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diff --git a/2709-h/2709-h.htm b/2709-h/2709-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ea2a8b7 --- /dev/null +++ b/2709-h/2709-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,19404 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Foma Gordyeff, by Maxim Gorky + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Foma Gordyeff, by Maxim Gorky + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Foma Gordyeff + (The Man Who Was Afraid) + +Author: Maxim Gorky + +Translator: Herman Bernstein + +Release Date: December 13, 2008 [EBook #2709] +Last Updated: November 7, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOMA GORDYEFF *** + + + + +Produced by Martin Adamson, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + FOMA GORDYEFF + </h1> + <h2> + (The Man Who Was Afraid) + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Maxim Gorky + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated by Herman Bernstein + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> INTRODUCTORY NOTE. </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>FOMA GORDYEEF</b> </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + INTRODUCTORY NOTE. + </h2> + <p> + OUT of the darkest depths of life, where vice and crime and misery abound, + comes the Byron of the twentieth century, the poet of the vagabond and the + proletariat, Maxim Gorky. Not like the beggar, humbly imploring for a + crust in the name of the Lord, nor like the jeweller displaying his + precious stones to dazzle and tempt the eye, he comes to the world,—nay, + in accents of Tyrtaeus this commoner of Nizhni Novgorod spurs on his + troops of freedom-loving heroes to conquer, as it were, the placid, + self-satisfied literatures of to-day, and bring new life to pale, + bloodless frames. + </p> + <p> + Like Byron’s impassioned utterances, “borne on the tones of a wild and + quite artless melody,” is Gorky’s mad, unbridled, powerful voice, as he + sings of the “madness of the brave,” of the barefooted dreamers, who are + proud of their idleness, who possess nothing and fear nothing, who are gay + in their misery, though miserable in their joy. + </p> + <p> + Gorky’s voice is not the calm, cultivated, well-balanced voice of Chekhov, + the Russian De Maupassant, nor even the apostolic, well-meaning, but + comparatively faint voice of Tolstoy, the preacher: it is the roaring of a + lion, the crash of thunder. In its elementary power is the heart rending + cry of a sincere but suffering soul that saw the brutality of life in all + its horrors, and now flings its experiences into the face of the world + with unequalled sympathy and the courage of a giant. + </p> + <p> + For Gorky, above all, has courage; he dares to say that he finds the + vagabond, the outcast of society, more sublime and significant than + society itself. + </p> + <p> + His Bosyak, the symbolic incarnation of the Over-man, is as naive and as + bold as a child—or as a genius. In the vehement passions of the + magnanimous, compassionate hero in tatters, in the aristocracy of his + soul, and in his constant thirst for Freedom, Gorky sees the rebellious + and irreconcilable spirit of man, of future man,—in these he sees + something beautiful, something powerful, something monumental, and is + carried away by their strange psychology. For the barefooted dreamer’s + life is Gorky’s life, his ideals are Gorky’s ideals, his pleasures and + pains, Gorky’s pleasures and pains. + </p> + <p> + And Gorky, though broken in health now, buffeted by the storms of fate, + bruised and wounded in the battle-field of life, still like Byron and like + Lermontov, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “—seeks the storm + As though the storm contained repose.” + </pre> + <p> + And in a leonine voice he cries defiantly: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Let the storm rage with greater force and fury!” + </pre> + <p> + HERMAN BERNSTEIN. + </p> + <p> + September 20, 1901. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + FOMA GORDYEEF + </h1> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dedicated to + + ANTON P. CHEKHOV + + By + + Maxim Gorky + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + ABOUT sixty years ago, when fortunes of millions had been made on the + Volga with fairy-tale rapidity, Ignat Gordyeeff, a young fellow, was + working as water-pumper on one of the barges of the wealthy merchant + Zayev. + </p> + <p> + Built like a giant, handsome and not at all stupid, he was one of those + people whom luck always follows everywhere—not because they are + gifted and industrious, but rather because, having an enormous stock of + energy at their command, they cannot stop to think over the choice of + means when on their way toward their aims, and, excepting their own will, + they know no law. Sometimes they speak of their conscience with fear, + sometimes they really torture themselves struggling with it, but + conscience is an unconquerable power to the faint-hearted only; the strong + master it quickly and make it a slave to their desires, for they + unconsciously feel that, given room and freedom, conscience would fracture + life. They sacrifice days to it; and if it should happen that conscience + conquered their souls, they are never wrecked, even in defeat—they + are just as healthy and strong under its sway as when they lived without + conscience. + </p> + <p> + At the age of forty Ignat Gordyeeff was himself the owner of three + steamers and ten barges. On the Volga he was respected as a rich and + clever man, but was nicknamed “Frantic,” because his life did not flow + along a straight channel, like that of other people of his kind, but now + and again, boiling up turbulently, ran out of its rut, away from gain—the + prime aim of his existence. It looked as though there were three + Gordyeeffs in him, or as though there were three souls in Ignat’s body. + One of them, the mightiest, was only greedy, and when Ignat lived + according to its commands, he was merely a man seized with untamable + passion for work. This passion burned in him by day and by night, he was + completely absorbed by it, and, grabbing everywhere hundreds and thousands + of roubles, it seemed as if he could never have enough of the jingle and + sound of money. He worked about up and down the Volga, building and + fastening nets in which he caught gold: he bought up grain in the + villages, floated it to Rybinsk on his barges; he plundered, cheated, + sometimes not noticing it, sometimes noticing, and, triumphant, be openly + laughed at by his victims; and in the senselessness of his thirst for + money, he rose to the heights of poetry. But, giving up so much strength + to this hunt after the rouble, he was not greedy in the narrow sense, and + sometimes he even betrayed an inconceivable but sincere indifference to + his property. Once, when the ice was drifting down the Volga, he stood on + the shore, and, seeing that the ice was breaking his new barge, having + crushed it against the bluff shore, he ejaculated: + </p> + <p> + “That’s it. Again. Crush it! Now, once more! Try!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Ignat,” asked his friend Mayakin, coming up to him, “the ice is + crushing about ten thousand out of your purse, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s nothing! I’ll make another hundred. But look how the Volga is + working! Eh? Fine? She can split the whole world, like curd, with a knife. + Look, look! There you have my ‘Boyarinya!’ She floated but once. Well, + we’ll have mass said for the dead.” + </p> + <p> + The barge was crushed into splinters. Ignat and the godfather, sitting in + the tavern on the shore, drank vodka and looked out of the window, + watching the fragments of the “Boyarinya” drifting down the river together + with the ice. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sorry for the vessel, Ignat?” asked Mayakin. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I be sorry for it? The Volga gave it to me, and the Volga has + taken it back. It did not tear off my hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless.” + </p> + <p> + “What—nevertheless? It is good at least that I saw how it was all + done. It’s a lesson for the future. But when my ‘Volgar’ was burned—I + was really sorry—I didn’t see it. How beautiful it must have looked + when such a woodpile was blazing on the water in the dark night! Eh? It + was an enormous steamer.” + </p> + <p> + “Weren’t you sorry for that either?” + </p> + <p> + “For the steamer? It is true, I did feel sorry for the steamer. But then + it is mere foolishness to feel sorry! What’s the use? I might have cried; + tears cannot extinguish fire. Let the steamers burn. And even though + everything be burned down, I’d spit upon it! If the soul is but burning to + work, everything will be erected anew. Isn’t it so?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mayakin, smiling. “These are strong words you say. And whoever + speaks that way, even though he loses all, will nevertheless be rich.” + </p> + <p> + Regarding losses of thousands of roubles so philosophically, Ignat knew + the value of every kopeika; he gave to the poor very seldom, and only to + those that were altogether unable to work. When a more or less healthy man + asked him for alms, Ignat would say, sternly: + </p> + <p> + “Get away! You can work yet. Go to my dvornik and help him to remove the + dung. I’ll pay you for it.” + </p> + <p> + Whenever he had been carried away by his work he regarded people morosely + and piteously, nor did he give himself rest while hunting for roubles. And + suddenly—it usually happened in spring, when everything on earth + became so bewitchingly beautiful and something reproachfully wild was + breathed down into the soul from the clear sky—Ignat Gordyeeff would + feel that he was not the master of his business, but its low slave. He + would lose himself in thought and, inquisitively looking about himself + from under his thick, knitted eyebrows, walk about for days, angry and + morose, as though silently asking something, which he feared to ask aloud. + They awakened his other soul, the turbulent and lustful soul of a hungry + beast. Insolent and cynical, he drank, led a depraved life, and made + drunkards of other people. He went into ecstasy, and something like a + volcano of filth boiled within him. It looked as though he was madly + tearing the chains which he himself had forged and carried, and was not + strong enough to tear them. Excited and very dirty, his face swollen from + drunkenness and sleeplessness, his eyes wandering madly, and roaring in a + hoarse voice, he tramped about the town from one tavern to another, threw + away money without counting it, cried and danced to the sad tunes of the + folk songs, or fought, but found no rest anywhere—in anything. + </p> + <p> + It happened one day that a degraded priest, a short, stout little + bald-headed man in a torn cassock, chanced on Ignat, and stuck to him, + just as a piece of mud will stick to a shoe. An impersonal, deformed and + nasty creature, he played the part of a buffoon: they smeared his bald + head with mustard, made him go upon all-fours, drink mixtures of different + brandies and dance comical dances; he did all this in silence, an idiotic + smile on his wrinkled face, and having done what he was told to do, he + invariably said, outstretching his hand with his palm upward: + </p> + <p> + “Give me a rouble.” + </p> + <p> + They laughed at him and sometimes gave him twenty kopeiks, sometimes gave + him nothing, but it sometimes happened that they threw him a ten-rouble + bill and even more. + </p> + <p> + “You abominable fellow,” cried Ignat to him one day. “Say, who are you?” + </p> + <p> + The priest was frightened by the call, and bowing low to Ignat, was + silent. + </p> + <p> + “Who? Speak!” roared Ignat. + </p> + <p> + “I am a man—to be abused,” answered the priest, and the company + burst out laughing at his words. + </p> + <p> + “Are you a rascal?” asked Ignat, sternly. + </p> + <p> + “A rascal? Because of need and the weakness of my soul?” + </p> + <p> + “Come here!” Ignat called him. “Come and sit down by my side.” + </p> + <p> + Trembling with fear, the priest walked up to the intoxicated merchant with + timid steps and remained standing opposite him. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down beside me!” said Ignat, taking the frightened priest by the hand + and seating him next to himself. “You are a very near man to me. I am also + a rascal! You, because of need; I, because of wantonness. I am a rascal + because of grief! Understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said the priest, softly. All the company were giggling. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know now what I am?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, say, ‘You are a rascal, Ignat!’” + </p> + <p> + The priest could not do it. He looked with terror at the huge figure of + Ignat and shook his head negatively. The company’s laughter was now like + the rattling of thunder. Ignat could not make the priest abuse him. Then + he asked him: + </p> + <p> + “Shall I give you money?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” quickly answered the priest. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you need it for?” + </p> + <p> + He did not care to answer. Then Ignat seized him by the collar, and shook + out of his dirty lips the following speech, which he spoke almost in a + whisper, trembling with fear: + </p> + <p> + “I have a daughter sixteen years old in the seminary. I save for her, + because when she comes out there won’t be anything with which to cover her + nakedness.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Ignat, and let go the priest’s collar. Then he sat for a long + time gloomy and lost in thought, and now and again stared at the priest. + Suddenly his eyes began to laugh, and he said: + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you a liar, drunkard?” + </p> + <p> + The priest silently made the sign of the cross and lowered his head on his + breast. + </p> + <p> + “It is the truth!” said one of the company, confirming the priest’s words. + </p> + <p> + “True? Very well!” shouted Ignat, and, striking the table with his fist, + he addressed himself to the priest: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you! Sell me your daughter! How much will you take?” + </p> + <p> + The priest shook his head and shrank back. + </p> + <p> + “One thousand!” + </p> + <p> + The company giggled, seeing that the priest was shrinking as though cold + water was being poured on him. + </p> + <p> + “Two!” roared Ignat, with flashing eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter with you? How is it?” muttered the priest, stretching + out both hands to Ignat. + </p> + <p> + “Three!” + </p> + <p> + “Ignat Matveyich!” cried the priest, in a thin, ringing voice. “For God’s + sake! For Christ’s sake! Enough! I’ll sell her! For her own sake I’ll sell + her!” + </p> + <p> + In his sickly, sharp voice was heard a threat to someone, and his eyes, + unnoticed by anybody before, flashed like coals. But the intoxicated crowd + only laughed at him foolishly. + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” cried Ignat, sternly, straightening himself to his full length + and flashing his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you understand, devils, what’s going on here? It’s enough to make + one cry, while you giggle.” + </p> + <p> + He walked up to the priest, went down on his knees before him, and said to + him firmly: + </p> + <p> + “Father now you see what a rascal I am. Well, spit into my face!” + </p> + <p> + Something ugly and ridiculous took place. The priest too, knelt before + Ignat, and like a huge turtle, crept around near his feet, kissed his + knees and muttered something, sobbing. Ignat bent over him, lifted him + from the floor and cried to him, commanding and begging: + </p> + <p> + “Spit! Spit right into my shameless eyes!” + </p> + <p> + The company, stupefied for a moment by Ignat’s stern voice, laughed again + so that the panes rattled in the tavern windows. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give you a hundred roubles. Spit!” + </p> + <p> + And the priest crept over the floor and sobbed for fear, or for happiness, + to hear that this man was begging him to do something degrading to + himself. + </p> + <p> + Finally Ignat arose from the floor, kicked the priest, and, flinging at + him a package of money, said morosely, with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “Rabble! Can a man repent before such people? Some are afraid to hear of + repentance, others laugh at a sinner. I was about to unburden myself + completely; the heart trembled. Let me, I thought. No, I didn’t think at + all. Just so! Get out of here! And see that you never show yourself to me + again. Do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a queer fellow!” said the crowd, somewhat moved. + </p> + <p> + Legends were composed about his drinking bouts in town; everybody censured + him strictly, but no one ever declined his invitation to those drinking + bouts. Thus he lived for weeks. + </p> + <p> + And unexpectedly he used to come home, not yet altogether freed from the + odour of the kabaks, but already crestfallen and quiet. With humbly + downcast eyes, in which shame was burning now, he silently listened to his + wife’s reproaches, and, humble and meek as a lamb, went away to his room + and locked himself in. For many hours in succession he knelt before the + cross, lowering his head on his breast; his hands hung helplessly, his + back was bent, and he was silent, as though he dared not pray. His wife + used to come up to the door on tiptoe and listen. Deep sighs were heard + from behind the door—like the breathing of a tired and sickly horse. + </p> + <p> + “God! You see,” whispered Ignat in a muffled voice, firmly pressing the + palms of his hands to his broad breast. + </p> + <p> + During the days of repentance he drank nothing but water and ate only rye + bread. + </p> + <p> + In the morning his wife placed at the door of his room a big bottle of + water, about a pound and a half of bread, and salt. He opened the door, + took in these victuals and locked himself in again. During this time he + was not disturbed in any way; everybody tried to avoid him. A few days + later he again appeared on the exchange, jested, laughed, made contracts + to furnish corn as sharp-sighted as a bird of prey, a rare expert at + anything concerning his affairs. + </p> + <p> + But in all the moods of Ignat’s life there was one passionate desire that + never left him—the desire to have a son; and the older he grew the + greater was this desire. Very often such conversation as this took place + between him and his wife. In the morning, at her tea, or at noon during + dinner hour he gloomily glared at his wife, a stout, well-fed woman, with + a red face and sleepy eyes, and asked her: + </p> + <p> + “Well, don’t you feel anything?” + </p> + <p> + She knew what he meant, but she invariably replied: + </p> + <p> + “How can I help feeling? Your fists are like dumb-bells.” + </p> + <p> + “You know what I’m talking about, you fool.” + </p> + <p> + “Can one become pregnant from such blows?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not on account of the blows that you don’t bear any children; it’s + because you eat too much. You fill your stomach with all sorts of food—and + there’s no room for the child to engender.” + </p> + <p> + “As if I didn’t bear you any children?” + </p> + <p> + “Those were girls,” said Ignat, reproachfully. “I want a son! Do you + understand? A son, an heir! To whom shall I give my capital after my + death? Who shall pray for my sins? Shall I give it to a cloister? I have + given them enough! Or shall I leave it to you? What a fine pilgrim you + are! Even in church you think only of fish pies. If I die, you’ll marry + again, and my money will be turned over to some fool. Do you think this is + what I am working for?” + </p> + <p> + And he was seized with sardonic anguish, for he felt that his life was + aimless if he should have no son to follow him. + </p> + <p> + During the nine years of their married life his wife had borne him four + daughters, all of whom had passed away. While Ignat had awaited their + birth tremblingly, he mourned their death but little—at any rate + they were unnecessary to him. He began to beat his wife during the second + year of their married life; at first he did it while being intoxicated and + without animosity, but just according to the proverb: “Love your wife like + your soul and shake her like a pear-tree;” but after each confinement, + deceived in his expectation, his hatred for his wife grew stronger, and he + began to beat her with pleasure, in revenge for not bearing him a son. + </p> + <p> + Once while on business in the province of Samarsk, he received a telegram + from relatives at home, informing him of his wife’s death. He made the + sign of the cross, thought awhile and wrote to his friend Mayakin: + </p> + <p> + “Bury her in my absence; look after my property.” + </p> + <p> + Then he went to the church to serve the mass for the dead, and, having + prayed for the repose of the late Aquilina’s soul, he began to think that + it was necessary for him to marry as soon as possible. + </p> + <p> + He was then forty-three years old, tall, broad-shouldered, with a heavy + bass voice, like an arch-deacon; his large eyes looked bold and wise from + under his dark eyebrows; in his sunburnt face, overgrown with a thick, + black beard, and in all his mighty figure there was much truly Russian, + crude and healthy beauty; in his easy motions as well as in his slow, + proud walk, a consciousness of power was evident—a firm confidence + in himself. He was liked by women and did not avoid them. + </p> + <p> + Ere six months had passed after the death of his wife, he courted the + daughter of an Ural Cossack. The father of the bride, notwithstanding that + Ignat was known even in Ural as a “pranky” man, gave him his daughter in + marriage, and toward autumn Ignat Gordyeeff came home with a young + Cossack-wife. Her name was Natalya. Tall, well-built, with large blue eyes + and with a long chestnut braid, she was a worthy match for the handsome + Ignat. He was happy and proud of his wife and loved her with the + passionate love of a healthy man, but he soon began to contemplate her + thoughtfully, with a vigilant eye. + </p> + <p> + Seldom did a smile cross the oval, demure face of his wife—she was + always thinking of something foreign to life, and in her calm blue eyes + something dark and misanthropic was flashing at times. Whenever she was + free from household duties she seated herself in the most spacious room by + the window, and sat there silently for two or three hours. Her face was + turned toward the street, but the look of her eyes was so indifferent to + everything that lived and moved there beyond the window, and at the same + time it was so fixedly deep, as though she were looking into her very + soul. And her walk, too, was queer. Natalya moved about the spacious room + slowly and carefully, as if something invisible restrained the freedom of + her movements. Their house was filled with heavy and coarsely boastful + luxury; everything there was resplendent, screaming of the proprietor’s + wealth, but the Cossack-wife walked past the costly furniture and the + silverware in a shy and somewhat frightened manner, as though fearing lest + they might seize and choke her. Evidently, the noisy life of the big + commercial town did not interest this silent woman, and whenever she went + out driving with her husband, her eyes were fixed on the back of the + driver. When her husband took her visiting she went and behaved there just + as queerly as at home; when guests came to her house, she zealously served + them refreshments, taking no interest whatever in what was said, and + showing preference toward none. Only Mayakin, a witty, droll man, at times + called forth on her face a smile, as vague as a shadow. He used to say of + her: + </p> + <p> + “It’s a tree—not a woman! But life is like an inextinguishable + wood-pile, and every one of us blazes up sometimes. She, too, will take + fire; wait, give her time. Then we shall see how she will bloom.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh!” Ignat used to say to her jestingly. “What are you thinking about? + Are you homesick? Brighten up a bit!” + </p> + <p> + She would remain silent, calmly looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “You go entirely too often to the church. You should wait. You have plenty + of time to pray for your sins. Commit the sins first. You know, if you + don’t sin you don’t repent; if you don’t repent, you don’t work out your + salvation. You better sin while you are young. Shall we go out for a + drive?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t feel like going out.” + </p> + <p> + He used to sit down beside her and embrace her. She was cold, returning + his caresses but sparingly. Looking straight into her eyes, he used to + say: + </p> + <p> + “Natalya! Tell me—why are you so sad? Do you feel lonesome here with + me?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she replied shortly. + </p> + <p> + “What then is it? Are you longing for your people?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinking about?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “What then?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing!” + </p> + <p> + Once he managed to get from her a more complete answer: + </p> + <p> + “There is something confused in my heart. And also in my eyes. And it + always seems to me that all this is not real.” + </p> + <p> + She waved her hand around her, pointing at the walls, the furniture and + everything. Ignat did not reflect on her words, and, laughing, said to + her: + </p> + <p> + “That’s to no purpose! Everything here is genuine. All these are costly, + solid things. If you don’t want these, I’ll burn them, I’ll sell them, + I’ll give them away—and I’ll get new ones! Do you want me to?” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” said she calmly. + </p> + <p> + He wondered, at last, how one so young and healthy could live as though + she were sleeping all the time, caring for nothing, going nowhere, except + to the church, and shunning everybody. And he used to console her: + </p> + <p> + “Just wait. You’ll bear a son, and then an altogether different life will + commence. You are so sad because you have so little anxiety, and he will + give you trouble. You’ll bear me a son, will you not? + </p> + <p> + “If it pleases God,” she answered, lowering her head. + </p> + <p> + Then her mood began to irritate him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, why do you wear such a long face? You walk as though on glass. You + look as if you had ruined somebody’s soul! Eh! You are such a succulent + woman, and yet you have no taste for anything. Fool!” + </p> + <p> + Coming home intoxicated one day, he began to ply her with caresses, while + she turned away from him. Then he grew angry, and exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Natalya! Don’t play the fool, look out!” + </p> + <p> + She turned her face to him and asked calmly: + </p> + <p> + “What then?” + </p> + <p> + Ignat became enraged at these words and at her fearless look. + </p> + <p> + “What?” he roared, coming up close to her. + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish to kill me?” asked she, not moving from her place, nor + winking an eye. + </p> + <p> + Ignat was accustomed to seeing people tremble before his wrath, and it was + strange and offensive to him to see her calm. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he cried, lifting his hand to strike her. Slowly, but in time, + she eluded the blow; then she seized his hand, pushed it away from her, + and said in the same tone: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you dare to touch me. I will not allow you to come near me!” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes became smaller and their sharp, metallic glitter sobered Ignat. + He understood by her face that she, too, was a strong beast, and if she + chose to she wouldn’t admit him to her, even though she were to lose her + life. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he growled, and went away. + </p> + <p> + But having retreated once, he would not do it again: he could not bear + that a woman, and his wife at that, should not bow before him—this + would have degraded him. He then began to realise that henceforth his wife + would never yield to him in any matter, and that an obstinate strife for + predominance must start between them. + </p> + <p> + “Very well! We’ll see who will conquer,” he thought the next day, watching + his wife with stern curiosity; and in his soul a strong desire was already + raging to start the strife, that he might enjoy his victory the sooner. + </p> + <p> + But about four days later, Natalya Fominichna announced to her husband + that she was pregnant. + </p> + <p> + Ignat trembled for joy, embraced her firmly, and said in a dull voice: + </p> + <p> + “You’re a fine fellow, Natalya! Natasha, if it should be a son! If you + bear me a son I’ll enrich you! I tell you plainly, I’ll be your slave! By + God! I’ll lie down at your feet, and you may trample upon me, if you + like!” + </p> + <p> + “This is not within our power; it’s the will of the Lord,” said she in a + low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the Lord’s!” exclaimed Ignat with bitterness and drooped his head + sadly. + </p> + <p> + From that moment he began to look after his wife as though she were a + little child. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you sit near the window? Look out. You’ll catch cold in your side; + you may take sick,” he used to say to her, both sternly and mildly. “Why + do you skip on the staircase? You may hurt yourself. And you had better + eat more, eat for two, that he may have enough.” + </p> + <p> + And the pregnancy made Natalya more morose and silent, as though she were + looking still deeper into herself, absorbed in the throbbing of new life + within her. But the smile on her lips became clearer, and in her eyes + flashed at times something new, weak and timid, like the first ray of the + dawn. + </p> + <p> + When, at last, the time of confinement came, it was early on an autumn + morning. At the first cry of pain she uttered, Ignat turned pale and + started to say something, but only waved his hand and left the bedroom, + where his wife was shrinking convulsively, and went down to the little + room which had served his late mother as a chapel. He ordered vodka, + seated himself by the table and began to drink sternly, listening to the + alarm in the house and to the moans of his wife that came from above. In + the corner of the room, the images of the ikons, indifferent and dark, + stood out confusedly, dimly illumined by the glimmering light of the image + lamp. There was a stamping and scraping of feet over his head, something + heavy was moved from one side of the floor to the other, there was a + clattering of dishes, people were bustling hurriedly, up and down the + staircase. Everything was being done in haste, yet time was creeping + slowly. Ignat could hear a muffled voice from above, + </p> + <p> + “As it seems, she cannot be delivered that way. We had better send to the + church to open the gates of the Lord.” + </p> + <p> + Vassushka, one of the hangers-on in his house, entered the room next to + Ignat’s and began to pray in a loud whisper: + </p> + <p> + “God, our Lord, descend from the skies in Thy benevolence, born of the + Holy Virgin. Thou dost divine the helplessness of human creatures. Forgive + Thy servant.” + </p> + <p> + And suddenly drowning all other sounds, a superhuman, soul-rending cry + rang out, and a continuous moan floated softly over the room and died out + in the corners, which were filled now with the twilight. Ignat cast stern + glances at the ikons, heaved a deep sigh and thought: + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible that it’s again a daughter?” + </p> + <p> + At times he arose, stupidly stood in the middle of the room, and crossed + himself in silence, bowing before the ikons; then he went back to the + table, drank the vodka, which had not made him dizzy during these hours, + dozed off, and thus passed the whole night and following morning until + noon. + </p> + <p> + And then, at last, the midwife came down hastily, crying to him in a thin, + joyous voice. + </p> + <p> + “I congratulate you with a son, Ignat Matveyich!” + </p> + <p> + “You lie!” said he in a dull voice. “What’s the matter with you, + batushka!” Heaving a sigh with all the strength of his massive chest, + Ignat went down on his knees, and clasping his hands firmly to his breast, + muttered in a trembling voice: + </p> + <p> + “Thank God! Evidently Thou didst not want that my stem should be checked! + My sins before Thee shall not remain without repentance. I thank Thee, Oh + Lord. Oh!” and, rising to his feet, he immediately began to command + noisily: + </p> + <p> + “Eh! Let someone go to St. Nicholas for a priest. Tell him that Ignat + Matveyich asked him to come! Let him come to make a prayer for the woman.” + </p> + <p> + The chambermaid appeared and said to him with alarm: + </p> + <p> + “Ignat Matveyich, Natalya Fominichna is calling you. She is feeling bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Why bad? It’ll pass!” he roared, his eyes flashing cheerfully. “Tell her + I’ll be there immediately! Tell her she’s a fine fellow! I’ll just get a + present for her and I’ll come! Hold on! Prepare something to eat for the + priest. Send somebody after Mayakin!” + </p> + <p> + His enormous figure looked as though it had grown bigger, and intoxicated + with joy, he stupidly tossed about the room; he was smiling, rubbing his + hands and casting fervent glances at the images; he crossed himself + swinging his hand wide. At last he went up to his wife. + </p> + <p> + His eyes first of all caught a glimpse of the little red body, which the + midwife was bathing in a tub. Noticing him, Ignat stood up on tiptoes, + and, folding his hands behind his back, walked up to him, stepping + carefully and comically putting forth his lips. The little one was + whimpering and sprawling in the water, naked, impotent and pitiful. + </p> + <p> + “Look out there! Handle him more carefully! He hasn’t got any bones yet,” + said Ignat to the midwife, softly. + </p> + <p> + She began to laugh, opening her toothless mouth, and cleverly throwing the + child over from one hand to the other. + </p> + <p> + “You better go to your wife.” + </p> + <p> + He obediently moved toward the bed and asked on his way: + </p> + <p> + “Well, how is it, Natalya?” + </p> + <p> + Then, on reaching her, he drew back the bed curtain, which had thrown a + shadow over the bed. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll not survive this,” said she in a low, hoarse voice. + </p> + <p> + Ignat was silent, fixedly staring at his wife’s face, sunk in the white + pillow, over which her dark locks were spread out like dead snakes. + Yellow, lifeless, with black circles around her large, wide-open eyes—her + face was strange to him. And the glance of those terrible eyes, + motionlessly fixed somewhere in the distance through the wall—that, + too, was unfamiliar to Ignat. His heart, compressed by a painful + foreboding, slackened its joyous throbbing. + </p> + <p> + “That’s nothing. That’s nothing. It’s always like this,” said he softly, + bending over his wife to give her a kiss. But she moaned right into his + face: + </p> + <p> + “I’ll not survive this.” + </p> + <p> + Her lips were gray and cold, and when he touched them with his own he + understood that death was already within her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord!” he uttered, in an alarmed whisper, feeling that fright was + choking his throat and suppressing his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Natasha? What will become of him? He must be nursed! What is the matter + with you?” + </p> + <p> + He almost began to cry at his wife. The midwife was bustling about him; + shaking the crying child in the air. She spoke to him reassuringly, but he + heard nothing—he could not turn his eyes away from the frightful + face of his wife. Her lips were moving, and he heard words spoken in a low + voice, but could not understand them. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he + spoke in a dull and timid voice: “Just think of it! He cannot do without + you; he’s an infant! Gather strength! Drive this thought away from you! + Drive it away.” + </p> + <p> + He talked, yet he understood he was speaking useless words. Tears welled + up within him, and in his breast there came a feeling heavy as stone and + cold as ice. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me. Goodbye! Take care. Look out. Don’t drink,” whispered + Natalya, soundlessly. + </p> + <p> + The priest came, and, covering her face with something, and sighing, began + to read gentle, beseeching words: + </p> + <p> + “Oh God, Almighty Lord, who cureth every disease, cure also Thy servant + Natalya, who has just given birth to a child; and restore her from the bed + on which she now lies, for in the words of David, ‘We indulge in + lawlessness and are wicked in Thine eyes.”’ + </p> + <p> + The old man’s voice was interrupted now and then, his thin face was stern + and from his clothes came the odour of rock-rose. + </p> + <p> + “Guard the infant born of her, guard him from all possible temptation, + from all possible cruelty, from all possible storms, from evil spirits, + night and day.” + </p> + <p> + Ignat listened to the prayer, and wept silently. His big, hot tears fell + on the bare hand of his wife. But the hand, evidently, did not feel that + the tears were dropping upon it: it remained motionless, and the skin did + not tremble from the fall of the tears. After the prayer Natalya became + unconscious and a day later she died, without saying another word—she + died just as quietly as she had lived. Having arranged a pompous funeral, + Ignat christened his son, named him Foma, and unwillingly gave his boy + into the family of the godfather, his old friend Mayakin, whose wife, too, + had given birth to a child not long before. The death of his wife had sown + many gray hairs in Ignat’s dark beard, but in the stern glitter of his + eyes appeared a new expression, gentle, clear and mild. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + MAYAKIN lived in an enormous two-story house near a big palisade, where + sturdy, old spreading linden trees were growing magnificently. The rank + branches covered the windows with a dense, dark embroidery, and the sun in + broken rays peeped into the small rooms, which were closely crowded with + miscellaneous furniture and big trunks, wherefore a stern and melancholy + semi-darkness always reigned there supreme. The family was devout—the + odour of wax, of rock-rose and of image-lamp oil filled the house, and + penitent sighs and prayers soared about in the air. Religious ceremonials + were performed infallibly, with pleasure, absorbing all the free power of + the souls of the dwellers of the house. Feminine figures almost + noiselessly moved about the rooms in the half-dark, stifling, heavy + atmosphere. They were dressed in black, wore soft slippers on their feet, + and always had a penitent look on their faces. + </p> + <p> + The family of Yakov Tarazovich Mayakin consisted of himself, his wife, a + daughter and five kinswomen, the youngest of whom was thirty-four years + old. These were alike devout and impersonal, and subordinate to Antonina + Ivanovna, the mistress of the house. She was a tall, thin woman, with a + dark face and with stern gray eyes, which had an imperious and intelligent + expression. Mayakin also had a son Taras, but his name was never mentioned + in the house; acquaintances knew that since the nineteen-year-old Taras + had gone to study in Moscow—he married there three years later, + against his father’s will—Yakov disowned him. Taras disappeared + without leaving any trace. It was rumoured that he had been sent to + Siberia for something. + </p> + <p> + Yakov Mayakin was very queerly built. Short, thin, lively, with a little + red beard, sly greenish eyes, he looked as though he said to each and + every one: + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, sir, don’t be uneasy. Even though I know you for what you + are, if you don’t annoy me I will not give you away.” + </p> + <p> + His beard resembled an egg in shape and was monstrously big. His high + forehead, covered with wrinkles, joined his bald crown, and it seemed as + though he really had two faces—one an open, penetrating and + intellectual face, with a long gristle nose, and above this face another + one, eyeless and mouthless, covered with wrinkles, behind which Mayakin + seemed to hide his eyes and his lips until a certain time; and when that + time had arrived, he would look at the world with different eyes and smile + a different smile. + </p> + <p> + He was the owner of a rope-yard and kept a store in town near the harbour. + In this store, filled up to the ceiling with rope, twine, hemp and tow, he + had a small room with a creaking glass door. In this room stood a big, + old, dilapidated table, and near it a deep armchair, covered with + oilcloth, in which Mayakin sat all day long, sipping tea and always + reading the same “Moskovskiya Vedomosty,” to which he subscribed, year in + and year out, all his life. Among merchants he enjoyed the respect and + reputation of a “brainy” man, and he was very fond of boasting of the + antiquity of his race, saying in a hoarse voice: + </p> + <p> + “We, the Mayakins, were merchants during the reign of ‘Mother’ Catherine, + consequently I am a pure-blooded man.” + </p> + <p> + In this family Ignat Gordyeeff’s son lived for six years. By the time he + was seven years old Foma was a big-headed, broad-shouldered boy, seemingly + older that his years, both in his size and in the serious look of his + dark, almond-shaped eyes. Quiet, silent and persistent in his childish + desires, he spent all his days over his playthings, with Mayakin’s + daughter, Luba, quietly looked after by one of the kinswomen, a stout, + pock-marked old maid, who was, for some reason or other, nicknamed + “Buzya.” She was a dull, somewhat timid creature; and even to the children + she spoke in a low voice, in words of monosyllables. Having devoted her + time to learning prayers, she had no stories to tell Foma. + </p> + <p> + Foma was on friendly terms with the little girl, but when she angered or + teased him he turned pale, his nostrils became distended, his eyes stared + comically and he beat her audaciously. She cried, ran to her mother and + complained to her, but Antonina loved Foma and she paid but little + attention to her daughter’s complaints, which strengthened the friendship + between the children still more. Foma’s day was long and uniform. Getting + out of bed and washing himself, he used to place himself before the image, + and under the whispering of the pock-marked Buzya he recited long prayers. + Then they drank tea and ate many biscuits, cakes and pies. After tea—during + the summer—the children went to the big palisade, which ran down to + a ravine, whose bottom always looked dark and damp, filling them with + terror. The children were not allowed to go even to the edge of the + ravine, and this inspired in them a fear of it. In winter, from tea time + to dinner, they played in the house when it was very cold outside, or went + out in the yard to slide down the big ice hill. + </p> + <p> + They had dinner at noon, “in Russian style,” as Mayakin said. At first a + big bowl of fat, sour cabbage soup was served with rye biscuits in, but + without meat, then the same soup was eaten with meat cut into small + pieces; then they ate roast meat—pork, goose, veal or rennet, with + gruel—then again a bowl of soup with vermicelli, and all this was + usually followed by dessert. They drank kvass made of red bilberries, + juniper-berries, or of bread—Antonina Ivanovna always carried a + stock of different kinds of kvass. They ate in silence, only now and then + uttering a sigh of fatigue; the children each ate out of a separate bowl, + the adults eating out of one bowl. Stupefied by such a dinner, they went + to sleep; and for two or three hours Mayakin’s house was filled with + snoring and with drowsy sighs. + </p> + <p> + Awaking from sleep, they drank tea and talked about local news, the + choristers, the deacons, weddings, or the dishonourable conduct of this or + that merchant. After tea Mayakin used to say to his wife: + </p> + <p> + “Well, mother, hand me the Bible.” + </p> + <p> + Yakov Tarasovich used to read the Book of Job more often than anything + else. Putting his heavy, silver-framed spectacles on his big, ravenous + nose, he looked around at his listeners to see whether all were in their + places. + </p> + <p> + They were all seated where he was accustomed to see them and on their + faces was a familiar, dull and timid expression of piety. + </p> + <p> + “There was a man in the land of Uz,” began Mayakin, in a hoarse voice, and + Foma, sitting beside Luba on the lounge in the corner of the room, knew + beforehand that soon his godfather would become silent and pat his bald + head with his hand. He sat and, listening, pictured to himself this man + from the land of Uz. The man was tall and bare, his eyes were enormously + large, like those of the image of the Saviour, and his voice was like a + big brass trumpet on which the soldiers played in the camps. The man was + constantly growing bigger and bigger; and, reaching the sky, he thrust his + dark hands into the clouds, and, tearing them asunder, cried out in a + terrible voice: + </p> + <p> + “Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged + in?” + </p> + <p> + Dread fell on Foma, and he trembled, slumber fled from his eyes, he heard + the voice of his godfather, who said, with a light smile, now and then + pinching his beard: + </p> + <p> + “See how audacious he was!” + </p> + <p> + The boy knew that his godfather spoke of the man from the land of Uz, and + the godfather’s smile soothed the child. So the man would not break the + sky; he would not rend it asunder with his terrible arms. And then Foma + sees the man again—he sits on the ground, “his flesh is clothed with + worms and clods of dust, his skin is broken.” But now he is small and + wretched, he is like a beggar at the church porch. + </p> + <p> + Here he says: + </p> + <p> + “What is man, that he should be clean? And he which is born of woman, that + he should be righteous?” [These words attributed by Mayakin to Job are + from Eliphaz the Temanite’s reply—Translator’s Note.] + </p> + <p> + “He says this to God,” explained Mayakin, inspired. “How, says he, can I + be righteous, since I am made of flesh? That’s a question asked of God. + How is that?” + </p> + <p> + And the reader, triumphantly and interrogatively looks around at his + listeners. + </p> + <p> + “He merited it, the righteous man,” they replied with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + Yakov Mayakin eyes them with a smile, and says: + </p> + <p> + “Fools! You better put the children to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Ignat visited the Mayakins every day, brought playthings for his son, + caught him up into his arms and hugged him, but sometimes dissatisfied he + said to him with ill-concealed uneasiness: + </p> + <p> + “Why are you such a bugbear? Oh! Why do you laugh so little?” + </p> + <p> + And he would complain to the lad’s godfather: + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid that he may turn out to be like his mother. His eyes are + cheerless.” + </p> + <p> + “You disturb yourself rather too soon,” Mayakin smilingly replied. + </p> + <p> + He, too, loved his godson, and when Ignat announced to him one day that he + would take Foma to his own house, Mayakin was very much grieved. + </p> + <p> + “Leave him here,” he begged. “See, the child is used to us; there! he’s + crying.” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll cease crying. I did not beget him for you. The air of the place is + disagreeable. It is as tedious here as in an old believer’s hermitage. + This is harmful to the child. And without him I am lonesome. I come home—it + is empty. I can see nothing there. It would not do for me to remove to + your house for his sake. I am not for him, he is for me. So. And now that + my sister has come to my house there will be somebody to look after him.” + </p> + <p> + And the boy was brought to his father’s house. + </p> + <p> + There he was met by a comical old woman, with a long, hook-like nose and + with a mouth devoid of teeth. Tall, stooping, dressed in gray, with gray + hair, covered by a black silk cap, she did not please the boy at first; + she even frightened him. But when he noticed on the wrinkled face her + black eyes, which beamed so tenderly on him, he at once pressed his head + close to her knees in confidence. + </p> + <p> + “My sickly little orphan!” she said in a velvet-like voice that trembled + from the fulness of sound, and quietly patted his face with her hand, + “stay close to me, my dear child!” + </p> + <p> + There was something particularly sweet and soft in her caresses, something + altogether new to Foma, and he stared into the old woman’s eyes with + curiosity and expectation on his face. This old woman led him into a new + world, hitherto unknown to him. The very first day, having put him to bed, + she seated herself by his side, and, bending over the child, asked him: + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you a story, Fomushka?” + </p> + <p> + And after that Foma always fell asleep amid the velvet-like sounds of the + old woman’s voice, which painted before him a magic life. Giants defeating + monsters, wise princesses, fools who turned out to be wise—troops of + new and wonderful people were passing before the boy’s bewitched + imagination, and his soul was nourished by the wholesome beauty of the + national creative power. Inexhaustible were the treasures of the memory + and the fantasy of this old woman, who oftentimes, in slumber, appeared to + the boy—now like the witch of the fairy-tales—only a kind and + amiable old witch—now like the beautiful, all-wise Vasilisa. His + eyes wide open, holding his breath, the boy looked into the darkness that + filled his chamber and watched it as it slowly trembled in the light of + the little lamp that was burning before the image. And Foma filled this + darkness with wonderful pictures of fairy-tale life. Silent, yet living + shadows, were creeping over the walls and across the floor; it was both + pleasant and terrible to him to watch their life; to deal out unto them + forms and colours, and, having endowed them with life, instantly to + destroy them all with a single twinkle of the eyelashes. Something new + appeared in his dark eyes, something more childish and naive, less grave; + the loneliness and the darkness, awaking in him a painful feeling of + expectation, stirred his curiosity, compelled him to go out to the dark + corner and see what was hidden there beyond the thick veils of darkness. + He went and found nothing, but he lost no hope of finding it out. + </p> + <p> + He feared his father and respected him. Ignat’s enormous size, his harsh, + trumpet-like voice, his bearded face, his gray-haired head, his powerful, + long arms and his flashing eyes—all these gave to Ignat the + resemblance of the fairy-tale robbers. + </p> + <p> + Foma shuddered whenever he heard his voice or his heavy, firm steps; but + when the father, smiling kind-heartedly, and talking playfully in a loud + voice, took him upon his knees or threw him high up in the air with his + big hands the boy’s fear vanished. + </p> + <p> + Once, when the boy was about eight years old, he asked his father, who had + returned from a long journey: + </p> + <p> + “Papa, where were you?” + </p> + <p> + “On the Volga.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you robbing there?” asked Foma, softly. + </p> + <p> + “Wha-at?” Ignat drawled out, and his eyebrows contracted. + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you a robber, papa? I know it,” said Foma, winking his eyes slyly, + satisfied that he had already read the secret of his father’s life. + </p> + <p> + “I am a merchant!” said Ignat, sternly, but after a moment’s thought he + smiled kind-heartedly and added: “And you are a little fool! I deal in + corn, I run a line of steamers. Have you seen the ‘Yermak’? Well, that is + my steamer. And yours, too.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a very big one,” said Foma with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ll buy you a small one while you are small yourself. Shall I?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” Foma assented, but after a thoughtful silence he again + drawled out regretfully: “But I thought you were a robber or a giant.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I am a merchant!” repeated Ignat, insinuatingly, and there was + something discontented and almost timorous in his glance at the + disenchanted face of his son. + </p> + <p> + “Like Grandpa Fedor, the Kalatch baker?” asked Foma, having thought + awhile. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, like him. Only I am richer than he. I have more money than + Fedor.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you much money?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, some people have still more.” + </p> + <p> + “How many barrels do you have?” + </p> + <p> + “Of what?” + </p> + <p> + “Of money, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Fool! Is money counted by the barrel?” + </p> + <p> + “How else?” exclaimed Foma, enthusiastically, and, turning his face toward + his father, began to tell him quickly: “Maksimka, the robber, came once to + a certain town and filled up twelve barrels with money belonging to some + rich man there. And he took different silverware and robbed a church. And + cut up a man with his sword and threw him down the steeple because he + tried to sound an alarm.” + </p> + <p> + “Did your aunt tell you that?” asked Ignat admiring his son’s enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!” said Ignat, laughing. “So you thought your father was a + robber.” + </p> + <p> + “And perhaps you were a robber long ago?” + </p> + <p> + Foma again returned to his theme, and it was evident on his face that he + would be very glad to hear an affirmative answer. + </p> + <p> + “I was never a robber. Let that end it.” + </p> + <p> + “Never?” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I was not! What a queer little boy you are! Is it good to be a + robber? They are all sinners, the robbers. They don’t believe in God—they + rob churches. They are all cursed in the churches. Yes. Look here, my son, + you’ll have to start to study soon. It is time; you’ll soon be nine years + old. Start with the help of God. You’ll study during the winter and in + spring I’ll take you along with me on the Volga.” + </p> + <p> + “Will I go to school?” asked Foma, timidly. + </p> + <p> + “First you’ll study at home with auntie.” Soon after the boy would sit + down near the table in the morning and, fingering the Slavonic alphabet, + repeat after his aunt: + </p> + <p> + “Az, Buky, Vedy.” + </p> + <p> + When they reached “bra, vra, gra, dra” for a long time the boy could not + read these syllables without laughter. Foma succeeded easily in gaining + knowledge, almost without any effort, and soon he was reading the first + psalm of the first section of the psalter: “Blessed is the man that + walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s it, my darling! So, Fomushka, that’s right!” chimed in his aunt + with emotion, enraptured by his progress. + </p> + <p> + “You’re a fine fellow, Foma!” Ignat would approvingly say when informed of + his son’s progress. “We’ll go to Astrakhan for fish in the spring, and + toward autumn I’ll send you to school!” + </p> + <p> + The boy’s life rolled onward, like a ball downhill. Being his teacher, his + aunt was his playmate as well. Luba Mayakin used to come, and when with + them, the old woman readily became one of them. + </p> + <p> + They played at “hide and seek” and “blind man’s buff;” the children were + pleased and amused at seeing Anfisa, her eyes covered with a handkerchief, + her arms outstretched, walking about the room carefully, and yet striking + against chairs and tables, or looking for them in each and every + commodious corner, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, little rascals. Eh, rogues. Where have they hidden themselves? Eh?” + </p> + <p> + And the sun shone cheerfully and playfully upon the old worn-out body, + which yet retained a youthful soul, and upon the old life, that was + adorning, according to its strength and abilities, the life-path of two + children. + </p> + <p> + Ignat used to go to the Exchange early in the morning and sometimes stayed + away until evening; in the evening he used to go to the town council or + visiting or elsewhere. Sometimes he returned home intoxicated. At first + Foma, on such occasions, ran from him and hid himself, then he became + accustomed to it, and learned that his father was better when drunk than + sober: he was kinder and plainer and was somewhat comical. If it happened + at night, the boy was usually awakened by his trumpet-like voice: + </p> + <p> + “Anfisa! Dear sister! Let me in to my son; let me in to my successor!” + </p> + <p> + And auntie answered him in a crying and reproachful voice: + </p> + <p> + “Go on. You better go to sleep, you cursed devil! Drunk again, eh? You are + gray already?” + </p> + <p> + “Anfisa! May I see my son, with one eye?” Foma knew that Anfisa would not + let him in, and he again fell asleep in spite of the noise of their + voices. But when Ignat came home intoxicated during the day he immediately + seized his son with his enormous paws and carried him about the rooms, + asking him with an intoxicated, happy laughter: + </p> + <p> + “Fomka! What do you wish? Speak! Presents? Playthings? Ask! Because you + must know there’s nothing in this world that I wouldn’t buy for you. I + have a million! Ha, ha, ha! And I’ll have still more! Understand? All’s + yours! Ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + And suddenly his enthusiasm was extinguished like a candle put out by a + violent puff of the wind. His flushed face began to shake, his eyes, + burning red, filled with tears, and his lips expanded into a sad and + frightened smile. + </p> + <p> + “Anfisa, in case he should die, what am I to do then?” + </p> + <p> + And immediately after these words he was seized with fury. + </p> + <p> + “I’d burn everything!” he roared, staring wildly into some dark corner of + the room. “I’d destroy everything! I’d blow it up with dynamite!” + </p> + <p> + “Enough, you ugly brute! Do you wish to frighten the child? Or do you want + him to take sick?” interposed Anfisa, and that was sufficient for Ignat to + rush off hastily, muttering: + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, well! I am going, I am going, but don’t cry! Don’t make any + noise. Don’t frighten him.” + </p> + <p> + And when Foma was somewhat sick, his father, casting everything aside, did + not leave the house for a moment, but bothered his sister and his son with + stupid questions and advice; gloomy, sighing, and with fear in his eyes, + he walked about the house quite out of sorts. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you vex the Lord?” said Anfisa. “Beware, your grumblings will + reach Him, and He will punish you for your complaints against His graces.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, sister!” sighed Ignat. “And if it should happen? My entire life is + crumbling away! Wherefore have I lived? No one knows.” + </p> + <p> + Similar scenes and the striking transitions of his father from one mood to + another frightened the child at first, but he soon became accustomed to + all this, and when he noticed through the window that his father, on + coming home, was hardly able to get out of the sledge, Foma said + indifferently: + </p> + <p> + “Auntie, papa came home drunk again.” + </p> + <p> + ............................. + </p> + <p> + Spring came, and, fulfilling his promise, Ignat took his son along on one + of his steamers, and here a new life, abounding in impressions, was opened + before Foma’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + The beautiful and mighty “Yermak,” Gordyeeff’s steam tow-boat, was rapidly + floating down the current, and on each side the shores of the powerful and + beautiful Volga were slowly moving past him—the left side, all + bathed in sunshine, stretching itself to the very end of the sky like a + pompous carpet of verdure; the right shore, its high banks overgrown with + woods, swung skyward, sinking in stern repose. + </p> + <p> + The broad-bosomed river stretched itself majestically between the shores; + noiselessly, solemnly and slowly flowed its waters, conscious of their + invincible power; the mountainous shore is reflected in the water in a + black shadow, while on the left side it is adorned with gold and with + verdant velvet by a border of sand and the wide meadows. Here and there + villages appear on mountain and on meadow, the sun shines bright on the + window-panes of the huts and on the yellow roofs of straw, the church + crosses sparkle amid the verdure of the trees, gray wind-mill wings + revolve lazily in the air, smoke from the factory chimney rises skyward in + thick, black curling clouds. Crowds of children in blue, red or white + shirts, standing on the banks, shouted loudly at the sight of the steamer, + which had disturbed the quiet of the river, and from under the steamer’s + wheels the cheerful waves are rushing toward the feet of the children and + splash against the bank. Now a crowd of children, seated in a boat, rowed + toward the middle of the river to rock there on the waves as in a cradle. + Trees stood out above the water; sometimes many of them are drowned in the + overflow of the banks, and these stand in the water like islands. From the + shore a melancholy song is heard: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, o-o-o, once more!” + </p> + <p> + The steamer passes many rafts, splashing them with waves. The beams are in + continual motion under the blows of the waves; the men on the rafts in + blue shirts, staggering, look at the steamer and laugh and shout + something. The big, beautiful vessel goes sidewise on the river; the + yellow scantlings with which it is loaded sparkle like gold and are dimly + reflected in the muddy, vernal water. A passenger steamer comes from the + opposite side and whistles—the resounding echo of the whistle loses + itself in the woods, in the gorges of the mountainous bank, and dies away + there. In the middle of the river the waves stirred up by the two vessels + strike against one another and splash against the steamers’ sides, and the + vessels are rocked upon the water. On the slope of the mountainous bank + are verdant carpets of winter corn, brown strips of fallow ground and + black strips of ground tilled for spring corn. Birds, like little dots, + soar over them, and are clearly seen in the blue canopy of the sky; nearby + a flock is grazing; in the distance they look like children’s toys; the + small figure of the shepherd stands leaning on a staff, and looks at the + river. + </p> + <p> + The glare of the water—freedom and liberty are everywhere, the + meadows are cheerfully verdant and the blue sky is tenderly clear; a + restrained power is felt in the quiet motion of the water; above it the + generous May sun is shining, the air is filled with the exquisite odour of + fir trees and of fresh foliage. And the banks keep on meeting them, + caressing the eyes and the soul with their beauty, as new pictures + constantly unfold themselves. + </p> + <p> + Everything surrounding them bears the stamp of some kind of tardiness: all—nature + as well as men—live there clumsily, lazily; but in that laziness + there is an odd gracefulness, and it seems as though beyond the laziness a + colossal power were concealed; an invincible power, but as yet deprived of + consciousness, as yet without any definite desires and aims. And the + absence of consciousness in this half-slumbering life throws shades of + sadness over all the beautiful slope. Submissive patience, silent hope for + something new and more inspiriting are heard even in the cry of the + cuckoo, wafted to the river by the wind from the shore. The melancholy + songs sound as though imploring someone for help. And at times there is in + them a ring of despair. The river answers the songs with sighs. And the + tree-tops shake, lost in meditation. Silence. + </p> + <p> + Foma spent all day long on the captain’s bridge beside his father. Without + uttering a word, he stared wide-eyed at the endless panorama of the banks, + and it seemed to him he was moving along a broad silver path in those + wonderful kingdoms inhabited by the sorcerers and giants of his familiar + fairy-tales. At times he would load his father with questions about + everything that passed before them. Ignat answered him willingly and + concisely, but the boy was not pleased with his answers; they contained + nothing interesting and intelligible to him, and he did not hear what he + longed to hear. Once he told his father with a sigh: + </p> + <p> + “Auntie Anfisa knows better than you.” + </p> + <p> + “What does she know?” asked Ignat, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Everything,” replied the boy, convincedly. + </p> + <p> + No wonderful kingdom appeared before him. But often cities appeared on the + banks of the river, just such cities as the one where Foma lived. Some of + them were larger, some smaller, but the people, and the houses, and the + churches—all were the same as in his own city. Foma examined them in + company with his father, but was still unsatisfied and returned to the + steamer gloomy and fatigued. + </p> + <p> + “Tomorrow we shall be in Astrakhan,” said Ignat one day. + </p> + <p> + “And is it just the same as the other cities?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. How else should it be?” + </p> + <p> + “And what is beyond Astrakhan?” + </p> + <p> + “The sea. The Caspian Sea it is called.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is there?” + </p> + <p> + “Fishes, queer fellow! What else can there be in the water?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s the city Kitezh standing in the water.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a different thing! That’s Kitezh. Only righteous people live + there.” + </p> + <p> + “And are there no righteous cities on the sea?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Ignat, and, after a moment’s silence, added: “The sea water is + bitter and nobody can drink it.” + </p> + <p> + “And is there more land beyond the sea?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, the sea must have an end. It is like a cup.” + </p> + <p> + “And are there cities there too?” + </p> + <p> + “Again cities. Of course! Only that land is not ours, it belongs to + Persia. Did you see the Persians selling pistachio-nuts and apricots in + the market?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I saw them,” replied Foma, and became pensive. + </p> + <p> + One day he asked his father: + </p> + <p> + “Is there much more land left?” + </p> + <p> + “The earth is very big, my dear! If you should go on foot, you couldn’t go + around it even in ten years.” + </p> + <p> + Ignat talked for a long time with his son about the size of the earth, and + said at length: + </p> + <p> + “And yet no one knows for certain how big it really is, nor where it + ends.” + </p> + <p> + “And is everything alike on earth?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “The cities and all?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, of course, the cities are like cities. There are houses, streets—and + everything that is necessary.” + </p> + <p> + After many similar conversations the boy no longer stared so often into + the distance with the interrogative look of his black eyes. + </p> + <p> + The crew of the steamer loved him, and he, too, loved those fine, + sun-burnt and weather-beaten fellows, who laughingly played with him. They + made fishing tackles for him, and little boats out of bark, played with + him and rowed him about the anchoring place, when Ignat went to town on + business. The boy often heard the men talking about his father, but he + paid no attention to what they said, and never told his father what he + heard about him. But one day, in Astrakhan, while the steamer was taking + in a cargo of fuel, Foma heard the voice of Petrovich, the machinist: + </p> + <p> + “He ordered such a lot of wood to be taken in. What an absurd man! First + he loads the steamer up to the very deck, and then he roars. ‘You break + the machinery too often,’ he says. ‘You pour oil,’ he says, ‘at random.’” + </p> + <p> + The voice of the gray and stern pilot replied: + </p> + <p> + “It’s all his exorbitant greediness. Fuel is cheaper here, so he is taking + all he can. He is greedy, the devil!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how greedy!” + </p> + <p> + This word, repeated many times in succession, fixed itself in Foma’s + memory, and in the evening, at supper, he suddenly asked his father: + </p> + <p> + “Papa!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you greedy?” + </p> + <p> + In reply to his father’s questions Foma told him of the conversation + between the pilot and the machinist. Ignat’s face became gloomy, and his + eyes began to flash angrily. + </p> + <p> + “That’s how it is,” ejaculated Ignat, shaking his head. “Well, you—don’t + you listen to them. They are not your equals; don’t have so much to do + with them. You are their master, they are your servants, understand that. + If we choose to, we can put every one of them ashore. They are cheap and + they can be found everywhere like dogs. Understand? They may say many bad + things about me. But they say them, because I am their master. The whole + thing arises because I am fortunate and rich, and the rich are always + envied. A happy man is everybody’s enemy.” + </p> + <p> + About two days later there was a new pilot and another machinist on the + steamer. + </p> + <p> + “And where is Yakov?” asked the boy. + </p> + <p> + “I discharged him. I ordered him away.” + </p> + <p> + “For that?” queried Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for that very thing.” + </p> + <p> + “And Petrovich, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I sent him the same way.” + </p> + <p> + Foma was pleased with the fact that his father was able to change the men + so quickly. He smiled to his father, and, coming out on the deck, walked + up to a sailor, who sat on the floor, untwisting a piece of rope and + making a swab. + </p> + <p> + “We have a new pilot here,” announced Foma. + </p> + <p> + “I know. Good health to you, Foma Ignatich! How did you sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “And a new machinist, too.” + </p> + <p> + “And a new machinist. Are you sorry for Petrovich?” + </p> + <p> + “Really? And he was so good to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why did he abuse my father?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh? Did he abuse him?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he did. I heard it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Mm—and your father heard it, too?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I told him.” + </p> + <p> + “You—so”—drawled the sailor and became silent, taking up his + work again. + </p> + <p> + “And papa says to me: ‘You,’ he says, ‘you are master here—you can + drive them all away if you wish.’” + </p> + <p> + “So,” said the sailor, gloomily looking at the boy, who was so + enthusiastically boasting to him of his supreme power. From that day on + Foma noticed that the crew did not regard him as before. Some became more + obliging and kind, others did not care to speak to him, and when they did + speak to him, it was done angrily, and not at all entertainingly, as + before. Foma liked to watch while the deck was being washed: their + trousers rolled up to their knees, or sometimes taken off altogether, the + sailors, with swabs and brushes in their hands, cleverly ran about the + deck, emptying pails of water on it, besprinkling one another, laughing, + shouting, falling. Streams of water ran in every direction, and the lively + noise of the men intermingled with the gray splash of the water. Before, + the boy never bothered the sailors in this playful and light work; nay, he + took an active part, besprinkling them with water and laughingly running + away, when they threatened to pour water over him. But after Yakov and + Petrovich had been discharged, he felt that he was in everybody’s way, + that no one cared to play with him and that no one regarded him kindly. + Surprised and melancholy, he left the deck, walked up to the wheel, sat + down there, and, offended, he thoughtfully began to stare at the distant + green bank and the dented strip of woods upon it. And below, on the deck, + the water was splashing playfully, and the sailors were gaily laughing. He + yearned to go down to them, but something held him back. + </p> + <p> + “Keep away from them as much as possible,” he recalled his father’s words; + “you are their master.” Then he felt like shouting at the sailors—something + harsh and authoritative, so his father would scold them. He thought a long + time what to say, but could not think of anything. Another two, three days + passed, and it became perfectly clear to him that the crew no longer liked + him. He began to feel lonesome on the steamer, and amid the parti-coloured + mist of new impressions, still more often there came up before Foma the + image of his kind and gentle Aunt Anfisa, with her stories, and smiles, + and soft, ringing laughter, which filled the boy’s soul with a joyous + warmth. He still lived in the world of fairy-tales, but the invisible and + pitiless hand of reality was already at work tearing the beautiful, fine + web of the wonderful, through which the boy had looked at everything about + him. The incident with the machinist and the pilot directed his attention + to his surroundings; Foma’s eyes became more sharp-sighted. A conscious + searchfulness appeared in them and in his questions to his father rang a + yearning to understand which threads and springs were managing the deeds + of men. + </p> + <p> + One day a scene took place before him: the sailors were carrying wood, and + one of them, the young, curly-haired and gay Yefim, passing the deck of + the ship with hand-barrows, said loudly and angrily: + </p> + <p> + “No, he has no conscience whatever! There was no agreement that I should + carry wood. A sailor—well, one’s business is clear—but to + carry wood into the bargain—thank you! That means for me to take off + the skin I have not sold. He is without conscience! He thinks it is clever + to sap the life out of us.” + </p> + <p> + The boy heard this grumbling and knew that it was concerning his father. + He also noticed that although Yefim was grumbling, he carried more wood on + his stretcher than the others, and walked faster than the others. None of + the sailors replied to Yefim’s grumbling, and even the one who worked with + him was silent, only now and then protesting against the earnestness with + which Yefim piled up the wood on the stretchers. + </p> + <p> + “Enough!” he would say, morosely, “you are not loading a horse, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “And you had better keep quiet. You were put to the cart—cart it and + don’t kick—and should your blood be sucked—keep quiet again. + What can you say?” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Ignat appeared, walked up to the sailor and, stopping in front of + him, asked sternly: + </p> + <p> + “What were you talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “I am talking—I know,” replied Yefim, hesitating. “There was no + agreement—that I must say nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “And who is going to suck blood?” asked Ignat, stroking his beard. + </p> + <p> + The sailor understood that he had been caught unawares, and seeing no way + out of it, he let the log of wood fall from his hands, rubbed his palms + against his pants, and, facing Ignat squarely, said rather boldly: + </p> + <p> + “And am I not right? Don’t you suck it?” + </p> + <p> + “I?” + </p> + <p> + “You.” + </p> + <p> + Foma saw that his father swung his hand. A loud blow resounded, and the + sailor fell heavily on the wood. He arose immediately and worked on in + silence. Blood was trickling from his bruised face on to the white bark of + the birch wood; he wiped the blood off his face with the sleeve of his + shirt, looked at his sleeve and, heaving a sigh, maintained silence, and + when he went past Foma with the hand-harrows, two big, turbid tears were + trembling on his face, near the bridge of his nose, and Foma noticed them. + </p> + <p> + At dinner Foma was pensive and now and then glanced at his father with + fear in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you frown?” asked his father, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Frown?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you ill, perhaps? Be careful. If there is anything, tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “You are strong,” said Foma of a sudden musingly. + </p> + <p> + “I? That’s right. God has favoured me with strength.” + </p> + <p> + “How hard you struck him!” exclaimed the boy in a low voice, lowering his + head. + </p> + <p> + Ignat was about to put a piece of bread with caviar into his mouth, but + his hand stopped, held back by his son’s exclamation; he looked + interrogatively at Foma’s drooping head and asked: + </p> + <p> + “You mean Yefim, don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he was bleeding. And how he walked afterward, how he cried,” said + the boy in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Mm,” roared Ignat, chewing a bite. “Well, are you sorry for him?