SOME BOOKS OF THE W1EK.
[Notice in this column does not necessarily preclude subsequent ravine.] Leonid Andreyev, the well-known Russian novelist and dramatist, was stirred by the invasion of Belgium to write a play, which was acted in Russia last autumn with consider- able success. It has now been translated into English under the name of The Sorrows of Belgium (Macmillan and Co., 5s. 6d. net), and readers over here will be able to decide that the work has something more than the merits of a mere piece d'occasion. Unlike many of Andreyev's recent plays, it is not symbolic, but realistic, though this must not be taken to mean that the horrors of war are dragged before our eyes.
We witness the agonies of the invasion, not at first hand, but in the minds of those who have experienced them, and especially in that of the central figure, the distinguished man of letters who goes out like the poorest peasant to defend his country. We may quote some of his words "When my humble people are condemned to kill, who am I that I should keep my hands clean ? That Would be disgusting cleanliness, obnoxious saintliness. My humble nation did not desire to kill, but it was forced, and it has become a murderer. So I, too, must become a murderer together with my nation. Upon whose shoulders will I place the sin—upon the shoulders of our youths and children P No, Pierre. And if ever the Higher Conscience of the world will call my dear people to the terrible accounting, if it will call you and Maurice, my children, and will say to you : What have you done? You have murdered!' I will come forward and will say : 'First you must judge me ; I have also murdered—and you know that I am an honest man '" As may be gathered from this specimen, the translation (by Mr. Herman Bernstein) is very poor, but the interest of the play succeeds in emerging in spite of it.
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