheless through the years captivated “the more discerning Russian audience” 

(Kuprin 1912: 2). 

At the end of October 1912 Kuprin was back in Helsinki. This time he seems 

to have come mainly in order to be able to work in peace. The editors of the Moscow 

periodic anthology Žatva had sent him to Finland so he would be able to fulfill 

his promise and finish off a promised short story, “Židkoe solnce” (1913, “The 

Fluid Sun”) (Volkov 1962: 338). Kuprin had also brought with him the second, as 

yet unpublished part of Jama (1914) (Kulešov 1963: 423) and “Lazurnye berega” 

(1913, “The Cote d’Azur”), sketches based upon his impressions of a journey in 

Southern Europe the same year. In Helsinki Kuprin was also able to complete the 

short story “ernaja molnija” (1913, “Black Lightning”) (Kuprin 1969: 237) and 

start on “Anafema” (1913, “Anathema”) (Volkov 1962: 338). 

Kuprin used to take his evening meals at the restaurant Gambrini at Fabianinkatu 

29. he was spotted by a Finnish journalist 17 , while sitting alone with 

a glass of beer and a newspaper before him. Kuprin willingly agreed to give an 

interview. The first thing which struck the attention of the journalist was Kuprin’s 

face, which seemed to reveal that he was not a Slav but had “Kirghizian 

and Mordvinian blood in his veins” (-st 1912). 18 Kuprin made a very pleasant 

impression upon the Finn. Soon they were already talking as if they were old 

friends. “Kuprin’s manner is extremely modest, amiable and thoroughly openhearted. 

His confident, phlegmatic and good-natured appearance immediately 

inspires you with confidence and attracts you.” (-st 1912.) 

Kuprin told the journalist how fond he was of Helsinki. This time he was 

staying at Nya Studenthemmets Missionshotell, a newly built hotel at Itäinen 

Henrikinkatu 9 (today Mannerheimintie 5). was pleased with his hotel, ex- 

130

cept for that it was very noisy (every vehicle passing made the building tremble) 

and not a good place for writing. About his literary work, however, Kuprin was 

not eager to talk. When the journalist praised his writing, he changed the subject 

or recalled negative responses he had got. On the first-night of what he called 

his only play, Na pokoe (At rest), at the Imperial Alexandra Theatre in St. Petersburg 

in February 1908 he had himself been sitting in the audience, giving 

vent to his dissatisfaction with his own play by blowing into a large key that he 

had brought with him for this purpose. 

Kuprin looked at the situation in Russia very gloomily, but for Finland his 

feelings were as warm as always: “For Finland and the Finns Kuprin feels a 

lively sympathy, something he has also given expression to in correspondence to 

Russian newspapers and journals” (-st 1912). 

Kuprin told the journalist about his stay at Tallbacka hospital 1907, but it was 

clear that even now his health was far from good. When leaving together, the 

Finn noticed that Kuprin was suffering from such severe sciatica that every 

movement brought him pain. He was nevertheless planning to travel from Helsinki 

to Stockholm and perhaps once again to South Europe (-st 1912), but in the 

middle of December he changed his plans, returning to Gatina from Finland 

(Kulešov 1973: 276). 

In 1914 19 Kuprin published a new sketch about Finland, “Maslenica v Finljandii” 

(“Shrove-tide in Finland”), giving it this time a scantily fictionalized 

form. The narrator is a Russian painter, a well-known academician, who visits 

his beloved Helsinki with his friend Aleksej during the Russian Shrove-tide. The 

tone is humorous but the attitude towards Finland and the Finns is again full of 

respect and admiration. 

Upon arriving in “charming, gay, lively” Helsinki (Kuprin 1914: 46) the two 

Russians set out for a walk. First they visit the Ateneum to see its “wonderful” 

paintings by Albert Edelfelt and Aleksis Gallen-Kallela. After that the academician 

leads the way to the Runeberg statue, where they had their photo taken “as 

usual”. In front of the Finnish national poet the Russian painter, “as always”, 

recites the only two lines by Runeberg that he knows: “Slyšiš’ li šopot staroj eli, 

/ to rastet u tvoego žiliša?” (“Do you hear the whisper of the old fir-tree / that 

grows by your cottage?”) (47). The passage is revealing, as the quotation is not 

from Runeberg, but is actually a Finnish proverb (“Sitä kuusta kuuleminen, 

jonka juurella asunto”). It was used as a motto for the Kalevala in the Swedish 

translation of the Finnish folk epic (“Lyssna till den granens susning, / vid vars 

rot ditt bo är fästat”), a solution which was adapted for one of the Russian translations 

of the Kalevala. 20 It does seem that Kuprin was mistaking Runeberg for 

Elias Lönnrot, the compiler of the Kalevala, a suspicion which is reinforced by 

the fact that Kuprin, when in 1919 he again had the chance to pay his due to the 

Runeberg statue, erroneously talks about the poet as “a collector and preserver 

of the treasure of folk poetry” (Kuprin 1919). 

131

After the Runeberg statue the Russians go to see another statue, Ville Wallgren’s 

21 Havis Amanda from 1908, “a completely nude woman, surrounded by 

sea-lions” (47), and end up at the market hall, where they “looked with wonder 

upon the stout and ruddy women selling sausages, the numerous tanks with running 

fresh and salt water, the containers full of all kinds of live fish, the cleanliness 

of it all” (47). 

Towards the evening the tourists go to the Bodega Kaeding wine-cellar, the 

former Bodega Española, at Eteläesplanadi 8, something which provided the 

author with a chance to give an enthusiastic description of one of his favorite 

places in Helsinki: 

, who doesn’t know Helsinki, doesn’t know the Bodega. It is a small 

low cellar restaurant, a bar counter, behind the bar the fat proprietress 

and behind her a few small barrels with Spanish, Portuguese, “English” 

[lit. islanders] wines: port wine, madeira, sherry, malaga, 

marsala. The wines are strong and aromatic, because they are genuine, 

and they are very cheap, because they are free of duty. (45.) 

The public in the Bodega consists of “insignificant office clerks, casual ramblers, 

sailors of all colours and from all corners of the world, dock workers, 

rope-makers, fishermen, thieves and, generally speaking, people of the strangest 

professions” (46). They are served by Swedish-speaking “frken” [i.e. fröknar] – 

“big, young, hardy, strong as horses” (46). 

The Russian painter and his friend stay at the Bodega until closing-time 

(“The Finns are punctual people not only in drinking, but also concerning time.” 

47), but when leaving, they witness how “frken” Ida from the Bodega is abused 

by her fiancé, “a Finnish blockhead”. Aleksej defends the honor of the waitress, 

but in a second (“The police are marvellously organized in Helsingfors!” 48) a 

policeman appears, arrests Aleksej and the Finn, and disappears with them into a 

cab. The academician – and Kuprin! – know Helsinki fairly well and immediately 

realize where the nearest police-station (at Alexanterinkatu 22, opposite 

the Cathedral and the statue of Alexander II) is located and how to get there. The 

problem is that the Russians have not made any hotel reservation and that it is 

the imprisoned traveller who has all the money. It looks like the painter will 

have to spend the night outside the lockup (he is all the time driven away by the 

orderly police in bad Russian – “Iti, iti, stes’ nesja”), but luckily cavalry captain 

Calonius 22 appears. When Calonius, whose duty it is to inspect the lockups, 

hears the whole story, he first pays his due to the Russian (“Your paintings 

could hang here in the Ateneum, next to Gallen and Edelfelt…” 51) and then 

arranges a hotel-room. 

Kuprin ends his sketch by letting Aleksej recall his night in jail: 

132

“What a crazy country. A jail is a jail, that I understand, but here they 

suddenly made me take off all my clothes, pushed me into a room, and 

said: ‘Lay down here [Lasys’, stes’].’ 

Then they threw an enormous sheaf of straw, it looked like it was 

even wrapped up… – of unusual cleanness. Central heating… electricity…, 

in a word, such conditions that I would gladly pay 35 roubles a 

month for. The employees were polite and attentive. If it hadn’t been 

for this endless “nesja, iti-i” [it is forbidden, go, BH]… But thank God 

I somehow disentangled myself, and then your Finnish marks, can you 

imagine, nobody had stolen a single one of them…” (51.) 

The finishing touch was a visit to the lockup by two old, shrivelled English 

spinsters, who tried to save the soul of the imprisoned Russian. 23 

The outbreak of the Great War was greeted by Kuprin with enthusiasm. Eager to 

do his share for the common cause, he turned his home in Gatina into a military 

hospital. Kuprin was planning to visit the Western front as a journalist (Kruinin 

1914), but in November came the news that he, his forty four years notwithstanding, 

was being called to arms. According to Kulešov this was Kuprin’s own 

wish; he did not want to be just an onlooker when the others were fighting, and 

therefore he had applied to be enlisted (Kulešov 1963: 458). Kuprin was a former 

professional officer; the formative years of his life had been spent in the 

Cadet Corps and the army, and when he had retired in 1894 to become a writer 

he had the rank of sub-lieutenant. 

Kuprin was given the possibility to choose his place of service. refused to become 

a censor of soldiers’ letters, preferring to train soldiers in the rear (BV 

1914a). 24 On November 26, Kuprin left Petrograd, dressed in uniform (BV 1914b). 

Press reports did not state openly where Kuprin was going to serve his duty, but a 

clever reader could no doubt outwit the war censorship and conclude that Kuprin had 

chosen Helsinki. 25 

Kuprin was accompanied to Finland by friends who, upon their return, gave a report 

to the press. Kuprin had been given a warm welcome in Helsinki (BV 1914). 

Having installed himself at the hotel where he was going to stay for the first few 

weeks (Reginin 1914), he had rushed out to look at the town and, first of all, to pay 

reverence to his much loved Runeberg statue on the Esplanadi (BV 1914c). 

Kuprin took his duties as an officer in the reserve infantry company seriously. 

Military science had changed much since his time in the army, but he set 

his mind to educate himself further, acquiring specialist literature which he intended 

to study during the stay in Helsinki (BV 1914c). Outwardly the time in 

the army seems to have been a happy one. The officers in command were satisfied 

with Kuprin and among the soldiers he enjoyed great popularity. An officer 

who had been serving in the same company told a Russian journalist 26 that the 

soldiers adored Kuprin because of “his simple, trustful attitude towards them, 

133

his attention to the personal traits of every subordinate, his exceptional sympathy 

and care, and also because of his lively and soft character” (K-V 1915). 

From what Kuprin saw during his six months in Helsinki, he concluded that 

the situation had completely changed in the Russian army since 1905: “Where 

are my officers from ‘Poedinok’? Everyone has grown up, become unrecognizable. 

There is a new strong current in the army which has bound the soldiers and 

officers together.” (BV 1915c.) 

Upon arriving in Helsinki Kuprin had been promptly invited to contribute to the 

handwritten journal of his detachment (BV 1914c). It is unclear if anything came 

out of this 27 , but in general there was little time for creative work. In January Kuprin 

told a reporter that military service prevented him from writing and finishing 

anything: “I am not inclined to write at the moment. I am busy with military regulations, 

formations and exercises, and I really enjoy it. Even my dreams are now only 

military.” (Reginin 1915) To Nevskij al’manax žertvam vojny (1915), an anthology 

for the victims of the war, Kuprin did send a sonnet, “Rok” (“Fate”), dated January 

20, 1915 (Kuprina 1979: 66), which indicated that the author’s patriotism was unshaken. 

Before leaving Helsinki Kuprin also finished “Dragunskaja molitva” 

(1916, “A Dragoon Plea”), later called “Poslednie rycari” (“The Last Knights”) 

(BV 1915), short story where the role of the cavalry in the World War and the 

reasons for the disastrous defeats in 1914 were pondered. 

The officer’s uniform did not prevent Kuprin from spending time in the restaurants 

of Helsinki. The Estonian neurologist and literary critic Juhan Luiga 

(1873-1927), who was also in Helsinki in connection with the war, had breakfast 

at the restaurant König (Mikonkatu 4) sometime during the spring of 1915 and 

happened to see “a strange company” at the table next to him: 

A fairly old Russian officer, with a pointed beard and very drunk, was 

using sweeping gestures in attempt to explain Russian literature in bad 

French to a gipsylike, terrible ugly, “tipsy” Finn, dressed in a black 

cloak and a wide-brimmed mongrel hat, who spoke even worse 

French. Concluding from what the officer said he [Luiga, BH] recognized 

the Russian writer Kuprin (…). Kuprin, bragging how great 

writers they had and claiming that the Finnish had none, was saying: 

– Nous avons Lermontoff, nous avons Poushkine, nous avons Tolstoj 

– vous n’avez rien. 

To which the gypsylike fellow, jumping to his feet and pointing towards 

himself answered: 

– Nous avons un – je! (…) Eino Leino. (Wuolijoki 1947:145-146.) 28 

Eino Leino (1878-1926) was not only one of Finland’s greatest poets. He was 

also legendary for his bohemian life and his evenings in Helsinki restaurants. It 

is not known when Leino met Kuprin for the first time, but it is clear that they 

kept up the contact for several years. The biggest problem was the language. 

134

Leino hardly managed even to read Russian, so the two writers had to converse 

in broken French. French was also the language used when Kuprin met Juhani 

Aho (1861-1921), one of the most famous Finnish writers of the day. It was Kalima 

who brought Kuprin to Armfeltintie 6, where Aho lived, possibly in the 

spring of 1915. Kuprin was apparently unfamiliar not only with Aho’s works but 

with Finnish literature as a whole, but the evening turned out be rather pleasant. 

Kalima recalls: 

Aho received us in his usual jovial manner. Soon a very lively conversation 

in French started between the two writers. As far as I remember it 

started with Kuprin’s Lappish dog Virkku, which Kuprin was very fond of, 

and in which he saw many of the best traits of the Finnish character. After 

that, they talked about hunting and fishing. Especially fishing seemed to 

stimulate both of them, and both confessed themselves to be devoted sun 

worshippers. Not a word was spoken about literature during the whole 

evening. When the visit was over and we came out on the street I asked 

Aleksandr Ivanovi what he thought of our Aho. His answer was: “A 

sleepy little old man.” In my eyes the always so calm Aho had been more 

lively than usual, but the Russian-Tatar blood of Kuprin wanted a more 

animated conversation partner. (Kalima 1962: 318-319.) 

Right from the start Kuprin’s service in the army was marred by illness. His 

friend, the journalist Vasilij Reginin, visited him twice in Finland and as early as 

the middle of December he could tell the Russian readers that Kuprin was “temporarily” 

treating his health at a hospital (Reginin 1914). Late in January 1915 

Kuprin was again, much to his regret, forced to stay in bed (Reginin 1915) and 

sometime between late April and early May he was taken to the Russian military 

hospital at Unioninkatu 38-40 29 (Kulešov 1973: 280). 

On Kuprin’s request his family now joined him in Helsinki (Kuprina 1979: 68). 

Perhaps it was during this visit that they stayed at the Grand Hotel Fennia at Mikonkatu 

23, “the best one” in Helsinki (Kuprina 1979: 107), and that Kuprin’s seven 

year old daughter Ksenija had some “delicious meringue” at the Fazer’s cafeteria at 

Kluuvikatu 3, a pleasant memory later during the hard years of war communism 

(Kuprin 1928: 36). 

Army life was tough for Kuprin’s already declining physique. He complained to 

his wife Elizaveta: “First everything went fine, but later I started to get tired. I am 

still able to march in a military formation with the soldiers, but running is impossible… 

I gasp for breath.” (Kuprina 1979: 67-68.) As a direct reason for his stays in 

the hospital Kuprin mentioned in May 1915 chronic arteriosclerosis (K-V 1915). 

Another version is given by the signature “Common Sense” 30 , who in 1919 

recalled how he had got to know Kuprin in Helsinki during the war, remembering 

“the heavily laden body marching in front of his company” (Common Seu 

[!] se 1919: 2). The signature, an admirer of the writer, found it absurd that the 

135

author of the antimilitary novel Poedinok now was marching in the rank and he 

wrote a satirical poem that he offered Kuprin: 

Služen’ja slovu skromnyj inok! 

Suby ty vidiš ’ zlostnyj žarš? 

Kuprin, sozdavšij “Poedinok” – 

Kriit soldatam: “Šagom marš!” 

(Common Seuse 1919: 2.) 

As a representantive of the army Kuprin had to take part in a commission whose 

duty it was to decide if the soldiers claiming to be suffering from nervous disorders 

were faking or not. According to “Common Sense”, who himself was involved in the 

work of the commission, you could tell by looking at Kuprin’s face that he himself 

had problems in coping with “the horror of the bloodshed” at the front. His gaze became 

restless, his f jerked when he heard the soldiers’ stories about the use of gas 

at the front: 

It was hard to believe that in such a robust body there were such sensitive 

nerves; when we met he talked about literature, was enraptured 

with Puškin, told me about Tolstoj, his meetings with him and about 

other colleagues among the writers, but in the end he covered his face 

in his hands and tried to predict when the terrible slaughter would end. 

(Common Seuse 1919: 3.) 

If we are to believe “Common Sense” it was to the hospital’s nerve clinic that 

Kuprin was taken for treatment. He was also complaining to his wife that his 

nerves were giving in (Kuprina 1979: 68). When Kuprin also started to have 

problems with the discipline of army life, perhaps also because of his evenings 

in Helsinki restaurants, he was eventually, in the middle of May (Kulešov 1973: 

280), declared unfit for military service by a commission of doctors (Common 

Seuse 1919: 3). 

Around May 23 (Kulešov 1973: 280) Kuprin returned to his home in Gatina, 

not very happy about the decision of the Helsinki doctors, as he had not wanted to 

part with his regiment (Frid 1915). He was also dissatisfied, as the stay in Helsinki 

had not given any new material about army life, and he could not imagine 

writing about the war without having seen the front (BV 1915c). Even if he was 

still exhausted and in a bad shape (BV 1915a), he dreamt of making a trip to the 

Western front as a journalist at the end of the summer. These plans had, however, 

soon to be cancelled because of Kuprin’s bad health (BV 1915b, BV 1915d). 

If Kuprin had not seen anything of the war in Helsinki, he had, nevertheless, 

developed a deeper knowledge of the Finnish people. Upon his return to Russia 

he was temporarily incapable of writing (BV 1915a), but among his literary 

plans were a series of sketches and, perhaps, also short stories about life in 

136

Finland. A Russian journalist, who saw Kuprin in Gatina in May, wrote that 

Kuprin was “almost in love with his new [Finnish, BH] friends”: 

[…] the unimpeachable though coldly correct behaviour, the wellbalanced 

self-respect, the calm confidence, the steadfast correspondence 

between actions and beliefs, the unshakable honesty in everything 

and many other excellent qualities of the Finnish people have 

once and for all captivated Kuprin’s attention (K-V 1915). 

Nothing seems, however, to have emerged from these plans; the war went on 

and demanded almost all of his attention. 

Alfred Jensen’s condemnation of Jama in 1912 did not prevent it from being 

translated in Finland. In 1915, as the third and last part was published in Russia, 

the first part of the novel was translated to Swedish with the title Avgrunden. 31 

The translator was Walter Kranck (born 1872), a teacher of Russian language at 

the Swedish Lyceum in Porvoo (Borgå). The translation was authorized, so it 

seems likely that either the publishing house (Holger Schildts Förlag) or Kranck 

himself was in contact with Kuprin during his stay in Helsinki as an officer. 

In Finland Jama did not create a stir, and the novel, on the whole, passed almost 

unnoticed. The anonymous reviewer in Hufvudstadsbladet described Kuprin’s 

manner of depicting “even revolting details” as typical for Russian realism. He 

praised the author for his power of observation and ability to describe in words and 

went on to recommend it to the readers, excluding, however, mothers. (HBL 1915.) 

In the end of December 1916 (Kulešov 1973: 283) Kuprin was back again in 

Helsinki. During the autumn he had been travelling in the Caucasus and upon his 

return he had been plagued by fever. The doctor proposed a temporary move to 

Helsinki (Berkov 1956: 139), and Kuprin chose to settle in, what he called, “the 

quiet and comfortable” Tallbacka (Kuprin 1920). 32 Here he worked diligently, 

finishing in February “Kozlinaja žizn’” (1917, “A Goat’s life”), a story for children, 

and “Pegie lošadi” (1918, “Skewbald horses”) (Kulešov 1973: 283). Every 

day after breakfast he used to walk into the center of Helsinki to meet friends in 

the Russian navy and garrison. spent much time in the family of a 

midshipman, who was partly a man of letters. Here he could read fresh newspapers 

and hear the latest news from officers in the Russian squadron in Helsinki. 

In the middle of February 1917 came the first rumours about disturbances in 

Petrograd and signs of violence also spread to Finland. The sailors and soldiers 

started to take the law into their own hands, and many of the officers that Kuprin 

knew and honoured, for example vice-admiral Andrian Nepenin (1871– 

4.3.1917), chief of the Baltic Navy, and a captain that he had seen almost every 

day, were brutally murdered by their own soldiers. At the Russian military hospital, 

where Kuprin had been treated only two years earlier, the mutilated bodies 

could be seen lying in a long line. If help could be found, it came from the 

Finns. “In this connection I must say a word of gratitude to the Finns of that 

137

time”, Kuprin wrote three years later, underlining the different attitude at that 

time compared to 1920. “Very willingly, with great concern, and even putting 

themselves into a dangerous situation, they hid in their houses officers trying to 

escape from the beastly massacre.” (Kuprin 1920.) 

Kuprin’s sympathy was clearly on the side of the officers, and afterwards he 

could no longer listen to all the talk about “the bloodless February Revolution” without 

seeing another picture in front of him. The new leaders, like Fedor Rodiev 

(1853-1932), a Constitutional Democrat who had been appointed Minister for Finnish 

Affairs by the Provisional Government, filled him with antipathy. Kuprin saw 

Rodiev appearing in front of the soldiers, intoxicated by his own words but without 

any contact with reality. Kuprin also saw admiral A. S. Maksimov, who had been 

appointed chief of the Baltic Navy after the death of Nepenin, being driven through 

the streets of Helsinki standing in a car. 

When artillery soldiers with rifles on their hands broke into the “pastoral, 

peaceful, exemplary clean” Tallbacka sanatorium, Kuprin decided it was time to 

return to Russia and Gatina (Kuprin 1920). This was somewhere in the second 

part of March (Kulešov 1973: 283). 

In the middle of October 1919 the Russian North-West Army led by General 

Nikolaj Judeni conquered Gatina on its way towards Petrograd. Kuprin 

greeted the White Army as a liberator and willingly agreed to cooperate, editing 

and writing for the army newspaper. After the defeat of the White forces he and 

his family followed the retreating army to Estonia. On November 20, Razsvet, a 

Russian newspaper in Helsinki, could report that Kuprin had arrived in Tallinn 

(Razsvet 1919). Here he was given a temporary passport by the Estonian authorities 

two days later (Kulešov 1963: 490). But Kuprin was already making 

arrangements to travel on to Helsinki (Kuprina 1979: 107). While waiting for a 

Finnish visa, he sent off a first article to Russkaja Žizn’, the Helsinki newspaper, 

which was going to be his employer for the next half year. 

When approaching the Finnish coast somewhere at the turn of the month November-December 

33 Kuprin wrote in his notebook: “Finland. Helsingfors. The 

harbour, the wind, ships. A feeling of emptiness.” (Kulešov 1963: 490.) In Helsinki 

a room awaited him and his family at the Grand Hotel Fennia. Ksenija Kuprina, 

his daughter, recalls that only when they saw the splendour of the Fennia, 

the marble steps and the elegant servants and maids, did they realize how shabby 

and miserable they were after months of hardship (Kuprina 1979: 107). From his 

hotel room Kuprin immediately telephoned Russkaja Žizn’ and its newly appointed 

chief editor, Jurij (or Georg as he called himself in Finland) Grigorkov 

(1885-1961). Grigorkov came straight over to Fennia, where he was met by “a 

broad-shouldered, thickset man of medium height with indelible traces of a wellproportioned 

military bearing (…)”. The face was “ruddy due to the wind and 

vodka” and had “long, hanging Tatar moustaches and a sharp beard”. After a 

first cold, piercing look Kuprin’s face took on “the usual friendly and a slightly 

138

shy expression” and they could start to plan the future work which they would 

do together. (Grigorkov 1960: 41.) 

Russkaja Žizn’ had been the organ of the Russian North-West Government. Now, 

after the defeat of the army and the dissolution of the government, the newspaper 

was given a new name, Novaja Russkaja Žizn’, and turned into the spokesman of 

The Russian National Centre in Paris, an organization which wanted to unite all émigré 

anti-bolshevik parties. The program was presented on December 4 in the first 

number of Novaja Russkaja Žizn’: “We struggle for the reconstruction of a great and 

strong Russia and for the annihilation of its main enemy, bolshevism, with which 

according to our deep conviction no agreement, not even temporary, can be concluded” 

(NRŽ 1919a). 

That Kuprin wholeheartedly shared this program could be seen from the interview 

that he granted Helsingin Sanomat shortly after his arrival. Kuprin 

talked about communism and how it should be fought, the defeat of the North- 

West Army, the situation for writers in Soviet Russia. About his own situation 

Kuprin said that he had been well received in Finland. There had been no hostility 

from the Finns, something which had been common when Nikolaj Bobrikov 

and Frans Seyn had been Governor-Generals. Now Kuprin had found more of a 

reserved or cautious attitude towards the Russians among the Finns. 

The Finnish journalist was interested in hearing Kuprin’s opinion about the independence 

of Finland, a question which had divided the Russian émigrés. Kuprin’s 

answer reflected the dilemma that even liberal Russians were caught in. 

Finnish independence was, according to Kuprin, recognized by all sensible Russians, 

including even Kolak and Denikin, if they would have the right to speak in 

their own names. The question had, however, to be formally decided by the Russian 

Constituent Assembly after the defeat of the Bolsheviks, but as the Assembly, 

according to Kuprin, would surely be democratic, it would recognize the independence 

of Finland without hesitation. This was the only sensible solution: “I 

believe (…) that it is much more advantageous for Russia to have Finland as a 

friendly neighbouring country than as a hostile subject.” As for himself Kuprin 

said with a smile: “I myself (…) have always been a warm friend of Finland and I 

already recognized its independence twenty years ago.” (HS 1919.) 

In his articles for Novaja Russkaja Žizn’ Kuprin was energetically fighting 

Soviet power with his pen (Hellman 1994). But he also had to be an all-round 

journalist, writing about local events like the sixtieth birthday celebration of his 

old acquaintance Andrej Igelström or giving advice concerning the raising of 

vegetables in the kitchen garden in the spring. Writing under either his own 

name or one of his many pseudonyms Kuprin published about 60–70 articles, 

columns, short stories and poems in Novaja Russkaja Žizn’ during his seven 

months in Helsinki. 34 

The job at the newspaper was agreeable. Kuprin had a monthly salary and 

was thus not dependent on the number of articles that he wrote. But he was eager 

to work. The editor Grigorkov recalls how Kuprin used to come to the 

139

newspaper office every day, sit down, and start to write, undisturbed by all the 

noise (Grigorkov 1938b: 9). In fact Kuprin produced more than the newspaper 

could publish, getting irritated whenever the editor kept his articles or comments 

lying on his desk board too long (Grigorkov 1960: 43). At this stage he did not 

yet have any contacts with other Russian periodicals, but sometimes his articles 

or fiction would appear reprinted in newspapers like Obšee Delo (Paris) and 

Segodnja (Riga). 

On a few occasions Kuprin also appeared in front of an audience. On December 

21 he gave a talk with the title “Aziackij bol’ševizm” (“Asian bolshevism”) 

in Societésalen (today the restaurant Seurahuone) at Kaivokatu 12 (NRŽ 

1919b). The money raised – around 7.500 Finnish marks (NRŽ 1920) – was 

given to aid refugees on the North-West front in Estonia. 

The Grand Hotel Fennia was situated right in the centre of Helsinki; it was 

just a five minutes’ walk to the editorial office of Novaja Russkaja Žizn’ at 

Liisankatu 29. But Kuprin could not long afford to stay at a hotel, but had to rent 

a room from a Finnish family. After a short time he saw himself forced to move 

again, now to a boarding house where many Russians were staying. (Kuprina 

1979: 107.) By this time Kuprin’s financial situation was already brighter. Besides 

his salary from Novaja Russkaja Žizn’ he had received 10,000 Finnish 

marks from Paris (Kuprina-Iordanskaja 1966: 311-312), some money for a 

Czech collection of his children’s stories and 25,000 Finnish marks from a publishing 

house in Helsinki, Biblion. 

Kuprin had hardly arrived in Helsinki before he was given an offer to publish 

a collection of short stories in Russian in Helsinki. The publishing house Biblion 

had been founded in the autumn of 1919 by Finland-Swedes with the aim of 

publishing Russian books (Hellman 1985). The vice-manager and driving force 

of the enterprise was Hjalmar Dahl (1891-1960), a journalist who in 1919 under 

the title Granatarmbandet had translated a collection of Kuprin’s short stories 

into Swedish. The contract with Kuprin was signed in April, 1920, and in September 

the book Zvezda Solomona (The Star of Solomon) appeared in 5,000 

copies. Only one of the eight short stories had never been previously published, 

but Kuprin had reworked most of them. None of the stories was related to the 

actual political situation; the newest one, “Limonnaja korka” (“A Lemonpeel”), 

was related to the 18th century and the world of boxing. 