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pity!” said Foma, with tears in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. So that’s the kind of a fellow you are,” said Ignat. + </p> + <p> + Then, after a moment’s silence, he filled a wineglass with vodka, emptied + it, and said sternly, in a slightly reprimanding tone: + </p> + <p> + “There is no reason why you should pity him. He brawled at random, and + therefore got what he deserved. I know him: he is a good fellow, + industrious, strong and not a bit foolish. But to argue is not his + business; I may argue, because I am the master. It isn’t simple to be + master. A punch wouldn’t kill him, but will make him wiser. That’s the + way. Eh, Foma! You are an infant, and you do not understand these things. + I must teach you how to live. It may be that my days on earth are + numbered.” + </p> + <p> + Ignat was silent for awhile, drank some more vodka and went on + instinctively: + </p> + <p> + “It is necessary to have pity on men. You are right in doing so. But you + must pity them sensibly. First look at a man, find out what good there is + in him, and what use may be made of him! And if you find him to be strong + and capable—pity and assist him. And if he is weak and not inclined + to work—spit upon him, pass him by. Just keep this in mind—the + man who complains against everything, who sighs and moans all the time—that + man is worth nothing; he merits no compassion and you will do him no good + whatever, even if you help him. Pity for such people makes them more + morose, spoils them the more. In your godfather’s house you saw various + kinds of people—unfortunate travellers and hangers-on, and all sorts + of rabble. Forget them. They are not men, they are just shells, and are + good for nothing. They are like bugs, fleas and other unclean things. Nor + do they live for God’s sake—they have no God. They call His name in + vain, in order to move fools to pity, and, thus pitied, to fill their + bellies with something. They live but for their bellies, and aside from + eating, drinking, sleeping and moaning they can do nothing. And all they + accomplish is the soul’s decay. They are in your way and you trip over + them. A good man among them—like fresh apples among bad ones—may + soon be spoilt, and no one will profit by it. You are young, that’s the + trouble. You cannot comprehend my words. Help him who is firm in misery. + He may not ask you for assistance, but think of it yourself, and assist + him without his request. And if he should happen to be proud and thus feel + offended at your aid, do not allow him to see that you are lending him a + helping hand. That’s the way it should be done, according to common sense! + Here, for example, two boards, let us say, fall into the mud—one of + them is a rotten one, the other, a good sound board. What should you do? + What good is there in the rotten board? You had better drop it, let it + stay in the mud and step on it so as not to soil your feet. As to the + sound board, lift it up and place it in the sun; if it can be of no use to + you, someone else may avail himself of it. That’s the way it is, my son! + Listen to me and remember. There is no reason why Yefim should be pitied. + He is a capable fellow, he knows his value. You cannot knock his soul out + with a box on the ear. I’ll just watch him for about a week, and then I’ll + put him at the helm. And there, I am quite sure, he’ll be a good pilot. + And if he should be promoted to captain, he wouldn’t lose courage—he + would make a clever captain! That’s the way people grow. I have gone + through this school myself, dear. I, too, received more than one box on + the ear when I was of his age. Life, my son, is not a dear mother to all + of us. It is our exacting mistress.” + </p> + <p> + Ignat talked with his son about two hours, telling him of his own youth, + of his toils, of men; their terrible power, and of their weakness; of how + they live, and sometimes pretend to be unfortunate in order to live on + other people’s money; and then he told him of himself, and of how he rose + from a plain working man to be proprietor of a large concern. The boy + listened to his words, looked at him and felt as though his father were + coming nearer and nearer to him. And though his father’s story did not + contain the material of which Aunt Anfisa’s fairy-tales were brimful, + there was something new in it, something clearer and more comprehensible + than in her fairy-tales, and something just as interesting. Something + powerful and warm began to throb within his little heart, and he was drawn + toward his father. Ignat, evidently, surmised his son’s feelings by his + eyes: he rose abruptly from his seat, seized him in his arms and pressed + him firmly to his breast. And Foma embraced his neck, and, pressing his + cheek to that of his father, was silent and breathed rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “My son,” whispered Ignat in a dull voice, “My darling! My joy! Learn + while I am alive. Alas! it is hard to live.” + </p> + <p> + The child’s heart trembled at this whisper; he set his teeth together, and + hot tears gushed from his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Until this day Ignat had never kindled any particular feeling in his son: + the boy was used to him; he was tired of looking at his enormous figure, + and feared him slightly, but was at the same time aware that his father + would do anything for him that he wanted. Sometimes Ignat would stay away + from home a day, two, a week, or possibly the entire summer. And yet Foma + did not even notice his absence, so absorbed was he by his love for Aunt + Anfisa. When Ignat returned the boy was glad, but he could hardly tell + whether it was his father’s arrival that gladdened him or the playthings + he brought with him. But now, at the sight of Ignat, the boy ran to meet + him, grasped him by the hand, laughed, stared into his eyes and felt weary + if he did not see him for two or three hours: His father became + interesting to him, and, rousing his curiosity, he fairly developed love + and respect for himself. Every time that they were together Foma begged + his father: + </p> + <p> + “Papa, tell me about yourself.” + </p> + <p> + ......................... + </p> + <p> + The steamer was now going up the Volga. One suffocating night in July, + when the sky was overcast with thick black clouds, and everything on the + Volga was somewhat ominously calm, they reached Kazan and anchored near + Uslon at the end of an enormous fleet of vessels. The clinking of the + anchor chains and the shouting of the crew awakened Foma; he looked out of + the window and saw, far in the distance, small lights glimmering + fantastically: the water about the boat black and thick, like oil—and + nothing else could be seen. The boy’s heart trembled painfully and he + began to listen attentively. A scarcely audible, melancholy song reached + his ears—mournful and monotonous as a chant on the caravan the + watchmen called to one another; the steamer hissed angrily getting up + steam. And the black water of the river splashed sadly and quietly against + the sides of the vessels. Staring fixedly into the darkness, until his + eyes hurt, the boy discerned black piles and small lights dimly burning + high above them. He knew that those were barges, but this knowledge did + not calm him and his heart throbbed unevenly, and, in his imagination, + terrifying dark images arose. + </p> + <p> + “O-o-o,” a drawling cry came from the distance and ended like a wail. + </p> + <p> + Someone crossed the deck and went up to the side of the steamer. + </p> + <p> + “O-o-o,” was heard again, but nearer this time. + </p> + <p> + “Yefim!” some one called in a low voice on the deck. “Yefimka!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Devil! Get up! Take the boat-hook.” + </p> + <p> + “O-o-o,” someone moaned near by, and Foma, shuddering, stepped back from + the window. + </p> + <p> + The queer sound came nearer and nearer and grew in strength, sobbed and + died out in the darkness. While on the deck they whispered with alarm: + </p> + <p> + “Yefimka! Get up! A guest is floating!” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” came a hasty question, then bare feet began to patter about the + deck, a bustle was heard, and two boat-hooks slipped down past the boy’s + face and almost noiselessly plunged into the water. + </p> + <p> + “A gue-e-est!” Some began to sob near by, and a quiet, but very queer + splash resounded. + </p> + <p> + The boy trembled with fright at this mournful cry, but he could not tear + his hands from the window nor his eyes from the water. + </p> + <p> + “Light the lantern. You can’t see anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Directly.” + </p> + <p> + And then a spot of dim light fell over the water. Foma saw that the water + was rocking calmly, that a ripple was passing over it, as though the water + were afflicted, and trembled for pain. + </p> + <p> + “Look! Look!” they whispered on the deck with fright. + </p> + <p> + At the same time a big, terrible human face, with white teeth set + together, appeared on the spot of light. It floated and rocked in the + water, its teeth seemed to stare at Foma as though saying, with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, boy, boy, it is cold. Goodbye!” + </p> + <p> + The boat-hooks shook, were lifted in the air, were lowered again into the + water and carefully began to push something there. + </p> + <p> + “Shove him! Shove! Look out, he may be thrown under the wheel.” + </p> + <p> + “Shove him yourself then.” + </p> + <p> + The boat-hooks glided over the side of the steamer, and, scratching + against it, produced a noise like the grinding of teeth. Foma could not + close his eyes for watching them. The noise of feet stamping on the deck, + over his head, was gradually moving toward the stern. And then again that + moaning cry for the dead was heard: + </p> + <p> + “A gue-e-est!” + </p> + <p> + “Papa!” cried Foma in a ringing voice. “Papa!” His father jumped to his + feet and rushed toward him. + </p> + <p> + “What is that? What are they doing there?” cried Foma. + </p> + <p> + Wildly roaring, Ignat jumped out of the cabin with huge bounds. He soon + returned, sooner than Foma, staggering and looking around him, had time to + reach his father’s bed. + </p> + <p> + “They frightened you? It’s nothing!” said Ignat, taking him up in his + arms. “Lie down with me.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Foma, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “It was nothing, my son. Only a drowned man. A man was drowned and he is + floating. That’s nothing! Don’t be afraid, he has already floated clear of + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did they push him?” interrogated the boy, firmly pressing close to + his father, and shutting his eyes for fright. + </p> + <p> + “It was necessary to do so. The water might have thrown him under the + wheel. Under ours, for instance. Tomorrow the police would notice it, + there would be trouble, inquests, and we would be held here for + examination. That’s why we shoved him along. What difference does it make + to him? He is dead; it doesn’t pain him; it doesn’t offend him. And the + living would be troubled on his account. Sleep, my son. + </p> + <p> + “So he will float on that way?” + </p> + <p> + “He will float. They’ll take him out somewhere and bury him.” + </p> + <p> + “And will a fish devour him?” + </p> + <p> + “Fish do not eat human bodies. Crabs eat them. They like them.” + </p> + <p> + Foma’s fright was melting, from the heat of his father’s body, but before + his eyes the terrible sneering face was still rocking in the black water. + </p> + <p> + “And who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “God knows! Say to God about him: ‘Oh Lord, rest his soul! ‘” + </p> + <p> + “Lord, rest his soul!” repeated Foma, in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right. Sleep now, don’t fear. He is far away now! Floating on. See + here, be careful as you go up to the side of the ship. You may fall + overboard. God forbid! And—” + </p> + <p> + “Did he fall overboard?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Perhaps he was drunk, and that’s his end! And maybe he threw + himself into the water. There are people who do that. They go and throw + themselves into the water and are drowned. Life, my dear, is so arranged + that death is sometimes a holiday for one, sometimes it is a blessing for + all.” + </p> + <p> + “Papa.” + </p> + <p> + “Sleep, sleep, dear.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + DURING the very first day of his school life, stupefied by the lively and + hearty noise of provoking mischiefs and of wild, childish games, Foma + picked out two boys from the crowd who at once seemed more interesting to + him than the others. One had a seat in front of him. Foma, looking + askance, saw a broad back; a full neck, covered with freckles; big ears; + and the back of the head closely cropped, covered with light-red hair + which stood out like bristles. + </p> + <p> + When the teacher, a bald-headed man, whose lower lip hung down, called + out: “Smolin, African!” the red-headed boy arose slowly, walked up to the + teacher, calmly stared into his face, and, having listened to the problem, + carefully began to make big round figures on the blackboard with chalk. + </p> + <p> + “Good enough!” said the teacher. “Yozhov, Nicolai. Proceed!” + </p> + <p> + One of Foma’s neighbours, a fidgety little boy with black little + mouse-eyes, jumped up from his seat and passed through the aisle, striking + against everything and turning his head on all sides. At the blackboard he + seized the chalk, and, standing up on the toes of his boots, noisily began + to mark the board with the chalk, creaking and filling with chalk dust, + dashing off small, illegible marks. + </p> + <p> + “Not so loud!” said the teacher, wrinkling his yellow face and contracting + his fatigued eyes. Yozhov spoke quickly and in a ringing voice: + </p> + <p> + “Now we know that the first peddler made 17k. profit.” + </p> + <p> + “Enough! Gordyeeff! Tell me what must we do in order to find out how much + the second peddler gained?” + </p> + <p> + Watching the conduct of the boys, so unlike each other, Foma was thus + taken unawares by the question and he kept quiet. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know? How? Explain it to him, Smolin.” + </p> + <p> + Having carefully wiped his fingers, which had been soiled with chalk, + Smolin put the rag away, and, without looking at Foma, finished the + problem and again began to wipe his hands, while Yozhov, smiling and + skipping along as he walked, returned to his seat. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you!” he whispered, seating himself beside Foma, incidentally + striking his side with his fist. “Why don’t you know it? What was the + profit altogether? Thirty kopecks. And there were two peddlers. One of + them got 17. Well, how much did the other one get?” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” replied Foma, in a whisper, feeling confused and examining the + face of Smolin, who was sedately returning to his seat. He didn’t like + that round, freckled face, with the blue eyes, which were loaded with fat. + And Yozhov pinched his leg and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Whose son are you? The Frantic’s?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “So. Do you wish me to prompt you always?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And what will you give me for it?” + </p> + <p> + Foma thought awhile and asked: + </p> + <p> + “And do you know it all yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I? I am the best pupil. You’ll see for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Hey, there! Yozhov, you are talking again?” cried the teacher, faintly. + </p> + <p> + Yozhov jumped to his feet and said boldly: + </p> + <p> + “It’s not I, Ivan Andreyich—it’s Gordyeeff.” + </p> + <p> + “Both of them were whispering,” announced Smolin, serenely. + </p> + <p> + Wrinkling his face mournfully and moving his big lip comically, the + teacher reprimanded them all, but his words did not prevent Yozhov from + whispering immediately: + </p> + <p> + “Very well, Smolin! I’ll remember you for telling.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why do you blame it all on the new boy?” asked Smolin, in a low + voice, without even turning his head to them. + </p> + <p> + “All right, all right,” hissed Yozhov. + </p> + <p> + Foma was silent, looking askance at his brisk neighbour, who at once + pleased him and roused in him a desire to get as far as possible away from + him. During recess he learned from Yozhov that Smolin, too, was rich, + being the son of a tan-yard proprietor, and that Yozhov himself was the + son of a guard at the Court of Exchequer, and very poor. The last was + clearly evident by the adroit boy’s costume, made of gray fustian and + adorned with patches on the knees and elbows; by his pale, hungry-looking + face; and, by his small, angular and bony figure. This boy spoke in a + metallic alto, elucidating his words with grimaces and gesticulations, and + he often used words whose meaning was known but to himself. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll be friends,” he announced to Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you complain to the teacher about me?” Gordyeeff reminded Yozhov, + looking at him suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “There! What’s the difference to you? You are a new scholar and rich. The + teacher is not exacting with the rich. And I am a poor hanger-on; he + doesn’t like me, because I am impudent and because I never bring him any + presents. If I had been a bad pupil he would have expelled me long ago. + You know I’ll go to the Gymnasium from here. I’ll pass the second class + and then I’ll leave. Already a student is preparing me for the second + class. There I’ll study so that they can’t hold me back! How many horses + do you have?” + </p> + <p> + “Three. What do you need to study so much for?” asked Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Because I am poor. The poor must study hard so that they may become rich. + They become doctors, functionaries, officers. I shall be a ‘tinkler.’ A + sword at my side, spur on my boots. Cling, cling! And what are you going + to be?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Foma, pensively, examining his companion. + </p> + <p> + “You need not be anything. And are you fond of pigeons?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What a good-for-nothing you are! Oh! Eh!” Yozhov imitated Foma’s slow way + of speaking. “How many pigeons do you have?” + </p> + <p> + “I have none.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you! Rich, and yet you have no pigeons. Even I have three. If my + father had been rich I would have had a hundred pigeons and chased them + all day long. Smolin has pigeons, too, fine ones! Fourteen. He made me a + present of one. Only, he is greedy. All the rich are greedy. And you, are + you greedy, too?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Foma, irresolutely. + </p> + <p> + “Come up to Smolin’s and the three of us together will chase the pigeons.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. If they let me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, does not your father like you?” + </p> + <p> + “He does like me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, he’ll let you go. Only don’t tell him that I am coming. + Perhaps he would not let you go with me. Tell him you want to go to + Smolin’s. Smolin!” + </p> + <p> + A plump boy came up to them, and Yozhov accosted him, shaking his head + reproachfully: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you red-headed slanderer! It isn’t worth while to be friends with + you, blockhead!” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you abuse me?” asked Smolin, calmly, examining Foma fixedly. + </p> + <p> + “I am not abusing you; I am telling the truth,” Yozhov explained, + straightening himself with animation. “Listen! Although you are a kissel, + but—let it go! We’ll come up to see you on Sunday after mass.” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” Smolin nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll come up. They’ll ring the bell soon. I must run to sell the + siskin,” declared Yozhov, pulling out of his pocket a paper package, + wherein some live thing was struggling. And he disappeared from the + school-yard as mercury from the palm of a hand. + </p> + <p> + “What a queer fellow he is!” said Foma, dumfounded by Yozhov’s adroitness + and looking at Smolin interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + “He is always like this. He’s very clever,” the red-headed boy explained. + </p> + <p> + “And cheerful, too,” added Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Cheerful, too,” Smolin assented. Then they became silent, looking at each + other. + </p> + <p> + “Will you come up with him to my house?” asked the red-headed boy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Come up. It’s nice there.” + </p> + <p> + Foma said nothing to this. Then Smolin asked him: + </p> + <p> + “Have you many friends?” + </p> + <p> + “I have none.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither did I have any friends before I went to school. Only cousins. Now + you’ll have two friends at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Are you glad?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad.” + </p> + <p> + “When you have lots of friends, it is lively. And it is easier to study, + too—they prompt you.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you a good pupil?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course! I do everything well,” said Smolin, calmly. + </p> + <p> + The bell began to bang as though it had been frightened and was hastily + running somewhere. + </p> + <p> + Sitting in school, Foma began to feel somewhat freer, and compared his + friends with the rest of the boys. He soon learned that they both were the + very best boys in school and that they were the first to attract + everybody’s attention, even as the two figures 5 and 7, which had not yet + been wiped off the blackboard. And Foma felt very much pleased that his + friends were better than any of the other boys. + </p> + <p> + They all went home from school together, but Yozhov soon turned into some + narrow side street, while Smolin walked with Foma up to his very house, + and, departing, said: + </p> + <p> + “You see, we both go home the same way, too.” + </p> + <p> + At home Foma was met with pomp: his father made him a present of a heavy + silver spoon, with an ingenious monogram on it, and his aunt gave him a + scarf knitted by herself. They were awaiting him for dinner, having + prepared his favourite dishes for him, and as soon as he took off his + coat, seated him at the table and began to ply him with questions. + </p> + <p> + “Well, how was it? How did you like the school?” asked Ignat, looking + lovingly at his son’s rosy, animated face. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good. It’s nice!” replied Foma. + </p> + <p> + “My darling!” sighed his aunt, with feeling, “look out, hold your own with + your friends. As soon as they offend you tell your teachers about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on. What else will you tell him?” Ignat smiled. “Never do that! Try to + get square with every offender yourself, punish him with your own hand, + not with somebody else’s. Are there any good fellows there?” + </p> + <p> + “There are two,” Foma smiled, recalling Yozhov. “One of them is so bold—terrible!” + </p> + <p> + “Whose is he?” + </p> + <p> + “A guard’s son.” + </p> + <p> + “Mm! Bold did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Dreadfully bold!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let him be! And the other?” + </p> + <p> + “The other one is red-headed. Smolin.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Evidently Mitry Ivanovitch’s son. Stick to him, he’s good company. + Mitry is a clever peasant. If the son takes after his father it is all + right. But that other one—you know, Foma, you had better invite them + to our house on Sunday. I’ll buy some presents and you can treat them. + We’ll see what sort of boys they are.” + </p> + <p> + “Smolin asked me to come to him this Sunday,” said Foma, looking up at his + father questioningly. + </p> + <p> + “So. Well, you may go! That’s all right, go. Observe what kind of people + there are in the world. You cannot pass your life alone, without + friendship. Your godfather and I, for instance, have been friends for more + than twenty years, and I have profited a great deal by his common sense. + So you, too, try to be friendly with those that are better and wiser than + you. Rub against a good man, like a copper coin against silver, and you + may then pass for a silver coin yourself.” + </p> + <p> + And, bursting into laughter at his comparison, Ignat added seriously: + </p> + <p> + “I was only jesting. Try to be, not artificial, but genuine. And have some + common sense, no matter how little, but your own. Have you many lessons to + do?” + </p> + <p> + “Many!” sighed the boy, and to his sigh, like an echo, his aunt answered + with a heavy sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, study. Don’t be worse than others at school. Although, I’ll tell + you, even if there were twenty-five classes in your school, they could + never teach you there anything save reading, writing and arithmetic. You + may also learn some naughty things, but God protect you! I shall give you + a terrible spanking if you do. If you smoke tobacco I’ll cut your lips + off.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember God, Fomushka,” said the aunt. “See that you don’t forget our + Lord.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true! Honour God and your father. But I wish to tell you that + school books are but a trivial matter. You need these as a carpenter needs + an adze and a pointer. They are tools, but the tools cannot teach you how + to make use of them. Understand? Let us see: Suppose an adze were handed + to a carpenter for him to square a beam with it. It’s not enough to have + hands and an adze; it is also necessary for him to know how to strike the + wood so as not to hit his foot instead. To you the knowledge of reading + and writing is given, and you must regulate your life with it. Thus it + follows that books alone are but a trifle in this matter; it is necessary + to be able to take advantage of them. And it is this ability that is more + cunning than any books, and yet nothing about it is written in the books. + This, Foma, you must learn from Life itself. A book is a dead thing, you + may take it as you please, you may tear it, break it—it will not cry + out. While should you but make a single wrong step in life, or wrongly + occupy a place in it, Life will start to bawl at you in a thousand voices; + it will deal you a blow, felling you to the ground.” + </p> + <p> + Foma, his elbows leaning on the table, attentively listened to his father, + and under the sound of his powerful voice he pictured to himself now the + carpenter squaring a beam, now himself, his hands outstretched, carefully + and stealthily approaching some colossal and living thing, and desiring to + grasp that terrible something. + </p> + <p> + “A man must preserve himself for his work and must be thoroughly + acquainted with the road to it. A man, dear, is like the pilot on a ship. + In youth, as at high tide, go straight! A way is open to you everywhere. + But you must know when it is time to steer. The waters recede—here + you see a sandbank, there, a rock; it is necessary to know all this and to + slip off in time, in order to reach the harbour safe and sound.” + </p> + <p> + “I will reach it!” said the boy, looking at his father proudly and with + confidence. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? You speak courageously!” Ignat burst into laughter. And the aunt also + began to laugh kindly. + </p> + <p> + Since his trip with his father on the Volga, Foma became more lively and + talkative at home, with his father, with his aunt and with Mayakin. But on + the street, in a new place, or in the presence of strangers, he was always + gloomy, always looking about him with suspicion, as though he felt + something hostile to him everywhere, something hidden from him spying on + him. + </p> + <p> + At nights he sometimes awoke of a sudden and listened for a long time to + the silence about him, fixedly staring into the dark with wide-open eyes. + And then his father’s stories were transformed before him into images and + pictures. Without being aware of it, he mixed up those stories with his + aunt’s fairy-tales, thus creating for himself a chaos of adventures + wherein the bright colours of fantasy were whimsically intertwined with + the stern shades of reality. This resulted in something colossal, + incomprehensible; the boy closed his eyes and drove it all away from him + and tried to check the play of his imagination, which frightened him. In + vain he attempted to fall asleep, and the chamber became more and more + crowded with dark images. Then he quietly roused his aunt. + </p> + <p> + “Auntie! Auntie!” + </p> + <p> + “What? Christ be with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll come to you,” whispered Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Why? Sleep, darling, sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” confessed the boy. + </p> + <p> + “You better say to yourself, ‘And the Lord will rise again,’ then you + won’t be afraid.” + </p> + <p> + Foma lies with his eyes open and says the prayer. The silence of the night + pictures itself before him in the form of an endless expanse of perfectly + calm, dark water, which has overflowed everything and congealed; there is + not a ripple on it, not a shadow of a motion, and neither is there + anything within it, although it is bottomlessly deep. It is very terrible + for one to look down from the dark at this dead water. But now the sound + of the night watchman’s mallet is heard, and the boy sees that the surface + of the water is beginning to tremble, and, covering the surface with + ripples, light little balls are dancing upon it. The sound of the bell on + the steeple, with one mighty swing, brings all the water in agitation and + it is slightly trembling from that sound; a big spot of light is also + trembling, spreading light upon the water, radiating from its centre into + the dark distance, there growing paler and dying out. Again there is weary + and deathlike repose in this dark desert. + </p> + <p> + “Auntie,” whispers Foma, beseechingly. + </p> + <p> + “Dearest?” + </p> + <p> + “I am coming to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, then, come, my darling.” + </p> + <p> + Going over into auntie’s bed, he presses close to her, begging: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me something.” + </p> + <p> + “At night?” protests auntie, sleepily. + </p> + <p> + “Please.” + </p> + <p> + He does not have to ask her long. Yawning, her eyes closed, the old woman + begins slowly in a voice grown heavy with sleep: + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear sir, in a certain kingdom, in a certain empire, there lived + a man and his wife, and they were very poor. They were so unfortunate that + they had nothing to eat. They would go around begging, somebody would give + them a crust of stale bread and that would keep them for awhile. And it + came to pass that the wife begot a child—a child was born—it + was necessary to christen it, but, being poor, they could not entertain + the godparents and the guests, so nobody came to christen the child. They + tried this and they tried that—yet nobody came. And they began to + pray to the Lord, ‘Oh Lord! Oh Lord!’” + </p> + <p> + Foma knew this awful story about God’s godchild. He had heard it more than + once and was already picturing to himself this godchild riding on a white + horse to his godfather and godmother; he was riding in the darkness, over + the desert, and he saw there all the unbearable miseries to which sinners + are condemned. And he heard their faint moans and requests: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Man! Ask the Lord yet how long are we to suffer here!” + </p> + <p> + Then it appeared to Foma that it was he who was riding at night on the + white horse, and that the moans and the implorings were addressed to him. + His heart contracts with some incomprehensible desire; sorrow compressed + his breast and tears gathered in his eyes, which he had firmly closed and + now feared to open. + </p> + <p> + He is tossing about in his bed restlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Sleep, my child. Christ be with you!” says the old woman, interrupting + her tale of men suffering for their sins. + </p> + <p> + But in the morning after such a night Foma rose sound and cheerful, washed + himself hastily, drank his tea in haste and ran off to school, provided + with sweet cakes, which were awaited by the always hungry little Yozhov, + who greedily subsisted on his rich friend’s generosity. + </p> + <p> + “Got anything to eat?” he accosted Foma, turning up his sharp-pointed + nose. “Let me have it, for I left the house without eating anything. I + slept too long, devil take it! I studied up to two o’clock last night. + Have you solved your problems?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you lazy bones! Well, I’ll dash them off for you directly!” + </p> + <p> + Driving his small, thin teeth into the cakes, he purred something like a + kitten, stamped his left foot, beating time, and at the same time solved + the problem, rattling off short phrases to Foma: + </p> + <p> + “See? Eight bucketfuls leaked out in one hour. And how many hours did it + leak—six? Eh, what good things they eat in your house! Consequently, + we must multiply six by eight. Do you like cake with green onions? Oh, how + I like it! So that in six hours forty-eight bucketfuls leaked out of the + first gauge-cock. And altogether the tub contained ninety. Do you + understand the rest?” + </p> + <p> + Foma liked Yozhov better than Smolin, but he was more friendly with + Smolin. He wondered at the ability and the sprightliness of the little + fellow. He saw that Yozhov was more clever and better than himself; he + envied him, and felt offended on that account, and at the same time he + pitied him with the condescending compassion of a satisfied man for a + hungry one. Perhaps it was this very compassion that prevented him from + preferring this bright boy to the boring red-headed Smolin. Yozhov, fond + of having a laugh at the expense of his well-fed friends, told them quite + often: “Eh, you are little trunks full of cakes!” + </p> + <p> + Foma was angry with him for his sneers, and one day, touched to the quick, + said wickedly and with contempt: + </p> + <p> + “And you are a beggar—a pauper!” + </p> + <p> + Yozhov’s yellow face became overcast, and he replied slowly: + </p> + <p> + “Very well, so be it! I shall never prompt you again—and you’ll be + like a log of wood!” + </p> + <p> + And they did not speak to each other for about three days, very much to + the regret of the teacher, who during these days had to give the lowest + markings to the son of the esteemed Ignat Matveyich. + </p> + <p> + Yozhov knew everything: he related at school how the procurator’s + chambermaid gave birth to a child, and that for this the procurator’s wife + poured hot coffee over her husband; he could tell where and when it was + best to catch perch; he knew how to make traps and cages for birds; he + could give a detailed account of how the soldier had hanged himself in the + garret of the armoury, and knew from which of the pupils’ parents the + teacher had received a present that day and precisely what sort of a + present it was. + </p> + <p> + The sphere of Smolin’s knowledge and interests was confined to the + merchant’s mode of life, and, above all, the red-headed boy was fond of + judging whether this man was richer than that, valuing and pricing their + houses, their vessels and their horses. All this he knew to perfection, + and spoke of it with enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + Like Foma, he regarded Yozhov with the same condescending pity, but more + as a friend and equal. Whenever Gordyeeff quarrelled with Yozhov, Smolin + hastened to reconcile them, and he said to Foma one day, on their way + home: + </p> + <p> + “Why do you always quarrel with Yozhov?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why is he so self-conceited?” said Foma, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “He is proud because you never know your lessons, and he always helps you + out. He is clever. And because he is poor—is he to blame for that? + He can learn anything he wants to, and he will be rich, too.” + </p> + <p> + “He is like a mosquito,” said Foma, disdainfully; “he will buzz and buzz, + and then of a sudden will bite.” + </p> + <p> + But there was something in the life of these boys that united them all; + there were hours when the consciousness of difference in their natures and + positions was entirely lost. On Sundays they all gathered at Smolin’s, + and, getting up on the roof of the wing, where they had an enormous + pigeon-house, they let the pigeons loose. + </p> + <p> + The beautiful, well-fed birds, ruffling their snow-white wings, darted out + of the pigeon-house one by one, and, seating themselves in a row on the + ridge of the roof, and, illumined by the sun, cooing, flaunted before the + boys. + </p> + <p> + “Scare them!” implored Yozhov, trembling for impatience. + </p> + <p> + Smolin swung a pole with a bast-wisp fastened to its end, and whistled. + </p> + <p> + The frightened pigeons rushed into the air, filling it with the hurried + flapping of their wings. And now, outlining big circles, they easily soar + upwards, into the blue depths of the sky; they float higher and higher, + their silver and snow-white feathers flashing. Some of them are striving + to reach the dome of the skies with the light soaring of the falcon, their + wings outstretched wide and almost motionless; others play, turn over in + the air, now dropping downward in a snowy lump, now darting up like an + arrow. Now the entire flock seems as though hanging motionless in the + desert of the sky, and, growing smaller and smaller, seems to sink in it. + With heads thrown back, the boys admire the birds in silence, without + taking their eyes from them—their tired eyes, so radiant with calm + joy, not altogether free from envying these winged creatures, which so + freely took flight from earth up into the pure and calm atmosphere full of + the glitter of the sun. The small group of scarcely visible dots, now mere + specks in the azure of the sky, leads on the imagination of the children, + and Yozhov expresses their common feeling when, in a low voice, he says + thoughtfully: + </p> + <p> + “That’s the way we ought to fly, friends.” + </p> + <p> + While Foma, knowing that human souls, soaring heavenward, oftentimes + assume the form of pigeons, felt in his breast the rising of a burning, + powerful desire. + </p> + <p> + Unified by their joy, attentively and mutely awaiting the return of their + birds from the depths of the sky, the boys, pressing close to one another, + drifted far away from the breath of life, even as their pigeons were far + from earth; at this moment they are merely children, knowing neither envy + nor anger; free from everything, they are near to one another, they are + mute, judging their feelings by the light in their eyes—and they + feel as happy as the birds in the sky. + </p> + <p> + But now the pigeons come down on the roof again, and, tired out by their + flight, are easily driven into the pigeon-house. + </p> + <p> + “Friends, let’s go for apples?” suggests Yozhov, the instigator of all + games and adventures. + </p> + <p> + His call drives out of the children’s souls the peacefulness brought into + them by the pigeons, and then, like plunderers, carefully listening for + each and every sound, they steal quietly across the back yards toward the + neighbouring garden. The fear of being caught is balanced by the hope of + stealing with impunity. But stealing is work and dangerous work at that, + and everything that is earned by your own labour is so sweet! And the more + effort required to gain it, the sweeter it is. Carefully the boys climb + over the fence of the garden, and, bending down, crawl toward the apple + trees and, full of fright, look around vigilantly. Their hearts tremble + and their throbbing slackens at the faintest rustle. They are alike afraid + of being caught, and, if noticed, of being recognised, but in case they + should only see them and yell at them, they would be satisfied. They would + separate, each going in a different direction, and then, meeting again, + their eyes aglow with joy and boldness, would laughingly tell one another + how they felt when they heard some one giving chase to them, and what + happened to them when they ran so quickly through the garden, as though + the ground were burning under their feet. + </p> + <p> + Such invasions were more to Foma’s liking than all other adventures and + games, and his behaviour during these invasions was marked with a boldness + that at once astounded and angered his companions. He was intentionally + careless in other people’s gardens: he spoke loud, noisily broke the + branches of apple trees, and, tearing off a worm-eaten apple, threw it in + the direction of the proprietor’s house. The danger of being caught in the + act did not frighten him; it rather encouraged him—his eyes would + turn darker, his teeth would clench, and his face would assume an + expression of anger and pride. + </p> + <p> + Smolin, distorting his big mouth contemptibly, would say to him: + </p> + <p> + “You are making entirely too much fuss about yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not a coward anyway!” replied Foma. + </p> + <p> + “I know that you are not a coward, but why do you boast of it? One may do + a thing as well without boasting.” + </p> + <p> + Yozhov blamed him from a different point of view: + </p> + <p> + “If you thrust yourself into their hands willingly you can go to the + devil! I am not your friend. They’ll catch you and bring you to your + father—he wouldn’t do anything to you, while I would get such a + spanking that all my bones would be skinned.” + </p> + <p> + “Coward!” Foma persisted, stubbornly. + </p> + <p> + And it came to pass one day that Foma was caught by the second captain, + Chumakov, a thin little old man. Noiselessly approaching the boy, who was + hiding away in his bosom the stolen apples, the old man seized him by the + shoulders and cried in a threatening voice: + </p> + <p> + “Now I have you, little rogue! Aha!” + </p> + <p> + Foma was then about fifteen years old, and he cleverly slipped out of the + old man’s hands. Yet he did not run from him, but, knitting his brow and + clenching his fist, he said threateningly: + </p> + <p> + “You dare to touch me!” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t touch you. I’ll just turn you over to the police! Whose son + are you?” + </p> + <p> + Foma did not expect this, and all his boldness and spitefulness suddenly + left him. + </p> + <p> + The trip to the police station seemed to him something which his father + would never forgive him. He shuddered and said confusedly: + </p> + <p> + “Gordyeeff.” + </p> + <p> + “Ignat Gordyeeff’s?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Now the second captain was taken aback. He straightened himself, expanded + his chest and for some reason or other cleared his throat impressively. + Then his shoulders sank and he said to the boy in a fatherly tone: + </p> + <p> + “It’s a shame! The son of such a well-known and respected man! It is + unbecoming your position. You may go. But should this happen again! Hm! I + should be compelled to notify your father, to whom, by the way, I have the + honour of presenting my respects.” + </p> + <p> + Foma watched the play of the old man’s physiognomy and understood that he + was afraid of his father. Like a young wolf, he looked askance at + Chumakov; while the old man, with comical seriousness, twisted his gray + moustache, hesitating before the boy, who did not go away, notwithstanding + the given permission. + </p> + <p> + “You may go,” repeated the old man, pointing at the road leading to his + house. + </p> + <p> + “And how about the police?” asked Foma, sternly, and was immediately + frightened at the possible answer. + </p> + <p> + “I was but jesting,” smiled the old man. “I just wanted to frighten you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are afraid of my father yourself,” said Foma, and, turning his back + to the old man, walked off into the depth of the garden. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid? Ah! Very well!” exclaimed Chumakov after him, and Foma knew + by the sound of his voice that he had offended the old man. He felt sad + and ashamed; he passed the afternoon in walking, and, coming home, he was + met by his father’s stern question: + </p> + <p> + “Foma! Did you go to Chumakov’s garden?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did,” said the boy, calmly, looking into his father’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + Evidently Ignat did not expect such an answer and he was silent for + awhile, stroking his beard. + </p> + <p> + “Fool! Why did you do it? Have you not enough of your own apples?” + </p> + <p> + Foma cast down his eyes and was silent, standing before his father. + </p> + <p> + “See, you are shamed! Yozhishka must have incited you to this! I’ll give + it to him when he comes, or I’ll make an end of your friendship + altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “I did it myself,” said Foma, firmly. + </p> + <p> + “From bad to worse!” exclaimed Ignat. “But why did you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Because.” + </p> + <p> + “Because!” mocked the father. “Well, if you did it you ought to be able to + explain to yourself and to others the reason for so doing. Come here!” + </p> + <p> + Foma walked up to his father, who was sitting on a chair, and placed + himself between his knees. Ignat put his hand on the boy’s shoulders, and, + smiling, looked into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Are you ashamed?” + </p> + <p> + “I am ashamed,” sighed Foma. + </p> + <p> + “There you have it, fool! You have disgraced me and yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Pressing his son’s head to his breast, he stroked his hair and asked + again: + </p> + <p> + “Why should you do such a thing—stealing other people’s apples?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t know,” said Foma, confusedly. “Perhaps because it is so + lonesome. I play and play the same thing day after day. I am growing tired + of it! While this is dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “Exciting?” asked the father, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Mm, perhaps it is so. But, nevertheless, Foma, look out—drop this, + or I shall deal with you severely.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll never climb anywhere again,” said the boy with confidence. + </p> + <p> + “And that you take all the blame on yourself—that is good. What will + become of you in the future, only God knows, but meanwhile—it is + pretty good. It is not a trifle if a man is willing to pay for his deeds + with his own skin. Someone else in your place would have blamed his + friends, while you say: ‘I did it myself.’ That’s the proper way, Foma. + You commit the sin, but you also account for it. Didn’t Chumakov strike + you?” asked Ignat, pausing as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I would have struck him back,” declared Foma, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Mm,” roared his father, significantly. + </p> + <p> + “I told him that he was afraid of you. That is why he complained. + Otherwise he was not going to say anything to you about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” + </p> + <p> + “‘By God! Present my respects to your father,’ he said.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! the dog! See what kind of people there are; he is robbed and yet he + makes a bow and presents his respects! Ha, ha! It is true it might have + been worth no more than a kopeck, but a kopeck is to him what a rouble is + to me. And it isn’t the kopeck, but since it is mine, no one dares touch + it unless I throw it away myself. Eh! The devil take them! Well, tell me—where + have you been, what have you seen?” + </p> + <p> + The boy sat down beside his father and told him in detail all the + impressions of that day. Ignat listened, fixedly watching the animated + face of his son, and the eyebrows of the big man contracted pensively. + </p> + <p> + “You are still but floating on the surface, dear. You are still but a + child. Eh! Eh!” + </p> + <p> + “We scared an owl in the ravine,” related the boy. “That was fun! It began + to fly about and struck against a tree—bang! It even began to squeak + so pitifully. And we scared it again; again it rose and flew about here + and there, and again it struck against something, so that its feathers + were coming out. It flew about in the ravine and at last hid itself + somewhere with difficulty. We did not try to look for it, we felt sorry it + was all bruised. Papa, is an owl entirely blind in daytime?” + </p> + <p> + “Blind!” said Ignat; “some men will toss about in life even as this owl in + daytime. Ever searching for his place, he strives and strives—only + feathers fly from him, but all to no purpose. He is bruised, sickened, + stripped of everything, and then with all his might he thrusts himself + anywhere, just to find repose from his restlessness. Woe to such people. + Woe to them, dear!” + </p> + <p> + “How painful is it to them?” said Foma in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Just as painful as to that owl.” + </p> + <p> + “And why is it so?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? It is hard to tell. Someone suffers because he is darkened by his + pride—he desires much, but has but little strength. Another because + of his foolishness. But then there are a thousand and one other reasons, + which you cannot understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Come in and have some tea,” Anfisa called to them. She had been standing + in the doorway for quite a long while, and, folding her hands, lovingly + admired the enormous figure of her brother, who bent over Foma with such + friendliness, and the pensive pose of the boy, who clung to his father’s + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Thus day by day Foma’s life developed slowly—a quiet, peaceful life, + not at all brimful of emotions. Powerful impressions, rousing the boy’s + soul for an hour or for a day, sometimes stood out strikingly against the + general background of this monotonous life, but these were soon + obliterated. The boy’s soul was as yet but a calm lake—a lake hidden + from the stormy winds of life, and all that touched the surface of the + lake either sank to the bottom, stirring the placid water for a moment, or + gliding over the smooth surface, swam apart in big circles and + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Having stayed at the district school for five years, Foma passed four + classes tolerably well and came out a brave, dark-haired fellow, with a + swarthy face, heavy eyebrows and dark down on the upper lip. His big dark + eyes had a naive and pensive look, and his lips were like a child’s, + half-open; but when meeting with opposition to his desires or when + irritated by something else, the pupils of his eyes would grow wide, his + lips press tight, and his whole face assume a stubborn and resolute + expression. His godfather, smiling sceptically, would often say to him: + </p> + <p> + “To women, Foma, you’ll be sweeter than honey, but as yet not much common + sense can be seen in you.” + </p> + <p> + Ignat would heave a sigh at these words. + </p> + <p> + “You had better start out your son as soon as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s time yet, wait.” + </p> + <p> + “Why wait? He’ll go about the Volga for two or three years and then we’ll + have him married. There’s my Lubov.” + </p> + <p> + Lubov Mayakina was now studying in the fifth class of some boarding + school. Foma often met her on the street at which meeting she always bowed + condescendingly, her fair head in a fashionable cap. Foma liked her, but + her rosy cheeks, her cheerful brown eyes and crimson lips could not smooth + the impression of offence given to him by her condescending bows. She was + acquainted with some Gymnasium students, and although Yozhov, his old + friend, was among them, Foma felt no inclination to be with them, and + their company embarrassed him. It seemed to him that they were all + boasting of their learning before him and that they were mocking his + ignorance. Gathered together in Lubov’s house they would read some books, + and whenever he found them reading or loudly arguing, they became silent + at his sight. All this removed them further from him. One day when he was + at Mayakin’s, Luba called him to go for a walk in the garden, and there, + walking by his side, asked him with a grimace on her face: + </p> + <p> + “Why are you so unsociable? You never talk about anything.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall I talk about, since I know nothing!” said Foma, plainly. + </p> + <p> + “Study—read books.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t feel like doing it.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, the Gymnasium students know everything, and know how to talk + about everything. Take Yozhov, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “I know Yozhov—a chatterbox.” + </p> + <p> + “You simply envy him. He is very clever—yes. He will soon graduate + from the Gymnasium—and then he’ll go to Moscow to study in the + University.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what of it?” said Foma, indifferently. + </p> + <p> + “And you’ll remain just an ignorant man.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, be it so.” + </p> + <p> + “That will be nice!” exclaimed Luba, ironically. + </p> + <p> + “I shall hold my ground without science,” said Foma, sarcastically. “And + I’ll have a laugh at all the learned people. Let the hungry study. I don’t + need it.” + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw, how stupid you are, bad, disgusting!” said the girl with contempt + and went away, leaving him alone in the garden. Offended and gloomy, he + looked after her, moved his eyebrows and lowering his head, slowly walked + off into the depth of the garden. + </p> + <p> + He already began to recognise the beauty of solitude and the sweet poison + of contemplation. Oftentimes, during summer evenings, when everything was + coloured by the fiery tints of sunset, kindling the imagination, an uneasy + longing for something incomprehensible penetrated his breast. Sitting + somewhere in a dark corner of the garden or lying in bed, he conjured up + before him the images of the fairy-tale princesses—they appeared + with the face of Luba and of other young ladies of his acquaintance, + noiselessly floating before him in the twilight and staring into his eyes + with enigmatic looks. At times these visions awakened in him a mighty + energy, as though intoxicating him—he would rise and, straightening + his shoulders, inhale the perfumed air with a full chest; but sometimes + these same visions brought to him a feeling of sadness—he felt like + crying, but ashamed of shedding tears, he restrained himself and never + wept in silence. Or suddenly his heart began to tremble with the desire to + express his gratitude to God, to bow before Him; the words of the prayer + flashed through his memory, and beholding the sky, he whispered them for a + long time, one by one, and his heart grew lighter, breathing into prayer + the excess of his power. + </p> + <p> + The father patiently and carefully introduced him into commercial circles, + took him on the Exchange, told him about his contracts and enterprises, + about his co-associates, described to him how they had made their way, + what fortunes they now possessed, what natures were theirs. Foma soon + mastered it, regarding everything seriously and thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Our bud is blooming into a blood-red cup-rose!” Mayakin smiled, winking + to Ignat. + </p> + <p> + And yet, even when Foma was nineteen years old, there was something + childish in him, something naive which distinguished him from the boys of + his age. They were laughing at him, considering him stupid; he kept away + from them, offended by their relations toward him. As for his father and + Mayakin, who were watching him vigilantly, this uncertainty of Foma’s + character inspired them with serious apprehensions. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot understand him!” Ignat would say with contrite heart. “He does + not lead a dissipated life, he does not seem to run after the women, + treats me and you with respect, listens to everything—he is more + like a pretty girl than a fellow! And yet he does not seem to be stupid!” + </p> + <p> + “No, there’s nothing particularly stupid about him,” said Mayakin. + </p> + <p> + “It looks as though he were waiting for something—as though some + kind of shroud were covering his eyes. His late mother groped on earth in + the same way. + </p> + <p> + “Just look, there’s Afrikanka Smolin, but two years older than my boy—what + a man he has become! That is, it is difficult to tell whether he is his + father’s head or his father his. He wants to go to some factory to study. + He swears: + </p> + <p> + “‘Eh,’ says he, ‘papa, you have not taught me enough.’ Yes. While mine + does not express himself at all. Oh Lord!” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” Mayakin advised him, “you had better push him head foremost + into some active business! I assure you! Gold is tested in fire. We’ll see + what his inclinations are when at liberty. Send him out on the Kama—alone.” + </p> + <p> + “To give him a trial?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he’ll do some mischief—you’ll lose something—but then + we’ll know what stuff he is made of.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed—I’ll send him off,” Ignat decided. + </p> + <p> + And thus in the spring, Ignat sent his son off on the Kama with two barges + laden with corn. The barges were led by Gordyeeff’s steamer “Philezhny,” + under the command of Foma’s old acquaintance, the former sailor Yefim—now, + Yefim Ilyich, a squarely built man of about thirty with lynx-like eyes—a + sober-minded, steady and very strict captain. + </p> + <p> + They sailed fast and cheerfully, because all were contented. At first Foma + was proud of the responsible commission with which he had been charged. + Yefim was pleased with the presence of the young master, who did not + rebuke or abuse him for each and every oversight; and the happy frame of + mind of the two most important persons on the steamer reflected in + straight rays on the entire crew. Having left the place where they had + taken in their cargo of corn in April, the steamer reached the place of + its destination in the beginning of May, and the barges were anchored near + the shore with the steamer at their side. Foma’s duty was to deliver the + corn as soon as possible, and receiving the payments, start off for Perm, + where a cargo of iron was awaiting him, which Ignat had undertaken to + deliver at the market. + </p> + <p> + The barges stood opposite a large village, near a pine forest, about two + versts distant from the shore. On the very next day after their arrival, a + big and noisy crowd of women and peasants, on foot and on horses, came up + to the shore early in the morning. Shouting and singing, they scattered on + the decks and in an instant work started expeditiously. Having descended + into the holds, the women were filling the sacks with rye, the peasants, + throwing the sacks upon their shoulders, ran over the gang-planks to the + shore, and from the shore, carts, heavily laden with the long-expected + corn, went off slowly to the village. The women sang songs; the peasants + jested and gaily abused one another; the sailors representing the + guardians of peace, scolded the working people now and then; the + gang-planks, bending under the feet of the carriers, splashed against the + water heavily; while on the shore the horses neighed, and the carts and + the sand under the wheels were creaking. + </p> + <p> + The sun had just risen, the air was fresh and invigorating and densely + filled with the odour of pines; the calm water of the river, reflecting + the clear sky, was gently murmuring, breaking against the sides of the + vessels and the chains of the anchors. The loud and cheerful noise of + toil, the youthful beauty of nature, gaily illumined by the sunbeams—all + was full of a kind-hearted, somewhat crude, sound power, which pleasantly + stirred Foma’s soul, awakening in him new and perplexed sensations and + desires. He was sitting by the table under the awning of the steamer and + drinking tea, together with Yefim and the receiver of the corn, a + provincial clerk—a redheaded, short-sighted gentleman in glasses. + Nervously shrugging his shoulders the receiver was telling in a hoarse + voice how the peasants were starving, but Foma paid little attention to + his words, looking now at the work below, now at the other side of the + river—a tall, yellow, sandy steep shore, whose edges were covered + with pine trees. It was unpeopled and quiet. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have to go over there,” thought Foma. And as though from a distance + the receiver’s tiresome, unpleasant, harsh voice fell on his ears: + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn’t believe it—at last it became horrible! Such an + incident took place! A peasant came up to a certain intelligent man in Osa + and brought along with him a girl about sixteen years old. + </p> + <p> + “‘What do you wish?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Here,’ he says, ‘I’ve brought my daughter to your Honour.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What for?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Perhaps,’ he says, ‘you’ll take her—you are a bachelor.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘That is, how? What do you mean?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I took her around town,’ he says. ‘I wanted to hire her out as a servant—but + nobody would have her—take her at least as your mistress!’ + </p> + <p> + “Do you understand? He offered his own daughter—just think of it! A + daughter—as a mistress! The devil knows what that is! Eh? The man, + of course, became indignant and began abusing the peasant. But the peasant + spoke to him reasonably: + </p> + <p> + “‘Your Honour! Of what use is she to me at this time? Utterly useless. I + have,’ says he, ‘three boys—they will be working men; it is + necessary to keep them up. Give me,’ says he, ‘ten roubles for the girl, + and that will improve my lot and that of my boys.’ + </p> + <p> + “How is that? Eh? It is simply terrible, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “No good!” sighed Yefim. “As they say—hunger will break through + stone walls. The stomach, you see, has its own laws.” + </p> + <p> + This story called forth in Foma a great incomprehensible interest in the + fate of the girl, and the youth hastened to enquire of the receiver: + </p> + <p> + “Well, did the man buy her?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not!” exclaimed the receiver, reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and what became of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Some good people took pity on her—and provided for her.” + </p> + <p> + “A-h!” drawled Foma, and suddenly he said firmly and angrily: “I would + have given that peasant such a thrashing! I would have broken his head!” + And he showed the receiver his big tightly-clenched fist. + </p> + <p> + “Eh! What for?” cried the receiver in a sickly, loud voice, tearing his + spectacles from his eyes. “You do not understand the motive.” + </p> + <p> + “I do understand it!” said Foma, with an obstinate shake of his head. + </p> + <p> + “But what could he do? It came to his mind.” + </p> + <p> + “How can one allow himself to sell a human being?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! It is brutal, I agree with you.” + </p> + <p> + “And a girl at that! I would have given him the ten roubles!” + </p> + <p> + The receiver waved his hand hopelessly and became silent. His gesture + confused Foma. He arose from his seat, walked off to the railing and + looked down at the deck of the barge, which was covered with an + industriously working crowd of people. The noise intoxicated him, and the + uneasy something, which was rambling in his soul, was now defined into a + powerful desire to work, to have the strength of a giant, to possess + enormous shoulders and put on them at one time a hundred bags of rye, that + every one looking at him might be astonished. + </p> + <p> + “Come now, hurry up there!” he shouted down in a ringing voice. A few + heads were raised to him, some faces appeared before him, and one of them—the + face of a dark-eyed woman—smiled at him a gentle and enticing smile. + Something flared up in his breast at this smile and began to spread over + his veins in a hot wave. He drew back from the railing and walked up to + the table again, feeling that his cheeks were burning. + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” said the receiver, addressing him, “wire to your father asking + him to allow some grain for waste! Just see how much is lost here. And + here every pound is precious! You should have understood this! What a fine + father you have,” he concluded with a biting grimace. + </p> + <p> + “How much shall I allow?” asked Foma, boldly and disdainfully. “Do you + want a hundred puds? [A pud is a weight of 40 Russian pounds.] Two + hundred?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I thank you!” exclaimed the receiver, overjoyed and confused, “if + you have the right to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am the master!” said Foma, firmly. “And you must not speak that way + about my father—nor make such faces.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me! I—I do not doubt that you have full power. I thank you + heartily. And your father, too—in behalf of all these men—in + behalf of the people!” + </p> + <p> + Yefim looked cautiously at the young master, spreading out and smacking + his lips, while the master with an air of pride on his face listened to + the quick-witted speech of the receiver, who was pressing his hand firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Two hundred puds! That is Russian-like, young man! I shall directly + notify the peasants of your gift. You’ll see how grateful they will be—how + glad.” And he shouted down: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, boys! The master is giving away two hundred puds.” + </p> + <p> + “Three hundred!” interposed Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Three hundred puds. Oh! Thank you! Three hundred puds of grain, boys!” + </p> + <p> + But their response was weak. The peasants lifted up their heads and mutely + lowered them again, resuming their work. A few voices said irresolutely + and as though unwillingly: + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. May God give you. We thank you very humbly.” + </p> + <p> + And some cried out gaily and disdainfully: + </p> + <p> + “What’s the use of that? If they had given each of us a glass of vodka + instead—that would be a just favour. For the grain is not for us—but + for the country Council.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! They do not understand!” exclaimed the receiver, confused. “I’ll go + down and explain it to them.” + </p> + <p> + And he disappeared. But the peasants’ regard for his gift did not interest + Foma. He saw that the black eyes of the rosy-cheeked woman were looking at + him so strangely and pleasingly. They seemed to thank him and caressingly + beckoned him, and besides those eyes he saw nothing. The woman was dressed + like the city women. She wore shoes, a calico waist, and over her black + hair she had a peculiar kerchief. Tall and supple, seated on a pile of + wood, she repaired sacks, quickly moving her hands, which were bare up to + the elbows, and she smiled at Foma all the time. + </p> + <p> + “Foma Ignatyich!” he heard Yefim’s reproachful voice, “you’ve showed off + too much. Well, if it were only about fifty puds! But why so much? Look + out that we don’t get a good scolding for this.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave me alone!” said Foma, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it to me? I’ll keep quiet. But as you are so young, and as I was + told to keep an eye on you, I may get a rap on the snout for being + heedless.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell my father all about it. Keep quiet!” said Foma. + </p> + <p> + “As for me—let it be so—so that you are master here.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + “I have said this, Foma Ignatyich, for your own sake—because you are + so young and simple-minded.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave me alone, Yefim!” + </p> + <p> + Yefim heaved a sigh and became silent, while Foma stared at the woman and + thought: + </p> + <p> + “I wish they would bring such a woman for sale to me.” + </p> + <p> + His heart beat rapidly. Though as yet physically pure, he already knew + from conversations the mysteries of intimate relations between men and + women. He knew by rude and shameful names, and these names kindled in him + an unpleasant, burning curiosity and shame; his imagination worked + obstinately, for he could not picture it to himself in intelligible + images. And in his soul he did not believe that those relations were + really so simple and rude, as he had been told. When they had laughed at + him and assured him that they were such, and, indeed, could not be + otherwise, he smiled stupidly and confusedly, but thought nevertheless + that the relations with women did not have to be in such a shameful form + for everyone, and that, in all probability, there was something purer, + less rude and abusive to a human being. + </p> + <p> + Now looking at the dark-eyed working woman with admiration, Foma + distinctly felt just that rude inclination toward her, and he was ashamed + and afraid of something. And Yefim, standing beside him, said + admonitively: + </p> + <p> + “There you are staring at the woman, so that I cannot keep silence any + longer. You do not know her, but when she winks at you, you may, because + of your youth—and with a nature like yours—you may do such a + thing that we’ll have to go home on foot by the shore. And we’ll have to + thank God if our trousers at least remain with us.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” asked Foma, red with confusion. + </p> + <p> + “I want nothing. And you had better mind me. In regard to affairs with + women I may perfectly well be a teacher. You must deal with a woman very + plainly—give her a bottle of vodka, something to eat after it, then + a couple of bottles of beer and after everything give her twenty kopecks + in cash. For this price she will show you all her love in the best way + possible.” + </p> + <p> + “You are lying,” said Foma, softly. + </p> + <p> + “I am lying? Why shall I lie to you since I have observed that same policy + perhaps a hundred times? Just charge me to have dealings with her. Eh? + I’ll make you acquainted with her in a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Foma, feeling that he could hardly breathe and that + something was choking his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I’ll bring her up in the evening.” + </p> + <p> + And Yefim smiled approvingly into Foma’s face and walked off. Until + evening Foma walked about as though lost in mist, not noticing the + respectful and beseeching glances with which the peasants greeted him at + the receiver’s instigation. Dread fell on him, he felt himself guilty + before somebody, and to all those that addressed him he replied humbly and + gently, as though excusing himself for something. Some of the working + people went home toward evening, others gathered on the shore near a big, + bright bonfire and began cooking their supper. Fragments of their + conversation floated about in the stillness of the evening. The reflection + of the fire fell on the river in red and yellow stripes, which trembled on + the calm water and on the window panes of the cabin where Foma was + sitting. He sat in the corner on a lounge, which was covered with oilcloth—and + waited. On the table before him were a few bottles of vodka and beer, and + plates with bread and dessert. He covered the windows and did not light + the lamp; the faint light from the bonfire, penetrating through the + curtains, fell on the table, on the bottles and on the wall, and trembled, + now growing brighter, now fainter. It was quiet on the steamer and on the + barges, only from the shore came indistinct sounds of conversation, and + the river was splashing, scarcely audible, against the sides of the + steamer. It seemed to Foma that somebody was hiding in the dark near by, + listening to him and spying upon him. Now somebody is walking over the + gang-plank of the barges with quick and heavy steps—the gang-plank + strikes against the water clangously and angrily. Foma hears the muffled + laughter of the captain and his lowered voice. Yefim stands by the cabin + door and speaks softly, but somewhat reprimandingly, as though + instructing. Foma suddenly felt like crying out: + </p> + <p> + “It is not necessary!” + </p> + <p> + And he arose from the lounge—but at this moment the cabin door was + opened, the tall form of a woman appeared on the threshold, and, + noiselessly closing the door behind her, she said in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear! How dark it is! Is there a living soul somewhere around here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Foma, softly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, good evening.” + </p> + <p> + And the woman moved forward carefully. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll light the lamp,” said Foma in a broken voice, and, sinking on the + lounge, he curled himself up in the corner. + </p> + <p> + “It is good enough this way. When you get used to it you can see + everything in the dark as well.” + </p> + <p> + “Be seated,” said Foma. + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down on the lounge about two steps away from him. Foma saw the + glitter of her eyes, he saw a smile on her full lips. It seemed to him + that this smile of hers was not at all like that other smile before—this + smile seemed plaintive, sad. This smile encouraged him; he breathed with + less difficulty at the sight of these eyes, which, on meeting his own, + suddenly glanced down on the floor. But he did not know what to say to + this woman and for about two minutes both were silent. It was a heavy, + awkward silence. She began to speak: + </p> + <p> + “You must be feeling lonesome here all alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Foma. + </p> + <p> + “And do you like our place here?” asked the woman in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “It is nice. There are many woods here.” + </p> + <p> + And again they became silent. + </p> + <p> + “The river, if you like, is more beautiful than the Volga,” uttered Foma, + with an effort. + </p> + <p> + “I was on the Volga.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “In the city of Simbirsk.” + </p> + <p> + “Simbirsk?” repeated Foma like an echo, feeling that he was again unable + to say a word. + </p> + <p> + But she evidently understood with whom she had to deal, and she suddenly + asked him in a bold whisper: + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you treat me to something?” + </p> + <p> + “Here!” Foma gave a start. “Indeed, how queer I am? Well, then, come up to + the table.” + </p> + <p> + He bustled about in the dark, pushed the table, took up one bottle, then + another, and again returned them to their place, laughing guiltily and + confusedly as he did so. She came up close to him and stood by his side, + and, smiling, looked at his face and at his trembling hands. + </p> + <p> + “Are you bashful?” she suddenly whispered. + </p> + <p> + He felt her breath on his cheek and replied just as softly: + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Then she placed her hands on his shoulders and quietly drew him to her + breast, saying in a soothing whisper: + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, don’t be bashful, my young, handsome darling. How I pity + you!” + </p> + <p> + And he felt like crying because of her whisper, his heart was melting in + sweet fatigue; pressing his head close to her breast, he clasped her with + his hands, mumbling to her some inarticulate words, which were unknown to + himself. + </p> + <p> + “Be gone!” said Foma in a heavy voice, staring at the wall with his eyes + wide open. + </p> + <p> + Having kissed him on the cheek she walked out of the cabin, saying to him: + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Foma felt intolerably ashamed in her presence; but no sooner did she + disappear behind the door than he jumped up and seated himself on the + lounge. Then he arose, staggering, and at once he was seized with the + feeling of having lost something very valuable, something whose presence + he did not seem to have noticed in himself until the moment it was lost. + But immediately a new, manly feeling of self-pride took possession of him. + It drowned his shame, and, instead of the shame, pity for the woman sprang + up within him—for the half-clad woman, who went out alone into the + dark of the chilly May night. He hastily came out on the deck—it was + a starlit, but moonless night; the coolness and the darkness embraced him. + On the shore the golden-red pile of coals was still glimmering. Foma + listened—an oppressive stillness filled the air, only the water was + murmuring, breaking against the anchor chains. There was not a sound of + footsteps to be heard. Foma now longed to call the woman, but he did not + know her name. Eagerly inhaling the fresh air into his broad chest, he + stood on deck for a few minutes. Suddenly, from beyond the roundhouse—from + the prow—a moan reached his ears—a deep, loud moan, resembling + a wail. He shuddered and went thither carefully, understanding that she + was there. + </p> + <p> + She sat on the deck close to the side of the steamer, and, leaning her + head against a heap of ropes, she wept. Foma saw that her bare white + shoulders were trembling, he heard her pitiful moans, and began to feel + depressed. Bending over her, he asked her timidly: + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded her head and said nothing in reply. + </p> + <p> + “Have I offended you?” + </p> + <p> + “Go away,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But, how?” said Foma, alarmed and confused, touching her head with his + hand. “Don’t be angry. You came of your own free will.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not angry!” she replied in a loud whisper. “Why should I be angry at + you? You are not a seducer. You are a pure soul! Eh, my darling! Be seated + here by my side.” + </p> + <p> + And taking Foma by the hand, she made him sit down, like a child, in her + lap, pressed his head close to her breast, and, bending over him, pressed + her lips to his for a long time. + </p> + <p> + “What are you crying about?” asked Foma, caressing her cheek with one + hand, while the other clasped the woman’s neck. + </p> + <p> + “I am crying about myself. Why have you sent me away?” she asked + plaintively. + </p> + <p> + “I began to feel ashamed of myself,” said Foma, lowering his head. + </p> + <p> + “My darling! Tell me the truth—haven’t you been pleased with me?” + she asked with a smile, but her big, hot tears were still trickling down + on Foma’s breast. + </p> + <p> + “Why should you speak like this?” exclaimed the youth, almost frightened, + and hotly began to mumble to her some words about her beauty, about her + kindness, telling her how sorry he was for her and how bashful in her + presence. And she listened and kept on kissing his cheeks, his neck, his + head and his uncovered breast. + </p> + <p> + He became silent—then she began to speak—softly and mournfully + as though speaking of the dead: + </p> + <p> + “And I thought it was something else. When you said, ‘Be gone!’ I got up + and went away. And your words made me feel sad, very sad. There was a + time, I remembered, when they caressed me and fondled me unceasingly, + without growing tired; for a single kind smile they used to do for me + anything I pleased. I recalled all this and began to cry! I felt sorry for + my youth, for I am now thirty years old, the last days for a woman! Eh, + Foma Ignatyevich!” she exclaimed, lifting her voice louder, and + reiterating the rhythm of her harmonious speech, whose accents rose and + fell in unison with the melodious murmuring of the water. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me—preserve your youth! There is nothing in the world + better than that. There is nothing more precious than youth. With youth, + as with gold, you can accomplish anything you please. Live so that you + shall have in old age something to remind you of your youth. Here I + recalled myself, and though I cried, yet my heart blazed up at the very + recollection of my past life. And again I was young, as though I drank of + the water of life! My sweet child I’ll have a good time with you, if I + please you, we’ll enjoy ourselves as much as we can. Eh! I’ll burn to + ashes, now that I have blazed up!” + </p> + <p> + And pressing the youth close to herself, she greedily began to kiss him on + the lips. + </p> + <p> + “Lo-o-ok o-u-u-u-t!” the watch on the barge wailed mournfully, and, + cutting short the last syllable, began to strike his mallet against the + cast-iron board. + </p> + <p> + The shrill, trembling sounds harshly broke the solemn quiet of the night. + </p> + <p> + A few days later, when the barges had discharged their cargo and the + steamer was ready to leave for Perm, Yefim noticed, to his great sorrow, + that a cart came up to the shore and that the dark-eyed Pelageya, with a + trunk and with some bundles, was in it. + </p> + <p> + “Send a sailor to bring her things,” ordered Foma, nodding his head toward + the shore. + </p> + <p> + With a reproachful shake of his head, Yefim carried out the order angrily, + and then asked in a lowered voice: + </p> + <p> + “So she, too, is coming with us?” + </p> + <p> + “She is going with me,” Foma announced shortly. + </p> + <p> + “It is understood. Not with all of us. Oh, Lord!” + </p> + <p> + “Why are you sighing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Foma Ignatyich! We are going to a big city. Are there not plenty of + women of her kind?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, keep quiet!” said Foma, sternly. + </p> + <p> + “I will keep quiet, but this isn’t right!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “This very wantonness of ours. Our steamer is perfect, clean—and + suddenly there is a woman there! And if it were at least the right sort of + a woman! But as it is, she merely bears the name of woman.” + </p> + <p> + Foma frowned insinuatingly and addressed the captain, imperiously + emphasizing his words: + </p> + <p> + “Yefim, I want you to bear it in mind, and to tell it to everybody here, + that if anyone will utter an obscene word about her, I’ll strike him on + the head with a log of wood!” + </p> + <p> + “How terrible!” said Yefim, incredulously, looking into the master’s face + with curiosity. But he immediately made a step backward. Ignat’s son, like + a wolf, showed his teeth, the apples of his eyes became wider, and he + roared: + </p> + <p> + “Laugh! I’ll show you how to laugh!” + </p> + <p> + Though Yefim lost courage, he nevertheless said with dignity: + </p> + <p> + “Although you, Foma Ignatyich, are the master, yet as I was told, ‘Watch, + Yefim,’ and then I am the captain here.” + </p> + <p> + “The captain?” cried Foma, shuddering in every limb and turning pale. “And + who am I?