Maxim Gorky

“ I'm your father everywhere."
They stood facing each other, Vassili, his eyes bloodshot, his neck outstretched, his fists clenched, panted his brandy-smelling breath in his son's face. Iakov stepped back. He was watching his father's movements, ready to ward off blows, peaceful outwardly, but steaming with perspiration. Between them was the table.
"Perhaps I won't give you a good beating?" cried Vassili hoarsely, and bending his back like a cat about to make a spring.
"Here we are equal," said Iakov, watching him warily. "You are a fisherman, I too. Why do you attack me like this? ”

“ The wind howled and raged, the rain smote upon the skiff, the waves splashed, and both of us, embracing each other convulsively, nevertheless shivered with cold. All this was only too real, and I am certain that nobody ever dreamed such an oppressive and horrid dream as that reality.
But Natasha was talking all the time of something or other, talking kindly and sympathetically, as only women can talk. Beneath the influence of her voice and kindly words a little fire began to burn up within me, and something inside my heart thawed in consequence. ”

“ The men, in rags, covered with perspiration, are stupefied by fatigue, noise and heat; the machines, shining, strong and impassive, made by the hands of these men, are not, however, moved by steam, but by the muscles and blood of their creators--cold and cruel irony!
The noise weighs down, the dust irritates nostrils and eyes; the heat burns the body, the fatigue, everything seems strained to its utmost tension, and ready to break forth in a resounding explosion that will clear the air and bring peace and quiet to the earth again--when the town, sea and sky will be calm and beneficent. ”

“ Oh, if we could educate our unusual powers and abilities, if we had the will to apply them actively in our chaotic, untidy existence, which is terribly blocked up with all kinds of idle clack and home-spun philosophy, and which gets more and more saturated with silly arrogance and puerile bragging. Somewhere deep in the Russian soul—no matter whether it is the "master's" or the muzhik's—there lives a petty and squalid demon of passive anarchism, who infects us with a careless and indifferent attitude toward work, society, people, and ourselves. ”

“ During work some one would suddenly heave a sigh, like that of a tired horse, and would softly start one of those drawling songs, whose touchingly caressing tune always gives ease to the troubled soul of the singer. One of us sang, and at first we listened in silence to his lonely song, which was drowned and deafened underneath the heavy ceiling of the cellar, like the small fire of a wood-pile in the steppe on a damp autumn night, when the gray sky is hanging over the earth like a leaden roof. ”

“ You seek "pacification," believing that it can be attained by imprisonment, hard labour, gallows; you have stored up a lot of anger in the country which will blow you to pieces.
And when the future revolution will have turned into a "Russian mutiny, merciless and pitiless," as Pushkin styled it; history will blame you for all these horrors, you who have lost your head from fear of being compelled to become Europeans. History will blame your half-witted, hypocritical Czar, suffering; from latent insanity, your Government which has lost every idea of right, honour, conscience and reason. ”

“ When Anton Pavlovitch had seen him out, he said sternly:
"They are like pimples on the seat of justice—disposing of the fate of people."
And after a short silence:
"Crown prosecutors must be very fond of fishing . . . especially for little fish."
HE had the art of revealing everywhere and driving away banality, an art which is only possible to a man who demands much from life and which comes from a keen desire to see men simple, beautiful, harmonious. Banality always found in him a discerning and merciless judge. ”

“ We lack strength and ardour for the fight! Is it possible so to fight, to cope with the rocks? Then the wave heralds hasten away; they look round for their mother storm, and father hurricane; they summon all. They find them not on the sea, but in mountain-gorges.
“We welcome you, our darlings, as champions! We welcome you to-day. Leave your tight ravines, and run to the shoreless sea. Break your infamous bonds, which have shackled your souls. Breathe into the inactive waves, a desire for life, and a longing for liberty. Menacing bodies assemble; let us all advance against the enemy! ”

“ He walked the roads and paths with a businesslike, quick step of the skilled explorer of the earth, and with sharp eyes, from which neither a single pebble nor a single thought could hide itself, he looked, measured, tested, compared. And he scattered about him the living seeds of indomitable thoughts. He said to Suler once: "You, Liovushka, read nothing which is not good out of self-conceit, while Gorky reads a lot which is not good, because he distrusts himself. I write much which is not good, because of an old man's ambition, a desire that all should think as I do. ”

