J. Henri Fabre - "The Mason bees"

L. Muhlbach - "Joseph II. and His Court"

Louis Antoine Fauvelet de Bourrienne - "Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte, V12"

Samuel W. Baker - "Ismailia"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Mother

M >> Maxim Gorky >> Mother




From the pictures and stories of Christ, she knew also that he was
a friend of the poor, that he dressed simply. But in the churches,
where poverty came to him for consolation, she saw him nailed to
the cross with insolent gold, she saw silks and satins flaunting
in the fact of want. The words of Rybin occurred to her: "They
have mutilated even our God for us, they have turned everything in
their hands against us. In the churches they set up a scarecrow
before us. They have dressed God up in falsehood and calumny;
they have distorted His face in order to destroy our souls!"

Without being herself aware of it, she prayed less; yet, at the same
time, she meditated more and more upon Christ and the people who,
without mentioning his name, as though ignorant of him, lived, it
seemed to her, according to his will, and, like him, regarded the
earth as the kingdom of the poor, and wanted to divide all the
wealth of the earth among the poor. Her reflections grew in her
soul, deepening and embracing everything she saw and heard. They
grew and assumed the bright aspect of a prayer, suffusing an even
glow over the entire dark world, the whole of life, and all people.

And it seemed to her that Christ himself, whom she had always loved
with a perplexed love, with a complicated feeling in which fear was
closely bound up with hope, and joyful emotion with melancholy, now
came nearer to her, and was different from what he had been. His
position was loftier, and he was more clearly visible to her. His
aspect turned brighter and more cheerful. Now his eyes smiled on
her with assurance, and with a live inward power, as if he had in
reality risen to life for mankind, washed and vivified by the hot
blood lavishly shed in his name. Yet those who had lost their blood
modestly refrained from mentioning the name of the unfortunate
friend of the people.

The mother always returned to Nikolay from her travels delightfully
exhilarated by what she had seen and heard on the road, bold and
satisfied with the work she had accomplished.

"It's good to go everywhere, and to see much," she said to Nikolay
in the evening. "You understand how life is arranged. They brush
the people aside and fling them to the edge. The people, hurt and
wounded, keep moving about, even though they don't want to, and
though they keep thinking: 'What for? Why do they drive us away?
Why must we go hungry when there is so much of everything? And
how much intellect there is everywhere! Nevertheless, we must remain
in stupidity and darkness. And where is He, the merciful God, in
whose eyes there are no rich nor poor, but all are children dear to
His heart.' The people are gradually revolting against this life.
They feel that untruth will stifle them if they don't take thought
of themselves."

And in her leisure hours she sat down to the books, and again looked
over the pictures, each time finding something new, ever widening
the panorama of life before her eyes, unfolding the beauties of
nature and the vigorous creative capacity of man. Nikolay often
found her poring over the pictures. He would smile and always tell
her something wonderful. Struck by man's daring, she would ask him
incredulously, "Is it possible?"

Quietly, with unshakable confidence in the truth of his prophecies,
Nikolay peered with his kind eyes through his glasses into the
mother's face, and told her stories of the future.

"There is no measure to the desires of man; and his power is
inexhaustible," he said. "But the world, after all, is still very
slow in acquiring spiritual wealth. Because nowadays everyone
desiring to free himself from dependence is compelled to hoard,
not knowledge but money. However, when the people will have
exterminated greed and will have freed themselves from the bondage
of enslaving labor--"

She listened to him with strained attention. Though she but rarely
understood the meaning of his words, yet the calm faith animating
them penetrated her more and more deeply.

"There are extremely few free men in the world--that's its
misfortune," he said.

This the mother understood. She knew men who had emancipated
themselves from greed and evil; she understood that if there were
more such people, the dark, incomprehensible, and awful face of
life would become more kindly and simple, better and brighter.

"A man must perforce be cruel," said Nikolay dismally.

The mother nodded her head in confirmation. She recalled the
sayings of the Little Russian.



CHAPTER VI


Once Nikolay, usually so punctual, came from his work much later than
was his wont, and said, excitedly rubbing his hands: "Do you know,
Nilovna, to-day at the visiting hour one of our comrades disappeared
from prison? But we have not succeeded in finding out who."

The mother's body swayed, overpowered by excitement. She sat down
on a chair and asked with forced quiet:

"Maybe it's Pasha?"

"Possibly. But the question is how to find him, how to help him
keep in concealment. Just now I was walking about the streets to
see if I couldn't detect him. It was a stupid thing of me to do,
but I had to do something. I'm going out again."