In connection with Zvezda Solomona, Kuprin was in contact with his first wife, 

Marija Kuprina-Iordanskaja, who was living in Finland in Neuvola on the estate 

of her husband, the editor Nikolaj Iordanskij (Kuprina-Iordanskaja 1966: 311- 

312). From the émigrés on the Karelian Isthmus came yet another new acquaintance, 

A. I. Belokopytov, evidently an agronomist 35 . In 1919-20 he was the manager 

of the newspaper Razsvet in Helsinki. Belokopytov planned to write a series 

of non-fictional books for children about domestic animals and for the only volume 

that he eventually published, Kury (The Hens), he got Kuprin to write a 

foreword (APPENDIX 4). In his introduction Kuprin stressed the general need for 

140

children’s books about animals and birds without exaggerating the literary talent 

of the author. The illustrations for Belokopytov’s book were done by Sergej 

Životovskij (1869-1936), formerly a well-known St. Petersburg artist, who was 

now working as a journalist for Razsvet. The appearance of Belokopytov’s book 

in March 1920 was a noteworthy event in the Russian cultural life of Helsinki. 

It was through Sergej Životovskij that Kuprin reestablished his contact with 

II’ja Repin in January 1920 (Kuprina 1979: 109). After their first meeting in 

1905 Kuprin had frequently visited Repin in Kuokkala, often in connection with 

visits to Repin’s neighbour, the well-known critic Kornej ukovskij (ukovskij 

1963: 269-270). Now a lively correspondence started between the two of them. 

The thought that Repin shared his fate as an émigré in Finland made Kuprin feel 

less lonely among “the indifferent, boring, complacent, greedy and cowardly 

idlers and complete ignoramuses” that he said himself to be surrounded by in 

Helsinki in his first letter (Kuprina 1979: 109). Never before had he felt such a 

longing for his house and garden in Gatina and so alienated in Finland: “Every 

bit of Finnish smorgos [i.e. smörgås = sandwich] gets stuck crossways in my 

throat, although I don’t dare to complain about the Finns: they have been kind 

towards me” (Kuprina 1979: 109). 

From Repin Kuprin received an article for Novaja Russkaja Žizn’, “Proletarskoe 

iskusstvo” (“Proletarian Art”) and an invitation to come to Kuokkala. A 

travel permit was needed, as the Russian émigrés in Finland were not allowed to 

travel freely in the border zone (Kuprina-Iordanskaja 1966: 312). Kuprin had no 

problems in receiving permission, but when he got it in February he was not 

able to use it, and it expired. 36 His job at the newspaper and his and his family’s 

illnesses prevented him this time and also later from going to visit Repin (Kuprina 

1969: 255). Repin’s plans to paint Kuprin’s portrait had to be abandoned 

(Kuprina 1979: 113) and they had to content themselves with letters, keeping up 

the correspondence until Repin’s death in 1930. 

One issue that Kuprin and Repin discussed was Finnish art. In 1920 Repin donated 

valuable paintings to the Ateneum and in connection with this, he was celebrated 

in Helsinki by Finnish artists. In a letter to Kuprin, Repin evidently praised his 

Finnish colleagues, to which Kuprin answered from Paris: “You are right, Gallen is 

talented. But his triptych is like something from a candy box. The company in the 

boat (in the room furthest back [in the Ateneum, BH]), the one with the bright water 

above which shadows from the rail are dancing, is better. 37 Edelfelt and Järnefelt are 

good. The modern ones are, however, shit.” 38 (Kuprin 1969: 254.) Kuprin had 

changed his mind about Gallen-Kallela’s triptych “Aino”, but otherwise he was 

faithful to his old favorites. It can be added that Kuprin had an articulate antipathy 

for modernism in all its forms. 

There are very few indications of contacts with Finns during this stay in Helsinki. 

39 In general Kuprin seems to have led the peaceful life of a husband and 

family man; his work-mate Jurij Grigorkov, aware of Kuprin’s reputation, 

stresses that he never saw him drunk during his seven months in Helsinki 

141

(Grigorkov 1960: 42). It is known that Kuprin met Eino Leino, probably even 

many times, but almost all we have is a translation of Leino’s poem “Kuu kalpea 

kulkevi kulkuaan… ” (APPENDIX 5), taken from one of the poet’s earliest volumes, 

Sata ja yksi laulua (1898). Kuprin also looked over his old translation of 

V. A. Koskenniemi’s “Kesäyö kirkkomaalla”, making it more poetic but also 

more inexact (APPENDIX 2). 40 Both the Leino and the Koskenniemi translations 

were published in Novaja Russkaja Žizn’. 

The person with whom Kuprin naturally had most to do was Jurij Grigorkov, 

the chief editor of Novaja Russkaja Žizn’. Like Kuprin, Grigorkov had graduated 

from the Cadet Corps in Russia. Afterwards he had been employed as a 

lawyer on the Russian railway. He came to Finland in 1918, working first as a 

Secretary for Konstantin Arabažin in Russkaja Žizn’, then becoming chief editor 

of Novaja Russkaja Žizn’, when Arabažin left and started the new, rival newspaper 

Razsvet. (Grigorkoff 1990.) 

Grigorkov was a great admirer of Kuprin and, paradoxically, this formed an 

obstacle between them from the start. Kuprin did not like to be looked upon with 

adoration, and Grigorkov managed to irritate him upon their first meeting, when 

telling Kuprin that he was his favorite writer. Their relationship improved but it 

was always a bit cold on Kuprin’s part. Grigorkov noted “modesty, delicacy and 

a total lack of conceit” as Kuprin’s dominating features (Grigorkov 1960: 40). 

Kuprin was never willing to discuss his writing. Whenever asked about his 

works, he would turn away without answering. (Grigorkov 1938b: 9.) This is the 

reason why there are hardly any traces of their friendship in the booklet that 

Grigorkov published in the autumn of 1920 in connection with Kuprin’s fiftieth 

birthday celebration. 41 

In the book Grigorkov touched upon subjects like Kuprin’s place in Russian 

literature, his distinctive features as a writer, his language and style, the theme of 

love, and the critical reception of his works. Grigorkov took a special interest in 

autobiographical details, though the writer himself had shown such unwillingness 

to cooperate. Kuprin assisted only with one detail, when he once in passing 

mentioned that he had seen Šuroka from his Poedinok in Kiev shortly before 

the revolution (Grigorkov 1938b: 9). Grigorkov got more help from General 

Karl Adaridi (1859-1940), who had been in command of the division to which 

Kuprin’s regiment belonged in the 1890s. Adaridi told Grigorkov: “I had a big 

file, where all captain [i.e. sub-lieutenant] Kuprin’s disgraceful excesses were 

collected. It would be interesting to compare this file with Kuprin’s novel ‘Poedinok’. 

In it we would find all his heroes, starting from Romašov.” (Grigorkov 

1960: 43.) Although Adaridi accused Kuprin of having been one of the troublemakers 

himself, he nevertheless admitted that there was much truth in Kuprin’s 

dark picture of life in a military garrison of that time (Grigorkov 1938b: 9). 

Grigorkov showed great interest in Kuprin’s poetry, a genre which Kuprin had 

returned to in emigration. One of his favorite poems was “Rozovaja devuška s 

korallami na šejke… ” (“Rosy girl with corals around her neck…”), a poem that 

142

he liked to recite to his friends. Kuprin wrote down the poem on May 25, 1920, in 

the memento album for Grigorkov’s mother (APPENDIX 6) 42 and revealed to 

Grigorkov that this work of his also had autobiographical background: “For some 

reason my wife was jealous of this rosy girl, but I don’t understand why. I looked 

upon this rosy girl from a purely poetical standpoint.” (Grigorkov 1961: 3.) 

Having left Finland, Kuprin sent Grigorkov his photo from Paris with the 

inscription: “Milomu redaktoru – stroptivyj sotrudnik. Ju.A. Grigorkovu. 

1920 18 Avg. Pariž. A. Kuprin” (“To my dear editor – from an obstinate contributor. 

To Ju A Grigorkov. 1920 18 Aug. Paris. A. Kuprin”). In the photo, 

which had been taken around 1914, Kuprin is sitting with his St. Bernard dog, 

“moj edinstv [ennyj] drug Sapsan’” (my only friend ‘Sapsan’), as Kuprin had 

added on the photo. 43 When Grigorkov’s book was published in November, he 

sent a copy to Kuprin and received a letter of gratitude (APPENDIX 7). Kuprin 

said that he was very satisfied with the “brochure”. 

Originally Kuprin had, according to his wife, wanted “to cling” to Finland in 

order to be as close as possible to Russia (Veržbickij 1978: 114). In the interview 

in Helsingin Sanomat in early December he even thought it would be possible to 

stay in Helsinki (HS 1919). But the situation gradually changed. The economic 

situation of Novaja Russkaja Žizn’ deteriorated, and there were rumors that it 

soon would suffer the same fate as Razsvet, which had to close down in February 

1920 (Kuprina 1979: 114). 

Finland had also undergone changes, and Kuprin did not feel as much at 

home, as before 1917. To Repin Kuprin wrote in March: “I cannot complain 

about Finland; people have been considerate towards me and, compared to others, 

hospitable. Earlier, I was even a little in love with Helsingfors, but I never 

thought that I would have to live here against my own will.” (Kuprina 1969: 

196.) And he added: “I respect them [the Finns] as before. But they are people 

from another planet, aliens, Morlocks, inhabitants from Doctor Moreau’s 

Island. 44 I feel sick at heart.” (Kuprina 1979: 114.) 

Kuprin’s residence permit for Finland expired on June l, 1920 and this forced 

him to make up his mind about the future. To stay would have meant a continuous 

fight with the Finnish bureaucracy: “after that [June 1] I will be given a 

residence permit in homeopathic portions, and every second day I will have to 

run around from office to office, humble myself, beg for extension.” (Kuprina 

1979: 114) Kuprin did get a permit to stay in Finland for another month 45 , but 

this did not affect his decision to leave the country. 

The next step was to decide where to go. In February Kuprin had talked 

about America as a possibility (Kuprina 1979: 111), but now he saw only three 

alternatives: Berlin, Prague, or Paris. But, as he confessed to Repin, “the great 

problem is that I have only one thought: to go home… ” (Kuprina 1979: 114). 

There could, however, be no thought of returning to Russia as long as the Bolsheviks 

were in power. Even after the dissolution of the North-West Army and 

Government, Kuprin had been able to look at the situation optimistically. To 

143

Sergej Životovskij Kuprin had said in early January: “My sense of premonition 

has never deceived me. This time I feel that Petrograd will be liberated, and we 

will all sigh with relief somewhere between February and July 1920.” 

(Životovskij 1920.) Kuprin even asked Životovskij to write down these words so 

he afterward could check what Kuprin had said. But now hope for the awaited 

fall of the Soviet regime was dwindling with every month. 

The decisive thing was to get a job at some Russian émigré newspaper. Kuprin 

had contact with several countries but finally settled for Vladimir Burcev’s Obšee 

Delo, which had been published in France since 1918. Another Russian newspaper, 

Poslednie Novosti, had recently been started in Paris. As one of the big centers of 

Russian emigration, Paris could offer Kuprin a much more favorable working environment 

than Helsinki. 

Before leaving, Kuprin took the opportunity to make a trip to the eastern 

parts of Finland. Evidently, he had hoped to have time to go and visit Repin in 

Kuokkala (Kuprina 1979: 114), but he had to content himself with the Lake 

Saimaa and the Saimaa channel down to Viipuri. All that he ever said about this 

trip is that he was looking for the summerhouses on the shore of the Saimaa 

channel, donated to his friends V. A. Koskenniemi and Eino Leino by the professors 

of Helsinki University and the Finnish state. The captain of the boat even 

offered Kuprin a chance to take a closer look at Leino’s “Chateau” on an island 

near one of the sluices. The owner was not at home, but Kuprin enjoyed the 

sight of the neat garden. (Kuprin 1933.) For Kuprin this was another of the many 

ways in which the Finnish people showed their respect for their writers. This 

time, however, his information was completely inaccurate, as neither of his two 

friends had a summerhouse in this part of Finland, nor had they ever been rewarded 

in this way. The summerhouse Kuprin was admiring was thus definitely 

not Leino’s. Kuprin might have heard about the state literary prizes and confused 

things in his sometimes blind admiration of Finland. 

Kuprin left Finland via Turku on June 26, 1920 on the Astria, a passengerand 

cargo-ship that was taking coal. After three days they arrived in Copenhagen. 

After a few hours stay they headed for England and Hull. After two days in 

London, Kuprin finally arrived to Paris on July 4 (Kuprina 1979: 116). 

One of the last persons to say farewell to Kuprin in Helsinki was Eino Leino. 

Leino a year later recalled part of their conversation, calling it “something of a 

spiritual heritage” from Kuprin: 

“Goodbye. And if you ever see Maksim Gor’kij, tell him what a good 

person he is. Good, good, very good.” 

“Doesn’t he know it then?” 

“Tell him anyway! Tell him from me, A. Kuprin (who is a completely 

different kind of person), and from the whole of Russia, which 

is fleeing with me from its burning land.” 

“A pleasant duty. It will be done.” (Leino 1921.) 

144

The ironic thing was that when Eino Leino little more than one year later had 

the opportunity to bring Gor’kij this message – that was in the autumn of 1921, 

when Gor’kij came to Helsinki on his way from Soviet Russia – Kuprin had already 

changed his attitude towards him. In his last article in Novaja Russkaja Žizn’, 

sent from Paris in September 1921, Kuprin called Gor’kij “a vain idiot”, who had 

been fooled by the Bolsheviks. As “a man too big as a writer, but too small as a 

human being”, Gor’kij was no longer needed in Soviet Russia. (Kuprin 1921.) 

For Kuprin, life in Paris turned out to be much more problematic than it had 

seemed from the Finnish horizon. Kuprin’s daughter talks in her memoirs about 

life in Finland in 1919-1920 as “gloomy vegetation” (Kuprina 1979: 113), but 

Kuprin himself soon started to look at the time in Helsinki in a nostalgic light. In 

1922, after Obšee Delo had closed down and Kuprin was once again left in a 

difficult economic situation, he wrote to his eldest daughter Lidija in Moscow: 

“We had a better life in Helsingfors. Working for newspapers was easy there – it 

was new to me, it wasn’t badly paid. But the newspaper became impoverished. 

We had to move to Paris.” (Kuprina-Iordanskaja 1966: 316-317.) 

In Finland interest in Kuprin gradually faded in the twenties. No books were published 

in Finnish between the years 1919 and 1946. The Finland-Swedish publishing 

company Holger Schildt planned to publish Kuprin’s collected works in Swedish, 

counting on cooperation with publishing companies in Sweden and on the craftsmanship 

of its translator, Kuprin’s acquaintance Hjalmar Dahl. Dahl wrote to Paris in 

the summer of 1921 suggesting a flattering deal (Dahl 1921). Kuprin’s answer has 

not been preserved, but for some reason the plans were abondoned. The only volume 

to appear was En häxa (1923, A Witch), which brought together two of Kuprin’s 

early works. 

Kuprin did not lose all contacts with Helsinki. He corresponded with Fedor 

Pul’man, “my young friend from Helsingfors” (Kuprin 1969: 257). Pul’man had 

literary ambitions and Kuprin kindly agreed to become his mentor (Mixajlov 

1981: 244-245). 46 In the second half of the twenties he was visited in Paris by 

Vasilij Levi (1878-1954), a Russian lawyer who in emigration in Finland had 

started to train himself as a painter under the direction of Repin and who was 

helping Repin arrange exhibitions and sell paintings. Levi brought Kuprin a 

painting by Repin as a gift from his old friend in Kuokkala (Kuprina 1969: 256). 

Neither was Kuprin forgotten by Eino Leino. In 1923 he received a letter in which 

Leino informed him about his plans to start a multilingual journal with the working 

title Työrauha (Possibility to work in peace). The policy of the journal included humanism, 

internationalism, and pacifism. The specimen copy was due to appear in 

December, and Leino wrote to his foreign friends, including Maksim Gor’kij (Peltonen 

1978: 97-98) and Aleksandr Kuprin, for contributions. It is not known if Gor’kij 

answered, but Kuprin was quick to respond. For Työrauha he wrote a few lines 

about the situation of mankind in the postwar world. Positive values like love for 

one’s country and work had been used for disastrous, inhuman purposes. Now man- 

145

kind would soon have to confront this impermanent, untenable state and make the 

choice: “either solve these issues in the spirit of universal love or finally turn into 

beasts and perish.” (APPENDIX 8) 

In his letter to Kuprin, Leino had evidently complained about the condition of 

his health, and Kuprin answered by telling about his influenza (APPENDIX 9). 

What Kuprin did not know was that Leino had been suffering from a serious 

nervous disorder since 1920 and that Työrauha was one of the many grandiose 

but completely unrealistic projects that he nourished during this time (Onerva 

1932: 281-82). Kuprin’s brief statement about the present condition of mankind 

thus remained unpublished in Leino’s archive. 

Ten years later, in 1933, Kuprin returned, without any manifest reasons, for a 

last time to the theme of Finland. In the Paris newspaper Vozroždenie he published 

an article, “Suomi”, which bore witness to the author’s undiminished love 

and respect for Finland and its people. Kuprin must have had his “Nemnožko 

Finljandii” in front of him when writing, because “Suomi” partly repeated what 

he had said already in 1907. The decisive difference was that he now was talking 

about an independent Finland. At a time when Russian writers in the Soviet 

Union only saw Finland as a land of merciless exploitation and class-struggle, 

Kuprin clung to the old, idealized image of Finland, sharpened by new observations 

from 1920 and from implicit comparisons with France. 

Honesty was one of the traits of the Finnish character that Kuprin now emphasized. 

In the Finland that Kuprin knew theft was unknown. The doors were 

left unlocked both in the countryside and in the towns. “A given word, no matter 

if it was given by a representative of the Diet or a poor fisherman did not need to 

be confirmed by a receipt, the name of God, or personal honor” (Kuprin 1933). 

Health care was exemplary. Nowhere in Finland, “from Kuokkala to Kemi”, 

could you find any bedbugs, fleas, or cockroaches, the plagues of Russia. The 

hospitals were shining clean; the standard of the technical equipment was high, 

and the number of doctors impressive. In their job the doctors were assisted by 

the Finnish people, which had reached 100 percent literacy and were free of superstitions. 

Love of sports, especially winter sports, water sports, and athletics, 

was widespread, and Paavo Nurmi, the world-famous long-distance runner, had 

been honored by a statue (1925) even in his life-time. This was not an expression 

of chauvinism, but rather a reminder to the young Finns, “pull yourselves 

together, children, soon your turn will come”. 

In Finland there was food enough for everyone and the food was tasty. No 

beggars were to be seen. Art had reached the highest European level and Finnish 

literature was appreciated by the entire population. Finland was democratic in 

the sense that learning was spreading to all levels of the society through the voluntary 

efforts of students and university teachers. 

This time Kuprin also praised Finnish industry, especially the forest products 

that were exported even to such faraway countries as Argentina. About Finnish 

146

paper Kuprin wrote at length: “The best sorts resembled of Japanese paper, and 

the ordinary newspaper type was invariably used for all periodical publications of 

Moscow and St. Petersburg. I know that [the Russian publisher, BH] Sytin alone 

ordered ten railway wagons of paper every day for his innumerable books and for 

[the newspaper, BH] ‘Russkoe Slovo’ with its circulation of one million.” 

How was all this possible? Kuprin’s answer was “love of work and honesty”. 

And once again the reader could feel an unspoken comparison with Russia as 

Kuprin knew it: “Never yet has there been a case when a Finnish merchant or 

dealer would have cheated his client when measuring or weighing, given him 

spoiled material, delivered short, contrary to the deal, or sent him a barrel of butter, 

paid in advance, but half filled with stones. No, the Finn puts a high value on 

the name and the reputation of his old-established business.” 

The article “Suomi” passed unnoticed in Finland. So did Kuprin’s unexpected return 

to Soviet Russia in 1937 and even his death a year later. Russian literature was 

not in vogue in Finland anymore, and only after the Second World War did readers 

return to Kuprin and other Russian writers. His special ties with Finland had, however, 

been forgotten, and they were not particularly stressed by any of Kuprin’s Finnish 

friends. Still Kuprin had been one of Finland’s greatest admirers and supporters 

among the Russians. While Maksim Gor’kij mainly sought allies in Finland for the 

Russian political struggle, and Leonid Andreev was seeking solitude in the natural 

environment, Aleksandr Kuprin’s love for and interest in Finland and its people was 

broad and genuine. As a writer he did not reach the same level of popularity as 

Gor’kij and Andreev in Finland, but he had his own audience, starting with the success 

of the novel Poedinok. 

1 The subject “Kuprin and Finland” has been superficially treated in Kiparsky 1940, Kiparsky 

1945, Haltsonen 1957, and Konkka 1968. Kiparsky makes the mistake of dating one of 

Kuprin’s visits to Helsinki, the one about which he wrote in “Nemnožko Finljandii”, to 1910 

instead of 1907 (Kiparsky 1940:35). The error was repeated by Haltsonen (1957: 327). 

2 Out of a claimed eleven visits to Helsinki information exists about six: November 1906, 

March – May 1907, October – December 1912, November 1914 – May 1915, December 

1916 – March 1917, December 1919 – June 1920. 

3 Another possible date is November-December 1901, since the eminent Kuprin specialist 

Fedor Kulešov claims that when Kuprin moved to St. Petersburg in November 1901, he had 

not seen the Russian capital for almost ten years (Kulešov 1983: 152). He visited St. Petersburg 

on that occasion in the company of Bunin. A photograph, dated 6/19.12.1901, also exists, 

showing Kuprin and other contributors (not Bunin and Fedorov, however) of the journal 

Russkoe Bogatstvo in Kuokkala (Fonjakova 1986: [photo 4]). The year of Fedorov’s poem 

“Imatra” plus the fact that a journey to Imatra was not so attractive late in the year make 1900 

seem more plausible than 1901. 

4 In his short story “Kor’” (1904, “Measles”) Kuprin again depicted a Russian chauvinist, who 

has no understanding for the rights of the minorities and who, with irony in his voice, quotes 

the liberals: “Oh, poor, civilized Finland!” (“O, bednaja, kul’turnaja Finljandija!”) (Kuprin 

1958 III: 199). 

147

5 A full list of translations of Kuprin’s works in Finland is given in Studia Slavica Finlandensia 

VIII. Helsinki, 1991, pp. 94-97. 

6 All dates are given according to the Gregorian calendar (New Style), which was used in 

Finland. 

7 A. Ambus, who has done research on Gor’kij’s and Gallen-Kallela’s contacts, calls the 

presence of the Finns, except for Gallen-Kallela, into question (Ambus 1958: 105-106). Finnish 

sources, however, confirm that Järnefelt and Saarinen were also in Kuokkala and that 

they, furthermore, also promised to participate in the planned publication on the question of 

Finland (HP 1905, NP 1905). The painter Albert Edelfelt (1854-1905) had also been invited, 

but serious illness forced him to cancel his trip. 

8 Two parodies by Aleksandr Kuprin were published in the third and last issue of Župel. In the 

only existing Finnish-Swedish issue of the journal these parodies were not included. 

9 E.G. is a signature which was used by the journalist Ernst Gråsten (1865-1941), a 

contributor to Nya Pressen. 

10 In his memoirs Eino Kalima claims that Russian literature was “a spiritually foreign field” 

for V.A. Koskenniemi, something which had become apparent in connection with Kuprin’s 

Poedinok (Kalima 1962: 269). Koskenniemi’s review does not support this assertion. 

11 Kulešov (1973: 264) makes a mistake when interpreting the date March 19 as old style. The 

patient journal of the Helsinki sanatorium shows that Kuprin arrived in Helsinki on March 20, 

new style (Tallbacka 1907). 

12 The geographical names are given in Finnish, although Kuprin naturally used the Russian 

transcriptions of the Swedish names. 

13 Kuprin’s letter to Maila Talvio (Mikkola) is undated. In the letter he is apparently congratulating 

her husband, professor Jooseppi Mikkola, on his name day (March 19), which had been 

the day before. As Kuprin says that he is leaving Helsinki the next day this could refer to the 

year 1917. On the other hand it seems improbable that Kuprin and the Mikkolas would still 

have been as close by that time. 

14 Kuprin knew neither Finnish nor Swedish, but he uses some words in these languages in his 

text. In Swedish he quotes “var so gut” (i.e. var så god) and “freken” (i.e. fröken) (Kuprin 

1958 VI: 616). 

15 Kuprin is referring to Gallen-Kallela’s triptych “Aino” (1890-1891). 

16 The first Finnish translation of “Nemnožko Finljandii” appeared in Karjalan Viikkoliite in 

1938. The sketch was translated a second time for Suomen Kuvalehti. 1961: 38, pp. 28-31 

(“Kuprin ihastui Suomeen vuonna 1907”) by J. Ulvila. 

17 The interview is signed -st, which might stand for Alexander Öhqvist (1868-1955), an 

editor at Hufvudstadsbladet and a minor writer. 

18 In reality Kuprin had Russian and Tatar ancestors. In his sketch “Carev gos iz Narovata” (1933, 

“The Emperor’s Guest from Narovat) he, however, claimed that all the peasants in his home-town 

Narovat were of Mordvinian stock, whereas all the landowners had Tatar ancestors (Kuprin 1958 

VI: 490-491). 

19 “Maslenica v Finljandii” was published in Kuprin’s collected works in 1914. It is not 

known if it was first published in a newspaper. 

20 The translation in the Russian Kalevala is, however, other than the one Kuprin quotes: 

“Prislušajsja k šelestu toj eli, / U kornja kotoroj naxoditsja tvoe žiliše” (Kalevala 1881: 1). 

21 In the collected works of Kuprin (Kuprin 1914, Kuprin 1973) the name Wallgren is misspelled 

as Tal’gren. As there are obvious misprints in the first publication of “Maslenica 

v Finljandii”, it possible that the mistake was not made by Kuprin himself. 

148

22 Kuprin spells the name “Kolonius”, which must stand for “Calonius”. How close Kuprin 

worked to reality is shown by the fact that in the telephone directory of Helsinki from 1913 

there are two cavalry captains (ryttmästare) by the name of Calonius (Henrik and Mathias). 

23 A clue to where the idea for “Maslenica v Finljandii” comes from has been offered by the 

sculptor Lauri Leppänen (1895-1977). He is supposed to have claimed that Kuprin himself, in 

the company of the Finnish poet Eino Leino, ended up in a Helsinki lockup after a wet night. 

When the door was closed behind the two friends, Kuprin is supposed to have exclaimed: 

“How n you oppress a people who have clean straw even in their jails” (Konkka 

1968:XIV). It is a well-known fact that Kuprin based almost all his works on authentic, often 

autobiographical material. Still the truth value of this story seems doubtful. As Leppänen apparently 

did not know about the existence of the short story “Maslenica v Finljandii”, he 

might well have taken fiction for reality. 

24 Fonjakova (1986: 186) claims, without giving the source, that part of Kuprin’s work in Helsinki 

was, indeed, to censor soldiers’ letters. 

25 Kuprin’s stay in Helsinki during the First World War was not noted by the Finnish press. 

Helsingin Sanomat quoted the news-item from Birževye Vedomosti (BV 1914a) that Kuprin 

had been called to arms but did not figure out that he was going to serve in Helsinki (HS 

1914). The signature K.C. published the same item plus a photo taken from Nov’ (1.12.1914. 

130, p. l) of Kuprin in uniform in the journal Veckans Krönika (K.C. 1914). 

26 The signature A. K-V probably stands for Aleksandr Kotylev, a journalist who was an acquaintance 

of Kuprin. 

27 In Finnish archives there are almost no documents concerning the activity of the Russian 

army in Finland during the First World War. The handwritten journal is therefore more likely 

to be found in a Russian archive. 

28 The event is described in another way and located in another restaurant by the writer L. 

Onerva (1882-1972) in her Leino biography: “Eino Leino and Kuprin were once sitting in 

Gambrini. Kuprin said: ‘The Finns can never become famous writers, as they do not have any 

temperament.’ Leino answered: ‘I h a v e temperament, I a m famous.’” (Onerva 1932: 

260) This version is dismissed by Wuolijoki as being false (1947: 145). 

29 Ksenija Kuprina is talking about Nikolaevskij voennyj gospital’, a name which was not used in 

Finland. As Kuprin (Kuprin 1920) himself later talked about Nikolaevskij voennyj gospital’ in 

connection with Helsinki and the year 1917, it must refer to the Russian military hospital on Unioninkatu. 

30 “Common Sense” writes that Kuprin gave him his collected works with a friendly 

inscription, a poem, as a remembrance of their meeting in Helsinki (Common Seuse 1919: 3). 

The identity of “Common Sense”, or “Reason” as he also called himself, has not been revealed. 

31 A complete translation of Jama appeared in Sweden after the Second World War, Flickorna 

i Jamakvarteret (Sthlm 1946, transl. Tore Zetterholm). A Finnish translation was 

published in 1967 (Kuoppa, transl. Juhani Konkka). 

32 Kuprin is not mentioned in the patient journals of Tallbacka from 1917 and 1918. 

33 Kulešov erroneously dates the arrival of Kuprin in Helsinki as the end of December 

(Kulešov 1973: 285).What can be stated with certainty is that Kuprin was in Helsinki on 

December 6, the Finnish independence day (Kuprin 1919). 