“ Phew!
"Listen, Teresa! What is the meaning of all this? Why must you get others to write for you when I have already written it, and you haven't sent it?"
"Sent it where?"
"Why, to this—Boles."
"There's no such person."
I absolutely did not understand it. There was nothing for me but to spit and go. Then she explained.
"What is it?" she said, still offended. "There's no such person, I tell you," and she extended her arms as if she herself did not understand why there should be no such person. "But I wanted him to be. . . . Am I then not a human creature like the rest of them? ”

“ Long live, then, the proletariat as it goes forth to renew the whole world. Long live the working men of all lands who by the strength of their hands have built up the wealth of nations and are now labouring to create it new life! Long live Socialism, the religion of the future.
Greetings to the fighters, greetings to the workers of all lands, and may they ever have faith in the victory of truth, the victory of justice! Long live humanity fraternally united in the great ideals of equality and freedom! ”

“ At intervals along the beach, scattered with shells and sea weed, were stakes of wood driven into the sand and on which hung fishing nets, drying and casting shadows as fine as cobwebs. A few large boats and a small one were drawn up beyond high-water mark, and the waves as they ran up towards them seemed as if they were calling to them. Gaffs, oars, coiled ropes, baskets and barrels lay about in disorder and amidst it all was a cabin built of yellow branches, bark and matting. ”

“ I THINK that in Anton Chekhov's presence every one involuntarily felt in himself a desire to be simpler, more truthful, more one's self; I often saw how people cast off the motley finery of bookish phrases, smart words, and all the other cheap tricks with which a Russian, wishing to figure as a European, adorns himself, like a savage with shells and fish's teeth. ”

“ When you have forgiven me I'll take it," timidly said Gavrilo, falling on the wet sand at Tchelkache's feet.
"You lie, fool, you'll take it at once!" said Tchelkache, confidently, and raising his head, by a painful effort, he thrust the money before his face. "Take it, take it! You haven't worked for nothing! Don't be ashamed of having failed to assassinate a man! No one will claim anyone like me. You'll be thanked, on the contrary, when it's learned what you've done. There, take it! No one'll know what you've done and yet it deserves some reward! ”

“ And when the dawn came, we crept from behind the skiff and went into the town. . . . Then we took friendly leave of each other and never met again, although for half a year I searched in every hole and corner for that kind Natasha, with whom I spent the autumn night just described.
If she be already dead—and well for her if it were so—may she rest in peace! And if she be alive . . . still I say "Peace to her soul!" And may the consciousness of her fall never enter her soul . . . for that would be a superfluous and fruitless suffering if life is to be lived. ”

“ Even the dreadful tyrant himself who built this dam is frightened. His stony heart quivers at sight of such bloody frays! Oh, how he wishes now to remove these rocks from the sea, and give the waves liberty!
But it is too late, tyrant! To-day, already the the waves sob not! already they ask us pity! For many waves have perished here, too sweet is the vengeance for their brothers! They don’t want reconciliation! Like powerful lionesses the old waves hasten forward, in due time, for help. Their gray manes the winds blow asunder. The continent shakes beneath, the sun dies above. ”

“ THE thought which beyond others most often and conspicuously gnaws at him is the thought of God. At moments it seems, indeed, not to be a thought, but a violent resistance to something which he feels above him. He speaks of it less than he would like, but thinks of it always. It can scarcely be said to be a sign of old age, a presentiment of death—no, I think that it comes from his exquisite human pride, and—a bit—from a sense of humiliation: for, being Leo Tolstoi, it is humiliating to have to submit one's will to a streptococcus. ”

“ When they see the mighty march of the masses of the people toward freedom and light, dreading a disturbance of their peace, trembling for their position as lords of life, they hide the truth even from one another and console themselves with the spectral hope of defeating justice. They slanderously describe the proletariat as a dark mass of hungry beasts whose one desire is to gorge large quantities of food and who are ready for the sake of a good hunk of bread to destroy everything with which they cannot fill their maw. ”

“ When she accompanied him to the end of the village she had said quickly, blinking her eyes:
"In Christ's name, Iakov say to him: 'Father, mother is alone yonder. Five years have gone by and she is always alone. She is getting old.' Tell him that, Iakov, my little Iakov, for the love of God. Mother will soon be an old woman. She's always alone, always at work. In Christ's name, tell him that."
And she had wept silently, hiding her face in her apron.
Iakov had not pitied her then, but he did now. And his face took on a hard expression before Malva, as if he were about to abuse her. ”

