lieved of all their duties, of all the thousands of petty things
that make life hard, of all the small details, conventions, and
obligations which hold such an important place in our society. But
the time for heroic deeds has passed away, and the "restless" fight
in vain against the millions of men who are determined to keep their
habits and advantages.

Thus they are obliged to shake the dust off their feet and to leave
the ranks in which they are suffocating. No matter what they do or
what they try to do, their motto is, "each one for himself."

"Come," says a vagabond poetically to Thomas Gordeyev, "come with me
on the open road, into the fields and steppes, across the plains,
over the mountains, come out and look at the world in all its
freedom. The thick forests begin to murmur; their sweet voice
praises divine wisdom; God's birds sing its glory and the grass of
the steppe burns with the incense of the Holy Virgin.

"The soul is filled with an ardent yet calm joy, you desire nothing,
you envy no one.... And it is then that it seems as if on the whole
earth there is no one but God and you...."

The material inconveniences of such an existence hardly affect
Gorky's characters. Promtov, one of the prophets of individualism,
says, in speaking of himself:

"I have been 'on the road' for ten years, and I have not complained
of my fate to God. I don't want to tell you anything of this period,
because it is too tedious.... In general, it is the joyous life of a
bird. Sometimes, grain is lacking, but one must not be too exacting
and one must remember that kings themselves do not have pleasures
only. In a life like ours, there are no duties--that is the first
pleasure--and there are no laws, except those of nature--that is the
second. Without a doubt, the gentlemen of the police force bother
one at times ... but you find fleas even in the best hotels. As a
set-off, one can go to the right, or to the left, or straight ahead,
wherever your heart bids you go, and if you don't want to go
anywhere, after having provided yourself with bread from the hut of
some peasant, who will never refuse it, you can lie down until you
care to resume your travels...."

This is the final point at which all of the "restless" arrive,
believing that there they will find what they have always lacked.
Even the author himself shares their views up to a certain point:

"You have to be born in civilized society," he says, speaking of
himself, "