34 Kuprin’s articles have been collected in the volume: .. . , 

... (1919-1921). : .-, 2001. Ksenija Kuprina 

erroneously claims that Kuprin also wrote for Ogni in Prague during his stay in Helsinki 

(Kuprina 1979: 108). Ogni was only started in September 1921. 

149

35 A.I. Belokopytov lived on the Karelian Isthmus, where he published an agricultural journal 

Xutorok in 1918. In 1919-1920 he was the manager of the newspaper Razsvet in Helsinki. From 

Finland Belokopytov apparently moved to France, where he kept up his contact with Kuprin 

(Kuprina 1979: 223). 

36 Veržbickij (1986: 114) claims that Kuprin many years later “confessed” to him that in 1920 

he had had a secret determination “to cross the border-river Sestra-reka to the land of the Soviets 

and there... whatever comes! On your own side it would not be terrifying to be punished!” 

On the basis of this Veržbickij concludes that the Finnish authorities perhaps 

suspected this secret intention and, because of this, did not grant Kuprin permission to go the 

Karelian Isthmus. Fonjakova (1986: 215) goes a step further and excludes Veržbickij’s 

“perhaps”. This is clearly nonsense, as firstly the Finnish authorities had no reason to prevent 

pro-soviet Russians from leaving Finland and secondly Kuprin did get a visa to Kuokkala, but 

himself chose not to use it (Kuprina 1979: 116). 

37 Kuprin is referring to the picture “Väinämöisen veneretki” (Väinämöinen’s Boat Journey) 

from 1909, which is in the Ateneum museum (Helsinki). 

38 Kuprin is here talking about the Helsinki museum Ateneum and not about a summer exhibition 

in Paris as is stated in Kuprin 1969: 428, note 7. The letter is furthermore wrongly dated. 

The date should apparently be August 6, 1924 and not 1926. 

39 One of Kuprin’s later translators, Juhani Konkka, mentions in passing that Sakari Pälsi 

(1882-1965), a famous ethnologist, archaeologist, and writer, and Lauri Leppänen (1895- 

1977), later one of Finland’s most prominent sculptors, were among Kuprin’s Finnish friends 

(Konkka 1968: [7]). No further information about this exists. 

40 How well-known V.A. Koskenniemi was in the family of Kuprin can be seen from the fact 

that Kuprin, in a letter from late 1920 to his thirteen-year-old daughter Ksenija, addresses her 

jokingly “Koskeniemi” (sic!). (Kuprina 1979: 123) In another letter (1925) he writes: “Chère 

kissssssa!” (Kuprina 1979:208), which must be the Finnish word “kissa” (cat). 

41 Jurij Grigorkov’s booklet (Grigorkov 1920) was partly published in Obšee Delo in Paris 

(2.11.1920. 110, p. 2). The booklet was distributed freely to the readers of Novaja 

Russkaja Žizn’ (NRŽ 2.11.1920. 218, p. 1). 

42 The poem was originally published in Novaja Russkaja Zizn’ (22.2.1920. 43, p. 2) under 

the title “Zakat” and dedicated to I.I. Maksimova. It was republished in Grigorkov 1960: 3. 

43 The photo was taken 1914-1915 in Gatina. Kuprin also gave the same photo to Bunin in 

Paris (Bunin 1973: 333). 

44 Kuprin is referring to the monsters in novels by H.G. Wells: The War of the Worlds (1898), 

The Time Machine (1888) and The Island of Dr Moreau (1896). 

45 Kulešov writes that Kuprin got a “regular Finnish passport” after June l, 1920 (1963: 492). 

He also mentions that the Russian émigré organization Osobyj komitet po russkim delam v 

Finljandii had given Kuprin a passport for one year in April, enabling him to travel abroad 

freely (Kulešov 1963: 492). 

46 Fedor Pul’man left Finland in the 1930s and settled in England, where he died in the 1960s. 

His only publications seem to be a short story “Šagi” (“The Steps) in Žurnal Sodružestva 

(Viipuri) (3/1934) and a travel sketch, “Serdce Flandrii!” (“The Heart of Flanders) in Grani 

(2/1954). 

150

LITERATURE 

Unpublished material: 

Dahl 1921 

Letter from Hjalmar Dahl to Aleksandr Kuprin (22.8.1921). Holger 

Schildts bokförlag’s archive (Helsinki). 

Grigorkoff 1990 Interview March 9, 1990 (Helsinki) with Alexander Grigorkoff (b. 1911). 

Peltonen 1978 Peltonen, Aarre M. Perustutkimuksia Eino Leinosta. Kirjallisuus- ja 

kulttuurihistoriaa runoudesta, kriitikontyöstä, ihmissuhteista. Tampereen 

yliopisto. Kotimainen kirjallisuus. Monistesarja 16. Tampere. 

Tallbacka 1907 Tallbacka sjukhus. Potilaspäiväkirja vuodelta 1907. Helsingin 

kaupunginarkisto. 

Published material: 

Adress- och yrkeskalender 1906 

Adress- och yrkeskalender för Helsingfors jämte förorter 1906-1907. 

Helsingfors. 

Ambus 1958 Ambus, A.A. M. Gor’kij i A. Gallen-Kallela (Iz istorii russko-finskix 

kul’turnyx svjazej konca XIX – naala XX veka, Trudy po russkoj i 

slavjanskoj filologii. I. Uenye zapiski Tartusskogo gosudarstvennogo 

universiteta, 65. Tartu, pp. 93-119. 

Berkov 1956 Berkov, P.N. Aleksandr Ivanovi Kuprin. Kritiko-biografieskij oerk. 

Bonsdorff 1985 

M.-L. 

von Bonsdorff, B. Privata sjukhus, Finska läkaresällskapets 

handlingar. Årg. 145, band 129, nr 4, pp. 345-396. 

Bunin 1973 Bunin, Ivan. Literaturnoe nasledstvo, t. 84, kn. 1. M. 

BV 1914a A.I. Kuprin v voennoj službe, Birževye Vedomosti 10.11.1914. 

14486, p. 3. 

BV 1914b Ot’’ezd A.I. Kuprina, Birževye Vedomosti 14.11.1914. 14494, p. 4. 

BV 1914c A.I. Kuprin na voennoj službe, Birževye Vedomosti 16.11.1914. 

14498, p. 6. 

BV I915a Zdorov’e A.I. Kuprina, Birževye Vedomosti 13.5.1915. 14839, p. 6. 

BV 1915b Pisateli na letnem otdyxe, Birževye Vedomosti 19.5.1915. 14851, p. 6. 

BV 1915c U A.I. Kuprina, Birževye Vedomosti 21.5.1915. 14855, p. 5. 

BV 1915d U A.I. Kuprina, Birževye Vedomosti 22.6.1915. 14919, p. 6. 

Common Seuse 1919 Common Seu[!]se, Užas odinoestva. Ob intelligencii, Razsvet 

(Helsinki) 29.11.1919. 14, prilož. l, pp. 2-3. 

ukovskij 1963 ukovskij, Kornej. Sovremenniki. Portrety i tjudy. M. 

E.G. 1906 E.G., En litterär misshandel, Nya Pressen (Helsinki) 29.8.1906. 33, p. 2. 

Fedorov 1911 Fedorov, A. M. Moj pu. Sobranie soinenij, t. IV. M., [1911]. 

Fonjakova 1986 Fonjakova, N.N. Kuprin v Peterburge-Leningrade. L. 

Frid 1915 Frid, S. U A.I. Kuprina, Birževye Vedomosti 17.8.1915. 15032, p. 2. 

Gor’kij 1953 Gor’kij, M. Sobranie soinenij v tridcati tomax, t. XXIV. M. 

Grabar’ 1937 

Grigorkov 1920 

Grabar’, Igor’. Moja žizn’. Avtobiografija. M.-L. 

Grigorkov, Ju.A. Aleksandr Ivanovi Kuprin. (K pjatidesjatiletiju so 

dnja roždenija). Gel’singfors. 

151

Grigorkov 1938a Grigorkov, Jurij. A.I. Kuprin.Vospominanija i kritieskie zametki, 

Žurnal Sodružestva (Viipuri) 1938:10-11, pp. 8-11. 

Grigorkov 1938b Grigorkov, Jurij. A.I. Kuprin. Vospominanija i kritieskie zametki, 

Žurnal Sodružestva 1938:12, pp. 9-10. 

Grigorkov 1960 Grigorkov, Jurij. A.I. Kuprin. Moi vospominanija, Sovremennik 

(Toronto) 1960:2, pp. 39-43. 

Grigorkov 1961 Grigorkov, Jurij. Stixotvorenija A.I. Kuprina, Sovremennik 1961:3, 

pp. 3-5. 

Haltsonen 1957 Haltsonen, Sulo, A.I. Kuprin. 1870-1938, in: Heidenstamista 

Undsetiin: Suurten kirjailijain elämäkertoja. Toim. Eino Palola. 

Porvoo-Helsinki. 

HBL 1915 

[Review of Aleksandr Kuprin’s “Afgrunden”], Hufvudstadsbladet 

24.12.1915. 353, p. 6. 

Hellman 1985 Hellman, Ben. Biblion. A Russian Publishing House in Finland, 

Studia Slavica Finlandensia. Tomus II. Helsinki 1985, pp. 1–48. [Also 

included in the present volume.] 

Hellman 1994 Hellman, Ben. Aleksandr Kuprin protiv Sovetskoi vlasti. Hel’sinskie 

stat’i 1919-1921 g.g., in Kulturnoe nasledie rossijskoj emigracii. 

1917-1940. Moskva, pp. 194-200. 

Hirn 1958 

Hirn, Sven. Imatra som natursevärdhet till och med 1870. En 

reselitterär undersökning med lokalhistorisk begränsning. Bidrag till 

kännedom af Finlands natur och folk. Utgivna av Finska Vetenskapssocieteten. 

H. 102. Helsingfors. 

HP 1905 En rysk “Simplicissimus”, Helsingfors-Posten 24.7.1905. 196, p. 4. 

HS 1914 

Kirjailija Kuprin kutsuttu sotapalvelukseen, Helsingin Sanomat 

25.11.1914. 322, p. 7. 

HS 1919 Kirjailija A. Kuprinia haastattelemassa. Helsingin Sanomat 

10.12.1919. 335, p. 5. 

Jensen 1912 Jensen, Alfred. Nyaste strömningar i den ryska vitterheten, Finsk 

Tidskrift (Helsingfors), tom LXXIII, p. 264-281. 

K.C. 1914 K.C. Ett kvartssekels konstnärsjubileum. Veckans Krönika 1914:43 

(19.12.1914) (Helsinki), p. 385. 

K-V 1915 K-V, A. U A.I. Kuprina, Russkaja Illjustracija 1915:16 (24.5.1915), p. 4. 

Kaila 1954 

Kaila, Toivo T. Eräs elämä. Muistelmia ja merkintöjä. Helsinki. 

Kalevala 1881 Kalevala. Finskij narodnyj pos. Perevel E. Granstrem. SPb. 

Kalima 1962 Kalima, Eino. Sattumaa ja johdatusta. Muistelmia. Porvoo-Helsinki. 

Karjala 1905 V-to, K. Venäläisessä soitannollis-kirjallisessa iltamassa, Karjala 

(Viipuri) 15.8.1905. 187, p. 2. 

Kiparsky 1940 Kiparsky, V. Kuprin och Finland, Soldatgossens jul, pp. 33-35. (The 

same article was also published in Finnish: A.I. Kuprin ja Suomi, 

Sotilaan joulu 1940, pp. 65-67.) 

Kiparsky 1945 Kiparsky, V. Suomi venäläisessä kirjallisuudessa. Helsinki. 

Konkka 1968 Konkka, Juhani. A.I. Kuprin, in: Kuprin, A.I. Valitut kertomukset. 

Porvoo. 

Koskenniemi 1946 Koskenniemi, V.A. Maila Talvio. Kirjailijakuvan ääriviivoja. Pori- 

Helsinki. 

Krasnyj arxiv 1936 Daty žizni i dejatel’nosti A.M. Gor’kogo, red. M.A. Syromjatnikova. 

Krasnyj arxiv 5 (78), pp. 23-84. 

152

Kruinin 1914 Kruinin, N. U A.I. Kuprina, Birževye Vedomosti 16.10.1914. 

14436, p. 6. 

Kulešov 1963 Kulešov, F.I. Tvoreskij pu A.I. Kuprina. Minsk. 

Kulešov 1973 Kulešov, F.I. Kratkaja xronika žizni i tvorestva A.I. Kuprina. In: 

Kuprin, A.I. Sobranie soinenij v devjati tomax, t. IX. M., pp. 245-298. 

Kulešov 1983 Kulešov, F.I. Tvoreskij pu A.I. Kuprina 1883-1907. Izd. vtoroe, 

pererab. i dopoln. Minsk. 

Kuprin 1912 Kuprin, Aleksandr. Valkoinen villakoira. Helsinki. 

Kuprin 1914 Kuprin, A. Maslenica v Finljandii, Rasskazy t. XI. [M], [1914]. 

Kuprin 1919 Kuprin, A. Beloe s golubym, Novaja Russkaja Žizn’ (Helsinki) 

9.12.1919. 4, p. 2. 

Kuprin 1920 Kuprin, A. Bezkrovnaja, Novaja Russkaja Žizn’ 12.3.1920. 59, p. 2. 

Kuprin 1921 Kuprin, A. Treja straža, Novaja Russkaja Žizn’ 18.9.1921. 214, p. 3. 

Kuprin 1928 Kuprin, A.I. Kupol sv. Isaakija Dalmackogo. Riga. 

Kuprin 1933 Kuprin, A.I. Suomi, Vozroždenie (Paris) 29.10.1933. 3071, p. 3. 

Kuprin 1958 Kuprin, A. Sobranie soinenij v šesti tomax. M. 

Kuprin 1969 A.I. Kuprin o literature. Sost. F.I. Kulešov. Minsk. 

Kuprin 1973 Kuprin, A.I. Sobranie soinenij v devjati tomax. M. 

Kuprina 1969 Kuprina, K.A. (publ. i komm.), Perepiska I.E. Repina i A.I. Kuprina, 

Novyj Mir 1969:9, pp. 193-210. 

Kuprina 1979 Kuprina, K.A. Kuprin — moj otec. Izd. vtoroe, ispr. i dopoln. M. 

Kuprina-Iordanskaja 1966 

Kuprina- Iordanskaja, M. K. Gody molodosti. M. 

Leino 1921 Leino, Eino. Maksim Gorjki, Helsingin Sanomat 26.10.1921. 293, p. 3. 

Mixajlov 1981 Mixajlov, Oleg. Kuprin. M. 

NP 1905 

En rysk “Simplicissmimus”. Finska konstnärer medverka, Nya 

Pressen 2.12.1905. 320, p. [3-4]. 

NRŽ 1919a Ot redakcii, Novaja Russkaja Žizn’ 5.2.1919. 1, p. 1. 

NRŽ 1919b 

[Announcement for A. Kuprin’s lecture “Aziacskij bol’ševizm”], 

Novaja Russkaja Žizn’ 18.12.1919. 12, p. 1. 

NRŽ 1920 Obšij otet N: 5, Novaja Russkaja Žizn’ 23.3.1920. 68, p. 4. 

Onerva 1932 Onerva, L. Eino Leino. Runoilija ja ihminen. II. Helsinki. 

Razsvet 1919 Novosti dnja, Razsvet 20.11.1919. 6, p. 1. 

Reginin 1914 Reginin, Vas[ilij]. Vo imja g! Avtor “Poedinka” o nynešnem 

oficerstve. Vstrea s poruikom Kuprinym. Birževye Vedomosti 

1.12.1914. 14528, p. 3. 

Reginin 1915 R[eginin], Vas[ilij]. U A.I. Kuprina posle jubileja, Birževye Vedomosti 

18.1.1915 14618, p. 6. 

-st 1912 -st, Alexander Kuprin i Helsingfors, Hufvudstadsbladet 28.11.1912. 

326, p. 5. 

T.S. 1906 

T[orsten] S[öderhjelm]. En bok från den ryska armén. A. Kuprin: 

Duellen, Nya Pressen (Helsingfors) 10.9.1906. 245, p. 2. 

Talvio 1956 Talvio, Maila. Rukkaset ja kukkaset, Kootut teokset XIII. Porvoo- 

Helsinki. (2. p.) 

Tuulio 1963 Tuulio, Tyyni. Maila Talvion vuosikymmenet. I. Porvoo. 

US 1906 [Advertisement for Kaksintaistelu], Uusi Suometar 9.12.1906. 286, p. 6. 

V.A.K. 1907 V.A. K[oskenniemi]. Kirjallisuutta, Uusi Suometar 10.3.1907. 59, 

p. 10-11. 

153

Veržbickij 1978 Veržbickij, N. Vstrei. M. 

Volkov 1962 Volkov, A. Tvorestvo A.I. Kuprina. M. 

Wuolijoki 1947 Wuolijoki, Hella. Kummituksia ja kajavia. Muistelmia Eino Leinosta 

ja Gustaf Mattsonista. Helsinki. 

Wuori 1907 Vuori, Martti. A. Kuprin. Kaksintaistelu, Aika 1, pp. 271-73. 

Životovskij 1920 Životovskij, S. Listki iz al’boma. V vagone, Razsvet (Helsinki) 

10.1.1920. 6, p. 2. 

154

APPENDIX l 

Aleksandr Kuprin — Maila Talvio (Mikkola) 

[20 , 1907?] 

! 

: — , - 

. , 

. , , 

. ! 

 

. 

(J.J. Mikkolan arkisto, Valtionarkisto, Helsinki) 

APPENDIX 2 

Aleksandr Kuprin — Uno Vuorjoki 

[1909] 

U.S. -! 

V - 

. 

 

. 

 

. 

(Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seuran kirjallisuusarkisto 470: 16, Helsinki). 

155

APPENDIX 3 

. 

V.A. Koskenniemi. ( ). 

 

, , 

 

, . 

, ... , , 

. 

 

. 

, 

, , 

, 

. 

. 

( 1912:5, . 32) 

. 

( [].) 

 

, , 

 

, . 

, ... , , 

. 

 

. 

, 

 

, 

. 

 

. 

( []. 1920. 69. 24 ) 

156

APPENDIX 4 

Aleksandr Kuprin’s foreword to A.I. Belokopytov, Naši druz’ja. Rasskazy dlja 

detej. 

 

, , , 

, , 

, , 

, , , 

, , . - 

, , - 

. 

. - 

. , 

. 

“- 

” , 

. 

. 

(.. . . . I. . - 

, 1920, . [1]) 

APPENDIX 5 

( ) 

 

... 

, , 

... ... 

 

... 

: 

, . 

 

. 

( []. 1920. 83. 16 ) 

157

APPENDIX 6 

 

... 

 

. 

 

... ) 

- ? 

? 

... 

, , 

, , 

, . 

1920 25/V Hels. 

A. Kuprin 

) : “ ” 

: “ [eg. 

] .” [. . ] 

(Archive of Alexander Grigorkoff, Helsinki) 

158

APPENDIX 7 

Aleksandr Kuprin (Paris) — Jurij Grigorkoff (Helsinki) 

[1920] 

(...) , “- 

”, , , 

[] . (...) 

. , , “ ” (. 

. ) 

(Quoted by Jurij Grigorkoff in a letter [Helsinki, 13.2.1961] to Sulo Haltsonen. 

Sulo Haltsosen arkisto, Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seuran kirjallisuusarkisto, 

Helsinki) 

APPENDIX 8 

Aleksandr Kuprin’s contribution to the planned journal Työrauha 

, , - 

, 

, , , , - 

, . 

, , 

, : - 

, , , . 

. 

[19]23 . 17 

(Eino Leinon arkisto, Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seuran kirjallisuusarkisto, 


159

APPENDIX 9 

Aleksandr Kuprin — Eino Leino 

[June 1923] 

Cher ami et Maitre! 

De tout mon coeur je vous souhet étre en bon santé! Pardonnez moi réponse 

tres tardive. J’etais, aussi comme vous, mon cher ami, malade toute cette hiver 

et printemps, a la cause infusema. 

Avec plaisire cordial j’ecris quelques mots dans votre livre prochaine, qui 

sans doute, sera tres interessant. 

Je vous embrasse amicalement 

Votre 

Alexandre Kouprine 

l bis, Bd Montmorency, l bis Paris (XVI) 

(Eino Leinon arkisto, Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seuran kirjallisuusarkisto, 


160

Osip Mandelstam and Finland 

In Osip Mandelstam’s impressionistic memoirs, The Noise of Time (Šum 

vremeni, 1924), one chapter – “Finljandija” – is entirely devoted to Finland. 

This is in fact not surprising, as a look at the poet’s pre-revolutionary biography 

shows how close and consistent his links with Finland were. Eventually Finland 

came to be much more than a neighbouring country, conveniently close at hand 

for someone from St. Petersburg, but it also acquired the stature as a symbol, 

loaded with positive values. The following is an attempt to outline Mandelstam’s 

contacts with Finland and to establish its place in his thinking. 

When talking about his childhood and adolescence in the late 1890s and the 

first decade of the 20th century, Mandelstam gives the formula, “In wintertime, 

for Christmas, Finland and Viborg, but the dacha was in Terijoki” 1 

(Mandel’štam 1990b II: 17). From the fashionable summer resort Terijoki (today 

Zelenogorsk) Mandelstam recalls the junipers, the sand beach with the 

planked footways and the small bathing huts with a heart in the door. The Karelian 

Isthmus was crowded with Russian summer guests, but also something 

close to genuine Finnish popular life could be found here. Mandelstam presents 

the local inhabitant with the pregnant expression “the domestic foreigner, the 

cold Finn, dear to the heart of the Petersburgers” (ibid.). In Terijoki the young 

Mandelstam attended children’s parties with dances and “strange” games like 

sack races and egg-and-spoon races, or lotteries with a cow as the main prize. 

Mandelstam also witnessed the Finnish Midsummer celebrations, where the 

main attractions were a Midsummer’s Eve bonfire and “bear polka on the 

meadow of the village hall (narodnyj dom)” (ibid.). The passage has caused later 

Russian commentators problems. Firstly, the “narodnyj dom” mentioned is certainly 

not the famous cultural palace in St. Petersburg from the 1910s 

(Mandel’štam 1990b II: 390), but a meeting place of a type one could find in all 

larger Finnish villages, built either by the local young people’s or workers’ association. 

Secondly, the polkas did not consist of daring jumps through the fire, 

as has been claimed (ibid.), but were danced to music after the bonfire had gone 

out. 

In Viipuri (in Swedish, Viborg) the Mandelstams used to stay at Hotel Belvedere, 

located on the corner of Salakkalahdenkatu and Aleksanterinkatu (later Karjalankatu). 

This was one of the best hotels of the town, “famous for its cleanness 

and its dazzlingly snow-white linen”, as Mandelstam writes (1990b II: 18). He 

mentions that later, that is in July 1906, members of the First Russian State Duma 

held an illegal meeting at Belvedere after the Duma’s dissolution by the Tsar. 

In Viipuri Mandelstam’s father, a leather merchant, had a trading partner, 

Isaak Kušakov, with whom he also established close family contacts 

(Mandel’štam 1990b II: 391). In The Noise of Time Mandelstam for unknown 

reasons changed the name Kušakov to Šarikov, giving Šarik (i.e. Kusak) as the 

161

Finnish variant. Concerning the background of Kušakov it is said that he was a 

descendent of a Jewish soldier, who had been given permission to settle in 

Finland after having completed his service in the local Russian army regiment 

(Mandel’štam 1990b II: 18). This was indeed the general policy during the last 

years of the reign of Nicholas I and, in this case, it appears to have concerned 

Isaak Kušakov’s father, Saul. Isaak Kušakov (born around 1850 - died around 

1908), or lisak Kuschakoff, as he wrote his name in Finnish, was allowed to 

open a general store in Viipuri in 1879, a time when most of the retail trade was 

in the hands of the Russian minority of the town and the activities of the Jews 

were still strictly limited in Finland (Ruuth 1908: 1017). Mandelstam (1928: 99) 

recalls Isaak Kušakov’s shop, the “Sekkatawaaran kayppa” (i.e. “Sekatavarakauppa”), 

2 with its Finnish wares, the large variety of nails and corn and the 

smell of tar, leather and grain. The store was located in a huge stone house at 

Pietarinkatu 18 (later Kannaksenkatu). At the same address the Kušakovs also 

had a tannery and – for some time – a sweet factory. 3 In a massive wooden 

house, probably overlooking the courtyard, lived the large Kušakov family. 

Mandelstam was fond of the atmosphere that reigned in the patriarchal Viipuri 

family: “After the languidness of St. Petersburg, I rejoiced in this solid and oak-like 

family.” (Mandel’štam 1990b II: 18.) In the air there was the smell of cigars and 

money. The meals were sumptuous, something which had left its mark on Isaak 

Kušakov’s Buddha-like figure. Among the guests of the family Mandelstam mentions 

local Russian officers, who were fond of punch, sledge-rides and card-playing. 

Old Kušakov spoke Russian with a strong Finnish accent. His wife Anna, “a goodhearted 

and illiterate woman” (ibid.), was a Lutheran Finn, who died in the early 

1930s. An assimilation process, which within a few generations would wipe away 

most foreign traces, including the name which was changed to Kuusakoski in the 

1930s, had already started by this time. 

Mandelstam felt at home among the nine children of the Kušakov family. Of 

his age was Donuard (1889–1946), who had musical interests and studied the 

cello at the St. Petersburg Conservatory. Later Donuard went into business and 

became the founder of what is today a flourishing Finnish company, Kuusakoski 

Oy. (Lajunen & Hämäläinen 1994: 8 ff.) There were several girls in the family – 

Mina, Gina, Adele (Deila), Elin and Rachel 4 – and Mandelstam recalls three of 

them as beauties. A photograph has been preserved with Mandelstam together 

with two of the Kušakov girls, probably Adele and Gina. 5 Evgenij Mandelstam 

has revealed that his brother was strongly attracted to one of the daughters 

(Mandelstam 1990b II: 391). Nothing came of this, though, as the Kušakov girls 

were more interested in the Russian officers of the Viipuri army regiment than 

in the student from St. Petersburg. 

Viipuri had at this time around 20,000 inhabitants, and of them about one 

fifth were Russians (including the garrison). The Jewish population consisted of 

a few hundred people. Even for a person from the metropolis of St. Petersburg, 

Viipuri had a distinct feeling of “otherness”, a foreign European flavour, which 

162

prevented Mandelstam from thinking of it as too provincial: “Everything here 

had a feeling of foreigness about it – and Swedish comfort.” (Mandel’štam 

1990b II: 18.) As an example Mandelstam mentions the “tasty-smelling” café 

Fazer with its vanilla biscuits and chocolate. Here Mandelstam makes a factual 

error, as there was no Fazer café in Viipuri, and he must either be thinking of the 

Fazer café on Kluuvikatu (Glogatan) in Helsinki or some other Viipuri restaurant. 

With sheer delight Mandelstam recalls his “Viborg intoxication” with exotic 

details like punch, the Swedish language, military music, coffee-mills, rocking-chairs, 

small rugs with Scripture texts above the beds. A detail which has 

created confusion among commentators and translators is “the cardboard Swedish 

castle”. What Mandelstam most probably is referring to is a do-it-yourself 

cardboard model of the Viipuri castle which had been built in 1293 during the 

Swedish reign. 

Protestantism was a feature of Finnish life that Mandelstam had to define his attitude 

to. In his prose work The Egyptian Stamp (Egipeckaja marka, 1928) he portrays 

a Jewish woman who has turned Lutheran and visits the German church by the 

Moika canal (Mandel’štam 1990b II: 79). Her distinctive trait is “coldness”. With her 

“thin Lutheran lips” she condemns other people’s way of living. “Cold” was also the 

epithet that Mandelstam used about the Finns of Terijoki in The Noise of Time. In 

The Egyptian Stamp we meet them again, as dressed in their Sunday clothes they 

drive in horse carriages on “the hard roads” of the Karelian Isthmus, “from ‘jarvi’ 

(i.e. järvi [lake]) to ‘jarvi’” on their way to some small church, where they sing 

psalms and drink black coffee mixed with home-brewed strong spirits. Another 

characterization of Protestantism is included in the curious debate which is carried 

out among the crows and sparrows of the famous Viipuri park, Monrepos. The matter 

of dispute is how guests should be invited to a Lutheran funeral. The old crows 

know the right formal wording: “Karl and Amalia Blomqvist hereby inform relatives 

and acquaintances of the decease of their beloved daughter Elsa.” (Mandel’štam 

1990b II: 80.) In the eyes of Mandelstam Protestantism had a distinct air of formality, 

sternness and coldness, something which can also be seen from the poem “The 

Lutheran” (“Ljuteranin”) of 1912, but these traits do not carry only negative connotations. 

Both as a poet and a commentator on social life Mandelstam preferred a stern, 

rigid Apollonianism to a chaotic, vigorous Dionysianism. 

In the early 20th century a strong literary tradition linked Russia with Finland. 

