breathed forth upon us its hot breath, while
its two black and enormous cavities watched our unending work....

"Thus, from one day to the next, in the floury dust, in the mud that
our feet brought in from the yard, in the suffocating and terrible
heat, we rolled out the dough and made cracknels, moistening them
with our sweat; we hated our work with an implacable hatred; we
never ate what we made, preferring black bread to these odorous
dainties."

* * * * *

At this period of his life, he had occasion to study at first hand
certain places where he received original information which he later
used in writing "Konovalov" and "The Ex-Men," which have thus
acquired an autobiographical value. In fact, he worked a long while
with these "ex-men;" like them, he sawed wood, and carried heavy
burdens. At the same time, he devoted all his spare time to reading
and thinking about problems, which became more and more "cursed" and
alarming. He had found an attentive listener and interlocutor in the
person of his comrade, the baker Konovalov. These two men, while
baking their bread, found time to read. And the walls of the cellar
heard the reading of the works of Gogol, Dostoyevsky, Karamzine, and
others. Then they used to discuss the meaning of life. On holidays,
Gorky and Konovalov had for the moment an opportunity to come out of
the hole--this word does not exaggerate--in which they worked, to
breathe the fresh air, to live a bit in nature's bosom, and to see
their fellow men.

"On holidays," Gorky tells us, "we went with Konovalov down to the
river, into the fields; we took a little brandy and bread with us,
and, from morning till evening, we were in the open air."

They often went to an old, abandoned house which served as a refuge
for a whole tribe of miserable and wandering people, who loved to
tell of their wandering lives. Gorky and his companion were always
well received on account of the provisions which they distributed so
generously.

"Each story spread out before our eyes like a piece of lace in which
the black threads predominated--they represented the truth--and
where there were threads of light color--they were the lies. These
people loved us in their way, and were attentive listeners, because
I often read a great deal to them."

Often, these expeditions were not without their risks. One day, two
of the baker's workmen happened to drown in a bog; another time,
they were taken