"I'll go, too," said the mother, rising.

"You go to Yegor, and see if he doesn't know anything about it,"
Nikolay suggested, and quickly walked away.

She threw a kerchief on her head, and, seized with hope, swiftly
sped along the streets. Her eyes dimmed and her heart beat faster.
Her head drooped; she saw nothing about her. It was hot. The
mother lost breath, and when she reached the stairway leading to
Yegor's quarters, she stopped, too faint to proceed farther. She
turned around and uttered an amazed, low cry, closing her eyes for
a second. It seemed to her that Nikolay Vyesovshchikov was standing
at the gate, his hands thrust into his pockets, regarding her with
a smile. But when she looked again nobody was there.

"I imagined I saw him," she said to herself, slowly walking up
the steps and listening. She caught the sound of slow steps, and
stopping at a turn in the stairway she bent over to look below;
and again saw the face smiling up at her.

"Nikolay! Nikolay!" she whispered, and ran meet him. Her heart,
stung by disappointment, ached for her son.

"Go, go!" he answered in an undertone, waving his hand.

She quickly ran up the stairs, walked into Yegor's room, and found
him lying on the sofa. She gasped in a whisper:

"Nikolay is out of prison!"

"Which Nikolay?" asked Yegor, raising his head from the pillow.
"There are two there."

"Vyesovshchikov. He's coming here!"

"Fine! But I can't rise to meet him."

Vyesovshchikov had already come into the room. He locked the door
after him, and taking off his hat laughed quietly, stroking his
hair. Yegor raised himself on his elbows.

"Please, signor, make yourself at home," he said with a nod.

Without saying anything, a broad smile on his face, Nikolay walked
up to the mother and grasped her hand.

"If I had not seen you I might as well have returned to prison.
I know nobody in the city. If I had gone to the suburbs they would
have seized me at once. So I walked about, and thought what a fool
I was--why had I escaped? Suddenly I see Nilovna running; off I am,
after you."

"How did you make your escape?"

Vyesovshchikov sat down awkwardly on the edge of the sofa and
pressed Yegor's hand.

"I don't know how," he said in an embarrassed manner. "Simply a
chance. I was taking my airing, and the prisoners began to beat
the overseer of the jail. There's one overseer there who was
expelled from the gendarmerie for stealing. He's a spy, an informer,
and tortures the life out of everybody. They gave him a drubbing,
there was a hubbub, the overseers got frightened and blew their
whistles. I noticed the gates open. I walked up and saw an open
square and the city. It drew me forward and I went away without
haste, as if in sleep. I walked a little and bethought myself:
'Where am I to go?' I looked around and the gates of the prison
were already closed. I began to feel awkward. I was sorry for
the comrades in general. It was stupid somehow. I hadn't thought
of going away."

"Hm!" said Yegor. "Why, sir, you should have turned back, respectfully
knocked at the prison door, and begged for admission. 'Excuse me,'
you should have said, 'I was tempted; but here I am.'"

"Yes," continued Nikolay, smiling; "that would have been stupid, too,
I understand. But for all that, it's not nice to the other comrades.
I walk away without saying anything to anybody. Well, I kept on
going, and I came across a child's funeral. I followed the hearse
with my head bent down, looking at nobody. I sat down in the cemetery
and enjoyed the fresh air. One thought came into my head----"

"One?" asked Yegor. Fetching breath, he added: "I suppose it won't
feel crowded there."

Vyesovshchikov laughed without taking offense, and shook his head.

"Well, my brain's not so empty now as it used to be. And you, Yegor
Ivanovich, still sick?"

"Each one does what he can. No one has a right to interfere with
him." Yegor evaded an answer; he coughed hoarsely. "Continue."

"Then I went to a public museum. I walked about there, looked
around, and kept thinking all the time: 'Where am I to go next?'
I even began to get angry with myself. Besides, I got dreadfully
hungry. I walked into the street and kept on trotting. I felt
very down in the mouth. And then I saw police officers looking at
everybody closely. 'Well,' thinks I to myself, 'with my face I'll
arrive at God's judgment seat pretty soon.' Suddenly Nilovna came
running opposite me. I turned about, and off I went after her.
That's all."

"And I didn't even see you," said the mother guiltily.

"The comrades are probably uneasy about me. They must be wondering
where I am," said Nikolay, scratching his head.

"Aren't you sorry for the officials? I guess they're uneasy, too,"
teased Yegor. He moved heavily on the sofa, and said seriously and
solicitously: "However, jokes aside, we must hide you--by no means
as easy as pleasant. If I could get up--" His breath gave out.
He clapped his hand to his breast, and with a weak movement began
to rub it.

