The Birmingham age-herald. [volume] (Birmingham, Ala.) 1902-1950, 1906-12-02
HILE living in retirement in the
~ Adirondack mountains, Maxim

NJ
W Gorky, the great Russian novel;
list and exile. devoted himself to a novel
of Russian life as it is today among the
revolutionists. Written in America, it
will be first published here-as a serial
in Appleton's Magazine.
There is something of Victor Hugo in
the humanity, the incisiveness, the flash
ing vivdness of the language and in the
plot, which shows the development of q
l-uman soul from the Gregs upward.
Beginning with the ugliness of life the
story becomes more and more beautiful,
tender, and appealing as the plot grow
more exciting.
The first chapter describes the life OF
the heros father. 1t is called IN the
Ashes" and gives this picture of Russian
factory-town life:
every day the factory whistle beloved
forth it's shrill, roaring, trembling noises
into the smoke-begrimed and greasy at
mosphere of the workingmen's suburb;
and obedient to the summons OF the power
of steam people poured out of little
gray houses into the street With SOM
Der faces they FASTENED forward like
frightened reaches, their muscles Stlif
from insufficient sleep. In the chill MORN
ing twilight they walked through the
narrow, unpaved street to the tail stone
cage that waited for them with cold as
scores Of greasy. yellow square eyes The
mud FLASHED under their feet as II in
hooking commlscra tion. Hoarse eXelama-
tons of sleepy voices were heard; 1frl-
tated, peevish, abusive language rent the
air with malice; and TO welcome the peo-
pie, deafenng sounds floated about-the
heavy whir of machinery, the dissatisfied
snort of steam. Stern and somber, the
black chimneys stretched their huge, thick
cffp OF nh
IN the evening, when the sun was
setting, and red rays languidly glimmered
upon the windows of the houses the fac
tory elected its people like burnt-out
ashes. and again they walked through
the streets, with black. smoke covered
faces, radiating the sticky odor of ma
cline oil and showing the CLEAN of hum
cry teeth. But now there was animation
IN their voices and even Gladness. The
servitude of hard toll was over for the
day Supper awaited them at home, and
respite.
Injecting one another they spoke about
the factory aud the machines, had their
fling against their foreman, conVersed and
thought only of matters closely and mani
testify connected with their work. only
rarely, and then bat family, did solitary
SHARKS of impotcnt thought glmmer in
the wearisUme monotony of their talk.
Returning home they quarreled with their
wives. and often beat them, unsparing
OF their fists. The young people sat in the
taVcrns. or enjoyed evening parties at
one another's houses. played the accor-
dion. sang vulgar songs devoid of beauty.
danced talked ribaldry, and drank.
Exhausted with toll, men drank swiftly
and i'm every heart there awolle and grew
an incomprehensihle, sickly irritation. 1t
demanded an outlet. And clutching tena-
ciously at every pretext for unloading
themselves Of this dsquieting sensation,
they fe Ion one another for mere trines.
with the spiteful ferocity of beasts,
, breaking into bloody quarrels, which
sometimes ended in serious injury and
or rare occasions even in murder.
THUS also lived Michael Vlasov a
gloomy. silent ment with little eyes which
looked at everybody from under his thick
eyebrows suspiciously, with a mistrustful,
evil smile. He was the best locksmith in
the factory. and the strongest and disre-
spectful toward the foreman and the sup
erintendent, and therefore earned little;
every holiday he beat somebody. and
everyone dislilled and feared him"
This brute soon dies, leaving his ILL
treated wife and son PaVel. AT first the
young man goes the way of his father,
and there is infinite pathos i'm the scene
where he first comes home drunk:
1.-TWO weeks after the death of his
father. on a Sunday. paVel came home
very drunk. Staggering he crawled to n
corner i'm the front of the room and
striking his fist on the table his father
use to do, shouted TO his mother Supper
THE mother walked up 10 MIN. sat
down at his side. and with her arm
around her son. drew his head npan her
breast.
Somewhere from distance came The
mothers soft voice: What sort of a
breadgiver will you be to me If you begin
TO drink?
'.IIe shut his eyes tightly and answered:
Everybody drinks