the other hand, Gorky's wandering beggars are closely related to
those "free men" to whom M. S. Maximov attributes a historic role
which was favorable to the extension of the Russian empire.
"Russia," he says, in his book, "Siberia and the Prison," "lived by
vagabondage after she became a State; thanks to the vagabonds, she
has extended her boundaries: for, it is they who, in order to
maintain their independence, fought against the nomad tribes who
attacked them from the south and the east...."

There is a marked difference between these two classes: men of the
former look for a place on this earth where they can establish
themselves; while men of the other class, those who are out of work,
drunkards, and lazy men, have no taste for a sedentary life.

But if Gorky has not created the type of vagabond which is so
familiar to those who know Russian literature, on the other hand, he
has remodeled it with his original, energetic, and vibrantly
realistic talent. His nomad "barefoot brigade," picturesquely
encamped, is surrounded with a sort of terribly majestic halo in
these vast stretches of country, a background against which their
sombre silhouettes are set off. From the perfumed steppes to the
roaring sea, they conjure up to the eye of their old co-mate the
enchanting Slavic land of which they are the audacious offsprings.
And Gorky also lovingly gives them a familiar setting, painted with
bold strokes, of plains and mountains which border in the distance
the glaucous stretch of the sea. The sea! With what fervor does
Gorky depict the anger and the peace of the sea. It always inspires,
like an adored mistress:

"... The sea sleeps.

"Immense, sighing lazily along the strand, it has gone to sleep,
peaceful in its huge stretch, bathed in the moonlight. As soft as
velvet, and black, it mingles with the dark southern sky and sleeps
profoundly, while on its surface is reflected the transparent tissue
of the flaky, immobile clouds, in which is incrusted the gilded
design of the stars."

Thus, like a "leitmotiv," the murmuring of the water interrupts the
course of the story. And the steppe, this steppe "which has devoured
so much human flesh and has drunk so much blood that it has become
fat and fecund," surrounds with its immensity these miserable
wandering beings and menaces them with its storm:

"Suddenly, the entire steppe undulated, enveloped with a dazzling
blue light which seemed to enlarge the horizon ... the s