The young Mandelstam was already well acquainted with the conventions. In The 

Noise of Time he draws a line from Vladimir Solov’ev’s idealistic Saimaa poems 

of the early 1890s to Aleksandr Blok’s poem “In the dunes” (“V djunah”, 1907) 

with its picture of the “green-eyed” Finn. For those coming from St. Petersburg, 

Finland was in many respects of special significance. For one thing it offered a 

freedom that was lacking in Russia: “You went there to think the thoughts you did 

not dare to think through at home” (Mandel’štam 1990b II: 17). For Mandelstam, 

as for many other Russian liberals of the time, Finland stood out as a symbol of 

democracy and a social order based on the law. The deep cleavage between the 

163

social classes that was typical of Russia was not felt in Finland, where “all the 

women were model washerwomen and all the cabmen looked like senators” 

(ibid.). It is not difficult to see where Mandelstam’s sympathies lay. “Stubborn 

and cunning” little Viipuri, a symbol for the whole of Finland, bears “the yoke of 

the Russian military presence” patiently, as it seems, but in all homes you can see 

the same sign of mute protest: a picture with a black mourning border, depicting 

the double-headed eagle attempting to seize a book of law, LEX, from the Finnish 

maiden. This famous, underground political painting, Attack (Hyökkäys), had 

been made in 1899 by Edvard Isto (1865-1905) as an answer to the February 

Manifesto, an overt attempt to Russify Finnish laws. 

Mandelstam also came in contact with Finns and Finnish products outside 

Finland. In the streets of St. Petersburg, he saw “vejki” (perhaps from the word 

“veikko” [chap]), that is Finnish cabmen (Mandel’štam 1990b II: 13, 389). Skating 

was for him connected with Finland, as he used the Finnish “Nurmis”- 

skates, a model that was attached to the shoes (Mandel’štam 1990b II: 13, 82). 

Manufactured from the 1870s to around 1910 by Hackman & Co in Nurmi, a 

community northwest of Viipuri along the railway line, the “Nurmis”-skates 

were also popular on the Russian market. Mandelstam put new meaning into the 

experience of skating. The “executioner’s steel of Nurmis’ skates” functions as a 

symbol of human and poetic thought: it can withstand the test of time but it also 

needs a concrete body to be attached to (Nilsson 1972: 93). 

When visiting Vilnius in October 1907, 6 Mandelstam happened to live next 

to some Finns. In a letter to his parents he gave his neighbours a positive characterization: 

“Because of their restraint, their presence does not restrict me at all.” 

(Mandel’štam 1990a: 202.) The immediate reason for the 16-year-old Mandelstam’s 

presence in Lithuania, on his way to Paris, was a visit to Finland a few 

weeks earlier. 1907 was the year when Mandelstam’s political radicalism 

reached its apogee. In the spring he had given an inflammatory political speech 

to the workers of his neighborhood. Mandelstam sympathized with the Socialist 

Revolutionaries, and at some time during September to October he had gone 

with a schoolfriend, Boris Sinani, to Raivola on the Karelian Isthmus in order to 

join the party’s terrorist section (Morozov 1979: 137). The Central Committee, 

with Grigorij Geršuni, Boris Savinkov and Evno Asev as the leading names, was 

planning to revive the Battle Organization with the ultimate aim of assassinating 

the Tsar. In The Noise of Time, Mandelstam recalls the late Finnish autumn and 

a lonely dacha. 7 At the underground political meeting he got to know “the 

young .”, an unidentified young man, who lived off the fame of his father, a 

member of the Central Committee (Mandel’štam 1990b II: 40). Mandelstam 

also mentions the legendary terrorist Geršuni, the founder of the organization. 

Geršuni had earlier in 1907 escaped from Siberia, and only a year later Mandelstam 

was to attend his funeral in Paris. Mandelstam and his friend were not accepted 

into the Battle Organization, because of their youth (Mandel’štam 1990c: 

22). Mandelstam’s parents took the whole affair so seriously that they sent their 

164

son abroad for a while, out of reach of the Okhrana (Morozov 1979: 137). It was 

indeed a dangerous game that Mandelstam was playing, as Evno Asev, the notorious 

double agent, was delivering information about the activity of the Socialist 

Revolutionaries to the Okhrana. 

In his memoirs Mandelstam draws a parallel to Tolstoy’s War and Peace 

(Vojna i mir). What drove young people like him and Sinani into the ranks of the 

SR’s was the same feelings as had stimulated Tolstoy’s heroes like Nikolaj 

Rostov: a search for honour, heroism and fame. He concludes with the words: 

“The night sun of a Finland, blinded by rain, the conspiratorial sun of a new 

Austerlitz!” (Mandel’štam 1990b II: 40.) Kiril Taranovsky (1976: 151) has 

pointed out that the image of the “night sun” for Mandelstam usually symbolizes 

“cultural and spiritual light which has gone out”. Here he finds its use to be 

more ambiguous: the sun is for Finland “a symbol of the awaited freedom; for 

Russia it signifies the new defeat”. However, it does not seem likely that Mandelstam 

here is making such a distinction between Finland and Russia. Finland 

is in this connection nothing more than the place of conspiracy, while Austerlitz 

carries a reference to Andrej Bolkonskij’s ambitious dreams in War and Peace. 

Mandelstam spent the winter of 1907-08 in Paris. From there he wrote to his 

mother in the spring of 1908: “A small anomaly. Longing for my homeland I do 

not feel for Russia, but for Finland. I add a poem about Finland .” 

(Mandel’štam 1990a: 203.) The poem was “Oh, my beauty, Saimaa” (“O 

krasavica Saima”). It records an entrance into a mythical landscape and a mystical 

experience with the feminine Lake Saimaa. Not included by Mandelstam in 

any of his books, this early poem of his was only published in 1974. It shows 

that Mandelstam had read not only Vladimir Solov’ev’s Saimaa poetry – which 

is mentioned also in the article “The Morning of Acmeism” (“Utro akmeizma”, 

1919) – but also Valerij Brjusov’s corresponding poems from 1905. Rather ambiguously 

Mandelstam refers to the Kalevala, the Finnish national epos, which 

at this time had become fairly well-known in Russia through a translation from 

1888. 8 What is problematic is the poem’s connection with the real Lake Saimaa. 

9 It has been claimed that Mandelstam visited Lake Saimaa “a few times” in 

his childhood and youth (Mandel’štam 1990a: 317). No source is given, but one 

possibility would be that Mandelstam had travelled to Imatra and Lake Saimaa 

during the previous summer, that is after the final examinations at the Tenišev 

school but before the meeting with the Socialist Revolutionaries in Raivola. 10 

In the autumn of 1909 Mandelstam started to study in Germany at the University 

of Heidelberg. Before enrolling he went to stay at Sanatorium 1’Albri in 

Montreux-Territet, Switzerland. For the next six years Mandelstam was to spend 

a considerable time in sanatoriums and rest-homes – including several Finnish 

ones. We have no other diagnosis of his health than Zinaida Gippius’ concise 

statement of 1910, “neurasthenic”, on the basis of their first meeting (Morozov 

1979: 138). Neurasthenia seems indeed to have been the overt reason for his recurrent 

“treatments”. In a letter of 1909 to the poet Vjaeslav Ivanov he actually 

165

complains about his “weak health” (Mandel’štam 1990a: 207). However, Clarence 

Brown (1973: 37), for example, suspects that Mandelstam’s worries about 

his health were a pose, the result of an “appealingly youthful romanticism”. But 

there is also another aspect to the question. Mandelstam was quite clearly attracted 

by the leisurely atmosphere of the sanatoriums, where people went 

mainly to relax. He talks with reverence about the polite servants and the prevailing 

“sacred silence”, broken only by the lunch gong. It was the repeated 

stays at different sanatoriums that made him confess, “I love bourgeois, European 

comfort and I am attached to it not only physically, but also emotionally.” 

(Mandel’štam 1990a: 206.) As a young man he could afford this kind of luxurious 

life style, as his parents paid for it, and he did not give it up until the First 

World War ultimately changed the situation. 

One of the most famous Finnish sanatoriums was located in Hyvinkää (Hyvinge), 

a small town 60 kilometres north of Helsinki. The Hyvinge Sanatorium 

with its wide range of cures was especially popular among well-to-do Russians. 

Anna Ahmatova, among others, was treated here for tuberculosis in 1915 (Hellman 

1989a, 1989b). On 15 March 1910 11 Mandelstam sent a postcard from Hyvinkää 

to Vjaeslav Ivanov with the text, “I have gone for a few weeks to 

Finland because of my ill-health” (Mandel’štam 1990a: 210). The postcard 

showed a view of the local sanatorium. A week later, on 21 March, Mandelstam 

is recorded to have paid for treatment (baths and medicine). 12 

In the early summer of 1910 Mandelstam was in Helsinki (Helsingfors) 

(Mandel’štam 1990a: 367), presumably for the first time. He came to the Finnish 

capital not as a tourist in the first place, but as a “neurasthenic” in search of help. 

His address in Helsinki was Tallbacka sanatorium in Töölö, a place where another 

Russian writer, Aleksandr Kuprin, had been treated three years earlier. 13 Tallbacka 

was advertised as specializing in “internal diseases, especially nervous diseases” 

(Ekonen & Hellman 1991: 35). Between the cures Mandelstam was writing 

poems: “The sympathetic rustle of leaves… ” (“Lisev soustvennyj 

šoroh…”) is dated “Helsingfors, May 1910” (Mandel’štam 1995: 311, 639), and 

from “Helsinki, Tal[l]backa” he also sends off two new poems, “Over the altar of 

smoking waves” (“Nad altarem dymjašihsja zybej…”) and “Necessity or intellect…” 

(„Neobhodimos ili razum…”) to the editor of the journal Apollon, Sergej 

Makovskij, on 10 July (Mandel’štam 1990a: 210; Mandel’štam 1995: 640). 

From Helsinki Mandelstam went to Hanko (Hangö), where he arrived in 

the middle of July (Mandel’štam 1990a: 366). 14 In the Hangö Baths archives 

it is recorded that on 21 July a Mr. Mandelstam from St. Petersburg paid for 

one week’s stay and treatment. 15 That summer the fashionable, newly modernized 

Hangö Baths had close to 1,000 guests, almost half of them coming 

from Russia. Besides cures for neurasthenia and other diseases, the guests 

were offered promenade concerts, dances, swimming galas, fireworks and 

even film shows. 16 Mandelstam seems to have spent most of his time discussing 

poetry with another guest from St. Petersburg, Sergej Kablukov 

166

(1881-1919). Kablukov was a teacher of mathematics with strong interests 

in religion, music and literature. In the Religious-Philosophical Society of 

St. Petersburg he acted as secretary and knew writers like Dmitrij 

Merežkovskij, Zinaida Gippius, Vjaeslav Ivanov and Vasilij Rozanov 

well. 17 He also had a professional interest in Finland as he was doing geological 

research on the Finnish coast (Mandel’štam 1990a: 356). In their 

daily conversations about Russian Romantic poetry and modern French 

Symbolism (Mandel’štam 1990a: 241, 250), they were occasionally joined 

by a namesake of the poet, Maks Mandelstam (1839-1912), a famous eyespecialist 

from Kiev, and also an activist in the Zionist movement. 18 Sergej 

Kablukov found Osip Mandelstam – whom he incidentally always referred 

to as Iosif – talented and highly sensitive, but at times he felt irritated by his 

shallow knowledge on some matters and his frivolous attitude to the requirements 

of everyday life (Mandel’štam 1990a: 241). For Mandelstam, 

Kablukov, who was ten years his senior, became something of a father figure 

(Mandel’štam 1990c: 29). 

For his new friends Mandelstam recited some of his own poems 

(Mandel’štam 1990a: 241). The religiously coloured “Killed by the evening 

bronze…” (“Ubity med’ju veernej”) was written in “Gangë” (Hangö) and dedicated 

to Kablukov (Mandel’štam 1990a: 129, 321). Also the poetic fragment “I 

remember the ancient shore…” (“Ja pomnju bereg vekovoj…”, 1910) with its 

portrait of Kablukov and references to “the noise of the sea (shum morskoj)”, 

the shore and “the deep wrinkles of the rocks” most probably alludes to Hanko 

(Mandel’štam 1990a: 242). At this time Mandelstam was as yet unpublished, 

even though he was already determined to become a writer and had been introduced 

to the literary circles of St. Petersburg. A month after the stay in Hanko, 

Kablukov found Mandelstam’s first poems printed in Apollon, and in his diary 

he recalled his talks with the young man. Kablukov helped Mandelstam to be 

published in prestigious journals through his contacts with influential symbolist 

poets (Mandel’štam 1990a: 242-244, 357). 

On 24 July Mandelstam left Finland and travelled to Germany, where he 

went for a new “treatment” in a sanatorium in Zehlendorf, a suburb of Berlin 

(Mandel’štam 1990a: 241; Morozov 1973: 270). Later in August he went to the 

same Swiss sanatorium that he had visited the previous year. 

Mandelstam came to spend most of the next two years – 1911-1912 – in 

Finland. In May 1911, 19 Mandelstam was baptized in the Swedish Episcopal- 

Methodist community of Viipuri. Pastor Nils Rosén from Helsinki officiated at 

the baptism with G. Sundblom as one of the two witnesses. (Vagin 1978.) 20 This 

was, to put it mildly, a surprising step for a Russian Jew to take. Mandelstam 

had not been given a religious upbringing, either in his family, or in the Tenišev 

school, but notwithstanding this he had felt a strong inclination towards religion. 

21 Why he chose Methodism and the small Viipuri community is not known, 

but the baptism could not have been a purely formal act, as it had to be preceded 

167

y an examination concerning the Christian faith and the obligations of a Christian. 

Mandelstam’s adoption of Christianity has been seen as a genuine act of 

belief, an acceptance of Christian values, 22 but a more prosaic explanation has 

also been offered. 23 Mandelstam had not been accepted as a student at St. Petersburg 

University, because of the official, low Jewish quota and a lack of good 

school grades. As a result of his baptism he was removed from the Jewish quota 

and admitted to the university the same autumn. The baptismal certificate was 

among the documents he had to produce on this occasion. 

The summer of 1911, and onwards for nearly a year, Mandelstam lived 

mostly on the Karelian Isthmus, just a few hours’ train-journey from St. Petersburg 

(Mandel’štam 1990a: 366). Initially he stayed at Linde’s pension, situated 

by Lake Vammeljärvi in the village of Leistilä, 12 kilometres from Mustamäki 

railway station. Officially it was a pension for consumptives, famous for its milk 

cuisine, but the place also had another function, as it served, according to one 

memoir, as “a refuge for all persons who had compromised themselves in the 

eyes of St. Petersburg’s gendarmerie. Mensheviks, Bolsheviks, Bundists, 

Socialist Revolutionaries, Anarchists, – they had all stayed as pension guests in 

the modest Mustamäki house, crowded as a beehive.” (Kantorovi 1924: 230.) 

Probably through Boris Sinani, Mandelstam knew one of the sons of the family, 

Fedor Linde (1881-1917), a mathematician and a non-party revolutionary. Linde 

was to die at the front in August 1917, killed by a mob, when as a commissar of 

the Provisional Government he tried to restore order among mutinous soldiers. 

General Petr Krasnov, who witnessed the scene, suspected that Linde’s German 

origin and accent contributed to the shocking outcome of events (Krasnov 

1922:105-112). From Krasnov this incident found its way in a slightly reworked 

form into Boris Pasternak’s Doctor Živago, where Linde appears as Hintz 

(Mandel’štam 1990b I: 582; Mandel’štam 1990c: 29). 

It was cheap living at Linde’s pension: if you had no money, you could stay 

there for free (Kantorovi 1924: 231). But it also had its dangers, as the place 

was under the supervision of Russian gendarmes and spies. On 13 August 1911 

around 50 Russian gendarmes and policemen from Viipuri, together with the 

local Finnish police, forced by an order from the governor to participate in the 

operation, arrived in the middle of the night to search the house. 24 They were 

looking for the terrorist Konstantin Mjain-Jakovlev, who in 1909 had led a 

mail-train robbery in the Urals (Morozov 1991: 81). 25 Letters were confiscated 

and five Russian students, including Fedor Linde and his brother, were arrested 

and taken to St. Petersburg. Was Mandelstam present on that occasion? In a later 

agent report to the head of the Russian gendarmerie of the Finnish railway, 

Mandelstam is mentioned as having, according to rumours, lived at Linde’s pension 

and gone to earth from there during the arrests in the summer of 1911 (Me 

1988: 106-107, Mandel’štam 1990a: 361). Was he the anonymous Russian student, 

who, according to the Finnish press, managed to flee through a window 

168

and escape unhurt, despite at least 30 revolver shots? It could also have been 

Mjain-Jakovlev, who also avoided arrest (Kantorovi 1924: 235). 

Just a few weeks later we find Mandelstam in a newly opened sanatorium on the 

estate of the Konkkala manor house, about seven kilometres north-east of Viipuri. 

Had he fled there from Leistilä in order to hide in pleasant surroundings? Konkkala 

sanatorium offered “rest and treatment to nervous and sick (not infectious) people 

through physical treatment, baths, exercises”. 26 Most of the patients were Russians 

and Germans, which explains why its history ended in 1917. 27 Using the writingpaper 

and an envelope of the Konkkala sanatorium, Mandelstam wrote on 3 September 

1911 to Vjaeslav Ivanov, telling about his conversations concerning Russian 

literature with the famous jurist and senator Anatolij Koni (1844-1927), another 

guest at the Finnish sanatorium (Mandel’štam 1990a: 210-211, 346-347). In this 

“god-forsaken corner of Finland”, Mandelstam also met the literary historian Vladimir 

Bocjanovskij (1869-1943), with whom he had discussions on the poetry of 

Ivanov (Mandel’štam 1990a: 346-347). 

On 10/23 September 1911 Mandelstam was registered at the University of St. 

Petersburg (Morozov 1979: 143), but he does not appear to have spent much 

time studying. Soon he is back on the Karelian Isthmus, where he remains for 

almost a year, visiting St. Petersburg regularly, however (Mandel’štam 1990a: 

367). A reason for this prolonged stay is given by Kablukov, who saw Mandelstam 

in St. Petersburg on 31 March (13 April) 1912 at a concert, to which Mandelstam 

had come straight from Finland. According to Kablukov, Mandelstam 

had more or less permanently stayed in Mustamäki “after the ‘typhus’” 

(Mandel’štam 1990a: 244). A. Morozov, the publisher of Kablukov’s diary, initially 

took this literally, even finding an allusion to the disease in the poem 

“What slow-stepping horses…” (“Kak koni medlenno stupajut…”) (Morozov 

1979: 144). Later he was to interpret “typhus”, which Kablukov gave in quotation-marks, 

as Aesopian language, standing for “arrest”. The same poem was 

now filled with political hints (Morozov 1991: 81-82). The circumstances do 

not, however, confirm the latter interpretation. It is true that after the arrest and 

banishment of the Linde brothers Mandelstam avoided their dacha, but on the 

Karelian Isthmus he could not escape the attention of the Russian gendarmes. In 

an agent report of June 1912, he was said to be staying at a new pension, 

“Leino”, in the village of Neuvola. He was claimed to be agitating against the 

government among the guests staying at the pensions, nine in all, close to 

Mustamäki railway station. Some of the guests came to Finland only to arrange 

meetings which Mandelstam would also attend. Mandelstam was a frequent visitor 

at Dr. Semen Rabinovi’s sanatorium, located not far from the Mustamäki 

station (Me 1988: 107). He had learned about the place through the doctor’s 

son, Grigorij Rabinovi, a friend of Mandelstam since his younger days. It looks 

strange that Mandelstam was openly involved in these kinds of political activities, 

if his main concern was to free himself from suspicion. 

169

The stay in Mustamäki in 1912 was immortalized in a humorous poem, “In 

nineteen-twelve, as rosy-cheeked as an apple…” (“V devjat’sot dvenadcatom, 

kak jabloko rumjan…”), in which the poet alludes explicitly to Mustamäki 

(“svjatoj Mustamian”) and implicitly also to Neuvola through a pun (“I k neuvjadaemym 

blaženstvam priobšen”). 28 

After 1912 Mandelstam’s contacts with Finland are only sporadic and brief. 

In November-December 1913 he paid a brief visit to Rabinovi’s sanatorium 

after a quarrel with his parents (Mandel’štam 1963: 25). On 24 July 1914 Mandelstam 

writes a letter from Kotaniemi, “close to Viipuri”, to Kablukov. 

Kotaniemi was a small village, situated on the coast, south-west of Viipuri. It 

could be reached via the steamer route Viipuri-Venäjänsaari-Kotaniemi- 

Horttana-Rauhalahti (Grnhagen 1913:47). Mandelstam was not the only Russian 

to have found Kotaniemi to be a pleasant summer-place. In the letter he 

mentions that the son of the composer Nikolaj Rimskij-Korsakov, Andrej Rimskij-Korsakov 

(1878-1940), a musicologist, was living nearby (Mandel’štam 

1990a: 211, 347). 29 

On his way back to Russia a few days later, Mandelstam visited the critic 

Kornej ukovskij in Kuokkala. Here he also met the Cubo-Futurist Benedikt 

Livšic and the artist Jurij Annenkov with whom he was photographed. 30 

ukovskij (1995: 199) remembered Mandelstam from this occasion as “strong, 

handsome and well-built”, brimming with life. Swimming in the sea and running 

along the beach, he showed indeed no traces of a sickness that would have 

forced him to seek constant treatment in sanatoriums. 

Mandelstam’s last recorded visit to Finland took place in February 1915. 

Feeling unwell after a tiresome trip to a war-torn Warsaw, he arrived on 8 February 

31 at Rabinovi’s sanatorium in Mustamäki in search of “peace and rest” 

(Mandel’štam 1990a: 249). He did not stay more than eight or nine days. 

After 1915 Mandelstam apparently only returned to Finland in his thoughts. In 

The Noise of Time (1924) and, to a lesser extent, in The Egyptian Stamp (1928) 

he summed up his memories and impressions of repeated visits to Finland during 

a period of ten to fifteen years. It must be said that Mandelstam did not display 

any interest in Finnish culture, and unlike Maksim Gor’kij, Leonid Andreev 

and Aleksandr Kuprin, who came to Finland as well-known writers, he never 

made any personal contact with the Finnish cultural intelligentsia. Neither does 

Mandelstam appear to have been much moved by Finnish nature, the ideal of the 

Russian Romantics. Of the few poems which were definitely written in Finland 

only “Oh, my beauty, Saimaa” (“O krasavica Saima”) shows definite signs of 

being inspired by a Finnish setting, though this setting is more mythological 

than realistic. 

It was a certain disposition, a basic quality that Mandelstam was fascinated 

by. Like the Finns he had met on the Karelian Isthmus, it was at once both foreign 

and close. The heart of it was the stability and solidity that he found to be at 

170

the core of family, religious, social and political life in Finland. The chapter 

“Finljandija” has a clear thematic structure with its shift from instability to stability, 

from fluidity to solidity. Life in St. Petersburg is characterized through 

the pieces of furniture, which are constantly being transported from one flat to 

another. Their antipode is the old, solid pieces of furniture in the Viipuri family. 

On a personal plane the leisure and comfort found in Finnish cafes, pensions and 

sanatoriums served as a cure for nervous disorder. It also stimulated writing. It 

was from Finland that Mandelstam in 1910 sent off the first poems he ever published, 

and here he also prepared his first volume of poetry, Stone (Kamen’, 

1913). The bond was not merely superficial, as there exists a certain affinity between 

the poetic programme of Acmeism and the stern, rigid quality of Finnish 

life, as Mandelstam had experienced it. 

Simultaneously, there was also the notion of going to Finland “to think the 

thoughts you did not dare to think through at home”. Mandelstam used Finland – 

or rather his image of Finland – as part of a discussion that could not be carried 

out openly in the Soviet Russia of 1924. Mandelstam’s praise of the stable, idyllic 

life of bourgeois Finland, as he remembered it, had a challenging note. The 

chapter “Finljandija” ends with a reference to a deadly threat against the constitution. 

The last word of the chapter is law, spelt out in capital letters. There is a 

parallel here to the picture that Mandelstam mentions, Attack, that for the Finns 

represented stubborn, passive resistance to political repression and injustice. 

Like the Finnish maiden of the picture Mandelstam raised up Finland as an emblem 

for things he believed in and felt prepared to defend – equality, democracy 

and political freedom. 

1 All translations are mine. 

2 Mandelstam’s spelling has been changed in later editions. Nils-Åke Nilsson (1972: 92) presumes 

that it was the Russian keeper and not the poet who was responsible for the misspelling, 

but it seems highly unlikely that Mandelstam would have remembered such a difficult 

word in a for him unknown language in its correct form over a period of many years. 

3 See Adress- och yrkeskalender for Viborg 1895-1896 and onwards. 

4 Information from Mariella Kuusakoski-Toivola (letter 1.11.1995). 

5 The photo is to be found for example in Mandel’štam 1971 and Mandel’štam 1993 II: 679. It 

is mentioned by Osip Mandelstam’s brother Evgenij in his memoirs (Mandel’štam 1990b II: 

391), and although his description is detailed, the connection has not yet been properly established. 

The dating of the photo has been confusing. In Mandel’štam 1971 the photo is dated 

1912, but with a question mark, while Mandel’štam 1993 gives late 1900-early 1910s. An 

early year seems more probable, as Mandelstam’s contacts with the Kušakov family appear to 

have become less frequent after he left the Tenišev school in 1907 and started to live a more 

independent life. There is also a photo of Mandelstam alone, taken at the same occasion, as 

the background and the clothing reveal (Mandel’štam 1993 II: 679). 

6 All dates are given according to the Gregorian, or New Style calendar, which was used in 

Finland. The corresponding Julian calendar dates are added when the dating concerns only 

Russia. 

171

7 In the comments in Mandel’štam 1990b (II: 399), it is claimed that it was the dacha of Fedor 

and Ivan Linde, but this does not seem likely as their dacha was situated in Leistilä, rather far 

from Raivola. 

8 An analysis of “O, krasavica Sajma” is to be found in Suni 1995. 

9 The comments in Mandel’štam 1990b (I: 571) are misleading, as Saimaa is here identified 

only with the river and the channel and not with the lake. 

10 Whole classes from the Tenišev school would also visit the waterfall of Imatra (Škol’nik 

1991: 28). 

11 In Mandel’štam 1990a: 210 the year is erroneously given as 1911, a mistake which has 

been repeated in other publications. I am grateful to Pirjo Hämäläinen-Forslund (Hyvinkää) 

for bringing the archive records for 1910 to my attention. 

12 Kursgästernas inbet. 1910 (Hyvinge Sanatoriums arkiv, Hyvinkään kaupunginkirjasto). 

13 See Ekonen & Hellman 1991: 34 ff. The archive of the Tallbacka sanatorium has been preserved 

only up until 1907 (Kammion sairaala, Helsingin kaupunginarkisto). The documents 

from the period 1908-1940, during which the sanatorium had a private status, have not been 

found. 

14 In the local newspaper Hangö-Bladet 23.7.1910 (“Badgästerna”) Mr Mandelstam and Professor 

Kablukov are mentioned among the guests who arrived at Hanko between 11 and 22 July. 

15 Badhusets kassakladd för 1910. Badhusarkivet, Hangö museum. 

16 On Hangö Baths, see Birgitta Ekström, Hangö badanstalt 1879-1939. Hangö museums 

publikationsserie nr 14. Ekenäs, 1994. 

17 About Sergej Kablukov, see Mandel’štam 1990a: 356-357. 

18 About Maks Mandelstam, see Pamjati Maksa Emel‘janovia Mandel’štama. Re’i, stat’i i 

nekrologii (Kiev, 1912) and Kratkaja evrejskaja nciklopedija (Jerusalem, 1990) V, 75-76. 

Maks Mandelstam’s brother, losif Mandelstam (1846-1911), was Professor of Russian language 

and literature at the University of Helsinki. 

19 There is confusion concerning the date of Mandelstam’s baptism. In the document that is 

reproduced in Vagin 1978 the date is given as 14/24 May 1911. There is a mistake here as the 

difference in the calendars was 13 days and not 10. If 24 May is the Gregorian calendar, or 

the one used in Finland, then the corresponding Russian date should be 11 May. Morozov 

(1979: 143) gives – without mentioning his source or which calendar he is referring to – the 

date 1 May, while Averincev (1991: 290) has chosen 14 May. “Izbrannye daty žizni O.E. 

Mandel’štama” (Mandel’štam 1990a: 366) offers the same solution, consequently changing 

the Gregorian date to 27 May. 

20 Vagin (1978) published a Russian translation of Mandelstam’s certificate of baptism, found 

among the Mandelstam papers in the university archive (now in Leningradskii Gos. ist. arhiv). 

In the archive of Viborgs Metodistkyrka (Helsingfors Metodistkyrkas arkiv), no mention is 

made of Mandelstam in the annual report of 1911 or in the list of members. The baptismal 

register of 1911 was not among the files that were rescued in 1940, when Viipuri was evacuated 

by the Finns. 

21 See letter to Vladimir Gippius of 14/27 August 1908 (quoted in Mandel’štam 1990a: 204). 

22 See for example Freidin 1987: 29-30, Averincev 1991: 290-291 and Struve 1992: 90. 

23 See for example “Mandel’štam, Osip” in Kratkaja evrejskaja nciklopedija (Jerusalem, 

1990), part V: 77, and Nadžda Mandelstam (quoted in Struve 1992: 90). 

24 See “Yöllinen kotietsintä Mustallamäellä”, Karjala (Viipuri) 15.8.1911 and “Kotitarkastus 

Mustallamäellä”, Karjala 16.8.1911. 

