Books: Mother
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Maxim Gorky >> Mother
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"If so, I'll go. But don't think I'm afraid."
"Very well. Now, tell me where my valise and my linen are. You've
grabbed up everything into your rapacious hands, and I'm completely
robbed of the possibility of disposing of my own private property.
I'm making complete preparations--this will be unpleasant to them."
Sasha burned the papers in silence, and carefully mixed their ashes
with the other cinders in the stove.
"Sasha, go," said Nikolay, putting out his hand to her. "Good-by.
Don't forget books--if anything new and interesting appears. Well,
good-by, dear comrade. Be more careful."
"Do you think it's for long?" asked Sasha.
"The devil knows them! Evidently. There's something against me.
Nilovna, are you going with her? It's harder to track two people--
all right?"
"I'm going." The mother went to dress herself, and it occurred to
her how little these people who were striving for the freedom of
all cared for their personal freedom. The simplicity and the
businesslike manner of Nikolay in expecting the arrest both astonished
and touched her. She tried to observe his face carefully; she
detected nothing but his air of absorption, overshadowing the usual
kindly soft expression of his eyes. There was no sign of agitation
in this man, dearer to her than the others; he made no fuss. Equally
attentive to all, alike kind to all, always calmly the same, he
seemed to her just as much a stranger as before to everybody and
everything except his cause. He seemed remote, living a secret life
within himself and somewhere ahead of people. Yet she felt that he
resembled her more than any of the others, and she loved him with a
love that was carefully observing and, as it were, did not believe in
itself. Now she felt painfully sorry for him; but she restrained her
feelings, knowing that to show them would disconcert Nikolay, that he
would become, as always under such circumstances, somewhat ridiculous.
When she returned to the room she found him pressing Sasha's hand
and saying:
"Admirable! I'm convinced of it. It's very good for him and for
you. A little personal happiness does not do any harm; but--a
little, you know, so as not to make him lose his value. Are you
ready, Nilovna?" He walked up to her, smiling and adjusting his
glasses. "Well, good-by. I want to think that for three months,
four months--well, at most half a year--half a year is a great deal
of a man's life. In half a year one can do a lot of things. Take
care of yourself, please, eh? Come, let's embrace." Lean and thin
he clasped her neck in his powerful arms, looked into her eyes, and
smiled. "It seems to me I've fallen in love with you. I keep
embracing you all the time."
She was silent, kissing his forehead and cheeks, and her hands
quivered. For fear he might notice it, she unclasped them.
"Go. Very well. Be careful to-morrow. This is what you should
do--send the boy in the morning--Liudmila has a boy for the purpose--
let him go to the house porter and ask him whether I'm home or not.
I'll forewarn the porter; he's a good fellow, and I'm a friend of
his. Well, good-by, comrades. I wish you all good."
On the street Sasha said quietly to the mother:
"He'll go as simply as this to his death, if necessary. And
apparently he'll hurry up a little in just the same way; when
death stares him in the face he'll adjust his eyeglasses, and
will say 'admirable,' and will die."
"I love him," whispered the mother.
"I'm filled with astonishment; but love him--no. I respect him
highly. He's sort of dry, although good and even, if you please,
sometimes soft; but not sufficiently human--it seems to me we're
being followed. Come, let's part. Don't enter Liudmila's place
if you think a spy is after you."
"I know," said the mother. Sasha, however, persistently added:
"Don't enter. In that case, come to me. Good-by for the present."
She quickly turned around and walked back. The mother called
"Good-by" after her.
Within a few minutes she sat all frozen through at the stove in
Liudmila's little room. Her hostess, Liudmila, in a black dress
girded up with a strap, slowly paced up and down the room, filling
it with a rustle and the sound of her commanding voice. A fire
was crackling in the stove and drawing in the air from the room.
The woman's voice sounded evenly.
"People are a great deal more stupid than bad. They can see only
what's near to them, what it's possible to grasp immediately; but
everything that's near is cheap; what's distant is dear. Why, in
reality, it would be more convenient and pleasanter for all if life
were different, were lighter, and the people were more sensible.
But to attain the distant you must disturb yourself for the
immediate present----"
Nilovna tried to guess where this woman did her printing. The room
had three windows facing the street; there was a sofa and a bookcase,
a table, chairs, a bed at the wall, in the corner near it a wash
basin, in the other corner a stove; on the walls photographs and
pictures. All was new, solid, clean; and over all the austere
monastic figure of the mistress threw a cold shadow. Something
concealed, something hidden, made itself felt; but where it lurked
was incomprehensible. The mother looked at the doors; through one
of them she had entered from the little antechamber. Near the stove
was another door, narrow and high.