“ They move gradually forward, they attack lustily, the rocks quiver under their stroke.
The waves are dying, they jump away, yet with untold fury they strike again.
All is tranformed into chaos.
Groan and thunder resound along the sea. One might say: the sea has heard from its bottom, and joined the sky.
The rocks fall down! under the last stroke they waver, and with a great crash they fall down a precipice, where dead waves are lying.
“Begone! shameful corpses,” roars the seas, to the overthrown rocks, “this is the tomb of warriors for liberty, here young waves are reposing!” ”

“ A light breeze set a thousand little waves to dancing. The clouds became thinner and more transparent although still covering the sky. The wind swept lightly and freely over the entire surface of the sea, but the clouds remained motionless, and seemed to be plunged in a dull, gray reverie.
"Come, brother, wake up, it's time! Your soul seems to have been shaken out of your skin; there's nothing left but a bag of bones. My dear fellow! We have hold of the good end, eh?"
Gavrilo was glad to hear a human voice, even though it was that of Tchelkache. ”

“ HE treats Sulerzhizky with the tenderness of a woman. For Tchekhov his love is paternal—in this love is the feeling of the pride of a creator—Suler rouses in him just tenderness, a perpetual interest and rapture which never seems to weary the sorcerer. Perhaps there is something a little ridiculous in this feeling, like the love of an old maid for a parrot, a pug dog, or a tom-cat. Suler is a fascinatingly wild bird from some strange unknown land. A hundred men like him could change the face, as well as the soul, of a provincial town. ”

“ Yes, I would beat you."
"Yet I'm not your wife," said Malva, calmly. " You have been accustomed to beat your wife for nothing, and you imagine that you can do the same with me. No, I am free. I belong only to myself, and I am afraid of no one. But you are afraid of your son, and now you dare threaten me."
She shook her head with disdain. Her careless manner cooled Vassili's anger. He had never seen her look so beautiful.
"I have something else to tell you," she went on. "You boasted to Serejka that I could no more get along without you than without bread, and that I cannot live without you. ”

“ HE reminds me of those pilgrims who all their life long, stick in hand, walk the earth, travelling thousands of miles from one monastery to another, from one saint's relics to another, terribly homeless and alien to all men and things. The world is not for them, nor God either. They pray to Him from habit, and in their secret soul they hate Him—why does He drive them over the earth from one end to the other? ”

“ Another storm rocked them with a song, and merrily, without a sigh, ran out these waves into the boundless ocean!
But, alas! a gloomy, wicked, man-tyrant, envying their happiness, decided to deprive them of liberty. They should not leap so proudly over the powerful abyss; neither should they smile so charmingly up to the blue heaven above them, nor should they bask in the bright rays of the sun! ”

“ Perhaps you're one of those fishermen who sing about themselves:
"We are those who throw our nets Upon dry banks, Upon barns and stables!" "Have you ever seen any of that kind?" asked Tchelkache, looking ironically at him, and thinking that this honest boy must be very stupid.
"No, I've never seen any; but I've heard them spoken of."
"Do you like them?"
"Why not? They are fearless and free."
"Do you feel the need of freedom? Do you like freedom?"
"How could I help liking it? One is his own master, goes where he likes, and does what he pleases. ”

“ The proletariat is not beaten. Although it has suffered loss. The revolution is strengthened with new hopes and during these days its ranks have been immensely increased. The revolution has gained a great moral victory over the bourgeoisie which now perceives most clearly who it is that is creating anarchy in Russia and with what object it is created, who is struggling against anarchy and with what end - the bourgeoisie perceives that the people is defending that freedom which it also needs, that freedom which the people has bought with its blood, and of which the Government would now rob it. ”

“ Tchekhov has a superb story, The Darling—you are rather like her."
"In what?" asked Suler, laughing.
"You can love well, but to choose—no, you can't, and you will waste yourself on trifles."
"Is everyone like that?"
"Everyone?" Leo Nicolayevitch repeated. "No, not everyone."
And suddenly he asked me, exactly as if he were dealing me a blow: "Why don't you believe in God?"
"I have no faith, Leo Nicolayevitch."
"It is not true. By nature you are a believer, and you cannot get on without God. You will realize it one day. ”

