"It's a sacred thing.
Think of it! Christ would not have been, either, if men hadn't
perished for his sake."
This thought had flashed across the mother's mind all of a sudden
and struck her by its simple, clear truth. She stared at the woman,
who held her hand firmly in her clasp, and repeated, smiling:
"Christ would not have been, either, if men hadn't suffered for his
sake."
Sizov appeared at her side. He took off his hat and waving it to
the measure of the song, said:
"They're marching openly, eh, mother? And composed a song, too!
What a song, mother, eh?"
"The Czar for the army soldiers must have,
Then give him your sons----"
"They're not afraid of anything," said Sizov. "And my son is in the
grave. The factory crushed him to death, yes!"
The mother's heart beat rapidly, and she began to lag behind. She
was soon pushed aside hard against a fence, and the close-packed
crowd went streaming past her. She saw that there were many people,
and she was pleased.
"Rise up, awake, you workingmen!"
It seemed as if the blare of a mighty brass trumpet were rousing
men and stirring in some hearts the willingness to fight, in other
hearts a vague joy, a premonition of something new, and a burning
curiosity; in still others a confused tremor of hope and curiosity.
Pages:
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288