"I have come to you on business," she said in embarrassment,
noticing that the hostess was regarding her.
"I know. Nobody comes to me for any other reason."
Something strange seemed to be in Liudmila's voice. The mother
looked in her face. Liudmila smiled with the corners of her thin
lips, her dull eyes gleamed behind her glasses. Turning her glance
aside, the mother handed her the speech of Pavel.
"Here. They ask you to print it at once."
And she began to tell of Nikolay's preparations for the arrest.
Liudmila silently thrust the manuscript into her belt and sat down
on a chair. A red gleam of the fire was reflected on her spectacles;
its hot smile played on her motionless face.
"When they come to me I'm going to shoot at them," she said with
determination in her moderated voice. "I have the right to protect
myself against violence; and I must fight with them if I call upon
others to fight. I cannot understand calmness; I don't like it."
The reflection of the fire glided across her face, and she again
became austere, somewhat haughty.
"Your life is not very pleasant," the mother thought kindly.
Liudmila began to read Pavel's speech, at first reluctantly; then
she bent lower and lower over the paper, quickly throwing aside
the pages as she read them. When she had finished she rose,
straightened herself, and walked up to the mother.
"That's good. That's what I like; although here, too, there's
calmness. But the speech is the sepulchral beat of a drum, and
the drummer is a powerful man."
She reflected a little while, lowering her head for a minute:
"I didn't want to speak with you about your son; I have never met
him, and I don't like sad subjects of conversation. I know what
it means to have a near one go into exile. But I want to say to
you, nevertheless, that your son must be a splendid man. He's
young--that's evident; but he is a great soul. It must be good
and terrible to have such a son."
"Yes, it's good. And now it's no longer terrible."
Liudmila settled her smoothly combed hair with her tawny hand and
sighed softly. A light, warm shadow trembled on her cheeks, the
shadow of a suppressed smile.
"We are going to print it. Will you help me?"
"Of course."
"I'll set it up quickly. You lie down; you had a hard day; you're
tired. Lie down here on the bed; I'm not going to sleep; and at
night maybe I'll wake you up to help me. When you have lain down,
put out the lamp."
She threw two logs of wood into the stove, straightened herself, and
passed through the narrow door near the stove, firmly closing it
after her. The mother followed her with her eyes, and began to
undress herself, thinking reluctantly of her hostess: "A stern
person; and yet her heart burns. She can't conceal it. Everyone
loves. If you don't love you can't live."
Fatigue dizzied her brain; but her soul was strangely calm, and
everything was illumined from within by a soft, kind light which
quietly and evenly filled her breast. She was already acquainted
with this calm; it had come to her after great agitation. At first
it had slightly disturbed her; but now it only broadened her soul,
strengthening it with a certain powerful but impalpable thought.
Before her all the time appeared and disappeared the faces of her
son, Andrey, Nikolay, Sasha. She took delight in them; they passed
by without arousing thought, and only lightly and sadly touching her
heart. Then she extinguished the lamp, lay down in the cold bed,
shriveled up under the bed coverings, and suddenly sank into a
heavy sleep.
CHAPTER XVIII
When she opened her eyes the room was filled by the cold, white
glimmer of a clear wintry day. The hostess, with a book in her hand,
lay on the sofa, and smiling unlike herself looked into her face.
"Oh, father!" the mother exclaimed, for some reason embarrassed.
"Just look! Have I been asleep a long time?"
"Good morning!" answered Liudmila. "It'll soon be ten o'clock.
Get up and we'll have tea."
"Why didn't you wake me up?"
"I wanted to. I walked up to you; but you were so fast asleep and
smiled so in your sleep!"
With a supple, powerful movement of her whole body she rose from the
sofa, walked up to the bed, bent toward the face of the mother, and in
her dull eyes the mother saw something dear, near, and comprehensible.
"I was sorry to disturb you. Maybe you were seeing a happy vision."
"I didn't see anything."
"All the same--but your smile pleased me. It was so calm, so good--
so great." Liudmila laughed, and her laugh sounded velvety. "I
thought of you, of your life--your life is a hard one, isn't it?"