"You've gotten very sick, Yegor Ivanovich," said Nikolay gloomily,
drooping his head. The mother sighed and cast an anxious glance
about the little, crowded room.

"That's my own affair. Granny, you ask about Pavel. No reason to
feign indifference," said Yegor.

Vyesovshchikov smiled broadly.

"Pavel's all right; he's strong; he's like an elder among us; he
converses with the officials and gives commands; he's respected.
There's good reason for it."

Vlasova nodded her head, listening, and looked sidewise at the
swollen, bluish face of Yegor, congealed to immobility, devoid of
expression. It seemed strangely flat, only the eyes flashed with
animation and cheerfulness.

"I wish you'd give me something to eat. I'm frightfully hungry,"
Nikolay cried out unexpectedly, and smiled sheepishly.

"Granny, there's bread on the shelf--give it to him. Then go out
in the corridor, to the second door on the left, and knock. A woman
will open it, and you'll tell her to snatch up everything she has
to eat and come here."

"Why everything?" protested Nikolay.

"Don't get excited. It's not much--maybe nothing at all."

The mother went out and rapped at the door. She strained her ears
for an answering sound, while thinking of Yegor with dread and
grief. He was dying, she knew.

"Who is it?" somebody asked on the other side of the door.

"It's from Yegor Ivanovich," the mother whispered. "He asked you
to come to him."

"I'll come at once," the woman answered without opening the door.
The mother waited a moment, and knocked again. This time the door
opened quickly, and a tall woman wearing glasses stepped out into
the hall, rapidly tidying the ruffled sleeves of her waist. She
asked the mother harshly:

"What do you want?"

"I'm from Yegor Ivanovich."

"Aha! Come! Oh, yes, I know you!" the woman exclaimed in a low
voice. "How do you do? It's dark here."

Nilovna looked at her and remembered that this woman had come to
Nikolay's home on rare occasions.

"All comrades!" flashed through her mind.

The woman compelled Nilovna to walk in front.

"Is he feeling bad?"

"Yes; he's lying down. He asked you to bring something to eat."

"Well, he doesn't need anything to eat."

When they walked into Yegor's room they were met by the words:

"I'm preparing to join my forefathers, my friend. Liudmila Vasilyevna,
this man walked away from prison without the permission of the
authorities--a bit of shameless audacity. Before all, feed him, then
hide him somewhere for a day or two."

The woman nodded her head and looked carefully at the sick man's face.

"Stop your chattering, Yegor," she said sternly. "You know it's bad
for you. You ought to have sent for me at once, as soon as they
came. And I see you didn't take your medicine. What do you mean by
such negligence? You yourself say it's easier for you to breathe
after a dose. Comrade, come to my place. They'll soon call for
Yegor from the hospital."

"So I'm to go to the hospital, after all?" asked Yegor, puckering
up his face.

"Yes, I'll be there with you."

"There, too?"

"Hush!"

As she talked she adjusted the blanket on Yegor's breast, looked
fixedly at Nikolay, and with her eyes measured the quantity of
medicine in the bottle. She spoke evenly, not loud, but in a
resonant voice. Her movements were easy, her face was pale, with
large blue circles around her eyes. Her black eyebrows almost met
at the bridge of the nose, deepening the setting of her dark, stern
eyes. Her face did not please the mother; it seemed haughty in its
sternness and immobility, and her eyes were rayless. She always
spoke in a tone of command.

"We are going away," she continued. "I'll return soon. Give Yegor
a tablespoon of this medicine."

"Very well," said the mother.

"And don't let him speak." She walked away, taking Nikolay with her.

"Admirable woman!" said Yegor with a sigh. "Magnificent woman! You
ought to be working with her, granny. You see, she gets very much
worn out. It's she that does all the printing for us."

"Don't speak. Here, you'd better take this medicine," the mother
said gently.

He swallowed the medicine and continued, for some reason screwing
up one eye:

"I'll die all the same, even if I don't speak."

He looked into the mother's face with his other eye, and his lips
slowly formed themselves into a smile. The mother bent her head, a
sharp sensation of pity bringing tears into her eyes.

"Never mind, granny. It's natural. The pleasure of living carries
with it the obligation to die."

The mother put her hand on his, and again said softly:

"Keep quiet, please!"

He shut his eyes as if listening to the rattle in his breast, and
went on stubbornly.