25 Morozov (1991: 81) makes a mistake when he changes the date of the event from August to 

November. 

172

26 “Konkkalan parantola”, in Tietosanakirja IV (Helsinki, 1912), p. 1271. 

27 “Konkkalan parantola”, in Iso tietosanakirja VI (Helsinki, 1934), p. 1191. 

28 The poem was first published by Georgij Ivanov (Kreid 1988: 295). The allusion to Neuvola 

is omitted in the version which Grigorij Rabinovi recalled (Mandel’štam 1963: 25). It is 

fully published in Mandel’štam 1995a: 658. 

29 About Andrej Rimskij-Korsakov, see Muzykal’naja nciklopedija IV (Moscow, 1978), p. 30-631. 

30 The photograph is reproduced in Mandel’štam 1990a: 262 and ukokkala 1979: 57. Livšic 

is dressed in a soldier’s uniform, indicating that Mandelstam stayed in Kuokkala until the 

outbreak of the First World War. 

31 Mandelstam might have left later, as it possible that he appeared in St. Petersburg on 27 

January (9 February) (Mandel’štam 1990a: 367). 

LITERATURE 

Unpublished material 

The archive of Hangö Baths (1910). Hangö museum. Hangö. 

The archive of Hyvinge Sanatorium (1910, 1911). Hyvinkään kaupunginkirjaston arkisto. 

Hyvinkää. 

The archive of Viborgs Metodistkyrka (1911). Helsingfors Metodistkyrkas arkiv. Helsinki. 

The archive of Tallbacka Sanatorium (-1907). Helsingin kaupunginarkisto. Helsinki. 

Letter from Mariella Kuusakoski-Toivola 1.11.1995. 

Published material 

Averincev 1991 

ukokkala 1979 

ukovskij 1995 

Averincev S.S., Konfessional’nye tipy hristianstva u rannego 

Mandel’štama, in Slovo i sud’ba. Osip Mandel’štam. Issledovanija 

i materialy. Moscow 1991, pp. 287-298. 

ukokkala. Rukopisnyj al’manah Korneja ukovskogo. Moscow, 

1979. 

ukovskij Kornej, Master, in Osip Mandel’štam i ego vremja. Ed. 

V. Kreid et al. Moscow 1995, pp. 199-204. 

Grnhagen 1913 Grnhagen K.B., Sputnik po Finljandii. S.l. 1913. 

Hellman 1989a Hellman Ben, finskom dome Ahmatovoj. Ahmatovskij sbornik I. 

Paris 1989, pp. 195-198. 

Hellman 1989b Hellman Ben, finskom dome Ahmatovoj. Dopolnenie k 

publikacii. Russkaja mysl’ 23.7.1989 N 2781. Literaturnoe 

priloženie 8. 

Kantorovi 1924 Kantorovi Vl., Fedor Linde. Byloe 24, 1924, pp. 221-251. 

Krasnov 1922 

Krasnov P.N., Na vremennem fronte. Arhiv russkoj revoljucii I. Berlin 

[1922], pp. 97-190. 

Krejd 1988 Krejd V., Neizvestnye stroki O. Mandel’štama. Novyj žurnal 170, 

Mandel’štam 1928 

1988, pp. 292-296. 

Mandel’štam O., Egipeckaja marka. Leningrad 1928 (reprint: 

Moscow 1991). 

Mandel’štam 1963 Mandel’štam Osip, Šutonoe. Vozdušnye puti III. New York 1963, 

pp. 24-25. 

173

Mandel’štam 1971 Mandel’štam Osip, Sobranie soinenij v treh tomah II. Munich 1971. 

Mandel’štam 1978 Mandel’štam O., Stihotvorenija. Biblioteka pota. Leningrad 1978. 

Mandel’štam 1990a Mandel’štam Osip, Kamen’. Ed. L.Ja. Ginzburg et al. Leningrad 1990. 

Mandel’štam 1990b Mandel’štam Osip, Soinenija I-II. Moscow 1990. 

Mandel’štam 1990c Mandel’štam Nadžda, Vtoraja kniga. Moscow 1990. 

Mandel’štam 1993 Mandel’štam Osip, Sobranie soinenij v etyreh tomah. Tom I. 

Stihi i proza 1906-1921. Moscow 1993. 

Mandel’štam 1995 Mandel’štam O., Polnoe sobranie stihotvorenij. Novaja biblioteka 

pota. Sankt-Peterburg 1995. 

Me 1988 Me Aleksandr, Neizvestnye stihotvorenija Mandel’štama. 

Daugava 2, 1988, pp. 104-107. 

Morozov 1973 Morozov A.A. (ed.), Pis'ma O.E. Mandel’štama k V.I. Ivanovu. 

Zapiski otdela rukopisej Biblioteki im. Lenina 34, 1973, pp. 258-275. 

Morozov 1979 Morozov A. (ed.), Mandel’štam v zapisjah dnevnika S.P. 

Kablukova. Vestnik russkogo hristianskogo dviženija 129, 1979, 

pp. 131-155. 

Morozov 1991 Morozov A. (ed.), Mandel’štam v zapisjah dnevnika S.P. 

Kablukova. Literaturnoe obozrenie 1, 1991, pp. 77-86. 

Škol’nik 1991 

Škol’nik B.A., Mandel’štam v Peterburge, in Ja vernulsja v moj 

gorod... Peterburg Mandel’štama. Leningrad 1991, pp. 23-46. 

Struve 1992 Struve Nikita, Osip Mandel’štam. Tomsk 1992. 

Suni 1995 

Vagin 1978 

Suni Timo, K voprosu o finljandskih otnoshenijah Osipa 

Mandel’štama. Stihotovorenie “O, krasavica Sajma” 1908 goda, in 

Svoe i užoe v literature i kul’ture. Tartu 1995, pp. 220-232. 

Vagin E., Osip Mandel’štam - hristianin v XX veke. Novoe 

russkoe slovo 10.12.1978, p. 8. 

Brown 1973 Brown Clarence, Mandelstam. London 1973. 

Ekonen & Hellman 1991 Ekonen Kirsti and Hellman Ben, Aleksandr Kuprin and Finland. 

Studia slavica finlandensia VIII, 1991, pp. 27-97. [Also included 

in the present volume.] 

Freidin 1987 Freidin Gregory, A Coat of Many Colors. Berkeley 1987. 

Lajunen & Hämäläinen 1994 

Lajunen Lauri and Hämäläinen Il. Kuusakoski. Perustettu 1914. 

S.l. 1994. 

Nilsson 1972 

Nilsson Nils-Åke, Mandel’stam and the Nurmis Skates. Scando- 

Slavica 18, 1972, pp 91-95. 

Ruuth 1908 Ruuth J.W., Wiipurin kaupungin historia. I. Wiipuri 1908. 

Taranovsky 1976 Taranovsky Kiril, Essays on Mandelstam. Cambridge 1976. 

174

Biblion. A Russian Publishing House in Finland 

When Leonid Andreev died in Finland in September 1919 he had very little 

money, his funeral having to be paid for by émigré bankers from Viipuri (Viborg). 

Up till his death Andreev had been working on a new novel, Dnevnik Satany 

(Satan’s Diary), which was all but finished on that fateful autumn day. Its 

publishing rights could not be sold to Russia, as Andreev had broken relations 

with his homeland after the October Revolution, firmly rejecting publishing offers 

there. Instead, the family had to turn to the Russian publishing houses that 

were springing to life all over Europe as the emigration grew in numbers. Andreev’s 

widow, Anna Il’inina, had two good offers from Germany, but she preferred 

to sell Dnevnik Satany to an obscure Finnish publishing house, Biblion, 

that had just been founded in Helsinki. A year later, in 1921, Biblion published 

Dnevnik Satany in Russian together with Nonoj razgovor (Nocturnal Conversation), 

another unpublished work from the Andreev archive. 

What was Biblion, the publishing house that outwitted its bigger and richer 

rivals in the competition for Andreev’s posthumous works? The historians of 

book-publishing in Finland give us no clues, as they pass by the whole history of 

publication of Russian books in Finland in silence. It seemed in fact impossible 

to gather any information about this remarkable enterprise. But certain clues led 

to a well-known Fenno-Swedish publishing house in Helsinki, Schildts, and it 

was in the Schildts archive that in 1982 I finally came across a dusty file containing 

Biblion’s correspondence. 1 In that file were the answers to my questions. 

While Finland was part of the Russian Empire (1809-1917), the publication of 

Russian books in Finland had an accidental character. Although several hundred titles 

were published, no organized publishing house activity existed. But after the 

Russian Revolution a new situation emerged. A heavy stream of emigration flowed 

through Finland 2 , and among the émigrés that chose Finland as a first stop on their 

odyssey, the intelligentsia – writers, journalists, politicians, teachers – formed an important 

group. As a result, it was seen that a vital Russian émigré culture in Helsinki 

could be maintained far into the twenties. This also meant that in these circles there 

was a steady demand for newspapers and books in the Russian language. It was virgin 

soil for an entrepreneur. 

The first attempt to publish Russian books in newly independent Finland was the 

short-lived enterprise called Fundament. In 1919, it published three small booklets in 

Russian, all of minor interest. 3 A fourth book was under way when Fundament was 

closed down in connection with the collapse of General Judeni’s army on the 

North-West front 4 . 

While the background of Fundament has remained obscure, the archives reveal 

that Biblion was founded and led by Fenno-Swedes, who in the situation created by 

the October Revolution saw an opportunity to profit financially from the publication 

of Russian literature. Biblion started as a subsidiary of Holger Schildts förlagsaktie- 

175

olag, a publishing house specializing in Swedish literature. Schildts had been 

founded in 1913 by the young Holger Schildt (1889-1964), who within a few years 

had managed to turn his enterprise into a successful rival to the biggest Swedish publishing 

house in Finland, Söderström & C:o. 5 In 1919 Holger Schildt, who by then 

had moved from Porvoo to Helsinki, felt ready to enlarge his business and try his 

hand at publishing books in Russian. 

On November 20, 1919 Biblion was registered as a public company, specializing 

in bookpublishing and printing. The board consisted of Holger Schildt, 

manager Sigurd Klockars (1892-1951), office manager Gunnar Söderström 

(1893-1963) and the journalist Hjalmar Dahl (1891-1960). Schildt and Klockars 

provided the capital required, each holding 249 shares, while Söderström and 

Dahl held only one share each. The firm was capitalized at 250,000 FMK. 6 

At the board meeting on April 9, 1920 Gunnar Söderström was elected manager 

with Hjalmar Dahl as vice manager. Söderström, who had received commercial 

training, was an employee at Schildts, working first as managing clerk 

1919-24 and later as assistant manager until 1928 (Finska boktryckare 1938:83- 

84). The driving force behind Biblion was Hjalmar Dahl, who combined a good 

knowledge of Russian with a genuine interest in Russian literature. His first job 

had been as an editor in the Russia department of the Swedish Helsinki newspaper, 

Hufvudstadsbladet. In 1917 he moved to another newspaper, Svenska 

Tidningen, where he stayed as assistant editor-in-chief, until in November, 1920 

he started to work full-time at Biblion (Vem och vad 1957:84). During his time 

at Svenska Tidningen, Dahl had also published his first translation of Russian 

literature, a field in which he was to become one of the leading names in Finland 

and in Sweden. 

By the autumn of 1920, almost a year after its foundation, Biblion was prepared 

for the public at large. The first year had been spent on planning and 

preparation, and only in September, 1920 was the first book published. In an 

article in Hufvudstadsbladet the goal of Biblion was said to be “providing the 

large Russian book market in Europe and America with good literature” (Hbl 

1920a). The publication profile was broad: Biblion wanted to publish classical 

and modern Russian fiction, translations of Scandinavian literature, scientific 

works and textbooks. 

We do not know if Biblion had any concrete plans when it was founded in 

November 1919. But only a week after registration one of Russia’s most prominent 

writers, Aleksandr Kuprin, arrived in Helsinki. During General Judeni’s 

offensive against Petrograd in October-November 1919 Kuprin’s home-town, 

Gaina, was taken, and when in November 1919 the White forces were forced to 

retreat, Kuprin decided to go with them and leave Russia, taking his family with 

him. In Helsinki he stayed more than half a year, working actively for the émigré 

newspaper Novaja russkaja žizn’. 

Kuprin was fairly well-known in Finland at this time. His Swedish publisher 

was Holger Schildt, who had published his novel Avgrunden (Jama) in 1915 and 

176

a collection of short stories, Granatarmbandet (Granatovyj braslet) in Hjalmar 

Dahl’s translation in 1919. A preliminary agreement between Kuprin and Biblion 

was reached already by December 1919. At the turn of the year Kuprin 

wrote to his first wife, Marija Kuprina-lordanskaja, who was also staying in 

Finland, asking her to look through her library for Zemlja 20 (1917), where a 

short story of his entitled “Každoe želanie” had been published (- 

1966:313). Under a new name, “Zvezda Solomona”, this short 

story gave the title to the collection that Biblion finally published in the autumn 

of 1920. Of the eight short stories included in the book, four had been published 

previously in Russian magazines before 1918, while the other four were published 

in Novaja russkaja žizn’ during Kuprin’s stay in Helsinki. 7 For the collection 

Kuprin was paid the respectable fee of 25,000 FMK. 

At the end of June 1920 Kuprin left Finland for France. In the Biblion archive 

there are four letters from Kuprin, written to Dahl from Paris, enquiring about the 

publication of Zvezda Solomona 8 . Kuprin was prepared to read the last draft himself, 

but by that time the collection of short stories was already being printed. Five thousand 

copies of Zvezda Solomona were published at the end of September, 1920. 9 

Kuprin was sent ten copies and informed that the first orders had already started to 

come (5.10.1920). The author himself took a great interest in the sales of the book, 

asking about reviews 10 , translations and the number of copies sold. In general Kuprin 

was rather pleased with Biblion, although he had some critical comments in a letter 

from October 1920: 

As to its appearance, “Zvezda Solomona” is a good publication: the title-page 

is suitable and the text is beautiful, if a bit too compact. It is a 

pity though that the proofreading was not done with care: this is partly 

my own fault, as I did not have time to read the proofs myself. But the 

damage is not very great, and the errors are not so serious. Furthermore, 

I noticed that the lines could have been a bit shorter, which 

would have given us a thicker and a more solid volume. 11 

One of the aims of Biblion had been to publish translations of Finnish and 

Scandinavian writers. This plan was partly fulfilled by Biblion’s second publication, 

Ognenno-krasnyj cvetok (Laulu tulipunaisesta kukasta), a novel from 1905 

by the Finnish writer, Johannes Linnankoski (1869-1913). The choice was not 

surprising. The novel had been the first major success for Schildts when the 

Swedish translation was published in 1913 (Mustelin 1983:7-8). The novel also 

proved to be of international interest. 12 It tells the story of a Finnish Don Juan, a 

logger, who in the end repents his wrong-doings and makes a new start. The 

moralistic side of the novel is balanced by a strong sensuality and a romantic 

description of natural scenery. 

A Russian translation of Linnankoski’s novel was published in Moscow in 

1912. The translator was A. Bogengardt, a name which turned out to be a pseu- 

177

donym for the Estonian-Russian writer Aleksandr Sipel’gas (1885-1937). 

Sipel’gas was at this time living in Helsinki, trying to make his living as a writer 

of novels and short stories about the terror of the Bolshevik regime. 13 Linnankoski’s 

widow and Sipel’gas signed a contract with Biblion, and 3,500 copies 

of Ognenno-krasnyj cvetok were published in October-November 1920. Photographs 

from a film version of the novel gave the book a luxurious appearence. 

Timofej Bunjakin 14 , who reviewed the novel in Novaja russkaja žizn’, 

thought that it would have deserved a place of honour on the bookshelf, had it 

not been marred by a poor translation. “The book is read with interest, but a 

Russian reader is deeply irritated by the barbarian language of the translation” 

( 1920). Sipel’gas himself did not, however, accept the critique. In a 

letter to Biblion he wrote in poor Finnish: 

The critique of my translation in the newspaper “Nov. Russkaja 

žizn’” is outright abuse because of personal reasons and jealousy, 

typical of Russians. The completely neutral newspapers Golos Rossii 

and Rul’ published excellent reviews, but these Bunjakins know only 

the real Russian way of offending because of personal reasons. 

(2.1.1921.) 

The biggest coup of Biblion was the acquisition of the posthumous rights to 

Leonid Andreev’s works (Hbl 1920b). It is true that Andreev’s popularity had 

rapidly diminished during his last years, but his name was still respected. Biblion 

was not the only publishing house which in the spring of 1920 showed an 

interest in Andreev. One of them was the newly started Berlin publishing house 

Slovo and its agent Iosif Gessen. Gessen (1866-1943), a former editor of the Cadet 

newspaper Re’ was an old acquaintance of the Andreev family. In 1919 he 

had stayed about half a year in Finland on his way to Germany and had then 

been in close contact with Andreev ( 1922:309-310). Gessen’s offer was 

given to Anna Andreeva through a common friend in Helsinki, the literary critic 

Vladimir Tukalevskij. 15 Also another Berlin publishing house, Brockhaus, sent 

its agent, S. A. Efron, to visit Anna Andreeva in Ollila on the Carelian 

Isthmus. 16 Efron was a well-known Petersburg publisher and theatre critic, who 

likewise had come to Finland after the October Revolution. 

Biblion made its offer to Andreeva through Fedor Fal’kovskij (1874-1942), 

an important person for the publishing house throughout its whole existence. 

Fal’kovskij was a minor short story writer and playwright, who had got to know 

Andreev through his theatre Novyj dramatieskij teatr in Petersburg in the early 

1910s. Their friendship continued after 1917 when both turned up in exile in 

Finland. It was at Fal’kovskij’s summer house in Mustamäki that Andreev died 

in September 1919 ( 1920). 

Biblion’s contracts with Kuprin and Linnankoski’s widow were signed as 

early as the middle of April 1920, right after the first meeting of the board. An- 

178

dreeva was contacted at about the same time through Fal’kovskij, but Slovo and 

Efron’s appearance on the scene made Andreeva hesitant to sign the contract 

that Biblion had sent her. Fal’kovskij had a strong personal interest in the affair 

as he was going to be the editor of Biblion’s Andreev-publications and he used 

all his influence to win the widow over to Biblion. To Hjalmar Dahl he explained 

Andreeva’s uncertainty as bad nerves after the personal tragedy and the 

strong feeling of responsibility that she felt towards the memory of her husband. 

According to Fal’kovskij, Andreeva wanted to observe Leonid Andreev’s principle 

– “not to rush after material winnings, but to place his creations only into 

perfectly clean and reliable hands” (May 1920). 

On September 9, 1920 the contract between Anna Andreeva and Biblion was 

finally signed. Biblion was going to publish two posthumous works by Andreev 

– the novel Dnevnik Satany and the short story Nonoj razgovor – plus eight 

volumes of older works, mostly from the 1910s. 17 The number of copies printed 

was going to be 10,000 for the collected works and 20,000 at the most for the 

posthumous works. For all this Andreeva was going to receive 100,000 Fmk. 

With Fal’kovskij, who was to be editor of Andreev’s works, a separate contract 

was signed on the same day, giving him a monthly salary until the work 

was finished. Fal’kovskij started with his work immediately. In November, he 

was already reading the proofs of Dnevnik Satany. Three months later, an announcement 

of the novel’s future publication appeared in the press for the first 

time, and on March 1, 1921 Dnevnik Satany was on sale ( 1921). 

Anna Andreeva had every reason to be satisfied with the publication: she 

found the book beautiful and the attached photograph of Andreev agreeable 

(26.3.1921). The book was also provided with an afterword, signed “From the 

publishing house” and probably written by Fal’kovskij: 

It is possible that the intention of the writer was broader than the 

manuscript he left after him; it is also possible that the written text 

would have been worked over; the need for this is felt at places. The 

publishing house has made a precise copy of the manuscript, letting 

the reader recreate in his imagination what one of the most interesting 

seers of the world catastrophe took with him to the grave. ( 

1921:279.) 

Of all Biblion’s publications, Dnevnik Satany, a novel showing that the evil 

and cruelty of the devil fall short of the evil of modern man, provoked the most 

interest. 18 Copies of the book even found their way into Soviet Russia. 19 Biblion 

received several inquiries concerning the rights to translations of the novel, 20 but 

all these letters were passed on to Anna Andreeva in Ollila as Biblion had only 

received the rights to Swedish and Finnish translations. The novel was never 

published in Finnish, but an authorized Swedish translation was completed in 

179

1921 by the prominent Fenno-Swedish writer Jarl Hemmer and published by 

Schildts in Finland and by Bonniers in Sweden. 

Nonoj razgovor was published in the end of April 1921 as the second of Andreev’s 

posthumous works, two months after Dnevnik Satany, and seems to have 

passed rather unnoticed. 21 Artistically it was not of the standard of Dnevnik Satany. 

The novel belonged to the patriotic works that Andreev wrote during the first winter 

of the First World War, as the dating 1914/15 in the Biblion publication shows. It 

tells about the nightly meeting between the German emperor and a Russian prisoner 

of war, contrasting in a black and white manner, typical of early war fiction, the principles 

of violence and eternal truth. The fact that Andreev never bothered to have it 

published during the war indicates that he himself did not have a very high opinion 

of its literary merits. 

By April 1921 Biblion had published four books, and now the question of 

marketing inevitably rose. When Nonoj razgovor was published in spring 1921 

Biblion had already started an advertising campaign to make it known among 

Russian émigrés. In Helsinki Biblion had a natural advertising outlet in Novaja 

russkaja žizn’ and the newly started Put’. But it was only in March, after Dnevnik 

Satany, had been printed, that Biblion contacted the most important Russian 

émigré newspapers and journals in Europe: Rul’, Russkaja kniga and Golos Rossii 

in Berlin, Volja Rossii in Prague and Poslednie novosti in Paris. Of these Biblion 

in the end chose to advertise in Russkaja kniga, Volja Rossii and Poslednie 

novosti, thus covering the three mayor émigré centres in Europe: Berlin, Prague 

and Paris. 

The most important of these was the monthly magazine Russkaja kniga, 

whose first number was published in Berlin in January 1921. It was an attempt 

to collect information about important literary events inside and outside Russia 

for the geographically splintered émigré communities. At this time some kind of 

dialogue between Soviet Russia and the émigrés still existed, and Russkaja 

kniga’s policy was to keep out of politics and stress the unity of Russian literature 

( 1921). Under its energetic editor-in-chief, A. S. Jašenko, Russkaja 

kniga soon became the central information organ for émigré publishing houses. 22 

Before the first number of Russkaja kniga went to print Biblion was contacted 

regarding an advertisement offer (10.12.1920). Biblion did not accept, 

however, until Jašenko himself wrote, saying that he heard about Biblion from 

Vladimir Tukalevskij and asking for review copies and information about Biblion’s 

publishing activities (6.2.1921). In March 1921 Biblion sent their books to 

be reviewed and also started to advertise regularly. 23 

The advertising campaign, launched in March 1921, soon bore fruit and orders 

and inquiries started to come in. Private persons in Finland, Estonia, Norway, 

Denmark, Switzerland, France, Czechoslovakia, Poland, Yugoslavia, Italy, Romania 

and Turkey sent in orders or wrote asking for a catalogue or review copies. 

A picture of the materially difficult circumstances that many of the Russian émigrés 

lived under was shown by the requests for free copies. The well-known Bib- 

180

liotheque Russe Tourguenev in Paris wrote that it had never during its fifty years 

of existence experienced a more difficult situation. Since 1914 tens of thousands 

of Russian soldiers and prisoners of war had worn out the library books, and now 

the library had no money to acquire new books (16.4.1921). Sojuz russkix studentov 

in Varna (Bulgaria) asked for free copies for poor Russian students 

(27.6.1921), while 500 Russians in Weinbergslager (Wunstorf) asked for books 

for their Circle for Socio-Political Education (27.3.1921). 

Where then were Biblion’s books on sale? Orders came from bookshops and 

importing firms in Reval (Tallinn), Berlin, Paris, Prague, London, Rome, Sofia, 

Belgrade, Kishinev, Constantinople and New York. 24 In general it was a question 

of relatively small orders (10-25 copies). Most of the orders were passed on 

to the bookshop Akateeminen Kirjakauppa, while Biblion took care of only large 

orders, giving a 30 % discount when more than 50 copies were purchased. A 

decision had been made not to sell on commission but only for ready money. 

Because of this Biblion turned down all the agency offers that it received. 25 As 

the publishing house’s affairs grew it was, however, soon clear that it was impossible 

to handle the business connections with Europe, America and Far East 

from Helsinki alone. 

On June 27 1921 Biblion received an agency offer from Heinrich Sachs’ 

bookshop Moskva (Berlin). The bookshop had been founded in the beginning of 

1920 by the Muscovite émigré Heinrich Sachs (Zaks), and by 1921 it had also 

an affiliate in New York ( 1983:51). Sachs, who was already representing 

most émigré publishing houses, wanted to become Biblion’s agent not 

only in Europe, but also in America and the Far East. For a start Sachs was prepared 

to order 100 copies of all Biblion’s four books on commission and with a 

maximum discount. 

The offer was tempting for many reasons. Biblion could not possibly handle 

its dealing with the bookshops and individual buyers alone any more, and Sachs 

with his contacts all over the world was saving it from a large number of practical 

problems. Furthermore, Sachs’ first order was the most substantial to date, 

and more was sure to come as Berlin was the centre for Russian emigration. A 

third reason in Sachs’ favour was that as publisher of the journal Russkaja kniga 

he could also take care of the advertising. Because of this Biblion, contrary to its 

former decisions, decided to accept the offer. Sachs acquired the agency for 

Europe (excluding Scandinavia, the Baltic countries, England and France), 

America and the Far East. Biblion’s terms were that every third month Sachs 

should give an account of the sales and that he should take over the advertising 

of Biblion’s books. Sachs would in turn get a maximum discount of 40 % 

(6.7.1921). This meant that from July 1921 on Biblion directed all commercial 

correspondence to Berlin, only taking care of big orders (over 50 copies) itself. 

The Biblion archive does not reveal who its agents were in Great Britain and 

France. The Scandinavian agency was apparently given to Mixail Panovko in Copenhagen, 

an acquaintance of Jacobsson (2.5.1921). In Estonia the interests of Bib- 

181

lion were taken care of by V. F. Ausberg (Reval), while Aleksandr Sil’m was their 

agent in Latvia (Riga). 

By the summer of 1921, Biblion had thus published four books, made a name 

for itself in Russian émigré communities through advertising in the main newspapers 

and journals, and established an agency network, which covered the 

whole world. Now it could go on planning new publications for the next year. In 

advertisements, five new titles were mentioned during the spring of 1921. One 

of them concerned Leonid Andreev. The publication of his two posthumous 

works was originally planned to be only a modest prelude to a much bigger project, 

an eight-volume collection of late works, ranging from the well-known 

novel Rasskaz semi povešennyx (1908, Story of Seven Who Were Hanged) to 

the anti-Bolshevic pamphlet S.O.S. (1919). Some previously unpublished short 

stories were also to be included. By the end of September 1920 Anna Andreeva 

had given Fal’kovskij most of the material, and he was already starting to sort 

the manuscripts into three groups: stories, plays and articles. In February 1921 

the project was mentioned for the first time in an advertisement, where it was 

called Polnoe sobranie soinenij, vyšedšix posle 1911-go goda (Complete Collected 

Works, Published After 1911) ( 1921). 26 

The advertisement was published in the first number of a new Russian émigré 

newspaper in Helsinki, Pu. With Fedor Fal’kovskij as one of its editors, Put’ 

was a natural advertising medium for Biblion. But at the same time the birth of 

Put’ created a complicated situation for Biblion. Contrary to Novaja russkaja 

žizn’, Put’ was an openly pro-Soviet newspaper, a typical example of the 

“smena vex” -feelings (Change of Landmarks) that were starting to spread 

among émigrés. On issues like the Kronstadt mutiny and the arrival of a Soviet 

diplomatic representation to Helsinki Novaja russkaja žizn’ and Put’ took completely 

different standpoints. 

Anna Andreeva was shocked by Fal’kovskij’s involvement in Pu and decided 

to break all ties with him. On March 6, 1921, she wrote from Ollila to 

Hjalmar Dahl, suggesting that she herself would take over the editorial work of 

her late husband’s collected works, as she no longer wanted to have contact with 

Fal’kovskij. As the starting point of her work she intended to use Leonid Andreev’s 

own notes about a future publication of his collected works. From the 

correspondence, it emerges that Biblion was not very happy about the situation. 

Right from the start the publishing house had decided to stay out of politics, 27 

but by the spring of 1921 Biblion had, as we will see, good reasons for keeping 

in touch with Fal’kovskij. Dahl wrote to Anna Andreeva saying that Fal’kovskij 

had all the manuscripts, and as he did not know what kind of agreement existed 

between Anna Andreeva and Fal’kovskij, he advised her to settle the affair personally 

with Fal’kovskij (29.4.1921). 

