Leo Wiener's 1902 anthology opens with a preface that positions Russian as a language soon to match German and French in American curricula, citing its speakers and geopolitical span. The editor's voice is direct and persuasive, aiming to fill a gap for English readers who know only nineteenth-century novels in mediocre translations. The excerpts reveal a striking shift: from the preface's scholarly advocacy to a satirical dialogue where characters mock learning. One speaker compares studying to 'making pease to stick to the wall,' while another praises wine over books, declaring he will abandon his cup only when 'swift rivers will run to their sources.' This contrast between Wiener's earnest framing and the text's ironic self-criticism sets an unusual tone for an anthology.

A Preface That Argues for Necessity

Wiener's preface is not a dry introduction but a polemic. He asserts that 'the time is not far off when the Russian language will occupy the same place in the curriculum of American universities that it now does in those of Germany, France and Sweden.' The argument rests on numbers—'more than one hundred million people'—and on political and literary contact between Anglo-Saxon and Slavic races. He criticizes existing translations as 'rarely rising above mediocrity' and promises a 'concise, yet sufficient, account of Russian Literature in its totality.' The preface thus frames the anthology as both a scholarly tool and a cultural bridge, with Wiener's own authority as Harvard professor lending weight. The language is confident, even urgent, suggesting a mission to educate an audience he considers underinformed.

Satirical Voices Against Learning

In the excerpt, a character named Sylvan praises only the science that 'teaches how to increase his income and to save expenses.' He dismisses astronomy, medicine, and geometry as useless: 'We can manage to divide the land in quarters without Euclid, and we know without algebra how many kopeks there are in a rouble.' Another speaker, Red-faced Lucas, delivers a mock encomium to wine, calling it 'a divine gift' that 'befriends people, gives cause for conversation, makes glad.' He vows to abandon drink only when absurd conditions are met, such as 'when at Lent the monk will eat nothing but dried sturgeon.' A third, Medor, worries about paper waste and prefers face-powder to Seneca. These voices are not merely comic; they represent a sustained critique of intellectual pursuits, delivered in rhythmic, almost theatrical speeches. The editor's selection highlights a tradition of self-deprecating humor in Russian literature, where the value of knowledge is debated through exaggerated characters.

Pace and Structure: From Polemic to Play

The anthology's opening moves from Wiener's measured, expository prose to a dramatic, multi-voiced satire. The preface builds a case with logical steps—demographic, political, literary—while the excerpt shifts to a carnivalesque debate. The change in pace is abrupt: the reader moves from a professor's argument to a scene where 'Sylvan praises but one science to the skies' and 'Red-faced Lucas, belching thrice, speaks in a chanting voice.' The language becomes colloquial and rhythmic, with parallel constructions and hyperbolic promises. This structural choice suggests that Wiener intended to showcase not just content but stylistic range. The satire itself contains shifts: from Sylvan's pragmatic dismissal to Lucas's bacchic praise to Medor's vanity. Each speaker has a distinct rhythm, creating a polyphonic effect that anticipates later Russian literary techniques. The excerpt ends with a narrator's aside—'for this, O Mind, I advise you to be dumber than a dumpling'—which blends folk idiom with philosophical counsel.

Readers approaching this anthology should note that the preface and the first excerpt set up a tension between earnest scholarly intent and ironic self-critique. Wiener's selections often foreground debate and dialogue, so pay attention to how voices clash or complement each other. The satirical passage, with its vivid characters and rhythmic speech, is a good example of how early Russian literature used humor to question authority—including the authority of learning itself. This volume covers eight centuries, so expect variety in form and tone, from chronicles to comedies.