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something of a virtue, and Pilniak--an honest membrana vibrating with
unbiassed indifference to every sound from the outer world.

* * * * * * *

The reader may miss the more elaborate and sensational stories of
Soviet life. But I have a word of consolation for him--they are
eminently unreadable, and for myself I would never have read them had
it not been for the hard duties of a literary critic. In this case as
in others I prefer to go direct to the fountain-source and read
Bely's _Petersburg_ and the books of Remizov, which for all the


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