“ The rocks were moving under the pressure of the waves, and seemed to shiver under the poignant melody of the song:—
“To the fury of manly men we offer worship.
“In the fury of manly men is wisdom of life!
“The brave hawk, in the struggle with tyranny, then sheds thy blood! But the time will come when the warm blood of thy heart shall be as a real flame amidst the darkness of life, and in many bold hearts will spring up the desire for liberty and light. Oh! woe, then, to enemies of liberty; woe to the tyrant! ”

“ But just now behind the wall, the plashing of water was heard, then a rustling, and something like a whisper. Gavrilo was half dead from fright.
"Hey, there! Are you asleep? Take this! Softly!" said Tchelkache's hoarse voice.
From the wall descended a solid, square, heavy object. Gavrilo put it in the boat, then another one like it. Across the wall stretched Tchelkache's long figure. The oars reappeared mysteriously, then Gavrilo's bag fell at his feet and Tchelkache out of breath seated himself at the tiller.
Gavrilo looked at him with a timid and glad smile.
"Are you tired?" said he. ”

“ The sea gulls whirled about over their heads uttering hoarse cries. From the distance came the regular and gentle splash of the tiny waves breaking on the sand.
When, at last, they broke from their long embrace, Malva sat up on Vassili's knee. The peasant's face, tanned by wind and sun, was bent close to hers and his great blond beard tickled her neck. The young woman was motionless; only the gradual and regular rise and fall of her bosom showed her to be alive. Vassili's eyes wandered in turn from the sea to this woman by his side. ”

“ And later I heard him say to Anton Pavlovitch Tchekhov: "He (Uspensky) is a writer! In the power of his sincerity he recalls Dostoevsky, only Dostoevsky went in for politics and coquetted, while Uspensky is more simple and sincere. If he had believed in God, he would have been a sectarian."
"But you said he was a Tula writer and had no talent."
He drew his shaggy brows down over his eyes and said: "He wrote badly. What kind of language does he use? There are more punctuation marks than words. Talent is love. One who loves is talented. Look at lovers, they are all talented." ”

“ How the waves rejoice as they see how the rocks are falling away, sinking like lead to the bottom! They jump, splash, and caress the sombre rocks!
Then they murmur, “What a delight! From the cold depths of earth come forth gloomy guests: let us welcome them then with joyful singing, warm words, and with tender caresses; we will play with them in the sea, we will glorify the goodness of the sun and of liberty!” ”

“ Softly with those oars, miserable wretch! They incline the mirror at will and light the sea to find out if any folks like us are roving over it. They're on the watch for smugglers. We're out of reach; they're too far away, now. Don't be afraid, boy, we're safe! Now, we. . ."
Tchelkache looked around him triumphantly.
"Yes, we're safe. Out! You were in luck, you worthless stick!"
Gavrilo rowed in silence; breathing heavily, he cast sidelong glances at the spot where still rose and fell the sword of fire. He could not believe that it was only, as Tchelkache said, a lantern with a reflector. ”

“ The sea gulls halted in their flight and listened.
"Hallo! Hallo!" came back from the boat. It was Malva's sonorous voice.
"Who's with you?"
A laugh replied to him.
"Jade!" swore Vassili under his breath.
He spat on the ground with vexation.
He was puzzled. While he rolled a cigarette he examined the neck and back of the rower who was rapidly drawing nearer. The sound of the water when the oars struck it resounded in the still air, and the sand crunched under the watchman's bare feet as he stamped about in his impatience. ”

“ And if you were found, no inquest would be made: who, how, why had you been killed? You're not the kind of man for whom any stir would be made! You're of no use on the earth! Who would take your part? That's the way it would be! Eh?"
"Give back that money!" roared Tchelkache, seizing Gavrilo by the throat.
Gavrilo struggled, once, twice . . . but Tchelkache's other arm entwined itself like a serpent around him . . . a noise of tearing linen,--and Gavrilo slipped to the ground with bulging eyes, catching at the air with his hands and waving his legs. ”

“ Should he embrace his father as Malva had done or shake his hand like Serejka? And Vassili felt hurt at this hesitation, which was visible in his son's attitude.
"Remember your mother," said Vassili, finally.
"Yes, yes," replied Iakov, cordially. "Don't worry. I know."
"That's all. Be happy. God protect you. Don't think badly of me. The kettle, Serejka, is buried in the sand near the bow of the green boat."
"What does he want with the kettle? " asked Iakov.
"He has taken my place yonder on the headland," explained Vassili.
Iakov looked enviously at Serejka, then at Malva. ”