The mother, moving her eyebrows, was silent and thoughtful.
"Of course it's hard!" exclaimed Liudmila.
"I don't know," said the mother carefully. "Sometimes it seems sort
of hard; there's so much of all, it's all so serious, marvelous, and
it moves along so quickly, one thing after the other--so quickly----"
The wave of bold excitement familiar to her overflowed her breast,
filling her heart with images and thoughts. She sat up in bed,
quickly clothing her thoughts in words.
"It goes, it goes, it goes all to one thing, to one side, and like a
fire, when a house begins to burn, upward! Here it shoots forth,
there it blazes out, ever brighter, ever more powerful. There's a
great deal, of hardship, you know. People suffer; they are beaten,
cruelly beaten; and everyone is oppressed and watched. They hide,
live like monks, and many joys are closed to them; it's very hard.
And when you look at them well you see that the hard things, the
evil and difficult, are around them, on the outside, and not within."
Liudmila quickly threw up her head, looked at her with a deep,
embracing look. The mother felt that her words did not exhaust
her thoughts, which vexed and offended her.
"You're not speaking about yourself," said her hostess softly.
The mother looked at her, arose from the bed, and dressing asked:
"Not about myself? Yes; you see in this, in all that I live now,
it's hard to think of oneself; how can you withdraw into yourself
when you love this thing, and that thing is dear to you, and you
are afraid for everybody and are sorry for everybody? Everything
crowds into your heart and draws you to all people. How can you
step to one side? It's hard."
Liudmila laughed, saying softly:
"And maybe it's not necessary."
"I don't know whether it's necessary or not; but this I do know--that
people are becoming stronger than life, wiser than life; that's evident."
Standing in the middle of the room, half-dressed, she fell to
reflecting for a moment. Her real self suddenly appeared not to
exist--the one who lived in anxiety and fear for her son, in thoughts
for the safekeeping of his body. Such a person in herself was no
longer; she had gone off to a great distance, and perhaps was
altogether burned up by the fire of agitation. This had lightened
and cleansed her soul, and had renovated her heart with a new power.
She communed with herself, desiring to take a look into her own
heart, and fearing lest she awaken some anxiety there.
"What are you thinking about?" Liudmila asked kindly, walking up to her.
"I don't know."
The two women were silent, looking at each other. Both smiled; then
Liudmila walked out of the room, saying:
"What is my samovar doing?"
The mother looked through the window. A cold, bracing day shone
in the street; her breast, too, shone bright, but hot. She wanted
to speak much about everything, joyfully, with a confused feeling
of gratitude to somebody--she did not know whom--for all that came
into her soul, and lighted it with a ruddy evening light. A desire
to pray, which she had not felt for a long time, arose in her breast.
Somebody's young face came to her memory, somebody's resonant voice
shouted, "That's the mother of Pavel Vlasov!" Sasha's eyes flashed
joyously and tenderly. Rybin's dark, tall figure loomed up, the
bronzed, firm face of her son smiled. Nikolay blinked in embarrassment;
and suddenly everything was stirred with a deep but light breath.
"Nikolay was right," said Liudmila, entering again. "He must surely
have been arrested. I sent the boy there, as you told me to. He
said policemen are hiding in the yard; he did not see the house
porter; but he saw the policeman who was hiding behind the gates.
And spies are sauntering about; the boy knows them."
"So?" The mother nodded her head. "Ah, poor fellow!"
And she sighed, but without sadness, and was quietly surprised at herself.
"Lately he's been reading a great deal to the city workingmen; and
in general it was time for him to disappear," Liudmila said with a
frown. "The comrades told him to go, but he didn't obey them. I
think that in such cases you must compel and not try to persuade."
A dark-haired, red-faced boy with beautiful eyes and a hooked nose
appeared in the doorway.
"Shall I bring in the samovar?" he asked in a ringing voice.
"Yes, please, Seryozha. This is my pupil; have you never met him before?"
"No."
"He used to go to Nikolay sometimes; I sent him."
Liudmila seemed to the mother to be different to-day--simpler and
nearer to her. In the supple swaying of her stately figure there
was much beauty and power; her sternness had mildened; the circles
under her eyes had grown larger during the night, her face paler
and leaner; her large eyes had deepened. One perceived a strained
exertion in her, a tightly drawn chord in her soul.
The boy brought in the samovar.