As late as June 1921 Biblion seems to have been still seriously planning to 

carry out the plans for a collected works of Andreev, but by that time the publishing 

house was already facing a crisis and all publication plans had to put 

182

aside. The same summer Anna Andreeva left Finland with her children, thus losing 

the possibility of putting a pressure upon Biblion to fulfill the contract. 28 

Under the headline “Being prepared for publication” two other works were 

mentioned in the advertisements. One of them was a translation of a volume of 

short stories, Oarovannyj les (Häxskogen), by the Fenno-Swedish writer Runar 

Schildt. Schildt (1888-1925) was at this time employed at his cousin Holger 

Schildt’s publishing house as a literary expert, and Häxskogen, which is considered 

to be his major work, had been published here in Swedish in 1920. The 

other book was a poetry anthology, Russkaja lirika za poslednie 20 let (Russian 

Poetry From the Last 20 Years), which was going to be edited by Viktor Igelström 

(born 1887). 29 The collection was planned to include Symbolist, Futurist 

and revolutionary poetry. 

As “planned publications” two volumes by the Fenno-Swedish linguist, ethnographer 

and politician, Kai Donner (1888-1935), were mentioned. Sredi 

samoedov v Sibiri (Bland samojeder i Sibirien åren 1911-1913, 1914. Helsingfors 

1915) was a report on the life of the Ostyak-Samoyeds, while Sibirskie 

rasskasy (Sibiriska noveller, Helsingfors 1919) was a collection of short stories, 

based upon the writer’s own travels in Northern Russia. 

Biblion also announced its plans to broaden its publication profile. Besides 

fiction it intended to publish “a whole series of brochures about different fields 

of agriculture, like animal husbandry, gardening, cattle-breeding, bird-breeding, 

adapted to the temporate climatic zone, and also guides about the repair and operation 

of agriculture machines and tools” ( 1921). This might seem a bit 

surprising, but we must keep in mind that for many Russians the emigration 

meant the acceptance of new, unexpected professions. 

The Biblion archive shows us which publication offers the publishing house 

received. The most interesting fact in this connection is the interest that two of 

the leading contemporary Russian writers, Ivan Bunin and Konstantin Bal’mont, 

showed Biblion. Both Bunin and Bal’mont had like Kuprin settled in Paris in 

1920. There the émigré writers had formed a cooperative publishing house, 

Russkaja zemlja, at the end of 1920, but at the same time they were all eager to 

get their works published in other countries as well in order to reach their scattered 

public better. Thus Bal’mont, for example, published books in Berlin, 

Paris, Stockholm, Harbin, Sofia and New York in the twenties. 

Kuprin turned out to be a valuable contact for Biblion in Paris. In his first letter 

to Dahl he wrote: “Here in Paris lives I. A. Bunin, one of our leading writers, and 

now, without doubt, the foremost. I do not think he would refuse, if you gave him 

the same kind of offer you gave me.” (August [?] 1920) Kuprin himself was said 

to be willing to negotiate with Bunin, if Biblion wanted him to. Dahl gave a positive 

answer, asking Kuprin to ask what works Bunin would offer and what his 

conditions were. In the archive no reply to Dahl’s request is to be found, but this 

did not mean that Bunin was not aware of Biblion’s existence. Half a year later he 

recommended Biblion to his colleague Bal’mont as “publishing beautiful editions 

183

of good books”. Bal’mont, who mentioned Bunin’s recommendation, wrote himself 

to Biblion (7.5.1921), saying that it would be a great pleasure for him, as an 

old admirer of Kalevala, to be published in Finland. He listed three books that 

Biblion could chose from: Serebrjanye reki, a book of poetry that according to 

Bal’mont had never before been published as a separate edition 30 , Kraj Ozirisa. 

Egipetskie oerki, a book which had been published in Moscow before the war 

and which according to the writer belonged to the main core of Egyptologica, and 

Pozija kak volšebstvo. Rassuždenie muzykal’noj osnove po-tieskogo 

tvorestva, printed in Russia during the war and sold out within three months. 31 

The answer was positive: Bal’mont was assured of Biblion’s interest but the final 

decision was postponed for the moment (undated letter). 

A third writer of importance, mentioned in the correspondence, was V. Ropšin, 

the writer of the well-known novel about a Russian terrorist, Kon’ blednyj (1908). 

Ropšin, alias Boris Savinkov, was at that time involved in the White emigration 

movement. To Dahl’s inquiry about Ropšin Fal’kovskij answered enthusiastically, 

recommending to Biblion to publish this “hero in vogue in Poland”, who had written 

so many interesting things about the Revolution. Fal’kovskij even offered to write to 

Savinkov himself if Dahl wanted him to (25.9.1920). In the archive there is no information 

on Dahl’s reaction to this offer, and it is possible that Savinkov’s political 

activities made Biblion avoid him. 

The other offers that Biblion received were of much less significance. Most 

of them came from Russian émigrés in Finland and concerned publications of 

second editions or translations. The only offers of fiction were translations: 

Aleksis Kivi’s Seitsemän veljestä 32 , J. L. Runeberg’s Fänrik Ståls Sägner 33 and 

“Lyrisches Intermezzo” from Heinrich Heine’s Buch der Lieder. 34 Zigfrid 

Aškinazy (Perkjärvi) offered a political study Put’ bol’ševizma 35 , 

A. I. Voznesenskij (Helsinki) an historical essay Byloe Gel’singforsa 36 and 

Nikolaj Dobroxotov (Hartola) his Oerki kooperativnogo prava. 37 From Belgrade 

came an offer from V. A. Evreinov concerning a booklet Abrikos, ego 

kul’tura, razvedenie i izpol’zovanie 38 . The historian Venjamin Vladimirskij offered 

a second edition of his textbook about Russian history from 1914, emphasizing 

that there was nothing in the book which made it unsuitable for Soviet 

schools. 39 

Aleksandr Bobrik (Helsinki) was the only one who received a positive answer. 

In 1916 in Izvestija russkogo geografieskogo obšestva he had published 

an article, “Nemnogo matematiki v teorii slovesnosti” (“Some Mathematics in 

the Theory of Literature”), that he now wanted to print as a booklet. It was 

agreed that Bobrik himself would pay part of the costs (1.7.1921, 7.7.1921), and 

in the autumn of 1921 the booklet was printed, but without Biblion’s label. 40 

It should also be mentioned that Biblion bought the remainder of the edition 

of a book published in Helsinki in 1913, Rodnye stixi (Native Poems). This was 

a collection of Russian poetry, edited by the director of the Russian Lyceum in 

184

Helsinki, Vladimir Belevi (1865-1952). Biblion tried to sell the 1,200 copies it 

had acquired to Russian schools in Estonia, Latvia and Czechoslovakia. 

Outwardly everything appeared satisfactory with Biblion by the summer 

1921. It already had a good reputation in the Russian book publishing world. As 

we have seen Biblion now even had a chance to add another three leading Russian 

writers – Bunin, Bal’mont and Ropšin – to the list of the writers it already 

had, that is Kuprin and Andreev. But, in reality, Biblion had already come to a 

crucial stage in its developement. 

The biggest problem was that Biblion’s books were expensive. This was a recurrent 

complaint in the letters that Biblion received from private persons and retailers. 

A look at Heinrich Sachs’ catalogue of books from 1921 shows that Biblion’s 

prices exceeded the prices of the German publishing houses by 4 to 5 times 

( 1921). The Finns explained it as the high paper quality and lavish covers 

of Biblion’s books, but all the publishers of Russian books in countries with a 

strong currency (Finland, Scandinavia, Great Britain) were in fact in the same difficult 

position. Their readers were mostly living in countries like Germany and 

Czechoslovakia, where there was a weak currency ( 1921). 

Another problem was that the geographic distribution of Russian émigrés had 

changed considerably since 1919 when Biblion was founded. A concentration of 

the émigré population in Berlin and Paris was taking place and little by little the 

Russian cultural activity outside these centres was declining. The number of 

provincial émigré newspapers fell, and book publishers outside Germany and 

France also met with difficulties. In 1919 there had hardly been any publishing 

of Russian literature, either in Russia or in the émigré communities, but by 1922 

Biblion could no longer compete with publishers like Slovo in Berlin and 

Russkaja zemlja in Paris, which were in a much better position as to what both 

writers and the public required. From Biblion’s plans it can be seen that it was 

trying to find its own profile by concentrating on translations of Finnish literature, 

but this was hardly a profitable line. 

But Biblion still had an opportunity to put its finances in order. Originally, 

Biblion had as its target group the Russian book market in Europe and America. 

That there existed a much bigger Russian reading public closer at hand was a 

fact that for practical reasons could not be considered in 1919. A condition for 

trade connections with Soviet Russia was that the relations between the two 

countries would be regulated. In October 1920 a peace treaty was signed in Dorpat 

(Tartu), and in February 1921 diplomatic contacts between Finland and Soviet 

Russia were opened. 

The prospect of establishing business connections with Soviet Russia seems 

to have occurred to Biblion’s board right after the Treaty of Dorpat. During autumn 

1920 Biblion was negotiating with Santeri Jacobsson (1883-1955) from 

Viipuri about an enlargement of Biblion’s activities. According to Jacobsson the 

Russian market, of which he claimed to have a good knowledge, was very promising 

for business (13.11.1920). Jacobsson had studied at an institute of com- 

185

merce and had also experience in editorial work (Gyllenberg 1923:63). In 1910 

he was deported to Russia for political activities, and from a letter in the archive, 

which is unsigned, but which most probably was written by Jacobsson, it 

emerges that in Siberia he had been working for the Tomsk newspaper Sibirskaja 

žizn’ (22.8.1921). 

Jacobsson was prepared to invest immediately 40,000 Fmk, a sum he later 

wanted to raise to 200,000 Fmk. This would have given him 400 shares and 

made him the biggest stockholder in Biblion (11.11.1920). In Biblion’s reply the 

conditions were specified. Jacobsson was allowed to purchase shares up to the 

sum of 200,000 Fmk, joining the company on the same conditions as the other 

shareholders. As a member of Biblion’s board he would have influence on affairs 

and receive a 4 % commission from the net profit. Within Biblion 

Jacobsson would be in charge of the trade with Soviet Russia. On entering the 

board as a shareholder he would immediately receive 30,000 Fmk in payment to 

prepare for the exploitation of the Russian market, later moving to Russia if an 

office could be opened there (13.11.1920). 

In 1921 private publishing houses still existed in Soviet Russia. An interesting 

picture of the situation was given in the Finnish press by manager Rafael 

Forss, who represented the Finnish paper industry in the Finnish trade delegation 

that went to Russia in June 1921. According to Forss, publishing houses were 

the only companies that had not been socialized in Russia. However, because of 

the shortage of paper these publishers had serious problems. The private publishers, 

of which there were, according to manager Forss, about ten in Petrograd, 

received no paper from the state publishing house, Gosudarstvennoe izdatel’stvo, 

and were thus forced to turn to the free market. Another problem was 

that there were very few private printing works. As a result books were in most 

cases edited in Russia but printed abroad. (Hbl 1921a.) 

The Finns were not of course alone in dreaming of gaining access to this big 

market. In the Baltic countries there was also interest. In July 1921 Biblion contacted 

its agent V. F. Ausberg in Reval, asking him to inquire discreetly into the 

goals of the newly established publishing house Bibliofil in Estonia. Was it going 

to cooperate with Soviet Russia and if so, what kind of contacts did it have 

(22.7.1921)? In the case of Bibliofil there was no reason to be worried, as the 

Estonians were not trying to print books for Soviet publishers but to get in contact 

with Russian writers, who were willing to publish works outside Soviet 

Russia ( 1922). 

Another attempt to get a footing in the Soviet market was made in Riga. In 

October 1921 Lili Brik arrived in Latvia, wanting to publish books by Majakovskij 

and other Russian Futurists, and then to have them later exported to 

Russia. Brik did find a Riga publisher, who was willing to make a deal under the 

condition that he would also get orders of Soviet textbooks on mathematics and 

physics. ( 1982:25.) 

186

Contrary to Bibliofil Biblion only planned to print books for Soviet publishing 

houses. Using a contact in Petrograd, the Finnish architect Georg Nummelin 

(1889-1935) 41 , Biblion sent a letter of introduction to Vneštorg (The Bureau for 

Foreign Trade) for distribution to private Soviet publishers. Biblion claimed to 

have one of the biggest printing works in Helsinki, sending paper samples with 

the letter. It offered to publish not only textbooks, but also technical and scientific 

literature. 

One of the key persons in book publishing in Soviet Russia was Zinovij 

Gržebin (1869-1929), one of the few Russian publishers who had managed to 

survive the Revolution as a businessman. All his private business enterprises 

collapsed with the October Revolution, but along with Gor’kij, Gržebin became 

active in the planning of a state publishing house, Gosizdat. In 1919 Gržebin 

was again permitted to start on a private publishing house, Izdatel’stvo 

Z. I. Gržebina with a branch-office in Berlin. In January 1920 V. V. Vorovskij, 

the manager of Gosizdat, signed a contract with Gržebin to print literature for 

the Soviet market in Berlin ( 1982:157; .. 1920; 

1971: 677-78) The cooperation between Gosizdat and Izdatel’stvo 

Z. I. Gržebina, however, soon turned out to be troublesome for many reasons, 

and did not provide Gržebin with the profit he had expected ( 1921:10). 

In 1921 Gržebin was, nevertheless, still hoping to be able to fulfil the agreement 

with Gozizdat. Because of the paper and fuel shortage he had by then moved his 

publishing house completely out of Soviet Russia, printing books in Germany and 

Sweden. The books were not meant to be sold in Europe, but were to be immediately 

sent to Soviet Russia, as soon as permission was obtained ( 1921). 

Through Vneštorg Biblion got in contact with Gržebin in June 1921. In his answer 

to Biblion Gržebin wrote that he had a contract with Gosizdat to print primarily 

textbooks. The editions were large – up to 100,000 copies, and in all 8 million 

German marks were involved. In order to be able to decide if Finland was a suitable 

country for printing Russian books Gržebin asked for more information about 

Biblion, including the possibilities of shipping books to Petrograd. As Gržebin was 

about to travel abroad he asked for an immediate answer (11.6.1921). 

Another contact that seemed promising was Kolos, one of the biggest cooperative 

Russian publishing houses. Between 1918-1926 Kolos published more 

than 100 titles, including books on the history of literature, philosophy and the 

Russian revolutionary movement ( 1982:281). Biblion got in contact 

with Kolos through the university librarian Andrej Igelström, who went to 

Petrograd early in June 1921 as a representative of the Helsinki University 

committee to aid needy Russian scientists. 42 F. Sedenko at Kolos answered Biblion 

in August, saying that Kolos was prepared to give Biblion orders and establish 

a standing co-operation. As soon as Biblion had accepted Kolos’ terms 

(among other things Kolos wanted to have better paper than that which had been 

received through Igelström), the first order should be sent off: four small booklets 

with circulation figures of 15,000 copies each (10[?].8.1921). 

187

Beside Gržebin and Kolos, Biblion also had two other contacts in Petrograd. 

From Petrogradskij komitet professional’no-texnieskogo obrazovanija it acquired 

in July a list of 23 booklets, which the Petrograd educational committee 

was willing to print immediately in Finland with the number of copies varying 

between 100 and 4,000 if Biblion’s terms were acceptable (13.7.1921). Together 

with Gržebin’s letter Biblion also received two manuscripts; one was called 

Al’manax 1921 g. while the other was “silhouette drawings” by someone called 

Lerner, from Il’ja Nikolaevi Menikov. The publishing house was not stated. 

In spring and summer 1921 Biblion was also negotiating with the official Soviet 

trade delegation, which had been installed in Helsinki the same year and was authorized 

to make trade agreements. As a contact Biblion was using Fal’kovskij, who by 

then had openly made a reconciliation with the Soviet authorities and was now authorized 

by the trade delegation to negotiate with Finnish publishing houses concerning 

the printing of textbooks and technical literature for Soviet Russia. 43 It was a big 

affair. “It is a question of many millions, maybe tens of millions”, one Finnish newspaper 

wrote (SS 1921a). 

The Finnish side in the negotiations was represented by an association, which 

united about 30 printing works. Biblion’s interests in the matter were taken care 

of by Santeri Jacobsson, who was an influential person in the union. That Biblion 

had a good position can be seen from the fact that it was chosen to do the 

printing of the Soviet trade delegation’s bulletin. 44 

When no results had been achieved after many months of negotiations, the Finnish 

side decided in the middle of July to send two representantatives to Russia to 

contact the Soviet authorities directly. Gor’kij was said to have urged the Finns to 

come to Russia immediately, as favourable offers had been tendered by German 

printing works. This did not discourage the Finns, aided by the fact that Gor’kij was 

supposed to have said that no decisions would be taken before the Finns had given 

their offer (SS 1921a). 

The Finnish decision was heavily criticized in Put’. According to Put’ Gor’kij 

could not have invited the Finns to Russia, as the Soviet government had authorized 

its trade delegations abroad to sign contracts. Because of this, no trips to Russia were 

needed. The reason why no deal had been made between the Soviet delegation and 

the Finns was that the offer made by the Finnish printing works was three times 

higher than the German offers ( 1921). Put’s article made Biblion send a letter 

to the Soviet trade delegation demanding that the Soviet side should correct the errors 

in the article in Put’ as it discredited the Finnish union. According to Biblion the 

Finns had not yet stated their prices. Neither was the decision to send a Finnish delegation 

to Russia an attempt to by-pass the Soviet trade delegation in Helsinki, as it 

was done with the knowledge of the Soviet side and with the sole aim of speeding up 

negotiations (25.7.1921). 

Santeri Jacobsson and Albert Koski, a manager of a printing work, were chosen 

to travel to Russia on July 15, 1921. They were forced, however, to postpone 

their departure, as they did not get visas in time. At first, this was explained as a 

188

techical problem: the cable contact with Moscow had broken down (SS 1921a). 

The Germans were also suspected of plotting against their Finnish rivals, and the 

Finnish union even wanted the Foreign Ministry to intervene and help the delegates 

to get their visas (SS 1921b). However, the ministry could not do anything 

and after having waited one month in vain for visas the Finnish union understood 

that the Soviet side had made a decision not to deal with the Finns in this matter. 

In a meeting held on August 10 the Union decided to drop the affair (SS 1921c). 

At the meeting of Biblion’s stockholders on July 27, 1921, the mood was 

somber. The report for 1920 indicated that achievements were disappointing. In 

April 1920, when activities had started, the possibilities of trading with Russian 

literature had looked promising. Connection with Russian booksellers in the 

European metropolises was achieved and a limited sale among the Russian émigrés 

was thus made possible. This scattered circle of customers was, however, 

too small and impoverished to sustain a publishing house. The other setback was 

the Soviet market: “Attempts were made in vain to get the right to send an agent 

to Russia.” 

The first year of trade had resulted in a loss of almost 87,000 Fmk, but even 

so no decision was made to suspend business. Klockars, who intended to sell his 

shares, wanted to withdraw from the board and his place was taken by Arne Jörgensen, 

an employee at Schildts. As Santeri Jacobsson had not bought any 

shares because of the uncertainty of the trade with Soviet Russia, the amount of 

stock was still the same as when Biblion had been founded. 

The negotiations with the Soviet trade delegation broke down in August and 

during the autumn Biblion’s private contacts with Soviet publishers also proved 

to be fruitless. 45 A last chance to acquire orders of Soviet literature, and thus secure 

a future for Biblion, came in October, when Gržebin arrived in Helsinki 

together with Gor’kij. Their trip was, according to the press, connected with 

“certain negotiations concerning printing of Russian literature, especially scientific 

literature” (Hbl 1921b). The discussions did not yield any results, and 

Gržebin decided to leave together with Gor’kij for Germany to compare with 

prices there (Hbl 1921c). What Gržebin did not reveal to his Finnish hosts was 

that his financial situation was sorrowful. For the books printed in Sweden and 

Germany he had not yet been able to get money from the Soviet side and in 

Stockholm large debts were waiting for him. This made him, of course, also in 

Finnish eyes an unreliable person. (Hbl 1921d.) 

This was the end of Biblion whose future existence had been dependent upon 

the trade with Soviet Russia. Again it was high prices that prevented Biblion 

from competing with publishers in Germany. We must also remember that the 

Soviet NEP (New Economic Policy) soon improved the economic situation in 

Russia which meant that the need for Western printing works disappeared. In 

Latvia Lili Brik found herself in the same situation as Biblion. She had succeeded 

in getting permission to export Russian books printed in Riga, but she 

could not put her plans into practice. One explanation that has been given for her 

189

failure were the high Russian import duties and the import restrictions that were 

introduced in connection with NEP and the attempt to get the Russian publishing 

business on its feet again ( 1982:45). 

Santeri Jacobsson left Biblion on October 1, 1921, starting a career as a 

bookshop owner (Gyllenberg 1923:63). Hjalmar Dahl gave up Biblion in the 

beginning of 1922, devoting his time primarly to translating Russian literature. 

The only problem was now to get rid of the stock of books. On April 3, 1922 

Gunnar Söderström wrote to Johannes Öhqvist, the Cultural Attaché at the Finnish 

Embassy in Berlin. He gave a short account of Biblion’s activities and 

stated: “Under prevailing conditions the activity has been at a standstill for the 

last six months. Now we want to get rid of it all, and therefore we ask you if you 

think any Russian publishing house in Berlin would be interested in the matter.” 

Öhqvist was promised a sizable commission if he took care of the selling of Biblion. 

From the correspondence between Öhqvist and Biblion it can be seen how 

large the stock was when Biblion was liquidated: Zvezda Solomona 3,500 ex., 

Ognenno-krasnyj cvetok 2,900 ex., Dnevnik Satany 1,000 ex., Nonoj razgovor 

1,400 ex. and Rodnye stixi 800 ex. 

Öhqvist contacted the bookshop Logos, which was connected with the publishing 

house Slovo. Already in the middle of June he informed Söderström that 

his negotiations with Slovo’s director, Ross, had been successful. Slovo was 

willing to buy Biblion’s book stock for 420,000 German marks, of which Öhqvist 

was to be given 10 %. At the end of the month the books were sent to Berlin, 

and two weeks later the money was paid to Biblion through Deutsche Bank 

(Öhqvist-Biblion 12.7.1922). 

Biblion was formally liquidated only two years later. On August 19, 1924, 

Gunnar Söderström reported to the Trade Register that Biblion had stopped 

functioning at the end of 1921. 

1 The fate of Biblion’s archive is a mystery. In 1982 it was agreed that part of the archive (the 

correspondence) was to be donated to the Finnish National Library, while the contracts and 

the minutes of Biblion’s board meetings were supposed to stay in Schildts’ archive. Later it 

turned out that no donation had been done, and while the bigger part of the archive of the publishing 

house Schildts had been donated the university library of Åbo Akademi (Turku), the 

archive of Biblion had presumable been lost in connection with the many moves that Schildts 

had gone through during the last decades. 

2 In 1922, about 15,000 Russian refugees were in Finland (Nygård 1978:95-96). 

3 The Russian books published by Fundament were N. Badrin, V kogtjax u bol’ševikov: V 

tjur’me i na vole, G. Zezeman, Mirovaja vojna i zolotaja valjuta and Pr Blum, Obšie 

svedenija o mašinax. 

4 Zigfrid Aškinazy wrote his book Puti bol’ševizma on Fundament’s order in 1918. The publishing 

house already started to print it in 1919, when it was liquidated in connection with 

Judeni’s retreat ( 1921; Aškinazy – Biblion 12.5.1920). 

5 As for the first years of the Holger Schildt publishing house, see Mustelin 1983. 

6 The documents concerning the founding and liquidation of Biblion are also in the Finnish National 

Archive (Kansallisarkisto. Kaupparekisteri / yhtiörekisteri 42263 06M 135/III kansio Fh80). 

190

7 The short stories had been published as following: “Zvezda Solomona” (“Každoe želanie”, 

Zemlja XX, 1917), “Anatema” (Argus 1913, 2), “Beglecy” (“Xrabrye beglecy”, Probuždenie 

1917, 1) “Carskij pisar’ (Probuždenie 1918, 2), “Po tu storonu“ (Novaja russkaja žizn 

?.?.1920), “Limonnaja korka” (Novaja russkaja žizn’ 15.1.1920), “Sila slova“ (Novaja 

russkaja žizn’ 13-14.3.1920) and “Pegie lošadi“ (Novaja russkaja žizn’ 15.4.1920). No date is 

given for “Po tu storonu”, as some issues of Novaja russkaja žizn’ are missing in the National 

Library. 

8 See appendix! 

9 The date can be seen from the first advertisement in Novaja russkaja žizn’ (1.10.1920). In 

the contract between Kuprin and Biblion (13.4.1920) the number of copies was stated as 

10,000, but from a bill dated 15.10.1920 it emerges that the amount was lowered. 

10 

Reviews were published in for example Novaja russkaja žizn’ 1.12.1920 (Ju[rij] 

G[rigorkov], “A. Kuprin. Zvezda Solomona”) and Russkaja kniga 1921, 2, 13-14 (Fedor 

Ivanov, “A. Kuprin. Zvezda Solomona"). 

11 See appendix. All translations are mine. 

12 Laulu tulipunaisesta kukasta was published in Estonian (1906), Polish (1908), German 

(1909), Dutch (1914), Esperanto (1919) and English (1920). 

13 For Sipel’gas, see article in the present volume. 

14 Timofej Vasil’evi Bunjakin was a Russian colonel living on the Carelian Isthmus. In 1915, 

he had published a textbook Sputnik russkogo voina (Tver’). In Finland he published one 

book: Finskie deti. Rasskaz Djadi Tima v 12 kartinkax (Gel’singfors 1918). 

15 Tukalevskij – Andreeva 24.4.1920 (Leeds Russian Archive, Brotherton Library, University 

of Leeds). V.N. Tukalevskij (1881-1936) was a journalist and bibliographer, who later was 

active in Prague as a literary critic. 

16 Fal’kovskij – Dahl, May 1920 (Biblion’s archive). S.A. Efron was one of the heirs of Il’ja 

A. Efron (1889-1917), who had published a Russian edition of the Brockhaus Encyclopedia. 

In Berlin S.A. Efron founded a publishing house of his own in 1921 ( 1921). 

17 The works included were Rasskaz o semi povešennyx, Ne ubij, Milye prizraki, Mladost’, 

Monument, Ekaterina Ivanovna, Prekrasnye sabinjanki, Professor Stori, Rekviem, Mysl’ 

(the play), Igo vojny, Tot, kto poluaet pošeiny, Korol’, zakon i svoboda, Saška Žegulev, 

Pis’ma o teatre, “Pessimist”, “Kajušcisja”, “Administrativnyj vostorg”, “Smer eloveka”, 

“Dva pis’ma”, “emodanov”, “Polet”, “German i Marta”, “Rogonoscy”, “Tri noi”, “Voskresen’e 

vsex mertvyx”, “Konec Džona Pro-povednika”, “ert na svabe”, “Moi anekdoty”,“Svidetel’ 

istiny”, “Žertva”, “Talant”, “Za polgoda do smerti”, “Zemlja”, 

“Neostorožnos”, “O Džeke Londone”, “Pravila dobra”, “Xrabryj voin”, “Osly”, S.O.S. and 

“all articles”. 

18 Reviews were published at least in Put’ 8.3.1921 (Fedor Fal’kovskij, “Dnevnik Satany 

Leonida Andreeva”) and Russkaja kniga 1921:3, 21 (Vl. T/ukalev/skij, “Leonid Andreev. 

Dnevnik Satany"). 

19 An abridged pirated edition of Dnevnik Satany was published in Kostry I (Moskva 1922). 

Reviews were published in 1921 in Vestnik literatury, Žizn’ i iskusstvo and Kul’tura teatra. 

One copy of Biblion’s publication is to be found in Lenin’s library in the Kremlin ( 

1971 2:249). 

20 An English translation by Herman Bernstein had already been published in America in 

1920. Biblion received letters from Curtis Brown Ltd (London), Der Rhein-Verlag (Leipzig) 

and Boris Gurevich (Torino) concerning translations. 

21 Fal’kovskij wrote a review for Pu: F. F-skij, “Nonoj razgovor Leonida Andreeva”, Pu 

26.4.1921. 

191

22 For Russkaja kniga and A.S. Jašenko, see Flejšman 1983. 

23 Biblion had announcements in Russkaja kniga 3, 6, 7-8 and 9/1921. 

24 The bookshops and importing firms that contacted Biblion were Ferdinand Wasserman 

(Reval), Dr. Michael Alter, Rodina (Berlin), J. Povolozky & Cie, Librairie Russe & Française 

(Paris), Naša Rje (Prague), Rodnoe Slovo, Russian Book Store (London), Libraria Russa 

“Slovo” (Rome), Rossijsko-bolgarskaja knigotorgovlja (Sofia), Russkaja Mysl’ (Belgrade), 

Glasul Tarii, K. Schechter (Kishinev), Russkaja Mysl’, Librairie Russe (Constantinople) and 

Max N. Maisel (New York). 

25 Biblion received agency offers from M. Laapchitz, M. Panovko (Copenhagen), Rodina 

(Berlin), Jacob Persky (Vienna), Ivan Kirilov (Paris), Wladimir Landsberg (Prague), 

Russpress (Warsaw), Slovo (Rome), Boris Gurevich (Torino), Milan Auman & mp. 

(Krško), V.A. Evreinov (Belgrade), N. I. Averbuh, Obrazovanie (Kishinev), A. R. Bogin 

(New York), The Russian Public Library and Oriental Book Selling Corporation (Shanghai). 