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, don’t bawl! On account of such a trifle as a woman.” + </p> + <p> + Red spots came out on Foma’s pale face, he shifted from one foot to the + other, thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket with a convulsive + motion and said in a firm and even voice: + </p> + <p> + “You! Captain! See here, say another word against me—and you go to + the devil! I’ll put you ashore! I’ll get along as well with the pilot! + Understand? You cannot command me. Do you see?” + </p> + <p> + Yefim was dumfounded. He looked at his master and comically winked his + eyes, finding no reply to his words. + </p> + <p> + “Do you understand, I say?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I understand!” drawled Yefim. “But what is all this noise about? On + account of—” + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” + </p> + <p> + Foma’s eyes, which flashed wildly, and his face distorted with wrath, + suggested to the captain the happy thought to leave his master as soon as + possible and, turning around quickly, he walked off. + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw! How terrible! As it seems the apple did not fall too far from the + tree,” he muttered sneeringly, walking on the deck. He was angry at Foma, + and considered himself offended for nothing, but at the same time he began + to feel over himself the real, firm hand of a master. For years accustomed + to being subordinate, he rather liked this manifestation of power over + him, and, entering the cabin of the old pilot, he related to him the scene + between himself and his master, with a shade of satisfaction in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “See?” he concluded his story. “A pup coming from a good breed is an + excellent dog at the very first chase. From his exterior he is so-so. A + man of rather heavy mind as yet. Well, never mind, let him have his fun. + It seems now as though nothing wrong will come out of this. With a + character like his, no. How he bawled at me! A regular trumpet, I tell + you! And he appointed himself master at once. As though he had sipped + power and strictness out of a ladle.” + </p> + <p> + Yefim spoke the truth: during these few days Foma underwent a striking + transformation. The passion now kindled in him made him master of the soul + and body of a woman; he eagerly absorbed the fiery sweetness of this + power, and this burned out all that was awkward in him, all that gave him + the appearance of a somewhat stupid, gloomy fellow, and, destroying it, + filled his heart with youthful pride, with the consciousness of his human + personality. Love for a woman is always fruitful to the man, be the love + whatever it may; even though it were to cause but sufferings there is + always much that is rich in it. Working as a powerful poison on those + whose souls are afflicted, it is for the healthy man as fire for iron, + which is to be transformed into steel. + </p> + <p> + Foma’s passion for the thirty-year-old woman, who lamented in his embraces + her dead youth, did not tear him away from his affairs; he was never lost + in the caresses, or in his affairs, bringing into both his whole self. The + woman, like good wine, provoked in him alike a thirst for labour and for + love, and she, too, became younger from the kisses of the youth. + </p> + <p> + In Perm, Foma found a letter waiting for him. It was from his godfather, + who notified him that Ignat, out of anxiety for his son, had begun to + drink heavily, and that it was harmful to drink thus, for a man of his + age. The letter concluded with advice to hurry up matters in order to + return home the sooner. Foma felt alarmed over this advice, and it clouded + the clear holiday of his heart. But this shadow soon melted in his worries + over his affairs, and in the caresses of Pelageya. His life streamed on + with the swiftness of a river wave, and each day brought to him new + sensations, awakening in him new thoughts. Pelageya’s relations with him + contained all the passion of a mistress, all that power of feeling which + women of her age put into their passion when drinking the last drops from + the cup of life. But at times a different feeling awoke in her, a feeling + not less powerful, and by which Foma became still more attached to her—something + similar to a mother’s yearning to guard her beloved son from errors, to + teach him the wisdom of life. Oftentimes at night, sitting in his embraces + on the deck, she spoke to him tenderly and sadly: + </p> + <p> + “Mind me as an older sister of yours. I have lived, I know men. I have + seen a great deal in my life! Choose your companions with care, for there + are people just as contagious as a disease. At first you cannot tell them + even when you see them; he looks to be a man like everybody else, and, + suddenly, without being aware of it yourself, you will start to imitate + him in life. You look around—and you find that you have contracted + his scabs. I myself have lost everything on account of a friend. I had a + husband and two children. We lived well. My husband was a clerk at a + volost.” She became silent and looked for a long time at the water, which + was stirred by the vessel. Then she heaved a sigh and spoke to him again: + </p> + <p> + “May the Holy Virgin guard you from women of my kind—be careful. You + are tender as yet, your heart has not become properly hardened. And women + are fond of such as you—strong, handsome, rich. And most of all + beware of the quiet women. They stick to a man like blood-suckers, and + suck and suck. And at the same time they are always so kind, so gentle. + They will keep on sucking your juice, but will preserve themselves. + They’ll only break your heart in vain. You had better have dealings with + those that are bold, like myself. These live not for the sake of gain.” + </p> + <p> + And she was indeed disinterested. In Perm Foma purchased for her different + new things and what-not. She was delighted, but later, having examined + them, she said sadly: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t squander your money too freely. See that your father does not get + angry. I love you anyway, without all this.” + </p> + <p> + She had already told him that she would go with him only as far as Kazan, + where she had a married sister. Foma could not believe that she would + leave him, and when, on the eve of their arrival at Kazan, she repeated + her words, he became gloomy and began to implore her not to forsake him. + </p> + <p> + “Do not feel sorry in advance,” she said. “We have a whole night before + us. You will have time to feel sorry when I bid you good-bye, if you will + feel sorry at all.” + </p> + <p> + But he still tried to persuade her not to forsake him, and, finally—which + was to be expected—announced his desire to marry her. + </p> + <p> + “So, so!” and she began to laugh. “Shall I marry you while my husband is + still alive? My darling, my queer fellow! You have a desire to marry, eh? + But do they marry such women as I am? You will have many, many mistresses. + Marry then, when you have overflowed, when you have had your fill of all + sweets and feel like having rye bread. Then you may marry! I have noticed + that a healthy man, for his own peace, must not marry early. One woman + will not be enough to satisfy him, and he’ll go to other women. And for + your own happiness, you should take a wife only when you know that she + alone will suffice for you.” + </p> + <p> + But the more she spoke, the more persistent Foma became in his desire not + to part with her. + </p> + <p> + “Just listen to what I’ll tell you,” said the woman, calmly. “A splinter + of wood is burning in your hand, and you can see well even without its + light—you had better dip it into water, so that there will be no + smell of smoke and your hand will not be burned.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand your words.” + </p> + <p> + “Do understand. You have done me no wrong, and I do not wish to do you + any. And, therefore, I am going away.” + </p> + <p> + It is hard to say what might have been the result of this dispute if an + accident had not interfered with it. In Kazan Foma received a telegram + from Mayakin, who wrote to his godson briefly: “Come immediately on the + passenger steamer.” Foma’s heart contracted nervously, and a few hours + later, gloomy and pale, his teeth set together, he stood on the deck of + the steamer, which was leaving the harbour, and clinging to the rail with + his hands, he stared motionlessly into the face of his love, who was + floating far away from him together with the harbour and the shore. + Pelageya waved her handkerchief and smiled, but he knew that she was + crying, shedding many painful tears. From her tears the entire front of + Foma’s shirt was wet, and from her tears, his heart, full of gloomy alarm, + was sad and cold. The figure of the woman was growing smaller and smaller, + as though melting away, and Foma, without lifting his eyes, stared at her + and felt that aside from fear for his father and sorrow for the woman, + some new, powerful and caustic sensation was awakening in his soul. He + could not name it, but it seemed to him as something like a grudge against + someone. + </p> + <p> + The crowd in the harbour blended into a close, dark and dead spot, + faceless, formless, motionless. Foma went away from the rail and began to + pace the deck gloomily. + </p> + <p> + The passengers, conversing aloud, seated themselves to drink tea; the + porters bustled about on the gallery, setting the tables; somewhere below, + on the stern, in the third class, a child was crying, a harmonica was + wailing, the cook was chopping something with knives, the dishes were + jarring—producing a rather harsh noise. Cutting the waves and making + foam, shuddering under the strain and sighing heavily, the enormous + steamer moved rapidly against the current. Foma looked at the wide strip + of broken, struggling, and enraged waves at the stern of the steamer, and + began to feel a wild desire to break or tear something; also to go, breast + foremost, against the current and to mass its pressure against himself, + against his breast and his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Fate!” said someone beside him in a hoarse and weary voice. + </p> + <p> + This word was familiar to him: his Aunt Anfisa had often used it as an + answer to his questions, and he had invested in this brief word a + conception of a power, similar to the power of God. He glanced at the + speakers: one of them was a gray little old man, with a kind face; the + other was younger, with big, weary eyes and with a little black + wedge-shaped beard. His big gristly nose and his yellow, sunken cheeks + reminded Foma of his godfather. + </p> + <p> + “Fate!” The old man repeated the exclamation of his interlocutor with + confidence, and began to smile. “Fate in life is like a fisherman on the + river: it throws a baited hook toward us into the tumult of our life and + we dart at it with greedy mouths. Then fate pulls up the rod—and the + man is struggling, flopping on the ground, and then you see his heart is + broken. That’s how it is, my dear man.” + </p> + <p> + Foma closed his eyes, as if a ray of the sun had fallen full on them, and + shaking his head, he said aloud: + </p> + <p> + “True! That is true!” + </p> + <p> + The companions looked at him fixedly: the old man, with a fine, wise + smile; the large-eyed man, unfriendly, askance. This confused Foma; he + blushed and walked away, thinking of Fate and wondering why it had first + treated him kindly by giving him a woman, and then took back the gift from + him, so simply and abusively? And he now understood that the vague, + caustic feeling which he carried within him was a grudge against Fate for + thus sporting with him. He had been too much spoiled by life, to regard + more plainly the first drop of poison from the cup which was just started, + and he passed all the time of the journey without sleep, pondering over + the old man’s words and fondling his grudge. This grudge, however, did not + awaken in him despondency and sorrow, but rather a feeling of anger and + revenge. + </p> + <p> + Foma was met by his godfather, and to his hasty and agitated question, + Mayakin, his greenish little eyes flashing excitedly, said when he seated + himself in the carriage beside his godson: + </p> + <p> + “Your father has grown childish.” + </p> + <p> + “Drinking?” + </p> + <p> + “Worse—he has lost his mind completely.” + </p> + <p> + “Really? Oh Lord! Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you understand? A certain lady is always around him.” + </p> + <p> + “What about her?” exclaimed Foma, recalling his Pelageya, and for some + reason or other his heart was filled with joy. + </p> + <p> + “She sticks to him and—bleeds him.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she a quiet one?” + </p> + <p> + “She? Quiet as a fire. Seventy-five thousand roubles she blew out of his + pocket like a feather!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Who is she?” + </p> + <p> + “Sonka Medinskaya, the architect’s wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Great God! Is it possible that she—Did my father—Is it + possible that he took her as his sweetheart?” asked Foma, with + astonishment, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + His godfather drew back from him, and comically opening his eyes wide, + said convincedly: + </p> + <p> + “You are out of your mind, too! By God, you’re out of your mind! Come to + your senses! A sweetheart at the age of sixty-three! And at such a price + as this. What are you talking about? Well, I’ll tell this to Ignat.” + </p> + <p> + And Mayakin filled the air with a jarring, hasty laughter, at which his + goat-like beard began to tremble in an uncomely manner. It took Foma a + long time to obtain a categorical answer; the old man, contrary to his + habit, was restless and irritated; his speech, usually fluent, was now + interrupted; he was swearing and expectorating as he spoke, and it was + with difficulty that Foma learned what the matter was. Sophya Pavlovna + Medinskaya, the wealthy architect’s wife, who was well known in the city + for her tireless efforts in the line of arranging various charitable + projects, persuaded Ignat to endow seventy-five thousand roubles for the + erection of a lodging-house in the city and of a public library with a + reading-room. Ignat had given the money, and already the newspapers lauded + him for his generosity. Foma had seen the woman more than once on the + streets; she was short; he knew that she was considered as one of the most + beautiful women in the city, and that bad rumours were afoot as to her + behaviour. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” exclaimed Foma, when his godfather concluded the story. + “And I thought God knows what!” + </p> + <p> + “You? You thought?” cried Mayakin, suddenly grown angry. “You thought + nothing, you beardless youngster!” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you abuse me?” Foma said. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, in your opinion, is seventy-five thousand roubles a big sum or + not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a big sum,” said Foma, after a moment’s thought. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “But my father has much money. Why do you make such a fuss about it?” + </p> + <p> + Yakov Tarasovich was taken aback. He looked into the youth’s face with + contempt and asked him in a faint voice: + </p> + <p> + “And you speak like this?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Who then?” + </p> + <p> + “You lie! It is your young foolishness that speaks. Yes! And my old + foolishness—brought to test a million times by life—says that + you are a young dog as yet, and it is too early for you to bark in a + basso.” + </p> + <p> + Foma hearing this, had often been quite provoked by his godfather’s too + picturesque language. + </p> + <p> + Mayakin always spoke to him more roughly than his father, but now the + youth felt very much offended by the old man and said to him reservedly, + but firmly: + </p> + <p> + “You had better not abuse me without reflection, for I am no longer a + small child.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come!” exclaimed Mayakin, mockingly lifting his eyebrows and + squinting. + </p> + <p> + This roused Foma’s indignation. He looked full into the old man’s eyes and + articulated with emphasis: + </p> + <p> + “And I am telling you that I don’t want to hear any more of that + undeserved abuse of yours. Enough!” + </p> + <p> + “Mm! So-o! Pardon me.” + </p> + <p> + Yakov Tarasovich closed his eyes, chewed a little with his lips, and, + turning aside from his godson, kept silent for awhile. The carriage turned + into a narrow street, and, noticing from afar the roof of his house, Foma + involuntarily moved forward. At the same time Mayakin asked him with a + roguish and gentle smile: + </p> + <p> + “Foma! Tell me—on whom you have sharpened your teeth? Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, are they sharp?” asked Foma, pleased with the manner in which + Mayakin now regarded him. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good. That’s good, dear. That’s very good! Your father and I were + afraid lest you should be a laggard. Well, have you learned to drink + vodka?” + </p> + <p> + “I drank it.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather too soon! Did you drink much of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why much?” + </p> + <p> + “Does it taste good?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very.” + </p> + <p> + “So. Never mind, all this is not so bad. Only you are too outspoken. You + are ready to confess all your sins to each and every pope that comes + along. You must consider it isn’t always necessary to do that. Sometimes + by keeping silent you both please people and commit no sins. Yes. A man’s + tongue is very seldom sober. Here we are. See, your father does not know + that you have arrived. Is he home yet, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + He was at home: his loud, somewhat hoarse laughter was heard from the open + windows of the rooms. The noise of the carriage, which stopped at the + house, caused Ignat to look out of the window, and at the sight of his son + he cried out with joy: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You’ve come.” + </p> + <p> + After a while he pressed Foma to his breast with one hand, and, pressing + the palm of his other hand against his son’s forehead, thus bending his + head back, he looked into his face with beaming eyes and spoke + contentedly: + </p> + <p> + “You are sunburnt. You’ve grown strong. You’re a fine fellow! Madame! + How’s my son? Isn’t he fine?” + </p> + <p> + “Not bad looking,” a gentle, silver voice was heard. Foma glanced from + behind his father’s shoulder and noticed that a slender woman with + magnificent fair hair was sitting in the front corner of the room, resting + her elbows on the table; her dark eyes, her thin eyebrows and plump, red + lips strikingly defined on her pale face. Behind her armchair stood a + large philodendron-plant whose big, figured leaves were hanging down in + the air over her little golden head. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Sophya Pavlovna,” said Mayakin, tenderly, approaching her + with his hand outstretched. “What, are you still collecting contributions + from poor people like us?” + </p> + <p> + Foma bowed to her mutely, not hearing her answer to Mayakin, nor what his + father was saying to him. The lady stared at him steadfastly and smiled to + him affably and serenely. Her childlike figure, clothed in some kind of + dark fabric, was almost blended with the crimson stuff of the armchair, + while her wavy, golden hair and her pale face shone against the dark + background. Sitting there in the corner, beneath the green leaves, she + looked at once like a flower, and like an ikon. + </p> + <p> + “See, Sophya Pavlovna, how he is staring at you. An eagle, eh?” said + Ignat. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes became narrower, a faint blush leaped to her cheeks, and she + burst into laughter. It sounded like the tinkling of a little silver bell. + And she immediately arose, saying: + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t disturb you. Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + When she went past Foma noiselessly, the scent of perfume came to him, and + he noticed that her eyes were dark blue, and her eyebrows almost black. + </p> + <p> + “The sly rogue glided away,” said Mayakin in a low voice, angrily looking + after her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, tell us how was the trip? Have you squandered much money?” roared + Ignat, pushing his son into the same armchair where Medinskaya had been + sitting awhile before. Foma looked at him askance and seated himself in + another chair. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t she a beautiful young woman, eh?” said Mayakin, smiling, feeling + Foma with his cunning eyes. “If you keep on gaping at her she will eat + away all your insides.” + </p> + <p> + Foma shuddered for some reason or other, and, saying nothing in reply, + began to tell his father about the journey in a matter-of-fact tone. But + Ignat interrupted him: + </p> + <p> + “Wait, I’ll ask for some cognac.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are keeping on drinking all the time, they say,” said Foma, + disapprovingly. + </p> + <p> + Ignat glanced at his son with surprise and curiosity, and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Is this the way to speak to your father?” + </p> + <p> + Foma became confused and lowered his head. + </p> + <p> + “That’s it!” said Ignat, kind-heartedly, and ordered cognac to be brought + to him. + </p> + <p> + Mayakin, winking his eyes, looked at the Gordyeeffs, sighed, bid them + good-bye, and, after inviting them to have tea with him in his raspberry + garden in the evening, went away. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Aunt Anfisa?” asked Foma, feeling that now, being alone with his + father, he was somewhat ill at ease. + </p> + <p> + “She went to the cloister. Well, tell me, and I will have some cognac.” + </p> + <p> + Foma told his father all about his affairs in a few minutes and he + concluded his story with a frank confession: + </p> + <p> + “I have spent much money on myself.” + </p> + <p> + “How much?” + </p> + <p> + “About six hundred roubles.” + </p> + <p> + “In six weeks! That’s a good deal. I see as a clerk you’re too expensive + for me. Where have you squandered it all?” + </p> + <p> + “I gave away three hundred puds of grain.” + </p> + <p> + “To whom? How?” + </p> + <p> + Foma told him all about it. + </p> + <p> + “Hm! Well, that’s all right!” Ignat approved. “That’s to show what stuff + we are made of. That’s clear enough—for the father’s honour—for + the honour of the firm. And there is no loss either, because that gives a + good reputation. And that, my dear, is the very best signboard for a + business. Well, what else?” + </p> + <p> + “And then, I somehow spent more.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak frankly. It’s not the money that I am asking you about—I just + want to know how you lived there,” insisted Ignat, regarding his son + attentively and sternly. + </p> + <p> + “I was eating, drinking.” Foma did not give in, bending his head morosely + and confusedly. + </p> + <p> + “Drinking vodka?” + </p> + <p> + “Vodka, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! So. Isn’t it rather too soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask Yefim whether I ever drank enough to be intoxicated.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I ask Yefim? You must tell me everything yourself. So you are + drinking? I don’t like it.” + </p> + <p> + “But I can get along without drinking.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come! Do you want some cognac?” + </p> + <p> + Foma looked at his father and smiled broadly. And his father answered him + with a kindly smile: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you. Devil! Drink, but look out—know your business. What can + you do? A drunkard will sleep himself sober, a fool—never. Let us + understand this much at least, for our own consolation. And did you have a + good time with girls, too? Be frank! Are you afraid that I will beat you, + or what?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. There was one on the steamer. I had her there from Perm to Kazan.” + </p> + <p> + “So,” Ignat sighed heavily and said, frowning: “You’ve become defiled + rather too soon.” + </p> + <p> + “I am twenty years old. And you yourself told me that in your days fellows + married at the age of fifteen,” replied Foma, confused. + </p> + <p> + “Then they married. Very well, then, let us drop the subject. Well, you’ve + had dealings with a woman. What of it? A woman is like vaccination, you + cannot pass your life without her. As for myself, I cannot play the + hypocrite. I began to go around with women when I was younger than you are + now. But you must be on your guard with them.” + </p> + <p> + Ignat became pensive and was silent for a long time, sitting motionless, + his head bent low on his breast. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Foma,” he started again, sternly and firmly. “I shall die before + long. I am old. Something oppresses my breast. I breathe with difficulty. + I’ll die. Then all my affairs will fall on your shoulders. At first your + godfather will assist you—mind him! You started quite well; you + attended to everything properly; you held the reins firmly in your hands. + And though you did squander a big sum of money, it is evident that you did + not lose your head. God grant the same in the future. You should know + this: business is a living, strong beast; you must manage it ably; you + must put a strong bridle on it or it will conquer you. Try to stand above + your business. Place yourself so that it will all be under your feet; that + each little tack shall be visible to you.” + </p> + <p> + Foma looked at his father’s broad chest, heard his heavy voice and thought + to himself: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you won’t die so soon!” + </p> + <p> + This thought pleased him and awakened in him a kind, warm feeling for his + father. + </p> + <p> + “Rely upon your godfather. He has enough common sense in his head to + supply the whole town with it. All he lacks is courage, or he would have + risen high. Yes, I tell you my days on earth are numbered. Indeed, it is + high time to prepare myself for death; to cast everything aside; to fast, + and see to it that people bear me good-will.” + </p> + <p> + “They will!” said Foma with confidence. + </p> + <p> + “If there were but a reason why they should.” + </p> + <p> + “And the lodging-house?” + </p> + <p> + Ignat looked at his son and began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Yakov has had time to tell it to you already! The old miser. He must have + abused me?” + </p> + <p> + “A little.” Foma smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Of course! Don’t I know him?” + </p> + <p> + “He spoke of it as though it were his own money.” + </p> + <p> + Ignat leaned back in his chair and burst into still louder laughter. + </p> + <p> + “The old raven, eh? That’s quite true. Whether it be his own money or + mine, it is all the same to him. There he is trembling now. He has an aim + in view, the bald-headed fellow. Can you tell me what it is?” + </p> + <p> + Foma thought awhile and said: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you’re stupid. He wants to tell our fortunes.” + </p> + <p> + “How is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Come now, guess!” + </p> + <p> + Foma looked at his father and—guessed it. His face became gloomy, he + slightly raised himself from the armchair and said resolutely: + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t want to. I shall not marry her!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh? Why so? She is a strong girl; she is not foolish; she’s his only + child.” + </p> + <p> + “And Taras? The lost one? But I—I don’t want to at all!” + </p> + <p> + “The lost one is gone, consequently it is not worthwhile speaking of him. + There is a will, dear, which says: ‘All my movable and real estates shall + go to my daughter, Lubov.’ And as to the fact that she is your godfather’s + daughter, we’ll set this right.” + </p> + <p> + “It is all the same,” said Foma, firmly. “I shall not marry her!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is rather early to speak of it now! But why do you dislike her + so much?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not like such as she is.” + </p> + <p> + “So-o! Just think of it! And which women are more to your liking, sir, may + I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Those that are more simple. She’s always busy with her Gymnasium students + and with her books. She’s become learned. She’ll be laughing at my + expense,” said Foma, emotionally. + </p> + <p> + “That is quite true. She is too bold. But that is a trifle. All sorts of + rust can be removed if you try to do it. That’s a matter for the future. + And your godfather is a clever old man. His was a peaceful, sedentary + life; sitting in one place he gave a thought to everything. It is + worthwhile listening to him, for he can see the wrong side of each and + every worldly affair. He is our aristocrat—descending from Mother + Yekaterina—ha, ha! He understands a great deal about himself. And as + his stem was cut off by Taras, he decided to put you in Taras’s place, do + you see?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I’d rather select my place myself,” said Foma, stubbornly. + </p> + <p> + “You are foolish as yet.” Ignat smiled in reply to his son’s words. + </p> + <p> + Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Aunt Anfisa. + </p> + <p> + “Foma! You’ve come,” she cried out, somewhere behind the doors. Foma rose + and went to meet her, with a gentle smile. + </p> + <p> + Again his life streamed on slowly, calmly, monotonously. Again the + Exchange and his father’s instructions. Retaining a kindly sarcastic and + encouraging tone in his relation toward his son, Ignat began to treat him + more strictly. He censured him for each and every trifle and constantly + reminded him that he brought him up freely; that he was never in his way + and that he never beat him. + </p> + <p> + “Other fathers beat fellows like yourself with logs of wood. And I never + even touched you with a finger.” + </p> + <p> + “Evidently I didn’t deserve it,” said Foma one day, calmly. + </p> + <p> + Ignat became angry at his son for these words and for the tone. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk so much!” he roared. “You’ve picked up courage because of the + softness of my hand. You find an answer to every word I say. Beware; + though my hand was soft, it can nevertheless still squeeze you so that + tears will gush forth from your heels. You’ve grown up too soon, like a + toad-stool, just sprung up from the ground. You have a bad smell already.” + </p> + <p> + “Why are you so angry at me?” asked Foma, perplexed and offended, when his + father chanced to be in a happy frame of mind. + </p> + <p> + “Because you cannot tolerate it when your father grumbles at you. You’re + ready to quarrel immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is offensive. I have not grown worse than I was before. Don’t I + see how others live at my age?” + </p> + <p> + “Your head wouldn’t fall off from my scolding you. And I scold you because + I see there is something in you that is not mine. What it is, I do not + know, but I see it is there. And that something is harmful to you.” + </p> + <p> + These words of Ignat made the son very thoughtful. Foma also felt + something strange in himself, something which distinguished him from the + youth of his age, but he, too, could not understand what it was. And he + looked at himself with suspicion. + </p> + <p> + Foma liked to be on the Exchange amid the bustle and talk of the sedate + people who were making deals amounting to thousands of roubles; the + respect with which the less well-to-do tradesmen greeted and spoke to him—to + Foma, the son of the millionaire—flattered him greatly. He felt + happy and proud whenever he successfully managed some part of his father’s + business, assuming all responsibility on his own shoulders, and received a + smile of approval from his father for it. There was in him a great deal of + ambition, yearning to appear as a grown-up man of business, but—just + as before his trip to Perm—he lived as in solitude; he still felt no + longing for friends, although he now came in contact everyday with the + merchants’ sons of his age. They had invited him more than once to join + them in their sprees, but he rather rudely and disdainfully declined their + invitations and even laughed at them. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid. Your fathers may learn of your sprees, and as they’ll give + you a drubbing, I might also come in for a share.” + </p> + <p> + What he did not like in them was that they were leading a dissipated and + depraved life, without their fathers’ knowledge, and that the money they + were spending was either stolen from their parents or borrowed on + long-termed promissory notes, to be paid with exorbitant interest. They in + turn did not like him for this very reserve and aversion, which contained + the pride so offensive to them. He was timid about speaking to people + older than himself, fearing lest he should appear in their eyes stupid and + thick-headed. + </p> + <p> + He often recalled Pelageya, and at first he felt melancholy whenever her + image flashed before his imagination. But time went on, and little by + little rubbed off the bright colours of this woman; and before he was + aware of it his thoughts were occupied by the slender, angel-like + Medinskaya. She used to come up to Ignat almost every Sunday with various + requests, all of which generally had but one aim—to hasten the + building of the lodging-asylum. In her presence Foma felt awkward, huge, + heavy; this pained him, and he blushed deeply under the endearing look of + Sophya Pavlovna’s large eyes. He noticed that every time she looked at + him, her eyes would grow darker, while her upper lip would tremble and + raise itself slightly, thus displaying very small white teeth. This always + frightened him. When his father noticed how steadfastly he was staring at + Medinskaya he told him one day: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be staring so much at that face. Look out, she is like a birch + ember: from the outside it is just as modest, smooth and dark—altogether + cold to all appearances—but take it into your hand and it will burn + you.” + </p> + <p> + Medinskaya did not kindle in the youth any sensual passion, for there was + nothing in her that resembled Pelageya, and altogether she was not at all + like other women. He knew that shameful rumours about her were in the air, + but he did not believe any of them. But his relations to her were changed + when he noticed her one day in a carriage beside a stout man in a gray hat + and with long hair falling over his shoulders. His face was like a bladder—red + and bloated; he had neither moustache nor beard, and altogether he looked + like a woman in disguise. Foma was told that this was her husband. Then + dark and contradicting feelings sprang up within him: he felt like + insulting the architect, and at the same time he envied and respected him. + Medinskaya now seemed to him less beautiful and more accessible; he began + to feel sorry for her, and yet he thought malignantly: + </p> + <p> + “She must surely feel disgusted when he kisses her.” + </p> + <p> + And after all this he sometimes perceived in himself some bottomless and + oppressive emptiness, which could not be filled up by anything—neither + by the impressions of the day just gone by nor by the recollection of the + past; and the Exchange, and his affairs, and his thoughts of Medinskaya—all + were swallowed up by this emptiness. It alarmed him: in the dark depth of + this emptiness he suspected some hidden existence of a hostile power, as + yet formless but already carefully and persistently striving to become + incarnate. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Ignat, changing but little outwardly, was growing ever + more restless and querulous and was complaining more often of being ill. + </p> + <p> + “I lost my sleep. It used to be so sound that even though you had torn off + my skin, I would not have felt it. While now I toss about from side to + side, and I fall asleep only toward morning. And every now and then I + awaken. My heart beats unevenly, now, though tired out; often thus: + tuk-tuk-tuk. And sometimes it sinks of a sudden—and it seems as + though it would soon tear itself away and fall somewhere into the deep; + into the bosom. Oh Lord, have pity upon me through Thy great mercy.” And + heaving a penitent sigh, he would lift heavenward his stern eyes, grown + dim now, devoid of their bright, sparkling glitter. + </p> + <p> + “Death keeps an eye on me somewhere close by,” he said one day morosely, + but humbly. And indeed, it soon felled his big, sturdy body to the ground. + </p> + <p> + This happened in August, early in the morning. Foma was sound asleep when + suddenly he felt somebody shaking him by the shoulder, and a hoarse voice + called at his ear: + </p> + <p> + “Get up.” + </p> + <p> + He opened his eyes and saw that his father was seated in a chair near his + bed, monotonously repeating in a dull voice: + </p> + <p> + “Get up, get up.” + </p> + <p> + The sun had just risen, and its light, falling on Ignat’s white linen + shirt, had not yet lost its rosy tints. + </p> + <p> + “It’s early,” said Foma, stretching himself. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you’ll sleep enough later.” + </p> + <p> + Lazily muffling himself in the blanket, Foma asked: + </p> + <p> + “Why do you need me?” + </p> + <p> + “Get up, dear, will you, please?” exclaimed Ignat, adding, somewhat + offended: “It must be necessary, since I am waking you.” + </p> + <p> + When Foma looked closely at his father’s face, he noticed that it was gray + and weary. + </p> + <p> + “Are you ill?” + </p> + <p> + “Slightly.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we send for a doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “The devil take him!” Ignat waved his hand. “I am not a young man any + longer. I know it as well without him.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know it!” said the old man, mysteriously, casting a strange glance + around the room. Foma was dressing himself, and his father, with lowered + head, spoke slowly: + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid to breathe. Something tells me that if I should now heave a + deep sigh, my heart would burst. Today is Sunday! After the morning mass + is over, send for the priest.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you talking about, papa?” Foma smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. Wash yourself and go into the garden. I ordered the samovar to + be brought there. We’ll drink our tea in the morning coolness. I feel like + drinking now hot, strong tea. Be quicker.” + </p> + <p> + The old man rose with difficulty from the chair, and, bent and barefooted, + left the room in a staggering gait. Foma looked at his father, and a + shooting chill of fear made his heart shrink. He washed himself in haste, + and hurried out into the garden. + </p> + <p> + There, under an old, spreading apple-tree sat Ignat in a big oaken + armchair. The light of the sun fell in thin stripes through the branches + of the trees upon the white figure of the old man clad in his + night-garments. There was such a profound silence in the garden that even + the rustle of a branch, accidentally touched by Foma’s clothes, seemed to + him like a loud sound and he shuddered. On the table, before his father, + stood the samovar, purring like a well-fed tom-cat and exhaling a stream + of steam into the air. Amid the silence and the fresh verdure of the + garden, which had been washed by abundant rains the day before, this + bright spot of the boldly shining, loud brass seemed to Foma as something + unnecessary, as something which suited neither the time nor the place—nor + the feeling that sprang up within him at the sight of the sickly, bent old + man, who was dressed in white, and who sat alone underneath the mute, + motionless, dark-green foliage, wherein red apples were modestly peeping. + </p> + <p> + “Be seated,” said Ignat. + </p> + <p> + “We ought to send for a doctor.” Foma advised him irresolutely, seating + himself opposite him. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t necessary. It’s a little better now in the open air. And now + I’ll sip some tea and perhaps that will do me more good,” said Ignat, + pouring out tea into the glasses, and Foma noticed that the teapot was + trembling in his father’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “Drink.” + </p> + <p> + Silently moving up one glass for himself, Foma bent over it, blowing the + foam off the surface of the tea, and with pain in his heart, hearing the + loud, heavy breathing of his father. Suddenly something struck against the + table with such force that the dishes began to rattle. + </p> + <p> + Foma shuddered, threw up his head and met the frightened, almost senseless + look of his father’s eyes. Ignat stared at his son and whispered hoarsely: + </p> + <p> + “An apple fell down (the devil take it!). It sounded like the firing of a + gun.” + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you have some cognac in your tea?” Foma suggested. + </p> + <p> + “It is good enough without it.” + </p> + <p> + They became silent. A flight of finches winged past over the garden, + scattering a provokingly cheerful twittering in the air. And again the + ripe beauty of the garden was bathed in solemn silence. The fright was + still in Ignat’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh Lord, Jesus Christ!” said he in a low voice, making the sign of the + cross. “Yes. There it is—the last hour of my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, papa!” whispered Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Why stop? We’ll have our tea, and then send for the priest, and for + Mayakin.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d rather send for them now.” + </p> + <p> + “They’ll soon toll for the mass—the priest isn’t home—and then + there’s no hurry, it may pass soon.” + </p> + <p> + And he noisily started to sip the tea out of the saucer. + </p> + <p> + “I should live another year or two. You are young, and I am very much + afraid for you. Live honestly and firmly; do not covet what belongs to + other people, take good care of your own.” + </p> + <p> + It was hard for him to speak, he stopped short and rubbed his chest with + his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Do not rely upon others; expect but little from them. We all live in + order to take, not to give. Oh Lord! Have mercy on the sinner!” + </p> + <p> + Somewhere in the distance the deep sound of the bell fell on the silence + of the morning. Ignat and Foma crossed themselves three times. + </p> + <p> + After the first sound of the bell-tone came another, then a third, and + soon the air was filled with sounds of the church-bells, coming from all + sides—flowing, measured, calling aloud. + </p> + <p> + “There, they are tolling for the mass,” said Ignat, listening to the echo + of the bell-metal. “Can you tell the bells by their sounds?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Just listen. This one now—do you hear? the bass—this is from + the Nikola Church. It was presented by Peter Mitrich Vyagin—and + this, the hoarse one—this is at the church of Praskeva Pyatnitza.” + </p> + <p> + The singing waves of the bell-tones agitated the air, which was filled + with them, and they died away in the clear blue of the sky. Foma stared + thoughtfully at his father’s face and saw that the alarm was disappearing + from his eyes, and that they were now brighter. + </p> + <p> + But suddenly the old man’s face turned very red, his eyes distended and + rolled out of their orbits, his mouth opened with fright, and from it + issued a strange, hissing sound: + </p> + <p> + “F-F-A-A-ch.” + </p> + <p> + Immediately after this Ignat’s head fell back on his shoulder, and his + heavy body slowly slipped down from the chair to the ground as if the + earth had dragged him imperiously unto itself. Foma was motionless and + silent for awhile, then he rushed up to Ignat, lifted his head from the + ground and looked into his face. The face was dark, motionless, and the + wide-open eyes expressed nothing—neither pain, nor fear, nor joy. + Foma looked around him. As before, nobody was in the garden, and the + resounding chatter of the bells was still roaring in the air. Foma’s hands + began to tremble, he let go his father’s head, and it struck heavily + against the ground. Dark, thick blood began to gush in a narrow stream + from his open mouth across his blue cheek. + </p> + <p> + Foma struck his breast with both hands, and kneeling before the dead body, + he wildly cried aloud. He was trembling with fright, and with eyes like + those of a madman he was searching for someone in the verdure of the + garden. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + HIS father’s death stupefied Foma and filled him with a strange sensation; + quiet was poured into his soul—a painful, immovable quiet, which + absorbed all the sounds of life without accounting for it. All sorts of + acquaintances were bustling about him; they appeared, disappeared, said + something to him—his replies to them were untimely, and their words + called forth no images in him, drowning, without leaving any trace, in the + bottomless depths of the death-like silence which filled his soul. He + neither cried, nor grieved, nor thought of anything; pale and gloomy, with + knitted brow, he was attentively listening to this quiet, which had forced + out all his feelings, benumbed his heart and tightly clutched his brains. + He was conscious but of the purely physical sensation of heaviness in all + his frame and particularly in his breast, and then it also seemed to him + that it was always twilight, and even though the sun was still high in the + sky—everything on earth looked dark and melancholy. + </p> + <p> + The funeral was arranged by Mayakin. Hastily and briskly he was bustling + about in the rooms, making much clatter with the heels of his boots; he + cried at the household help imperiously, clapped his godson on the + shoulder, consoling him: + </p> + <p> + “And why are you petrified? Roar and you will feel relieved. Your father + was old—old in body. Death is prepared for all of us, you cannot + escape it—consequently you must not be prematurely torpid. You + cannot bring him to life again with your sorrow, and your grief is + unnecessary to him, for it is said: ‘When the body is robbed of the soul + by the terrible angels, the soul forgets all relatives and acquaintances,’ + which means that you are of no consequence to him now, whether you cry or + laugh. But the living must care for the living. You had better cry, for + this is human. It brings much relief to the heart.” + </p> + <p> + But neither did these words provoke anything in Foma’s head or in his + heart. He came to himself, however, on the day of the funeral, thanks to + the persistence of his godfather, who was assiduously and oddly trying to + rouse his sad soul. + </p> + <p> + The day of the funeral was cloudy and dreary. Amid a heavy cloud of dust + an enormous crowd of people, winding like a black ribbon, followed the + coffin of Ignat Gordyeeff. Here and there flashed the gold of the priest’s + robes, and the dull noise of the slow movement of the crowd blended in + harmony with the solemn music of the choir, composed of the bishop’s + choristers. Foma was pushed from behind and from the sides; he walked, + seeing nothing but the gray head of his father, and the mournful singing + resounded in his heart like a melancholy echo. And Mayakin, walking beside + him, kept on intrusively whispering in his ears: + </p> + <p> + “Look, what a crowd—thousands! The governor himself came out to + accompany your father to the church, the mayor, and almost the entire city + council. And behind you—just turn around! There goes Sophya + Pavlovna. The town pays its respects to Ignat.” + </p> + <p> + At first Foma did not listen to his godfather’s whisper, but when he + mentioned Medinskaya, he involuntarily looked back and noticed the + governor. A little drop of something pleasant fell into his heart at the + sight of this important personage, with a bright ribbon across his + shoulder, with orders on his breast, pacing after the coffin, an + expression of sorrow on his stern countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Blessed is the road where this soul goeth today,” Yakov Tarasovich hummed + softly, moving his nose, and he again whispered in his godson’s ear: + </p> + <p> + “Seventy-five thousand roubles is such a sum that you can demand so many + escorts for it. Have you heard that Sonka is making arrangements for the + laying of the corner-stone on the fifteenth? Just forty days after the + death of your father.” + </p> + <p> + Foma again turned back, and his eyes met the eyes of Medinskaya. He heaved + a deep sigh at her caressing glance, and felt relieved at once, as if a + warm ray of light penetrated his soul and something melted there. And then + and there he considered that it was unbecoming him to turn his head from + side to side. + </p> + <p> + At church Foma’s head began to ache, and it seemed to him that everything + around and underneath him was shaking. In the stifling air, filled with + dust, with the breathing of the people and the smoke of the incense, the + flames of the candles were timidly trembling. The meek image of Christ + looked down at him from the big ikon, and the flames of the candles, + reflected in the tarnished gold of the crown over the Saviour’s brow, + reminded him of drops of blood. + </p> + <p> + Foma’s awakened soul was greedily feeding itself on the solemn, gloomy + poetry of the liturgy, and when the touching citation was heard, “Come, + let us give him the last kiss,” a loud, wailing sob escaped from Foma’s + chest, and the crowd in church was stirred to agitation by this outburst + of grief. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Having uttered the sob, Foma staggered. His godfather immediately caught +him by his arms and began to push him forward to the coffin, singing +quite loudly and with some anger: + + “Kiss him who was but lately with us. + Kiss, Foma, kiss him—he is given over to the grave, covered with a stone. + He is settling down in darkness, and is buried with the dead.” + </pre> + <p> + Foma touched his father’s forehead with his lips and sprang back from the + coffin with horror. + </p> + <p> + “Hold your peace! You nearly knocked me down,” Mayakin remarked to him, in + a low voice, and these simple, calm words supported Foma better than his + godfather’s hands. + </p> + <p> + “Ye that behold me mute and lifeless before you, weep for me, brethren and + friends,” begged Ignat through the mouth of the Church. But his son was + not crying any longer; his horror was called forth by the black, swollen + face of his father, and this horror somewhat sobered his soul, which had + been intoxicated by the mournful music of the Church’s lament for its + sinful son. He was surrounded by acquaintances, who were kindly consoling + him; he listened to them and understood that they all felt sorry for him + and that he became dear to them. And his godfather whispered in his ear: + </p> + <p> + “See, how they all fawn upon you. The tom-cats have smelt the fat.” + </p> + <p> + These words were unpleasant to Foma, but they were useful to him, as they + caused him to answer at all events. + </p> + <p> + At the cemetery, when they sang for Ignat’s eternal memory, he cried again + bitterly and loud. His godfather immediately seized him by the arms and + led him away from the grave, speaking to him earnestly: + </p> + <p> + “What a faint-hearted fellow you are! Do I not feel sorry for him? I have + known his real value, while you were but his son. And yet, I do not cry. + For more than thirty years we lived together in perfect harmony—how + much had been spoken, how much thought—how much sorrow drunk. You + are young; it is not for you to grieve! Your life is before you, and you + will be rich in all sorts of friendship; while I am old, and now that I + buried my only friend, I am like a pauper. I can no longer make a bosom + friend!” + </p> + <p> + The old man’s voice began to jar and squeak queerly. His face was + distorted, his lips were stretched into a big grimace and were quivering, + and from his small eyes frequent tears were running over the now + contracted wrinkles of his face. He looked so pitiful and so unlike + himself, that Foma stopped short, pressed him close to his body with the + tenderness of a strong man and cried with alarm: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t cry, father—darling! Don’t cry.” + </p> + <p> + “There you have it!” said Mayakin, faintly, and, heaving a deep sigh, he + suddenly turned again into a firm and clever old man. + </p> + <p> + “You must not cry,” said he, mysteriously, seating himself in the carriage + beside his godson. “You are now the commander-in-chief in the war and you + must command your soldiers bravely. Your soldiers are the roubles, and you + have a great army of these. Make war incessantly!” + </p> + <p> + Surprised at the quickness of his transformation, Foma listened to his + words and for some reason or other they reminded him of those clods of + earth, which the people threw into Ignat’s grave upon his coffin. + </p> + <p> + “On whom am I to make war?” said Foma with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll teach you that! Did your father tell you that I was a clever old man + and that you should mind me?” + </p> + <p> + “He did.” + </p> + <p> + “Then do mind me! If my mind should be added to your youthful strength, a + good victory might be won. Your father was a great man, but he did not + look far before him and he could not take my advice. He gained success in + life not with his mind, but more with his head. Oh, what will become of + you? You had better move into my house, for you will feel lonesome in + yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt is there.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt? She is sick. She will not live long.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not speak of it,” begged Foma in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “And I will speak of it. You need not fear death—you are not an old + woman on the oven. Live fearlessly and do what you were appointed to do. + Man is appointed for the organisation of life on earth. Man is capital—like + a rouble, he is made up of trashy copper groshes and copecks. From the + dust of the earth, as it is said; and even as he has intercourse with the + world, he absorbs grease and oil, sweat and tears—a soul and a mind + form themselves in him. And from this he starts to grow upward and + downward. Now, you see his price is a grosh, now a fifteen copeck silver + piece, now a hundred roubles, and sometimes he is above any price. He is + put into circulation and he must bring interests to life. Life knows the + value of each of us and will not check our course before time. Nobody, + dear, works to his own detriment, if he is wise. And life has saved up + much wisdom. Are you listening?” + </p> + <p> + “I am.” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything.” + </p> + <p> + “You are probably lying?” Mayakin doubted. + </p> + <p> + “But, why must we die?” asked Foma in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + Mayakin looked into his face with regret, smacked his lips and said: + </p> + <p> + “A wise man would never ask such a question. A wise man knows for himself + that if it is a river, it must be flowing somewhere, and if it were + standing in one place, it would be a swamp.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re simply mocking me at random,” said Foma, sternly. “The sea is not + flowing anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “The sea receives all rivers into itself, and then, powerful storms rage + in it at times. Then the sea of life also submits on agitation, stirred up + by men, and death renovates the waters of the sea of life, that they might + not become spoiled. No matter how many people are dying, they are + nevertheless forever growing in number.” + </p> + <p> + “What of it? But my father is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “You will die as well.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what have I to do with the fact that people are growing in number?” + Foma smiled sadly. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, he, he!” sighed Mayakin. “That, indeed, concerns none of us. There, + your trousers probably reason in the same way: what have we to do with the + fact that there are all sorts of stuff in the world? But you do not mind + them—you wear them out and throw them away.” + </p> + <p> + Foma glanced at his godfather reproachfully, and noticing that the old man + was smiling, he was astonished and he asked respectfully: + </p> + <p> + “Can it be true, father, that you do not fear death?” + </p> + <p> + “Most of all I fear foolishness, my child,” replied Mayakin with humble + bitterness. “My opinion is this: if a fool give you honey, spit upon it; + if a wise man give you poison, drink it! And I will tell you that the + perch has a weak soul since his fins do not stand on end.” + </p> + <p> + The old man’s mocking words offended and angered Foma. He turned aside and + said: + </p> + <p> + “You can never speak without these subterfuges.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot!” exclaimed Mayakin, and his eyes began to sparkle with alarm. + “Each man uses the very same tongue he has. Do I seem to be stern? Do I?” + </p> + <p> + Foma was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you. Know this—he loves who teaches. Remember this well. And as + to death, do not think of it. It is foolish, dear, for a live man to think + of death. ‘Ecclesiastes’ reflected on death better than anybody else + reflected on it, and said that a living dog is better than a dead lion.” + </p> + <p> + They came home. The street near the house was crowded with carriages, and + from the open windows came loud sounds of talk. As soon as Foma appeared + in the hall, he was seized by the arms and led away to the table and there + was urged to drink and eat something. A marketplace noise smote the air; + the hall was crowded and suffocating. Silently, Foma drank a glass of + vodka, then another, and a third. Around him they were munching and + smacking their lips; the vodka poured out from the bottles was gurgling, + the wine-glasses were tinkling. They were speaking of dried sturgeon and + of the bass of the soloist of the bishop’s choir, and then again of the + dried sturgeon, and then they said that the mayor also wished to make a + speech, but did not venture to do so after the bishop had spoken, fearing + lest he should not speak so well as the bishop. Someone was telling with + feeling: + </p> + <p> + “The deceased one used to do thus: he would cut off a slice of salmon, + pepper it thickly, cover it with another slice of salmon, and then send it + down immediately after a drink.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us follow his example,” roared a thick basso. Offended to the quick, + Foma looked with a frown at the fat lips and at the jaws chewing the tasty + food, and he felt like crying out and driving away all these people, whose + sedateness had but lately inspired him with respect for them. + </p> + <p> + “You had better be more kind, more sociable,” said Mayakin in a low voice, + coming up to him. + </p> + <p> + “Why are they gobbling here? Is this a tavern?” cried Foma, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” Mayakin remarked with fright and hastily turned to look around + with a kind smile on his face. + </p> + <p> + But it was too late; his smile was of no avail. Foma’s words had been + overheard, the noise and the talk was subsiding, some of the guests began + to bustle about hurriedly, others, offended, frowned, put down their forks + and knives and walked away from the table, all looking at Foma askance. + </p> + <p> + Silent and angry, he met these glances without lowering his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I ask you to come up to the table!” cried Mayakin, gleaming amid the + crowd of people like an ember amid ashes. “Be seated, pray! They’re soon + serving pancakes.” + </p> + <p> + Foma shrugged his shoulders and walked off toward the door, saying aloud: + </p> + <p> + “I shall not eat.” + </p> + <p> + He heard a hostile rumbling behind him and his godfather’s wheedling voice + saying to somebody: + </p> + <p> + “It’s for grief. Ignat was at once father and mother to him.” + </p> + <p> + Foma came out in the garden and sat down on the same place where his + father had died. The feeling of loneliness and grief oppressed his heart. + He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt to make his breathing easier, rested + his elbows on the table, and with his head tightly pressed between his + hands, he sat motionless. It was drizzling and the leaves of the + apple-tree were rustling mournfully under the drops of the rain. He sat + there for a long time alone, motionless, watching how the small drops were + falling from the apple-tree. His head was heavy from the vodka, and in his + heart there was a growing grudge against men. Some indefinite, impersonal + feelings and thoughts were springing up and vanishing within him; before + him flashed the bald skull of his godfather with a little crown of silver + hair and with a dark face, which resembled the faces of the ancient ikons. + This face with the toothless mouth and the malicious smile, rousing in + Foma hatred and fear, augmented in him the consciousness of solitude. Then + he recalled the kind eyes of Medinskaya and her small, graceful figure; + and beside her arose the tall, robust, and rosy-cheeked Lubov Mayakina + with smiling eyes and with a big light golden-coloured braid. “Do not rely + upon men, expect but little at their hands”—his father’s words began + to ring in his memory. He sighed sadly and cast a glance around him. The + tree leaves were fluttering from the rain, and the air was full of + mournful sounds. The gray sky seemed as though weeping, and on the trees + cold tears were trembling. And Foma’s soul was dry, dark; it was filled + with a painful feeling of orphanhood. But this feeling gave birth to the + question: + </p> + <p> + “How shall I live now that I am alone?” + </p> + <p> + The rain drenched his clothes, and when he felt that he was shivering with + cold he arose and went into the house. + </p> + <p> + Life was tugging him from all sides, giving him no chance to be + concentrated in thinking of and grieving for his father, and on the + fortieth day after Ignat’s death Foma, attired in holiday clothes, with a + pleasant feeling in his heart, went to the ceremony of the corner-stone + laying of the lodging-asylum. Medinskaya notified him in a letter the day + before, that he had been elected as a member of the building committee and + also as honorary member of the society of which she was president. This + pleased him and he was greatly agitated by the part he was to play today + at the laying of the corner-stone. On his way he thought of how everything + would be and how he should behave in order not to be confused before the + people. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, eh! Hold on!” + </p> + <p> + He turned around. Mayakin came hastening to him from the sidewalk. He was + in a frock-coat that reached his heels, in a high cap, and he carried a + huge umbrella in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, take me up there,” said the old man, cleverly jumping into the + carriage like a monkey. “To tell the truth, I was waiting for you. I was + looking around, thinking it was time for you to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going there?” asked Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Of course! I must see how they will bury my friend’s money in the + ground.” + </p> + <p> + Foma looked at him askance and was silent. “Why do you frown upon me? + Don’t fear, you will also start out as a benefactor among men.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Foma, reservedly. “I’ve read in the newspaper + this morning that you were elected as a member of the building committee + and also as an honorary member of Sophya’s society.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “This membership will eat into your pocket!” sighed Mayakin. + </p> + <p> + “That wouldn’t ruin me.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know it,” observed the old man, maliciously. + </p> + <p> + “I speak of this more because there is altogether very little wisdom in + this charity business, and I may even say that it isn’t a business at all, + but simply harmful nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it harmful to aid people?” asked Foma, hotly. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you cabbage head!” said Mayakin with a smile. “You had better come up + to my house, I’ll open your eyes in regard to this. I must teach you! Will + you come?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I will come!” replied Foma. + </p> + <p> + “So. And in the meantime, hold yourself proud at the laying of the + corner-stone. Stand in view of everybody. If I don’t tell this to you, you + might hide yourself behind somebody’s back.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I hide myself?” said Foma, displeased. + </p> + <p> + “That’s just what I say: there is no reason why. For the money was donated + by your father and you are entitled to the honour as his heir. Honour is + just the same as money. With honour a business man will get credit + everywhere, and everywhere there is a way open to him. Then come forward, + so that everybody may see you and that if you do five copecks’ worth of + work, you should get a rouble in return for it. And if you will hide + yourself—nothing but foolishness will be the result.” + </p> + <p> + They arrived at their destination, where all the important people had + gathered already, and an enormous crowd of people surrounded the piles of + wood, bricks and earth. The bishop, the governor, the representatives of + the city’s aristocracy and the administration formed, together with the + splendidly dressed ladies, a big bright group and looked at the efforts of + the two stonemasons, who were preparing the bricks and the lime. Mayakin + and his godson wended their way toward this group. He whispered to Foma: + </p> + <p> + “Lose no courage, these people have robbed their bellies to cover + themselves with silk.” + </p> + <p> + And he greeted the governor before the bishop, in a respectfully cheerful + voice. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, your Excellency? Give me your blessing, your Holiness!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Yakov Tarasovich!” exclaimed the governor with a friendly smile, + shaking and squeezing Mayakin’s hand, while the old man was at the same + time kissing the bishop’s hand. “How are you, deathless old man?” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you humbly, your Excellency! My respects to Sophya Pavlovna!” + Mayakin spoke fast, whirling like a peg-top amid the crowd of people. In a + minute he managed to shake hands with the presiding justice of the court, + with the prosecutor, with the mayor—in a word, with all those people + whom he considered it necessary to greet first; such as these, however, + were few. He jested, smiled and at once attracted everybody’s attention to + his little figure, and Foma with downcast head stood behind him, looking + askance at these people wrapped in costly stuffs, embroidered with gold; + he envied the old man’s adroitness and lost his courage, and feeling that + he was losing his courage—he grew still more timid. But now Mayakin + seized him by the hand and drew him up to himself. + </p> + <p> + “There, your Excellency, this is my godson, Foma, the late Ignat’s only + son.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the governor in his basso, “I’m very pleased. I sympathise with + you in your misfortune, young man!” he said, shaking Foma’s hand, and + became silent; then he added resolutely and confidently: “To lose a + father, that is a very painful misfortune.” + </p> + <p> + And, having waited about two seconds for Foma’s answer, he turned away + from him, addressing Mayakin approvingly: + </p> + <p> + “I am delighted with the speech you made yesterday in the city hall! + Beautiful, clever, Yakov Tarasovich. Proposing to use the money for this + public club, they do not understand the real needs of the population.” + </p> + <p> + “And then, your Excellency, a small capital means that the city will have + to add its own money.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly true! Perfectly true!” + </p> + <p> + “Temperance, I say, is good! Would to God that all were sober! I don’t + drink, either, but what is the use of these performances, libraries and + all that, since the people cannot even read?” + </p> + <p> + The governor replied approvingly. + </p> + <p> + “Here, I say, you better use this money for a technical institution. If it + should be established on a small plan, this money alone will suffice, and + in case it shouldn’t, we can ask for more in St. Petersburg—they’ll + give it to us. Then the city wouldn’t have to add of its own money, and + the whole affair would be more sensible.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely! I fully agree with you! But how the liberals began to cry at + you! Eh? Ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “That has always been their business, to cry.” + </p> + <p> + The deep cough of the archdeacon of the cathedral announced the beginning + of the divine service. + </p> + <p> + Sophya Pavlovna came up to Foma, greeted him and said in a sad, low voice: + </p> + <p> + “I looked at your face on the day of the funeral, and my heart saddened. + My God, I thought, how he must suffer!” + </p> + <p> + And Foma listened to her and felt as though he was drinking honey. + </p> + <p> + “These cries of yours, they shook my soul, my poor child! I may speak to + you this way, for I am an old woman already.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” exclaimed Foma, softly. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that so?” she asked, naively looking into his face. + </p> + <p> + Foma was silent, his head bent on his breast. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you believe that I am an old woman?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you; that is, I believe everything you may say; only this is + not true!” said Foma, feelingly, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “What is not true? What do you believe me?” + </p> + <p> + “No! not this, but that. I—excuse me! I cannot speak!” said Foma, + sadly, all aflush with confusion. “I am not cultured.” + </p> + <p> + “You need not trouble yourself on this account,” said Medinskaya, + patronisingly. “You are so young, and education is accessible to + everybody. But there are people to whom education is not only unnecessary, + but who can also be harmed by it. Those that are pure of heart, sanguine, + sincere, like children, and you are of those people. You are, are you + not?” + </p> + <p> + What could Foma say in answer to this question? He said sincerely: + </p> + <p> + “I thank you humbly!” + </p> + <p> + And noticing that his words called forth a gay gleam in Medinskaya’s eyes, + Foma appeared ridiculous and stupid in his own eyes; he immediately became + angry at himself and said in a muffled voice: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am such. I always speak my mind. I cannot deceive. If I see + something to laugh at, I laugh openly. I am stupid!” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you speak that way?” said the woman, reproachfully, and + adjusting her dress, she accidentally stroked Foma’s hand, in which he + held his hat. This made him look at his wrist and smile joyously and + confusedly. + </p> + <p> + “You will surely be present at the dinner, won’t you?” asked Medinskaya. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And tomorrow at the meeting in my house?” + </p> + <p> + “Without fail!” + </p> + <p> + “And perhaps sometime you will drop in, simply on a visit, wouldn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I thank you! I’ll come!” + </p> + <p> + “I must thank you for the promise.” + </p> + <p> + They became silent. In the air soared the reverently soft voice of the + bishop, who recited the prayer expressively, outstretching his hand over + the place where the corner-stone of the house was laid: + </p> + <p> + “May neither the wind, nor water, nor anything else bring harm unto it; + may it be completed in thy benevolence, and free all those that are to + live in it from all kinds of calumny.” + </p> + <p> + “How rich and beautiful our prayers are, are they not?” asked Medinskaya. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Foma, shortly, without understanding her words and feeling + that he was blushing again. + </p> + <p> + “They will always be opponents of our commercial interests,” Mayakin + whispered loudly and convincingly, standing beside the city mayor, not far + from Foma. “What is it to them? All they want is somehow to deserve the + approval of the newspaper. But they cannot reach the main point. They live + for mere display, not for the organisation of life; these are their only + measures: the newspapers and Sweden! [Mayakin speaks of Sweden, meaning + Switzerland.—Translator’s note.] The doctor scoffed at me all day + yesterday with this Sweden. The public education, says he, in Sweden, and + everything else there is first-class! But what is Sweden, anyway? It may + be that Sweden is but a fib, is but used as an example, and that there is + no education whatever or any of the other things there. And then, we don’t + live for the sake of Sweden, and Sweden cannot put us to test. We have to + make our lip according to our own last. Isn’t it so?” + </p> + <p> + And the archdeacon droned, his head thrown back: + </p> + <p> + “Eternal me-emo-ory to the founder of this ho-ouse!” + </p> + <p> + Foma shuddered, but Mayakin was already by his side, and pulling him by + the sleeve, asked: + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to the dinner?” + </p> + <p> + And Medinskaya’s velvet-like, warm little hand glided once more over + Foma’s hand. + </p> + <p> + The dinner was to Foma a real torture. For the first time in his life + among these uniformed people, he saw that they were eating and speaking—doing + everything better than he, and he felt that between him and Medinskaya, + who was seated just opposite him, was a high mountain, not a table. Beside + him sat the secretary of the society of which Foma had been made an + honorary member; he was a young court officer, bearing the odd name of + Ookhtishchev. As if to make his name appear more absurd than it really + was, he spoke in a loud, ringing tenor, and altogether—plump, short, + round-faced and a lively talker—he looked like a brand new bell. + </p> + <p> + “The very best thing in our society is the patroness; the most reasonable + is what we are doing—courting the patroness; the most difficult is + to tell the patroness such a compliment as would satisfy her; and the most + sensible thing is to admire the patroness silently and hopelessly. So that + in reality, you are a member not of ‘the Society of Solicitude,’ and so + on, but of the Society of Tantaluses, which is composed of persons bent on + pleasing Sophya Medinskaya.” + </p> + <p> + Foma listened to his chatter, now and then looking at the patroness, who + was absorbed in a conversation with the chief of the police; Foma roared + in reply to his interlocutor, pretending to be busy eating, and he wished + that all this would end the sooner. He felt that he was wretched, stupid, + ridiculous and he was certain that everybody was watching and censuring + him. This tied him with invisible shackles, thus checking his words and + his thoughts. At last he went so far, that the line of various + physiognomies, stretched out by the table opposite him, seemed to him a + long and wavy white strip besprinkled with laughing eyes, and all these + eyes were pricking him unpleasantly and painfully. + </p> + <p> + Mayakin sat near the city mayor, waved his fork in the air quickly, and + kept on talking all the time, now contracting, now expanding the wrinkles + of his face. The mayor, a gray-headed, red-faced, short-necked man, stared + at him like a bull, with obstinate attention and at times he rapped on the + edge of the table with his big finger affirmatively. The animated talk and + laughter drowned his godfather’s bold speech, and Foma was unable to hear + a single word of it, much more so that the tenor of the secretary was + unceasingly ringing in his ears: + </p> + <p> + “Look, there, the archdeacon arose; he is filling his lungs with air; he + will soon proclaim an eternal memory for Ignat Matveyich.” + </p> + <p> + “May I not go away?” asked Foma in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Everybody will understand this.” + </p> + <p> + The deacon’s resounding voice drowned and seemed to have crushed the noise + in the hail; the eminent merchants fixed their eyes on the big, wide-open + mouth, from which a deep sound was streaming forth, and availing himself + of this moment, Foma arose from his seat and left the hall. + </p> + <p> + After awhile he breathed freely and, sitting in his cab, thought sadly + that there was no place for him amid these people. Inwardly, he called + them polished. He did not like their brilliancy, their faces, their smiles + or their words, but the freedom and the cleverness of their movements, + their ability to speak much and on any subject, their pretty costumes—all + this aroused in him a mixture of envy and respect for them. He felt sad + and oppressed at the consciousness of being unable to talk so much and so + fluently as all these people, and here he recalled that Luba Mayakina had + more than once scoffed at him on this account. + </p> + <p> + Foma did not like Mayakin’s daughter, and since he had learned from his + father of Mayakin’s intention to marry him to Luba, the young Gordyeeff + began to shun her. But after his father’s death he was almost every day at + the Mayakins, and somehow Luba said to him one day: + </p> + <p> + “I am looking at you, and, do you know?—you do not resemble a + merchant at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor do you look like a merchant’s daughter,” said Foma, and looked at her + suspiciously. He did not understand the meaning of her words; did she mean + to offend him, or did she say these words without any kind thoughts? + </p> + <p> + “Thank God for this!” said she and smiled to him a kind, friendly smile. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you so glad?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “The fact that we don’t resemble our fathers.” + </p> + <p> + Foma glanced at her in astonishment and kept silent. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me frankly,” said she, lowering her voice, “you do not love my + father, do you? You don’t like him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very much,” said Foma, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “And I dislike him very much.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “For everything. When you grow wiser, you will know it yourself. Your + father was a better man.