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 to mouth are in a way better off; their demands on life are small, and very little is expected of them. Neither is it for them to begin the movement which leads to a great revolution. It is the men from our midst who teach them to be Socialists. It is the despair in the higher classes which breeds the demands from below.

The other day I wrenched myself away from it all. I gave my affairs into the hands of a sympathetic solicitor, made an arrangement with my publisher, a man who has an amiable belief in my talent, and who is willing for a year or two to pay me a modest monthly allowance. I packed my trunk, and this afternoon, without saying good-bye to any one, I came on board this steamer which will take me to the old provincial town where I spent my early childhood. I have not seen the place for twenty years, but every time the weariness of my life overwhelmed me, I longed to go back there.

I have not wavered. The moment I decided to break away from the capital, that same moment I knew where I was going.

The old town calls me like a mother who faithfully waits at home for her far-away son. In the old town there is nothing to remind me of all I wish to get away from and to forget. The town and I only know each other from the good days when it seemed to me the greatest and the most beautiful, the object of my pride and admiration, and I was one of its most spoiled children.