"Let me introduce you: Seryozha--Pelagueya Nilovna, the mother of
the workingman whom they sentenced yesterday."
Seryozha bowed silently and pressed the mother's hand. Then he
brought in bread, and sat down to the table. Liudmila persuaded
the mother not to go home until they found out whom the police
were waiting for there.
"Maybe they are waiting for you. I'm sure they'll examine you."
"Let them. And if they arrest me, no great harm. Only I'd like
to have Pasha's speech sent off."
"It's already in type. To-morrow it'll be possible to have it for
the city and the suburb. We'll have some for the districts, too.
Do you know Natasha?"
"Of course!"
"Then take it to her."
The boy read the newspaper, and seemed not to be listening to the
conversation; but at times his eyes looked from the pages of the
newspaper into the face of the mother; and when she met their
animated glance she felt pleased and smiled. She reproached herself
for these smiles. Liudmila again mentioned Nikolay without any
expression of regret for his arrest and, to the mother, it seemed
in perfectly natural tones. The time passed more quickly than on
the other days. When they had done drinking tea it was already
near midday.
"However!" exclaimed Liudmila, and at the same time a knock at the
door was heard. The boy rose, looked inquiringly at Liudmila,
prettily screwing up his eyes.
"Open the door, Seryozha. Who do you suppose it is?" And with a
composed gesture she let her hand into the pocket of the skirt,
saying to the mother: "If it is the gendarmes, you, Pelagueya
Nilovna, stand here in this corner, and you, Ser----"
"I know. The dark passage," the little boy answered softly, disappearing.
The mother smiled. These preparations did not disturb her; she had
no premonition of a misfortune.
The little physician walked in. He quickly said:
"First of all, Nikolay is arrested. Aha! You here, Nilovna? They're
interested in you, too. Weren't you there when he was arrested?"
"He packed me off, and told me to come here."
"Hm! I don't think it will be of any use to you. Secondly, last
night several young people made about five hundred hektograph copies
of Pavel's speech--not badly done, plain and clear. They want to
scatter them throughout the city at night. I'm against it. Printed
sheets are better for the city, and the hektograph copies ought to
be sent off somewhere."
"Here, I'll carry them to Natasha!" the mother exclaimed animatedly.
"Give them to me."
She was seized with a great desire to sow them broadcast, to spread
Pavel's speech as soon as possible. She would have bestrewn the
whole earth with the words of her son, and she looked into the
doctor's face with eyes ready to beg.
"The devil knows whether at this time you ought to take up this
matter," the physician said irresolutely, and took out his watch.
"It's now twelve minutes of twelve. The train leaves at 2.05,
arrives there 5.15. You'll get there in the evening, but not
sufficiently late--and that's not the point!"
"That's not the point," repeated Liudmila, frowning.
"What then?" asked the mother, drawing up to them. "The point is
to do it well; and I'll do it all right."
Liudmila looked fixedly at her, and chafing her forehead, remarked:
"It's dangerous for you."
"Why?" the mother challenged hotly.
"That's why!" said the physician quickly and brokenly. "You
disappeared from home an hour before Nikolay's arrest. You went
away to the mill, where you are known as the teacher's aunt; after
your arrival at the mill the naughty leaflets appear. All this
will tie itself into a noose around your neck."
"They won't notice me there," the mother assured them, warming to
her desire. "When I return they'll arrest me, and ask me where I
was." After a moment's pause she exclaimed: "I know what I'll say.
From there I'll go straight to the suburb; I have a friend there--
Sizov. So I'll say that I went there straight from the trial; grief
took me there; and he, too, had the same misfortune, his nephew was
sentenced; and I spent the whole time with him. He'll uphold me,
too. Do you see?"
The mother was aware that they were succumbing to the strength of
her desire, and strove to induce them to give in as quickly as
possible. She spoke more and more persistently, joy arising within
her. And they yielded.
"Well, go," the physician reluctantly assented.
Liudmila was silent, pacing thoughtfully up and down the room. Her
face clouded over and her cheeks fell in. The muscles of her neck
stretched noticeably as if her head had suddenly grown heavy; it
involuntarily dropped on her breast. The mother observed this.
The physician's reluctant assent forced a sigh from her.
"You all take care of me," the mother said, smiling. "You don't take
care of yourselves." And the wave of joy mounted higher and higher.
"It isn't true. We look out for ourselves. We ought to; and we
very much upbraid those who uselessly waste their power. Ye-es.