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” said Foma, proudly. + </p> + <p> + After this conversation an attachment sprang up between them almost + immediately, and growing stronger from day to day, it soon developed into + friendship, though a somewhat odd friendship it was. + </p> + <p> + Though Luba was not older than her god-brother, she nevertheless treated + him as an older person would treat a little boy. She spoke to him + condescendingly, often jesting at his expense; her talk was always full of + words which were unfamiliar to Foma; and she pronounced these words with + particular emphasis and with evident satisfaction. She was especially fond + of speaking about her brother Taras, whom she had never seen, but of whom + she was telling such stories as would make him look like Aunt Anfisa’s + brave and noble robbers. Often, when complaining of her father, she said + to Foma: + </p> + <p> + “You will also be just such a skinflint.” + </p> + <p> + All this was unpleasant to the youth and stung his vanity. But at times + she was straightforward, simple-minded, and particularly kind and friendly + to him; then he would unburden his heart before her, and for a long time + they would share each other’s thoughts and feelings. + </p> + <p> + Both spoke a great deal and spoke sincerely, but neither one understood + the other; it seemed to Foma that whatever Luba had to say was foreign to + him and unnecessary to her, and at the same time he clearly saw that his + awkward words did not at all interest her, and that she did not care to + understand them. No matter how long these conversations lasted, they gave + both of them the sensation of discomfort and dissatisfaction. As if an + invisible wall of perplexity had suddenly arisen and stood between them. + They did not venture to touch this wall, or to tell each other that they + felt it was there—they resumed their conversations, dimly conscious + that there was something in each of them that might bind and unite them. + </p> + <p> + When Foma arrived at his godfather’s house, he found Luba alone. She came + out to meet him, and it was evident that she was either ill or out of + humour; her eyes were flashing feverishly and were surrounded with black + circles. Feeling cold, she muffled herself in a warm shawl and said with a + smile: + </p> + <p> + “It is good that you’ve come! For I was sitting here alone; it is lonesome—I + don’t feel like going anywhere. Will you drink tea?” + </p> + <p> + “I will. What is the matter with you, are you ill?” + </p> + <p> + “Go to the dining-room, and I’ll tell them to bring the samovar,” she + said, not answering his question. + </p> + <p> + He went into one of the small rooms of the house, whose two windows + overlooked the garden. In the middle of the room stood an oval table, + surrounded with old-fashioned, leather-covered chairs; on one partition + hung a clock in a long case with a glass door, in the corner was a + cupboard for dishes, and opposite the windows, by the walls, was an oaken + sideboard as big as a fair-sized room. + </p> + <p> + “Are you coming from the banquet?” asked Luba, entering. + </p> + <p> + Foma nodded his head mutely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, how was it? Grand?” + </p> + <p> + “It was terrible!” Foma smiled. “I sat there as if on hot coals. They all + looked there like peacocks, while I looked like a barn-owl.” + </p> + <p> + Luba was taking out dishes from the cupboard and said nothing to Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Really, why are you so sad?” asked Foma again, glancing at her gloomy + face. + </p> + <p> + She turned to him and said with enthusiasm and anxiety: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Foma! What a book I’ve read! If you could only understand it!” + </p> + <p> + “It must be a good book, since it worked you up in this way,” said Foma, + smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I did not sleep. I read all night long. Just think of it: you read—and + it seems to you that the gates of another kingdom are thrown open before + you. And the people there are different, and their language is different, + everything different! Life itself is different there.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like this,” said Foma, dissatisfied. “That’s all fiction, deceit; + so is the theatre. The merchants are ridiculed there. Are they really so + stupid? Of course! Take your father, for example.” + </p> + <p> + “The theatre and the school are one and the same, Foma,” said Luba, + instructively. “The merchants used to be like this. And what deceit can + there be in books?” + </p> + <p> + “Just as in fairy—tales, nothing is real.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong! You have read no books; how can you judge? Books are + precisely real. They teach you how to live.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come!” Foma waved his hand. “Drop it; no good will come out of your + books! There, take your father, for example, does he read books? And yet + he is clever! I looked at him today and envied him. His relations with + everybody are so free, so clever, he has a word for each and every one. + You can see at once that whatever he should desire he is sure to attain.” + </p> + <p> + “What is he striving for?” exclaimed Luba. “Nothing but money. But there + are people that want happiness for all on earth, and to gain this end they + work without sparing themselves; they suffer and perish! How can my father + be compared with these?” + </p> + <p> + “You need not compare them. They evidently like one thing, while your + father likes another.” + </p> + <p> + “They do not like anything!” + </p> + <p> + How’s that? + </p> + <p> + “They want to change everything.” + </p> + <p> + “So they do strive for something?” said Foma, thoughtfully. “They do wish + for something?” + </p> + <p> + “They wish for happiness for all!” cried Luba, hotly. “I can’t understand + this,” said Foma, nodding his head. “Who cares there for my happiness? And + then again, what happiness can they give me, since I, myself, do not know + as yet what I want? No, you should have rather looked at those that were + at the banquet.” + </p> + <p> + “Those are not men!” announced Luba, categorically. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what they are in your eyes, but you can see at once that + they know their place. A clever, easy-going lot.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Foma!” exclaimed Luba, vexed. “You understand nothing! Nothing + agitates you! You are an idler.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, that’s going too far! I’ve simply not had time enough to see where I + am.” + </p> + <p> + “You are simply an empty man,” said Luba, resolutely and firmly. + </p> + <p> + “You were not within my soul,” replied Foma, calmly. “You cannot know my + thoughts.” + </p> + <p> + “What is there that you should think of?” said Luba, shrugging her + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “So? First of all, I am alone. Secondly, I must live. Don’t I understand + that it is altogether impossible for me to live as I am now? I do not care + to be made the laughing-stock of others. I cannot even speak to people. + No, nor can I think.” Foma concluded his words and smiled confusedly. + </p> + <p> + “It is necessary to read, to study,” Luba advised him convincingly, pacing + up and down the room. + </p> + <p> + “Something is stirring within my soul,” Foma went on, not looking at her, + as though speaking to himself; “but I cannot tell what it is. I see, for + instance, that whatever my godfather says is clever and reasonable. But + that does not attract me. The other people are by far more interesting to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean the aristocrats?” asked Luba. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just the place for you!” said Luba, with a smile of contempt. “Eh, + you! Are they men? Do they have souls?” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know them? You are not acquainted with them.” + </p> + <p> + “And the books? Have I not read books about them?” + </p> + <p> + The maid brought in the samovar, and the conversation was interrupted. + Luba made tea in silence while Foma looked at her and thought of + Medinskaya. He was wishing to have a talk with her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the girl, thoughtfully, “I am growing more and more convinced + everyday that it is hard to live. What shall I do? Marry? Whom? Shall I + marry a merchant who will do nothing but rob people all his life, nothing + but drink and play cards? A savage? I do not want it! I want to be an + individual. I am such, for I know how wrong the construction of life is. + Shall I study? My father will not allow this. Oh Lord! Shall I run away? I + have not enough courage. What am I to do?” + </p> + <p> + She clasped her hands and bowed her head over the table. + </p> + <p> + “If you knew but how repulsive everything is. There is not a living soul + around here. Since my mother died, my father drove everyone away. Some + went off to study. Lipa, too, left us. She writes me: + </p> + <p> + ‘Read.’ Ah, I am reading! I am reading!’ she exclaimed, with despair in + her voice, and after a moment’s silence she went on sadly: + </p> + <p> + “Books do not contain what the heart needs most, and there’s much I cannot + understand in them. And then, I feel weary to be reading all the time + alone, alone! I want to speak to a man, but there is none to speak to! I + feel disgusted. We live but once, and it is high time for me to live, and + yet there is not a soul! Wherefore shall I live? Lipa tells me: ‘Read and + you will understand it.’ I want bread and she gives me a stone. I + understand what one must do—one must stand up for what he loves and + believes. He must fight for it.” + </p> + <p> + And she concluded, uttering something like a moan: + </p> + <p> + “But I am alone! Whom shall I fight? There are no enemies here. There are + no men! I live here in a prison!” + </p> + <p> + Foma listened to her words, fixedly examining the fingers of his hand; he + felt that in her words was some great distress, but he could not + understand her. And when she became silent, depressed and sad, he found + nothing to tell her save a few words that were like a reproach: + </p> + <p> + “There, you yourself say that books are worthless to you, and yet you + instruct me to read.” + </p> + <p> + She looked into his face, and anger flashed in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how I wish that all these torments would awaken within you, the + torments that constantly oppress me. That your thoughts, like mine, would + rob you of your sleep, that you, too, would be disgusted with everything, + and with yourself as well! I despise every one of you. I hate you!” + </p> + <p> + All aflush, she looked at him so angrily and spoke with so much + spitefulness, that in his astonishment he did not even feel offended by + her. She had never before spoken to him in such manner. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter with you?” he asked her. + </p> + <p> + “I hate you, too! You, what are you? Dead, empty; how will you live? What + will you give to mankind?” she said with malice, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give nothing; let them strive for it themselves,” answered Foma, + knowing that these words would augment her anger. + </p> + <p> + “Unfortunate creature!” exclaimed the girl with contempt. + </p> + <p> + The assurance and the power of her reproaches involuntarily compelled Foma + to listen attentively to her spiteful words; he felt there was common + sense in them. He even came nearer to her, but she, enraged and + exasperated, turned away from him and became silent. + </p> + <p> + It was still light outside, and the reflection of the setting sun lay + still on the branches of the linden-trees before the windows, but the room + was already filled with twilight, and the sideboard, the clock and the + cupboard seemed to have grown in size. The huge pendulum peeped out every + moment from beneath the glass of the clock-case, and flashing dimly, was + hiding with a weary sound now on the right side, now on the left. Foma + looked at the pendulum and he began to feel awkward and lonesome. Luba + arose and lighted the lamp which was hanging over the table. The girl’s + face was pale and stern. + </p> + <p> + “You went for me,” said Foma, reservedly. “What for? I can’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to speak to you!” replied Luba, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “That’s your affair. But nevertheless, what wrong have I done to you?” + </p> + <p> + “You? + </p> + <p> + “I.” + </p> + <p> + “Understand me, I am suffocating! It is close here. Is this life? Is this + the way how to live? What am I? I am a hanger-on in my father’s house. + They keep me here as a housekeeper. Then they’ll marry me! Again + housekeeping. It’s a swamp. I am drowning, suffocating.” + </p> + <p> + “And what have I to do with it?” asked Foma. + </p> + <p> + “You are no better than the others.” + </p> + <p> + “And therefore I am guilty before you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, guilty! You must desire to be better.” + </p> + <p> + “But do I not wish it?” exclaimed Foma. + </p> + <p> + The girl was about to tell him something, but at this time the bell began + to ring somewhere, and she said in a low voice, leaning back in her chair: + </p> + <p> + “It’s father.” + </p> + <p> + “I would not feel sorry if he stayed away a little longer,” said Foma. “I + wish I could listen to you some more. You speak so very oddly.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my children, my doves!” exclaimed Yakov Tarasovich, appearing in the + doorway. “You’re drinking tea? Pour out some tea for me, Lugava!” + </p> + <p> + Sweetly smiling, and rubbing his hands, he sat down near Foma and asked, + playfully jostling him in the side: + </p> + <p> + “What have you been cooing about?” + </p> + <p> + “So—about different trifles,” answered Luba. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t asked you, have I?” said her father to her, with a grimace. + “You just sit there, hold your tongue, and mind your woman’s affairs.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been telling her about the dinner,” Foma interrupted his godfather’s + words. + </p> + <p> + “Aha! So-o-o. Well, then, I’ll also speak about the dinner. I have been + watching you of late. You don’t behave yourself sensibly!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Foma, knitting his brow, ill pleased. + </p> + <p> + “I just mean that your behaviour is preposterous, and that’s all. When the + governor, for instance, speaks to you, you keep quiet.” + </p> + <p> + “What should I tell him? He says that it is a misfortune to lose a father. + Well, I know it. What could I tell him?” + </p> + <p> + “But as the Lord willed it so, I do not grumble, your Excellency. That’s + what you should have said, or something in this spirit. Governors, my + dear, are very fond of meekness in a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Was I to look at him like a lamb?” said Foma, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “You did look like a lamb, and that was unnecessary. You must look neither + like a lamb, nor like a wolf, but just play off before him as though + saying: ‘You are our father, we are your children,’ and he will + immediately soften.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is this for?” + </p> + <p> + “For any event. A governor, my dear, can always be of use somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you teach him, papa?” said Luba, indignantly, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what?” + </p> + <p> + “To dance attendance.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie, you learned fool! I teach him politics, not dancing attendance; + I teach him the politics of life. You had better leave us alone! Depart + from evil, and prepare some lunch for us. Go ahead!” + </p> + <p> + Luba rose quickly and throwing the towel across the back of the chair, + left the room. Mayakin, winking his eyes, looked after her, tapped the + table with his fingers and said: + </p> + <p> + “I shall instruct you, Foma. I shall teach you the most genuine, true + knowledge and philosophy, and if you understand them, your life will be + faultless.” + </p> + <p> + Foma saw how the wrinkles on the old man’s forehead were twitching, and + they seemed to him like lines of Slavonic letters. + </p> + <p> + “First of all, Foma, since you live on this earth, it is your duty to + think over everything that takes place about you. Why? That you may not + suffer for your own senselessness, and may not harm others by your folly. + Now, every act of man is double-faced, Foma. One is visible to all—this + is the wrong side; the other is concealed—and that is the real one. + It is that one that you must be able to find in order to understand the + sense of the thing. Take for example the lodging-asylums, the work-houses, + the poor-houses and other similar institutions. Just consider, what are + they for?” + </p> + <p> + “What is there to consider here?” said Foma, wearily “Everybody knows what + they are for—for the poor and feeble.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, dear! Sometimes everybody knows that a certain man is a rascal and a + scoundrel, and yet all call him Ivan or Peter, and instead of abusing him + they respectfully add his father’s name to his own.” + </p> + <p> + “What has this to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all to the point. So you say that these houses are for the poor, for + beggars, consequently, in accordance with Christ’s commandment. Very well! + But who is the beggar? The beggar is a man, forced by fate to remind us of + Christ; he is a brother of Christ; he is the bell of the Lord and he rings + in life to rouse our conscience, to arouse the satiety of the flesh of + man. He stands by the window and sings out: ‘For the sake of Christ!’ and + by his singing he reminds us of Christ, of His holy commandment to help + the neighbour. But men have so arranged their life that it is impossible + for them to act according to the teachings of Christ, and Jesus Christ has + become altogether unnecessary to us. Not one time, but perhaps a hundred + thousand times have we turned Him over to the cross, and yet we cannot + drive Him altogether out of life, because His poor brethren sing His Holy + name on the streets and thus remind us of Him. And now we have arranged to + lock up these beggars in separate houses that they should not walk around + on the streets and should not rouse our conscience. + </p> + <p> + “Cle-ver!” whispered Foma, amazed, staring fixedly at his godfather. + </p> + <p> + “Aha!” exclaimed Mayakin, his eyes beaming with triumph. + </p> + <p> + “How is it that my father did not think of this?” asked Foma, uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Just wait! Listen further, it is still worse. So you see, we have + arranged to lock them up in all sorts of houses and that they might be + kept there cheaply, we have compelled those old and feeble beggars to work + and we need give no alms now, and since our streets have been cleared of + the various ragged beggars, we do not see their terrible distress and + poverty, and we may, therefore, think that all men on earth are well-fed, + shod and clothed. That’s what all these different houses are for, for the + concealment of the truth, for the banishment of Christ from our life! Is + this clear to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” said Foma, confused by the old man’s clever words. + </p> + <p> + “And this is not all. The pool is not yet baled out to the bottom!” + exclaimed Mayakin, swinging his hand in the air with animation. + </p> + <p> + The wrinkles of his face were in motion; his long, ravenous nose was + stirring, and in his voice rang notes of irritability and emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Now, let us look at this thing from the other side. Who contributes most + in favour of the poor, for the support of these houses, asylums, + poor-houses? The rich people, the merchants, our body of merchants. Very + well! And who commands our life and regulates it? The nobles, the + functionaries and all sorts of other people, not belonging to our class. + From them come the laws, the newspapers, science—everything from + them. Before, they were land-owners, now their land was snatched away from + them—and they started out in service. Very well! But who are the + most powerful people today? The merchant is the supreme power in an + empire, because he has the millions on his side! Isn’t that so?” + </p> + <p> + “True!” assented Foma, eager to hear the sooner that which was to follow, + and which was already sparkling in the eyes of his godfather. + </p> + <p> + “Just mark this,” the old man went on distinctly and impressively. “We + merchants had no hand in the arrangement of life, nor do we have a voice + or a hand in it today. Life was arranged by others, and it is they that + multiplied all sorts of scabs in life—idlers and poor unfortunates; + and since by multiplying them they obstructed life and spoilt it—it + is, justly judging, now their duty to purify it. But we are purifying it, + we contribute money for the poor, we look after them—we, judge it + for yourself, why should we mend another’s rags, since we did not tear + them? Why should we repair a house, since others have lived in it and + since it belongs to others? Were it not wiser for us to step aside and + watch until a certain time how rottenness is multiplying and choking those + that are strangers to us? They cannot conquer it, they have not the means + to do it. Then they will turn to us and say: ‘Pray, help us, gentlemen!’ + and we’ll tell them: ‘Let us have room for our work! Rank us among the + builders of this same life!’ And as soon as they do this we, too, will + have to clear life at one sweep of all sorts of filth and chaff. Then the + Emperor will see with his clear eyes who are really his faithful servants, + and how much wisdom they have saved up while their hands were idle. Do you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I do!” exclaimed Foma. + </p> + <p> + When his godfather spoke of the functionaries, Foma reminded himself of + the people that were present at the dinner; he recalled the brisk + secretary, and a thought flashed through his mind that this stout little + man has in all probability an income of no more than a thousand roubles a + year, while he, Foma, has a million. But that man lives so easily and + freely, while he, Foma, does not know how to live, is indeed abashed to + live. This comparison and his godfather’s speech roused in him a whirl of + thoughts, but he had time to grasp and express only one of them: + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, do we work for the sake of money only? What’s the use of money if + it can give us no power?” + </p> + <p> + “Aha!” said Mayakin, winking his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Eh!” exclaimed Foma, offended. “How about my father? Have you spoken to + him?” + </p> + <p> + “I spoke to him for twenty years.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, how about him?” + </p> + <p> + “My words did not reach him. The crown of your father’s head was rather + thick. His soul was open to all, while his mind was hidden away far within + him. Yes, he made a blunder, and I am very sorry about the money.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sorry for the money.” + </p> + <p> + “You should have tried to earn even a tenth part of it, then speak.” + </p> + <p> + “May I come in?” came Luba’s voice from behind the door. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, step right in,” said the father. + </p> + <p> + “Will you have lunch now?” she asked, entering. + </p> + <p> + “Let us have it.” + </p> + <p> + She walked up to the sideboard and soon the dishes were rattling. Yakov + Tarasovich looked at her, moved his lips, and suddenly striking Foma’s + knee with his hand, he said to him: + </p> + <p> + “That’s the way, my godson! Think.” + </p> + <p> + Foma responded with a smile and thought: “But he’s clever—cleverer + than my father.” + </p> + <p> + But another voice within him immediately replied: + </p> + <p> + “Cleverer, but worse.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + FOMA’S dual relation toward Mayakin grew stronger and stronger as time + went on; listening to his words attentively and with eager curiosity, he + felt that each meeting with his godfather was strengthening in him the + feeling of hostility toward the old man. Sometimes Yakov Tarasovich roused + in his godson a feeling akin to fear, sometimes even physical aversion. + The latter usually came to Foma whenever the old man was pleased with + something and laughed. From laughter the old man’s wrinkles would tremble, + thus changing the expression of his face every now and then; his dry, thin + lips would stretch out and move nervously, displaying black broken teeth, + and his red little beard was as though aflame. His laughter sounded like + the squeaking of rusty hinges, and altogether the old man looked like a + lizard at play. Unable to conceal his feelings, Foma often expressed them + to Mayakin rather rudely, both in words and in gesture, but the old man, + pretending not to notice it, kept a vigilant eye on him, directing his + each and every step. Wholly absorbed by the steamship affairs of the young + Gordyeeff, he even neglected his own little shop, and allowed Foma + considerable leisure time. Thanks to Mayakin’s important position in town + and to his extensive acquaintance on the Volga, business was splendid, but + Mayakin’s zealous interest in his affairs strengthened Foma’s suspicions + that his godfather was firmly resolved to marry him to Luba, and this made + the old man more repulsive to him. + </p> + <p> + He liked Luba, but at the same time she seemed suspicious and dangerous + for him. She did not marry, and Mayakin never said a word about it; he + gave no evening parties, invited none of the youths to his house and did + not allow Luba to leave the house. And all her girl friends were married + already. Foma admired her words and listened to her just as eagerly as to + her father; but whenever she started to speak of Taras with love and + anguish, it seemed to him that she was hiding another man under that name, + perhaps that same Yozhov, who according to her words, had to leave the + university for some reason or other, and go to Moscow. There was a great + deal of simplemindedness and kindness in her, which pleased Foma, and + ofttimes her words awakened in him a feeling of pity for her; it seemed to + him that she was not alive, that she was dreaming though awake. + </p> + <p> + His conduct at the funeral feast for his father became known to all the + merchants and gave him a bad reputation. On the Exchange, he noticed, + everybody looked at him sneeringly, malevolently, and spoke to him in some + peculiar way. One day he heard behind him a low exclamation, full of + contempt: + </p> + <p> + “Gordyeeff! Milksop!” + </p> + <p> + He felt that this was said of him, but he did not turn around to see who + it was that flung those words at him. The rich people, who had inspired + him with timidity before, were now losing in his eyes the witchery of + their wealth and wisdom. They had more than once snatched out of his hands + this or that profitable contract; he clearly saw that they would do it + again, and they all seemed to him alike—greedy for money, always + ready to cheat one another. When he imparted to his godfather his + observation, the old man said: + </p> + <p> + “How then? Business is just the same as war—a hazardous affair. + There they fight for the purse, and in the purse is the soul.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like this,” announced Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I like everything—there’s too much fraud. + </p> + <p> + “But to be fair in business matters is utterly impossible; you must be + shrewd! In business, dear, on approaching a man you must hold honey in + your left hand, and clutch a knife in your right. Everybody would like to + buy five copecks’ worth for a half a copeck.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this isn’t too good,” said Foma, thoughtfully. “But it will be good + later. When you have taken the upper hand, then it will be good. Life, + dear Foma, is very simple: either bite everybody, or lie in the gutter.” + </p> + <p> + The old man smiled, and the broken teeth in his mouth roused in Foma the + keen thought: + </p> + <p> + “You have bitten many, it seems.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s but one word—battle!” repeated the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Is this the real one?” asked Foma, looking at Mayakin searchingly. + </p> + <p> + “That is, what do you mean—the real?” + </p> + <p> + “Is there nothing better than this? Does this contain everything?” + </p> + <p> + “Where else should it be? Everybody lives for himself. Each of us wishes + the best for himself. And what is the best? To go in front of others, to + stand above them. So that everybody is trying to attain the first place in + life—one by this means, another by that means. But everyone is + positively anxious to be seen from afar, like a tower. And man was indeed + appointed to go upward. Even the Book of Job says: ‘Man is born unto + trouble, as the sparks, to fly upward.’ Just see: even children at play + always wish to surpass one another. And each and every game has its + climax, which makes it interesting. Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand this!” said Foma, firmly and confidently. + </p> + <p> + “But you must also feel this. With understanding alone you cannot go far, + and you must desire, and desire so that a big mountain should seem to you + but a hillock, and the sea but a puddle. Eh! When I was of your age I had + an easy life, while you are only taking aim. But then, good fruit does not + ripen early.” + </p> + <p> + The old man’s monotonous speeches soon accomplished what they were + intended to do. Foma listened to them and made clear to himself the aim of + life. He must be better than others, he resolved, and the ambition, + kindled by the old man, took deep root in his heart. It took root within + his heart, but did not fill it up, for Foma’s relations toward Medinskaya + assumed that character, which they were bound to assume. He longed for + her, he always yearned to see her; while in her presence he became timid, + awkward and stupid; he knew it and suffered on this account. He frequently + visited her, but it was hard to find her at home alone; perfumed dandies + like flies over a piece of sugar—were always flitting about her. + They spoke to her in French, sang and laughed, while he looked at them in + silence, tortured by anger and jealousy. His legs crossed, he sat + somewhere in a corner of her richly furnished drawing-room, where it was + extremely difficult to walk without overturning or at least striking + against something—Foma sat and watched them sternly. + </p> + <p> + Over the soft rugs she was noiselessly passing hither and thither, casting + to him kind glances and smiles, while her admirers were fawning upon her, + and they all, like serpents, were cleverly gliding by the various little + tables, chairs, screens, flower-stands—a storehouse full of + beautiful and frail things, scattered about the room with a carelessness + equally dangerous to them and to Foma. But when he walked there, the rugs + did not drown his footsteps, and all these things caught at his coat, + trembled and fell. Beside the piano stood a sailor made of bronze, whose + hand was lifted, ready to throw the life-saving ring; on this ring were + ropes of wire, and these always pulled Foma by the hair. All this provoked + laughter among Sophya Pavlovna and her admirers, and Foma suffered + greatly, changing from heat to cold. + </p> + <p> + But he felt no less uncomfortable even when alone with her. Greeting him + with a kindly smile, she would take a seat beside him in one of the cosy + corners of her drawing-room and would usually start her conversation by + complaining to him of everybody: + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn’t believe how glad I am to see you!” Bending like a cat, she + would gaze into his eyes with her dark glance, in which something avidious + would now flash up. + </p> + <p> + “I love to speak to you,” she said, musically drawling her words. “I’ve + grown tired of all the rest of them. They’re all so boring, ordinary and + worn-out, while you are fresh, sincere. You don’t like those people + either, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t bear them!” replied Foma, firmly. + </p> + <p> + “And me?” she asked softly. + </p> + <p> + Foma turned his eyes away from her and said, with a sigh: + </p> + <p> + “How many times have you asked me that?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it hard for you to tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t hard, but what for?” + </p> + <p> + “I must know it.” + </p> + <p> + “You are making sport of me,” said Foma, sternly. And she opened her eyes + wide and inquired in a tone of great astonishment: + </p> + <p> + “How do I make sport of you? What does it mean to make sport?” + </p> + <p> + And her face looked so angelic that he could not help believing her. + </p> + <p> + “I love you! I love you! It is impossible not to love you!” said he hotly, + and immediately added sadly, lowering his voice: “But you don’t need it!” + </p> + <p> + “There you have it!” sighed Medinskaya, satisfied, drawing back from him. + “I am always extremely pleased to hear you say this, with so much + youthfulness and originality. Would you like to kiss my hand?” + </p> + <p> + Without saying a word he seized her thin, white little hand and carefully + bending down to it, he passionately kissed it for a long time. Smiling and + graceful, not in the least moved by his passion, she freed her hand from + his. Pensively, she looked at him with that strange glitter in her eyes, + which always confused Foma; she examined him as something rare and + extremely curious, and said: + </p> + <p> + “How much strength and power and freshness of soul you possess! Do you + know? You merchants are an altogether new race, an entire race with + original traditions, with an enormous energy of body and soul. Take you, + for instance—you are a precious stone, and you should be polished. + Oh!” + </p> + <p> + Whenever she told him: “You,” or “according to your merchant fashion,” it + seemed to Foma that she was pushing him away from her with these words. + This at once saddened and offended him. He was silent, looking at her + small maidenly figure, which was always somehow particularly well dressed, + always sweet-scented like a flower. Sometimes he was seized with a wild, + coarse desire to embrace and kiss her. But her beauty and the fragility of + her thin, supple body awakened in him a fear of breaking and disfiguring + her, and her calm, caressing voice and the clear, but somewhat cautious + look of her eyes chilled his passion; it seemed to him as though she were + looking straight into his soul, divining all his thoughts. But these + bursts of emotion were rare. Generally the youth regarded Medinskaya with + adoration, admiring everything in her—her beauty, her words, her + dresses. And beside this adoration there was in him a painfully keen + consciousness of his remoteness from her, of her supremacy over him. + </p> + <p> + These relations were established between them within a short time; after + two or three meetings Medinskaya was in full possession of the youth and + she slowly began to torture him. Evidently she liked to have a healthy, + strong youth at her mercy; she liked to rouse and tame the animal in him + merely with her voice and glance, and confident of the power of her + superiority, she found pleasure in thus playing with him. On leaving her, + he was usually half-sick from excitement, bearing her a grudge, angry with + himself, filled with many painful and intoxicating sensations. And about + two days later he would come to undergo the same torture again. + </p> + <p> + One day he asked her timidly: + </p> + <p> + “Sophya Pavlovna! Have you ever had any children?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought not!” exclaimed Foma with delight. + </p> + <p> + She cast at him the look of a very naive little girl, and said: + </p> + <p> + “What made you think so? And why do you want to know whether I had any + children or not?” + </p> + <p> + Foma blushed, and, bending his head, began to speak to her in a heavy + voice, as though he was lifting every word from the ground and as though + each word weighed a few puds. + </p> + <p> + “You see—a woman who—has given birth to children—such a + woman has altogether different eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “So? What kind are they then?” + </p> + <p> + “Shameless!” Foma blurted out. + </p> + <p> + Medinskaya broke into her silver laughter, and Foma, looking at her, also + began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me!” said he, at length. “Perhaps I’ve said something wrong, + improper.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, no! You cannot say anything improper. You are a pure, amiable + boy. And so, my eyes are not shameless?” + </p> + <p> + “Yours are like an angel’s!” announced Foma with enthusiasm, looking at + her with beaming eyes. And she glanced at him, as she had never done + before; her look was that of a mother, a sad look of love mingled with + fear for the beloved. + </p> + <p> + “Go, dear one. I am tired; I need a rest,” she said to him, as she rose + without looking at him. He went away submissively. + </p> + <p> + For some time after this incident her attitude toward him was stricter and + more sincere, as though she pitied him, but later their relations assumed + the old form of the cat-and-mouse play. + </p> + <p> + Foma’s relation toward Medinskaya could not escape his godfather’s notice, + and one day the old man asked him, with a malicious grimace: + </p> + <p> + “Foma! You had better feel your head more often so that you may not lose + it by accident.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Foma. + </p> + <p> + “I speak of Sonka. You are going to see her too often.” + </p> + <p> + “What has that to do with you?” said Foma, rather rudely. “And why do you + call her Sonka?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s nothing to me. I would lose nothing if you should be fleeced. And as + to calling her Sonka—everybody knows that is her name. So does + everybody know that she likes to rake up the fire with other people’s + hands.” + </p> + <p> + “She is clever!” announced Foma, firmly, frowning and hiding his hands in + his pockets. “She is intelligent.” + </p> + <p> + “Clever, that’s true! How cleverly she arranged that entertainment; there + was an income of two thousand four hundred roubles, the expenses—one + thousand nine hundred; the expenses really did not even amount to a + thousand roubles, for everybody does everything for her for nothing. + Intelligent! She will educate you, and especially will those idlers that + run around her.” + </p> + <p> + “They’re not idlers, they are clever people!” replied Foma, angrily, + contradicting himself now. “And I learn from them. What am I? I know + nothing. What was I taught? While there they speak of everything—and + each one has his word to say. Do not hinder me from being like a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! How you’ve learned to speak! With so much anger, like the hail + striking against the roof! Very well, be like a man, but in order to be + like a man it might be less dangerous for you to go to the tavern; the + people there are after all better than Sophya’s people. And you, young + man, you should have learned to discriminate one person from another. Take + Sophya, for instance: What does she represent? An insect for the adornment + of nature and nothing more!” + </p> + <p> + Intensely agitated, Foma set his teeth together and walked away from + Mayakin, thrusting his hands still deeper into his pockets. But the old + man soon started again a conversation about Medinskaya. + </p> + <p> + They were on their way back from the bay after an inspection of the + steamers, and seated in a big and commodious sledge, they were + enthusiastically discussing business matters in a friendly way. It was in + March. The water under the sledge-runners was bubbling, the snow was + already covered with a rather dirty fleece, and the sun shone warmly and + merrily in the clear sky. + </p> + <p> + “Will you go to your lady as soon as we arrive?” asked Mayakin, + unexpectedly, interrupting their business talk. + </p> + <p> + “I will,” said Foma, shortly, and with displeasure. + </p> + <p> + “Mm. Tell me, how often do you give her presents?” asked Mayakin, plainly + and somewhat intimately. + </p> + <p> + “What presents? What for?” Foma wondered. + </p> + <p> + “You make her no presents? You don’t say. Does she live with you then + merely so, for love’s sake?” + </p> + <p> + Foma boiled up with anger and shame, turned abruptly toward the old man + and said reproachfully: + </p> + <p> + “Eh! You are an old man, and yet you speak so that it is a shame to listen + to you! To say such a thing! Do you think she would come down to this?” + </p> + <p> + Mayakin smacked his lips and sang out in a mournful voice: + </p> + <p> + “What a blockhead you are! What a fool!” and suddenly grown angry, he spat + out: “Shame upon you! All sorts of brutes drank out of the pot, nothing + but the dregs remained, and now a fool has made a god unto himself of this + dirty pot. Devil! You just go up to her and tell her plainly: ‘I want to + be your lover. I am a young man, don’t charge me much for it.’” + </p> + <p> + “Godfather!” said Foma, sternly, in a threatening voice, “I cannot bear to + hear such words. If it were someone else.” + </p> + <p> + “But who except myself would caution you? Good God!” Mayakin cried out, + clasping his hands. “So she has led you by the nose all winter long! What + a nose! What a beast she is!” + </p> + <p> + The old man was agitated; in his voice rang vexation, anger, even tears + Foma had never before seen him in such a state, and looking at him, he was + involuntarily silent. + </p> + <p> + “She will ruin you! Oh Lord! The Babylonian prostitute!” + </p> + <p> + Mayakin’s eyes were blinking, his lips were trembling, and in rude, + cynical words he began to speak of Medinskaya, irritated, with a wrathful + jar in his voice. + </p> + <p> + Foma felt that the old man spoke the truth. He now began to breathe with + difficulty and he felt that his mouth had a dry, bitter taste. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, father, enough,” he begged softly and sadly, turning aside + from Mayakin. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you ought to get married as soon as possible!” exclaimed the old man + with alarm. + </p> + <p> + “For Christ’s sake, do not speak,” uttered Foma in a dull voice. + </p> + <p> + Mayakin glanced at his godson and became silent. Foma’s face looked drawn; + he grew pale, and there was a great deal of painful, bitter stupor in his + half-open lips and in his sad look. On the right and on the left of the + road a field stretched itself, covered here and there with patches of + winter-raiment. Rooks were hopping busily about over the black spots, + where the snow had melted. The water under the sledge-runners was + splashing, the muddy snow was kicked up by the hoofs of the horses. + </p> + <p> + “How foolish man is in his youth!” exclaimed Mayakin, in a low voice. Foma + did not look at him. + </p> + <p> + “Before him stands the stump of a tree, and yet he sees the snout of a + beast—that’s how he frightens himself. Oh, oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Speak more plainly,” said Foma, sternly. + </p> + <p> + “What is there to say? The thing is clear: girls are cream; women are + milk; women are near, girls are far. Consequently, go to Sonka, if you + cannot do without it, and tell her plainly. That’s how the matter stands. + Fool! If she is a sinner, you can get her more easily. Why are you so + angry, then? Why so bristled up?” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t understand,” said Foma, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “What is it I do not understand? I understand everything!” + </p> + <p> + “The heart. Man has a heart,” sighed the youth. + </p> + <p> + Mayakin winked his eyes and said: + </p> + <p> + “Then he has no mind.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + WHEN Foma arrived in the city he was seized with sad, revengeful anger. He + was burning with a passionate desire to insult Medinskaya, to abuse her. + His teeth firmly set together, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, he + walked for a few hours in succession about the deserted rooms of his + house, he sternly knitted his brow, and constantly threw his chest + forward. His breast was too narrow to hold his heart, which was filled + with wrath. He stamped the floor with heavy and measured steps, as though + he were forging his anger. + </p> + <p> + “The vile wretch—disguised herself as an angel!” Pelageya vividly + arose in his memory, and he whispered malignantly and bitterly: + </p> + <p> + “Though a fallen woman, she is better. She did not play the hypocrite. She + at once unfolded her soul and her body, and her heart is surely just as + her breast—white and sound.” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes Hope would whisper timidly in his ear: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps all that was said of her was a lie.” + </p> + <p> + But he recalled the eager certainty of his godfather, and the power of his + words, and this thought perished. He set his teeth more firmly together + and threw his chest still more forward. Evil thoughts like splinters of + wood stuck into his heart, and his heart was shattered by the acute pain + they caused. + </p> + <p> + By disparaging Medinskaya, Mayakin made her more accessible to his godson, + and Foma soon understood this. A few days passed, and Foma’s agitated + feelings became calm, absorbed by the spring business cares. The sorrow + for the loss of the individual deadened the spite he owed the woman, and + the thought of the woman’s accessibility increased his passion for her. + And somehow, without perceiving it himself, he suddenly understood and + resolved that he ought to go up to Sophya Pavlovna and tell her plainly, + openly, just what he wanted of her—that’s all! He even felt a + certain joy at this resolution, and he boldly started off to Medinskaya, + thinking on the way only how to tell her best all that was necessary. + </p> + <p> + The servants of Medinskaya were accustomed to his visits, and to his + question whether the lady was at home the maid replied: + </p> + <p> + “Please go into the drawing-room. She is there alone.” + </p> + <p> + He became somewhat frightened, but noticing in the mirror his stately + figure neatly clad with a frock-coat, and his swarthy, serious face in a + frame of a downy black beard, set with large dark eyes—he raised his + shoulders and confidently stepped forward through the parlour. Strange + sounds of a string instrument were calmly floating to meet him; they + seemed to burst into quiet, cheerless laughter, complaining of something, + tenderly stirring the heart, as though imploring it for attention and + having no hopes of getting it. Foma did not like to hear music—it + always filled him with sadness. Even when the “machine” in the tavern + played some sad tune, his heart filled with melancholy anguish, and he + would either ask them to stop the “machine” or would go away some little + distance feeling that he could not listen calmly to these tunes without + words, but full of lamentation and tears. And now he involuntarily stopped + short at the door of the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + A curtain of long strings of parti-coloured glass beads hung over the + door. The beads had been strung so as to form a fantastic figure of some + kind of plants; the strings were quietly shaking and it seemed that pale + shadows of flowers were soaring in the air. This transparent curtain did + not hide the inside of the drawing-room from Foma’s eyes. Seated on a + couch in her favourite corner, Medinskaya played the mandolin. A large + Japanese umbrella, fastened up to the wall, shaded the little woman in + black by its mixture of colours; the high bronze lamp under a red + lamp-shade cast on her the light of sunset. The mild sounds of the slender + strings were trembling sadly in the narrow room, which was filled with + soft and fragrant twilight. Now the woman lowered the mandolin on her + knees and began running her fingers over the strings, also to examine + fixedly something before her. Foma heaved a sigh. + </p> + <p> + A soft sound of music soared about Medinskaya, and her face was forever + changing as though shadows were falling on it, falling and melting away + under the flash of her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Foma looked at her and saw that when alone she was not quite so + good-looking as in the presence of people—now her face looked older, + more serious—her eyes had not the expression of kindness and + gentleness, they had a rather tired and weary look. And her pose, too, was + weary, as if the woman were about to stir but could not. Foma noticed that + the feeling which prompted him to come to her was now changing in his + heart into some other feeling. He scraped with his foot along the floor + and coughed. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that?” asked the woman, starting with alarm. And the strings + trembled, issuing an alarmed sound. + </p> + <p> + “It is I,” said Foma, pushing aside the strings of the beads. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! But how quietly you’ve entered. I am glad to see you. Be seated! Why + didn’t you come for such a long time?” + </p> + <p> + Holding out her hand to him, she pointed with the other at a small + armchair beside her, and her eyes were gaily smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I was out on the bay inspecting my steamers,” said Foma, with exaggerated + ease, moving his armchair nearer to the couch. + </p> + <p> + “Is there much snow yet on the fields?” + </p> + <p> + “As much as one may want. But it is already melting considerably. There is + water on the roads everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her and smiled. Evidently Medinskaya noticed the ease of his + behaviour and something new in his smile, for she adjusted her dress and + drew farther away from him. Their eyes met—and Medinskaya lowered + her head. + </p> + <p> + “Melting!” said she, thoughtfully, examining the ring on her little + finger. + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es, streams everywhere.” Foma informed her, admiring his boots. + </p> + <p> + “That’s good. Spring is coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Now it won’t be delayed long.” + </p> + <p> + “Spring is coming,” repeated Medinskaya, softly, as if listening to the + sounds of her words. + </p> + <p> + “People will start to fall in love,” said Foma, with a smile, and for some + reason or other firmly rubbed his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Are you preparing yourself?” asked Medinskaya, drily. + </p> + <p> + “I have no need for it. I have been ready long ago. I am already in love + for all my life.” + </p> + <p> + She cast a glance at him, and started to play again, looking at the + strings and saying pensively: + </p> + <p> + “Spring. How good it is that you are but beginning to live. The heart is + full of power, and there is nothing dark in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Sophya Pavlovna!” exclaimed Foma, softly. She interrupted him with a + caressing gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Wait, dearest! Today I can tell you something good. Do you know, a person + who has lived long has such moments that when he looks into his heart he + unexpectedly finds there something long forgotten. For years it lay + somewhere in the depth of his heart, but lost none of the fragrance of + youth, and when memory touches it, then spring comes over that person, + breathing upon him the vivifying freshness of the morning of his life. + This is good, though it is very sad.” + </p> + <p> + The strings trembled and wept under the touch of her fingers, and it + seemed to Foma that their sounds and the soft voice of the woman were + touching his heart gently and caressingly. But, still firm in his + decision, he listened to her words and, not knowing their meaning, + thought: + </p> + <p> + “You may speak! And I won’t believe anything you may say.” + </p> + <p> + This thought irritated him. And he felt sorry that he could not listen to + her words as attentively and trustfully as before. + </p> + <p> + “Are you thinking of how it is necessary to live?” asked the woman. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I think of it, and then I forget again. I have no time for it!” + said Foma and smiled. “And then, what is there to think of? It is simple. + You see how others live. Well, consequently, you must imitate them.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, don’t do this! Spare yourself. You are so good! There is something + peculiar in you; what—I do not know. But it can be felt. And it + seems to me, it will be very hard for you to get along in life. I am sure, + you will not go along the usual way of the people of your circle. No! You + cannot be pleased with a life which is wholly devoted to gain, to hunts + after the rouble, to this business of yours. Oh, no! I know, you will have + a desire for something else, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + She spoke quickly, with a look of alarm in her eyes. Looking at her, Foma + thought: + </p> + <p> + “What is she driving at?” + </p> + <p> + And he answered her slowly: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I will have a desire for something else. Perhaps I have it + already.” + </p> + <p> + Drawing up closer to him, she looked into his face and spoke convincingly: + </p> + <p> + “Listen! Do not live like all other people! Arrange your life somehow + differently. You are strong, young. You are good!” + </p> + <p> + “And if I am good then there must be good for me!” exclaimed Foma, feeling + that he was seized with agitation, and that his heart was beginning to + beat with anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but that is not the case! Here on earth it is worse for the good + people than for the bad ones!” said Medinskaya, sadly. + </p> + <p> + And again the trembling notes of music began to dance at the touch of her + fingers. Foma felt that if he did not start to say at once what was + necessary, he would tell her nothing later. + </p> + <p> + “God bless me!” he said to himself, and in a lowered voice, strengthening + his heart, began: + </p> + <p> + “Sophya Pavlovna! Enough! I have something to say. I have come to tell + you: ‘Enough!’ We must deal fairly, openly. At first you have attracted me + to yourself, and now you are fencing away from me. I cannot understand + what you say. My mind is dull, but I can feel that you wish to hide + yourself. I can see it—do you understand now what brought me here?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes began to flash and with each word his voice became warmer and + louder. She moved her body forward and said with alarm: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, cease.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I won’t, I will speak!” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you want to say.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know it all!” said Foma, threateningly, rising to his feet. + “But I know everything about you—everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? Then the better it is for me,” said Medinskaya, calmly. + </p> + <p> + She also arose from the couch, as though about to go away somewhere, but + after a few seconds she again seated herself on the couch. Her face was + serious, her lips were tightly compressed, but her eyes were lowered, and + Foma could not see their expression. He thought that when he told her, “I + know everything about you!” she would be frightened, she would feel + ashamed and confused, would ask his forgiveness for having made sport of + him. Then he would embrace her and forgive her. But that was not the case; + it was he who was confused by her calmness. He looked at her, searching + for words to resume his speech, but found them not. + </p> + <p> + “It is better,” she repeated firmly and drily. “So you have learned + everything, have you? And, of course, you’ve censured me, as I deserve. I + understand. I am guilty before you. But no, I cannot justify myself.” + </p> + <p> + She became silent and suddenly, lifting her hands with a nervous gesture, + clasped her head, and began to adjust her hair. + </p> + <p> + Foma heaved a deep sigh. Her words had killed in him a certain hope—a + hope, whose presence in his heart he only felt now that it was dead. And + shaking his head, he said, with bitter reproach: + </p> + <p> + “There was a time when I looked at you and thought, ‘How beautiful she is, + how good, the dove!’ And now you say yourself, ‘I am guilty.’ Ah!” + </p> + <p> + The voice of the youth broke down. And the woman began to laugh softly. + </p> + <p> + “How fine and how ridiculous you are, and what a pity that you cannot + understand all this!” + </p> + <p> + The youth looked at her, feeling himself disarmed by her caressing words + and melancholy smile. That cold, harsh something, which he had in his + heart against her, was now melting before the warm light of her eyes. The + woman now seemed to him small, defenseless, like a child. She was saying + something in a gentle voice as though imploring, and forever smiling, but + he paid no attention to her words. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve come to you,” said he, interrupting her words, “without pity. I + meant to tell you everything. And yet I said nothing. I don’t feel like + doing it. My heart sank. You are breathing upon me so strangely. Eh, I + should not have seen you! What are you to me? It would be better for me to + go away, it seems.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait, dearest, don’t go away!” said the woman, hastily, holding out her + hand to him. “Why so severe? Do not be angry at me! What am I to you? You + need a different friend, a woman just as simple-minded and sound-souled as + you are. She must be gay, healthy. I—I am already an old woman. I am + forever worrying. My life is so empty and so weary, so empty! Do you know, + when a person has grown accustomed to live merrily, and then cannot be + merry, he feels bad! He desires to live cheerfully, he desires to laugh, + yet he does not laugh—it is life that is laughing at him. And as to + men. Listen! Like a mother, I advise you, I beg and implore you—obey + no one except your own heart! Live in accordance with its promptings. Men + know nothing, they cannot tell you anything that is true. Do not heed + them.” + </p> + <p> + Trying to speak as plainly and intelligibly as possible, she was agitated, + and her words came incoherently hurriedly one after another. A pitiful + smile played on her lips all the time, and her face was not beautiful. + </p> + <p> + “Life is very strict. It wants all people to submit to its requests, and + only the very strong ones can resist it with impunity. It is yet + questionable whether they can do it! Oh, if you knew how hard it is to + live. Man goes so far that he begins to fear his own self. He is split + into judge and criminal—he judges his own self and seeks + justification before himself. And he is willing to pass days and nights + with those that despise him, and that are repulsive to him—just to + avoid being alone with himself.” + </p> + <p> + Foma lifted his head and said distrustfully, with surprise: + </p> + <p> + “I cannot understand what it is! Lubov also says the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Which Lubov? What does she say?” + </p> + <p> + “My foster-sister. She says the same,—she is forever complaining of + life. It is impossible to live, she says.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she is yet young! And it is a great happiness that she already speaks + of this.” + </p> + <p> + “Happiness!” Foma drawled out mockingly. “It must be a fine happiness that + makes people sigh and complain.” + </p> + <p> + “You’d better listen to complaints. There is always much wisdom in these + complaints of men. Oh! There is more wisdom in these complaints than + anywhere else. You listen to these,—they will teach you to find your + way.” + </p> + <p> + Foma heard the woman’s voice, which sounded convincing; and perplexed, + looked about him. Everything had long been familiar to him, but today it + looked somewhat new to him. A mass of trifles filled the room, all the + walls were covered with pictures and shelves, bright and beautiful objects + were staring from every corner. The reddish light of the lamp filled one + with melancholy. Twilight wrapped everything in the room, and only here + and there the gold of the frames, or the white spots of marble flashed + dimly. Heavy fabrics were motionlessly hanging before the doors. All this + embarrassed and almost choked Foma; he felt as though he had lost his way. + He was sorry for the woman. But she also irritated him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear how I speak to you? I wish I were your mother, or your + sister. Never before did anybody awaken in me so warm and kindred a + feeling as you have done. And you, you look at me in such an unfriendly + way. Do you believe me? Yes? No?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her and said with a sigh: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I used to believe you.” + </p> + <p> + “And now?” she asked hastily. + </p> + <p> + “And now—it is best for me to go! I don’t understand anything, and + yet I long to understand. I do not even understand myself. On my way to + you I knew what to say, and here all is confused. You have put me up on + the rack, you have set me on edge. And then you tell me—‘I am as a + mother to you’—which means—begone!” + </p> + <p> + “Understand me, I feel sorry for you!” the woman exclaimed softly. + </p> + <p> + Foma’s irritation against her was growing stronger and stronger, and as he + went on speaking to her, his words became absurd. While he spoke, he kept + on moving his shoulders as though tearing something that entangled him. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry? What for? I do not need it. Eh, I cannot speak well! It is bad to + be dumb. But—I would have told you! You did not treat me properly—indeed, + why have you so enticed a man? Am I a plaything for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I only wanted to see you by my side,” said the woman simply, in a guilty + voice. + </p> + <p> + He did not hear these words. + </p> + <p> + “And when it came to the point, you were frightened and you shut yourself + off from me. You began to repent. Ha, ha! Life is bad! And why are you + always complaining of some life? What life? Man is life, and except man + there is no life. You have invented some other monster. You have done this + to deceive the eye, to justify yourself. You do some mischief, you lose + yourself in different inventions and foolishnesses and then you sigh! Ah, + life! Oh, life! And have you not done it yourself? And covering yourself + with complaints, you confuse others. You have lost your way, very well, + but why do you want to lead me astray? Is it wickedness that speaks in + you: ‘I feel bad,’ you say, ‘let him also feel bad—there, I’ll + besprinkle his heart with my poisonous tears!’ Isn’t that so? Eh! God has + given you the beauty of an angel, but your heart—where is it?” + </p> + <p> + Standing before her, he trembled in every limb, and examined her from head + to foot with reproachful looks. Now his words came freely from his heart, + he spoke not loud, but with power and pleasure. Her head raised, the woman + stared into his face, with wide-open eyes. Her lips were trembling and + deep wrinkles appeared at the corners of her mouth. + </p> + <p> + “A beautiful person should lead a good life. While of you they say + things.” Foma’s voice broke down; he raised his hand and concluded in a + dull voice: + </p> + <p> + “Goodbye!” + </p> + <p> + “Goodbye!” said Medinskaya, softly. + </p> + <p> + He did not give her his hand, but, turning abruptly, he walked away from + her. But already at the door he felt that he was sorry for her, and he + glanced at her across his shoulder. There, in the corner, she stood alone, + her head bent, her hands hanging motionless. + </p> + <p> + Understanding that he could not leave her thus, he became confused, and + said softly, but without repenting: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I said something offensive—forgive me! For after all I love + you,” and he heaved a deep sigh. + </p> + <p> + The woman burst into soft, nervous laughter. + </p> + <p> + “No, you have not offended me. God speed you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then goodbye!” repeated Foma in a still lower voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the woman, also in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + Foma pushed aside the strings of beads with his hand; they swung back + noisily and touched his cheeks. He shuddered at this cold touch and went + out, carrying away a heavy, perplexed feeling in his breast, with his + heart beating as though a soft but strong net were cast over it. + </p> + <p> + It was night by this time; the moon was shining and the frost covered the + puddles with coatings of dull silver. Foma walked along the sidewalk, he + broke these with his cane, and they cracked mournfully. The shadows of the + houses fell on the road in black squares, and the shadows of the trees—in + wonderful patterns. And some of them looked like thin hands, helplessly + clutching the ground. + </p> + <p> + “What is she doing now?” thought Foma, picturing to himself the woman, + alone, in the corner of a narrow room, in the reddish half-light. + </p> + <p> + “It is best for me to forget her,” he decided. But he could not forget + her; she stood before him, provoking in him now intense pity, now + irritation and even anger. And her image was so clear, and the thoughts of + her were so painful, as though he was carrying this woman in his breast. A + cab was coming from the opposite side, filling the silence of the night + with the jarring of the wheels on the cobble-stones and with their + creaking on the ice. When the cab was passing across a moonlit strip, the + noise was louder and more brisk, and in the shadows it was heavier and + duller. The driver and the passenger in it were shaking and hopping about; + for some reason or other they both bent forward and together with the + horse formed one big, black mass. The street was speckled with spots of + light and shade, but in the distance the darkness seemed thick as though + the street were fenced off by a wall, rising from earth to the skies. + Somehow it occurred to Foma that these people did not know whither they + were going. And he, too, did not know whither he was going. His house rose + before his imagination—six big rooms, where he lived alone. Aunt + Anfisa had gone to the cloister, perhaps never to return—she might + die there. At home were Ivan, the old deaf dvornik, the old maid, + Sekleteya, his cook and servant, and a black, shaggy dog, with a snout as + blunt as that of a sheat-fish. And the dog, too, was old. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I really ought to get married,” thought Foma, with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + But the very thought of how easy it was for him to get married made him + ill at ease, and even ridiculous in his own eyes. It were but necessary to + ask his godfather tomorrow for a bride,—and before a month would + pass, a woman would live with him in his house. And she would be near him + day and night. He would say to her: “Let’s go for a walk!” and she would + go. He would tell her: “Let’s go to sleep!” and again she would go. Should + she desire to kiss him, she would kiss him, even though he did not like + it. And if he should tell her: “Go away, I don’t want it,” she would feel + offended. What would he speak to her about? What would she tell him? He + thought and pictured to himself young ladies of his acquaintance, + daughters of merchants. Some of them were very pretty, and he knew that + any one of them would marry him willingly. But he did not care to have any + of them as his wife. How awkward and shameful it must be when a girl + becomes a wife. And what does the newly-married couple say to each other + after the wedding, in the bedroom? Foma tried to think what he would say + in such a case, and confused, he began to laugh, finding no appropriate + words. Then he recalled Luba Mayakin. She would surely be first to say + something, uttering some unintelligible words, which were foreign to + herself. Somehow it seemed to him that all her words were foreign, and she + did not speak as was proper for a girl of her age, appearance and descent. + </p> + <p> + And here his thoughts rested on Lubov’s complaints. His gait became + slower; he was now astounded by the fact that all the people that were + near to him and with whom he talked a great deal, always spoke to him of + life. His father, his aunt, his godfather, Lubov, Sophya Pavlovna, all + these either taught him to understand life, or complained of it. He + recalled the words said by the old man on the steamer about Fate, and many + other remarks on life, reproaches and bitter complaints against it, which + he happened to hear from all sorts of people. + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean?” he thought, “what is life, if it is not man? And man + always speaks as if life were something else, something outside of man, + and that something hinders him from living. Perhaps it is the devil?” + </p> + <p> + A painful feeling of fear fell on the youth; he shuddered and hastily + looked around. The street was deserted and quiet; the dark windows of the + houses stared dimly into the dark of night, and along the walls and fences + Foma’s shadow followed him. + </p> + <p> + “Driver!” he cried out aloud, quickening his steps. The shadow started and + crawled after him, frightened, black, silent. It seemed to Foma that there + was a cold breath behind him, and that something huge, invisible, and + terrible was overtaking him. Frightened, he almost ran to meet the cab, + which appeared noisily from the darkness, and when he seated himself in + the cab, he dared not look back, though he wished to do so. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + ABOUT a week passed since Foma spoke to Medinskaya. And her image stood + fixedly before Foma by night and by day, awakening in his heart a gnawing + feeling of anxiety. He longed to go to her, and was so much afflicted over + her that even his bones were aching from the desire of his heart to be + near her again. But he was sternly silent; he frowned and did not care to + yield to this desire, industriously occupying himself with his affairs and + provoking in himself a feeling of anger against the woman. He felt that if + he went up to her, he would no longer find her to be the same as he had + left her; something must have changed within her after that conversation, + and she would no longer receive him as cordially as before, would not + smile at him the clear smile that used to awaken in him strange thoughts + and hopes. Fearing that all this was lost and that something else must + have taken its place, he restrained himself and suffered. + </p> + <p> + His work and his longing for the woman did not hinder him from thinking of + life. He did not philosophize about this enigma, which was already + stirring a feeling of alarm in his heart; he was not able to argue, but he + began to listen attentively to everything that men said of life, and he + tried to remember their words. They did not make anything clear to him; + nay, they increased his perplexity and prompted him to regard them + suspiciously. They were clever, cunning and sensible—he saw it; in + dealings with them it was always necessary to be on one’s guard; he knew + already that in important matters none of them spoke as they thought. And + watching them carefully, he felt that their sighs and their complaints of + life awakened in him distrust. Silently he looked at everybody with + suspicion, and a thin wrinkle masked his forehead. + </p> + <p> + One morning his godfather said to him on the Exchange: + </p> + <p> + “Anany has arrived. He would like to see you. Go up to him toward evening, + and see that you hold your tongue. Anany will try to loosen it in order to + make you talk on business matters. He is cunning, the old devil; he is a + holy fox; he’ll lift his eyes toward heaven, and meanwhile will put his + paw into your pocket and grab your purse. Be on your guard.” + </p> + <p> + “Do we owe him anything?” asked Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Of course! We haven’t paid yet for the barge, and then fifty five-fathom + beams were taken from him not long ago. If he wants everything at once—don’t + give. A rouble is a sticky thing; the longer it turns about in your hand, + the more copecks will stick to it. A rouble is like a good pigeon—it + goes up in the air, you turn around and see—it has brought a whole + flock with it into the pigeon-house.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can we help paying it now, if he demands it?” + </p> + <p> + “Let him cry and ask for it—and you roar—but don’t give it to + him.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go up there soon.” + </p> + <p> + Anany Savvich Shchurov was a rich lumber-dealer, had a big saw-mill, built + barges and ran rafts. He had had dealings with Ignat, and Foma had more + than once seen this tall, heavily-bearded, long-armed, white-haired old + man, who kept himself as erect as a pine-tree. His big, handsome figure, + his open face and his clear eyes called forth in Foma a feeling of respect + for Shchurov, although he heard it rumoured that this lumber-dealer had + gained his wealth not by honest toil and that he was leading an evil life + at home, in an obscure village of the forest district; and Ignat had told + Foma that when Shchurov was young and was but a poor peasant, he sheltered + a convict in the bath-house, in his garden, and that there the convict + made counterfeit money for him. Since that time Anany began to grow rich. + One day his bathhouse burned down, and in the ashes they discovered the + corpse of a man with a fractured skull. There was a rumour in the village + that Shchurov himself had killed his workman—killed and then burned + him. Such things had happened more than once with the good-looking old + man; but similar rumours were on foot with reference to many a rich man in + town—they had all, it was said, hoarded up their millions by way of + robberies, murders and, mainly, by passing counterfeit money. Foma had + heard such stories in his childhood and he never before considered whether + they were true or not. + </p> + <p> + He also knew that Shchurov had got rid of two wives—one of them died + during the first night of the wedding, in Anany’s embraces. Then he took + his son’s wife away from him, and his son took to drink for grief and + would have perished in drunkenness had he not come to himself in time and + gone off to save himself in a hermitage, in Irgiz. And when his + mistress-daughter-in-law had passed away, Shchurov took into his house a + dumb beggar-girl, who was living with him to this day, and who had + recently borne him a dead child. On his way to the hotel, where Anany + stayed, Foma involuntarily recalled all this, and felt that Shchurov had + become strangely interesting to him. + </p> + <p> + When Foma opened the door and stopped respectfully on the threshold of the + small room, whose only window overlooked the rusty roof of the + neighbouring house, he noticed that the old Shchurov had just risen from + sleep, and sitting on his bed, leaning his hands against it, he stared at + the ground; and he was so bent that his long, white beard fell over his + knees. But even bent, he was large. + </p> + <p> + “Who entered?” asked Anany in a hoarse and angry voice, without lifting + his head. + </p> + <p> + “I. How do you do, Anany Savvich?” + </p> + <p> + The old man raised his head slowly and, winking his large eyes, looked at + Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Ignat’s son, is that right?” + </p> + <p> + “The same.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, come over here, sit down by the window. Let me see how you’ve grown + up. Will you not have a glass of tea with me?” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Waiter!” cried the old man, expanding his chest, and, taking his beard in + his hand, he began to examine Foma in silence. Foma also looked at him + stealthily. + </p> + <p> + The old man’s lofty forehead was all covered with wrinkles, and its skin + was dark. Gray, curly locks covered his temples and his sharp-pointed + ears; his calm blue eyes lent the upper part of his face a wise and good + expression. But his cheeks and his lips were thick and red, and seemed out + of place on his face. His thin, long nose was turned downward as though it + wished to hide itself in his white moustache; the old man moved his lips, + and from beneath them small, yellow teeth were gleaming. He had on a pink + calico shirt, a silk belt around his waist, and black, loose trousers, + which were tucked into his boots. Foma stared at his lips and thought that + the old man was surely such as he was said to be. + </p> + <p> + “As a boy you looked more like your father,” said Shchurov suddenly, and + sighed. Then, after a moment’s silence, he asked: “Do you remember your + father? Do you ever pray for him? You must, you must pray!” he went on, + after he heard Foma’s brief answer. “Ignat was a terrible sinner, and he + died without repentance, taken unawares. He was a great sinner!” + </p> + <p> + “He was not more sinful than others,” replied Foma, angrily, offended in + his father’s behalf. + </p> + <p> + “Than who, for instance?” demanded Shchurov, strictly. + </p> + <p> + “Are there not plenty of sinners?” + </p> + <p> + “There is but one man on earth more sinful than was the late Ignat—and + that is that cursed heathen, your godfather Yashka,” ejaculated the old + man. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure of it?” inquired Foma, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I? Of course, I am!” said Shchurov, confidently, nodding his head, and + his eyes became somewhat darker. “I will also appear before the Lord, and + that not sinless. I shall bring with me a heavy burden before His holy + countenance. I have been pleasing the devil myself, only I trust to God + for His mercy, while Yashka believes in nothing, neither in dreams, nor in + the singing of birds. Yashka does not believe in God, this I know! And for + his non-belief he will yet receive his punishment on earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure of this, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am. And don’t you think I also know that you consider it ludicrous + to listen to me. What a sagacious fellow, indeed! But he who has committed + many sins is always wise. Sin is a teacher. That’s why Yashka Mayakin is + extraordinarily clever.” + </p> + <p> + Listening to the old man’s hoarse and confident voice, Foma thought: + </p> + <p> + “He is scenting death, it seems.” + </p> + <p> + The waiter, a small man, with a face which was pale and characterless, + brought in the samovar and quickly hastened out of the room, with short + steps. The old man was undoing some bundles on the window-sill and said, + without looking at Foma: + </p> + <p> + “You are bold, and the look of your eyes is dark. Before, there used to be + more light-eyed people, because then the souls used to be brighter. + Before, everything was simpler—both the people and the sins, and now + everything has become complicated. Eh, eh!” + </p> + <p> + He made tea, seated himself opposite Foma and went on again: + </p> + <p> + “Your father at your age was a water-pumper and stayed with the fleet near + our village. At your age Ignat was as clear to me as glass. At a single + glance you could tell what sort of a man he was. While you—here I am + looking at you, but cannot see what you are. Who are you? You don’t know + it yourself, my lad, and that’s why you’ll suffer. Everybody nowadays must + suffer, because they do not know themselves. Life is a mass of wind-fallen + trees, and you must know how to find your way through it. Where is it? All + are going astray, and the devil is delighted. Are you married?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” said Foma. + </p> + <p> + “There again, you are not married, and yet, I’m quite sure, you are not + pure any longer. Well, are you working hard in your business?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes. Meanwhile I am with my godfather.