The humour of Russia — A Reader’s Guide

Laughter and Melancholy

Stepniak’s claim that “melancholy does not exclude humour” is borne out in the selection. In “The Recollections of Onésime Chenapan,” the narrator, an agent provocateur, recounts his meeting with a Russian official who calls himself a “Pompadour.” The humour arises from their frank discussion of bribery and betrayal, yet the tone is grim: the narrator describes being “a mass of flesh streaming with blood” after the December coup. The comedy is inseparable from violence and cynicism. Similarly, Gogol’s “A Madman’s Diary” (included in the contents) likely uses mental breakdown to satirize social hierarchy, though the excerpt does not reveal its full arc. The collection consistently pairs laughter with discomfort, suggesting that Russian humour often serves as a coping mechanism for systemic absurdity.

Bureaucratic Absurdity

Several pieces target the machinery of state. Gorbounòv’s “Before the Justice of the Peace” and “At the Police Inspector’s” (both present in the contents) likely lampoon legal and police procedures. In the excerpt from “The Recollections of Onésime Chenapan,” the Pompadour official casually discusses opening others’ letters and the logistics of denunciation. The humour lies in the deadpan normalization of corruption: the agent provocateur complains about being paid “by the job” rather than by the line, while the official responds with pragmatic interest. Shchedrìn’s “The Eagle as Mecænas” (listed in contents) probably extends this satire to patronage and power. The collection’s recurring focus on officials, passports, and legal quirks suggests a sustained critique of Russian bureaucracy, where the absurd becomes routine.

Domestic and Village Scenes

Not all humour is political. Ostrovsky’s “A Domestic Picture” and “Incompatibility of Temper” (both included) likely explore marital and household tensions. Nikolai Uspensky’s “Porridge” and “The Village Schoolmaster” shift to rural settings, where humour may derive from poverty or provincial manners. The excerpt from “The Recollections of Onésime Chenapan” is set in a Parisian café, but the Russian official’s presence brings the homeland’s absurdities abroad. The variety of settings—from police stations to village schools—shows that Russian humour of this period could be both intimate and institutional. The collection balances farce with social observation, often leaving the reader uncertain whether to laugh or wince.

Readers should approach this anthology as a sampler of late-19th-century Russian satire, not a comprehensive survey. The humour is often situational and culturally specific, relying on knowledge of tsarist institutions. Stepniak’s introduction provides a useful framework, but the stories themselves reward attention to tone and detail. The illustrations by Paul Frenzeny, though not excerpted here, likely complement the text’s ironic edge. For those new to Russian literature, this collection offers an accessible entry point into its darker comic traditions.

In that 1895 collection, the humour of Russia often wears a wry, weary smile, hiding a sorrow beneath. I recall a similar, quieter amusement in the ink of Rowlandson the Caricaturist; a Selection from His Works. Vol. 2 — Inside the Classic. His bustling London crowds share that same absurd, desperate vitality. All our foibles, caricatured for eternity, yet somehow, they felt like old, familiar friends.