26 The collected works of Leonid Andreev were published twice during the writer’s lifetime: 

eight volumes 1913 and sixteen volumes 1910-1915. 

27 See for example Biblion’s letter to Askinazy (11.4.1921). 

28 The relationship between Anna Andreeva and Biblion did not end in the same cordial atmosphere 

in which it had begun. The last 25,000 of the promised 100,000 Fmk was never 

paid to Andreeva because of legal interference by her stepmother. Leonid Andreev and his 

wife borrowed heavily from Anna’s father early in 1919, and this money had never been paid 

back (see documents in Schildts’ archive). Another source of conflict was the manuscripts that 

Biblion had got from Anna Andreeva. Sometimes in the middle of the 20s Andreeva wrote to 

Dahl complaining that her husband’s manuscripts had not yet been returned to her. When visiting 

Schildts in 1924, she had even been refused the manuscripts (undated letter, Leeds Russian 

Archive, University of Leeds). Dahl’s answer has not been preserved, but as some of the 

manuscripts concerned, like Dnevnik Satany for example, are missing from the Andreev archive 

in Leeds, the case is still problematic. One possible explanation is that Fal’kovskij took 

some of the manuscripts with him to Russia when he was expelled from Finland in January 

1922 (Hbl 1922). Fal’kovskij’s review of Dnevnik Satany (Pu 8.3.1921) shows that he still 

had the manuscript of that particular novel after its publication. 

29 Viktor Igelström (Igel’strm) was the son of the Helsinki University librarian Andrej Igelström. 

He later seems to have emigrated to Soviet Russia, where a book by him, Oerki 

sovremennoj Finljandii, was published in 1923. 

30 Bal’mont’s Serebrjanye reki was never published. 

31 A second edition of Poézija kak volšebstvo was, in fact, published in 1922 in Moscow. 

32 A. Sipel’gas (16.11.1920). In the same year Sipel’gas published his translation of Armas 

Launis’ opera libretto, based upon Seitsemän veljestä. 

33 Georg Fraser (1.10.1920). According to Fraser the translation had been praised by one of Russia’s 

“most distinguished poets”, but “politics and envy (the latter not yet defeated) have so far prevented 

the publishing of this book in Russian” (5.10.1920). Fraser does not mention the name of the translator, 

but it is most probably Vladimir Golovin (1835-1892), whose translation of Runeberg had 

been published by Fraser in Helsinki in 1905. Biblion refrained from publishing Fänrik Ståls 

Sägner on political grounds! 

34 E. Kal’manovic [Kal’ma] (20.7.1920). The translator also sent Bal’mont’s recommendation, 

which she wanted to include as a foreword. 

35 Before the Revolution Z.G. Aškinazy had been a correspondent for several well-known 

Russian journals. In 1917 he was a member of the Petrograd Soviet of Soldiers’ Deputies and 

the Provisional Government’s agitation department, and in the Civil War a member of the 

192

White Volunteer Army’s All-Russian Central Committee and editor-in-chief of the newspaper 

Dobrovolec (12.5.1920). From Finland he moved to Prague in 1920, where he became editorin-chief 

of the journal Russkoe delo (12.8.1920). Chapters from his book Put’ bol’ševizma 

were published in Novaja russkaja žizn’ and Russkoe delo, but it was never published in full. 

36 A. I. Vozenesenskij’s book was published in Helsinki in 1925. Voznesenskij had previously 

published two books about the history of Helsinki, Iz Gel’singforskoj stariny (Gel’singfors 1918) 

and Oerki Gel’singforsskoj žizni v konce XIX i v naale XX stoletija (Gel’singfors 1922). 

37 N.S. Dobroxotov was a former docent at the Petersburg Institute of Cooperation. His 

manuscript was based upon his lectures at the institute (29.9.1920). In 1917 Dobroxotov 

wrote a book about the cooperative movement in Finland, Finljandskoe kooperativnoe zakonodatel’stvo 

(Petrograd). 

38 V.A. Evreinov was an agronomist and the representative of the ll-Russian Union of 

Towns in Yugoslavia (6.5.1921). 

39 V. Vladimirskij also offered books about ancient history and the history of the Middle 

Ages, the publication of which had been prevented by the Revolution (3.11.1920). 

40 In 1925 A. Bobrik published another book in Helsinki, Oerk geometrieskoj morfologii 

suši i okeana. 

41 Georg Nummelin had been working for Nobel as an architect in Russia before the Revolution. 

In 1921 he was the representative of the Finnish Foreign Ministry in Petrograd, in 

charge of the Finnish buildings in the town (Nordenstreng 1922:93). 

42 See 1985. 

43 Document in Biblion’s archive, signed by the vice president of the Soviet trade delegation, 

Nikolaj Burenin, on July llth 1921. As late as June 3, 1921 Biblion gave Fal’kovskij a document, 

stating that he had been working for the publishing house since September 1920 and 

because of this it was necessary for him to have a permission to stay in Helsinki. 

44 Only one issue of the “Bjulleten’ Russkogo torgovogo predstavitel’stva v Finljandii” was 

printed. The correspondence concerning the printing is from July 1921 (Holger Schildts’ archive). 

45 Nummelin wrote on October 1, 1921, that Sedenko and Kolos had found Biblion’s conditions 

unacceptable. 

LITERATURE 

Finska boktryckare 1938 Finska boktryckare och grafiker. Utgiven av Helsingfors grafiska 

klubb. Helsingfors. 

Gyllenberg 1923 Gyllenberg, G., Stenberg, A.W. (red.). Finska bokhandlare – 

Suomen kirjakauppiaita. Borgå. 

Hbl 1920a Förlagsverksamhet med rysk litteratur. Hufvudstadsbladet. 1920. 

264. 26 sept. 

Hbl 1920b 

Efterlämnade skrifter av Leonid Andrejev. Hufvudstadsbladet. 

1920. 265. 27 sept. 

Hbl 1921a Det ekonomiska läget i Råds-Ryssland. Hufvudstadsbladet. 1921. 

183. 9 juli. 

Hbl 1921b Maxim Gorkijs besök i Helsingfors. Hufvudstadsbladet. 1921. 

184. 18 okt. 

Hbl 1921c 

(Notice about Gržebin and Gor’kij). Hufvudstadsbladet. 1921. 

296. 30 okt. 

193

Hbl 1921d 

Hbl 1922 

Mustelin 1983 

Nordenstreng 1922 

Nygård 1978 

SS 1921a 

SS 1921b 

SS 1921c 

Vem och vad 1957 

Svensk millionfordran på bokförläggaren Grsjebin. Hufvudstadsbladet. 

1921. 301. 4 nov. 

De utvisade Put-redaktörerna. Hufvudstadsbladet. 1921. 13. 15 jan. 

Mustelin, Olof. En förläggare och några av hans författare. Kring 

Holger Schildts förläggardebut 1913-1917. Jakobstad. 

Nordenstreng, Sigurd (red.). Finska kadettkårens elever och 

tjänstemän. Supplement 1812-1921. Biografiska anteckningar. 

Helsingfors. 

Nygård, Toivo. Suur-Suomi vai lähiheimolaisten auttaminen. Aatteellinen 

heimotyö itsenäisessä Suomessa. Keuruu. 

Venäläisten kirjojen painattaminen. Suomen Sosialidemokraatti. 

1921. 160. 16 heinäkuuta. 

Wenäläisten kirjojen painatus Suomessa. Suomen Sosialidemokraatti. 

1921. 169. 27 heinäkuuta. 

Suomen Sosialidemokraatti. 1921. 182. 11 elokuuta. 

Vem och vad. Biografisk handbok 1957. Helsingfors. 

1921 

, . . . 

1971 , . . . 

1920 , . . - - 

. . 1924. 263. 24 . 

1922 

, . . - 

. . 1. , 309-311. 

1921 , . . . 1921. 

54. 6 . 

.. 1920 .. . 31 

(17.10.). 

1985 

, .. . , - 

. Studia Slavica Finlandensia. 

T. II, 49-80. 

1921 

«» . V 

(). . 

1982 . . . 

- 1966 

-, .. . . 

1920 ( . «»). . 1920. 192. 

1 . 

1922 

«» . . 

. 1922. 1, 36. 

1921 

( . «»). . 1921. 1. 1 . 

1921 

( . «»). . 1921. 14. 1 . 

1921 

. . 1921. 51. 22 

1921 . . 1921. 126. 23 

. 

1921 . . 1921. 1, 1. 

1921 .. . . 1921. 1, 9-10. 

1921 . . . 1921. 

4, 12. 

194

1921 .. . . 1921. 4, 13. 

1921 . . 1921. 5, 19. 

1920 , . . - 

. 1920. 31-32. 9-10 . 

1983 , ., , ., -, . (.). 

. . 

1970 

, . - 

1918-1968. Boston. 

1971 , .. : «- 

» « .. », .. 

.. . , , . 

. . 80. ., 668-703. 

1982 , (.). .. .. . - 

1915-1930. Stockholm. 

195

APPENDIX 

Aleksandr Kuprin’s Letters to Biblion 

[August– September, 1920] 

1. 

. 

, — 

, . 

? , - 

, . 

, , , , , 

, . , 

, . 

, : I. A x . Bounine; 48 bis, rue Raynoir, XVI e Paris. 

1, rue Offenbach, VXI e Paris. , 

. 

 

 

x Ivan Alekseevi 

2. 

, 

[Arrived September 27, 1920] 

. . 

, « » 

, , , — 3-4 , - 

? 

 

 

A Kuprin 

1 , rue Jacques Offenbach 

Paris 16 me 196

3. 

 

[October-November, 1920] 

. , , , 

. 

« » ; - 

, . , - 

; : 

. , . , 

, . 

, : 

1. ? , 

I . . 

2. ? 

3. ? 

4. - ? 

5. ". " ? 

 

 

1, rue Jacques Offenbach 

Paris (16 me ) 

4. 

1921 . 2/IV 

A. Kouprine 

1, rue Jacques Offenbach, Paris (16) 

 

He , 

" "? 

 

 

197

Konstantin Bal’mont’s letter to Biblion 

K- «» 

48 bis, rue Raynouard, XVI, Paris 

1921.V.7 

. . , 

. 

«», - 

, , - 

. , — 

, — - 

. 

1. . (. 10-12. ). 

2. . . (20 . - 

, . - 

). 

3. . ( - 

. 93 . , 1916- ). 

. 

 

. . 

198

, . . 

-- 

1930 . «» 

« » . 1 - 

- 

1920- . , 

, . 

, 

, . 

. - 

, 2 

. 3 

. 

 

« ». 

- 

. - 

 

, 4 . 5 

. -, 

, , 

. 1919 . 

. 

, - 

1 « : . », (), 1930, 

1736-1796, 4 – 3 . 

2 “En tjekaspions upplevelser i Helsingfors”, Hufvudstadsbladet, 1930, 95, 8 .; 98, 11 

.; 99, 12 .; 106, 20 .. “Tshekan urkkijan muistelmia Suomesta”, Iltalehti, 1930, 

115, 21 . 

3 A. Olsjanskij. En sovjetspion i Helsingfors (Tammerfors, 1931). 

. - 

( ) 1941 — A. Olsjanski. 

Neuvostovakoilija Suomessa (Porvoo, 1941). 

4 « », (), 1930, 67, 8 ; 85, 26 

. , (. 

, « », 1930, 346, 15 .), : 

« , - 

. , 

». . 

5 . Etsivän keskuspoliisin arkisto (EK VALPO I). Kansio 

11040. . 7 (1930, 14 ), . 9 (1930, 17 ). Kansallisarkisto, Helsinki. - 

. 

199

: , . - 

. , - 

. 1920 ., , 

- 

. 

 

, , - 

, - 

. - 

, . 

, . - 

 

. - 

: , « », - 

; madame , - 

; , — - 

, ; - 

, 6 «»; - 

-, , - 

- 

. 

. 

, 

. , - 

. 

1930 . , 

. , . . 

, 

- 

. - 

- 

. — « , - 

, , - 

». «- 

», « , - 

». 

6 ( « » ) — 

(1923-1989). 

, 1887 ., 

. — . 

1921 ., . 1937 . 

. 

200

. 7 « » — 

. 

- 

. , - 

, . . 

: - 

. , - 

, , - 

. , - 

, « , - 

, …….». 8 «.» , « 

», - 

. 

, ., 

« » 

« ». - 

, - 

. . — , « 

», , , - 

. 9 , . - 

: - 

, . , 

, - 

, «..» — 

. — . . - 

. 

, . - 

, « », 

, 10 - 

. . - 

, 

, , , 

. , , — . 

«» : « , 

, , , 

, , , , , - 

, , - 

7 . . (: , 1930; : ., 1991), 

. 3-4. 

8 , . 29. 

9 , . 93 

10 . . . 10. (1932, 12 ). 

201

». 11 , - 

, - 

, : « 

». , , , 

. 

. 

- 

. 12 - 

, , - 

, 75 % — . - 

, . 

. - 

. , 

« » - 

. - 

, 

. - 

, - 

20- 30- , - 

- - 

. - 

— , - 

. 

- 

«Pyhä Johannes» (. ) ; 

— 12 (24) 1885. , , - 

, . 30- 

, , 13 - 

, . 14 

11 . Etsivän keskuspoliisin arkisto (EK VALPO I). Kansio 

10325. Kansallisarkisto, Helsinki. 

12 : Peter Mets (= 

Rein Kruus), “Kirjanik-internationalist Aleksander Sipelgas”, Vagabund, 1990, 3 (- 

: Rein Kruus, “Aitäh, Sipelgaga saame hakkama. Repliik”, Vagabund, 1990, 5) R. Kruus, 

“Sipelgas, Aleksander”, : Eesti kirjanike leksikon. Toim. Heino Puhvel (Tallinn, 2000), . 535. 

, , — , 

. 

13 , 1932, 34, . 6. 

14 . . . 12b (1929, 7 .). .. 

XX . 1900-1955 (., 1966, . 343) , 1913 - 

, « ». 

202

, 15 (Jaan) — . 

(- «») — - 

«». , - 

, 16 

. 17 - 

, , - 

. 18 - 

, - - 

- 

 

. 

. - 

, 

«», . - 

, , , 

1903 . , 1900 ., 

14 , ( 

) . 19 , - 

, - 

. 

, , - 

. - 

- 

, 

. . 

— 

. . 1909–1912 . - 

, . , - 

1909 ., «» 

«». « 

» «». 20 , , 

, 

. , . 

(www.ruthenia.ru/sovlit/p_aut000.html), 

; , . . . 

15 A.M, “In memoriam. Aleksandr Sipelgas †”, Vaimsuse ideoloogia, 1937, 6, . 92. 

16 Romaan, 1923, 7, . 217. “Kuidas sai A. Sipelgast kirjanik”, Rahvleht (Tallinna), 

1927, 22 . 

17 . . . 10 (1932, 12 ). 

18 Romaan, 1923, 

7, . 217 (. “Üksindus”) Rahvaleht, 1927, 22 . 

19 Vaimsuse ideoloogia, 1937, 6, . 92. 

20 . “Andesta” (Tartu, 1926). 

203

: 

1912 . . - 

«» «- 

- » («Laulu tulipunaisesta kukasta») . . 21 

— 

. . , «- » 

«». - 

, 1913, : 

«» («Pakolaiset») « » («Ikuinen 

taistelu»). , , , , - 

. 22 , - 

«- » 

(« ») - 

. 23 

1913 . - 

. 24 , 

. - , - 

. 1915 . , 

. 25 , 26 

, . — 

, 

- 

. 27 

- 

« ». 28 , , 

21 , - (., 1912). , 

. . II «- 

», I . 

22 «» 1915 . . (« - 

», , 1915, 1-3). 

23 . --, « », , 1912, 108, 12 . 

24 - 

. «» (, 1917, 18; : 

“Vaaleansininen kirje”, . “Punapää-Roosa”, Helsinki, 1920) 

. , “Naurettava ihminen» (« - 

»), , Lago di Como, - 

. 

25 «3 », , 1930, 1734, 2 . 

26 . . . 10 (1932, 12 ). 

27 .. -, «... : “ - 

”», , 1932, 32, . 2. , , 

Vabaa maa (1932, 108, 8 ), 

. 

28 .. . : . . I (: , 1917). 

204

. - 

. (, , 

) , «- 

». « » - 

« » ( - 

). 29 - 

, — , - 

— - 

. — «», 

«» «». 

«», . 

« » - 

. , , 

- 

, . 

«», - 

«», , 

« , ». 30 

1917 . , - 

. 

( 11-22) « : 

“ ”». 

— - -. 

, — , , , 

. , . 

, . - 

, , : « 

, !» ( 18). - 

, — - 

. : « 

! , !» 

( 22). , - 

, . 

29 , . 3-4. 

30 .. , «», . .-... 

(), 1917, 56, 20 . 

(, 1917, 6, 22 ), « - 

», 3- 1917 . . , .. , 

, 

, a ; .: 

.. . , , ... (, 2001), . 161-164. 

205

« » ( 19) « » ( 20) 

. (- 

) . 

« !», — . - 

. « — ». - 

 

: « ». 

- . - 

. 31 

. 

1918 . 

. - 

. - 

«» ( 18); - 

, . 

, — . « 

— !»,— « - 

», 1917 . ( 21). 

 

. 1917 . , 

. « - 

» «», - 

«». , - 

1917 . , , - 

«» — . - 

— «» («Pohjalaiset») — 

, , 

600 

« ». , « 1917 

.», « 

». 32 

. 

. 

, 1918 . 

«» (Ajatar) «- 

» , — 

31 — , , 

. «» ( 18), «» ( 21) «- 

» ( 22), «» ( 18), « - 

» ( 19), «» ( 19), « » ( 19) «» ( 22). 

32 . (: , 1917), . 152. 

206

«. » «». 33 «- 

», 34 , 

, . , 

. , 

« », . , 

. 

1918 . , - 

. - 

, - 

. 35 

, , - 

. 

 

. — 

. « » 

1918-19 . . , 

, - 

, « » . 36 

, ( alter ego 

« ») - 

1920 , 37 , , 

. 

33 . Andesta (Tartu, 1926). , 

, “Ylös 

helvetistä” (1917, « ») , (.: Eesti 

kirjanike leksikon, Tallinn, 2000, . 535). , 

. , . (Kaarlo Isotalo. 

Konrad Lehtimäki: Hehkurinta, Hämeenlinna, 1986, . 89, 148) , 

« » (“Aseet pois”) 

« » . 

, , 

- , - 

. , 

, . - 

. -! , , - 

1921 . 

. , . (.: 

.. . . 3. 1917-1929. ., 1959, . 236.) 

34 , « », , 1917, 53, 16 . 

35 , « », , 1918, 55, 30 ; 57, 

2 ; 61, 7 ; 62, 9 .; 63, 10 . 

36 Romaan, 1923, 7, . 217. Rahvaleht (1927, 22 .) , 

1917 . 

37 . . . 12b (1929, 7 .). 

207

« » 

, , , 

. 38 , - - 

- 

, . 1919 . - 

. , 

 

— . 

, - 

, 

, . 39 - 

. . ( — 

) - 

. 

. 1925 

« 

». 40 , « », - - 

- 

, , - 

, 

. - 

X., - 

. 

« » , - 

38 «3 », , 1930, 1734, 2 . 

39 (. 8) , [] 

. 

40 « : , - 

». (), 1925, 19-25. , 

« , , - 

». - 

(« ») . .: 

, , . . 

1930- . . II. . (Stanford Slavic Studies. Vol. 14. 

Stanford, 1997), . 426. « 

», , , , ( 1920), (- 

, ), (. 1889, ) ( 

, , , , , ) 

. , , 

, . , 

« » - 

, - 

. « » , - 

. 

208

1919 . 

( !). - 

 

. , 

( - 

!) . « » 

. 

 

, - 

. «» - 

( ) - 

, . 

1920 . - . 

, 11 IX- - 

, 41 , 

. « 

», — - 

. 42 , , , - 

( « » ) 

. , , - 

, , 1897 

. 1925-28 . , 

. , - 

, , madame , - 

« , , ». 43 

Regina 

, 35. 44 , 

, - 

. «Santeri Sipelgas» 

— «». «» 

: - 

-. — 1920 1922 — 

- 

41 . e-, « », , 1932, 2527, 3 . 

. : « », , 1932, 126, 7 . 

, , 1920 - 

, - ( . - 

. . 12b [1929, 7 .]). 

42 . . . 2 (1925, 24 ). 

43 . 

44 . . . 1 (1921, 24 .). 

209

. 45 , «Punainen Venäjä» (« »), 

(. ), - 

. 

, 

, — «Ylä-Brondan ritarit» (« 

», 1923) — , -, - 

. 

, - 

. , - 

« » , 

. 46 - 

. - 

«». 

«- 

». , 

, 

, . : «- 

, 

». 47 « 

», , 48 

. «» 

« », 49 

«Juha» («») - 

. 50 - 

«- 

45 “Golgatha. Romaani Neuvosto-Venäjän elämästä” (Lahti, 1921; - 

: “Punaisen auringon lapset”, Helsinki, 1922), “Kohtalon siivet. Romaani” 

(Helsinki, 1921), “Kun tähdet sammuvat: Kertomuksia” (Jyväskylä, 1922), “Punainen Venäjä: 

Kertomuksia” (Helsinki, 1920), “Punapää-Roosa: Novelleja” (Helsinki, 1920), “Ylä- 

Brondan ritarit: Kuvauksia Helsingin mustalais-taiteilijoista” (Pori, 1922). - 

“Kultainen valhe” (« », 

1924), , “Ruusu-Risti”. 

“Ruusu-Risti”, 

. Nomen est omen. 

46 , : 3- . 

.. (: , 1920). 

47 . , «: . - », 

, 1920, 263, 24 . 

48 2 1921 . .: Ben Hellman, “Biblion. A Russian 

Publishing House in Finland”, Studia Slavica Finlandensia. Tomus II (Helsinki, 1985), p. 

7. [. .] 

49 , . 19, 34 

50 , 

: «» (, 1914, XIV-XV). 

210

» « »! 51 , - 

, . , - 

« » , . . « 

, ». 

- 

. « 

» «Punainen Venäjä» (« 

», 1920). , «- 

» , , 

«… , », 52 

, . - 

, « - 

…» 53 

« » , 

, , « - 

», . «Golgatha» 

(«», 1921), «Punaisen 

auringon lapset» (« », 1922) 

« ». 

: 

- 

, 

, — , , , - 

, — , 

, — , , , 

. 54 

«» , - 

. . « 

» . 

« » « , 

». , , - 

, : « , , - 

, “” 

, …». 55 

51 Tallinna Teataja, 1920, 18 ., 262. 

52 . Olhovskij. Punainen Venäjä: Kertomuksia (Helsinki, 1920), . 27. . 

53 , . 31. 

54 . Sipelgas, Punaisen Venäjän lapset: Romaani Neuvosto-Venäjän elämästä (Helsinki– 

Lahti, 1922), . 5. 

55 , . 228. 

211

, 

. , , , 

. 

. «», «» «». 

, « 

». 56 - 

( ) 

, . 

«Kohtalon siivet» (« », 1921). 

, 

« , », 1917 ., 

«» «». , , , 

, 

. 

, , — 

«Punapää-Roosa» (« », 1920). 

, . 

«Kansojen loppu» (« ») 

( « ») 

, . - 

- . «Punapää-Roosa», 

, 

( 

). , - 

. 

« », 

. - 

. «Ruusu- 

Risti» (-), « » , 

1921 . . , 

— « », , - 

, , « 

, - 

». 57 

«Mieletön» («») «Vakoojat» («»). 58 - 

« 

. . ». , , 

, , 

56 , . 47. 

57 Ruusu-Risti, 1921, 1, . 8. 

58 “Mieletön”, Ruusu-Risti, 1921, 1, . 24-29; “Vakoojat”, Ruusu-Risti, 1921, 3, . 

155-159. 

212

. 

 

«Kun tähdet sammuvat» (« », 1922). 

«Höyrylaiva» 

(«»). - 

«», , - 

, — — , 

, — « - 

, ». 

, -, - 

1917 . . , «- 

» - 1920 . « », — 

. - 

— «Röda 

Ryssland» (1922, . «. Andersson A. B.»). 

, , «», — - 

« ». 59 , 

« » , , - 

. , - 

. , 60 de visu , - 

- 

. 

- 

. 61 - 

, . - 

. - 

 

. 62 , , - 

. 

Cafe Espilä. 63 

. 

«Pro 

59 

“Från förgången tid” (« »), 

Folkets dagblad politiken 1922, 11-12, 14 16 . - 

() . 

60 Õhtu tuled () 1924, l, 8 . 

61 1922 . («- 

», , 1922, 22, 29 .). 

62 Joel Lehtonen. Kirjeitä (Helsinki, 1983), s. 289. . 22 

1923 . 

63 « » 

( . ). 

213

Humanitate». 

. 

, 

«» , . 64 - 

«» , 

«Ylä-Brondan ritarit: Kuvauksia Helsingin mustalais-taiteilijoista» 

(« : », 

1922) . - 

«Brondini» - 

. , «Pro Humanitate» 

(« !»), «Pro 

Humala» (« !»). 

, , - 

. , 

. - 

, « », , - 

« , “- 

”, “”, , , , - 

, ». 65 - 

, 

, - 

, 

, . . 

. . — ? 

 

1921 . 

. , 

, - 

. , - 

; 

. 1921 . - 

- 

. 66 - 

. « » - 

. , - 

, . 

, - 

, : « 

!» , , , - 

64 . . . 11 (1926, 14 ). 

65 . , . 139 ( ). 

66 . . . 12b (1929, 7 .). 

214

. 67 , 

. . « », - 

, 

, 68 , 

, . 69 

 

, . 

, -, 1921 . - 

, 

. . . . . . 

« » , 

, - 

. - 

. 70 « .» («spanare S.») - 

( ) . 71 

1922 . , - 

. 

1921 . , 

, - 

. — «S.» — - 

 

. , - 

, . , «S.» 

- 

, «A.S.». 

1921 . 

 

, 

. 

10 

1921 . « “-” 

» . «- 

» . 

67 . . . 2 (1923, 9 .). 

68 « » ( . 

). 

69 . 8 1921 . - 

, , , .. , - 

. — (Buhle). EK-VALPO I. 

Etsivien raportteja. 1921. Kansio 869 (K-M). 

70 , 1932, 2536, 12 . 

71 . ( 24 . 1921). EK-VALPO I Etsivien raportteja. 1921. Kansio 869 (K- 

M). 

215

( Apollo). , 

, , 

, - 

, . 

. - 

, - 

. , 

« » . 

, « » , - 

, . . 72 - 

« », 

, - 

«..». , 

, 

. , 

! (1922, 125, 5 ) « 

». 73 

, « », 

1922 . 

. , 

, , - 

. - 

, , « 

»: « 25 % , , 

». - , 

 

, - 

, persona non grata 

. 74 , 

72 . ( 28 . 1921) «..». . 

73 , 1920- , 

, , 

: « » (. . - 

, — ), « !» (), « » (), « - 

» (), « » () «» (). .: 

, 1932, 31, . 1. , , , 

, . 

74 « » 

( . ). 1932 . . , 

(Frans Josef Klemetti) (Ossi 

Holmström) (.: , 1932, 32, . 2), , -, 

216

«». 75 

- 

. - 

, 

. 1923 . 

( ), , 

« 

» «». 

« » - 

. (Fenoult) , , - 

. 76 , 

, - 

, 

. 

, , - 

, - 

. , , 

« » - 

: « — 

. . - 

 

, . 

, - - 

, . 

». 77 

. 

1925 . 

, . , 

 

. . 78 - 

, , , 

. 

75 .. -, «... : “ - 

”», , 1932, 32, . 2. 

76 . EK-VALPO I. Kansio 25 (Bobristsheff, Ardalion). . 

94. 

77 « : , - 

», (), 1925, 22-23. 

78 .. -, «... : « - 

”», , 1932, 31, . 2. , 

«» « », , « 

» , 

217

« »: - 

« », , 

- . , 

. - 

, : 

- . 79 

1924 . . 

1920 , - - 

. , « - 

», 80 - 

. Romaan 1923 . 

«Üksindus» («»), - 

. 81 - 

-, 

. - 

, - 

, . - 

, 

, . . 

. 82 

. 

, , - 

, . . , . 

(Viljo Kojo). 83 

. , 84 

. - 

. 

79 « » 

( . ). 

80 Tallinna Teataja, 1920, 262, 18 . . : Peter Mets, “Kirjanik-internatsionalist 

Aleksander Sipelgas”, Vagabund, 1990, 3. 

81 Romaan, 1923, 7, p. 217. 

82 “Kirjanik Sipelgas vanglas. Romaan “Kalevipoja” kõmuloost teoksil. Tema kambrikaaslased. 

Hallid vangipäevad”, Rahvaleht, 1925, 20 . - 

“Kohtalon siivet” , 

, - 

. - 

«». A.-M.T-n, “Kertomakirjallisuutta”, 

Helsingin Sanomat, 1921, 47, 17 . 

83 Romaan, 1923, 7, . 217. 

84 

. .: Peter Mets, “Kirjanik-internatsionalist Aleksander Sipelgas”, Vagabund, 

1990, 3. 

218

. 

«Warrak» «-» 

« », . 85 «Warrak» 

«Punapää-Roosa» («- 

», 1923), 

«Punase päikese lapsed» (« », 1924). 