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of work is it you have nowadays?” said the old man, shaking his + head, and his eyes were constantly twinkling, now turning dark, now + brightening up again. “You have no labour now! In former years the + merchant travelled with horses on business. Even at night, in snowstorms, + he used to go! Murderers used to wait for him on the road and kill him. + And he died a martyr, washing his sins away with blood. Now they travel by + rail; they are sending telegrams, or they’ve even invented something that + a man may speak in his office and you can hear him five miles away. There + the devil surely has a hand in it! A man sits, without motion, and commits + sins merely because he feels lonesome, because he has nothing to do: the + machine does all his work. He has no work, and without toil man is ruined! + He has provided himself with machines and thinks it is good! While the + machine is the devil’s trap for you. He thus catches you in it. While + toiling, you find no time for sin, but having a machine—you have + freedom. Freedom kills a man, even as the sunbeams kill the worm, the + dweller of the depth of earth. Freedom kills man!” + </p> + <p> + And pronouncing his words distinctly and positively, the old Anany struck + the table four times with his finger. His face beamed triumphantly, his + chest rose high, and over it the silver hair of his beard shook + noiselessly. Dread fell on Foma as he looked at him and listened to his + words, for there was a ring of firm faith in them, and it was the power of + this faith that confused Foma. He had already forgotten all he knew about + the old man, all of which he had but a while ago believed to be true. + </p> + <p> + “Whoever gives freedom to his body, kills his soul!” said Anany, looking + at Foma so strangely as if he saw behind him somebody, who was grieved and + frightened by his words; and whose fear and pain delighted him. “All you + people of today will perish through freedom. The devil has captured you—he + has taken toil away from you, and slipped machines and telegrams into your + hands. How freedom eats into the souls of men! Just tell me, why are the + children worse than their fathers? Because of their freedom, yes. That’s + why they drink and lead depraved lives with women. They have less strength + because they have less work, and they have not the spirit of cheerfulness + because they have no worries. Cheerfulness comes in time of rest, while + nowadays no one is getting tired.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Foma, softly, “they were leading depraved lives and drinking + just as much in former days as now, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know it? You should keep silence!” cried Anany, flashing his eyes + sternly. “In former days man had more strength, and the sins were + according to his strength. While you, of today, have less strength, and + more sins, and your sins are more disgusting. Then men were like + oak-trees. And God’s judgment will also be in accordance with their + strength. Their bodies will be weighed, and angels will measure their + blood, and the angels of God will see that the weight of the sins does not + exceed the weight of the body and the blood. Do you understand? God will + not condemn the wolf for devouring a sheep, but if a miserable rat should + be guilty of the sheep’s death, God will condemn the rat!” + </p> + <p> + “How can a man tell how God will judge man?” asked Foma, thoughtfully. “A + visible trial is necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Why a visible trial?” + </p> + <p> + “That people might understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Who, but the Lord, is my judge?” + </p> + <p> + Foma glanced at the old man and lowering his head, became silent. He again + recalled the fugitive convict, who was killed and burnt by Shchurov, and + again he believed that it really was so. And the women—his wives and + his mistresses—had surely been hastened toward their graves by this + old man’s caresses; he had crushed them with his bony chest, drunk the sap + of their life with these thick lips of his which were scarlet yet from the + clotted blood of the women, who died in the embraces of his long sinewy + arms. And now, awaiting death, which was already somewhere beside him, he + counts his sins, judges others, and perhaps judges himself, and says: + </p> + <p> + “Who, but the Lord, is my judge?” + </p> + <p> + “Is he afraid or not?” Foma asked himself and became pensive, stealthily + scrutinising the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lad! Think,” spoke Shchurov, shaking his head, “think, how you + are to live. The capital in your heart is small, and your habits are + great, see that you are not reduced to bankruptcy before your own self! + Ho-ho-ho!” + </p> + <p> + “How can you tell what and how much I have within my heart?” said Foma, + gloomily, offended by his laughter. + </p> + <p> + “I can see it! I know everything, because I have lived long! Oh-ho-ho! How + long I have lived! Trees have grown up and been cut down, and houses built + out of them, and even the houses have grown old. While I have seen all + this and am still alive, and when, at times, I recall my life, I think, + ‘Is it possible that one man could accomplish so much? Is it possible that + I have witnessed all this?’” The old man glanced at Foma sternly, shook + his head and became silent. + </p> + <p> + It became quiet. Outside the window something was softly rustling on the + roof of the house; the rattle of wheels and the muffled sounds of + conversation were heard from below, from the street. The samovar on the + table sang a sad tune. Shchurov was fixedly staring into his glass of tea, + stroking his beard, and one could hear that something rattled in his + breast, as if some burden was turning about in it. + </p> + <p> + “It’s hard for you to live without your father, isn’t it?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “I am getting used to it,” replied Foma. + </p> + <p> + “You are rich, and when Yakov dies, you will be richer still. He’ll leave + everything to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t need it.” + </p> + <p> + “To whom else should he leave it? He has but one daughter, and you ought + to marry that daughter, and that she is your godsister and foster-sister—no + matter! That can be arranged—and then you would be married. What + good is there in the life you are now leading? I suppose you are forever + running about with the girls?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t say! Eh, eh, eh! the merchant is passing away. A certain + forester told me—I don’t know whether he lied or not—that in + former days the dogs were wolves, and then degenerated into dogs. It is + the same with our calling; we will soon also be dogs. We will take up + science, put stylish hats on our heads, we’ll do everything that is + necessary in order to lose our features, and there will be nothing by + which to distinguish us from other people. It has become a custom to make + Gymnasium students of all children. The merchants, the nobles, the + commoners—all are adjusted to match the same colour. They dress them + in gray and teach them all the same subjects. They grow man even as they + grow a tree. Why do they do it? No one knows. Even a log could be told + from another by its knot at least, while here they want to plane the + people over so that all of them should look alike. The coffin is already + waiting for us old people. Ye-es! It may be that about fifty years hence, + no one will believe that I lived in this world. I, Anany, the son of + Savva, by the surname of Shchurov. So! And that I, Anany, feared no one, + save God. And that in my youth I was a peasant, that all the land I + possessed then was two desyatins and a quarter; while toward my old age I + have hoarded up eleven thousand desyatins, all forests, and perhaps two + millions in cash.” + </p> + <p> + “There, they always speak of money!” said Foma, with dissatisfaction. + “What joy does man derive from money?” “Mm,” bellowed Shchurov. “You will + make a poor merchant, if you do not understand the power of money.” + </p> + <p> + “Who does understand it?” asked Foma. + </p> + <p> + “I!” said Shchurov, with confidence. “And every clever man. Yashka + understands it. Money? That is a great deal, my lad! Just spread it out + before you and think, ‘What does it contain?’ Then will you know that all + this is human strength, human mind. Thousands of people have put their + life into your money and thousands more will do it. And you can throw it + all into the fire and see how the money is burning, and at that moment you + will consider yourself master.” + </p> + <p> + “But nobody does this.” + </p> + <p> + “Because fools have no money. Money is invested in business. Business + gives bread to the masses. And you are master over all those masses. + Wherefore did God create man? That man should pray to Him. He was alone + and He felt lonesome, so He began to desire power, and as man was created + in the image of the Lord, man also desires power. And what, save money, + can give power? That’s the way. Well, and you—have you brought me + money?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Foma. From the words of the old man Foma’s head was heavy + and troubled, and he was glad that the conversation had, at last, turned + to business matters. + </p> + <p> + “That isn’t right,” said Shchurov, sternly knitting his brow. “It is + overdue—you must pay. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll get a half of it tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Why a half? Why not all?” + </p> + <p> + “We are badly in need of money now.” + </p> + <p> + “And haven’t you any? But I also need it.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, my lad, I will not wait! You are not your father. Youngsters like + you, milksops, are an unreliable lot. In a month you may break up the + whole business. And I would be the loser for it. You give me all the money + tomorrow, or I’ll protest the notes. It wouldn’t take me long to do it!” + </p> + <p> + Foma looked at Shchurov, with astonishment. It was not at all that same + old man, who but a moment ago spoke so sagaciously about the devil. Then + his face and his eyes seemed different, and now he looked fierce, his lips + smiled pitilessly, and the veins on his cheeks, near his nostrils, were + eagerly trembling. Foma saw that if he did not pay him at once, Shchurov + would indeed not spare him and would dishonour the firm by protesting the + notes. + </p> + <p> + “Evidently business is poor?” grinned Shchurov. “Well, tell the truth—where + have you squandered your father’s money?” + </p> + <p> + Foma wanted to test the old man: + </p> + <p> + “Business is none too brisk,” said he, with a frown. “We have no + contracts. We have received no earnest money, and so it is rather hard.” + </p> + <p> + “So-o! Shall I help you out?” + </p> + <p> + “Be so kind. Postpone the day of payment,” begged Foma, modestly lowering + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Mm. Shall I assist you out of my friendship for your father? Well, be it + so, I’ll do it.” + </p> + <p> + “And for how long will you postpone it?” inquired Foma. + </p> + <p> + “For six months.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you humbly.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t mention it. You owe me eleven thousand six hundred roubles. Now + listen: rewrite the notes for the amount of fifteen thousand, pay me the + interest on this sum in advance. And as security I’ll take a mortgage on + your two barges.” + </p> + <p> + Foma rose from the chair and said, with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “Send me the notes tomorrow. I’ll pay you in full.” + </p> + <p> + Shchurov also rose from his chair and, without lowering his eyes at Foma’s + sarcastic look, said, calmly scratching his chest: + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for your kindness.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s nothing! You don’t give me a chance, or I would have shown you my + kindness!” said the old man lazily, showing his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! If one should fall into your hands—” + </p> + <p> + “He’d find it warm—” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you’d make it warm for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my lad, that will do!” said Shchurov, sternly. “Though you consider + yourself quite clever, it is rather too soon. You’ve gained nothing, and + already you began to boast! But you just win from me—then you may + shout for joy. Goodbye. Have all the money for tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let that trouble you. Goodbye!” + </p> + <p> + “God be with you!” + </p> + <p> + When Foma came out of the room he heard that the old man gave a slow, loud + yawn, and then began to hum in a rather hoarse bass: + </p> + <p> + “Open for us the doors of mercy. Oh blessed Virgin Mary!” + </p> + <p> + Foma carried away with him from the old man a double feeling. Shchurov + pleased him and at the same time was repulsive to him. + </p> + <p> + He recalled the old man’s words about sin, thought of the power of his + faith in the mercy of the Lord, and the old man aroused in Foma a feeling + akin to respect. + </p> + <p> + “He, too, speaks of life; he knows his sins; but does not weep over them, + does not complain of them. He has sinned—and he is willing to stand + the consequences. Yes. And she?” He recalled Medinskaya, and his heart + contracted with pain. + </p> + <p> + “And she is repenting. It is hard to tell whether she does it purposely, + in order to hide from justice, or whether her heart is really aching. + ‘Who, but the Lord,’ says he, ‘is to judge me?’ That’s how it is.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Foma that he envied Anany, and the youth hastened to recall + Shchurov’s attempts to swindle him. This called forth in him an aversion + for the old man He could not reconcile his feelings and, perplexed, he + smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have just been at Shchurov’s,” he said, coming to Mayakin and + seating himself by the table. + </p> + <p> + Mayakin, in a greasy morning-gown, a counting-board in his hand, began to + move about in his leather-covered arm-chair impatiently, and said with + animation: + </p> + <p> + “Pour out some tea for him, Lubava! Tell me, Foma, I must be in the City + Council at nine o’clock; tell me all about it, make haste!” + </p> + <p> + Smiling, Foma related to him how Shchurov suggested to rewrite the notes. + </p> + <p> + “Eh!” exclaimed Yakov Tarasovich regretfully, with a shake of the head. + “You’ve spoilt the whole mass for me, dear! How could you be so + straightforward in your dealings with the man? Psha! The devil drove me to + send you there! I should have gone myself. I would have turned him around + my finger!” + </p> + <p> + “Hardly! He says, ‘I am an oak.’” + </p> + <p> + “An oak? And I am a saw. An oak! An oak is a good tree, but its fruits are + good for swine only. So it comes out that an oak is simply a blockhead.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s all the same, we have to pay, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Clever people are in no hurry about this; while you are ready to run as + fast as you can to pay the money. What a merchant you are!” + </p> + <p> + Yakov Tarasovich was positively dissatisfied with his godson. He frowned + and in an angry manner ordered his daughter, who was silently pouring out + tea: + </p> + <p> + “Push the sugar nearer to me. Don’t you see that I can’t reach it?” + </p> + <p> + Lubov’s face was pale, her eyes seemed troubled, and her hands moved + lazily and awkwardly. Foma looked at her and thought: + </p> + <p> + “How meek she is in the presence of her father.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he speak to you about?” asked Mayakin. + </p> + <p> + “About sins.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, of course! His own affair is dearest to each and every man. And he + is a manufacturer of sins. Both in the galleys and in hell they have long + been weeping and longing for him, waiting for him impatiently.” + </p> + <p> + “He speaks with weight,” said Foma, thoughtfully, stirring his tea. + </p> + <p> + “Did he abuse me?” inquired Mayakin, with a malicious grimace. + </p> + <p> + “Somewhat.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I listened.” + </p> + <p> + “Mm! And what did you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “‘The strong,’ he says, ‘will be forgiven; but there is no forgiveness for + the weak.’” + </p> + <p> + “Just think of it! What wisdom! Even the fleas know that.” + </p> + <p> + For some reason or another, the contempt with which Mayakin regarded + Shchurov, irritated Foma, and, looking into the old man’s face, he said + with a grin: + </p> + <p> + “But he doesn’t like you.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody likes me, my dear,” said Mayakin, proudly. “There is no reason why + they should like me. I am no girl. But they respect me. And they respect + only those they fear.” And the old man winked at his godson boastfully. + </p> + <p> + “He speaks with weight,” repeated Foma. “He is complaining. ‘The real + merchant,’ says he, ‘is passing away. All people are taught the same + thing,’ he says: ‘so that all may be equal, looking alike.”’ + </p> + <p> + “Does he consider it wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Evidently so.” + </p> + <p> + “Fo-o-o-l!” Mayakin drawled out, with contempt. + </p> + <p> + “Why? Is it good?” asked Foma, looking at his godfather suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “We do not know what is good; but we can see what is wise. When we see + that all sorts of people are driven together in one place and are all + inspired there with one and the same idea—then must we acknowledge + that it is wise. Because—what is a man in the empire? Nothing more + than a simple brick, and all bricks must be of the same size. Do you + understand? And those people that are of equal height and weight—I + can place in any position I like.” + </p> + <p> + “And whom does it please to be a brick?” said Foma, morosely. + </p> + <p> + “It is not a question of pleasing, it is a matter of fact. If you are made + of hard material, they cannot plane you. It is not everybody’s phiz that + you can rub off. But some people, when beaten with a hammer, turn into + gold. And if the head happens to crack—what can you do? It merely + shows it was weak.” + </p> + <p> + “He also spoke about toil. ‘Everything,’ he says, ‘is done by machinery, + and thus are men spoiled.”’ + </p> + <p> + “He is out of his wits!” Mayakin waved his hand disdainfully. “I am + surprised, what an appetite you have for all sorts of nonsense! What does + it come from?” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that true, either?” asked Foma, breaking into stern laughter. + </p> + <p> + “What true thing can he know? A machine! The old blockhead should have + thought—‘what is the machine made of?’ Of iron! Consequently, it + need not be pitied; it is wound up—and it forges roubles for you. + Without any words, without trouble, you set it into motion and it + revolves. While a man, he is uneasy and wretched; he is often very + wretched. He wails, grieves, weeps, begs. Sometimes he gets drunk. Ah, how + much there is in him that is superfluous to me! While a machine is like an + arshin (yardstick), it contains exactly so much as the work required. + Well, I am going to dress. It is time.” + </p> + <p> + He rose and went away, loudly scraping with his slippers along the floor. + Foma glanced after him and said softly, with a frown: + </p> + <p> + “The devil himself could not see through all this. One says this, the + other, that.” + </p> + <p> + “It is precisely the same with books,” said Lubov in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + Foma looked at her, smiling good-naturedly. And she answered him with a + vague smile. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes looked fatigued and sad. + </p> + <p> + “You still keep on reading?” asked Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the girl answered sadly. + </p> + <p> + “And are you still lonesome?” + </p> + <p> + “I feel disgusted, because I am alone. There’s no one here to say a word + to.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s bad.” + </p> + <p> + She said nothing to this, but, lowering her head, she slowly began to + finger the fringes of the towel. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to get married,” said Foma, feeling that he pitied her. + </p> + <p> + “Leave me alone, please,” answered Lubov, wrinkling her forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Why leave you alone? You will get married, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + “There!” exclaimed the girl softly, with a sigh. “That’s just what I am + thinking of—it is necessary. That is, I’ll have to get married. But + how? Do you know, I feel now as though a mist stood between other people + and myself—a thick, thick mist!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s from your books,” Foma interposed confidently. + </p> + <p> + “Wait! And I cease to understand what is going on about me. Nothing + pleases me. Everything has become strange to me. Nothing is as it should + be. Everything is wrong. I see it. I understand it, yet I cannot say that + it is wrong, and why it is so.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not so, not so,” muttered Foma. “That’s from your books. Yes. + Although I also feel that it’s wrong. Perhaps that is because we are so + young and foolish.” + </p> + <p> + “At first it seemed to me,” said Lubov, not listening to him, “that + everything in the books was clear to me. But now—” + </p> + <p> + “Drop your books,” suggested Foma, with contempt. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, don’t say that! How can I drop them? You know how many different + ideas there are in the world! O Lord! They’re such ideas that set your + head afire. According to a certain book everything that exists on earth is + rational.” + </p> + <p> + “Everything?” asked Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Everything! While another book says the contrary is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait! Now isn’t this nonsense?” + </p> + <p> + “What were you discussing?” asked Mayakin, appearing at the door, in a + long frock-coat and with several medals on his collar and his breast. + </p> + <p> + “Just so,” said Lubov, morosely. + </p> + <p> + “We spoke about books,” added Foma. + </p> + <p> + “What kind of books?” + </p> + <p> + “The books she is reading. She read that everything on earth is rational.” + </p> + <p> + “Really!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and I say it is a lie!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Yakov Tarasovich became thoughtful, he pinched his beard and winked + his eyes a little. + </p> + <p> + “What kind of a book is it?” he asked his daughter, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “A little yellow-covered book,” said Lubov, unwillingly. + </p> + <p> + “Just put that book on my table. That is said not without reflection—everything + on earth is rational! See someone thought of it. Yes. It is even very + cleverly expressed. And were it not for the fools, it might have been + perfectly correct. But as fools are always in the wrong place, it cannot + be said that everything on earth is rational. And yet, I’ll look at the + book. Maybe there is common sense in it. Goodbye, Foma! Will you stay + here, or do you want to drive with me?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll stay here a little longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + Lubov and Foma again remained alone. + </p> + <p> + “What a man your father is,” said Foma, nodding his head toward the + direction of his godfather. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what kind of a man do you think he is?” + </p> + <p> + “He retorts every call, and wants to cover everything with his words.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is clever. And yet he does not understand how painful my life + is,” said Lubov, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I understand it. You imagine too much.” + </p> + <p> + “What do I imagine?” cried the girl, irritated. + </p> + <p> + “Why, all these are not your own ideas. They are someone else’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Someone else’s. Someone else’s.” + </p> + <p> + She felt like saying something harsh; but broke down and became silent. + Foma looked at her and, setting Medinskaya by her side, thought sadly: + </p> + <p> + “How different everything is—both men and women—and you never + feel alike.” + </p> + <p> + They sat opposite each other; both were lost in thought, and neither one + looked at the other. It was getting dark outside, and in the room it was + quite dark already. The wind was shaking the linden-trees, and their + branches seemed to clutch at the walls of the house, as though they felt + cold and implored for shelter in the rooms. + </p> + <p> + “Luba!” said Foma, softly. + </p> + <p> + She raised her head and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, I have quarrelled with Medinskaya.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Luba, brightening up. + </p> + <p> + “So. It came about that she offended me. Yes, she offended me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s good that you’ve quarrelled with her,” said the girl, + approvingly, “for she would have turned your head. She is a vile creature; + she is a coquette, even worse than that. Oh, what things I know about + her!” + </p> + <p> + “She’s not at all a vile creature,” said Foma, morosely. “And you don’t + know anything about her. You are all lying!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg your pardon!” + </p> + <p> + “No. See here, Luba,” said Foma, softly, in a beseeching tone, “don’t + speak ill of her in my presence. It isn’t necessary. I know everything. By + God! She told me everything herself.” + </p> + <p> + “Herself!” exclaimed Luba, in astonishment. “What a strange woman she is! + What did she tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “That she is guilty,” Foma ejaculated with difficulty, with a wry smile. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” There was a ring of disappointment in the girl’s question; + Foma heard it and asked hopefully: + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that enough?” + </p> + <p> + “What will you do now?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just what I am thinking about.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you love her very much?” + </p> + <p> + Foma was silent. He looked into the window and answered confusedly: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. But it seems to me that now I love her more than before.” + </p> + <p> + “Than before the quarrel?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder how one can love such a woman!” said the girl, shrugging her + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Love such a woman? Of course! Why not?” exclaimed Foma. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t understand it. I think, you have become attached to her just + because you have not met a better woman.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I have not met a better one!” Foma assented, and after a moment’s + silence said shyly, “Perhaps there is none better.” + </p> + <p> + “Among our people,” Lubov interposed. + </p> + <p> + “I need her very badly! Because, you see, I feel ashamed before her.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, in general, I fear her; that is, I would not want her to think ill of + me, as of others. Sometimes I feel disgusted. I think—wouldn’t it be + a great idea to go out on such a spree that all my veins would start + tingling. And then I recall her and I do not venture. And so everything + else, I think of her, ‘What if she finds it out?’ and I am afraid to do + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the girl drawled out thoughtfully, “that shows that you love her. I + would also be like this. If I loved, I would think of him—of what he + might say...” + </p> + <p> + “And everything about her is so peculiar,” Foma related softly. “She + speaks in a way all her own. And, God! How beautiful she is! And then she + is so small, like a child.” + </p> + <p> + “And what took place between you?” asked Lubov. + </p> + <p> + Foma moved his chair closer to her, and stooping, he lowered his voice for + some reason or other, and began to relate to her all that had taken place + between him and Medinskaya. He spoke, and as he recalled the words he said + to Medinskaya, the sentiments that called forth the words were also + awakened in him. + </p> + <p> + “I told her, ‘Oh, you! why did you make sport of me?’” he said angrily and + with reproach. + </p> + <p> + And Luba, her cheeks aflame with animation, spurred him on, nodding her + head approvingly: + </p> + <p> + “That’s it! That’s good! Well, and she?” + </p> + <p> + “She was silent!” said Foma, sadly, with a shrug of the shoulders. “That + is, she said different things; but what’s the use?” + </p> + <p> + He waved his hand and became silent. Luba, playing with her braid, was + also silent. The samovar had already become cold. And the dimness in the + room was growing thicker and thicker, outside the window it was heavy with + darkness, and the black branches of the linden-trees were shaking + pensively. + </p> + <p> + “You might light the lamp,” Foma went on. + </p> + <p> + “How unhappy we both are,” said Luba, with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + Foma did not like this. + </p> + <p> + “I am not unhappy,” he objected in a firm voice. “I am simply—not + yet accustomed to life.” + </p> + <p> + “He who knows not what he is going to do tomorrow, is unhappy,” said Luba, + sadly. “I do not know it, neither do you. Whither go? Yet go we must, Why + is it that my heart is never at ease? Some kind of a longing is always + quivering within it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the same with me,” said Foma. “I start to reflect, but on what? I + cannot make it clear to myself. There is also a painful gnawing in my + heart. Eh! But I must go up to the club.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t go away,” Luba entreated. + </p> + <p> + “I must. Somebody is waiting there for me. I am going. Goodbye!” + </p> + <p> + “Till we meet again!” She held out her hand to him and sadly looked into + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Will you go to sleep now?” asked Foma, firmly shaking her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll read a little.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re to your books as the drunkard to his whisky,” said the youth, with + pity. + </p> + <p> + “What is there that is better?” + </p> + <p> + Walking along the street he looked at the windows of the house and in one + of them he noticed Luba’s face. It was just as vague as everything that + the girl told him, even as vague as her longings. Foma nodded his head + toward her and with a consciousness of his superiority over her, thought: + </p> + <p> + “She has also lost her way, like the other one.” + </p> + <p> + At this recollection he shook his head, as though he wanted to frighten + away the thought of Medinskaya, and quickened his steps. + </p> + <p> + Night was coming on, and the air was fresh. A cold, invigorating wind was + violently raging in the street, driving the dust along the sidewalks and + throwing it into the faces of the passers-by. It was dark, and people were + hastily striding along in the darkness. Foma wrinkled his face, for the + dust filled his eyes, and thought: + </p> + <p> + “If it is a woman I meet now—then it will mean that Sophya Pavlovna + will receive me in a friendly way, as before. I am going to see her + tomorrow. And if it is a man—I won’t go tomorrow, I’ll wait.” + </p> + <p> + But it was a dog that came to meet him, and this irritated Foma to such an + extent that he felt like striking him with his cane. + </p> + <p> + In the refreshment-room of the club, Foma was met by the jovial + Ookhtishchev. He stood at the door, and chatted with a certain stout, + whiskered man; but, noticing Gordyeeff, he came forward to meet him, + saying, with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, modest millionaire!” Foma rather liked him for his jolly + mood, and was always pleased to meet him. + </p> + <p> + Firmly and kind-heartedly shaking Ookhtishchev’s hand, Foma asked him: + </p> + <p> + “And what makes you think that I am modest?” + </p> + <p> + “What a question! A man, who lives like a hermit, who neither drinks, nor + plays, nor likes any women. By the way, do you know, Foma Ignatyevich, + that peerless patroness of ours is going abroad tomorrow for the whole + summer?” + </p> + <p> + “Sophya Pavlovna?” asked Foma, slowly. “Of course! The sun of my life is + setting. And, perhaps, of yours as well?” + </p> + <p> + Ookhtishchev made a comical, sly grimace and looked into Foma’s face. + </p> + <p> + And Foma stood before him, feeling that his head was lowering on his + breast, and that he was unable to hinder it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the radiant Aurora.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Medinskaya going away?” a deep bass voice asked. “That’s fine! I am + glad.” + </p> + <p> + “May I know why?” exclaimed Ookhtishchev. Foma smiled sheepishly and + stared in confusion at the whiskered man, Ookhtishchev’s interlocutor. + </p> + <p> + That man was stroking his moustache with an air of importance, and deep, + heavy, repulsive words fell from his lips on Foma’s ears. + </p> + <p> + “Because, you see, there will be one co-cot-te less in town.” + </p> + <p> + “Shame, Martin Nikitich!” said Ookhtishchev, reproachfully, knitting his + brow. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that she is a coquette?” asked Foma, sternly, coming + closer to the whiskered man. The man measured him with a scornful look, + turned aside and moving his thigh, drawled out: + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t say—coquette.” + </p> + <p> + “Martin Nikitich, you mustn’t speak that way about a woman who—” + began Ookhtishchev in a convincing tone, but Foma interrupted him: + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, just a moment! I wish to ask the gentleman, what is the + meaning of the word he said?” + </p> + <p> + And as he articulated this firmly and calmly, Foma thrust his hands deep + into his trousers-pockets, threw his chest forward, which at once gave his + figure an attitude of defiance. The whiskered gentleman again eyed Foma + with a sarcastic smile. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen!” exclaimed Ookhtishchev, softly. + </p> + <p> + “I said, co-cot-te,” pronounced the whiskered man, moving his lips as if + he tasted the word. “And if you don’t understand it, I can explain it to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better explain it,” said Foma, with a deep sigh, not lifting his + eyes off the man. + </p> + <p> + Ookhtishchev clasped his hands and rushed aside. + </p> + <p> + “A cocotte, if you want to know it, is a prostitute,” said the whiskered + man in a low voice, moving his big, fat face closer to Foma. + </p> + <p> + Foma gave a soft growl and, before the whiskered man had time to move + away, he clutched with his right hand his curly, grayish hair. With a + convulsive movement of the hand, Foma began to shake the man’s head and + his big, solid body; lifting up his left hand, he spoke in a dull voice, + keeping time to the punishment: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t abuse a person—in his absence. Abuse him—right in his + face—straight in his eyes.” + </p> + <p> + He experienced a burning delight, seeing how comically the stout arms were + swinging in the air, and how the legs of the man, whom he was shaking, + were bending under him, scraping against the floor. His gold watch fell + out of the pocket and dangled on the chain, over his round paunch. + Intoxicated with his own strength and with the degradation of the sedate + man, filled with the burning feeling of malignancy, trembling with the + happiness of revenge, Foma dragged him along the floor and in a dull + voice, growled wickedly, in wild joy. In these moments he experienced a + great feeling—the feeling of emancipation from the wearisome burden + which had long oppressed his heart with grief and morbidness. He felt that + he was seized by the waist and shoulders from behind, that someone seized + his hand and bent it, trying to break it; that someone was crushing his + toes; but he saw nothing, following with his bloodshot eyes the dark, + heavy mass moaning and wriggling in his hand. Finally, they tore him away + and downed him, and, as through a reddish mist, he noticed before him on + the floor, at his feet, the man he had thrashed. Dishevelled, he was + moving his legs over the floor, attempting to rise; two dark men were + holding him by the arms, his hands were dangling in the air like broken + wings, and, in a voice that was choking with sobs, he cried to Foma: + </p> + <p> + “You mustn’t beat me! You mustn’t! I have an... + </p> + <p> + “Order. You rascal! Oh, rascal! I have children. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody knows me! Scoundrel! Savage, O—O—O! You may expect + a duel!” + </p> + <p> + And Ookhtishchev spoke loudly in Foma’s ear: + </p> + <p> + “Come, my dear boy, for God’s sake!” + </p> + <p> + “Wait, I’ll give him a kick in the face,” begged Foma. But he was dragged + off. There was a buzzing in his ears, his heart beat fast, but he felt + relieved and well. At the entrance of the club he heaved a deep sigh of + relief and said to Ookhtishchev, with a good-natured smile: + </p> + <p> + “I gave him a sound drubbing, didn’t I?” + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” exclaimed the gay secretary, indignantly. “You must pardon me + but that was the act of a savage! The devil take it. I never witnessed + such a thing before!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear man!” said Foma, friendly, “did he not deserve the drubbing? Is + he not a scoundrel? How can he speak like that behind a person’s back? No! + Let him go to her and tell it plainly to her alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me. The devil take you! But it wasn’t for her alone that you gave + him the drubbing?” + </p> + <p> + “That is, what do you mea,—not for her alone? For whom then?” asked + Foma, amazed. + </p> + <p> + “For whom? I don’t know. Evidently you had old accounts to settle! Oh + Lord! That was a scene! I shall not forget it in all my life!” + </p> + <p> + “He—that man—who is he?” asked Foma, and suddenly burst out + laughing. “How he roared, the fool!” + </p> + <p> + Ookhtishchev looked fixedly into his face and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, is it true, that you don’t know whom you’ve thrashed? And is it + really only for Sophya Pavlovna?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, by God!” avowed Foma. + </p> + <p> + “So, the devil knows what the result may be!” He stopped short, shrugged + his shoulders perplexedly, waved his hand, and again began to pace the + sidewalk, looking at Foma askance. “You’ll pay for this, Foma + Ignatyevich.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he take me to court?” + </p> + <p> + “Would to God he does. He is the Vice-Governor’s son-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” said Foma, slowly, and made a long face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. To tell the truth, he is a scoundrel and a rascal. According to this + fact I must admit, that he deserves a drubbing. But taking into + consideration the fact that the lady you defended is also—” + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” said Foma, firmly, placing his hand on Ookhtishchev’s shoulder, “I + have always liked you, and you are now walking with me. I understand it + and can appreciate it. But do not speak ill of her in my presence. + Whatever she may be in your opinion, in my opinion, she is dear to me. To + me she is the best woman. So I am telling you frankly. Since you are going + with me, do not touch her. I consider her good, therefore she is good.” + </p> + <p> + There was great emotion in Foma’s voice. Ookhtishchev looked at him and + said thoughtfully: + </p> + <p> + “You are a queer man, I must confess.” + </p> + <p> + “I am a simple man—a savage. I have given him a thrashing and now I + feel jolly, and as to the result, let come what will.’ + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid that it will result in something bad. Do you know—to be + frank, in return for your frankness—I also like you, although—Mm! + It is rather dangerous to be with you. Such a knightly temper may come + over you and one may get a thrashing at your hands.” + </p> + <p> + “How so? This was but the first time. I am not going to beat people every + day, am I?” said Foma, confused. His companion began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “What a monster you are! Listen to me—it is savage to fight—you + must excuse me, but it is abominable. Yet, I must tell you, in this case + you made a happy selection. You have thrashed a rake, a cynic, a parasite—a + man who robbed his nephews with impunity.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, thank God for that!” said Foma with satisfaction. “Now I have + punished him a little.” + </p> + <p> + “A little? Very well, let us suppose it was a little. But listen to me, my + child, permit me to give you advice. I am a man of the law. He, that + Kayazev, is a rascal! True! But you must not thrash even a rascal, for he + is a social being, under the paternal custody of the law. You cannot touch + him until he transgresses the limits of the penal code. But even then, not + you, but we, the judges, will give him his due. While you must have + patience.” + </p> + <p> + “And will he soon fall into your hands?” inquired Foma, naively. + </p> + <p> + “It is hard to tell. Being far from stupid, he will probably never be + caught, and to the end of his days he will live with you and me in the + same degree of equality before the law. Oh God, what I am telling you!” + said Ookhtishchev, with a comical sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Betraying secrets?” grinned Foma. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t secrets; but I ought not to be frivolous. De-e-evil! But then, + this affair enlivened me. Indeed, Nemesis is even then true to herself + when she simply kicks like a horse.” + </p> + <p> + Foma stopped suddenly, as though he had met an obstacle on his way. + </p> + <p> + “Nemesis—the goddess of Justice,” babbled Ookhtishchev. “What’s the + matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + “And it all came about,” said Foma, slowly, in a dull voice, “because you + said that she was going away.” + </p> + <p> + “Who? + </p> + <p> + “Sophya Pavlovna.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she is going away. Well?” + </p> + <p> + He stood opposite Foma and stared at him, with a smile in his eyes. + Gordyeeff was silent, with lowered head, tapping the stone of the sidewalk + with his cane. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Ookhtishchev. + </p> + <p> + Foma started, saying indifferently: + </p> + <p> + “Well, let her go. And I am alone.” Ookhtishchev, waving his cane, began + to whistle, looking at his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Sha’n’t I be able to get along without her?” asked Foma, looking + somewhere in front of him and then, after a pause, he answered himself + softly and irresolutely: + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I shall.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me!” exclaimed Ookhtishchev. “I’ll give you some good advice. A + man must be himself. While you, you are an epic man, so to say, and the + lyrical is not becoming to you. It isn’t your genre.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak to me more simply, sir,” said Foma, having listened attentively to + his words. + </p> + <p> + “More simply? Very well. I want to say, give up thinking of this little + lady. She is poisonous food for you.” + </p> + <p> + “She told me the same,” put in Foma, gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “She told you?” Ookhtishchev asked and became thoughtful. “Now, I’ll tell + you, shouldn’t we perhaps go and have supper?” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go,” Foma assented. And he suddenly roared obdurately, clinching + his fists and waving them in the air: “Well, let us go, and I’ll get wound + up; I’ll break loose, after all this, so you can’t hold me back!” + </p> + <p> + “What for? We’ll do it modestly.” + </p> + <p> + “No! wait!” said Foma, anxiously, seizing him by the shoulder. “What’s + that? Am I worse than other people? Everybody lives, whirls, hustles + about, has his own point. While I am weary. Everybody is satisfied with + himself. And as to their complaining, they lie, the rascals! They are + simply pretending for beauty’s sake. I have no reason to pretend. I am a + fool. I don’t understand anything, my dear fellow. I simply wish to live! + I am unable to think. I feel disgusted; one says this, another that! + Pshaw! But she, eh! If you knew. My hope was in her. I expected of her—just + what I expected, I cannot tell; but she is the best of women! And I had so + much faith in her—when sometimes she spoke such peculiar words, all + her own. Her eyes, my dear boy, are so beautiful! Oh Lord! I was ashamed + to look upon them, and as I am telling you, she would say a few words, and + everything would become clear to me. For I did not come to her with love + alone—I came to her with all my soul! I sought—I thought that + since she was so beautiful, consequently, I might become a man by her + side!” + </p> + <p> + Ookhtishchev listened to the painful, unconnected words that burst from + his companion’s lips. He saw how the muscles of his face contracted with + the effort to express his thoughts, and he felt that behind this bombast + there was a great, serious grief. There was something intensely pathetic + in the powerlessness of this strong and savage youth, who suddenly started + to pace the sidewalk with big, uneven steps. Skipping along after him with + his short legs, Ookhtishchev felt it his duty somehow to calm Foma. + Everything Foma had said and done that evening awakened in the jolly + secretary a feeling of lively curiosity toward Foma, and then he felt + flattered by the frankness of the young millionaire. This frankness + confused him with its dark power; he was disconcerted by its pressure, and + though, in spite of his youth, he had a stock of words ready for all + occasions in life, it took him quite awhile to recall them. + </p> + <p> + “I feel that everything is dark and narrow about me,” said Gordyeeff. “I + feel that a burden is falling on my shoulders, but what it is I cannot + understand! It puts a restraint on me, and it checks the freedom of my + movements along the road of life. Listening to people, you hear that each + says a different thing. But she could have said—” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, my dear boy!” Ookhtishchev interrupted Foma, gently taking his arm. + “That isn’t right! You have just started to live and already you are + philosophizing! No, that is not right! Life is given us to live! Which + means—live and let others live. That’s the philosophy! And that + woman. Bah! Is she then the only one in the world? The world is large + enough. If you wish, I’ll introduce you to such a virile woman, that even + the slightest trace of your philosophy would at once vanish from your + soul! Oh, a remarkable woman! And how well she knows how to avail herself + of life! Do you know, there’s also something epic about her? She is + beautiful; a Phryne, I may say, and what a match she would be to you! Ah, + devil! It is really a splendid idea. I’ll make you acquainted with her! We + must drive one nail out with another.” + </p> + <p> + “My conscience does not allow it,” said Foma, sadly and sternly. “So long + as she is alive, I cannot even look at women.” + </p> + <p> + “Such a robust and healthy young man. Ho, ho!” exclaimed Ookhtishchev, and + in the tone of a teacher began to argue with Foma that it was essential + for him to give his passion an outlet in a good spree, in the company of + women. + </p> + <p> + “This will be magnificent, and it is indispensable to you. You may believe + me. And as to conscience, you must excuse me. You don’t define it quite + properly. It is not conscience that interferes with you, but timidity, I + believe. You live outside of society. You are bashful, and awkward. Youare + dimly conscious of all this, and it is this consciousness that you mistake + for conscience. In this case there can be no question about conscience. + What has conscience to do here, since it is natural for man to enjoy + himself, since it is his necessity and his right?” + </p> + <p> + Foma walked on, regulating his steps to those of his companion, and + staring along the road, which lay between two rows of buildings, resembled + an enormous ditch, and was filled with darkness. It seemed that there was + no end to the road and that something dark, inexhaustible and suffocating + was slowly flowing along it in the distance. Ookhtishchev’s kind, suasive + voice rang monotonously in Foma’s ears, and though he was not listening to + his words, he felt that they were tenacious in their way; that they + adhered to him, and that he was involuntarily memorizing them. + Notwithstanding that a man walked beside him, he felt as though he were + alone, straying in the dark. And the darkness seized him and slowly drew + him along, and he felt that he was drawn somewhere, and yet had no desire + to stop. Some sort of fatigue hindered his thinking; there was no desire + in him to resist the admonitions of his companion—and why should he + resist them? + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t for everyone to philosophize,” said Ookhtishchev, swinging his + cane in the air, and somewhat carried away by his wisdom. “For if + everybody were to philosophize, who would live? And we live but once! And + therefore it were best to make haste to live. By God! That’s true! But + what’s the use of talking? Would you permit me to give you a shaking up? + Let’s go immediately to a pleasure-house I know. Two sisters live there. + Ah, how they live! You will come?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ll go,” said Foma, calmly, and yawned. “Isn’t it rather late?” he + asked, looking up at the sky which was covered with clouds. + </p> + <p> + “It’s never too late to go to see them!” exclaimed Ookhtishchev, merrily. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + ON the third day after the scene in the club, Foma found himself about + seven versts from the town, on the timber-wharf of the merchant Zvantzev, + in the company of the merchant’s son of Ookhtishchev—a sedate, + bald-headed and red-nosed gentleman with side whiskers—and four + ladies. The young Zvantzev wore eyeglasses, was thin and pale, and when he + stood, the calves of his legs were forever trembling as though they were + disgusted at supporting the feeble body, clad in a long, checked top-coat + with a cape, in whose folds a small head in a jockey cap was comically + shaking. The gentleman with the side whiskers called him Jean and + pronounced this name as though he was suffering from an inveterate cold. + Jean’s lady was a tall, stout woman with a showy bust. Her head was + compressed on the sides, her low forehead receded, her long, sharp-pointed + nose gave her face an expression somewhat bird-like. And this ugly face + was perfectly motionless, and the eyes alone, small, round and cold, were + forever smiling a penetrating and cunning smile. Ookhtishchev’s lady’s + name was Vera; she was a tall, pale woman with red hair. She had so much + hair, that it seemed as though the woman had put on her head an enormous + cap which was coming down over her ears, her cheeks and her high forehead, + from under which her large blue eyes looked forth calmly and lazily. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman with the side whiskers sat beside a young, plump, buxom + girl, who constantly giggled in a ringing voice at something which he + whispered in her ear as he leaned over her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + And Foma’s lady was a stately brunette, clad all in black. + Dark-complexioned, with wavy locks, she kept her head so erect and high + and looked at everything about her with such condescending haughtiness, + that it was at once evident that she considered herself the most important + person there. + </p> + <p> + The company were seated on the extreme link of the raft, extending far + into the smooth expanse of the river. Boards were spread out on the raft + and in the centre stood a crudely constructed table; empty bottles, + provision baskets, candy-wrappers and orange peels were scattered about + everywhere. In the corner of the raft was a pile of earth, upon which a + bonfire was burning, and a peasant in a short fur coat, squatting, warmed + his hands over the fire, and cast furtive glances at the people seated + around the table. They had just finished eating their sturgeon soup, and + now wines and fruits were before them on the table. + </p> + <p> + Fatigued with a two-days’ spree and with the dinner that had just been + finished, the company was in a weary frame of mind. They all gazed at the + river, chatting, but their conversation was now and again interrupted by + long pauses. + </p> + <p> + The day was clear and bright and young, as in spring. The cold, clear sky + stretched itself majestically over the turbid water of the + gigantically-wide, overflowing river, which was as calm as the sky and as + vast as the sea. The distant, mountainous shore was tenderly bathed in + bluish mist. Through it, there, on the mountain tops, the crosses of + churches were flashing like big stars. The river was animated at the + mountainous shore; steamers were going hither and thither, and their noise + came in deep moans toward the rafts and into the meadows, where the calm + flow of the waves filled the air with soft and faint sounds. Gigantic + barges stretched themselves one after another against the current, like + huge pigs, tearing asunder the smooth expanse of the river. Black smoke + came in ponderous puffs from the chimneys of the steamers, slowly melting + in the fresh air, which was full of bright sunshine. At times a whistle + resounded—it was like the roar of some huge, enraged animal, + embittered by toil. And on the meadows near the rafts, all was calm and + silent. Solitary trees that had been drowned by the flood, were now + already covered with light-green spangles of foliage. Covering their roots + and reflecting their tops, the water gave them the appearance of globes, + and it seemed as though the slightest breeze would send them floating, + fantastically beautiful, down the mirror-like bosom of the river. + </p> + <p> + The red-haired woman, pensively gazing into the distance, began to sing + softly and sadly: + </p> + <p> + “Along the Volga river A little boat is flo-o-oating.” + </p> + <p> + The brunette, snapping her large, stern eyes with contempt, said, without + looking at her: “We feel gloomy enough without this.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t touch her. Let her sing!” entreated Foma, kindly, looking into his + lady’s face. He was pale some spark seemed to flash up in his eyes now and + then, and an indefinite, indolent smile played about his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Let us sing in chorus!” suggested the man with the side whiskers. + </p> + <p> + “No, let these two sing!” exclaimed Ookhtishchev with enthusiasm. “Vera, + sing that song! You know, ‘I will go at dawn.’ How is it? Sing, Pavlinka!” + </p> + <p> + The giggling girl glanced at the brunette and asked her respectfully: + </p> + <p> + “Shall I sing, Sasha?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall sing myself,” announced Foma’s companion, and turning toward the + lady with the birdlike face, she ordered: + </p> + <p> + “Vassa, sing with me!” + </p> + <p> + Vassa immediately broke off her conversation with Zvantzev, stroked her + throat a little with her hand and fixed her round eyes on the face of her + sister. Sasha rose to her feet, leaned her hand against the table, and her + head lifted haughtily, began to declaim in a powerful, almost masculine + voice: + </p> + <p> + “Life on earth is bright to him, Who knows no cares or woe, And whose + heart is not consumed By passion’s ardent glow!” + </p> + <p> + Her sister nodded her head and slowly, plaintively began to moan in a deep + contralto: + </p> + <p> + “Ah me! Of me the maiden fair.” + </p> + <p> + Flashing her eyes at her sister, Sasha exclaimed in her low-pitched notes: + </p> + <p> + “Like a blade of grass my heart has withered.” + </p> + <p> + The two voices mingled and floated over the water in melodious, full + sounds, which quivered from excess of power. One of them was complaining + of the unbearable pain in the heart, and intoxicated by the poison of its + plaint, it sobbed with melancholy and impotent grief; sobbed, quenching + with tears the fire of the suffering. The other—the lower, more + masculine voice—rolled powerfully through the air, full of the + feeling of bloody mortification and of readiness to avenge. Pronouncing + the words distinctly, the voice came from her breast in a deep stream, and + each word reeked with boiling blood, stirred up by outrage, poisoned by + offence and mightily demanding vengeance. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I will requite him,” + </pre> + <p> + sang Vassa, plaintively, closing her eyes. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I will inflame him, + I’ll dry him up,” + </pre> + <p> + Sasha promised sternly and confidently, wafting into the air strong, + powerful tones, which sounded like blows. And suddenly, changing the tempo + of the song and striking a higher pitch, she began to sing, as slowly as + her sister, voluptuous and exultant threats: + </p> + <p> + “Drier than the raging wind, Drier than the mown-down grass, Oi, the mown + and dried-up grass.” + </p> + <p> + Resting his elbows on the table, Foma bent his head, and with knitted + brow, gazed into the face of the woman, into her black, half-shut eyes + Staring fixedly into the distance, her eyes flashed so brightly and + malignantly that, because of their light, the velvety voice, that burst + from the woman’s chest, seemed to him also black and flashing, like her + eyes. He recalled her caresses and thought: + </p> + <p> + “How does she come to be such as she is? It is even fearful to be with + her.” + </p> + <p> + Ookhtishchev, sitting close to his lady, an expression of happiness on his + face, listened to the song and was radiant with satisfaction. The + gentleman with the side whiskers and Zvantzev were drinking wine, softly + whispering something as they leaned toward each other. The red-headed + woman was thoughtfully examining the palm of Ookhtishchev’s hand, holding + it in her own, and the jolly girl became sad. She drooped her head low and + listened to the song, motionless, as though bewitched by it. From the fire + came the peasant. He stepped carefully over the boards, on tiptoe; his + hands were clasped behind his back, and his broad, bearded face was now + transformed into a smile of astonishment and of a naive delight. + </p> + <p> + “Eh! but feel, my kind, brave man!” + </p> + <p> + entreated Vassa, plaintively, nodding her head. And her sister, her chest + bent forward, her hand still higher, wound up the song in powerful + triumphant notes: + </p> + <p> + “The yearning and the pangs of love!” + </p> + <p> + When she finished singing, she looked haughtily about her, and seating + herself by Foma’s side, clasped his neck with a firm and powerful hand. + </p> + <p> + “Well, was it a nice song?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s capital!” said Foma with a sigh, as he smiled at her. + </p> + <p> + The song filled his heart with thirst for tenderness and, still full of + charming sounds, it quivered, but at the touch of her arm he felt awkward + and ashamed before the other people. + </p> + <p> + “Bravo-o! Bravo, Aleksandra Sarelyevna!” shouted Ookhtishchev, and the + others were clapping their hands. But she paid no attention to them, and + embracing Foma authoritatively, said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, make me a present of something for the song.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I will,” Foma assented. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “You tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you when we come to town. And if you’ll give me what I like—Oh, + how I will love you!” + </p> + <p> + “For the present?” asked Foma, smiling suspiciously. “You ought to love me + anyway.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him calmly and, after a moment’s thought, said resolutely: + </p> + <p> + “It’s too soon to love you anyway. I will not lie. Why should I lie to + you? I am telling you frankly. I love you for money, for presents. Because + aside from money, men have nothing. They cannot give anything more than + money. Nothing of worth. I know it well already. One can love merely so. + Yes, wait a little—I’ll know you better and then, perhaps, I may + love you free of charge. And meanwhile, you mustn’t take me amiss. I need + much money in my mode of life.” + </p> + <p> + Foma listened to her, smiled and now and then quivered from the nearness + of her sound, well-shaped body. Zvantzev’s sour, cracked and boring voice + was falling on his ears. “I don’t like it. I cannot understand the beauty + of this renowned Russian song. What is it that sounds in it? Eh? The howl + of a wolf. Something hungry, wild. Eh! it’s the groan of a sick dog—altogether + something beastly. There’s nothing cheerful, there’s no chic to it; there + are no live and vivifying sounds in it. No, you ought to hear what and how + the French peasant sings. Ah! or the Italian.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, Ivan Nikolayevich,” cried Ookhtishchev, agitated. + </p> + <p> + “I must agree with you, the Russian song is monotonous and gloomy. It has + not, you know, that brilliancy of culture,” said the man with the side + whiskers wearily, as he sipped some wine out of his glass. + </p> + <p> + “But nevertheless, there is always a warm heart in it,” put in the + red-haired lady, as she peeled an orange. + </p> + <p> + The sun was setting. Sinking somewhere far beyond the forest, on the + meadow shore, it painted the entire forest with purple tints and cast rosy + and golden spots over the dark cold water. Foma gazed in that direction at + this play of the sunbeams, watched how they quivered as they were + transposed over the placid and vast expanse of waters, and catching + fragments of conversation, he pictured to himself the words as a swarm of + dark butterflies, busily fluttering in the air. Sasha, her head resting on + his shoulder, was softly whispering into his ear something at which he + blushed and was confused, for he felt that she was kindling in him the + desire to embrace this woman and kiss her unceasingly. Aside from her, + none of those assembled there interested him—while Zvantzev and the + gentleman with the side whiskers were actually repulsive to him. + </p> + <p> + “What are you staring at? Eh?” he heard Ookhtishchev’s jestingly-stern + voice. + </p> + <p> + The peasant, at whom Ookhtishchev shouted, drew the cap from his head, + clapped it against his knee and answered, with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “I came over to listen to the lady’s song.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, does she sing well?” + </p> + <p> + “What a question! Of course,” said the peasant, looking at Sasha, with + admiration in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right!” exclaimed Ookhtishchev. + </p> + <p> + “There is a great power of voice in that lady’s breast,” said the peasant, + nodding his head. + </p> + <p> + At his words, the ladies burst out laughing and the men made some + double-meaning remarks about Sasha. + </p> + <p> + After she had calmly listened to these and said nothing in reply, Sasha + asked the peasant: + </p> + <p> + “Do you sing?” + </p> + <p> + “We sing a little!” and he waved his hand, “What songs do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “All kinds. I love singing.” And he smiled apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “Come, let’s sing something together, you and I.” + </p> + <p> + “How can we? Am I a match for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, strike up!” + </p> + <p> + “May I sit down?” + </p> + <p> + “Come over here, to the table.” + </p> + <p> + “How lively this is!” exclaimed Zvantzev, wrinkling his face. + </p> + <p> + “If you find it tedious, go and drown yourself,” said Sasha, angrily + flashing her eyes at him. + </p> + <p> + “No, the water is cold,” replied Zvantzev, shrinking at her glance. + </p> + <p> + “As you please!” The woman shrugged her shoulders. “But it is about time + you did it, and then, there’s also plenty of water now, so that you + wouldn’t spoil it all with your rotten body.” + </p> + <p> + “Fie, how witty!” hissed the youth, turning away from her, and added with + contempt: “In Russia even the prostitutes are rude.” + </p> + <p> + He addressed himself to his neighbour, but the latter gave him only an + intoxicated smile in return. Ookhtishchev was also drunk. Staring into the + face of his companion, with his eyes grown dim, he muttered something and + heard nothing. The lady with the bird-like face was pecking candy, holding + the box under her very nose. Pavlinka went away to the edge of the raft + and, standing there, threw orange peels into the water. + </p> + <p> + “I never before participated in such an absurd outing and—company,” + said Zvantzev, to his neighbour, plaintively. + </p> + <p> + And Foma watched him with a smile, delighted that this feeble and + ugly-looking man felt bored, and that Sasha had insulted him. Now and then + he cast at her a kind glance of approval. He was pleased with the fact + that she was so frank with everybody and that she bore herself proudly, + like a real gentlewoman. + </p> + <p> + The peasant seated himself on the boards at her feet, clasped his knees in + his hands, lifted his face to her and seriously listened to her words. + </p> + <p> + “You must raise your voice, when I lower mine, understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand; but, Madam, you ought to hand me some just to give me + courage!” + </p> + <p> + “Foma, give him a glass of brandy!” + </p> + <p> + And when the peasant emptied it, cleared his throat with pleasure, licked + his lips and said: “Now, I can do it,” she ordered, knitting her brow: + </p> + <p> + “Begin!” + </p> + <p> + The peasant made a wry mouth, lifted his eyes to her face, and started in + a high-pitched tenor: + </p> + <p> + “I cannot drink, I cannot eat.” + </p> + <p> + Trembling in every limb, the woman sobbed out tremulously, with strange + sadness: + </p> + <p> + “Wine cannot gladden my soul.” + </p> + <p> + The peasant smiled sweetly, tossed his head to and fro, and closing his + eyes, poured out into the air a tremulous wave of high-pitched notes: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, time has come for me to bid goodbye!” + </p> + <p> + And the woman, shuddering and writhing, moaned and wailed: + </p> + <p> + “Oi, from my kindred I must part.” + </p> + <p> + Lowering his voice and swaying to and fro, the peasant declaimed in a + sing-song with a remarkably intense expression of anguish: + </p> + <p> + “Alas, to foreign lands I must depart.” + </p> + <p> + When the two voices, yearning and sobbing, poured forth into the silence + and freshness of the evening, everything about them seemed warmer and + better; everything seemed to smile the sorrowful smile of sympathy on the + anguish of the man whom an obscure power is tearing away from his native + soil into some foreign place, where hard labour and degradation are in + store for him. It seemed as though not the sounds, nor the song, but the + burning tears of the human heart in which the plaint had surged up—it + seemed as though these tears moistened the air. Wild grief and pain from + the sores of body and soul, which were wearied in the struggle with stern + life; intense sufferings from the wounds dealt to man by the iron hand of + want—all this was invested in the simple, crude words and was tossed + in ineffably melancholy sounds toward the distant, empty sky, which has no + echo for anybody or anything. + </p> + <p> + Foma had stepped aside from the singers, and stared at them with a feeling + akin to fright, and the song, in a huge wave, poured forth into his + breast, and the wild power of grief, with which it had been invested, + clutched his heart painfully. He felt that tears would soon gush from his + breast, something was clogging his throat and his face was quivering. He + dimly saw Sasha’s black eyes; immobile and flashing gloomily, they seemed + to him enormous and still growing larger and larger. And it seemed to him + that it was not two persons who were singing—that everything about + him was singing and sobbing, quivering and palpitating in torrents of + sorrow, madly striving somewhere, shedding burning tears, and all—and + all things living seemed clasped in one powerful embrace of despair. And + it seemed to him that he, too, was singing in unison with all of them—with + the people, the river and the distant shore, whence came plaintive moans + that mingled with the song. + </p> + <p> + Now the peasant went down on his knees, and gazing at Sasha, waved his + hands, and she bent down toward him and shook her head, keeping time to + the motions of his hands. Both were now singing without words, with sounds + only, and Foma still could not believe that only two voices were pouring + into the air these moans and sobs with such mighty power. + </p> + <p> + When they had finished singing, Foma, trembling with excitement, with a + tear-stained face, gazed at them and smiled sadly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, did it move you?” asked Sasha. Pale with fatigue, she breathed + quickly and heavily. + </p> + <p> + Foma glanced at the peasant. The latter was wiping the sweat off his brow + and looking around him with such a wandering look as though he could not + make out what had taken place. + </p> + <p> + All was silence. All were motionless and speechless. + </p> + <p> + “Oh Lord!” sighed Foma, rising to his feet. “Eh, Sasha! Peasant! Who are + you?” he almost shouted. + </p> + <p> + “I am—Stepan,” said the peasant, smiling confusedly, and also rose + to his feet. “I’m Stepan. Of course!” + </p> + <p> + “How you sing! Ah!” Foma exclaimed in astonishment, uneasily shifting from + foot to foot. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, your Honour!” sighed the peasant and added softly and convincingly: + “Sorrow can compel an ox to sing like a nightingale. And what makes the + lady sing like this, only God knows. And she sings, with all her veins—that + is to say, so you might just lie down and die with sorrow! Well, that’s a + lady.” + </p> + <p> + “That was sung very well!” said Ookhtishchev in a drunken voice. + </p> + <p> + “No, the devil knows what this is!” Zvantzev suddenly shouted, almost + crying, irritated as he jumped up from the table. “I’ve come out here for + a good time. I want to enjoy myself, and here they perform a funeral + service for me! What an outrage! I can’t stand this any longer. I’m going + away!” + </p> + <p> + “Jean, I am also going. I’m weary, too,” announced the gentleman with the + side whiskers. + </p> + <p> + “Vassa,” cried Zvantzev to his lady, “dress yourself!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s time to go,” said the red-haired lady to Ookhtishchev. “It is + cold, and it will soon be dark.” + </p> + <p> + “Stepan! Clear everything away!” commanded Vassa. + </p> + <p> + All began to bustle about, all began to speak of something. Foma stared at + them in suspense and shuddered. Staggering, the crowd walked along the + rafts. Pale and fatigued, they said to one another stupid, disconnected + things. Sasha jostled them unceremoniously, as she was getting her things + together. + </p> + <p> + “Stepan! Call for the horses!” + </p> + <p> + “And I’ll drink some more cognac. Who wants some more cognac with me?” + drawled the gentleman with the side whiskers in a beatific voice, holding + a bottle in his hands. + </p> + <p> + Vassa was muffling Zvantzev’s neck with a scarf. He stood in front of her, + frowning, dissatisfied, his lips curled capriciously, the calves of his + legs shivering. Foma became disgusted as he looked at them, and he went + off to the other raft. He was astonished that all these people behaved as + though they had not heard the song at all. In his breast the song was + alive and there it called to life a restless desire to do something, to + say something. But he had no one there to speak to. + </p> + <p> + The sun had set and the distance was enveloped in blue mist. Foma glanced + thither and turned away. He did not feel like going to town with these + people, neither did he care to stay here with them. And they were still + pacing the raft with uneven steps, shaking from side to side and muttering + disconnected words. The women were not quite as drunk as the men, and only + the red-haired one could not lift herself from the bench for a long time, + and finally, when she rose, she declared: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m drunk.” + </p> + <p> + Foma sat down on a log of wood, and lifting the axe, with which the + peasant had chopped wood for the fire, he began to play with it, tossing + it up in the air and catching it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my God! How mean this is!” Zvantzev’s capricious voice was heard. + </p> + <p> + Foma began to feel that he hated it, and him, and everybody, except Sasha, + who awakened in him a certain uneasy feeling, which contained at once + admiration for her and a fear lest she might do something unexpected and + terrible. + </p> + <p> + “Brute!” shouted Zvantzev in a shrill voice, and Foma noticed that he + struck the peasant on the chest, after which the peasant removed his cap + humbly and stepped aside. + </p> + <p> + “Fo-o-ol!” cried Zvantzev, walking after him and lifting his hand. + </p> + <p> + Foma jumped to his feet and said threateningly, in a loud voice: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you! Don’t touch him!” + </p> + <p> + “Wha-a-at?” Zvantzev turned around toward him. + </p> + <p> + “Stepan, come over here,” called Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Peasant!” Zvantzev hurled with contempt, looking at Foma. + </p> + <p> + Foma shrugged his shoulders and made a step toward him; but suddenly a + thought flashed vividly through his mind! He smiled maliciously and + inquired of Stepan, softly: + </p> + <p> + “The string of rafts is moored in three places, isn’t it? + </p> + <p> + “In three, of course!” + </p> + <p> + “Cut the connections!” + </p> + <p> + “And they?” + </p> + <p> + “Keep quiet! Cut!” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “Cut! Quietly, so they don’t notice it!” + </p> + <p> + The peasant took the axe in his hands, slowly walked up to the place where + one link was well fastened to another link, struck a few times with his + axe, and returned to Foma. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not responsible, your Honour,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “They’ve started off,” whispered the peasant with fright, and hastily made + the sign of the cross. And Foma gazed, laughing softly, and experienced a + painful sensation that keenly and sharply stung his heart with a certain + strange, pleasant and sweet fear. + </p> + <p> + The people on the raft were still pacing to and fro, moving about slowly, + jostling one another, assisting the ladies with their wraps, laughing and + talking, and the raft was meanwhile turning slowly and irresolutely in the + water. + </p> + <p> + “If the current carries them against the fleet,” whispered the peasant, + “they’ll strike against the bows—and they’ll be smashed into + splinters.” + </p> + <p> + “Keep quiet!” + </p> + <p> + “They’ll drown!” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll get a boat, and overtake them.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s it! Thank you. What then? They’re after all human beings. And + we’ll be held responsible for them.” Satisfied now, laughing with delight, + the peasant dashed in bounds across the rafts to the shore. And Foma stood + by the water and felt a passionate desire to shout something, but he + controlled himself, in order to give time for the raft to float off + farther, so that those drunken people would not be able to jump across to + the moored links. He experienced a pleasant caressing sensation as he saw + the raft softly rocking upon the water and floating off farther and + farther from him every moment. The heavy and dark feeling, with which his + heart had been filled during this time, now seemed to float away together + with the people on the raft. Calmly he inhaled the fresh air and with it + something sound that cleared his brain. At the very edge of the floating + raft stood Sasha, with her back toward Foma; he looked at her beautiful + figure and involuntarily recalled Medinskaya. The latter was smaller in + size. The recollection of her stung him, and he cried out in a loud, + mocking voice: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, there! Good-bye! Ha! ha! ha!” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the dark figures of the people moved toward him and crowded + together in one group, in the centre of the raft. But by this time a clear + strip of water, about three yards wide, was flashing between them and + Foma. + </p> + <p> + There was a silence lasting for a few seconds. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly a hurricane of shrill, repulsively pitiful sounds, which + were full of animal fright, was hurled at Foma, and louder than all and + more repulsive than all, Zvantzev’s shrill, jarring cry pierced the ear: + </p> + <p> + “He-e-elp!” + </p> + <p> + Some one—in all probability, the sedate gentleman with the side + whiskers—roared in his basso: + </p> + <p> + “Drowning! They’re drowning people!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you people?” cried Foma, angrily, irritated by their screams which + seemed to bite him. And the people ran about on the raft in the madness of + fright; the raft rocked under their feet, floated faster on account of + this, and the agitated water was loudly splashing against and under it. + The screams rent the air, the people jumped about, waving their hands, and + the stately figure of Sasha alone stood motionless and speechless on the + edge of the raft. + </p> + <p> + “Give my regards to the crabs!” cried Foma. Foma felt more and more + cheerful and relieved in proportion as the raft was floating away from + him. + </p> + <p> + “Foma Ignatyevich!” said Ookhtishchev in a faint, but sober voice, “look + out, this is a dangerous joke. I’ll make a complaint.” + </p> + <p> + “When you are drowned? You may complain!” answered Foma, cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “You are a murderer!” exclaimed Zvantzev, sobbing. But at this time a + ringing splash of water was heard as though it groaned with fright or with + astonishment. Foma shuddered and became as though petrified. Then rang out + the wild, deafening shrieks of the women, and the terror-stricken screams + of men, and all the figures on the raft remained petrified in their + places. And Foma, staring at the water, felt as though he really were + petrified. In the water something black, surrounded with splashes, was + floating toward him. + </p> + <p> + Rather instinctively than consciously, Foma threw himself with his chest + on the beams of the raft, and stretched out his hands, his head hanging + down over the water. Several incredibly long seconds passed. Cold, wet + arms clasped his neck and dark eyes flashed before him. Then he understood + that it was Sasha. + </p> + <p> + The dull horror, which had suddenly seized him, vanished, replaced now by + wild, rebellious joy. Having dragged the woman out of the water, he + grasped her by the waist, clasped her to his breast, and, not knowing what + to say to her, he stared into her eyes with astonishment. She smiled at + him caressingly. + </p> + <p> + “I am cold,” said Sasha, softly, and quivered in every limb. + </p> + <p> + Foma laughed gaily at the sound of her voice, lifted her into his arms and + quickly, almost running, dashed across the rafts to the shore. She was wet + and cold, but her breathing was hot, it burned Foma’s cheek and filled his + breast with wild joy. + </p> + <p> + “You wanted to drown me?” said she, firmly, pressing close to him. “It was + rather too early. Wait!” + </p> + <p> + “How well you have done it,” muttered Foma, as he ran. + </p> + <p> + “You’re a fine, brave fellow! And your device wasn’t bad, either, though + you seem to be so peaceable.” + </p> + <p> + “And they are still roaring there, ha! ha!” + </p> + <p> + “The devil take them! If they are drowned, we’ll be sent to Siberia,” said + the woman, as though she wanted to console and encourage him by this. She + began to shiver, and the shudder of her body, felt by Foma, made him + hasten his pace. + </p> + <p> + Sobs and cries for help followed them from the river. There, on the placid + water, floated in the twilight a small island, withdrawing from the shore + toward the stream of the main current of the river, and on that little + island dark human figures were running about. + </p> + <p> + Night was closing down upon them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + ONE Sunday afternoon, Yakov Tarasovich Mayakin was drinking tea in his + garden and talking to his daughter. The collar of his shirt unbuttoned, a + towel wound round his neck, he sat on a bench under a canopy of verdant + cherry-trees, waved his hands in the air, wiped the perspiration off his + face, and incessantly poured forth into the air his brisk speech. + </p> + <p> + “The man who permits his belly to have the upper hand over him is a fool + and a rogue! Is there nothing better in the world than eating and + drinking? Upon what will you pride yourself before people, if you are like + a hog?” + </p> + <p> + The old man’s eyes sparkled irritably and angrily, his lips twisted with + contempt, and the wrinkles of his gloomy face quivered. + </p> + <p> + “If Foma were my own son, I would have made a man of him!” + </p> + <p> + Playing with an acacia branch, Lubov mutely listened to her father’s + words, now and then casting a close and searching look in his agitated, + quivering face. Growing older, she changed, without noticing it, her + suspicious and cold relation toward the old man. In his words she now + began to find the same ideas that were in her books, and this won her over + on her father’s side, involuntarily causing the girl to prefer his live + words to the cold letters of the book. Always overwhelmed with business + affairs, always alert and clever, he went his own way alone, and she + perceived his solitude, knew how painful it was, and her relations toward + her father grew in warmth. At times she even entered into arguments with + the old man; he always regarded her remarks contemptuously and + sarcastically; but more tenderly and attentively from time to time. + </p> + <p> + “If the deceased Ignat could read in the newspapers of the indecent life + his son is leading, he would have killed Foma!” said Mayakin, striking the + table with his fists. “How they have written it up! It’s a disgrace!” + </p> + <p> + “He deserves it,” said Lubov. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t say it was done at random! They’ve barked at him, as was + necessary. And who was it that got into such a fit of anger?” + </p> + <p> + “What difference does it make to you?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + “It’s interesting to know. How cleverly the rascal described Foma’s + behaviour. Evidently he must have been with him and witnessed all the + indecency himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, he wouldn’t go with Foma on a spree!’ said Lubov, confidently, + and blushed deeply at her father’s searching look. + </p> + <p> + “So! You have fine acquaintances, Lubka!” said Mayakin with humorous + bitterness. “Well, who wrote it?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish to know it for, papa?” + </p> + <p> + “Come, tell me!” + </p> + <p> + She had no desire to tell, but the old man persisted, and his voice was + growing more and more dry and angry. Then she asked him uneasily: + </p> + <p> + “And you will not do him any ill for it?” + </p> + <p> + “I? I will—bite his head off! Fool! What can I do to him? They, + these writers, are not a foolish lot and are therefore a power—a + power, the devils! And I am not the governor, and even he cannot put one’s + hand out of joint or tie one’s tongue. Like mice, they gnaw us little by + little. And we have to poison them not with matches, but with roubles. + Yes! Well, who is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember, when I was going to school, a Gymnasium student used to + come up to us. Yozhov? Such a dark little fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “Mm! Of course, I saw him. I know him. So it’s he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “The little mouse! Even at that time one could see already that something + wrong would come out of him. Even then he stood in the way of other + people. A bold boy he was. I should have looked after him then. Perhaps, I + might have made a man of him.” + </p> + <p> + Lubov looked at her father, smiled inimically, and asked hotly: + </p> + <p> + “And isn’t he who writes for newspapers a man?” + </p> + <p> + For a long while, the old man did not answer his daughter. Thoughtfully, + he drummed with his fingers against the table and examined his face, which + was reflected in the brightly polished brass of the samovar. Then he + raised his head, winked his eyes and said impressively and irritably: + </p> + <p> + “They are not men, they are sores! The blood of the Russian people has + become mixed, it has become mixed and spoiled, and from the bad blood have + come all these book and newspaper-writers, these terrible Pharisees. They + have broken out everywhere, and they are still breaking out, more and + more. Whence comes this spoiling of the blood? From slowness of motion. + Whence the mosquitoes, for instance? From the swamp. All sorts of + uncleanliness multiply in stagnant waters. The same is true of a + disordered life.” + </p> + <p> + “That isn’t right, papa!” said Lubov, softly. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by—not right?” + </p> + <p> + “Writers are the most unselfish people, they are noble personalities! They + don’t want anything—all they strive for is justice—truth! + They’re not mosquitoes.” + </p> + <p> + Lubov grew excited as she lauded her beloved people; her face was flushed, + and her eyes looked at her father with so much feeling, as though + imploring him to believe her, being unable to convince him. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you!” said the old man, with a sigh, interrupting her. “You’ve read + too much! You’ve been poisoned! Tell me—who are they? No one knows! + That Yozhov—what is he? Only God knows. All they want is the truth, + you say? What modest people they are! And suppose truth is the very + dearest thing there is? Perhaps everybody is seeking it in silence? + Believe me—man cannot be unselfish. Man will not fight for what + belongs not to him, and if he does fight—his name is ‘fool,’ and he + is of no use to anybody. A man must be able to stand up for himself, for + his own, then will he attain something! Here you have it! Truth! Here I + have been reading the same newspaper for almost forty years, and I can see + well—here is my face before you, and before me, there on the samovar + is again my face, but it is another face. You see, these newspapers give a + samovar face to everything, and do not see the real one. And yet you + believe them. But I know that my face on the samovar is distorted. No one + can tell the real truth; man’s throat is too delicate for this. And then, + the real truth is known to nobody.” + </p> + <p> + “Papa!” exclaimed Lubov, sadly, “But in books and in newspapers they + defend the general interests of all the people.” + </p> + <p> + “And in what paper is it written that you are weary of life, and that it + was time for you to get married? So, there your interest is not defended! + Eh! You! Neither is mine defended. Who knows what I need? Who, but myself, + understands my interests?” + </p> + <p> + “No, papa, that isn’t right, that isn’t right! I cannot refute you, but I + feel that this isn’t right!” said Lubov almost with despair. + </p> + <p> + “It is right!” said the old man, firmly. “Russia is confused, and there is + nothing steadfast in it; everything is staggering! Everybody lives awry, + everybody walks on one side, there’s no harmony in life. All are yelling + out of tune, in different voices. And not one understands what the other + is in need of! There is a mist over everything—everybody inhales + that mist, and that’s why the blood of the people has become spoiled—hence + the sores. Man is given great liberty to reason, but is not permitted to + do anything—that’s why man does not live; but rots and stinks.” + </p> + <p> + “What ought one to do, then?” asked Lubov, resting her elbows on the table + and bending toward her father. + </p> + <p> + “Everything!” cried the old man, passionately. “Do everything. Go ahead! + Let each man do whatever he knows best! But for that liberty must be given + to man—complete freedom! Since there has come a time, when everyraw + youth believes that he knows everything and was created for the complete + arrangement of life—give him, give the rogue freedom! Here, Carrion, + live! Come, come, live! Ah! Then such a comedy will follow; feeling that + his bridle is off, man will then rush up higher than his ears, and like a + feather will fly hither and thither. He’ll believe himself to be a miracle + worker, and then he’ll start to show his spirit.” + </p> + <p> + The old man paused awhile and, lowering his voice, went on, with a + malicious smile: + </p> + <p> + “But there is very little of that creative spirit in him! He’ll bristle up + for a day or two, stretch himself on all sides—and the poor fellow + will soon grow weak. For his heart is rotten—he, he, he! Here, he, + he, he! The dear fellow will be caught by the real, worthy people, by + those real people who are competent to be the actual civil masters, who + will manage life not with a rod nor with a pen, but with a finger and with + brains. + </p> + <p> + “What, they will say. Have you grown tired, gentlemen? What, they will + say, your spleens cannot stand a real fire, can they? So—” and, + raising his voice, the old man concluded his speech in an authoritative + tone: + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, now, you rabble, hold your tongues, and don’t squeak! Or + we’ll shake you off the earth, like worms from a tree! Silence, dear + fellows! Ha, ha, ha! That’s how it’s going to happen, Lubavka! He, he, + he!” + </p> + <p> + The old man was in a merry mood. His wrinkles quivered, and carried away + by his words, he trembled, closed his eyes now and then, and smacked his + lips as though tasting his own wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “And then those who will take the upper hand in the confusion will arrange + life wisely, after their own fashion. Then things won’t go at random, but + as if by rote. It’s a pity that we shall not live to see it!” + </p> + <p> + The old man’s words fell one after another upon Lubov like meshes of a big + strong net—they fell and enmeshed her, and the girl, unable to free + herself from them, maintained silence, dizzied by her father’s words. + Staring into his face with an intense look, she sought support for herself + in his words and heard in them something similar to what she had read in + books, and which seemed to her the real truth. But the malignant, + triumphant laughter of her father stung her heart, and the wrinkles, which + seemed to creep about on his face like so many dark little snakes, + inspired her with a certain fear for herself in his presence. She felt + that he was turning her aside from what had seemed so simple and so easy + in her dreams. + </p> + <p> + “Papa!” she suddenly asked the old man, in obedience to a thought and a + desire that unexpectedly flashed through her mind. “Papa! and what sort of + a man—what in your opinion is Taras?” + </p> + <p> + Mayakin shuddered. His eyebrows began to move angrily, he fixed his keen, + small eyes on his daughter’s face and asked her drily: + </p> + <p> + “What sort of talk is this?” + </p> + <p> + “Must he not even be mentioned?” said Lubov, softly and confusedly. + </p> + <p> + I don’t want to speak of him—and I also advise you not to speak of + him! “—the old man threatened her with his finger and lowered his + head with a gloomy frown. But when he said that he did not want to speak + of his son, he evidently did not understand himself correctly, for after a + minute’s silence he said sternly and angrily: + </p> + <p> + “Taraska, too, is a sore. Life is breathing upon you, milksops, and you + cannot discriminate its genuine scents, and you swallow all sorts of + filth, wherefore there is trouble in your heads. That’s why you are not + competent to do anything, and you are unhappy because of this + incompetence. Taraska. Yes. He must be about forty now. He is lost to me! + A galley-slave—is that my son? A blunt-snouted young pig. He would + not speak to his father, and—he stumbled.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he do?” asked Lubov, eagerly listening to the old man’s words. + </p> + <p> + “Who knows? It may be that now he cannot understand himself, if he became + sensible, and he must have become a sensible man; he’s the son of a father + who’s not stupid, and then he must have suffered not a little. They coddle + them, the nihilists! They should have turned them over to me. I’d show + them what to do. Into the desert! Into the isolated places—march! + Come, now, my wise fellows, arrange life there according to your own will! + Go ahead! And as authorities over them I’d station the robust peasants. + Well, now, honourable gentlemen, you were given to eat and to drink, you + were given an education—what have you learned? Pay your debts, pray. + Yes, I would not spend a broken grosh on them. I would squeeze all the + price out of them—give it up! You must not set a man at naught. It + is not enough to imprison him! You transgressed the law, and are a + gentleman? Never mind, you must work. Out of a single seed comes an ear of + corn, and a man ought not be permitted to perish without being of use! An + economical carpenter finds a place for each and every chip of wood—just + so must every man be profitably used up, and used up entire, to the very + last vein. All sorts of trash have a place in life, and man is never + trash. Eh! it is bad when power lives without reason, nor is it good when + reason lives without power. Take Foma now. Who is coming there—give + a look.” + </p> + <p> + Turning around, Lubov noticed the captain of the “Yermak,” Yefim, coming + along the garden path. He had respectfully removed his cap and bowed to + her. There was a hopelessly guilty expression on his face and he seemed + abashed. Yakov Tarasovich recognized him and, instantly grown alarmed, he + cried: + </p> + <p> + “Where are you coming from? What has happened?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I have come to you!” said Yefim, stopping short at the table, + with a low bow. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I see, you’ve come to me. What’s the matter? Where’s the steamer?” + </p> + <p> + “The steamer is there!” Yefim thrust his hand somewhere into the air and + heavily shifted from one foot to the other. + </p> + <p> + “Where is it, devil? Speak coherently—what has happened?” cried the + old man, enraged. + </p> + <p> + “So—a misfortune, Yakov.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you been wrecked?” + </p> + <p> + “No, God saved us.” + </p> + <p> + “Burned up? Well, speak more quickly.” + </p> + <p> + Yefim drew air into his chest and said slowly: + </p> + <p> + “Barge No. 9 was sunk—smashed up. One man’s back was broken, and one + is altogether missing, so that he must have drowned. About five more were + injured, but not so very badly, though some were disabled.” + </p> + <p> + “So-o!” drawled out Mayakin, measuring the captain with an ill-omened + look. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Yefimushka, I’ll strip your skin off.” + </p> + <p> + “It wasn’t I who did it!” said Yefim, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Not you?” cried the old man, shaking with rage. “Who then?” + </p> + <p> + “The master himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Foma? And you. Where were you?” + </p> + <p> + “I was lying in the hatchway.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You were lying.” + </p> + <p> + “I was bound there.” + </p> + <p> + “Wha-at?” screamed the old man in a shrill voice. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to tell you everything as it happened. He was drunk and he + shouted: “‘Get away! I’ll take command myself!’ I said ‘I can’t! I am the + captain.’ ‘Bind him!’ said he. And when they had bound me, they lowered me + into the hatchway, with the sailors. And as the master was drunk, he + wanted to have some fun. A fleet of boats was coming toward us. Six empty + barges towed by ‘Cheruigorez.’ So Foma Ignatyich blocked their way. They + whistled. More than once. I must tell the truth—they whistled!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and they couldn’t manage it—the two barges in front crashed + into us. And as they struck the side of our ninth, we were smashed to + pieces. And the two barges were also smashed. But we fared much worse.” + </p> + <p> + Mayakin rose from the chair and burst into jarring, angry laughter. And + Yefim sighed, and, outstretching his hands, said: “He has a very violent + character. When he is sober he is silent most of the time, and walks + around thoughtfully, but when he wets his springs with wine—then he + breaks loose. Then he is not master of himself and of his business—but + their wild enemy—you must excuse me! And I want to leave, Yakov + Tarasovich! I am not used to being without a master, I cannot live without + a master!” + </p> + <p> + “Keep quiet!” said Mayakin, sternly. “Where’s Foma?” + </p> + <p> + “There; at the same place. Immediately after the accident, he came to + himself and at once sent for workmen. They’ll lift the barge. They may + have started by this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he there alone?” asked Mayakin, lowering his head. + </p> + <p> + “Not quite,” replied Yefim, softly, glancing stealthily at Lubov. + </p> + <p> + “Really?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s a lady with him. A dark one.” + </p> + <p> + “So.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks as though the woman is out of her wits,” said Yefim, with a + sigh. “She’s forever singing. She sings very well. It’s very captivating.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not asking you about her!” cried Mayakin, angrily. The wrinkles of + his face were painfully quivering, and it seemed to Lubov that her father + was about to weep. + </p> + <p> + “Calm yourself, papa!” she entreated caressingly. “Maybe the loss isn’t so + great.” + </p> + <p> + “Not great?” cried Yakov Tarasovich in a ringing voice. “What do you + understand, you fool? Is it only that the barge was smashed? Eh, you! A + man is lost! That’s what it is! And he is essential to me! I need him, + dull devils that you are!” The old man shook his head angrily and with + brisk steps walked off along the garden path leading toward the house. + </p> + <p> + And Foma was at this time about four hundred versts away from his + godfather, in a village hut, on the shore of the Volga. He had just + awakened from sleep, and lying on the floor, on a bed of fresh hay, in the + middle of the hut, he gazed gloomily out of the window at the sky, which + was covered with gray, scattered clouds. + </p> + <p> + The wind was tearing them asunder and driving them somewhere; heavy and + weary, one overtaking another, they were passing across the sky in an + enormous flock. Now forming a solid mass, now breaking into fragments, now + falling low over the earth, in silent confusion, now again rising upward, + one swallowed by another. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Without moving his head, which was heavy from intoxication, Foma looked +long at the clouds and finally began to feel as though silent clouds +were also passing through his breast,—passing, breathing a damp +coldness upon his heart and oppressing him. There was something impotent +in the motion of the clouds across the sky. And he felt the same within +him. Without thinking, he pictured to himself all he had gone through +during the past months. It seemed to him as though he had fallen into a +turbid, boiling stream, and now he had been seized by dark waves, that +resembled these clouds in the sky; had been seized and carried away +somewhere, even as the clouds were carried by the wind. In the darkness +and the tumult which surrounded him, he saw as though through a mist +that certain other people were hastening together with him—to-day not +those of yesterday, new ones each day, yet all looking alike—equally +pitiful and repulsive. Intoxicated, noisy, greedy, they flew about +him as in a whirlwind, caroused at his expense, abused him, fought, +screamed, and even wept more than once. And he beat them. He remembered +that one day he had struck somebody on the face, torn someone’s coat off +and thrown it into the water and that some one had kissed his hands with +wet, cold lips as disgusting as frogs. Had kissed and wept, imploring +him not to kill. Certain faces flashed through his memory, certain +sounds and words rang in it. A woman in a yellow silk waist, unfastened +at the breast, had sung in a loud, sobbing voice: + + “And so let us live while we can + And then—e’en grass may cease to grow.” + </pre> + <p> + All these people, like himself, grown wild and beastlike, were seized by + the same dark wave and carried away like rubbish. All these people, like + himself, must have been afraid to look forward to see whither this + powerful, wild wave was carrying them. And drowning their fear in wine, + they were rushing forward down the current struggling, shouting, doing + something absurd, playing the fool, clamouring, clamouring, without ever + being cheerful. He was doing the same, whirling in their midst. And now it + seemed to him, that he was doing all this for fear of himself, in order to + pass the sooner this strip of life, or in order not to think of what would + be afterward. + </p> + <p> + Amid the burning turmoil of carouses, in the crowd of people, seized by + debauchery, perplexed by violent passions, half-crazy in their longing to + forget themselves—only Sasha was calm and contained. She never drank + to intoxication, always addressed people in a firm, authoritative voice, + and all her movements were equally confident, as though this stream had + not taken possession of her, but she was herself mastering its violent + course. She seemed to Foma the cleverest person of all those that + surrounded him, and the most eager for noise and carouse; she held them + all in her sway, forever inventing something new and speaking in one and + the same manner to everybody; for the driver, the lackey and the sailor + she had the same tone and the same words as for her friends and for Foma. + She was younger and prettier than Pelageya, but her caresses were silent, + cold. Foma imagined that deep in her heart she was concealing from + everybody something terrible, that she would never love anyone, never + reveal herself entire. This secrecy in the woman attracted him toward her + with a feeling of timorous curiosity, of a great, strained interest in her + calm, cold soul, which seemed even as dark as her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Somehow Foma said to her one day: + </p> + <p> + “But what piles of money you and I have squandered!” + </p> + <p> + She glanced at him, and asked: + </p> + <p> + “And why should we save it?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, why?” thought Foma, astonished by the fact that she reasoned so + simply. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” he asked her at another occasion. + </p> + <p> + “Why, have you forgotten my name?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the idea!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish to know then?” + </p> + <p> + “I am asking you about your origin.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I am a native of the province of Yaroslavl. I’m from Ooglich. I was a + harpist. Well, shall I taste sweeter to you, now that you know who I am?” + </p> + <p> + “Do I know it?” asked Foma, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that enough for you? I shall tell you nothing more about it. What + for? We all come from the same place, both people and beasts. And what is + there that I can tell you about myself? And what for? All this talk is + nonsense. Let’s rather think a little as to how we shall pass the day.” + </p> + <p> + On that day they took a trip on a steamer, with an orchestra of music, + drank champagne, and every one of them got terribly drunk. Sasha sang a + peculiar, wonderfully sad song, and Foma, moved by her singing, wept like + a child. Then he danced with her the “Russian dance,” and finally, + perspiring and fatigued, threw himself overboard in his clothes and was + nearly drowned. + </p> + <p> + Now, recalling all this and a great deal more, he felt ashamed of himself + and dissatisfied with Sasha. He looked at her well-shaped figure, heard + her even breathing and felt that he did not love this woman, and that she + was unnecessary to him. Certain gray, oppressive thoughts were slowly + springing up in his heavy, aching head. It seemed to him as though + everything he had lived through during this time was twisted within him + into a heavy and moist ball, and that now this ball was rolling about in + his breast, unwinding itself slowly, and the thin gray cords were binding + him. + </p> + <p> + “What is going on in me?” he thought. “I’ve begun to carouse. Why? I don’t + know how to live. I don’t understand myself. Who am I?” + </p> + <p> + He was astonished by this question, and he paused over it, attempting to + make it clear to himself—why he was unable to live as firmly and + confidently as other people do. He was now still more tortured. by + conscience. More uneasy at this thought, he tossed about on the hay and + irritated, pushed Sasha with his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Be careful!” said she, although nearly asleep. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right. You’re not such a lady of quality!” muttered Foma. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + She turned her back to him, and said lazily, with a lazy yawn: + </p> + <p> + “I dreamed that I became a harpist again. It seemed to me that I was + singing a solo, and opposite me stood a big, dirty dog, snarling and + waiting for me to finish the song. And I was afraid of the dog. And I knew + that it would devour me, as soon as I stopped singing. So I kept singing, + singing. And suddenly it seemed my voice failed me. Horrible! And the dog + is gnashing his teeth. Oh Lord, have mercy on me! What does it mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Stop your idle talk!” Foma interrupted her sternly. “You better tell me + what you know about me.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, for instance, that you are awake now,” she answered, without + turning to him. + </p> + <p> + “Awake? That’s true. I’ve awakened,” said Foma, thoughtfully and, throwing + his arm behind his head, went on: “That’s why I am asking you. What sort + of man do you think I am?” + </p> + <p> + “A man with a drunken headache,” answered Sasha, yawning. + </p> + <p> + “Aleksandra!” exclaimed Foma, beseechingly, “don’t talk nonsense! Tell me + conscientiously, what do you think of me?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think anything!” she said drily. “Why are you bothering me with + nonsense?” + </p> + <p> + “Is this nonsense?” said Foma, sadly. “Eh, you devils! This is the + principal thing. The most essential thing to me.” + </p> + <p> + He heaved a deep sigh and became silent. After a minute’s silence, Sasha + began to speak in her usual, indifferent voice: + </p> + <p> + “Tell him who he is, and why he is such as he is? Did you ever see! Is it + proper to ask such questions of our kind of women? And on what ground + should I think about each and every man? I have not even time to think + about myself, and, perhaps, I don’t feel like doing it at all.” + </p> + <p> + Foma laughed drily and said: + </p> + <p> + “I wish I were like this—and had no desires for anything.” + </p> + <p> + Then the woman raised her head from the pillow, looked into Foma’s face + and lay down again, saying: + </p> + <p> + “You are musing too much. Look out—no good will come of it to you. I + cannot tell you anything about yourself. It is impossible to say anything + true about a man. Who can understand him? Man does not know himself. Well, + here, I’ll tell you—you are better than others. But what of it?” + </p> + <p> + “And in what way am I better?” asked Foma, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “So! When one sings a good song—you weep. When one does some mean + thing—you beat him. With women you are simple, you are not impudent + to them. You are peaceable. And you can also be daring, sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + Yet all this did not satisfy Foma. + </p> + <p> + “You’re not telling me the right thing!” said he, softly. “Well, I don’t + know what you want. But see here, what are we going to do after they have + raised the barge?” + </p> + <p> + “What can we do?” asked Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go to Nizhni or to Kazan?” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “To carouse.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to carouse any more.” + </p> + <p> + “What else are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “What? Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + And both were silent for a long time, without looking at each other. + </p> + <p> + “You have a disagreeable character,” said Sasha, “a wearisome character.” + </p> + <p> + “But nevertheless I won’t get drunk any more!” said Foma, firmly and + confidently. + </p> + <p> + “You are lying!” retorted Sasha, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll see! What do you think—is it good to lead such a life as + this?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll see.” + </p> + <p> + “No, just tell me—is it good?” + </p> + <p> + “But what is better?” + </p> + <p> + Foma looked at her askance and, irritated, said: + </p> + <p> + “What repulsive words you speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, here again I haven’t pleased him!” said Sasha, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “What a fine crowd!” said Foma, painfully wrinkling his face. “They’re + like trees. They also live, but how? No one understands. They are crawling + somewhere. And can give no account either to themselves or to others. When + the cockroach crawls, he knows whither and wherefore he wants to go? And + you? Whither are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on!” Sasha interrupted him, and asked him calmly: “What have you to + do with me? You may take from me all that you want, but don’t you creep + into my soul!” + </p> + <p> + “Into your so-o-ul!” Foma drawled out, with contempt. “Into what soul? He, + he!” + </p> + <p> + She began to pace the room, gathering together the clothes that were + scattered everywhere. Foma watched her and was displeased because she did + not get angry at him for his words about her soul. Her face looked calm + and indifferent, as usual, but he wished to see her angry or offended; he + wished for something human from the woman. + </p> + <p> + “The soul!” he exclaimed, persisting in his aim. “Can one who has a soul + live as you live? A soul has fire burning in it, there is a sense of shame + in it.” + </p> + <p> + By this time she was sitting on a bench, putting on her stockings, but at + his words she raised her head and sternly fixed her eyes upon his face. + </p> + <p> + “What are you staring at?” asked Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you speak that way?” said she, without lifting her eyes from him. + </p> + <p> + “Because I must.” + </p> + <p> + “Look out—must you really?” + </p> + <p> + There was something threatening in her question. Foma felt intimidated and + said, this time without provocation in his voice: + </p> + <p> + “How could I help speaking?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you!” sighed Sasha and resumed dressing herself + </p> + <p> + “And what about me?” + </p> + <p> + “Merely so. You seem as though you were born of two fathers. Do you know + what I have observed among people?” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “If a man cannot answer for himself, it means that he is afraid of + himself, that his price is a grosh!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you refer to me?” asked Foma, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “To you, too.” + </p> + <p> + She threw a pink morning gown over her shoulders and, standing in the + centre of the room, stretched out her hand toward Foma, who lay at her + feet, and said to him in a low, dull voice: + </p> + <p> + “You have no right to speak about my soul. You have nothing to do with it! + And therefore hold your tongue! I may speak! If I please, I could tell + something to all of you. Eh, how I could tell it! Only,—who will + dare to listen to me, if I should speak at the top of my voice? And I have + some words about you,—they’re like hammers! And I could knock you + all on your heads so that you would lose your wits. And although you are + all rascals—you cannot be cured by words. You should be burned in + the fire—just as frying-pans are burned out on the first Monday of + Lent.” + </p> + <p> + Raising her hands she abruptly loosened her hair, and when it fell over + her shoulders in heavy, black locks—the woman shook her head + haughtily and said, with contempt: + </p> + <p> + “Never mind that I am leading a loose life! It often happens, that the man + who lives in filth is purer than he who goes about in silks. If you only + knew what I think of you, you dogs, what wrath I bear against you! And + because of this wrath—I am silent! For I fear that if I should sing + it to you—my soul would become empty. I would have nothing to live + on.” Foma looked at her, and now he was pleased with her. In her words + there was something akin to his frame of mind. Laughing, he said to her, + with satisfaction on his face and in his voice: + </p> + <p> + “And I also feel that something is growing within my soul. Eh, I too shall + have my say, when the time comes.” + </p> + <p> + “Against whom?” asked Sasha, carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “I—against everybody!” exclaimed Foma, jumping to his feet. “Against + falsehood. I shall ask—” + </p> + <p> + “Ask whether the samovar is ready,” Sasha ordered indifferently. + </p> + <p> + Foma glanced at her and cried, enraged: + </p> + <p> + “Go to the devil! Ask yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, all right, I shall. What are you snarling about?” + </p> + <p> + And she stepped out of the hut. + </p> + <p> + In piercing gusts the wind blew across the river, striking against its + bosom, and covered with troubled dark waves, the river was spasmodically + rushing toward the wind with a noisy splash, and all in the froth of + wrath. The willow bushes on the shore bent low to the ground—trembling, + they now were about to lie down on the ground, now, frightened, they + thrust themselves away from it, driven by the blows of the wind. In the + air rang a whistling, a howling, and a deep groaning sound, that burst + from dozens of human breasts: + </p> + <p> + “It goes—it goes—it goes!” + </p> + <p> + This exclamation, abrupt as a blow, and heavy as the breath from an + enormous breast, which is suffocating from exertion, was soaring over the + river, falling upon the waves, as if encouraging their mad play with the + wind, and they struck the shores with might. + </p> + <p> + Two empty barges lay anchored by the mountainous shore, and their tall + masts, rising skyward, rocked in commotion from side to side, as though + describing some invisible pattern in the air. The decks of both barges + were encumbered with scaffolds, built of thick brown beams; huge sheaves + were hanging everywhere; chains and ropes were fastened to them, and + rocking in the air; the links of the chains were faintly clanging. A + throng of peasants in blue and in red blouses pulled a large beam across + the dock and, heavily stamping their feet, groaned with full chest: + </p> + <p> + “It goes—it goes—it goes!” + </p> + <p> + Here and there human figures clung to the scaffoldings, like big lumps of + blue and red; the wind, blowing their blouses and their trousers, gave the + men odd forms, making them appear now hump-backed, now round and puffed up + like bladders. The people on the scaffolds and on the decks of the barges + were making fast, hewing, sawing, driving in nails; and big arms, with + shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows were seen everywhere. The wind + scattered splinters of wood, and a varied, lively, brisk noise in the air; + the saw gnawed the wood, choking with wicked joy; the beams, wounded by + the axes, moaned and groaned drily; the boards cracked sickly as they + split from the blows they received; the jointer squeaked maliciously. The + iron clinking of the chains and the groaning creaking of the sheaves + joined the wrathful roaring of the waves, and the wind howled loudly, + scattering over the river the noise of toil and drove the clouds across + the sky. + </p> + <p> + “Mishka-a! The deuce take you!” cried someone from the top of the + scaffolding. And from the deck, a large-formed peasant, with his head + thrown upward, answered: + </p> + <p> + “Wh-a-at?” And the wind, playing with his long, flaxen beard, flung it + into his face. + </p> + <p> + “Hand us the end.” + </p> + <p> + A resounding basso shouted as through a speaking-trumpet: + </p> + <p> + “See how you’ve fastened this board, you blind devil? Can’t you see? I’ll + rub your eyes for you!” + </p> + <p> + “Pull, my boys, come on!” + </p> + <p> + “Once more—brave—boys!” cried out some one in a loud, + beseeching voice. + </p> + <p> + Handsome and stately, in a short cloth jacket and high boots, Foma stood, + leaning his back against a mast, and stroking his beard with his trembling + hand, admired the daring work of the peasants. The noise about him called + forth in him a persistent desire to shout, to work together with the + peasants, to hew wood, to carry burdens, to command—to compel + everybody to pay attention to him, and to show them his strength, his + skill, and the live soul within him. But he restrained himself. And + standing speechless, motionless, he felt ashamed and afraid of something. + He was embarrassed by the fact that he was master over everybody there, + and that if he were to start to work himself, no one would believe that he + was working merely to satisfy his desire, and not to spur them on in their + work; to set them an example. And then, the peasants might laugh at him, + in all probability. + </p> + <p> + A fair and curly-headed fellow, with his shirt collar unbuttoned, was now + and again running past him, now carrying a log on his shoulder, now an axe + in his hands; he was skipping along, like a frolicsome goat, scattering + about him cheerful, ringing laughter, jests, violent oaths, and working + unceasingly, now assisting one, now another, as he was cleverly and + quickly running across the deck, which was obstructed with timber and + shavings. Foma watched him closely, and envied this merry fellow, who was + radiant with something healthy and inspiring. + </p> + <p> + “Evidently he is happy,” thought Foma, and this thought provoked in him a + keen, piercing desire to insult him somehow, to embarrass him. All those + about him were seized with the zest of pressing work, all were unanimously + and hastily fastening the scaffoldings, arranging the pulleys, preparing + to raise the sunken barge from the bottom of the river; all were sound and + merry—they all lived. While he stood alone, aside from them, not + knowing what to do, not knowing how to do anything, feeling himself + superfluous to this great toil. It vexed him to feel that he was + superfluous among men, and the more closely he watched them, the more + intense was this vexation. And he was stung most by the thought that all + this was being done for him. And yet he was out of place there. + </p> + <p> + “Where is my place, then?” he thought gloomily. “Where is my work? Am I, + then, some deformed being? I have just as much strength as any of them. + But of what use is it to me?” The chains clanged, the pulleys groaned, the + blows of the axes resounded loud over the river, and the barges rocked + from the shocks of the waves, but to Foma it seemed that he was rocking + not because the barge was rocking under his feet, but rather because he + was not able to stand firmly anywhere, he was not destined to do so. + </p> + <p> + The contractor, a small-sized peasant with a small pointed gray beard, and + with narrow little eyes on his gray wrinkled face, came up to him and + said, not loud, but pronouncing his words with a certain tone from the + bottom of the river. He wished that they might not succeed, that they + might feel embarrassed in his presence, and a wicked thought flashed + through his mind: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the chains will break.” + </p> + <p> + “Boys! Attention!” shouted the contractor. “Start all together. God bless + us!” And suddenly, clasping his hands in the air, he cried in a shrill + voice: + </p> + <p> + “Let—her—go-o-o!” + </p> + <p> + The labourers took up his shout, and all cried out in one voice, with + excitement and exertion: + </p> + <p> + “Let her go! She moves.” + </p> + <p> + The pulleys squeaked and creaked, the chains clanked, strained under the + heavy weight that suddenly fell upon them; and the labourers, bracing + their chests against the handle of the windlasses, roared and tramped + heavily. The waves splashed noisily between the barges as though unwilling + to give up their prize to the men. Everywhere about Foma, chains and ropes + were stretched and they quivered from the strain—they were creeping + somewhere across the deck, past his feet, like huge gray worms; they were + lifted upward, link after link, falling back with a rattling noise, and + all these sounds were drowned by the deafening roaring of the labourers. + </p> + <p> + “It goes, it goes, it goes,” they all sang in unison, triumphantly. But + the ringing voice of the contractor pierced the deep wave of their voices, + and cut it even as a knife cuts bread. + </p> + <p> + “My boys! Go ahead, all at once, all at once.” + </p> + <p> + Foma was seized with a strange emotion; passionately he now longed to + mingle with this excited roaring of the labourers, which was as broad and + as powerful as the river—to blend with this irritating, creaking, + squeaking, clanging of iron and turbulent splashing of waves. Perspiration + came out on his face from the intensity of his desire, and suddenly pale + from agitation, he tore himself away from the mast, and rushed toward the + windlasses with big strides. + </p> + <p> + “All at once! At once!” he cried in a fierce voice. When he reached the + lever of the windlass, he dashed his chest against it with all his might, + and not feeling the pain, he began to go around the windlass, roaring, and + firmly stamping his feet against the deck. Something powerful and burning + rushed into his breast, replacing the efforts which he spent while turning + the windlass-lever! Inexpressible joy raged within him and forced itself + outside in an agitated cry. It seemed to him that he alone, that only his + strength was turning the lever, thus raising the weight, and that his + strength was growing and growing. Stooping, and lowering his head, like a + bull he massed the power of the weight, which threw him back, but yielded + to him, nevertheless. Each step forward excited him the more, each + expended effort was immediately replaced in him by a flood of burning and + vehement pride. His head reeled, his eyes were blood-shot, he saw nothing, + he only felt that they were yielding to him, that he would soon conquer, + that he would overthrow with his strength something huge which obstructed + his way—would overthrow, conquer and then breathe easily and freely, + full of proud delight. For the first time in his life he experienced such + a powerful, spiritualizing sensation, and he drank it with all the + strength of a hungry, thirsty soul; he was intoxicated by it and he gave + vent to his joy in loud, exulting cries in unison with the workers: + </p> + <p> + “It goes—it goes—it goes.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on! Fasten! Hold on, boys!” + </p> + <p> + Something dashed against Foma’s chest, and he was hurled backward. + </p> + <p> + “I congratulate you on a successful result, Foma Ignatyich!” the + contractor congratulated him and the wrinkles quivered on his face in + cheerful beams. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God! You must be quite tired now?” + </p> + <p> + Cold wind blew in Foma’s face. A contented, boastful bustle was in the air + about him; swearing at one another in a friendly way, merry, with smiles + on their perspiring brows, the peasants approached him and surrounded him + closely. He smiled in embarrassment: the excitement within him had not yet + calmed down and this hindered him from understanding what had happened and + why all those who surrounded him were so merry and contented. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve raised a hundred and seventy thousand puds as if we plucked a + radish from a garden-bed!” said some one. + </p> + <p> + “We ought to get a vedro of whisky from our master.” + </p> + <p> + Foma, standing on a heap of cable, looked over the heads of the workers + and saw; between the barges, side by side with them, stood a third barge, + black, slippery, damaged, wrapped in chains. It was warped all over, it + seemed as though it swelled from some terrible disease and, impotent, + clumsy, it was suspended between its companions, leaning against them. Its + broken mast stood out mournfully in the centre; reddish streams of water, + like blood, were running across the deck, which was covered with stains of + rust. Everywhere on the deck lay heaps of iron, of black, wet stumps of + wood, and of ropes. + </p> + <p> + “Raised?” asked Foma, not knowing what to say at the sight of this ugly, + heavy mass, and again feeling offended at the thought that merely for the + sake of raising this dirty, bruised monster from the water, his soul had + foamed up with such joy. + </p> + <p> + “How’s the barge?” asked Foma, indefinitely, addressing the contractor. + </p> + <p> + “It’s pretty good! We must unload right away, and put a company of about + twenty carpenters to work on it—they’ll bring it quickly into + shape,” said the contractor in a consoling tone. + </p> + <p> + And the light-haired fellow, gaily and broadly smiling into Foma’s face, + asked: + </p> + <p> + “Are we going to have any vodka?” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you wait? You have time!” said the contractor, sternly. “Don’t you + see—the man is tired.” + </p> + <p> + Then the peasants began to speak: + </p> + <p> + “Of course, he is tired! + </p> + <p> + “That wasn’t easy work!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, one gets tired if he isn’t used to work.” + </p> + <p> + “It is even hard to eat gruel if you are not used to it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not tired,” said Foma, gloomily, and again were heard the respectful + exclamations of the peasants, as they surrounded him more closely. + </p> + <p> + “Work, if one likes it, is a pleasant thing.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s just like play.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s like playing with a woman.” + </p> + <p> + But the light-haired fellow persisted in his request: + </p> + <p> + “Your Honour! You ought to treat us to a vedro of vodka, eh?” he said, + smiling and sighing. + </p> + <p> + Foma looked at the bearded faces before him and felt like saying something + offensive to them. But somehow everything became confused in his brain, he + found no thoughts in it and, finally, without giving himself an account of + his words, said angrily: + </p> + <p> + “All you want is to drink all the time! It makes no difference to you what + you do! You should have thought—why? to what purpose? Eh, you!” + </p> + <p> + There was an expression of perplexity on the faces of those that + surrounded him, blue and red, bearded figures began to sigh, scratch + themselves, shift themselves from one foot to another. Others cast a + hopeless glance at Foma and turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” said the contractor, with a sigh. “That wouldn’t harm! That is—to + think—why and how. These are words of wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + The light-haired fellow had a different opinion on the matter; smiling + kind-heartedly, he waved his hand and said: + </p> + <p> + “We don’t have to think over our work! If we have it—we do it! Our + business is simple! When a rouble is earned—thank God! we can do + everything.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you know what’s necessary to do?” questioned Foma, irritated by + the contradiction. + </p> + <p> + “Everything is necessary—this and that.” + </p> + <p> + “But where’s the sense?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s but one and the same sense in everything for our class—when + you have earned for bread and taxes—live! And when there’s something + to drink, into the bargain.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you!” exclaimed Foma, with contempt. “You’re also talking! What do + you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it our business to understand?” said the light-haired fellow, with a + nod of the head. It now bored him to speak to Foma. He suspected that he + was unwilling to treat them to vodka and he was somewhat angry. + </p> + <p> + “That’s it!” said Foma, instructively, pleased that the fellow yielded to + him, and not noticing the cross, sarcastic glances. “And he who + understands feels that it is necessary to do everlasting work!” + </p> + <p> + “That is, for God!” explained the contractor, eyeing the peasants, and + added, with a devout sigh: + </p> + <p> + “That’s true. Oh, how true that is!” + </p> + <p> + And Foma was inspired with the desire to say something correct and + important, after which these people might regard him in a different light, + for he was displeased with the fact that all, save the light-haired + fellow, kept silent and looked at him askance, surlily, with such weary, + gloomy eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It is necessary to do such work,” he said, moving his eyebrows. “Such + work that people may say a thousand years hence: ‘This was done by the + peasants of Bogorodsk—yes!’” + </p> + <p> + The light-haired fellow glanced at Foma with astonishment and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Are we, perhaps, to drink the Volga dry?” Then he sniffed and, nodding + his head, announced: “We can’t do that—we should all burst.” + </p> + <p> + Foma became confused at his words and looked about him; the peasants were + smiling morosely, disdainfully, sarcastically. And these smiles stung him + like needles. A serious-looking peasant, with a big gray beard, who had + not yet opened his mouth up to that time, suddenly opened it now, came + closer to Foma and said slowly: + </p> + <p> + “And even if we were to drink the Volga dry, and eat up that mountain, + into the bargain—that too would be forgotten, your Honour. + Everything will be forgotten. Life is long. It is not for us to do such + deeds as would stand out above everything else. But we can put up + scaffoldings—that we can!” + </p> + <p> + He spoke and sceptically spitting at his feet, indifferently walked off + from Foma, and slipped into the crowd, as a wedge into a tree. His words + crushed Foma completely; he felt, that the peasants considered him stupid + and ridiculous. And in order to save his importance as master in their + eyes, to attract again the now exhausted attention of the peasants to + himself, he bristled up, comically puffed up his cheeks and blurted out in + an impressive voice: + </p> + <p> + “I make you a present of three buckets of vodka.” + </p> + <p> + Brief speeches have always the most meaning and are always apt to produce + a strong impression. The peasants respectfully made way for Foma, making + low bows to him, and, smiling merrily and gratefully, thanked him for his + generosity in a unanimous roar of approval. + </p> + <p> + “Take me over to the shore,” said Foma, feeling that the excitement that + had just been aroused in him would not last long. A worm was gnawing his + heart, and he was weary. + </p> + <p> + “I feel disgusted!” he said, entering the hut where Sasha, in a smart, + pink gown, was bustling about the table, arranging wines and refreshments. + “I feel disgusted, Aleksandra! If you could only do something with me, + eh?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him attentively and, seating herself on the bench, shoulder + to shoulder with him, said: + </p> + <p> + “Since you feel disgusted—it means that you want something. What is + it you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know!” replied Foma, nodding his head mournfully. + </p> + <p> + “Think of it—search.” + </p> + <p> + “I am unable to think. Nothing comes out of my thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you, my child!” said Sasha, softly and disdainfully, moving away from + him. “Your head is superfluous to you.” + </p> + <p> + Foma neither caught her tone nor noticed her movement. Leaning his hands + against the bench, he bent forward, looked at the floor, and, swaying his + body to and fro, said: + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I think and think—and the whole soul is stuck round with + thoughts as with tar. And suddenly everything disappears, without leaving + any trace. Then it is dark in the soul as in a cellar—dark, damp and + empty—there is nothing at all in it! It is even terrible—I + feel then as though I were not a man, but a bottomless ravine. You ask me + what I want?” + </p> + <p> + Sasha looked at him askance and pensively began to sing softly: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, when the wind blows—mist comes from the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to carouse—it is repulsive! Always the same—the + people, the amusements, the wine. When I grow malicious—I’d thrash + everybody. I am not pleased with men—what are they? It is impossible + to understand them—why do they keep on living? And when they speak + the truth—to whom are we to listen? One says this, another that. + While I—I cannot say anything.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Eh, without thee, dear, my life is weary,” + </pre> + <p> + sang Sasha, staring at the wall before her. And Foma kept on rocking and + said: + </p> + <p> + “There are times when I feel guilty before men. Everybody lives, makes + noise, while I am frightened, staggered—as if I did not feel the + earth under me. Was it, perhaps, my mother that endowed me with apathy? My + godfather says that she was as cold as ice—that she was forever + yearning towards something. I am also yearning. Toward men I am yearning. + I’d like to go to them and say: ‘Brethren, help me! Teach me! I know not + how to live!. And if I am guilty—forgive me!’ But looking about, I + see there’s no one to speak to. No one wants it—they are all + rascals! And it seems they are even worse than I am. For I am, at least, + ashamed of living as I am, while they are not! They go on.” + </p> + <p> + Foma uttered some violent, unbecoming invectives and became silent. Sasha + broke off her song and moved still farther away from him. The wind was + raging outside the window, hurling dust against the window-panes. + Cockroaches were rustling on the oven as they crawled over a bunch of pine + wood splinters. Somewhere in the yard a calf was lowing pitifully. + </p> + <p> + Sasha glanced at Foma, with a sarcastic smile, and said: + </p> + <p> + “There’s another unfortunate creature lowing. You ought to go to him; + perhaps you could sing in unison. And placing her hand on his curly head + she jestingly pushed it on the side. + </p> + <p> + “What are people like yourself good for? That’s what you ought to think + of. What are you groaning about? You are disgusted with being idle—occupy + yourself, then, with business.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh Lord!” Foma nodded his head. “It is hard for one to make himself + understood. Yes, it is hard!” And irritated, he almost cried out: “What + business? I have no yearning toward business! What is business? Business + is merely a name—and if you should look into the depth, into the + root of it—you’ll find it is nothing but absurdity! Do I not + understand it? I understand everything, I see everything, I feel + everything! Only my tongue is dumb. What aim is there in business? Money? + I have plenty of it! I could choke you to death with it, cover you with + it. All this business is nothing but fraud. I meet business people—well, + and what about them? Their greediness is immense, and yet they purposely + whirl about in business that they might not see themselves. They hide + themselves, the devils. Try to free them from this bustle—what will + happen? Like blind men they will grope about hither and thither; they’ll + lose their mind—they’ll go mad! I know it! Do you think that + business brings happiness into man? No, that’s not so—something else + is missing here. This is not everything yet! The river flows that men may + sail on it; the tree grows—to be useful; the dog—to guard the + house. There is justification for everything in the world! And men, like + cockroaches, are altogether superfluous on earth. Everything is for them, + and they—what are they for? Aha! Wherein is their justification? Ha, + ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + Foma was triumphant. It seemed to him that he had found something good for + himself, something severe against men. And feeling that, because of this, + there was great joy in him, he laughed loudly. + </p> + <p> + “Does not your head ache?” inquired Sasha, anxiously, scrutinizing his + face. + </p> + <p> + “My soul aches!” exclaimed Foma, passionately. “And it aches because it is + upright—because it is not to be satisfied with trifles. Answer it, + how to live? To what purpose? There—take my godfather—he is + wise! He says—create life! But he’s the only one like this. Well, + I’ll ask him, wait! And everybody says—life has usurped us! Life has + choked us. I shall ask these, too. And how can we create life? You must + keep it in your hands to do this, you must be master over it. You cannot + make even a pot, without taking the clay into your hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” said Sasha, seriously. “I think you ought to get married, that’s + all!” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” asked Foma, shrugging his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “You need a bridle.” + </p> + <p> + “All right! I am living with you—you are all of a kind, are you not? + One is not sweeter than the other. I had one before you, of the same kind + as you. No, but that one did it for love’s sake. She had taken a liking to + me—and consented; she was good—but, otherwise, she was in + every way the same as you—though you are prettier than she. But I + took a liking to a certain lady—a lady of noble birth! They said she + led a loose life, but I did not get her. Yes, she was clever, intelligent; + she lived in luxury. I used to think—that’s where I’ll taste the + real thing! I did not get her—and, it may be, if I had succeeded, + all would have taken a different turn. I yearned toward her. I thought—I + could not tear myself away. While now that I have given myself to drink, + I’ve drowned her in wine—I am forgetting her—and that also is + wrong. O man! You are a rascal, to be frank.” + </p> + <p> + Foma became silent and sank into meditation. And Sasha rose from the bench + and paced the hut to and fro, biting her lips. Then she stopped short + before him, and, clasping her hands to her head, said: + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what? I’ll leave you.” + </p> + <p> + “Where will you go?” asked Foma, without lifting his head. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know—it’s all the same!” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re always saying unnecessary things. It is lonesome with you. You + make me sad.” + </p> + <p> + Foma lifted his head, looked at her and burst into mournful laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Really? Is it possible?” + </p> + <p> + “You do make me sad! Do you know? If I should reflect on it, I would + understand what you say and why you say it—for I am also of that + sort—when the time comes, I shall also think of all this. And then I + shall be lost. But now it is too early for me. No, I want to live yet, and + then, later, come what will!” + </p> + <p> + “And I—will I, too, be lost?” asked Foma, indifferently, already + fatigued by his words. + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” replied Sasha, calmly and confidently. “All such people are + lost. He, whose character is inflexible, and who has no brains—what + sort of a life is his? We are like this.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no character at all,” said Foma, stretching himself. Then after a + moment’s silence he added: + </p> + <p> + “And I have no brains, either.” + </p> + <p> + They were silent for a minute, eyeing each other. + </p> + <p> + “What are we going to do?” asked Foma. + </p> + <p> + “We must have dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I mean, in general? Afterward?” + </p> + <p> + “Afterward? I don’t know?” + </p> + <p> + “So you are leaving me?” + </p> + <p> + “I am. Come, let’s carouse some more before we part. Let’s go to Kazan, + and there we’ll have a spree—smoke and flame! I’ll sing your + farewell song.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” assented Foma. “It’s quite proper at leave taking. Eh, you + devil! That’s a merry life! Listen, Sasha. They say that women of your + kind are greedy for money; are even thieves.” + </p> + <p> + “Let them say,” said Sasha, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you feel offended?” asked Foma, with curiosity. “But you are not + greedy. It’s advantageous to you to be with me. I am rich, and yet you are + going away; that shows you’re not greedy.” + </p> + <p> + “I?” Sasha thought awhile and said with a wave of the hand: “Perhaps I am + not greedy—what of it? I am not of the very lowest of the street + women. And against whom shall I feel a grudge? Let them say whatever they + please. It will be only human talk, not the bellowing of bulls. And human + holiness and honesty are quite familiar to me! Eh, how well I know them! + If I were chosen as a judge, I would acquit the dead only l” and bursting + into malicious laughter, Sasha said: “Well, that will do, we’ve spoken + enough nonsense. Sit down at the table!” + </p> + <p> + On the morning of the next day Foma and Sasha stood side by side on the + gangway of a steamer which was approaching a harbour on the Ustye. Sasha’s + big black hat attracted everybody’s attention by its deftly bent brim, and + its white feathers, and Foma was ill at ease as he stood beside her, and + felt as though inquisitive glances crawled over his perplexed face. The + steamer hissed and quivered as it neared the landing-bridge, which was + sprinkled by a waiting crowd of people attired in bright summer clothes, + and it seemed to Foma that he noticed among the crowd of various faces and + figures a person he knew, who now seemed to be hiding behind other + people’s backs, and yet lifted not his eye from him. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go into the cabin!” said he to his companion uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t acquire the habit of hiding your sins from people,” replied Sasha, + with a smile. “Have you perhaps noticed an acquaintance there?” + </p> + <p> + “Mm. Yes. Somebody is watching me.” + </p> + <p> + “A nurse with a milk bottle? Ha, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there you’re neighing!” said Foma, enraged, looking at her askance. + “Do you think I am afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “I can see how brave you are.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll see. I’ll face anybody,” said Foma, angrily, but after a close + look at the crowd in the harbour his face suddenly assumed another + expression, and he added softly: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s my godfather.” + </p> + <p> + At the very edge of the landing-stage stood Yakov Tarasovich, squeezed + between two stout women, with his iron-like face lifted upward, and he + waved his cap in the air with malicious politeness. His beard shook, his + bald crown flashed, and his small eye pierced Foma like borers. + </p> + <p> + “What a vulture!” muttered Foma, raising his cap and nodding his head to + his godfather. + </p> + <p> + His bow evidently afforded great pleasure to Mayakin. The old man somehow + coiled himself up, stamped his feet, and his face seemed beaming with a + malicious smile. + </p> + <p> + “The little boy will get money for nuts, it seems!” Sasha teased Foma. Her + words together with his godfather’s smile seemed to have kindled a fire in + Foma’s breast. + </p> + <p> + “We shall see what is going to happen,” hissed Foma, and suddenly he + became as petrified in malicious calm. The steamer made fast, and the + people rushed in a wave to the landing-place. Pressed by the crowd, + Mayakin disappeared for awhile from the sight of his godson and appeared + again with a maliciously triumphant smile. Foma stared at him fixedly, + with knitted brow, and came toward him slowly pacing the gang planks. They + jostled him in the back, they leaned on him, they squeezed him, and this + provoked Foma still more. Now he came face to face with the old man, and + the latter greeted him with a polite bow, and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Whither are you travelling, Foma Ignatyich?” + </p> + <p> + “About my affairs,” replied Foma, firmly, without greeting his godfather. + </p> + <p> + “That’s praiseworthy, my dear sir!” said Yakov Tarasovich, all beaming + with a smile. “The lady with the feathers—what is she to you, may I + ask?” + </p> + <p> + “She’s my mistress,” said Foma, loud, without lowering his eyes at the + keen look of his godfather. + </p> + <p> + Sasha stood behind him calmly examining over his shoulder the little old + man, whose head hardly reached Foma’s chin. Attracted by Foma’s loud + words, the public looked at them, scenting a scandal. And Mayakin, too, + perceived immediately the possibility of a scandal and instantly estimated + correctly the quarrelsome mood of his godson. He contracted his wrinkles, + bit his lips, and said to Foma, peaceably: + </p> + <p> + “I have something to speak to you about. Will you come with me to the + hotel?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; for a little while.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no time, then? It’s a plain thing, you must be making haste to + wreck another barge, eh?” said the old man, unable to contain himself any + longer. + </p> + <p> + “And why not wreck them, since they can be wrecked?” retorted Foma, + passionately and firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, you did not earn them yourself; why should you spare them? + Well, come. And couldn’t we drown that lady in the water for awhile?” said + Mayakin, softly. + </p> + <p> + “Drive to the town, Sasha, and engage a room at the Siberian Inn. I’ll be + there shortly!” said Foma and turning to Mayakin, he announced boldly: + </p> + <p> + “I am ready! Let us go!” + </p> + <p> + Neither of them spoke on their way to the hotel. Foma, seeing that his + godfather had to skip as he went in order to keep up with him, purposely + took longer strides, and the fact that the old man could not keep step + with him supported and strengthened in him the turbulent feeling of + protest which he was by this time scarcely able to master. + </p> + <p> + “Waiter!” said Mayakin, gently, on entering the hall of the hotel, and + turning toward a remote corner, “let us have a bottle of moorberry kvass.” + </p> + <p> + “And I want some cognac,” ordered Foma. + </p> + <p> + “So-o! When you have poor cards you had better always play the lowest + trump first!” Mayakin advised him sarcastically. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know my game!” said Foma, seating himself by the table. + </p> + <p> + “Really? Come, come! Many play like that.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean as you do—boldly, but foolishly.” + </p> + <p> + “I play so that either the head is smashed to pieces, or the wall broken + in half,” said Foma, hotly, and struck the table with his fist. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you recovered from your drunkenness yet?” asked Mayakin with a + smile. + </p> + <p> + Foma seated himself more firmly in his chair, and, his face distorted with + wrathful agitation, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Godfather, you are a sensible man. I respect you for your common sense.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my son!” and Mayakin bowed, rising slightly, and leaning his + hands against the table. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t mention it. I want to tell you that I am no longer twenty. I am not + a child any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not!” assented Mayakin. “You’ve lived a good while, that goes + without saying! If a mosquito had lived as long it might have grown as big + as a hen.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop your joking!” Foma warned him, and he did it so calmly that Mayakin + started back, and the wrinkles on his face quivered with alarm. + </p> + <p> + “What did you come here for?” asked Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you’ve done some nasty work here. So I want to find out whether + there’s much damage in it! You see, I am a relative of yours. And then, I + am the only one you have.” + </p> + <p> + “You are troubling yourself in vain. Do you know, papa, what I’ll tell + you? Either give me full freedom, or take all my business into your own + hands. Take everything! Everything—to the last rouble!” + </p> + <p> + This proposition burst forth from Foma altogether unexpectedly to himself; + he had never before thought of anything like it. But now that he uttered + such words to his godfather it suddenly became clear to him that if his + godfather were to take from him all his property he would become a + perfectly free man, he could go wherever he pleased, do whatever he + pleased. Until this moment he had been bound and enmeshed with something, + but he knew not his fetters and was unable to break them, while now they + were falling off of themselves so simply, so easily. Both an alarming and + a joyous hope blazed up within his breast, as though he noticed that + suddenly light had begun to flash upon his turbid life, that a wide, + spacious road lay open now before him. Certain images sprang up in his + mind, and, watching their shiftings, he muttered incoherently: + </p> + <p> + “Here, this is better than anything! Take everything, and be done with it! + And—as for me—I shall be free to go anywhere in the wide + world! I cannot live like this. I feel as though weights were hanging on + me, as though I were all bound. There—I must not go, this I must not + do. I want to live in freedom, that I may know everything myself. I shall + search life for myself. For, otherwise, what am I? A prisoner! Be kind, + take everything. The devil take it all! Give me freedom, pray! What kind + of a merchant am I? I do not like anything. And so—I would forsake + men—everything. I would find a place for myself, I would find some + kind of work, and would work. By God! Father! set me at liberty! For now, + you see, I am drinking. I’m entangled with that woman.” + </p> + <p> + Mayakin looked at him, listened attentively to his words, and his face was + stern, immobile as though petrified. A dull, tavern noise smote the air, + some people went past them, they greeted Mayakin, but he saw nothing, + staring fixedly at the agitated face of his godson, who smiled + distractedly, both joyously and pitifully. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, my sour blackberry!” said Mayakin, with a sigh, interrupting Foma’s + speech. “I see you’ve lost your way. And you’re prating nonsense. I would + like to know whether the cognac is to blame for it, or is it your + foolishness?” + </p> + <p> + “Papa!” exclaimed Foma, “this can surely be done. There were cases where + people have cast away all their possessions and thus saved themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “That wasn’t in my time. Not people that are near to me!” said Mayakin, + sternly, “or else I would have shown them how to go away!” + </p> + <p> + “Many have become saints when they went away.” + </p> + <p> + “Mm! They couldn’t have gone away from me! The matter is simple—you + know how to play at draughts, don’t you? Move from one place to another + until you are beaten, and if you’re not beaten then you have the queen. + Then all ways are open to you. Do you understand? And why am I talking to + you seriously? Psha!” + </p> + <p> + “Papa! why don’t you want it?” exclaimed Foma, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me! If you are a chimney-sweep, go, carrion, on the roof! If + you are a fireman, stand on the watch-tower! And each and every sort of + men must have its own mode of life. Calves cannot roar like bears! If you + live your own life; go on, live it! And don’t talk nonsense, and don’t + creep where you don’t belong. Arrange your life after your pattern.” And + from the dark lips of the old man gushed forth in a trembling, glittering + stream the jarring, but confident and bold words so familiar to Foma. + Seized with the thought of freedom, which seemed to him so easily + possible, Foma did not listen to his words. This idea had eaten into his + brains, and in his heart the desire grew stronger and stronger to sever + all his connections with this empty and wearisome life, with his + godfather, with the steamers, the barges and the carouses, with everything + amidst which it was narrow and stifling for him to live. + </p> + <p> + The old man’s words seemed to fall on him from afar; they were blended + with the clatter of the dishes, with the scraping of the lackey’s feet + along the floor, with some one’s drunken shouting. Not far from them sat + four merchants at a table and argued loudly: + </p> + <p> + “Two and a quarter—and thank God!” + </p> + <p> + “Luka Mitrich! How can I?” + </p> + <p> + “Give him two and a half!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s right! You ought to give it, it’s a good steamer, it tows + briskly.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellows, I can’t. Two and a quarter!” + </p> + <p> + “And all this nonsense came to your head from your youthful passion!” said + Mayakin, importantly, accompanying his words with a rap on the table. + “Your boldness is stupidity; all these words of yours are nonsense. Would + you perhaps go to the cloister? or have you perhaps a longing to go on the + highways?” + </p> + <p> + Foma listened in silence. The buzzing noise about him now seemed to move + farther away from him. He pictured himself amid a vast restless crowd of + people; without knowing why they bustled about hither and thither, jumped + on one another; their eyes were greedily opened wide; they were shouting, + cursing, falling, crushing one another, and they were all jostling about + on one place. He felt bad among them because he did not understand what + they wanted, because he had no faith in their words, and he felt that they + had no faith in themselves, that they understood nothing. And if one were + to tear himself away from their midst to freedom, to the edge of life, and + thence behold them—then all would become clear to him. Then he would + also understand what they wanted, and would find his own place among them. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t I understand,” said Mayakin, more gently, seeing Foma lost in + thought, and assuming that he was reflecting on his words—“I + understand that you want happiness for yourself. Well, my friend, it is + not to be easily seized. You must seek happiness even as they search for + mushrooms in the wood, you must bend your back in search of it, and + finding it, see whether it isn’t a toad-stool.” + </p> + <p> + “So you will set me free?” asked Foma, suddenly lifting his head, and + Mayakin turned his eyes away from his fiery look. + </p> + <p> + “Father! at least for a short time! Let me breathe, let me step aside from + everything!” entreated Foma. “I will watch how everything goes on. And + then—if not—I shall become a drunkard.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk nonsense. Why do you play the fool?” cried Mayakin, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then!” replied Foma, calmly. “Very well! You do not want it? + Then there will be nothing! I’ll squander it all! And there is nothing + more for us to speak of. Goodbye! I’ll set out to work, you’ll see! It + will afford you joy. Everything will go up in smoke!” Foma was calm, he + spoke with confidence; it seemed to him that since he had thus decided, + his godfather could not hinder him. But Mayakin straightened himself in + his chair and said, also plainly and calmly: + </p> + <p> + “And do you know how I can deal with you?” + </p> + <p> + “As you like!” said Foma, with a wave of the hand. “Well then. Now I like + the following: I’ll return to town and will see to it that you are + declared insane, and put into a lunatic asylum.” + </p> + <p> + “Can this be done?” asked Foma, distrustfully, but with a tone of fright + in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “We can do everything, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + Foma lowered his head, and casting a furtive glance at his godfather’s + face, shuddered, thinking: + </p> + <p> + “He’ll do it; he won’t spare me.” + </p> + <p> + “If you play the fool seriously I must also deal with you seriously. I + promised your father to make a man of you, and I will do it; if you cannot + stand on your feet, I’ll put you in irons. Then you will stand. Though I + know all these holy words of yours are but ugly caprices that come from + excessive drinking. But if you do not give that up, if you keep on + behaving indecently, if you ruin, out of wantonness, the property + accumulated by your father, I’ll cover you all up. I’ll have a bell forged + over you. It is very inconvenient to fool with me.” + </p> + <p> + Mayakin spoke gently. The wrinkles of his cheeks all rose upward, and his + small eyes in their dark sockets were smiling sarcastically, coldly. And + the wrinkles on his forehead formed an odd pattern, rising up to his bald + crown. His face was stern and merciless, and breathed melancholy and + coldness upon Foma’s soul. + </p> + <p> + “So there’s no way out for me?” asked Foma, gloomily. “You are blocking + all my ways?” + </p> + <p> + “There is a way. Go there! I shall guide you. Don’t worry, it will be + right! You will come just to your proper place.” + </p> + <p> + This self-confidence, this unshakable boastfulness aroused Foma’s + indignation. Thrusting his hands into his pockets in order not to strike + the old man, he straightened himself in his chair and clinching his teeth, + said, facing Mayakin closely: + </p> + <p> + “Why are you boasting? What are you boasting of? Your own son, where is + he? Your daughter, what is she? Eh, you—you life-builder! Well, you + are clever. You know everything. Tell me, what for do you live? What for + are you accumulating money? Do you think you are not going to die? Well, + what then? You’ve captured me. You’ve taken hold of me, you’ve conquered + me. But wait, I may yet tear myself away from you! It isn’t the end yet! + Eh, you! What have you done for life? By what will you be remembered? My + father, for instance, donated a lodging-house, and you—what have you + done?” + </p> + <p> + Mayakin’s wrinkles quivered and sank downward, wherefore his face assumed + a sickly, weeping expression. + </p> + <p> + “How will you justify yourself?” asked Foma, softly, without lifting his + eyes from him. + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue, you puppy!” said the old man in a low voice, casting a + glance of alarm about the room. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve said everything! And now I’m going! Hold me back!” + </p> + <p> + Foma rose from his chair, thrust his cap on his head, and measured the old + man with abhorrence. + </p> + <p> + “You may go; but I’ll—I’ll catch you! It will come out as I say!” + said Yakov Tarasovich in a broken voice. + </p> + <p> + “And I’ll go on a spree! I’ll squander all!” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, we’ll see!” + </p> + <p> + “Goodbye! you hero,” Foma laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Goodbye, for a short while! I’ll not go back on my own. I love it. I love + you, too. Never mind, you’re a good fellow!” said Mayakin, softly, and as + though out of breath. + </p> + <p> + “Do not love me, but teach me. But then, you cannot teach me the right + thing!” said Foma, as he turned his back on the old man and left the hall. + </p> + <p> + Yakov Tarasovich Mayakin remained in the tavern alone. He sat by the + table, and, bending over it, made drawings of patterns on the tray, + dipping his trembling finger in the spilt kvass, and his sharp-pointed + head was sinking lower and lower over the table, as though he did not + decipher, and could not make out what his bony finger was drawing on the + tray. + </p> + <p> + Beads of perspiration glistened on his bald crown, and as usual the + wrinkles on his cheeks quivered with frequent, irritable starts. + </p> + <p> + In the tavern a resounding tumult smote the air so that the window-panes + were rattling. From the Volga were wafted the whistlings of steamers, the + dull beating of the wheels upon the water, the shouting of the loaders—life + was moving onward unceasingly and unquestionably. + </p> + <p> + Summoning the waiter with a nod Yakov Tarasovich asked him with peculiar + intensity and impressiveness, + </p> + <p> + “How much do I owe for all this?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + PREVIOUS to his quarrel with Mayakin, Foma had caroused because of the + weariness of life, out of curiosity, and half indifferently; now he led a + dissipated life out of spite, almost in despair; now he was filled with a + feeling of vengeance and with a certain insolence toward men, an insolence + which astonished even himself at times. He saw that the people about him, + like himself, lacked support and reason, only they did not understand + this, or purposely would not understand it, so as not to hinder themselves + from living blindly, and from giving themselves completely, without a + thought, to their dissolute life. He found nothing firm in them, nothing + steadfast; when sober, they seemed to him miserable and stupid; when + intoxicated, they were repulsive to him, and still more stupid. None of + them inspired him with respect, with deep, hearty interest; he did not + even ask them what their names were; he forgot where and when he made + their acquaintance, and regarding them with contemptuous curiosity, always + longed to say and do something that would offend them. He passed days and + nights with them in different places of amusement, and his acquaintances + always depended just upon the category of each of these places. In the + expensive and elegant restaurants certain sharpers of the better class of + society surrounded him—gamblers, couplet singers, jugglers, actors, + and property-holders who were ruined by leading depraved lives. At first + these people treated him with a patronizing air, and boasted before him of + their refined tastes, of their knowledge of the merits of wine and food, + and then they courted favours of him, fawned upon him, borrowed of him + money which he scattered about without counting, drawing it from the + banks, and already borrowing it on promissory notes. In the cheap taverns + hair-dressers, markers, clerks, functionaries and choristers surrounded + him like vultures; and among these people he always felt better—freer. + In these he saw plain people, not so monstrously deformed and distorted as + that “clean society” of the elegant restaurants; these were less depraved, + cleverer, better understood by him. At times they evinced wholesome, + strong emotions, and there was always something more human in them. But, + like the “clean society,” these were also eager for money, and shamelessly + fleeced him, and he saw it and rudely mocked them. + </p> + <p> + To be sure, there were women. Physically healthy, but not sensual, Foma + bought them, the dear ones and the cheap ones, the beautiful and the ugly, + gave them large sums of money, changed them almost every week, and in + general, he treated the women better than the men. He laughed at them, + said to them disgraceful and offensive words, but he could never, even + when half-drunk, rid himself of a certain bashfulness in their presence. + They all, even the most brazen-faced, the strongest and the most + shameless, seemed to him weak and defenseless, like small children. Always + ready to thrash any man, he never laid a hand on women, although when + irritated by something he sometimes abused them indecently. He felt that + he was immeasurably stronger than any woman, and every woman seemed to him + immeasurably more miserable than he was. Those of the women who led their + dissolute lives audaciously, boasting of their depravity, called forth in + Foma a feeling of bashfulness, which made him timid and awkward. One + evening, during supper hour, one of these women, intoxicated and impudent, + struck Foma on the cheek with a melon-rind. Foma was half-drunk. He turned + pale with rage, rose from his chair, and thrusting his hands into his + pockets, said in a fierce voice which trembled with indignation: + </p> + <p> + “You carrion, get out. Begone! Someone else would have broken your head + for this. And you know that I am forbearing with you, and that my arm is + never raised against any of your kind. Drive her away to the devil!” + </p> + <p> + A few days after her arrival in Kazan, Sasha became the mistress of a + certain vodka-distiller’s son, who was carousing together with Foma. Going + away with her new master to some place on the Kama, she said to Foma: + </p> + <p> + “Goodbye, dear man! Perhaps we may meet again. We’re both going the same + way! But I advise you not to give your heart free rein. Enjoy yourself + without looking back at anything. And then, when the gruel is eaten up, + smash the bowl on the ground. Goodbye!” + </p> + <p> + And she impressed a hot kiss upon his lips, at which her eyes looked still + darker. + </p> + <p> + Foma was glad that she was leaving him, he had grown tired of her and her + cold indifference frightened him. But now something trembled within him, + he turned aside from her and said in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you will not live well together, then come back to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you!” she replied, and for some reason or other burst into hoarse + laughter, which was uncommon with her. + </p> + <p> + Thus lived Foma, day in and day out, always turning around on one and the + same place, amid people who were always alike, and who never inspired him + with any noble feelings. And then he considered himself superior to them, + because the thoughts of the possibility of freeing himself from this life + was taking deeper and deeper root in his mind, because the yearning for + freedom held him in an ever firmer embrace, because ever brighter were the + pictures as he imagined himself drifting away to the border of life, away + from this tumult and confusion. More than once, by night, remaining all by + himself, he would firmly close his eyes and picture to himself a dark + throng of people, innumerably great and even terrible in its immenseness. + Crowded together somewhere in a deep valley, which was surrounded by + hillocks, and filled with a dusty mist, this throng jostled one another on + the same place in noisy confusion, and looked like grain in a hopper. It + was as though an invisible millstone, hidden beneath the feet of the + crowd, were grinding it, and people moved about it like waves—now + rushing downward to be ground the sooner and disappear, now bursting + upward in the effort to escape the merciless millstone. There were also + people who resembled crabs just caught and thrown into a huge basket—clutching + at one another, they twined about heavily, crawled somewhere and + interfered with one another, and could do nothing to free themselves from + captivity. + </p> + <p> + Foma saw familiar faces amid the crowd: there his father is walking + boldly, sturdily pushing aside and overthrowing everybody on his way; he + is working with his long paws, massing everything with his chest, and + laughing in thundering tones. And then he disappears, sinking somewhere in + the depth, beneath the feet of the people. There, wriggling like a snake, + now jumping on people’s shoulders, now gliding between their feet, his + godfather is working with his lean, but supple and sinewy body. Here Lubov + is crying and struggling, following her father, with abrupt but faint + movements, now remaining behind him, now nearing him again. Striding + softly with a kind smile on her face, stepping aside from everybody, and + making way for everyone, Aunt Anfisa is slowly moving along. Her image + quivers in the darkness before Foma, like the modest flame of a wax + candle. And it dies out and disappears in the darkness. Pelagaya is + quickly going somewhere along a straight road. There Sophya Pavlovna + Medinskaya is standing, her hands hanging impotently, just as she stood in + her drawing-room when he saw her last. Her eyes were large, but some great + fright gleams in them. Sasha, too, is here. Indifferent, paying no + attention to the jostling, she is stoutly going straight into the very + dregs of life, singing her songs at the top of her voice, her dark eyes + fixed in the distance before her. Foma hears tumult, howls, laughter, + drunken shouts, irritable disputes about copecks—songs and sobs + hover over this enormous restless heap of living human bodies crowded into + a pit. They jump, fall, crawl, crush one another, leap on one another’s + shoulders, grope everywhere like blind people, stumbling everywhere over + others like themselves, struggle, and, falling, disappear from sight. + Money rustles, soaring like bats over the heads of the people, and the + people greedily stretch out their hands toward it, the gold and silver + jingles, bottles rattle, corks pop, someone sobs, and a melancholy female + voice sings: + </p> + <p> + “And so let us live while we can, And then—e’en grass may cease to + grow!” + </p> + <p> + This wild picture fastened itself firmly in Foma’s mind, and growing + clearer, larger and more vivid with each time it arose before him, rousing + in his breast something chaotic, one great indefinite feeling into which + fell, like streams into a river, fear and revolt and compassion and wrath + and many another thing. All this boiled up within his breast into strained + desire, which was thrusting it asunder into a desire whose power was + choking him, and his eyes were filled with tears; he longed to shout, to + howl like a beast, to frighten all the people, to check their senseless + bustle, to pour into the tumult and vanity of their life something new, + his own—to tell them certain loud firm words, to guide them all into + one direction, and not one against another. He desired to seize them by + their heads, to tear them apart one from another, to thrash some, to + fondle others, to reproach them all, to illumine them with a certain fire. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing in him, neither the necessary words, nor the fire; all + he had was the longing which was clear to him, but impossible of + fulfillment. He pictured himself above life outside of the deep valley, + wherein people were bustling about; he saw himself standing firmly on his + feet and—speechless. He might have cried to the people: + </p> + <p> + “See how you live! Aren’t you ashamed?” + </p> + <p> + And he might have abused them. But if they were to ask on hearing his + voice: + </p> + <p> + “And how ought we to live?” + </p> + <p> + It was perfectly clear to him that after such a question he would have to + fly down head foremost from the heights there, beneath the feet of the + throng, upon the millstone. And laughter would accompany him to his + destruction. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes he was delirious under the pressure of this nightmare. Certain + meaningless and unconnected words burst from his lips; he even perspired + from this painful struggle within him. At times it occurred to him that he + was going mad from intoxication, and that that was the reason why this + terrible and gloomy picture was forcing itself into his mind. With a great + effort of will he brushed aside these pictures and excitements; but as + soon as he was alone and not very drunk, he was again seized by his + delirium and again grew faint under its weight. And his thirst for freedom + was growing more and more intense, torturing him by its force. But tear + himself away from the shackles of his wealth he could not. Mayakin, who + had Foma’s full power of attorney to manage his affairs, acted now in such + a way that Foma was bound to feel almost every day the burden of the + obligations which rested upon him. People were constantly applying to him + for payments, proposing to him terms for the transportation of freight. + His employees overwhelmed him in person and by letter with trifles with + which he had never before concerned himself, as they used to settle these + trifles at their own risk. They looked for him and found him in the + taverns, questioned him as to what and how it should be done; he would + tell them sometimes without at all understanding in what way this or that + should be done. He noticed their concealed contempt for him, and almost + always saw that they did not do the work as he had ordered, but did it in + a different and better way. In this he felt the clever hand of his + godfather, and understood that the old man was thus pressing him in order + to turn him to his way. And at the same time he noticed that he was not + the master of his business, but only a component part of it, and an + insignificant part at that. This irritated him and moved him farther away + from the old man, it augumented his longing to tear himself away from his + business, even at the cost of his own ruin. Infuriated, he flung money + about the taverns and dives, but this did not last long. Yakov Tarasovich + closed his accounts in the banks, withdrawing all deposits. Soon Foma + began to feel that even on promissory notes, they now gave him the money + not quite as willingly as before. This stung his vanity; and his + indignation was roused, and he was frightened when he learned that his + godfather had circulated a rumour in the business world that he, Foma, was + out of his mind, and that, perhaps, it might become necessary to appoint a + guardian for him. Foma did not know the limits of his godfather’s power, + and did not venture to take anyone’s counsel in this matter. He was + convinced that in the business world the old man was a power, and that he + could do anything he pleased. At first it was painful for him to feel + Mayakin’s hand over him, but later he became reconciled to this, renounced + everything, and resumed his restless, drunken life, wherein there was only + one consolation—the people. With each succeeding day he became more + and more convinced that they were more irrational and altogether worse + than he—that they were not the masters of life, but its slaves, and + that it was turning them around, bending and breaking them at its will, + while they succumbed to it unfeelingly and resignedly, and none of them + but he desired freedom. But he wanted it, and therefore proudly elevated + himself above his drinking companions, not desiring to see in them + anything but wrong. + </p> + <p> + One day in a tavern a certain half-intoxicated man complained to him of + his life. This was a small-sized, meagre man, with dim, frightened eyes, + unshaven, in a short frock coat, and with a bright necktie. He blinked + pitifully, his ears quivered spasmodically, and his soft little voice also + trembled. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve struggled hard to make my way among men; I’ve tried everything, I’ve + worked like a bull. But life jostled me aside, crushed me under foot, gave + me no chance. All my patience gave way. Eh! and so I’ve taken to drink. I + feel that I’ll be ruined. Well, that’s the only way open to me!” + </p> + <p> + “Fool!” said Foma with contempt. “Why did you want to make your way among + men? You should have kept away from them, to the right. Standing aside, + you might have seen where your place was among them, and then gone right + to the point!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand your words.” The little man shook his close-cropped, + angular head. + </p> + <p> + Foma laughed, self-satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “Is it for you to understand it?” “No; do you know, I think that he whom + God decreed—” + </p> + <p> + “Not God, but man arranges life!” Foma blurted out, and was even himself + astonished at the audacity of his words. And the little man glancing at + him askance also shrank timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Has God given you reason?” asked Foma, recovering from his embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Of course; that is to say, as much as is the share of a small man,” said + Foma’s interlocutor irresolutely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and you have no right to ask of Him a single grain more! Make your + own life by your own reason. And God will judge you. We are all in His + service. And in His eyes we are all of equal value. Understand?” + </p> + <p> + It happened very often that Foma would suddenly say something which seemed + audacious even to himself, and which, at the same time, elevated him in + his own eyes. There were certain unexpected, daring thoughts and words, + which suddenly flashed like sparks, as though an impression produced them + from Foma’s brains. And he noticed more than once that whatever he had + carefully thought out beforehand was expressed by him not quite so well, + and more obscure, than that which suddenly flashed up in his heart. + </p> + <p> + Foma lived as though walking in a swamp, in danger of sinking at each step + in the mire and slime, while his godfather, like a river loach, wriggled + himself on a dry, firm little spot, vigilantly watching the life of his + godson from afar. + </p> + <p> + After his quarrel with Foma, Yakov Tarasovich returned home, gloomy and + pensive. His eyes flashed drily, and he straightened himself like a + tightly-stretched string. His wrinkles shrank painfully, his face seemed + to have become smaller and darker, and when Lubov saw him in this state it + appeared to her that he was seriously ill, but that he was forcing and + restraining himself. Mutely and nervously the old man flung himself about + the room, casting in reply to his daughter’s questions, dry curt words, + and finally shouted to her: + </p> + <p> + “Leave me alone! You see it has nothing to do with you.” + </p> + <p> + She felt sorry for him when she noticed the gloomy and melancholy + expression of his keen, green eyes; she made it her duty to question him + as to what had happened to him, and when he seated himself at the + dinner-table she suddenly approached him, placed her hands on his + shoulders, and looking down into his face, asked him tenderly and + anxiously: + </p> + <p> + “Papa, are you ill? tell me!” + </p> + <p> + Her caresses were extremely rare; they always softened the lonely old man, + and though he did not respond to them for some reason or other he + nevertheless could not help appreciating them. And now he shrugged his + shoulders, thus throwing off her hands and said: + </p> + <p> + “Go, go to your place. How the itching curiosity of Eve gives you no + rest.” + </p> + <p> + But Lubov did not go away; persistingly looking into his eyes, she asked, + with an offended tone in her voice: + </p> + <p> + “Papa, why do you always speak to me in such a way as though I were a + small child, or very stupid?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you are grown up and yet not very clever. Yes! That’s the whole + story! Go, sit down and eat!” + </p> + <p> + She walked away and silently seated herself opposite her father, + compressing her lips for affront. Contrary to his habits Mayakin ate + slowly, stirring his spoon in his plate of cabbage-soup for a long time, + and examining the soup closely. + </p> + <p> + “If your obstructed mind could but comprehend your father’s thoughts!” + said he, suddenly, as he sighed with a sort of whistling sound. + </p> + <p> + Lubov threw her spoon aside and almost with tears in her voice, said: + </p> + <p> + “Why do you insult me, papa? You see that I am alone, always alone! You + understand how difficult my life is, and you never say a single kind word + to me. You never say anything to me! And you are also lonely; life is + difficult for you too, I can see it. You find it very hard to live, but + you alone are to blame for it! You alone! + </p> + <p> + “Now Balaam’s she-ass has also started to talk!” said the old man, + laughing. “Well! what will be next?” + </p> + <p> + “You are very proud of your wisdom, papa.” + </p> + <p> + “And what else?” + </p> + <p> + “That isn’t good; and it pains me greatly. Why do you repulse me? You know + that, save you, I have no one.” + </p> + <p> + Tears leaped to her eyes; her father noticed them, and his face quivered. + </p> + <p> + “If you were not a girl!” he exclaimed. “If you had as much brains as + Marfa Poosadnitza, for instance. Eh, Lubov? Then I’d laugh at everybody, + and at Foma. Come now, don’t cry!” + </p> + <p> + She wiped her eyes and asked: + </p> + <p> + “What about Foma?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s rebellious. Ha! ha! he says: ‘Take away my property, give me + freedom!’ He wants to save his soul in the kabak. That’s what entered + Foma’s head.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is this?” asked Lubov, irresolutely. She wanted to say that + Foma’s desire was good, that it was a noble desire if it were earnest, but + she feared to irritate her father with her words, and she only gazed at + him questioningly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said Mayakin, excitedly, trembling. “That either comes to + him from excessive drinking, or else—Heaven forbid—from his + mother, the orthodox spirit. And if this heathenish leaven is going to + rise in him I’ll have to struggle hard with him! There will be a great + conflict between us. He has come out, breast foremost, against me; he has + at once displayed great audacity. He’s young—there’s not much + cunning in him as yet. He says: ‘I’ll drink away everything, everything + will go up in smoke! I’ll show you how to drink!’” + </p> + <p> + Mayakin lifted his hand over his head, and, clenching his fist, threatened + furiously. + </p> + <p> + “How dare you? Who established the business? Who built it up? You? Your + father. Forty years of labour were put into it, and you wish to destroy + it? We must all go to our places here all together as one man, there + cautiously, one by one. We merchants, tradesmen, have for centuries + carried Russia on our shoulders, and we are still carrying it. Peter the + Great was a Czar of divine wisdom, he knew our value. How he supported us! + He had printed books for the express purpose of teaching us business. + There I have a book which was printed at his order by Polidor Virgily + Oorbansky, about inventory, printed in 1720. Yes, one must understand + this. He understood it, and cleared the way for us. And now we stand on + our own feet, and we feel our place. Clear the way for us! We have laid + the foundation of life, instead of bricks we have laid ourselves in the + earth. Now we must build the stories. Give us freedom of action! That’s + where we must hold our course. That’s where the problem lies; but Foma + does not comprehend this. But he must understand it, must resume the work. + He has his father’s means. When I die mine will be added to his. Work, you + puppy! And he is raving. No, wait! I’ll lift you up to the proper point!” + </p> + <p> + The old man was choking with agitation and with flashing eyes looked at + his daughter so furiously as though Foma were sitting in her place. His + agitation frightened Lubov, but she lacked the courage to interrupt her + father, and she looked at his stern and gloomy face in silence. + </p> + <p> + “The road has been paved by our fathers, and you must walk on it. I have + worked for fifty years to what purpose? That my children may resume it + after I am gone. My children! Where are my children?” + </p> + <p> + The old man drooped his head mournfully, his voice broke down, and he said + sadly, as if he were speaking unto himself: + </p> + <p> + “One is a convict, utterly ruined; the other, a drunkard. I have little + hope in him. My daughter, to whom, then, shall I leave my labour before my + death? If I had but a son-in-law. I thought Foma would become a man and + would be sharpened up, then I would give you unto him, and with you all I + have—there! But Foma is good for nothing, and I see no one else in + his stead. What sort of people we have now! In former days the people were + as of iron, while now they are of india-rubber. They are all bending now. + And nothing—they have no firmness in them. What is it? Why is it + so?” + </p> + <p> + Mayakin looked at his daughter with alarm. She was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” he asked her, “what do you need? How, in your opinion, is it + proper to live? What do you want? You have studied, read, tell me what is + it that you need?” + </p> + <p> + The questions fell on Lubov’s head quite unexpectedly to her, and she was + embarrassed. She was pleased that her father asked her about this matter, + and was at the same time afraid to reply, lest she should be lowered in + his estimation. And then, gathering courage, as though preparing to jump + across the table, she said irresolutely and in a trembling voice: + </p> + <p> + “That all the people should be happy and contented; that all the people + should be equal, all the people have an equal right to life, to the bliss + of life, all must have freedom, even as they have air. And equality in + everything!” + </p> + <p> + At the beginning of her agitated speech her father looked at her face with + anxious curiosity in his eyes, but as she went on hastily hurling her + words at him his eyes assumed an altogether different expression, and + finally he said to her with calm contempt: + </p> + <p> + “I knew it before—you are a gilded fool!” + </p> + <p> + She lowered her head, but immediately raised it and exclaimed sadly: + </p> + <p> + “You have said so yourself—freedom.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better hold your tongue!” the old man shouted at her rudely. “You + cannot see even that which is visibly forced outside of each man. How can + all the people be happy and equal, since each one wants to be above the + other? Even the beggar has his pride and always boasts of something or + other before other people. A small child, even he wants to be first among + his playmates. And one man will never yield to another; only fools believe + in it. Each man has his own soul, and his own face; only those who love + not their souls and care not for their faces can be planed down to the + same size. Eh, you! You’ve read much trash, and you’ve devoured it!” + </p> + <p> + Bitter reproach and biting contempt were expressed on the old man’s face. + He noisily pushed his chair away from the table, jumped up, and folding + his hands behind his back, began to dart about in the room with short + steps, shaking his head and saying something to himself in an angry, + hissing whisper. Lubov, pale with emotion and anger, feeling herself + stupid and powerless before him, listening to his whisper, and her heart + palpitated wildly. + </p> + <p> + “I am left alone, alone, like Job. Oh Lord! What shall I do? Oh, alone! Am + I not wise? Am I not clever? But life has outwitted me also. What does it + love? Whom does it fondle? It beats the good, and suffers not the bad to + go unpunished, and no one understands life’s justice.” + </p> + <p> + The girl began to feel painfully sorry for the old man; she was seized + with an intense yearning to help him; she longed to be of use to him. + </p> + <p> + Following him with burning eyes, she suddenly said in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “Papa, dear! do not grieve. Taras is still alive. Perhaps he—” + </p> + <p> + Mayakin stopped suddenly as though nailed to the spot, and he slowly + lifted his head. + </p> + <p> + “The tree that grew crooked in its youth and could not hold out will + certainly break when it’s old. But nevertheless, even Taras is a straw to + me now. Though I doubt whether he is better than Foma. Gordyeeff has a + character, he has his father’s daring. He can take a great deal on + himself. But Taraska, you recalled him just in time. Yes!” + </p> + <p> + And the old man, who a moment ago had lost his courage to the point of + complaining, and, grief-stricken had run about the room like a mouse in a + trap, now calmly and firmly walked up with a careworn face to the table, + carefully adjusted his chair, and seated himself, saying: + </p> + <p> + “We’ll have to sound Taraska. He lives in Usolye at some factory. I was + told by some merchants—they’re making soda there, I believe. I’ll + find out the particulars. I’ll write to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to write to him, papa!” begged Lubov, softly, flushing, + trembling with joy. + </p> + <p> + “You?” asked Mayakin, casting a brief glance at her; he then became + silent, thought awhile and said: + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right. That’s even better! Write to him. Ask him whether he + isn’t married, how he lives, what he thinks. But then I’ll tell you what + to write when the time has come.” + </p> + <p> + “Do it at once, papa,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “It is necessary to marry you off the sooner. I am keeping an eye on a + certain red-haired fellow. He doesn’t seem to be stupid. He’s been + polished abroad, by the way. + </p> + <p> + “Is it Smolin, papa?” asked Lubov, inquisitively and anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “And supposing it is he, what of it?” inquired Yakov Tarasovich in a + business-like tone. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, I don’t know him,” replied Lubov, indefinitely. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll make you acquainted. It’s time, Lubov, it’s time. Our hopes for + Foma are poor, although I do not give him up.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not reckon on Foma—what is he to me?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s wrong. If you had been cleverer perhaps he wouldn’t have gone + astray! Whenever I used to see you together, I thought: ‘My girl will + attract the fellow to herself! That will be a fine affair!’ But I was + wrong. I thought that you would know what is to your advantage without + being told of it. That’s the way, my girl!” said the father, + instructively. + </p> + <p> + She became thoughtful as she listened to his impressive speech. Robust and + strong, Lubov was thinking of marriage more and more frequently of late, + for she saw no other way out of her loneliness. The desire to forsake her + father and go away somewhere in order to study something, to do something. + This desire she had long since overcome, even as she conquered in herself + many another longing just as keen, but shallow and indefinite. From the + various books she had read a thick sediment remained within her, and + though it was something live it had the life of a protoplasm. This + sediment developed in the girl a feeling of dis-satisfaction with her + life, a yearning toward personal independence, a longing to be freed from + the heavy guardianship of her father, but she had neither the power to + realize these desires, nor the clear conception of their realization. But + nature had its influence on her, and at the sight of young mothers with + children in their arms Lubov often felt a sad and mournful languor within + her. At times stopping before the mirror she sadly scrutinized in it her + plump, fresh face with dark circles around her eyes, and she felt sorry + for herself. She felt that life was going past her, forgetting her + somewhere on the side. Now listening to her father’s words she pictured to + herself what sort of man Smolin might be. She had met him when he was yet + a Gymnasium student, his face was covered with freckles, he was + snub-nosed, always clean, sedate and tiresome. He danced heavily, + awkwardly, he talked uninterestingly. A long time had passed since then, + he had been abroad, had studied something there, how was he now? From + Smolin her thoughts darted to her brother, and with a sinking heart she + thought: what would he say in reply to her letter? What sort of a man was + he? The image of her brother as she had pictured it to herself prevented + her from seeing both her father and Smolin, and she had already made up + her mind not to consent to marry before meeting Taras, when suddenly her + father shouted to her: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Lubovka! Why are you thoughtful? What are you thinking of mostly?” + </p> + <p> + “So, everything goes so swiftly,” replied Luba, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “What goes swiftly?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything. A week ago it was impossible to speak with you about Taras, + while now—” + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis need, my girl! Need is a power, it bends a steel rod into a spring. + And steel is stubborn. Taras, we’ll see what he is! Man is to be + appreciated by his resistance to the power of life; if it isn’t life that + wrings him, but he that wrings life to suit himself, my respects to that + man! Allow me to shake your hand, let’s run our business together. Eh, I + am old. And how very brisk life has become now! With each succeeding year + there is more and more interest in it, more and more relish to it! I wish + I could live forever, I wish I could act all the time!” The old man + smacked his lips, rubbed his hands, and his small eyes gleamed greedily. + </p> + <p> + “But you are a thin-blooded lot! Ere you have grown up you are already + overgrown and withered. You live like an old radish. And the fact that + life is growing fairer and fairer is incomprehensible to you. I have lived + sixty-seven years on this earth, and though I am now standing close to my + grave I can see that in former years, when I was young, there were fewer + flowers on earth, and the flowers were not quite as beautiful as they are + now. Everything is growing more beautiful! What buildings we have now! + What different trade implements. What huge steamers! A world of brains has + been put into everything! You look and think; what clever fellows you are—Oh + people! You merit reward and respect! You’ve arranged life cleverly. + Everything is good, everything is pleasant. Only you, our successors, you + are devoid of all live feelings! Any little charlatan from among the + commoners is cleverer than you! Take that Yozhov, for instance, what is + he? And yet he represents himself as judge over us, and even over life + itself—he has courage. But you, pshaw! You live like beggars! In + your joy you are beasts, in your misfortune vermin! You are rotten! They + ought to inject fire into your veins, they ought to take your skin off and + strew salt upon your raw flesh, then you would have jumped!” + </p> + <p> + Yakov Tarasovich, small-sized, wrinkled and bony, with black, broken teeth + in his mouth, bald-headed and dark, as though burned by the heat of life + and smoked in it, trembled in vehement agitation, showering jarring words + of contempt upon his daughter, who was young, well-grown and plump. She + looked at him with a guilty expression in her eyes, smiled confusedly, and + in her heart grew a greater and greater respect for the live old man who + was so steadfast in his desires. + </p> + <p> + .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + </p> + <p> + And Foma went on straying and raving, passing his days and nights in + taverns and dens, and mastering more and more firmly his + contemptuously-hateful bearing toward the people that surrounded him. At + times they awakened in him a sad yearning to find among them some sort of + resistance to his wicked feeling, to meet a worthy and courageous man who + would cause him to blush with shame by his burning reproach. This yearning + became clearer—each time it sprang up in him it was a longing for + assistance on the part of a man who felt that he had lost his way and was + perishing. + </p> + <p> + “Brethren!” he cried one day, sitting by the table in a tavern, + half-intoxicated, and surrounded by certain obscure and greedy people, who + ate and drank as though they had not had a piece of bread in their mouths + for many a long day before. + </p> + <p> + “Brethren! I feel disgusted. I am tired of you! Beat me unmercifully, + drive me away! You are rascals, but you are nearer to one another than to + me. Why? Am I not a drunkard and a rascal as well? And yet I am a stranger + to you! I can see I am a stranger. You drink out of me and secretly you + spit upon me. I can feel it! Why do you do it?” + </p> + <p> + To be sure, they could treat him in a different way. In the depth of his + soul perhaps not one of them considered himself lower than Foma, but he + was rich, and this hindered them from treating him more as a companion, + and then he always spoke certain comically wrathful, conscience-rending + words, and this embarrassed them. Moreover, he was strong and ready to + fight, and they dared not say a word against him. And that was just what + he wanted. He wished more and more intensely that one of these people he + despised would stand up against him, face to face, and would tell him + something strong, which, like a lever, would turn him aside from the + sloping road, whose danger he felt, and whose filth he saw, being filled + with helpless aversion for it. + </p> + <p> + And Foma found what he needed. + </p> + <p> + One day, irritated by the lack of attention for him, he cried to his + drinking-companions: + </p> + <p> + “You boys, keep quiet, every one of you! Who gives you to drink and to + eat? Have you forgotten it? I’ll bring you in order! I’ll show you how to + respect me! Convicts! When I speak you must all keep quiet!” + </p> + <p> + And, indeed, all became silent; either for fear lest they might lose his + good will, or, perhaps, afraid that he, that healthy and strong beast, + might beat them. They sat in silence about a minute, concealing their + anger at him, bending over the plates and attempting to hide from him + their fright and embarrassment. Foma measured them with a self-satisfied + look, and gratified by their slavish submissiveness, said boastfully: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You’ve grown dumb now, that’s the way! I am strict! I—” + </p> + <p> + “You sluggard!” came some one’s calm, loud exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “Wha-at?” roared Foma, jumping up from his chair. “Who said that?” + </p> + <p> + Then a certain, strange, shabby-looking man arose at the end of the table; + he was tall, in a long frock-coat, with a heap of grayish hair on his + large head. His hair was stiff, standing out in all directions in thick + locks, his face was yellow, unshaven, with a long, crooked nose. To Foma + it seemed that he resembled a swab with which the steamer decks are + washed, and this amused the half-intoxicated fellow. + </p> + <p> + “How fine!” said he, sarcastically. “What are you snarling at, eh? Do you + know who I am?” + </p> + <p> + With the gesture of a tragic actor the man stretched out to Foma his hand, + with its long, pliant fingers like those of a juggler, and he said in a + deep hoarse basso: + </p> + <p> + “You are the rotten disease of your father, who, though he was a + plunderer, was nevertheless a worthy man in comparison with you.” + </p> + <p> + Because of the unexpectedness of this, and because of his wrath, Foma’s + heart shrank. He fiercely opened his eyes wide and kept silent, finding no + words to reply to this insolence. And the man, standing before him, went + on hoarsely, with animation, beastlike rolling his large, but dim and + swollen, eyes: + </p> + <p> + “You demand of us respect for you, you fool! How have you merited it? Who + are you? A drunkard, drinking away the fortune of your father. You savage! + You ought to be proud that I, a renowned artist, a disinterested and + faithful worshipper at the shrine of art, drink from the same bottle with + you! This bottle contains sandal and molasses, infused with snuff-tobacco, + while you think it is port wine. It is your license for the name of savage + and ass.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you jailbird!” roared Foma, rushing toward the artist. But he was + seized and held back. Struggling in the arms of those that seized him, he + was compelled to listen without replying, to the thundering, deep and + heavy bass of the man who resembled a swab. + </p> + <p> + “You have thrown to men a few copecks out of the stolen roubles, and you + consider yourself a hero! You are twice a thief. You have stolen the + roubles and now you are stealing gratitude for your few copecks! But I + shall not give it to you! I, who have devoted all my life to the + condemnation of vice, I stand before you and say openly: ‘You are a fool + and a beggar because you are too rich! Here lies the wisdom: all the rich + are beggars.’ That’s how the famous coupletist, Rimsky-Kannibalsky, serves + Truth!” + </p> + <p> + Foma was now standing meekly among the people that had closely surrounded + him, and he eagerly listened to the coupletist’s thundering words, which + now aroused in him a sensation as though somebody was scratching a sore + spot, and thus soothing the acute itching of the pain. The people were + excited; some attempted to check the coupletist’s flow of eloquence, + others wanted to lead Foma away somewhere. Without saying a word he pushed + them aside and listened, more and more absorbed by the intense pleasure of + humiliation which he felt in the presence of these people. The pain + irritated by the words of the coupletist, caressed Foma’s soul more and + more passionately, and the coupletist went on thundering, intoxicated with + the impurity of his accusation: + </p> + <p> + “You think that you are the master of life? You are the low slave of the + rouble.” + </p> + <p> + Someone in the crowd hiccoughed, and, evidently displeased with himself + for this, cursed each time he hiccoughed: + </p> + <p> + “Oh devil.” + </p> + <p> + And a certain, unshaven, fat-faced man took pity on Foma, or, perhaps, + became tired of witnessing that scene, and, waving his hands, he drawled + out plaintively: + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, drop that! It isn’t good! For we are all sinners! Decidedly + all, believe me!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, speak on!” muttered Foma. “Say everything! I won’t touch you.” + </p> + <p> + The mirrors on the walls reflected this drunken confusion, and the people, + as reflected in the mirrors, seemed more disgusting and hideous than they + were in reality. + </p> + <p> + “I do not want to speak!” exclaimed the coupletist, “I do not want to cast + the pearls of truth and of my wrath before you.” + </p> + <p> + He rushed forward, and raising his head majestically, turned toward the + door with tragic footsteps. + </p> + <p> + “You lie!” said Foma, attempting to follow him. “Hold on! you have made me + agitated, now calm me.” + </p> + <p> + They seized him, surrounded him and shouted something to him while he was + rushing forward, overturning everybody. When he met tactile obstacles on + his way the struggle with them gave him ease, uniting all his riotous + feelings into one yearning to overthrow that which hindered him. And now, + after he had jostled them all aside and rushed out into the street, he was + already less agitated. Standing on the sidewalk he looked about the street + and thought with shame: + </p> + <p> + “How could I permit that swab to mock me and abuse my father as a thief?” + </p> + <p> + It was dark and quiet about him, the moon was shining brightly, and a + light refreshing breeze was blowing. Foma held his face to the cool breeze + as he walked against the wind with rapid strides, timidly looking about on + all sides, and wishing that none of the company from the tavern would + follow him. He understood that he had lowered himself in the eyes of all + these people. As he walked he thought of what he had come to: a sharper + had publicly abused him in disgraceful terms, while he, the son of a + well-known merchant, had not been able to repay him for his mocking. + </p> + <p> + “It serves me right!” thought Foma, sadly and bitterly. “That serves me + right! Don’t lose your head, understand. And then again, I wanted it + myself. I interfered with everybody, so now, take your share!” These + thoughts made him feel painfully sorry for himself. Seized and sobered by + them he kept on strolling along the streets, and searching for something + strong and firm in himself. But everything within him was confused; it + merely oppressed his heart, without assuming any definite forms. As in a + painful dream he reached the river, seated himself on the beams by the + shore, and began to look at the calm dark water, which was covered with + tiny ripples. Calmly and almost noiselessly flowed on the broad, mighty + river, carrying enormous weights upon its bosom. The river was all covered + with black vessels, the signal lights and the stars were reflected in its + water; the tiny ripples, murmuring softly, were gently breaking against + the shore at the very feet of Foma. Sadness was breathed down from the + sky, the feeling of loneliness oppressed Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Oh Lord Jesus Christ!” thought he, sadly gazing at the sky. “What a + failure I am. There is nothing in me. God has put nothing into me. Of what + use am I? Oh Lord Jesus!” + </p> + <p> + At the recollection of Christ Foma felt somewhat better—his + loneliness seemed alleviated, and heaving a deep sigh, he began to address + God in silence: + </p> + <p> + “Oh Lord Jesus Christ! Other people do not understand anything either, but + they think that all is known to them, and therefore it is easier for them + to live. While I—I have no justification. Here it is night, and I am + alone, I have no place to go, I am unable to say anything to anybody. I + love no one—only my godfather, and he is soulless. If Thou hadst but + punished him somehow! He thinks there is none cleverer and better on earth + than himself. While Thou sufferest it. And the same with me. If some + misfortune were but sent to me. If some illness were to overtake me. But + here I am as strong as iron. I am drinking, leading a gay life. I live in + filth, but the body does not even rust, and only my soul aches. Oh Lord! + To what purpose is such a life?” + </p> + <p> + Vague thoughts of protest flashed one after another through the mind of + the lonely, straying man, while the silence about him was growing deeper, + and night ever darker and darker. Not far from the shore lay a boat at + anchor; it rocked from side to side, and something was creaking in it as + though moaning. + </p> + <p> + “How am I to free myself from such a life as this?” reflected Foma, + staring at the boat. “And what occupation is destined to be mine? + Everybody is working.” + </p> + <p> + And suddenly he was struck by a thought which appeared great to him: + </p> + <p> + “And hard work is cheaper than easy work! Some man will give himself up + entire to his work for a rouble, while another takes a thousand with one + finger.” + </p> + <p> + He was pleasantly roused by this thought. It seemed to him that he + discovered another falsehood in the life of man, another fraud which they + conceal. He recalled one of his stokers, the old man Ilya, who, for ten + copecks, used to be on watch at the fireplace out of his turn, working for + a comrade eight hours in succession, amid suffocating heat. One day, when + he had fallen sick on account of overwork, he was lying on the bow of the + steamer, and when Foma asked him why he was thus ruining himself, Ilya + replied roughly and sternly: + </p> + <p> + “Because every copeck is more necessary to me than a hundred roubles to + you. That’s why!” + </p> + <p> + And, saying this, the old man turned his body, which was burning with + pain, with its back to Foma. + </p> + <p> + Reflecting on the stoker his thoughts suddenly and without any effort, + embraced all those petty people that were doing hard work. He wondered, + Why do they live? What pleasure is it for them to live on earth? They + constantly do but their dirty, hard work, they eat poorly, are poorly + clad, they drink. One man is sixty years old, and yet he keeps on toiling + side by side with the young fellows. And they all appeared to Foma as a + huge pile of worms, which battled about on earth just to get something to + eat. In his memory sprang up his meetings with these people, one after + another—their remarks about life—now sarcastic and mournful, + now hopelessly gloomy remarks—their wailing songs. And now he also + recalled how one day in the office Yefim had said to the clerk who hired + the sailors: + </p> + <p> + “Some Lopukhin peasants have come here to hire themselves out, so don’t + give them more than ten roubles a month. Their place was burned down to + ashes last summer, and they are now in dire need—they’ll work for + ten roubles.” + </p> + <p> + Sitting on the beams, Foma rocked his whole body to and fro, and out of + the darkness, from the river, various human figures appeared silently + before him—sailors, stokers, clerks, waiters, half-intoxicated + painted women, and tavern-loungers. They floated in the air like shadows; + something damp and brackish came from them, and the dark, dense throng + moved on slowly, noiselessly and swiftly, like clouds in an autumn sky. + The soft splashing of the waves poured into his soul like sadly sighing + music. Far away, somewhere on the other bank of the river, burned a + wood-pile; embraced by the darkness on all sides, it was at times almost + absorbed by it, and in the darkness it trembled, a reddish spot scarcely + visible to the eye. But now the fire flamed up again, the darkness + receded, and it was evident that the flame was striving upward. And then + it sank again. + </p> + <p> + “Oh Lord, Oh Lord!” thought Foma, painfully and bitterly, feeling that + grief was oppressing his heart with ever greater power. “Here I am, alone, + even as that fire. Only no light comes from me, nothing but fumes and + smoke. If I could only meet a wise man! Someone to speak to. It is utterly + impossible for me to live alone. I cannot do anything. I wish I might meet + a man.” + </p> + <p> + Far away, on the river, two large purple fires appeared, and high above + them was a third. A dull noise resounded in the distance, something black + was moving toward Foma. + </p> + <p> + “A steamer going up stream,” he thought. “There may be more than a hundred + people aboard, and none of them give a single thought to me. They all know + whither they are sailing. Every one of them has something that is his own. + Every one, I believe, understands what he wants. But what do I want? And + who will tell it to me? Where is such a man?” + </p> + <p> + The lights of the steamer were reflected in the river, quivering in it; + the illumined water rushed away from it with a dull murmur, and the + steamer looked like a huge black fish with fins of fire. + </p> + <p> + A few days elapsed after this painful night, and Foma caroused again. It + came about by accident and against his will. He had made up his mind to + restrain himself from drinking, and so went to dinner in one of the most + expensive hotels in town, hoping to find there none of his familiar + drinking-companions, who always selected the cheaper and less respectable + places for their drinking bouts. But his calculation proved to be wrong; + he at once came into the friendly joyous embrace of the brandy-distiller’s + son, who had taken Sasha as mistress. + </p> + <p> + He ran up to Foma, embraced him and burst into merry laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s a meeting! This is the third day I have eaten here, and I am + wearied by this terrible lonesomeness. There is not a decent man in the + whole town, so I have had to strike up an acquaintance with newspaper men. + They’re a gay lot, although at first they played the aristocrat and kept + sneering at me. After awhile we all got dead drunk. They’ll be here again + today—I swear by the fortune of my father! I’ll introduce you to + them. There is one writer of feuilletons here; you know, that some one who + always lauded you, what’s his name? An amusing fellow, the devil take him! + Do you know it would be a good thing to hire one like that for personal + use! Give him a certain sum of money and order him to amuse! How’s that? I + had a certain coupletist in my employ,—it was rather entertaining to + be with him. I used to say to him sometimes: ‘Rimsky! give us some + couplets!’ He would start, I tell you, and he’d make you split your sides + with laughter. It’s a pity, he ran off somewhere. Have you had dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. And how’s Aleksandra?” asked Foma, somewhat deafened by the loud + speech of this tall, frank, red-faced fellow clad in a motley costume. + </p> + <p> + “Well, do you know,” said the latter with a frown, “that Aleksandra of + yours is a nasty woman! She’s so obscure, it’s tiresome to be with her, + the devil take her! She’s as cold as a frog,—brrr! I guess I’ll send + her away.” + </p> + <p> + “Cold—that’s true,” said Foma and became pensive. “Every person must + do his work in a first class manner,” said the distiller’s son, + instructively. “And if you become some one’s s mistress you must perform + your duty in the best way possible, if you are a decent woman. Well, shall + we have a drink?” + </p> + <p> + They had a drink. And naturally they got drunk. A large and noisy company + gathered in the hotel toward evening. And Foma, intoxicated, but sad and + calm, spoke to them with heavy voice: + </p> + <p> + “That’s the way I understand it: some people are worms, others sparrows. + The sparrows are the merchants. They peck the worms. Such is their + destined lot. They are necessary But I and you—all of you—are + to no purpose. We live so that we cannot be compared to anything—without + justification, merely at random. And we are utterly unnecessary. But even + these here, and everybody else, to what purpose are they? You must + understand that. Brethren! We shall all burst! By God! And why shall we + burst? Because there is always something superfluous in us, there is + something superfluous in our souls. And all our life is superfluous! + Comrades! I weep. To what purpose am I? I am unnecessary! Kill me, that I + may die; I want to die.” + </p> + <p> + And he wept, shedding many drunken tears. A drunken, small-sized, swarthy + man sat down close to him, began to remind him of something, tried to kiss + him, and striking a knife against the table, shouted: + </p> + <p> + “True! Silence! These are powerful words! Let the elephants and the + mammoths of the disorder of life speak! The raw Russian conscience speaks + holy words! Roar on, Gordyeeff! Roar at everything!” And again he clutched + at Foma’s shoulders, flung himself on his breast, raising to Foma’s face + his round, black, closely-cropped head, which was ceaselessly turning + about on his shoulders on all sides, so that Foma was unable to see his + face, and he was angry at him for this, and kept on pushing him aside, + crying excitedly: + </p> + <p> + “Get away! Where is your face? Go on!” + </p> + <p> + A deafening, drunken laughter smote the air about them, and choking with + laughter, the son of the brandy-distiller roared to someone hoarsely: + </p> + <p> + “Come to me! A hundred roubles a month with board and lodging! Throw the + paper to the dogs. I’ll give you more!” + </p> + <p> + And everything rocked from side to side in rhythmic, wave-like movement. + Now the people moved farther away from Foma, now they came nearer to him, + the ceiling descended, the floor rose, and it seemed to Foma that he would + soon be flattened and crushed. Then he began to feel that he was floating + somewhere over an immensely wide and stormy river, and, staggering, he + cried out in fright: + </p> + <p> + “Where are we floating? Where is the captain?” + </p> + <p> + He was answered by the loud, senseless laughter of the drunken crowd, and + by the shrill, repulsive shout of the swarthy little man: + </p> + <p> + “True! we are all without helm and sails. Where is the captain? What? Ha, + ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + Foma awakened from this nightmare in a small room with two windows, and + the first thing his eyes fell upon was a withered tree. It stood near the + window; its thick trunk, barkless, with a rotten heart, prevented the + light from entering the room; the bent, black branches, devoid of leaves, + stretched themselves mournfully and helplessly in the air, and shaking to + and fro, they creaked softly, plaintively. A rain was falling; streams of + water were beating against the window-panes, and one could hear how the + water was falling to the ground from the roof, sobbing there. This sobbing + sound was joined by another sound—a shrill, often interrupted, hasty + scratching of a pen over paper, and then by a certain spasmodic grumbling. + </p> + <p> + When he turned with difficulty his aching, heavy head on the pillow, Foma + noticed a small, swarthy man, who sat by the table hastily scratching with + his pen over the paper, shaking his round head approvingly, wagging it + from side to side, shrugging his shoulders, and, with all his small body + clothed in night garments only, constantly moving about in his chair, as + though he were sitting on fire, and could not get up for some reason or + other. His left hand, lean and thin, was now firmly rubbing his forehead, + now making certain incomprehensible signs in the air; his bare feet + scraped along the floor, a certain vein quivered on his neck, and even his + ears were moving. When he turned toward Foma, Foma saw his thin lips + whispering something, his sharp-pointed nose turned down to his thin + moustache, which twitched upward each time the little man smiled. His face + was yellow, bloated, wrinkled, and his black, vivacious small sparkling + eyes did not seem to belong to him. + </p> + <p> + Having grown tired of looking at him, Foma slowly began to examine the + room with his eyes. On the large nails, driven into the walls, hung piles + of newspapers, which made the walls look as though covered with swellings. + The ceiling was pasted with paper which had been white once upon a time; + now it was puffed up like bladders, torn here and there, peeled off and + hanging in dirty scraps; clothing, boots, books, torn pieces of paper lay + scattered on the floor. Altogether the room gave one the impression that + it had been scalded with boiling water. + </p> + <p> + The little man dropped the pen, bent over the table, drummed briskly on + its edge with his fingers and began to sing softly in a faint voice: + </p> + <p> + “Take the drum and fear not,—And kiss the sutler girl aloud—That’s + the sense of learning—And that’s philosophy.” + </p> + <p> + Foma heaved a deed sigh and said: + </p> + <p> + “May I have some seltzer?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” exclaimed the little man, and jumping up from his chair, appeared at + the wide oilcloth-covered lounge, where Foma lay. “How do you do, comrade! + Seltzer? Of course! With cognac or plain?” + </p> + <p> + “Better with cognac,” said Foma, shaking the lean, burning hand which was + outstretched to him, and staring fixedly into the face of the little man. + </p> + <p> + “Yegorovna!” cried the latter at the door, and turning to Foma, asked: + “Don’t you recognise me, Foma Ignatyevich?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember something. It seems to me we had met somewhere before.” + </p> + <p> + “That meeting lasted for four years, but that was long ago! Yozhov.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh Lord!” exclaimed Foma, in astonishment, slightly rising from the + lounge. “Is it possible that it is you?” + </p> + <p> + “There are times, dear, when I don’t believe it myself, but a real fact is + something from which doubt jumps back as a rubber ball from iron.” + </p> + <p> + Yozhov’s face was comically distorted, and for some reason or other his + hands began to feel his breast. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” drawled out Foma. “But how old you have grown! Ah-ah! How + old are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty.” + </p> + <p> + “And you look as though you were fifty, lean, yellow. Life isn’t sweet to + you, it seems? And you are drinking, too, I see.” + </p> + <p> + Foma felt sorry to see his jolly and brisk schoolmate so worn out, and + living in this dog-hole, which seemed to be swollen from burns. He looked + at him, winked his eyes mournfully and saw that Yozhov’s face was for ever + twitching, and his small eyes were burning with irritation. Yozhov was + trying to uncork the bottle of water, and thus occupied, was silent; he + pressed the bottle between his knees and made vain efforts to take out the + cork. And his impotence moved Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; life has sucked you dry. And you have studied. Even science seems to + help man but little,” said Gordyeeff plaintively. + </p> + <p> + “Drink!” said Yozhov, turning pale with fatigue, and handing him the + glass. Then he wiped his forehead, seated himself on the lounge beside + Foma, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Leave science alone! Science is a drink of the gods; but it has not yet + fermented sufficiently, and, therefore is not fit for use, like vodka + which has not yet been purified from empyreumatic oil. Science is not + ready for man’s happiness, my friend. And those living people that use it + get nothing but headaches. Like those you and I have at present. Why do + you drink so rashly?” + </p> + <p> + “I? What else am I to do?” asked Foma, laughing. Yozhov looked at Foma + searchingly with his eyes half closed, and he said: + </p> + <p> + “Connecting your question with everything you jabbered last night, I feel + within my troubled soul that you, too, my friend, do not amuse yourself + because life is cheerful to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh!” sighed Foma, heavily, rising from the lounge. “What is my life? It + is something meaningless. I live alone. I understand nothing. And yet + there is something I long for. I yearn to spit on all and then disappear + somewhere! I would like to run away from everything. I am so weary!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s interesting!” said Yozhov, rubbing his hands and turning about in + all directions. “This is interesting, if it is true and deep, for it shows + that the holy spirit of dissatisfaction with life has already penetrated + into the bed chambers of the merchants, into the death chambers of souls + drowned in fat cabbage soup, in lakes of tea and other liquids. Give me a + circumstantial account of it. Then, my dear, I shall write a novel.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been told that you have already written something about me?” + inquired Foma, with curiosity, and once more attentively scrutinized his + old friend unable to understand what so wretched a creature could write. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I have! Did you read it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I did not have the chance.” + </p> + <p> + “And what have they told you?” + </p> + <p> + “That you gave me a clever scolding.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm! And doesn’t it interest you to read it yourself?” inquired Yozhov, + scrutinizing Gordyeeff closely. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll read it!” Foma assured him, feeling embarrassed before Yozhov, and + that Yozhov was offended by such regard for his writings. “Indeed, it is + interesting since it is about myself,” he added, smiling kindheartedly at + his comrade. + </p> + <p> + In saying this he was not at all interested, and he said it merely out of + pity for Yozhov. There was quite another feeling in him; he wished to know + what sort of a man Yozhov was, and why he had become so worn out. This + meeting with Yozhov gave rise in him to a tranquil and kind feeling; it + called forth recollections of his childhood, and these flashed now in his + memory,—flashed like modest little lights, timidly shining at him + from the distance of the past. Yozhov walked up to the table on which + stood a boiling samovar, silently poured out two glasses of tea as strong + as tar, and said to Foma: + </p> + <p> + “Come and drink tea. And tell me about yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to tell you. I have not seen anything in life. Mine is an + empty life! You had better tell me about yourself. I am sure you know more + than I do, at any rate.” + </p> + <p> + Yozhov became thoughtful, not ceasing to turn his whole body and to waggle + his head. In thoughtfulness his face became motionless, all its wrinkles + gathered near his eyes and seemed to surround them with rays, and because + of this his eyes receded deeper under his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear, I have seen a thing or two, and I know a great deal,” he + began, with a shake of the head. “And perhaps I know even more than it is + necessary for me to know, and to know more than it is necessary is just as + harmful to man as it is to be ignorant of what it is essential to know. + Shall I tell you how I have lived? Very well; that is, I’ll try. I have + never told any one about myself, because I have never aroused interest in + anyone. It is most offensive to live on earth without arousing people’s + interest in you!” + </p> + <p> + “I can see by your face and by everything else that your life has not been + a smooth one!” said Foma, feeling pleased with the fact that, to all + appearances, life was not sweet to his comrade as well. Yozhov drank his + tea at one draught, thrust the glass on the saucer, placed his feet on the + edge of the chair, and clasping his knees in his hands, rested his chin + upon them. In this pose, small sized and flexible as rubber, he began: + </p> + <p> + “The student Sachkov, my former teacher, who is now a doctor of medicine, + a whist-player and a mean fellow all around, used to tell me whenever I + knew my lesson well: ‘You’re a fine fellow, Kolya! You are an able boy. We + proletariats, plain and poor people, coming from the backyard of life, we + must study and study, in order to come to the front, ahead of everybody. + Russia is in need of wise and honest people. Try to be such, and you will + be master of your fate and a useful member of society. On us commoners + rest the best hopes of the country. We are destined to bring into it + light, truth,’ and so on. I believed him, the brute. And since then about + twenty years have elapsed. We proletariats have grown up, but have neither + appropriated any wisdom, nor brought light into life. As before, Russia is + still suffering from its chronic disease—a superabundance of + rascals; while we, the proletariats, take pleasure in filling their dense + throngs. My teacher, I repeat, is a lackey, a characterless and dumb + creature, who must obey the orders of the mayor. While I am a clown in the + employ of society. Fame pursues me here in town, dear. I walk along the + street and I hear one driver say to another: ‘There goes Yozhov! How + cleverly he barks, the deuce take him!’ Yes! Even this cannot be so easily + attained.” + </p> + <p> + Yozhov’s face wrinkled into a bitter grimace, and he began to laugh, + noiselessly, with his lips only. Foma did not understand his words, and, + just to say something, he remarked at random: + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t hit, then, what you aimed at?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I thought I would grow up higher. And so I should! So I should, I + say!” + </p> + <p> + He jumped up from his chair and began to run about in the room, exclaiming + briskly in a shrill voice: + </p> + <p> + “But to preserve one’s self pure for life and to be a free man in it, one + must have vast powers! I had them. I had elasticity, cleverness. I have + spent all these in order to learn something which is absolutely + unnecessary to me now. I have wasted the whole of myself in order to + preserve something within myself. Oh devil! I myself and many others with + me, we have all robbed ourselves for the sake of saving up something for + life. Just think of it: desiring to make of myself a valuable man, I have + underrated my individuality in every way possible. In order to study, and + not die of starvation, I have for six years in succession taught + blockheads how to read and write, and had to bear a mass of abominations + at the hands of various papas and mammas, who humiliated me without any + constraint. Earning my bread and tea, I could not, I had not the time to + earn my shoes, and I had to turn to charitable institutions with humble + petitions for loans on the strength of my poverty. If the philanthropists + could only reckon up how much of the spirit they kill in man while + supporting the life of his body! If they only knew that each rouble they + give for bread contains ninety-nine copecks’ worth of poison for the soul! + If they could only burst from excess of their kindness and pride, which + they draw from their holy activity! There is none on earth more disgusting + and repulsive than he who gives alms, even as there is none more miserable + than he who accepts it!” + </p> + <p> + Yozhov staggered about in the room like a drunken man, seized with + madness, and the paper under his feet was rustling, tearing, flying in + scraps. He gnashed his teeth, shook his head, his hands waved in the air + like broken wings of a bird, and altogether it seemed as though he were + being boiled in a kettle of hot water. Foma looked at him with a strange, + mixed sensation; he pitied Yozhov, and at the same time he was pleased to + see him suffering. + </p> + <p> + “I am not alone, he is suffering, too,” thought Foma, as Yozhov spoke. And + something clashed in Yozhov’s throat, like broken glass, and creaked like + an unoiled hinge. + </p> + <p> + “Poisoned by the kindness of men, I was ruined through the fatal capacity + of every poor fellow during the making of his career, through the capacity + of being reconciled with little in the expectation of much. Oh! Do you + know, more people perish through lack of proper self-appreciation than + from consumption, and perhaps that is why the leaders of the masses serve + as district inspectors!” + </p> + <p> + “The devil take the district inspectors!” said Foma, with a wave of the + hand. “Tell me about yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “About myself! I am here entire!” exclaimed Yozhov, stopping short in the + middle of the room, and striking his chest with his hands. “I have already + accomplished all I could accomplish. I have attained the rank of the + public’s entertainer—and that is all I can do! To know what should + be done, and not to be able to do it, not to have the strength for your + work—that is torture!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s it! Wait awhile!” said Foma, enthusiastically. “Now tell me what + one should do in order to live calmly; that is, in order to be satisfied + with one’s self.” + </p> + <p> + To Foma these words sounded loud, but empty, and their sounds died away + without stirring any emotion in his heart, without giving rise to a single + thought in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “You must always be in love with something unattainable to you. A man + grows in height by stretching himself upwards.” + </p> + <p> + Now that he had ceased speaking of himself, Yozhov began to talk more + calmly, in a different voice. His voice was firm and resolute, and his + face assumed an expression of importance and sternness. He stood in the + centre of the room, his hand with outstretched fingers uplifted, and spoke + as though he were reading: + </p> + <p> + “Men are base because they strive for satiety. The well-fed man is an + animal because satiety is the self-contentedness of the body. And the + self-contentedness of the spirit also turns man into animal.” + </p> + <p> + Again he started as though all his veins and muscles were suddenly + strained, and again he began to run about the room in seething agitation. + </p> + <p> + “A self-contented man is the hardened swelling on the breast of society. + He is my sworn enemy. He fills himself up with cheap truths, with gnawed + morsels of musty wisdom, and he exists like a storeroom where a stingy + housewife keeps all sorts of rubbish which is absolutely unnecessary to + her, and worthless. If you touch such a man, if you open the door into + him, the stench of decay will be breathed upon you, and a stream of some + musty trash will be poured into the air you breathe. These unfortunate + people call themselves men of firm character, men of principles and + convictions. And no one cares to see that convictions are to them but the + clothes with which they cover the beggarly nakedness of their souls. On + the narrow brows of such people there always shines the inscription so + familiar to all: calmness and confidence. What a false inscription! Just + rub their foreheads with firm hand and then you will see the real + sign-board, which reads: ‘Narrow mindedness and weakness of soul!’” + </p> + <p> + Foma watched Yozhov bustling about the room, and thought mournfully: + </p> + <p> + “Whom is he abusing? I can’t understand; but I can see that he has been + terribly wounded.” + </p> + <p> + “How many such people have I seen!” exclaimed Yozhov, with wrath and + terror. “How these little retail shops have multiplied in life! In them + you will find calico for shrouds, and tar, candy and borax for the + extermination of cockroaches, but you will not find anything fresh, hot, + wholesome! You come to them with an aching soul exhausted by loneliness; + you come, thirsting to hear something that has life in it. And they offer + to you some worm cud, ruminated book-thoughts, grown sour with age. And + these dry, stale thoughts are always so poor that, in order to give them + expression, it is necessary to use a vast number of high-sounding and + empty words. When such a man speaks I say to myself: ‘There goes a + well-fed, but over-watered mare, all decorated with bells; she’s carting a + load of rubbish out of the town, and the miserable wretch is content with + her fate.’” + </p> + <p> + “They are superfluous people, then,” said Foma. Yozhov stopped short in + front of him and said with a biting smile on his lips: + </p> + <p> + “No, they are not superfluous, oh no! They exist as an example, to show + what man ought not to be. Speaking frankly, their proper place is the + anatomical museums, where they preserve all sorts of monsters and various + sickly deviations from the normal. In life there is nothing that is + superfluous, dear. Even I am necessary! Only those people, in whose souls + dwells a slavish cowardice before life, in whose bosoms there are enormous + ulcers of the most abominable self-adoration, taking the places of their + dead hearts—only those people are superfluous; but even they are + necessary, if only for the sake of enabling me to pour my hatred upon + them.” + </p> + <p> + All day long, until evening, Yozhov was excited, venting his blasphemy on + men he hated, and his words, though their contents were obscure to Foma, + infected him with their evil heat, and infecting called forth in him an + eager desire for combat. At times there sprang up in him distrust of + Yozhov, and in one of these moments he asked him plainly: + </p> + <p> + “Well! And can you speak like that in the face of men?” + </p> + <p> + “I do it at every convenient occasion. And every Sunday in the newspaper. + I’ll read some to you if you like.” + </p> + <p> + Without waiting for Foma’s reply, he tore down from the wall a few sheets + of paper, and still continuing to run about the room, began to read to + him. He roared, squeaked, laughed, showed his teeth and looked like an + angry dog trying to break the chain in powerless rage. Not grasping the + ideals in his friend’s creations, Foma felt their daring audacity, their + biting sarcasm, their passionate malice, and he was as well pleased with + them as though he had been scourged with besoms in a hot bath. + </p> + <p> + “Clever!” he exclaimed, catching some separate phrase. “That’s cleverly + aimed!” + </p> + <p> + Every now and again there flashed before him the familiar names of + merchants and well-known citizens, whom Yozhov had stung, now stoutly and + sharply, now respectfully and with a fine needle-like sting. + </p> + <p> + Foma’s approbation, his eyes burning with satisfaction, and his excited + face gave Yozhov still more inspiration, and he cried and roared ever + louder and louder, now falling on the lounge from exhaustion, now jumping + up again and rushing toward Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Come, now, read about me!” exclaimed Foma, longing to hear it. Yozhov + rummaged among a pile of papers, tore out one sheet, and holding it in + both hands, stopped in front of Foma, with his legs straddled wide apart, + while Foma leaned back in the broken-seated armchair and listened with a + smile. + </p> + <p> + The notice about Foma started with a description of the spree on the + rafts, and during the reading of the notice Foma felt that certain + particular words stung him like mosquitoes. His face became more serious, + and he bent his head in gloomy silence. And the mosquitoes went on + multiplying. + </p> + <p> + “Now that’s too much!” said he, at length, confused and dissatisfied. + “Surely you cannot gain the favour of God merely because you know how to + disgrace a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Keep quiet! Wait awhile!” said Yozhov, curtly, and went on reading. + </p> + <p> + Having established in his article that the merchant rises beyond doubt + above the representatives of other classes of society in the matter of + nuisance and scandal-making, Yozhov asked: “Why is this so?” and replied: + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me that this predilection for wild pranks comes from the lack + of culture in so far as it is dependent upon the excess of energy and upon + idleness. There cannot be any doubt that our merchant class, with but few + exceptions, is the healthiest and, at the same time, most inactive class.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true!” exclaimed Foma, striking the table with his fist. “That’s + true! I have the strength of a bull and do the work of a sparrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is the merchant to spend his energy? He cannot spend much of it on + the Exchange, so he squanders the excess of his muscular capital in + drinking-bouts in kabaky; for he has no conception of other applications + of his strength, which are more productive, more valuable to life. He is + still a beast, and life has already become to him a cage, and it is too + narrow for him with his splendid health and predilection for + licentiousness. Hampered by culture he at once starts to lead a dissolute + life. The debauch of a merchant is always the revolt of a captive beast. + Of course this is bad. But, ah! it will be worse yet, when this beast, in + addition to his strength, shall have gathered some sense and shall have + disciplined it. Believe me, even then he will not cease to create + scandals, but they will be historical events. Heaven deliver us from such + events! For they will emanate from the merchant’s thirst for power; their + aim will be the omnipotence of one class, and the merchant will not be + particular about the means toward the attainment of this aim. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you say, is it true?” asked Yozhov, when he had finished + reading the newspaper, and thrown it aside. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand the end,” replied Foma. “And as to strength, that is + true! Where am I to make use of my strength since there is no demand for + it! I ought to fight with robbers, or turn a robber myself. In general I + ought to do something big. And that should be done not with the head, but + with the arms and the breast. While here we have to go to the Exchange and + try to aim well to make a rouble. What do we need it for? And what is it, + anyway? Has life been arranged in this form forever? What sort of life is + it, if everyone is grieved and finds it too narrow for him? Life ought to + be according to the taste of man. If it is narrow for me, I must move it + asunder that I may have more room. I must break it and reconstruct it. But + nod? That’s where the trouble lies! What ought to be done that life may be + freer? That I do not understand, and that’s all there is to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” drawled out Yozhov. “So that’s where you’ve gone! That, dear, is a + good thing! Ah, you ought to study a little! How are you about books? Do + you read any?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t care for them. I haven’t read any.