Now, this is the way you are to do. You will receive the speeches
at the station." He explained to her how the matter would be
arranged; then looking into her face, he said: "Well, I wish you
success. You're happy, aren't you?" And he walked away still
gloomy and dissatisfied. When the door closed behind him Liudmila
walked up to the mother, smiling quietly.
"You're a fine woman! I understand you." Taking her by the arm,
she again walked up and down the room. "I have a son, too. He's
already thirteen years old; but he lives with his father. My
husband is an assistant prosecuting attorney. Maybe he's already
prosecuting attorney. And the boy's with him. What is he going
to be? I often think." Her humid, powerful voice trembled. Then
her speech flowed on again thoughtfully and quietly. "He's being
brought up by a professed enemy of those people who are near me,
whom I regard as the best people on earth; and maybe the boy will
grow up to be my enemy. He cannot live with me; I live under a
strange name. I have not seen him for eight years. That's a long
time--eight years!"
Stopping at the window, she looked up at the pale, bleak sky, and
continued: "If he were with me I would be stronger; I would not
have this wound in my heart, the wound that always pains. And even
if he were dead it would be easier for me--" She paused again, and
added more firmly and loudly: "Then I would know he's merely dead,
but not an enemy of that which is higher than the feeling of a
mother, dearer and more necessary than life."
"My darling," said the mother quietly, feeling as if something
powerful were burning her heart.
"Yes, you are happy," Liudmila said with a smile. "It's magnificent
--the mother and the son side by side. It's rare!"
The mother unexpectedly to herself exclaimed:
"Yes, it is good!" and as if disclosing a secret, she continued in a
lowered voice: "It is another life. All of you--Nikolay Ivanovich,
all the people of the cause of truth--are also side by side.
Suddenly people have become kin--I understand all--the words I don't
understand; but everything else I understand, everything!"
"That's how it is," Liudmila said. "That's how."
The mother put her hand on Liudmila's breast, pressing her; she spoke
almost in a whisper, as if herself meditating upon the words she spoke.
"Children go through the world; that's what I understand; children
go into the world, over all the earth, from everywhere toward one
thing. The best hearts go; people of honest minds; they relentlessly
attack all evil, all darkness. They go, they trample falsehood with
heavy feet, understanding everything, justifying everybody--justifying
everybody, they go. Young, strong, they carry their power, their
invincible power, all toward one thing--toward justice. They go to
conquer all human misery, they arm themselves to wipe away misfortune
from the face of the earth; they go to subdue what is monstrous, and
they will subdue it. We will kindle a new sun, somebody told me; and
they will kindle it. We will create one heart in life, we will unite
all the severed hearts into one--and they will unite them. We will
cleanse the whole of life--and they will cleanse it."
She waved her hand toward the sky.
"There's the sun."
And she struck her bosom.
"Here the most glorious heavenly sun of human happiness will be
kindled, and it will light up the earth forever--the whole of it,
and all that live upon it--with the light of love, the love of every
man toward all, and toward everything."
The words of forgotten prayers recurred to her mind, inspiring a
new faith. She threw them from her heart like sparks.
"The children walking along the road of truth and reason carry love
to all; and they clothe everything in new skies; they illumine
everything with an incorruptible fire issuing from the depths of the
soul. Thus, a new life comes into being, born of the children's
love for the entire world; and who will extinguish this love--who?
What power is higher than this? Who will subdue it? The earth has
brought it forth; and all life desires its victory--all life. Shed
rivers of blood, nay, seas of blood, you'll never extinguish it."
She shook herself away from Liudmila, fatigued by her exaltation,
and sat down, breathing heavily. Liudmila also withdrew from her,
noiselessly, carefully, as if afraid of destroying something. With
supple movement she walked about the room and looked in front of her
with the deep gaze of her dim eyes. She seemed still taller,
straighter, and thinner; her lean, stern face wore a concentrated
expression, and her lips were nervously compressed. The stillness
in the room soon calmed the mother, and noticing Liudmila's mood she
asked guiltily and softly:
"Maybe I said something that wasn't quite right?"
Liudmila quickly turned around and looked at her as if in fright.
"It's all right," she said rapidly, stretching out her hand to the
mother as if desiring to arrest something. "But we'll not speak
about it any more. Let it remain as it was said; let it remain.
Yes." And in a calmer tone she continued: "It's time for you to
start soon; it's far."
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