1924 . — 

, - 

. - 

«Vabale Eestile. Eesti iseseisvuse aastapäevaks» ( : 

) - 

. 86 , 

. , - 

. 

, « 

». 87 . 

 

Õhtu tuled (« »). 1924 . 

— . 

, : 

, , , … - 

, , - 

, — Eino Leino, Eero Alpi, Viljo Kojo, 

A. Paischeff, A. Järviluoma Maiju Pajari. - 

«Õhtu tuled». , 

; , 

. - 

85 Eino Leino. Kirjeet taiteilijatovereille, arvostelijoille ja tutkijoille. Kirjeet III. Toim. Aarre 

M. Peltonen (Keuruu-Helsinki, 1961), . 181. 

86 B Lihavõtte: Album 1924 (Tallinna, 1924) - 

“Uni” (); Vabadus album. 1918 — 24/II — 1924 (Tallinna 1924) — “Naisluurajad”, 

“Rahva lõpp. Tulevikukujutelm” ( ) « 

» (“Punase päikese lapsed”). 

, , -, . - 

, 

20- . - 

Vaba maa, 

. 

87 . . . 2 (1925, 24 ). 

1924 . - 

« », 

« » . 

219

, 88 

— . , . , . , 

. . - 

. 

. - 

, , 

. ; , - 

, - , 

. - 

, , , - 

. . 

, - 

. 1925 ., 16- , 

Õhtu tuled . , , - 

, , , 

. , 

. , 

, , 

«» - 

. 89 

, - 

- 

1926 . , , 

. 

— 1926-28 — - 

. 90 , «Andesta» («», 1926), 

. , - 

, «Mater Dolorosa», ( 

91 ) . 

88 . Sipelgas, “Surm”, Õhtu tuled, 2, 12 ; A. Olhovski, “Bal bnal” 11, 13 . 

( 8 ) ( A. Olhovski) “Teema 

hilhus” « ». 1925 - 

“Kotkad” («»), 

. 

89 . . . 2 (1925, 24 ). . : Rahvaleht, 1925, 203, 20 

. 

90 Andesta. Luuled proosas (Tartu, 1926), Kuldne mülgas (Loore Miranda). Roman nüüdsest ajast 

(Tallinn, 1926), Kirgede orjad (Tallinna, 1926-1927), Kaubamaja Jankel Zwiebelson ja Pojad. 

Satüür-romaan (Tallinn, 1927), Must ingel. Kriminaalromaan lähemast minevikust (Tallinn, 1927). 

Risti tl ( ), 1927 . Must 

ingel, . 

91 O.M., “Kirjandus. Aleksandr Sipelgas: Andesta”, Postimees, 1926, 4 . 

220

, - 

 

. - 

— , - 

. 92 

 

— «Kuldne mülgas: Loora Miranda» (« : 

», 1926) «Kirgede orjad» (« », 1926- 

27). 93 , 

. , «Must ingel» (« », 

1927), « ». , 

, , - 

. - 

« Homo Sapiens», 

, . - 

« » 

. 94 

«Kaubamaja Jankel Zwiebelson ja Pojad: Satüür-romaan» (« 

: », 1927), 

- 

. , - 

. 

, - 

. - 

. , - 

«Kuldne mülgas» (l 000 .). - 

. , 

« », - 

, - 

. - 

, 

. 95 «Andesta» , - 

. . - 

, , , - 

, -. 

- 

, , 

, 

92 Peter Mets, “Kirjanik-internatsionalist Aleksander Sipelgas”, Vagabund, 1990, 3. 

93 Rahvaleht, 1925, 203, 20 . 

94 “Sissejuhatuseks”, .: A. Sipelgas. Must ingel (Tallinn, 1927), . 3-4. 

95 A. Palm, “Sipelgas, A. Kuldne mülgas”, Külvaja, 1927, 15-16, . 151. 

221

. 1927 . «Hiina» («»), 

. 96 — 

— - 

, , , «- 

» (, 1922). 

. - 

- 

«Maailma valitseja» (« », , 1929) 

(Maurice Moraine). , - 

, «Rohelise suvila 

saladus» (« », Tallinn, 1928)? 

- 

, , -, - 

. — - - 

. — - -, 

, , 

(Austen Koster), « » 

. 

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. 97 1927 ., - 

, «Société 

humaine», 98 — «Vanemuine» «Noor 

Kammerteater» — «Nora Hovard». 99 - 

. 

1928 . 

 

Sipelgas (). . 

, - 

, - 

« ». 100 , , 

96 E. Maharam. Hiina. Novellid ja jutustused. (E. Maharam’i järele) kokkuseadnud A. Sipelgas 

(Tallinna, 1927). 

97 . . . (1926, 26 ). 

. 

98 Rahvaleht, 1927, 22 . 

99 . 

100 . . . 4 (1927, 27 ). 

222

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1929 . 102 

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101 “Sipelgas ‘paljastab’ Pariisis enamlasi”, Vaba maa, 1932, 108, 8 . 

102 He , , 1926 

, , 

( . . . 3, 1926, 26 ). «» «- 

» : 1923 . , - 

. 

103 Vaimsuse ideoloogia, 1937, 6, . 92. 1931 . , 

. .: , 1932, 31, . 1. 

104 “Kirjanik A. Sipelgas — Pariisis üliõpilane”, Rahvaleht, 1930, 4 . 

105 . , «... », , 1932, 2656, 9 . 

223

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109 , 1932, 36, . 7. 

110 . 1932 . .: 

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1930- . . II. . (Stanford Slavic Studies. Vol. 14. 

Stanford, 1997), . 426. 

111 . , 1932. , . 426-427. 

112 . -, « », - 

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.); . , « . . - 

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119 , 1932, 2656, 9 . 

120 .: Lev Mnoukhine (ed). L’émigration russe. Chronique de la vie scientifique, culturelle 

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, 4 1991 ., Rein Kraus - 

(1935). 

121 “Sipelgas ‘paljastab’ Pariisis enamlasi. Kuidas ‘Eesti-Soome-Vene kirjanik’ katsus lahendada 

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; “‘Kirjanik’ Sipelgase seiklused Pariisis. Paljastab Burtsevi abil enamlasi”, Vaba maa, 

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— . , - 

, «». 

- Vaimsuse 

ideoloogia ( ), 1933 . 

, , , , . - 

, 

— A. Murdlaine — 

. 122 1937 . Vaimsuse ideoloogia, - 

- « ». 

 

. (Peter Deunov) «Nisu ivad» (« », Rakvere, 1937). - 

, - 

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»). 

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Henry Blan 124 , ( — ) ? 

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, 1920 . - 

«Punainen Venäjä» (« ») : « - 

122 “Isa kodu” ( ), Vaimsuse ideoloogia, 1937, 3; “Kaastunne” («»), 

, 1937, 4; “Tähtede sümfoonia: Okkultne novell” ( . 

), , 1937, 5-6. - 

. “A. Sipelgas-Murdlaine”, — “A. 

Murdlaine-Sipelgas”, — “A. Murdlaine”. 

, , . 

123 . M, “In memoriam. Aleksander Sipelgas †”, Vaimsuse ideoloogia, 1937, 6, 

. 92. 

124 Jüri Hain (“Mida Rein Kruus ei teadnud”, Keel ja kirjandus, 2007, 5, . 396) 

, Henry Blan, “Punane madu” (Tallinn, [1926] “Maharadsha 

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IV. 

 

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Baehr 1987 

Cooper 1987 

Leighton 1987 

Baehr Stephen L. Freemasonry in Russian Literature: Eighteen 

Century. In: The Modern Encyclopedia of Russian and Soviet Literature. 

Ed. Harry Weber. Academic International Press. Vol. 8, 

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Cooper J.C. An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols. 

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5 : . ., 1939. 

6 Brooks Jeffrey. Thank you, Comrade Stalin: Soviet Popular Culture from Revolution to 

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257

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Samuil Marshak: Yesterday and Today 

For copyright reasons the article has not been 

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265–286

V. 

 

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, , – Newspaper articles, book reviews, interviews 

1973 

Från Tolstoj till Bengt Bratt, Fredsposten 1973:6. 

Tolstoj och musiken. Horisont 1973:6. 

1974 

En sovjetklassiker (Nikolaj Ostrovskij: Hur stålet härdades). Vasabladet 5.10.1974. 

Solsjenitsyn och den springande punkten. Vasabladet 12.12.1974. 

Den förlorade generationen (E. M. Remarque: På västfronten intet nytt). Fredsposten 

1974:8. 

1975 

På spaning efter fosterlandet (Vadim Andrejev: Detstvo, Istorija odnogo 

putesjestvija). Hufvudstadsbladet 2.7.1975. 

Den sovjetiske läsaren. Hufvudstadsbladet 13.7.1975. 

Åter en författarkonflikt i Sovjet (V. Vojnovitj). Hufvudstadsbladet 25.7.1975. 

Mot lyckans strand (Jurij Bondarev: Bereg). Hufvudstadsbladet 26.9.1975. 

Sovjetmänskan föds (Nikolaj Ostrovskij). Hufvudstadsbladet 31.10.1975. 

Krigets vansinnesskratt (Leonid Andrejev: Röda skrattet). Fredsposten 1975:1. 

Samvetets röst (August Strindberg: Samvetskval). Fredsposten 1975:3. 

1976 

Tolstojanism och marxism (A. Poltovtsev: Filosofskoje mirovozzrenije L.N. 

Tolstogo). Vasabladet 10.1.1976. 

Sovjetiskt författardilemma: Ju mer rättrogen – desto bättre författare? (RSFSR:s 

författarförbunds IV kongress). Hufvudstadsbladet 16.1.1976. 

293

Sovjetmannen – hemmapascha (Natalja Baranskaja: Vecka som vecka). 

Hufvudstadsbladet 20.2.1976. 

Deckaren i sovjettappning (Arkadij Adamov). Hufvudstadsbladet 17.3.1976. 

Gorkij den populäraste av sovjetdramatikerna (Teatr). Hufvudstadsbladet 19.3.1976. 

Vådan av att vara obegriplig (Arkadij & Boris Strugatskij: Sagan om trojkan). 

Vasabladet 30.3.1976. 

Sovjetlitteraturen spränger socialrealismens gränser (A. Gelman, A. Vampilov, 

E. Vetemaa, J. Trifonov). Hufvudstadsbladet 4.5.1976. 

Saatanan suomalainen neuvostomuunnelmana (H. Ylitalo: Okajannyj finn). Helsingin 

Sanomat 16.5.1976. 

Vilka pjäser spelas mest i Soviet? (Teatr). Hufvudstadsbladet 16.5.1976. 

De ryska arbetarna, en bortglömd majoritet (A. Rundberg: En rysk arbetares 

memoarer, R. Berner: Rysk arbetare). Hufvudstadsbladet 18.5.1976. 

Sovjetisk skrivning av Viborgs historia (J. Vasilev & N. Sakatilov: Vyborg). 


Toppmöte i Zürich (A. Solzjenitsyn: Lenin i Zürich). Hufvudstadsbladet 19.6.1976. 

Författarkongress i Moskva: Missnöje med all “grå” medelmåttig litteratur 

(Sovjetunionens författarförbunds VI kongress). Hufvudstadsbladet 11.7.1976. 

Sovjetisk syn på modern konst (Modernizm. Analiz i kritika osnovnych napravlenij). 


Alexandra Kollontay och sexualmoralen (A. Kollontay: Arbetarbiets kärlek). Hufvudstadsbladet 

8.8.1976. 

Rättegången fortsätter (A. Dolgun: En amerikan i Gulag). Hufvudstadsbladet 

21.8.1976. 

Varför skriver inte Kazakov? (Juri Kazakov: Syksyä tammimetsässä). Vasabladet 

21.8.1976. 

Är du intresserad av dagens sovjetlitteratur? Hufvudstadsbladet 9.9.1976. 

Mellan pacifism och patriotism (Vasili Bykov: Viimeinen tavoite, Boris Vasiljev: Ja 

ilta oli rauhaisa). Hufvudstadsbladet 28.10.1976. 

Kamp om kvadratmetrar (Jurij Trifonov: Våningsbytet). Hufvudstadsbladet 

6.11.1976. 

Rysk kritiker om svensk lyrik. Rysk kulturrevy 1976:3. 

1977 

Tjugo år av sovjetlitteratur (H. Daalgard & K. Björnager: Portret av et tiår). 


Huvila Kannaksella (Vera Andrejeva: Talo Vammelsuussa). Helsingin Sanomat 

7.4.1977. 

Ryskt panorama (Osip Mandelstam: Rosen fryser i snön, Leonid Leonov: Tjuven, Ilf 

& Petrov: Tolv stolar; En stäppens varulv o.a. noveller). Hufvudstadsbladet 

15.4.1977. 

Sovjetsamhället skärskådat (H. Smith: Ryssarna). Vasabladet 22.5.1977. 

294

Snett perspektiv eller ett perspektiv (svar på kommentarer till föregående artikel). 


Sovjetbrottslingen som blev troende (Vladimir Maximov: Farväl från ingenstans, Sju 

dagar av skapande). Hufvudstadsbladet 3.6.1977. 

Konstantin Fedin – arbetets hjälte (nekrolog). Hufvudstadsbladet 24.7.1977. 

Osynliga tjänstemän och förtrollade partiböcker (Ilf & Petrov: Kyssen överför 

infektion). Hufvudstadsbladet 26.7.1977. 

Kollektivet och individen (Sovjetunionens tjugotal). Hufvudstadsbladet 12.8.1977. 

Röster ur kören (Vasilij Grossman: Allt flyter, A. Tertz: En röst ur kören. Hufvudstadsbladet 

9.9.1977. 

Med en hunds ögon (Georgij Vladimov: Den trogne Ruslan). Hufvudstadsbladet 

18.10.1977. 

Bråddjupet, en modern eller genant föråldrad roman? (Ivan Gontjarov: Bråddjupet). 


Teater i Moskva (A. Vampilov, V. Astavjev, B. Vasiljev, L. Andrejev, M. Bulgakov). 


Rasul Gamzatov – kärlekens och fredens diktare. Kontakt 1977:3. 

Dostojevskij och idealmänniskan (Sven Linnér: Starets Zosima in The Brothers 

Karamazov). Argus 1977:12-13, 202-204. 

Suojasään mentyä (Dalgaard & Björnager). Parnasso 1977:4, 236-241. 

1978 

Satir och sagor i rysk tappning (Michail Bulgakov: En hunds hjärta o. De ödesdigra 

äggen, Carola Hansson (red.): Ryska sagor). Hufvudstadsbladet 12.1.1978. 

Samtal med Arbuzov (Intervju med Aleksej Arbuzov). Hufvudstadsbladet 1.3.1978. 

Djupare, roligare pjäser sovjetisk önskemål (Intervju med A. Salynskij). 


Sista förkämpe (Pekka Lounela: Ken talonsa jättää. [Arvid Järnefelt]). Vasabladet 

18.4.1978. 

Streber i sovjetmiljö (Grigorij Baklanov: Vännerna). Hufvudstadsbladet 23.4.1978. 

Teaterrond i Moskva (E. Vetemaa, T. Ajtmatov, A. Gelman, V. Majakovskij,, 

M. Bulgakov, I. Turgenev, G. Gorin, P. Neruda, Molière, M. Rosjtjin). 


Jurij Trifonov – skildrare av Moskvaintelligentian (Intervju med Jurij Trifonov). 


Getoxar – finns dom? (Fazil Iskander: Getoxens stjärnbild, intervju). 


Hej hopp under den ryska filten (G. Feifer: En amerikan i Moskva). 


Sovjetborgaren i skottlinjen (Michail Zosjtjenko: Sentimentala berättelser). Hufvudstadsbladet 

14.9.1978. 

295

Deckaren i Sovjet – moralisk, pedagogisk (Intervju med Arkadij Adamov). Hufvudstadsbladet 

29.9.1978. 

Sentimentalt om en setter (G. Troepolskij: Vita Bim med svart öra). Hufvudstadsbladet 

8.10.1978. 

Tieteisromaani on keino kuvata todellisuutta (Intervju med Arkadij o. Boris Strugatskij). 

Helsingin Sanomat 4.11.1978. 

Pejlingar i den ryska själen (Vladimir Maximov: Karantän, Vsevolod Jerofejev: På 

lyran). Hufvudstadsbladet 15.11.1978. 

Att skapa en egen värld (Intervju med Vasilij Aksionov). Vasabladet 23.12.1978. 

Deckaren i sovjettappning. Rysk kulturrevy 1978:4. 

Mänskligheten kan inte längre leva splittrad (Intervju med Grigorij Baklanov). Nya 

Argus 1978:9-10, 122-125. 

1979 

Populär sovjettrubadur med egna funderingar (Intervju med Bulat Okudzjava). 


Tagankateatern – mytomsusad, åtrådd. Hufvudstadsbladet 11.2.1979. 

Författarbesök i skymundan (Intervju med Viktor Nekrasov). Hufvudstadsbladet 

19.2.1979. 

Stark sovjettrio (Jurij Trifonov: Huset vid kajen, Vasilij Sjuksjin: På landet ska jag 

bo, men var? Tjingiz Ajtmatov: Dzjamilja, Farväl Gulsary). Hufvudstadsbladet 

11.4.1979. 

Dunklet lättar (B.K. Carlson: Vardag i Sovjet, J.O. Johansen: Elämää Moskovassa). 


Med musan och skräcken i kö (Anna Achmatova: Ett poem utan hjälte). 


Jazz och pop i Sovjet. Hufvudstadsbladet 14.6.1979. 

Brokigt fält av ryska författare (Disa Håstad: Samtal med sovjetiska författare, Jurij 

Maltsev: Den underjordiska ryska litteraturen). Hufvudstadsbladet 1.8.1979. 

Monolog med sting (K. Brandys: I Polen, d.v.s. ingenstans). Hufvudstadsbladet 

29.8.1979. 

Inte den Rasputin (Valentin Rasputin: Lev och minns, Viimeinen raja). Hufvudstadsbladet 

3.10.1979. 

Den ena handen tvättar den andra (Vladimir Vojnovitj: Ivankiaden). 


Sovjetisk jazz igår och idag. Rysk kulturrevy 1979:3. 

Molnmänniskan som röt (Olga Ivinskaja: I tidens våld). Nya Argus 1979:12. 

Kirjallista Moskovaa 1978. Vaikutelmia ja haastatteluja. Parnasso 1979:2, 104-110. 

Neuvostojazzin vuosikymmenet (Intervjuer med A. Batasjov, G. Lukjanov, A. Kozlov). 

Rytmi 1979:2. 

Oleša, Juri, Otavan suuri ensyklopedia 8 (1979). 

Pasternak, Boris, Otavan suuri ensyklopedia 9 (1979). 

296

Pilnjak, Boris, Otavan suuri ensyklopedia 9 (1979). 

Platonov, Andrei, Otavan suuri ensyklopedia 9 (1979). 

Puškin, Aleksandr, Otavan suuri ensyklopedia 10 (1979). 

Rasputin, Valentin, Otavan suuri ensyklopedia 10 (1979). 

1980 

Kriget tillflyktsort för sovjetförfattare (Vasili Astafjev; Paimenlaulu, Vasili Belov: 

Tuttu tarina). Hufvudstadsbladet 11.1.1980. 

Publicerat råmaterial (Erkki Pennanen: Neuvostorunoutta ja –runoilijoita). Hufvudstadsbladet 

23.1.1980. 

Ryska lansdsbygden – min värld (Intervju med Fjodor Abramov). Hufvudstadsbladet 

3.2.1980. 

Sacharovs 70-tal. Hufvudstadsbladet 8.2.1980. 

Förnämligt om ryska revolutionen (H.E. Salisbury: De ryska revolutionerna 1900- 

1930). Hufvudstadsbladet 19.3.1980. 

Sovjetförfattare gör sorti (Metropol). Hufvudstadsbladet 9.4.1980. 

Tsarmord och små rum med blommiga tapeter (Jurij Trifonov: Otålighet, Det långa 

avskedet. Tjingiz Ajtmatov: Moder Jord). Hufvudstadsbladet 10.6.1980. 

Södergran för 5 kopek. Hufvudstadsbladet 19.6.1980. 

Det gjorde du bra, sa Lenin (Ilja Ehrenburg: Julio Jurenito). Hufvudstadsbladet 

5.7.1980. 

Aksionov i väst. Hufvudstadsbladet 11.9.1980. 

Zinovjevs varning till Väst: Ge inte vika i den ideologiska kampen (Aleksandr 

Zinovjev: Den ljusa framtiden). Hufvudstadsbladet 2.10.1980. 

Uspenskijfeber (Intervju med Eduard Uspenskij). Hufvudstadsbladet 30.10.1980. 

Hiekan taidemuseo: Anna Andrejevan muotokuva. Suomen kuvalehti 1980:36. 

Fjodor Abramov (Intervju). Rysk kulturrevy 1980:1. 

Från samizdat till tamizdat. En linje i modern rysk litteratur. Finsk tidskrift 1980:6-7, 

324-333. 

Från Gud till försöksobjekt: Tjugo år av sovjetisk science fiction, Svantevit 

(Denmark) 1980:VI 2, 77-90. 

Jumalilla on ongelma. Katsaus neuvostoliittolaiseen tieteiskirjallisuuteen. Parnasso 

1980:6, 390-393. 

Šolohov, Mihail, Otavan suuri ensyklopedia 11 (1980). 

Solženitsyn, Aleksandr, Otavan suuri ensyklopedia 11 (1980). 

Tolstoi, Leo, Otavan suuri ensyklopedia 12 (1980). 

Trifonov, Juri, Otavan suuri ensyklopedia 12 (1980). 

Tšehov, Anton, Otavan suuri ensyklopedia 12 (1980). 

Turgenev, Ivan, Otavan suuri ensyklopedia 12 (1980). 

297

1981 

Sidor av Glazunov och sovjetisk konst (Venäjä Ilja Glazunovin taiteessa). 


Då godheten var ett brott (Sergej Zalygin: Byn vid floden Irtysj). Hufvudstadsbladet 

12.2.1981. 

Det tillåtna Sibirien (E. Pifferi: Det förbjudna Sibirien). Hufvudstadsbladet 

14.3.1981. 

Trifonov borta (nekrolog). Hufvudstadsbladet 5.4.1981. 

Patos, halvsanningar (Anatolij Rybakov: Den tunga sanden). Hufvudstadsbladet 7.4.1981. 

Den estniska erfarenheten. Hufvudstadsbladet 9.6.1981. 

Den svåra realismen (Intervju med A. Valton). Hufvudstadsbladet 14.6.1981. 

Simma i ett strandlöst hav (Intervju med M. Traat). Hufvudstadsbladet 14.6.1981. 

Sjuttiotalets baksmälla (Intervju med M. Unt). Hufvudstadsbladet 18.6.1981. 

Författaren som historiker (Intervju med U. Tuulik). Hufvudstadsbladet 18.6.1981. 

Männen på balkongen (M. Kundera: Skrattet och glömskans bok. A. Kolman: Den 

vilseförda generationen). Hufvudstadsbladet 21.7.1981. 

Författarkongress i Moskva: Självberöm och varningar (Sovjetiska 

författarförbundets VII kongress 1981). Hufvudstadsbladet 28.7.1981 

Bulgakov ger igen (Michail Bulgakov: Svart snö). Hufvudstadsbladet 11.8.1981. 

En av de fängslade (Anatolij Martjenko). Hufvudstadsbladet 1.10.1981. 

“Oron växer under ytan i Sovjet”: Exklusiv intervju med Vladimir Bukovskij. Nya 

Wärmlandstidningen (Karlstad, Sverige) 5.11.1981. 

Gallsprängd satir (Vladimir Vojnovitj: Soldaten Ivan Tjonkins liv och underbara 

äventyr, Tronpretendenten, I goda vänners lag). Hufvudstadsbladet 3.12.1981. 

Skälmen som polisagent (Bulat Okudžava: Sjipovs äventyr). Hufvudstadsbladet 

29.12.1981. 

Zoštšenko, Mihail. Otavan suuri ensyklopedia 13 (1981). 

1982 

Ryska visor och zigenarromanser (Jelena Jangfeldt). Hufvudstadsbladet 2.2.1981. 

1983 

Gorkij i revolutionens virvlar (Maxim Gorkij: Otidsenliga tankar om oktoberrevolutionen). 


1984 

En ärkedissident (A. Tertz: God natt och sov gott). Hufvudstadsbladet 17.6.1984. 

Med kollektiv och arbete som gud (Kurt Johansson: Aleksej Gastev). 


298

Leonid Andrejev, esipuhe kirjassa Leonid Andrejev. Valitut kertomukset. Juva 1984, 

VII-XXI. 

1985 

Från dubbelörnen till röda fanan (Alexander Solsjenitsyn: Det röda hjulet. Augusti 

fjorton I-II, Oktober sexton I). Hufvudstadsbladet 9.7.1985. 

Stalinpristagare i exil (Intervju med Viktor Nekrasov). Hufvudstadsbladet 26.9.1985. 

Punainen pyörä pyörii… (A. Solzhenitsyn). Uudet kirjat 1985:13. 

1986 

Karpen i den polska dammen (K. Brandys: Månaderna). Hufvudstadsbladet 4.2.1986. 

Gelman når över gränserna (Intervju med Aleksandr Gelman). Hufvudstadsbladet 

27.2.1986. 

På revolutionens tröskel (Alexander Solsjenitsyn: Det röda hjulet. Oktober 16. II). 


Drömmen om ett töväder. Hufvudstadsbladet 8.6.1986. 

En litterär sensation. Dudintsev kommer igen (Intervju med Vladimir Dudintsev). 


Utflykt till Strugatskia (Intervju med Arkadij och Boris Strugatskij). 


Nonkonformism, estetisk revolt (Intervju med Vsevolod Nekrasov och Gennadij 

Ajgi). Hufvudstadsbladet 29.6.1986. 

Ny Ajtmatov-roman om känsliga teman (Intervju med Tjingiz Ajtmatov). 


Nya vindar i Moskva. Jevtusjenko tillbaka på många fronter (Intervju med Jevgenij 

Jevtusjenko). Hufvudstadsbladet 25.11.1986. 

Fascinerande rysk roman. En kokainists dagbok (M. Agejev: Roman med kokain). 


Tsaarinajan Suomi elää harvinaisissa värikuvissa (Leonid Andrejev: Menneen maailman 

värikuvat). Helsingin Sanomat. Kuukausiliite. Syyskuu 1986. 

Venäläinen emigranttikirjallisuus. Otavan suuri ensyklopedia. Täydennysosa 1 (1986). 

Österbottningen Hans Fors, i Tio finlandssvenska författare (red. Ben Hellman och 

Clas Zilliacus). SLSF 535. Helsingfors, 1986. 

1987 

På flykt genom tiden (Andrej Bitov: Den flyende Monachov). Hufvudstadsbladet 

22.1.1987. 

Skratta, pajazzo! (Michail Zosjtjenko: Före soluppgången). Hufvudstadsbladet 

24.3.1987. 

En modern klassicist (Joseph Brodsky nobelpristagare) Hufvudstadsbladet 23.10.1987. 

299

Årets sovjetroman. Tjugo års väntan på publicering (Intervju med Anatolij Rybakov). 


Joseph Brodsky försvarar poesin (Joseph Brodsky: Att behaga en skugga). Hufvud— 

stadsbladet 10.12.1987. 

Förförelsens mekanismer (Vladimir Nabokov: Förföraren). Hufvudstadsbladet 

12.12.1987. 

Det våras för sovjetlitteraturen. Nya Argus 1987:1-2, 19-22. 

Leonid Andreev i revoljutsija (L. Andreev: Pered zadatjami vremeni). Russkaja 

mysl’. Literaturnoe prilozjenie 3-4 5.7.1987 No 3676. 

1988 

Bland teologer och vargar (Tjingiz Ajtmatov: Stupstocken). Hufvudstadsbladet 21.1.1988. 

Författarna som sanningssägare (Anatolij Rybakov: Arbats barn, Vladimir Dudintsev: 

Vita kläder). Hufvudstadsbladet 24.2.1988. 

Brodsky i Finland. Jag är stolt över mitt land (Intervju med Joseph Brodsky). 


En kakadu vid polcirkeln (Joseph Brodsky: En plats så god som någon). 


1989 

Var dag avgör perestrojkan (Intervju med Anatolij Pristavkin). Hufvudstadsbladet 

26.4.1989. 

Så rehabiliteras en nobelpristagare (Alexander Solsjenitsyn). Hufvudstadsbladet 

20.8.1989. 

Huvudperson: Revolutionen! (Alexander Solsjenitsyn: Det röda hjulet. Mars 17. I). 


Metarealister och konceptualister (Intervju med Bella Achmadulina, Aleksej 

Parsjtjikov, Olga Sedakova och Mohammed Sali). Hufvudstadsbladet 

14.11.1989. 

1990 

Kronstadt myteriåret 1921 (Michail Kurajev: Kapten Dickstein. Hufvudstadsbladet 

19.1.1990. 

1991 

Ett halvt dussin glasnostböcker (Vasil Bykov: Grustaget, Alexander Kabakov: Utan återvändo, 

Sergej Kaledin: Korridoren, Tatjana Tolstaja: Från en gyllene förstutrapp, Anatolij 

Zjigulin: Svarta stenar, Anatolij Zlobin: Nedmonteringen). Hufvudstadsbladet 

31.1.1991. 

300

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