"It's senseless to keep quiet, granny. What'll I gain by keeping
quiet? A few superfluous seconds of agony. And I'll lose the great
pleasure of chattering with a good person. I think that in the next
world there aren't such good people as here."

The mother uneasily interrupted him.

"The lady will come, and she'll scold me because you talk."

"She's no lady. She's a revolutionist, the daughter of a village
scribe, a teacher. She is sure to scold you anyhow, granny. She
scolds everybody always." And, slowly moving his lips with an
effort, Yegor began to relate the life history of his neighbor.
His eyes smiled. The mother saw that he was bantering her purposely.
As she regarded his face, covered with a moist blueness, she thought
distressfully that he was near to death.

Liudmila entered, and carefully closing the door after her, said,
turning to Vlasova:

"Your friend ought to change his clothes without fail, and leave here
as soon as possible. So go at once; get him some clothes, and bring
them here. I'm sorry Sofya's not here. Hiding people is her specialty."

"She's coming to-morrow," remarked Vlasova, throwing her shawl over
her shoulders. Every time she was given a commission the strong
desire seized her to accomplish it promptly and well, and she was
unable to think of anything but the task before her. Now, lowering
her brows with an air of preoccupation, she asked zealously:

"How should we dress him, do you think?"

"It's all the same. It's night, you know."

"At night it's worse. There are less people on the street, and the
police spy around more; and, you know, he's rather awkward."

Yegor laughed hoarsely.

"You're a young girl yet, granny."

"May I visit you in the hospital?"

He nodded his head, coughing. Liudmila glanced at the mother with
her dark eyes and suggested:

"Do you want to take turns with me in attending him? Yes? Very
well. And now go quickly."

She vigorously seized Vlasova by the hand, with perfect good nature,
however, and led her out of the door.

"You mustn't be offended," she said softly, "because I dismiss you so
abruptly. I know it's rude; but it's harmful for him to speak, and
I still have hopes of his recovery." She pressed her hands together
until the bones cracked. Her eyelids drooped wearily over her eyes.

The explanation disturbed the mother. She murmured:

"Don't talk that way. The idea! Who thought of rudeness? I'm
going; good-by."

"Look out for the spies!" whispered the woman.

"I know," the mother answered with some pride.

She stopped for a minute outside the gate to look around sharply
under the pretext of adjusting her kerchief. She was already able
to distinguish spies in a street crowd almost immediately. She
recognized the exaggerated carelessness of their gait, their
strained attempt to be free in their gestures, the expression of
tedium on their faces, the wary, guilty glimmer of their restless,
unpleasantly sharp gaze badly hidden behind their feigned candor.

This time she did not notice any familiar faces, and walked along
the street without hastening. She took a cab, and gave orders to
be driven to the market place. When buying the clothes for Nikolay
she bargained vigorously with the salespeople, all the while scolding
at her drunken husband whom she had to dress anew every month. The
tradespeople paid little attention to her talk, but she herself was
greatly pleased with her ruse. On the road she had calculated that
the police would, of course, understand the necessity for Nikolay to
change his clothes, and would send spies to the market. With such
naive precautions, she returned to Yegor's quarters; then she had to
escort Nikolay to the outskirts of the city. They took different
sides of the street, and it was amusing to the mother to see how
Vyesovshchikov strode along heavily, with bent head, his legs
getting tangled in the long flaps of his russet-colored coat, his
hat falling over his nose. In one of the deserted streets, Sashenka
met them, and the mother, taking leave of Vyesovshchikov with a nod
of her head, turned toward home with a sigh of relief.

"And Pasha is in prison with Andriusha!" she thought sadly.

Nikolay met her with an anxious exclamation:

"You know that Yegor is in a very bad way, very bad! He was taken to
the hospital. Liudmila was here. She asks you to come to her there."

"At the hospital?"

Adjusting his eyeglasses with a nervous gesture, Nikolay helped her
on with her jacket and pressed her hand in a dry, hot grasp. His
voice was low and tremulous. "Yes. Take this package with you.
Have you disposed of Vyesovshchikov all right?"

"Yes, all right."

"I'll come to Yegor, too!"

The mother's head was in a whirl with fatigue, and Nikolay's emotion
aroused in her a sad premonition of the drama's end.

"So he's dying--he's dying!" The dark thought knocked at her brain
heavily and dully.

But when she entered the bright, tidy little room of the hospital
and saw Yegor sitting on the pallet propped against the wide bosom
of the pillow, and heard him laugh with zest, she was at once
relieved. She paused at the door, smiling, and listened to Yegor
talk with the physician in a hoarse but lively voice.

"A cure is a reform."

"Don't talk nonsense!" the physician cried officiously in a thin voice.

"And I'm a revolutionist! I detest reforms!"

The physician, thoughtfully pulling his beard, felt the dropsical
swelling on Yegor's face. The mother knew him well. He was Ivan
Danilovich, one of the close comrades of Nikolay. She walked up to
Yegor, who thrust forth his tongue by way of welcome to her. The
physician turned around.

"Ah, Nilovna! How are you? Sit down. What have you in your hand?"

"It must be books."

"He mustn't read."

"The doctor wants to make an idiot of me," Yegor complained.

"Keep quiet!" the physician commanded, and began to write in a
little book.

The short, heavy breaths, accompanied by rattling in his throat,
fairly tore themselves from Yegor's breast, and his face became
covered with thin perspiration. Slowly raising his swollen hand, he
wiped his forehead with the palm. The strange immobility of his
swollen cheeks denaturalized his broad, good face, all the features
of which disappeared under the dead, bluish mask. Only his eyes,
deeply sunk beneath the swellings, looked out clear and smiling
benevolently.

"Oh, Science, I'm tired! May I lie down?"

"No, you mayn't."

"But I'm going to lie down after you go."

"Nilovna, please don't let him. It's bad for him."

The mother nodded. The physician hurried off with short steps.
Yegor threw back his head, closed his eyes and sank into a torpor,
motionless save for the twitching of his fingers. The white walls
of the little room seemed to radiate a dry coldness and a pale,
faceless sadness. Through the large window peered the tufted tops
of the lime trees, amid whose dark, dusty foliage yellow stains
were blazing, the cold touches of approaching autumn.

"Death is coming to me slowly, reluctantly," said Yegor without
moving and without opening his eyes. "He seems to be a little
sorry for me. I was such a fine, sociable chap."

"You'd better keep quiet, Yegor Ivanovich!" the mother bade, quietly
stroking his hand.

"Wait, granny, I'll be silent soon."

Losing breath every once in a while, enunciating the words with a
mighty effort, he continued his talk, interrupted by long spells
of faintness.

"It's splendid to have you with me. It's pleasant to see your face,
granny, and your eyes so alert, and your naivete. 'How will it
end?' I ask myself. It's sad to think that the prison, exile, and
all sorts of vile outrages await you as everybody else. Are you
afraid of prison?"

"No," answered the mother softly.

"But after all the prison is a mean place. It's the prison that
knocked me up. To tell you the truth, I don't want to die."

"Maybe you won't die yet," the mother was about to say, but a look
at his face froze the words on her lips.

"If I hadn't gotten sick I could have worked yet, not badly; but if
you can't work there's nothing to live for, and it's stupid to live."

"That's true, but it's no consolation." Andrey's words flashed into
the mother's mind, and she heaved a deep sigh. She was greatly
fatigued by the day, and hungry. The monotonous, humid, hoarse
whisper of the sick man filled the room and crept helplessly along
the smooth, cold, shining walls. At the windows the dark tops of
the lime trees trembled quietly. It was growing dusk, and Yegor's
face on the pillow turned dark.

"How bad I feel," he said. He closed his eyes and became silent.
The mother listened to his breathing, looked around, and sat for a
few minutes motionless, seized by a cold sensation of sadness.
Finally she dozed off.

The muffled sound of a door being carefully shut awakened her, and
she saw the kind, open eyes of Yegor.

"I fell asleep; excuse me," she said quietly.

"And you excuse me," he answered, also quietly. At the door was
heard a rustle and Liudmila's voice.

"They sit in the darkness and whisper. Where is the knob?"

The room trembled and suddenly became filled with a white, unfriendly
light. In the middle of the room stood Liudmila, all black, tall,
straight, and serious. Yegor transferred his glance to her, and
making a great effort to move his body, raised his hand to his breast.

"What's the matter?" exclaimed Liudmila, running up to him. He
looked at the mother with fixed eyes, and now they seemed large
and strangely bright.

"Wait!" he whispered.

Opening his mouth wide, he raised his head and stretched his hand
forward. The mother carefully held it up and caught her breath as
she looked into his face. With a convulsive and powerful movement
of his neck he flung his head back, and said aloud:

"Give me air!"

A quiver ran through his body; his head dropped limply on his
shoulder, and in his wide open eyes the cold light of the lamp
burning over the bed was reflected dully.

"My darling!" whispered the mother, firmly pressing his hand,
which suddenly grew heavy.

Liudmila slowly walked away from the bed, stopped at the window
and stared into space.