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just why you don’t care for them.” “I am even afraid to read them. + I know one—a certain girl—it’s worse than drinking with her! + And what sense is there in books? One man imagines something and prints + it, and others read it. If it is interesting, it’s all right. But learn + from a book how to live!—that is something absurd. It was written by + man, not by God, and what laws and examples can man establish for + himself?” + </p> + <p> + “And how about the Gospels? Were they not written by men?” + </p> + <p> + “Those were apostles. Now there are none.” + </p> + <p> + “Good, your refutation is sound! It is true, dear, there are no apostles. + Only the Judases remained, and miserable ones at that.” + </p> + <p> + Foma felt very well, for he saw that Yozhov was attentively listening to + his words and seemed to be weighing each and every word he uttered. + Meeting such bearing toward him for the first time in his life, Foma + unburdened himself boldly and freely before his friend, caring nothing for + the choice of words, and feeling that he would be understood because + Yozhov wanted to understand him. + </p> + <p> + “You are a curious fellow!” said Yozhov, about two days after their + meeting. “And though you speak with difficulty, one feels that there is a + great deal in you—great daring of heart! If you only knew a little + about the order of life! Then you would speak loud enough, I think. Yes!” + </p> + <p> + “But you cannot wash yourself clean with words, nor can you then free + yourself,” remarked Foma, with a sigh. “You have said something about + people who pretend that they know everything, and can do everything. I + also know such people. My godfather, for instance. It would be a good + thing to set out against them, to convict them; they’re a pretty dangerous + set!” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot imagine, Foma, how you will get along in life if you preserve + within you that which you now have,” said Yozhov, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “It’s very hard. I lack steadfastness. Of a sudden I could perhaps do + something. I understand very well that life is difficult and narrow for + every one of us. I know that my godfather sees that, too! But he profits + by this narrowness. He feels well in it; he is sharp as a needle, and + he’ll make his way wherever he pleases. But I am a big, heavy man, that’s + why I am suffocating! That’s why I live in fetters. I could free myself + from everything with a single effort: just to move my body with all my + strength, and then all the fetters will burst!” + </p> + <p> + “And what then?” asked Yozhov. + </p> + <p> + “Then?” Foma became pensive, and, after a moment’s thought, waved his + hand. “I don’t know what will be then. I shall see!” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see!” assented Yozhov. + </p> + <p> + He was given to drink, this little man who was scalded by life. His day + began thus: in the morning at his tea he looked over the local newspapers + and drew from the news notices material for his feuilleton, which he wrote + right then and there on the corner of the table. Then he ran to the + editorial office, where he made up “Provincial Pictures” out of clippings + from country newspapers. On Friday he had to write his Sunday feuilleton. + For all they paid him a hundred and twenty-five roubles a month; he worked + fast, and devoted all his leisure time to the “survey and study of + charitable institutions.” Together with Foma he strolled about the clubs, + hotels and taverns till late at night, drawing material everywhere for his + articles, which he called “brushes for the cleansing of the conscience of + society.” The censor he styled as “superintendent of the diffusion of + truth and righteousness in life,” the newspaper he called “the go-between, + engaged in introducing the reader to dangerous ideas,” and his own work, + “the sale of a soul in retail,” and “an inclination to audacity against + holy institutions.” + </p> + <p> + Foma could hardly make out when Yozhov jested and when he was in earnest. + He spoke of everything enthusiastically and passionately, he condemned + everything harshly, and Foma liked it. But often, beginning to argue + enthusiastically, he refuted and contradicted himself with equal + enthusiasm or wound up his speech with some ridiculous turn. Then it + appeared to Foma that that man loved nothing, that nothing was firmly + rooted within him, that nothing guided him. Only when speaking of himself + he talked in a rather peculiar voice, and the more impassioned he was in + speaking of himself, the more merciless and enraged was he in reviling + everything and everybody. And his relation toward Foma was dual; sometimes + he gave him courage and spoke to him hotly, quivering in every limb. + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead! Refute and overthrow everything you can! Push forward with all + your might. There is nothing more valuable than man, know this! Cry at the + top of your voice: ‘Freedom! Freedom!” + </p> + <p> + But when Foma, warmed up by the glowing sparks of these words, began to + dream of how he should start to refute and overthrow people who, for the + sake of personal profit, do not want to broaden life, Yozhov would often + cut him short: + </p> + <p> + “Drop it! You cannot do anything! People like you are not needed. Your + time, the time of the strong but not clever, is past, my dear! You are too + late! There is no place for you in life.” + </p> + <p> + “No? You are lying!” cried Foma, irritated by contradiction. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what can you accomplish?” + </p> + <p> + “I?” + </p> + <p> + “You!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I can kill you!” said Foma, angrily, clenching his fist. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you scarecrow!” said Yozhov, convincingly and pitifully, with a shrug + of the shoulder. “Is there anything in that? Why, I am anyway half dead + already from my wounds.” + </p> + <p> + And suddenly inflamed with melancholy malice, he stretched himself and + said: + </p> + <p> + “My fate has wronged me. Why have I lowered myself, accepting the sops of + the public? Why have I worked like a machine for twelve years in + succession in order to study? Why have I swallowed for twelve long years + in the Gymnasium and the University the dry and tedious trash and the + contradictory nonsense which is absolutely useless to me? In order to + become feuilleton-writer, to play the clown from day to day, entertaining + the public and convincing myself that that is necessary and useful to + them. Where is the powder of my youth? I have fired off all the charge of + my soul at three copecks a shot. What faith have I acquired for myself? + Only faith in the fact that everything in this life is worthless, that + everything must be broken, destroyed. What do I love? Myself. And I feel + that the object of my love does not deserve my love. What can I + accomplish?” + </p> + <p> + He almost wept, and kept on scratching his breast and his neck with his + thin, feeble hands. + </p> + <p> + But sometimes he was seized with a flow of courage, and then he spoke in a + different spirit: + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh, no, my song is not yet sung to the end! My breast has imbibed + something, and I’ll hiss like a whip! Wait, I’ll drop the newspaper, I’ll + start to do serious work, and write one small book, which I will entitle + ‘The Passing of the Soul’; there is a prayer by that name, it is read for + the dying. And before its death this society, cursed by the anathema of + inward impotence, will receive my book like incense.” + </p> + <p> + Listening to each and every word of his, watching him and comparing his + remarks, Foma saw that Yozhov was just as weak as he was, that he, too, + had lost his way. But Yozhov’s mood still infected Foma, his speeches + enriched Foma’s vocabulary, and sometimes he noticed with joyous delight + how cleverly and forcibly he had himself expressed this or that idea. He + often met in Yozhov’s house certain peculiar people, who, it seemed to + him, knew everything, understood everything, contradicted everything, and + saw deceit and falsehood in everything. He watched them in silence, + listened to their words; their audacity pleased him, but he was + embarrassed and repelled by their condescending and haughty bearing toward + him. And then he clearly saw that in Yozhov’s room they were all cleverer + and better than they were in the street and in the hotels. They held + peculiar conversations, words and gestures for use in the room, and all + this was changed outside the room, into the most commonplace and human. + Sometimes, in the room, they all blazed up like a huge woodpile, and + Yozhov was the brightest firebrand among them; but the light of this + bonfire illuminated but faintly the obscurity of Foma Gordyeeff’s soul. + </p> + <p> + One day Yozhov said to him: + </p> + <p> + “Today we will carouse! Our compositors have formed a union, and they are + going to take all the work from the publisher on a contract. There will be + some drinking on this account, and I am invited. It was I who advised them + to do it. Let us go? You will give them a good treat.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well!” said Foma, to whom it was immaterial with whom he passed the + time, which was a burden to him. + </p> + <p> + In the evening of that day Foma and Yozhov sat in the company of + rough-faced people, on the outskirts of a grove, outside the town. There + were twelve compositors there, neatly dressed; they treated Yozhov simply, + as a comrade, and this somewhat surprised and embarrassed Foma, in whose + eyes Yozhov was after all something of a master or superior to them, while + they were really only his servants. They did not seem to notice Gordyeeff, + although, when Yozhov introduced Foma to them, they shook hands with him + and said that they were glad to see him. He lay down under a hazel-bush, + and watched them all, feeling himself a stranger in this company, and + noticing that even Yozhov seemed to have got away from him deliberately, + and was paying but little attention to him. He perceived something strange + about Yozhov; the little feuilleton-writer seemed to imitate the tone and + the speech of the compositors. He bustled about with them at the woodpile, + uncorked bottles of beer, cursed, laughed loudly and tried his best to + resemble them. He was even dressed more simply than usual. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, brethren!” he exclaimed, with enthusiasm. “I feel well with you! I’m + not a big bird, either. I am only the son of the courthouse guard, and + noncommissioned officer, Matvey Yozhov!” + </p> + <p> + “Why does he say that?” thought Foma. “What difference does it make whose + son a man is? A man is not respected on account of his father, but for his + brains.” + </p> + <p> + The sun was setting like a huge bonfire in the sky, tinting the clouds + with hues of gold and of blood. Dampness and silence were breathed from + the forest, while at its outskirts dark human figures bustled about + noisily. One of them, short and lean, in a broad-brimmed straw hat, played + the accordion; another one, with dark moustache and with his cap on the + back of his head, sang an accompaniment softly. Two others tugged at a + stick, testing their strength. Several busied themselves with the basket + containing beer and provisions; a tall man with a grayish beard threw + branches on the fire, which was enveloped in thick, whitish smoke. The + damp branches, falling on the fire, crackled and rustled plaintively, and + the accordion teasingly played a lively tune, while the falsetto of the + singer reinforced and completed its loud tones. + </p> + <p> + Apart from them all, on the brink of a small ravine, lay three young + fellows, and before them stood Yozhov, who spoke in a ringing voice: + </p> + <p> + “You bear the sacred banner of labour. And I, like yourselves, am a + private soldier in the same army. We all serve Her Majesty, the Press. And + we must live in firm, solid friendship.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true, Nikolay Matveyich!” some one’s thick voice interrupted him. + “And we want to ask you to use your influence with the publisher! Use your + influence with him! Illness and drunkenness cannot be treated as one and + the same thing. And, according to his system, it comes out thus; if one of + us gets drunk he is fined to the amount of his day’s earnings; if he takes + sick the same is done. We ought to be permitted to present the doctor’s + certificate, in case of sickness, to make it certain; and he, to be just, + ought to pay the substitute at least half the wages of the sick man. + Otherwise, it is hard for us. What if three of us should suddenly be taken + sick at once?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that is certainly reasonable,” assented Yozhov. “But, my friends, + the principle of cooperation—” + </p> + <p> + Foma ceased listening to the speech of his friend, for his attention was + diverted by the conversation of others. Two men were talking; one was a + tall consumptive, poorly dressed and angry-looking man; the other a + fair-haired and fair-bearded young man. + </p> + <p> + “In my opinion,” said the tall man sternly, and coughing, “it is foolish! + How can men like us marry? There will be children. Do we have enough to + support them? The wife must be clothed—and then you can’t tell what + sort of a woman you may strike.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s a fine girl,” said the fair-haired man, softly. “Well, it’s now + that she is fine. A betrothed girl is one thing, a wife quite another. But + that isn’t the main point. You can try—perhaps she will really be + good. But then you’ll be short of means. You will kill yourself with work, + and you will ruin her, too. Marriage is an impossible thing for us. Do you + mean to say that we can support a family on such earnings? Here, you see, + I have only been married four years, and my end is near. I have seen no + joy—nothing but worry and care.” + </p> + <p> + He began to cough, coughed for a long time, with a groan, and when he had + ceased, he said to his comrade in a choking voice: + </p> + <p> + “Drop it, nothing will come of it!” + </p> + <p> + His interlocutor bent his head mournfully, while Foma thought: + </p> + <p> + “He speaks sensibly. It’s evident he can reason well.” + </p> + <p> + The lack of attention shown to Foma somewhat offended him and aroused in + him at the same time a feeling of respect for these men with dark faces + impregnated with lead-dust. Almost all of them were engaged in practical + serious conversation, and their remarks were studded with certain peculiar + words. None of them fawned upon him, none bothered him with love, with his + back to the fire, and he saw before him a row of brightly illuminated, + cheerful and simple faces. They were all excited from drinking, but were + not yet intoxicated; they laughed, jested, tried to sing, drank, and ate + cucumbers, white bread and sausages. All this had for Foma a particularly + pleasant flavour; he grew bolder, seized by the general good feeling, and + he longed to say something good to these people, to please them all in + some way or other. Yozhov, sitting by his side, moved about on the ground, + jostled him with his shoulder and, shaking his head, muttered something + indistinctly. + </p> + <p> + “Brethren!” shouted the stout fellow. “Let’s strike up the student song. + Well, one, two!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Swift as the waves,” + </pre> + <p> + Someone roared in his bass voice: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Are the days of our life.” + </pre> + <p> + “Friends!” said Yozhov, rising to his feet, a glass in his hand. He + staggered, and leaned his other hand against Foma’s head. The started song + was broken off, and all turned their heads toward him. + </p> + <p> + “Working men! Permit me to say a few words, words from the heart. I am + happy in your company! I feel well in your midst. That is because you are + men of toil, men whose right to happiness is not subject to doubt, + although it is not recognised. In your ennobling midst, Oh honest people, + the lonely man, who is poisoned by life, breathes so easily, so freely.” + </p> + <p> + Yozhov’s voice quivered and quaked, and his head began to shake. Foma felt + that something warm trickled down on his hand, and he looked up at the + wrinkled face of Yozhov, who went on speaking, trembling in every limb: + </p> + <p> + “I am not the only one. There are many like myself, intimidated by fate, + broken and suffering. We are more unfortunate than you are, because we are + weaker both in body and in soul, but we are stronger than you because we + are armed with knowledge, which we have no opportunity to apply. We are + gladly ready to come to you and resign ourselves to you and help you to + live. There is nothing else for us to do! Without you we are without + ground to stand on; without us, you are without light! Comrades! we were + created by Fate itself to complete one another!” + </p> + <p> + “What does he beg of them?” thought Foma, listening to Yozhov’s words with + perplexity. And examining the faces of the compositors he saw that they + also looked at the orator inquiringly, perplexedly, wearily. + </p> + <p> + “The future is yours, my friends!” said Yozhov, faintly, shaking his head + mournfully as though feeling sorry for the future, and yielding to these + people against his will the predominance over it. “The future belongs to + the men of honest toil. You have a great task before you! You have to + create a new culture, everything free, vital and bright! I, who am one of + you in flesh and in spirit; who am the son of a soldier; I propose a toast + to your future! Hurrah!” + </p> + <p> + Yozhov emptied his glass and sank heavily to the ground. The compositors + unanimously took up his broken exclamation, and a powerful, thundering + shout rolled through the air, causing the leaves on the trees to tremble. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s start a song now,” proposed the stout fellow again. + </p> + <p> + “Come on!” chimed in two or three voices. A noisy dispute ensued as to + what to sing. Yozhov listened to the noise, and, turning his head from one + side to another, scrutinized them all. + </p> + <p> + “Brethren,” Yozhov suddenly cried again, “answer me. Say a few words in + reply to my address of welcome.” + </p> + <p> + Again—though not at once—all became silent, some looking at + him with curiosity, others concealing a grin, still others with an + expression of dissatisfaction plainly written on their faces. And he again + rose from the ground and said, hotly: + </p> + <p> + “Two of us here are cast away by life—I and that other one. We both + desire the same regard for man and the happiness of feeling ourselves + useful unto others. Comrades! And that big, stupid man—” + </p> + <p> + “Nikolay Matveyich, you had better not insult our guest!” said someone in + a deep, displeased voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s unnecessary,” affirmed the stout fellow, who had invited Foma + to the fireside. “Why use offensive language?” + </p> + <p> + A third voice rang out loudly and distinctly: + </p> + <p> + “We have come together to enjoy ourselves—to take a rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Fools!” laughed Yozhov, faintly. “Kind-hearted fools! Do you pity him? + But do you know who he is? He is of those people who suck your blood.” + </p> + <p> + “That will do, Nikolay Matveyich!” they cried to Yozhov. And all began to + talk, paying no further attention to him. Foma felt so sorry for his + friend that he did not even take offence. He saw that these people who + defended him from Yozhov’s attacks were now purposely ignoring the + feuilleton-writer, and he understood that this would pain Yozhov if he + were to notice it. And in order to take his friend away from possible + unpleasantness, he nudged him in the side and said, with a kind-hearted + laugh: + </p> + <p> + “Well, you grumbler, shall we have a drink? Or is it time to go home?” + </p> + <p> + “Home? Where is the home of the man who has no place among men?” asked + Yozhov, and shouted again: “Comrades!” + </p> + <p> + Unanswered, his shout was drowned in the general murmur. Then he drooped + his head and said to Foma: + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go from here.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go. Though I don’t mind sitting a little longer. It’s interesting. + They behave so nobly, the devils. By God!” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t bear it any longer. I feel cold. I am suffocating.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, come then.” + </p> + <p> + Foma rose to his feet, removed his cap, and, bowing to the compositors, + said loudly and cheerfully: + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, gentlemen, for your hospitality! Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + They immediately surrounded him and spoke to him persuasively: + </p> + <p> + “Stay here! Where are you going? We might sing all together, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I must go, it would be disagreeable to my friend to go alone. I am + going to escort him. I wish you a jolly feast!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you ought to wait a little!” exclaimed the stout fellow, and then + whispered: + </p> + <p> + “Some one will escort him home!” + </p> + <p> + The consumptive also remarked in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “You stay here. We’ll escort him to town, and get him into a cab and—there + you are!” + </p> + <p> + Foma felt like staying there, and at the same time was afraid of + something. While Yozhov rose to his feet, and, clutching at the sleeves of + his overcoat, muttered: + </p> + <p> + “Come, the devil take them!” + </p> + <p> + “Till we meet again, gentlemen! I’m going!” said Foma and departed amid + exclamations of polite regret. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha, ha!” Yozhov burst out laughing when he had got about twenty steps + away from the fire. “They see us off with sorrow, but they are glad that I + am going away. I hindered them from turning into beasts.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s true, you did disturb them,” said Foma. “Why do you make such + speeches? People have come out to enjoy themselves, and you obtrude + yourself upon them. That bores them!” + </p> + <p> + “Keep quiet! You don’t understand anything!” cried Yozhov, harshly. “You + think I am drunk? It’s my body that is intoxicated, but my soul is sober, + it is always sober; it feels everything. Oh, how much meanness there is in + the world, how much stupidity and wretchedness! And men—these + stupid, miserable men.” + </p> + <p> + Yozhov paused, and, clasping his head with his hands, stood for awhile, + staggering. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” drawled out Foma. “They are very much unlike one another. Now these + men, how polite they are, like gentlemen. And they reason correctly, too, + and all that sort of thing. They have common sense. Yet they are only + labourers.” + </p> + <p> + In the darkness behind them the men struck up a powerful choral song. + Inharmonious at first, it swelled and grew until it rolled in a huge, + powerful wave through the invigorating nocturnal air, above the deserted + field. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” said Yozhov, sadly and softly, heaving a sigh. “Whereby are we + to live? Whereon fasten our soul? Who shall quench its thirsts for + friendship brotherhood, love, for pure and sacred toil?” + </p> + <p> + “These simple people,” said Foma, slowly and pensively, without listening + to his companion s words, absorbed as he was in his own thoughts, “if one + looks into these people, they’re not so bad! It’s even very—it is + interesting. Peasants, labourers, to look at them plainly, they are just + like horses. They carry burdens, they puff and blow.” + </p> + <p> + “They carry our life on their backs,” exclaimed Yozhov with irritation. + “They carry it like horses, submissively, stupidly. And this + submissiveness of theirs is our misfortune, our curse!” + </p> + <p> + And Foma, carried away by his own thought, argued: + </p> + <p> + “They carry burdens, they toil all their life long for mere trifles. And + suddenly they say something that wouldn’t come into your mind in a + century. Evidently they feel. Yes, it is interesting to be with them.” + </p> + <p> + Staggering, Yozhov walked in silence for a long time, and suddenly he + waved his hand in the air and began to declaim in a dull, choking voice, + which sounded as though it issued from his stomach: + </p> + <p> + “Life has cruelly deceived me, I have suffered so much pain.” + </p> + <p> + “These, dear boy, are my own verses,” said he, stopping short and nodding + his head mournfully. “How do they run? I’ve forgotten. There is something + there about dreams, about sacred and pure longings, which are smothered + within my breast by the vapour of life. Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “The buried dreams within my breast Will never rise again.” + </p> + <p> + “Brother! You are happier than I, because you are stupid. While I—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be rude!” said Foma, irritated. “You would better listen how they + are singing.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to listen to other people’s songs,” said Yozhov, with a + shake of the head. “I have my own, it is the song of a soul rent in pieces + by life.” + </p> + <p> + And he began to wail in a wild voice: + </p> + <p> + “The buried dreams within my breast Will never rise again... How great + their number is!” + </p> + <p> + “There was a whole flower garden of bright, living dreams and hopes. They + perished, withered and perished. Death is within my heart. The corpses of + my dreams are rotting there. Oh! oh!” + </p> + <p> + Yozhov burst into tears, sobbing like a woman. Foma pitied him, and felt + uncomfortable with him. He jerked at his shoulder impatiently, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Stop crying! Come, how weak you are, brother!” Clasping his head in his + hand Yozhov straightened up his stooping frame, made an effort and started + again mournfully and wildly: + </p> + <p> + “How great their number is! Their sepulchre how narrow! I clothed them all + in shrouds of rhyme And many sad and solemn songs O’er them I sang from + time to time!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord!” sighed Foma in despair. “Stop that, for Christ’s sake! By God, + how sad!” + </p> + <p> + In the distance the loud choral song was rolling through the darkness and + the silence. Some one was whistling, keeping time to the refrain, and this + shrill sound, which pierced the ear, ran ahead of the billow of powerful + voices. Foma looked in that direction and saw the tall, black wall of + forest, the bright fiery spot of the bonfire shining upon it, and the + misty figures surrounding the fire. The wall of forest was like a breast, + and the fire like a bloody wound in it. It seemed as though the breast was + trembling, as the blood coursed down in burning streams. Embraced in dense + gloom from all sides the people seemed on the background of the forest, + like little children; they, too, seemed to burn, illuminated by the blaze + of the bonfire. They waved their hands and sang their songs loudly, + powerfully. + </p> + <p> + And Yozhov, standing beside Foma, spoke excitedly: + </p> + <p> + “You hard-hearted blockhead! Why do you repulse me? You ought to listen to + the song of the dying soul, and weep over it, for, why was it wounded, why + is it dying? Begone from me, begone! You think I am drunk? I am poisoned, + begone!” + </p> + <p> + Without lifting his eyes off the forest and the fire, so beautiful in the + darkness, Foma made a few steps aside from Yozhov and said to him in a low + voice: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t play the fool. Why do you abuse me at random?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to remain alone, and finish singing my song.” + </p> + <p> + Staggering, he, too, moved aside from Foma, and after a few seconds again + exclaimed in a sobbing voice: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “My song is done! And nevermore + Shall I disturb their sleep of death, + Oh Lord, Oh Lord, repose my soul! + For it is hopeless in its wounds, + Oh Lord, repose my soul.” + </pre> + <p> + Foma shuddered at the sounds of their gloomy wailing, and he hurried after + Yozhov; but before he overtook him the little feuilleton-writer uttered a + hysterical shriek, threw himself chest down upon the ground and burst out + sobbing plaintively and softly, even as sickly children cry. + </p> + <p> + “Nikolay!” said Foma, lifting him by the shoulders. “Cease crying; what’s + the matter? Oh Lord. Nikolay! Enough, aren’t you ashamed?” + </p> + <p> + But Yozhov was not ashamed; he struggled on the ground, like a fish just + taken from the water, and when Foma had lifted him to his feet, he pressed + close to Foma’s breast, clasping his sides with his thin arms, and kept on + sobbing. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s enough!” said Foma, with his teeth tightly clenched. + “Enough, dear.” + </p> + <p> + And agitated by the suffering of the man who was wounded by the narrowness + of life, filled with wrath on his account, he turned his face toward the + gloom where the lights of the town were glimmering, and, in an outburst of + wrathful grief, roared in a deep, loud voice: + </p> + <p> + “A-a-ana-thema! Be cursed! Just wait. You, too, shall choke! Be cursed!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + “LUBAVKA!” said Mayakin one day when he came home from the Exchange, + “prepare yourself for this evening. I am going to bring you a bridegroom! + Prepare a nice hearty little lunch for us. Put out on the table as much of + our old silverware as possible, also bring out the fruit-vases, so that he + is impressed by our table! Let him see that each and everything we have is + a rarity!” + </p> + <p> + Lubov was sitting by the window darning her father’s socks, and her head + was bent low over her work. + </p> + <p> + “What is all this for, papa?” she asked, dissatisfied and offended. + </p> + <p> + “Why, for sauce, for flavour. And then, it’s in due order. For a girl is + not a horse; you can’t dispose of her without the harness.” + </p> + <p> + All aflush with offence, Lubov tossed her head nervously, and flinging her + work aside, cast a glance at her father; and, taking up the socks again, + she bent her head still lower over them. The old man paced the room to and + fro, plucking at his fiery beard with anxiety; his eyes stared somewhere + into the distance, and it was evident that he was all absorbed in some + great complicated thought. The girl understood that he would not listen to + her and would not care to comprehend how degrading his words were for her. + Her romantic dreams of a husband-friend, an educated man, who would read + with her wise books and help her to find herself in her confused desires, + these dreams were stifled by her father’s inflexible resolution to marry + her to Smolin. They had been killed and had become decomposed, settling + down as a bitter sediment in her soul. She had been accustomed to looking + upon herself as better and higher than the average girl of the merchant + class, than the empty and stupid girl who thinks of nothing but dresses, + and who marries almost always according to the calculation of her parents, + and but seldom in accordance with the free will of her heart. And now she + herself is about to marry merely because it was time, and also because her + father needed a son-in-law to succeed him in his business. And her father + evidently thought that she, by herself, was hardly capable of attracting + the attention of a man, and therefore adorned her with silver. Agitated, + she worked nervously, pricked her fingers, broke needles, but maintained + silence, being aware that whatever she should say would not reach her + father’s heart. + </p> + <p> + And the old man kept on pacing the room to and fro, now humming psalms + softly, now impressively instructing his daughter how to behave with the + bridegroom. And then he also counted something on his fingers, frowned and + smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Mm! So! Try me, Oh Lord, and judge me. From the unjust and the false man, + deliver me. Yes! Put on your mother’s emeralds, Lubov.” + </p> + <p> + “Enough, papa!” exclaimed the girl, sadly. “Pray, leave that alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you kick! Listen to what I’m telling you.” + </p> + <p> + And he was again absorbed in his calculations, snapping his green eyes and + playing with his fingers in front of his face. + </p> + <p> + “That makes thirty-five percent. Mm! The fellow’s a rogue. Send down thy + light and thy truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Papa!” exclaimed Lubov, mournfully and with fright. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “You—are you pleased with him?” + </p> + <p> + “With whom? + </p> + <p> + “Smolin.” + </p> + <p> + “Smolin? Yes, he’s a rogue, he’s a clever fellow, a splendid merchant! + Well, I’m off now. So be on your guard, arm yourself.” + </p> + <p> + When Lubov remained alone she flung her work aside and leaned against the + back of her chair, closing her eyes tightly. Her hands firmly clasped + together lay on her knees, and their fingers twitched. Filled with the + bitterness of offended vanity, she felt an alarming fear of the future, + and prayed in silence: + </p> + <p> + “My God! Oh Lord! If he were only a kind man! Make him kind, sincere. Oh + Lord! A strange man comes, examines you, and takes you unto himself for + years, if you please him! How disgraceful that is, how terrible. Oh Lord, + my God! If I could only run away! If I only had someone to advise me what + to do! Who is he? How can I learn to know him? I cannot do anything! And I + have thought, ah, how much I have thought! I have read. To what purpose + have I read? Why should I know that it is possible to live otherwise, so + as I cannot live? And it may be that were it not for the books my life + would be easier, simpler. How painful all this is! What a wretched, + unfortunate being I am! Alone. If Taras at least were here.” + </p> + <p> + At the recollection of her brother she felt still more grieved, still more + sorry for herself. She had written to Taras a long, exultant letter, in + which she had spoken of her love for him, of her hope in him; imploring + her brother to come as soon as possible to see his father, she had + pictured to him plans of arranging to live together, assuring Taras that + their father was extremely clever and understood everything; she told + about his loneliness, had gone into ecstasy over his aptitude for life and + had, at the same time, complained of his attitude toward her. + </p> + <p> + For two weeks she impatiently expected a reply, and when she had received + and read it she burst out sobbing for joy and disenchantment. The answer + was dry and short; in it Taras said that within a month he would be on the + Volga on business and would not fail to call on his father, if the old man + really had no objection to it. The letter was cold, like a block of ice; + with tears in her eyes she perused it over and over again, rumpled it, + creased it, but it did not turn warmer on this account, it only became + wet. From the sheet of stiff note paper which was covered with writing in + a large, firm hand, a wrinkled and suspiciously frowning face, thin and + angular like that of her father, seemed to look at her. + </p> + <p> + On Yakov Tarasovich the letter of his son made a different impression. On + learning the contents of Taras’s reply the old man started and hastily + turned to his daughter with animation and with a peculiar smile: + </p> + <p> + “Well, let me see it! Show it to me! He-he! Let’s read how wise men write. + Where are my spectacles? Mm! ‘Dear sister!’ Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The old man became silent; he read to himself the message of his son, put + it on the table, and, raising his eyebrows, silently paced the room to and + fro, with an expression of amazement on his countenance. Then he read the + letter once more, thoughtfully tapped the table with his fingers and + spoke: + </p> + <p> + “That letter isn’t bad—it is sound, without any unnecessary words. + Well? Perhaps the man has really grown hardened in the cold. The cold is + severe there. Let him come, we’ll take a look at him. It’s interesting. + Yes. In the psalm of David concerning the mysteries of his son it is said: + ‘When Thou hast returned my enemy’—I’ve forgotten how it reads + further. ‘My enemy’s weapons have weakened in the end, and his memory hath + perished amid noise. Well, we’ll talk it over with him without noise.” + </p> + <p> + The old man tried to speak calmly and with a contemptuous smile, but the + smile did not come; his wrinkles quivered irritably, and his small eyes + had a particularly clear brilliancy. + </p> + <p> + “Write to him again, Lubovka. ‘Come along!’ write him, ‘don’t be afraid to + come!’” + </p> + <p> + Lubov wrote Taras another letter, but this time it was shorter and more + reserved, and now she awaited a reply from day to day, attempting to + picture to herself what sort of man he must be, this mysterious brother of + hers. Before she used to think of him with sinking heart, with that solemn + respect with which believers think of martyrs, men of upright life; now + she feared him, for he had acquired the right to be judge over men and + life at the price of painful sufferings, at the cost of his youth, which + was ruined in exile. On coming, he would ask her: + </p> + <p> + “You are marrying of your own free will, for love, are you not?” + </p> + <p> + What should she tell him? Would he forgive her faint-heartedness? And why + does she marry? Can it really be possible that this is all she can do in + order to change her life? + </p> + <p> + Gloomy thoughts sprang up one after another in the head of the girl and + confused and tortured her, impotent as she was to set up against them some + definite, all-conquering desire. Though she was in an anxious and + compressing her lips. Smolin rose from his chair, made a step toward her + and bowed respectfully. She was rather pleased with this low and polite + bow, also with the costly frock coat, which fitted Smolin’s supple figure + splendidly. He had changed but slightly—he was the same red-headed, + closely-cropped, freckled youth; only his moustache had become long, and + his eyes seemed to have grown larger. + </p> + <p> + “Now he’s changed, eh?” exclaimed Mayakin to his daughter, pointing at the + bridegroom. And Smolin shook hands with her, and smiling, said in a + ringing baritone voice: + </p> + <p> + “I venture to hope that you have not forgotten your old friend?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right! You can talk of this later,” said the old man, scanning + his daughter with his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Lubova, you can make your arrangements here, while we finish our little + conversation. Well then, African Mitrich, explain yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “You will pardon me, Lubov Yakovlevna, won’t you?” asked Smolin, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Pray do not stand upon ceremony,” said Lubov. “He’s polite and clever,” + she remarked to herself; and, as she walked about in the room from the + table to the sideboard, she began to listen attentively to Smolin’s words. + He spoke softly, confidently, with a simplicity, in which was felt + condescendence toward the interlocutor. “Well then, for four years I have + carefully studied the condition of Russian leather in foreign markets. + It’s a sad and horrid condition! About thirty years ago our leather was + considered there as the standard, while now the demand for it is + constantly falling off, and, of course, the price goes hand in hand with + it. And that is perfectly natural. Lacking the capital and knowledge all + these small leather producers are not able to raise their product to the + proper standard, and, at the same time, to reduce the price. Their goods + are extremely bad and dear. And they are all to blame for having spoiled + Russia’s reputation as manufacturer of the best leather. In general, the + petty producer, lacking the technical knowledge and capital, is + consequently placed in a position where he is unable to improve his + products in proportion to the development of the technical side. Such a + producer is a misfortune for the country, the parasite of her commerce.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm!” bellowed the old man, looking at his guest with one eye, and + watching his daughter with the other. “So that now your intention is to + build such a great factory that all the others will go to the dogs?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” exclaimed Smolin, warding off the old man’s words with an easy + wave of the hand. “Why wrong others? What right have I to do so? My aim is + to raise the importance and price of Russian leather abroad, and so + equipped with the knowledge as to the manufacture, I am building a model + factory, and fill the markets with model goods. The commercial honour of + the country!” + </p> + <p> + “Does it require much capital, did you say?” asked Mayakin, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “About three hundred thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “Father won’t give me such a dowry,” thought Lubov. + </p> + <p> + “My factory will also turn out leather goods, such as trunks, foot-wear, + harnesses, straps and so forth.” + </p> + <p> + “And of what per cent, are you dreaming?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not dreaming, I am calculating with all the exactness possible under + conditions in Russia,” said Smolin, impressively. “The manufacturer should + be as strictly practical as the mechanic who is creating a machine. The + friction of the tiniest screw must be taken into consideration, if you + wish to do a serious thing seriously. I can let you read a little note + which I have drawn up, based upon my personal study of cattle-breeding and + of the consumption of meat in Russia.” + </p> + <p> + “How’s that!” laughed Mayakin. “Bring me that note, it’s interesting! It + seems you did not spend your time for nothing in Western Europe. And now, + let’s eat something, after the Russian fashion.” + </p> + <p> + “How are you passing the time, Lubov Yakovlevna?” asked Smolin, arming + himself with knife and fork. + </p> + <p> + “She is rather lonesome here with me,” replied Mayakin for his daughter. + “My housekeeper, all the household is on her shoulders, so she has no time + to amuse herself.” + </p> + <p> + “And no place, I must add,” said Lubov. “I am not fond of the balls and + entertainments given by the merchants.” + </p> + <p> + “And the theatre?” asked Smolin. + </p> + <p> + “I seldom go there. I have no one to go with.” + </p> + <p> + “The theatre!” exclaimed the old man. “Tell me, pray, why has it become + the fashion then to represent the merchant as a savage idiot? It is very + amusing, but it is incomprehensible, because it is false! Am I a fool, if + I am master in the City Council, master in commerce, and also owner of + that same theatre? You look at the merchant on the stage and you see—he + isn’t life-life! Of course, when they present something historical, such + as: ‘Life for the Czar,’ with song and dance, or ‘Hamlet,’ ‘The + Sorceress,’ or ‘Vasilisa,’ truthful reproduction is not required, because + they’re matters of the past and don’t concern us. Whether true or not, it + matters little so long as they’re good, but when you represent modern + times, then don’t lie! And show the man as he really is.” + </p> + <p> + Smolin listened to the old man’s words with a covetous smile on his lips, + and cast at Lubov glances which seemed to invite her to refute her father. + Somewhat embarrassed, she said: + </p> + <p> + “And yet, papa, the majority of the merchant class is uneducated and + savage.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” remarked Smolin with regret, nodding his head affirmatively, “that + is the sad truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Take Foma, for instance,” went on the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” exclaimed Mayakin. “Well, you are young folks, you can have books in + your hands.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you not take interest in any of the societies?” Smolin asked + Lubov. “You have so many different societies here.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lubov with a sigh, “but I live rather apart from everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Housekeeping!” interposed the father. “We have here such a store of + different things, everything has to be kept clean, in order, and complete + as to number.” + </p> + <p> + With a self-satisfied air he nodded first at the table, which was set with + brilliant crystal and silverware, and then at the sideboard, whose shelves + were fairly breaking under the weight of the articles, and which reminded + one of the display in a store window. Smolin noted all these and an + ironical smile began to play upon his lips. Then he glanced at Lubov’s + face: in his look she caught something friendly, sympathetic to her. A + faint flush covered her cheeks, and she said to herself with timid joy: + </p> + <p> + “Thank God!” + </p> + <p> + The light of the heavy bronze lamp now seemed to flash more brilliantly on + the sides of the crystal vases, and it became brighter in the room. + </p> + <p> + “I like our dear old town!” said Smolin, looking at the girl with a kindly + smile, “it is so beautiful, so vigorous; there is cheerfulness about it + that inspires one to work. Its very picturesqueness is somewhat + stimulating. In it one feels like leading a dashing life. One feels like + working much and seriously. And then, it is an intelligent town. Just see + what a practical newspaper is published here. By the way, we intend to + purchase it.” + </p> + <p> + “Whom do you mean by You?” asked Mayakin. + </p> + <p> + “I, Urvantzov, Shchukin—” + </p> + <p> + “That’s praiseworthy!” said the old man, rapping the table with his hand. + “That’s very practical! It is time to stop their mouths, it was high time + long ago! Particularly that Yozhov; he’s like a sharp-toothed saw. Just + put the thumb-screw on him! And do it well!” + </p> + <p> + Smolin again cast at Lubov a smiling glance, and her heart trembled with + joy once more. With flushing face she said to her father, inwardly + addressing herself to the bridegroom: + </p> + <p> + “As far as I can understand, African Dmitreivich, he wishes to buy the + newspaper not at all for the sake of stopping its mouth as you say.” + </p> + <p> + “What then can be done with it?” asked the old man, shrugging his + shoulders. “There’s nothing in it but empty talk and agitation. Of course, + if the practical people, the merchants themselves, take to writing for it—” + </p> + <p> + “The publication of a newspaper,” began Smolin, instructively, + interrupting the old man, “looked at merely from the commercial point of + view, may be a very profitable enterprise. But aside from this, a + newspaper has another more important aim—that is, to protect the + right of the individual and the interests of industry and commerce.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just what I say, if the merchant himself will manage the + newspaper, then it will be useful.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, papa,” said Lubov. + </p> + <p> + She began to feel the need of expressing herself before Smolin; she wanted + to assure him that she understood the meaning of his words, that she was + not an ordinary merchant-daughter, interested in dresses and balls only. + Smolin pleased her. This was the first time she had seen a merchant who + had lived abroad for a long time, who reasoned so impressively, who bore + himself so properly, who was so well dressed, and who spoke to her father, + the cleverest man in town, with the condescending tone of an adult towards + a minor. + </p> + <p> + “After the wedding I’ll persuade him to take me abroad,” thought Lubov, + suddenly, and, confused at this thought she forgot what she was about to + say to her father. Blushing deeply, she was silent for a few seconds, + seized with fear lest Smolin might interpret this silence in a way + unflattering to her. + </p> + <p> + “On account of your conversation, you have forgotten to offer some wine to + our guest,” she said at last, after a few seconds of painful silence. + </p> + <p> + “That’s your business. You are hostess,” retorted the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t disturb yourself!” exclaimed Smolin, with animation. “I hardly + drink at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Really?” asked Mayakin. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you! Sometimes I drink a wine glass or two in case of fatigue or + illness. But to drink wine for pleasure’s sake is incomprehensible to me. + There are other pleasures more worthy of a man of culture.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean ladies, I suppose?” asked the old man with a wink. + </p> + <p> + Smolin’s cheeks and neck became red with the colour which leaped to his + face. With apologetic eyes he glanced at Lubov, and said to her father + drily: + </p> + <p> + “I mean the theatre, books, music.” + </p> + <p> + Lubov became radiant with joy at his words. + </p> + <p> + The old man looked askance at the worthy young man, smiled keenly and + suddenly blurted out: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, life is going onward! Formerly the dog used to relish a crust, now + the pug dog finds the cream too thin; pardon me for my sour remark, but it + is very much to the point. It does not exactly refer to yourself, but in + general.” + </p> + <p> + Lubov turned pale and looked at Smolin with fright. He was calm, + scrutinising an ancient salt box, decorated with enamel; he twisted his + moustache and looked as though he had not heard the old man’s words. But + his eyes grew darker, and his lips were compressed very tightly, and his + clean-shaven chin obstinately projected forward. + </p> + <p> + “And so, my future leading manufacturer,” said Mayakin, as though nothing + had happened, “three hundred thousand roubles, and your business will + flash up like a fire?” + </p> + <p> + “And within a year and a half I shall send out the first lot of goods, + which will be eagerly sought for,” said Smolin, simply, with unshakable + confidence, and he eyed the old man with a cold and firm look. + </p> + <p> + “So be it; the firm of Smolin and Mayakin, and that’s all? So. Only it + seems rather late for me to start a new business, doesn’t it? I presume + the grave has long been prepared for me; what do you think of it?” + </p> + <p> + Instead of an answer Smolin burst into a rich, but indifferent and cold + laughter, and then said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t say that.” + </p> + <p> + The old man shuddered at his laughter, and started back with fright, with + a scarcely perceptible movement of his body. After Smolin’s words all + three maintained silence for about a minute. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mayakin, without lifting his head, which was bent low. “It is + necessary to think of that. I must think of it.” Then, raising his head, + he closely scrutinised his daughter and the bridegroom, and, rising from + his chair, he said sternly and brusquely: “I am going away for awhile to + my little cabinet. You surely won’t feel lonesome without me.” + </p> + <p> + And he went out with bent back and drooping head, heavily scraping with + his feet. + </p> + <p> + The young people, thus left alone, exchanged a few empty phrases, and, + evidently conscious that these only helped to remove them further from + each other, they maintained a painful, awkward and expectant silence. + Taking an orange, Lubov began to peel it with exaggerated attention, while + Smolin, lowering his eyes, examined his moustaches, which he carefully + stroked with his left hand, toyed with a knife and suddenly asked the girl + in a lowered voice: + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me for my indiscretion. It is evidently really difficult for you, + Lubov Yakovlevna, to live with your father. He’s a man with old-fashioned + views and, pardon me, he’s rather hard-hearted!” + </p> + <p> + Lubov shuddered, and, casting at the red-headed man a grateful look, said: + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t easy, but I have grown accustomed to it. He also has his good + qualities.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, undoubtedly! But to you who are so young, beautiful and educated, to + you with your views... You see, I have heard something about you.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled so kindly and sympathetically, and his voice was so soft, a + breath of soul-cheering warmth filled the room. And in the heart of the + girl there blazed up more and more brightly the timid hope of finding + happiness, of being freed from the close captivity of solitude. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + A DENSE, grayish fog lay over the river, and a steamer, now and then + uttering a dull whistle, was slowly forging up against the current. Damp + and cold clouds, of a monotone pallor, enveloped the steamer from all + sides and drowned all sounds, dissolving them in their troubled dampness. + The brazen roaring of the signals came out in a muffled, melancholy drone, + and was oddly brief as it burst forth from the whistle. The sound seemed + to find no place for itself in the air, which was soaked with heavy + dampness, and fell downward, wet and choked. And the splashing of the + steamer’s wheels sounded so fantastically dull that it seemed as though it + were not begotten near by, at the sides of the vessel, but somewhere in + the depth, on the dark bottom of the river. From the steamer one could see + neither the water, nor the shore, nor the sky; a leaden-gray gloominess + enwrapped it on all sides; devoid of shadings, painfully monotonous, the + gloominess was motionless, it oppressed the steamer with immeasurable + weight, slackened its movements and seemed as though preparing itself to + swallow it even as it was swallowing the sounds. In spite of the dull + blows of the paddles upon the water and the measured shaking of the body + of the vessel, it seemed that the steamer was painfully struggling on one + spot, suffocating in agony, hissing like a fairy tale monster breathing + his last, howling in the pangs of death, howling with pain, and in the + fear of death. + </p> + <p> + Lifeless were the steamer lights. About the lantern on the mast a yellow + motionless spot had formed; devoid of lustre, it hung in the fog over the + steamer, illuminating nothing save the gray mist. The red starboard light + looked like a huge eye crushed out by some one’s cruel fist, blinded, + overflowing with blood. Pale rays of light fell from the steamer’s windows + into the fog, and only tinted its cold, cheerless dominion over the + vessel, which was pressed on all sides by the motionless mass of stifling + dampness. + </p> + <p> + The smoke from the funnel fell downwards, and, together with fragments of + the fog, penetrated into all the cracks of the deck, where the third-class + passengers were silently muffling themselves in their rags, and forming + groups, like sheep. From near the machinery were wafted deep, strained + groans, the jingling of bells, the dull sounds of orders and the abrupt + words of the machinist: + </p> + <p> + “Yes—slow! Yes—half speed!” + </p> + <p> + On the stern, in a corner, blocked up by barrels of salted fish, a group + of people was assembled, illuminated by a small electric lamp. Those were + sedate, neatly and warmly clad peasants. One of them lay on a bench, face + down; another sat at his feet, still another stood, leaning his back + against a barrel, while two others seated themselves flat on the deck. + Their faces, pensive and attentive, were turned toward a round-shouldered + man in a short cassock, turned yellow, and a torn fur cap. That man sat on + some boxes with his back bent, and staring at his feet, spoke in a low, + confident voice: + </p> + <p> + “There will come an end to the long forbearance of the Lord, and then His + wrath will burst forth upon men. We are like worms before Him, and how are + we then to ward off His wrath, with what wailing shall we appeal to His + mercy?” + </p> + <p> + Oppressed by his gloominess, Foma had come down on the deck from his + cabin, and, for some time, had been standing in the shadow of some wares + covered with tarpaulin, and listened to the admonitive and gentle voice of + the preacher. Pacing the deck he had chanced upon this group, and + attracted by the figure of the pilgrim, had paused near it. There was + something familiar to him in that large, strong body, in that stern, dark + face, in those large, calm eyes. The curly, grayish hair, falling from + under the skull-cap, the unkempt bushy beard, which fell apart in thick + locks, the long, hooked nose, the sharp-pointed ears, the thick lips—Foma + had seen all these before, but could not recall when and where. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we are very much in arrears before the Lord!” remarked one of the + peasants, heaving a deep sigh. + </p> + <p> + “We must pray,” whispered the peasant who lay on the bench, in a scarcely + audible voice. + </p> + <p> + “Can you scrape your sinful wretchedness off your soul with words of + prayer?” exclaimed someone loudly, almost with despair in his voice. + </p> + <p> + No one of those that formed the group around the pilgrim turned at this + voice, only their heads sank lower on their breasts, and for a long time + these people sat motionless and speechless: + </p> + <p> + The pilgrim measured his audience with a serious and meditative glance of + his blue eyes, and said softly: + </p> + <p> + “Ephraim the Syrian said: ‘Make thy soul the central point of thy thoughts + and strengthen thyself with thy desire to be free from sin.’” + </p> + <p> + And again he lowered his head, slowly fingering the beads of the rosary. + </p> + <p> + “That means we must think,” said one of the peasants; “but when has a man + time to think during his life on earth?” + </p> + <p> + “Confusion is all around us.” + </p> + <p> + “We must flee to the desert,” said the peasant who lay on the bench. + </p> + <p> + “Not everybody can afford it.” + </p> + <p> + The peasants spoke, and became silent again. A shrill whistle resounded, a + little bell began to jingle at the machine. Someone’s loud exclamation + rang out: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, there! To the water-measuring poles.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh Lord! Oh Queen of Heaven!”—a deep sigh was heard. + </p> + <p> + And a dull, half-choked voice shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Nine! nine!” + </p> + <p> + Fragments of the fog burst forth upon the deck and floated over it like + cold, gray smoke. + </p> + <p> + “Here, kind people, give ear unto the words of King David,” said the + pilgrim, and shaking his head, began to read distinctly: “‘Lead me, Oh + Lord, in thy righteousness because of mine enemies; make thy way straight + before my face. For there is no faithfulness in their mouths; their inward + part is very wickedness; their throat is an open sepulchre; they flatter + with their tongue. Destroy thou them, Oh God; let them fall by their own + counsels.’” + </p> + <p> + “Eight! seven!” Like moans these exclamations resounded in the distance. + </p> + <p> + The steamer began to hiss angrily, and slackened its speed. The noise of + the hissing of the steam deafened the pilgrim’s words, and Foma saw only + the movement of his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Get off!” a loud, angry shout was heard. “It’s my place!” + </p> + <p> + “Yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Here you have yours!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll rap you on the jaw; then you’ll find your place. What a lord!” + </p> + <p> + “Get away!” + </p> + <p> + An uproar ensued. The peasants who were listening to the pilgrim turned + their heads toward the direction where the row was going on, and the + pilgrim heaved a sigh and became silent. Near the machine a loud and + lively dispute blazed up as though dry branches, thrown upon a dying + bonfire, had caught the flame. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give it to you, devils! Get away, both of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Take them away to the captain.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha! ha! That’s a fine settlement for you!” + </p> + <p> + “That was a good rap he gave him on the neck!” + </p> + <p> + “The sailors are a clever lot.” + </p> + <p> + “Eight! nine!” shouted the man with the measuring pole. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, increase speed!” came the loud exclamation of the engineer. + </p> + <p> + Swaying because of the motion of the steamer, Foma stood leaning against + the tarpaulin, and attentively listened to each and every sound about him. + And everything was blended into one picture, which was familiar to him. + Through fog and uncertainty, surrounded on all sides by gloom impenetrable + to the eye, life of man is moving somewhere slowly and heavily. And men + are grieved over their sins, they sigh heavily, and then fight for a warm + place, and asking each other for the sake of possessing the place, they + also receive blows from those who strive for order in life. They timidly + search for a free road toward the goal. + </p> + <p> + “Nine! eight!” + </p> + <p> + The wailing cry is softly wafted over the vessel. “And the holy prayer of + the pilgrim is deafened by the tumult of life. And there is no relief from + sorrow, there is no joy for him who reflects on his fate.” + </p> + <p> + Foma felt like speaking to this pilgrim, in whose softly uttered words + there rang sincere fear of God, and all manner of fear for men before His + countenance. The kind, admonitive voice of the pilgrim possessed a + peculiar power, which compelled Foma to listen to its deep tones. + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to ask him where he lives,” thought Foma, fixedly scrutinizing + the huge stooping figure. “And where have I seen him before? Or does he + resemble some acquaintance of mine?” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly it somehow struck Foma with particular vividness that the humble + preacher before him was no other than the son of old Anany Shchurov. + Stunned by this conjecture, he walked up to the pilgrim and seating + himself by his side, inquired freely: + </p> + <p> + “Are you from Irgiz, father?” + </p> + <p> + The pilgrim raised his head, turned his face toward Foma slowly and + heavily, scrutinized him and said in a calm and gentle voice: + </p> + <p> + “I was on the Irgiz, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you a native of that place?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you now coming from there?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am coming from Saint Stephen.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation broke off. Foma lacked the courage to ask the pilgrim + whether he was not Shchurov. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll be late on account of the fog,” said some one. + </p> + <p> + “How can we help being late!” + </p> + <p> + All were silent, looking at Foma. Young, handsome, neatly and richly + dressed, he aroused the curiosity of the bystanders by his sudden + appearance among them; he was conscious of this curiosity, he understood + that they were all waiting for his words, that they wanted to understand + why he had come to them, and all this confused and angered him. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me that I’ve met you before somewhere, father,” said he at + length. + </p> + <p> + The pilgrim replied, without looking at him: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “I would like to speak to you,” announced Foma, timidly, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Come with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Whither?” + </p> + <p> + “To my cabin.” + </p> + <p> + The pilgrim looked into Foma’s face, and, after a moment’s silence, + assented: + </p> + <p> + “Come.” + </p> + <p> + On leaving, Foma felt the looks of the peasants on his back, and now he + was pleased to know that they were interested in him. + </p> + <p> + In the cabin he asked gently: + </p> + <p> + “Would you perhaps eat something? Tell me. I will order it.” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid. What do you wish?” + </p> + <p> + This man, dirty and ragged, in a cassock turned red with age, and covered + with patches, surveyed the cabin with a squeamish look, and when he seated + himself on the plush-covered lounge, he turned the skirt of the cassock as + though afraid to soil it by the plush. + </p> + <p> + “What is your name, father?” asked Foma, noticing the expression of + squeamishness on the pilgrim’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Miron.” + </p> + <p> + “Not Mikhail?” + </p> + <p> + “Why Mikhail?” asked the pilgrim. + </p> + <p> + “There was in our town the son of a certain merchant Shchurov, he also + went off to the Irgiz. And his name was Mikhail.” + </p> + <p> + Foma spoke and fixedly looked at Father Miron; but the latter was as calm + as a deaf-mute— + </p> + <p> + “I never met such a man. I don’t remember, I never met him,” said he, + thoughtfully. “So you wished to inquire about him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I never met Mikhail Shchurov. Well, pardon me for Christ’s sake!” and + rising from the lounge, the pilgrim bowed to Foma and went toward the + door. + </p> + <p> + “But wait awhile, sit down, let’s talk a little!” exclaimed Foma, rushing + at him uneasily. The pilgrim looked at him searchingly and sank down on + the lounge. From the distance came a dull sound, like a deep groan, and + immediately after it the signal whistle of the steamer drawled out as in a + frightened manner over Foma’s and his guest’s heads. From the distance + came a more distant reply, and the whistle overhead again gave out abrupt, + timorous sounds. Foma opened the window. Through the fog, not far from + their steamer, something was moving along with deep noise; specks of + fantastic lights floated by, the fog was agitated and again sank into dead + immobility. + </p> + <p> + “How terrible!” exclaimed Foma, shutting the window. + </p> + <p> + “What is there to be afraid of?” asked the pilgrim. “You see! It is + neither day nor night, neither darkness nor light! We can see nothing, we + are sailing we know not whither, we are straying on the river.” + </p> + <p> + “Have inward fire within you, have light within your soul, and you shall + see everything,” said the pilgrim, sternly and instructively. + </p> + <p> + Foma was displeased with these cold words and looked at the pilgrim + askance. The latter sat with drooping head, motionless, as though + petrified in thought and prayer. The beads of his rosary were softly + rustling in his hands. + </p> + <p> + The pilgrim’s attitude gave birth to easy courage in Foma’s breast, and he + said: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, Father Miron, is it good to live, having full freedom, without + work, without relatives, a wanderer, like yourself?” + </p> + <p> + Father Miron raised his head and softly burst into the caressing laughter + of a child. All his face, tanned from wind and sunburn, brightened up with + inward joy, was radiant with tranquil joy; he touched Foma’s knee with his + hand and said in a sincere tone: + </p> + <p> + “Cast aside from you all that is worldly, for there is no sweetness in it. + I am telling you the right word—turn away from evil. Do you remember + it is said: + </p> + <p> + ‘Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor + standeth in the way of sinners.’ Turn away, refresh your soul with + solitude and fill yourself with the thought of God. For only by the + thought of Him can man save his soul from profanation.” + </p> + <p> + “That isn’t the thing!” said Foma. “I have no need of working out my + salvation. Have I sinned so much? Look at others. What I would like is to + comprehend things.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will comprehend if you turn away from the world. Go forth upon + the free road, on the fields, on the steppes, on the plains, on the + mountains. Go forth and look at the world from afar, from your freedom.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s right!” cried Foma. “That’s just what I think. One can see better + from the side!” + </p> + <p> + And Miron, paying no attention to his words, spoke softly, as though of + some great mystery, known only to him, the pilgrim: + </p> + <p> + “The thick slumbering forests around you will start to rustle in sweet + voices about the wisdom of the Lord; God’s little birds will sing before + you of His holy glory, and the grasses of the steppe will burn incense to + the Holy Virgin.” + </p> + <p> + The pilgrim’s voice now rose and quivered from excess of emotion, now sank + to a mysterious whisper. He seemed as though grown younger; his eyes + beamed so confidently and clearly, and all his face was radiant with the + happy smile of a man who has found expression for his joy and was + delighted while he poured it forth. + </p> + <p> + “The heart of God throbs in each and every blade of grass; each and every + insect of the air and of the earth, breathes His holy spirit. God, the + Lord, Jesus Christ, lives everywhere! What beauty there is on earth, in + the fields and in the forests! Have you ever been on the Kerzhenz? An + incomparable silence reigns there supreme, the trees, the grass there are + like those of paradise.” + </p> + <p> + Foma listened, and his imagination, captivated by the quiet, charming + narrative, pictured to him those wide fields and dense forests, full of + beauty and soul-pacifying silence. + </p> + <p> + “You look at the sky, as you rest somewhere under a little bush, and the + sky seems to descend upon you as though longing to embrace you. Your soul + is warm, filled with tranquil joy, you desire nothing, you envy nothing. + And it actually seems to you that there is no one on earth save you and + God.” + </p> + <p> + The pilgrim spoke, and his voice and sing-song speech reminded Foma of the + wonderful fairy-tales of Aunt Anfisa. He felt as though, after a long + journey on a hot day, he drank the clear, cold water of a forest brook, + water that had the fragrance of the grasses and the flowers it has bathed. + Even wider and wider grew the pictures as they unfolded upon him; here is + a path through the thick, slumbering forest; the fine sunbeams penetrate + through the branches of the trees, and quiver in the air and under the + feet of the wanderer. There is a savoury odour of fungi and decaying + foliage; the honeyed fragrance of the flowers, the intense odour of the + pine-tree invisibly rise in the air and penetrate the breast in a warm, + rich stream. All is silence: only the birds are singing, and the silence + is so wonderful that it seems as though even the birds were singing in + your breast. You go, without haste, and your life goes on like a dream. + While here everything is enveloped in a gray, dead fog, and we are + foolishly struggling about in it, yearning for freedom and light. There + below they have started to sing something in scarcely audible voices; it + was half song, half prayer. Again someone is shouting, scolding. And still + they seek the way: + </p> + <p> + “Seven and a half. Seven!” + </p> + <p> + “And you have no care,” spoke the pilgrim, and his voice murmured like a + brook. “Anybody will give you a crust of bread; and what else do you need + in your freedom? In the world, cares fall upon the soul like fetters.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak well,” said Foma with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “My dear brother!” exclaimed the pilgrim, softly, moving still closer + toward him. “Since the soul has awakened, since it yearns toward freedom, + do not lull it to sleep by force; hearken to its voice. The world with its + charms has no beauty and holiness whatever, wherefore, then, obey its + laws? In John Chrysostom it is said: ‘The real shechinah is man!’ + Shechinah is a Hebrew word and it means the holy of holies. Consequently—” + </p> + <p> + A prolonged shrill sound of the whistle drowned his voice. He listened, + rose quickly from the lounge and said: + </p> + <p> + “We are nearing the harbour. That’s what the whistle meant. I must be off! + Well, goodbye, brother! May God give you strength and firmness to act + according to the will of your soul! Goodbye, my dear boy!” + </p> + <p> + He made a low bow to Foma. There was something feminine, caressing and + soft in his farewell words and bow. Foma also bowed low to him, bowed and + remained as though petrified, standing with drooping head, his hand + leaning against the table. + </p> + <p> + “Come to see me when you are in town,” he asked the pilgrim, who was + hastily turning the handle of the cabin door. + </p> + <p> + “I will! I will come! Goodbye! Christ save you!” + </p> + <p> + When the steamer’s side touched the wharf Foma came out on the deck and + began to look downward into the fog. From the steamer people were walking + down the gang-planks, but Foma could not discern the pilgrim among those + dark figures enveloped in the dense gloom. All those that left the steamer + looked equally indistinct, and they all quickly disappeared from sight, as + though they had melted in the gray dampness. One could see neither the + shore nor anything else solid; the landing bridge rocked from the + commotion caused by the steamer; above it the yellow spot of the lantern + was swaying; the noise of the footsteps and the bustle of the people were + dull. + </p> + <p> + The steamer put off and slowly moved along into the clouds. The pilgrim, + the harbour, the turmoil of people’s voices—all suddenly disappeared + like a dream, and again there remained only the dense gloom and the + steamer heavily turning about in it. Foma stared before him into the dead + sea of fog and thought of the blue, cloudless and caressingly warm sky—where + was it? + </p> + <p> + On the next day, about noon, he sat In Yozhov’s small room and listened to + the local news from the mouth of his friend. Yozhov had climbed on the + table, which was piled with newspapers, and, swinging his feet, narrated: + </p> + <p> + “The election campaign has begun. The merchants are putting your godfather + up as mayor—that old devil! Like the devil, he is immortal, although + he must be upwards of a hundred and fifty years old already. He marries + his daughter to Smolin. You remember that red-headed fellow. They say that + he is a decent man, but nowadays they even call clever scoundrels decent + men, because there are no men. Now Africashka plays the enlightened man; + he has already managed to get into intelligent society, donated something + to some enterprise or another and thus at once came to the front. Judging + from his face, he is a sharper of the highest degree, but he will play a + prominent part, for he knows how to adapt himself. Yes, friend, Africashka + is a liberal. And a liberal merchant is a mixture of a wolf and a pig with + a toad and a snake.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil take them all!” said Foma, waving his hand indifferently. “What + have I to do with them? How about yourself—do you still keep on + drinking?” + </p> + <p> + “I do! Why shouldn’t I drink?” + </p> + <p> + Half-clad and dishevelled, Yozhov looked like a plucked bird, which had + just had a fight and had not yet recovered from the excitement of the + conflict. + </p> + <p> + “I drink because, from time to time, I must quench the fire of my wounded + heart. And you, you damp stump, you are smouldering little by little?” + </p> + <p> + “I have to go to the old man,” said Foma, wrinkling his face. + </p> + <p> + “Chance it!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t feel like going. He’ll start to lecture me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then don’t go!” + </p> + <p> + “But I must.” + </p> + <p> + “Then go!” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you always play the buffoon?” said Foma, with displeasure, “as + though you were indeed merry.” + </p> + <p> + “By God, I feel merry!” exclaimed Yozhov, jumping down from the table. + “What a fine roasting I gave a certain gentleman in the paper yesterday! + And then—I’ve heard a clever anecdote: A company was sitting on the + sea-shore philosophizing at length upon life. And a Jew said to them: + ‘Gentlemen, why do you employ so many different words? I’ll tell it to you + all at once: Our life is not worth a single copeck, even as this stormy + sea! ‘” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, the devil take you!” said Foma. “Good-bye. I am going.” + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead! I am in a fine frame of mind to-day and I will not moan with + you. All the more so considering you don’t moan, but grunt.” + </p> + <p> + Foma went away, leaving Yozhov singing at the top of his voice: + </p> + <p> + “Beat the drum and fear not.” + </p> + <p> + “Drum? You are a drum yourself;” thought Foma, with irritation, as he + slowly came out on the street. + </p> + <p> + At the Mayakins he was met by Luba. Agitated and animated, she suddenly + appeared before him, speaking quickly: + </p> + <p> + “You? My God! How pale you are! How thin you’ve grown! It seems you have + been leading a fine life.” + </p> + <p> + Then her face became distorted with alarm and she exclaimed almost in a + whisper: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Foma. You don’t know. Do you hear? Someone is ringing the bell. + Perhaps it is he.” + </p> + <p> + And she rushed out of the room, leaving behind her in the air the rustle + of her silk gown, and the astonished Foma, who had not even had a chance + to ask her where her father was. Yakov Tarasovich was at home. Attired in + his holiday clothes, in a long frock coat with medals on his breast, he + stood on the threshold with his hands outstretched, clutching at the door + posts. His green little eyes examined Foma, and, feeling their look upon + him, Foma raised his head and met them. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, my fine gentleman?” said the old man, shaking his head + reproachfully. “Where has it pleased you to come from, may I ask? Who has + sucked off that fat of yours? Or is it true that a pig looks for a puddle, + and Foma for a place which is worse?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you no other words for me?” asked Foma, sternly, looking straight + into the old man’s face. And suddenly he noticed that his godfather + shuddered, his legs trembled, his eyes began to blink repeatedly, and his + hands clutched the door posts with an effort. Foma advanced toward him, + presuming that the old man was feeling ill, but Yakov Tarasovich said in a + dull and angry voice: + </p> + <p> + “Stand aside. Get out of the way.” + </p> + <p> + And his face assumed its usual expression. + </p> + <p> + Foma stepped back and found himself side by side with a rather short, + stout man, who bowed to Mayakin, and said in a hoarse voice: + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, papa?” + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Taras Yakovlich, how are you?” said the old man, bowing, + smiling distractedly, and still clinging to the door posts. + </p> + <p> + Foma stepped aside in confusion, seated himself in an armchair, and, + petrified with curiosity, wide-eyed, began to watch the meeting of father + and son. + </p> + <p> + The father, standing in the doorway, swayed his feeble body, leaning his + hands against the door posts, and, with his head bent on one side and eyes + half shut, stared at his son in silence. The son stood about three steps + away from him; his head already gray, was lifted high; he knitted his brow + and gazed at his father with large dark eyes. His small, black, pointed + beard and his small moustache quivered on his meagre face, with its + gristly nose, like that of his father. And the hat, also, quivered in his + hand. From behind his shoulder Foma saw the pale, frightened and joyous + face of Luba—she looked at her father with beseeching eyes and it + seemed she was on the point of crying out. For a few moments all were + silent and motionless, crushed as they were by the immensity of their + emotions. The silence was broken by the low, but dull and quivering voice + of Yakov Tarasovich: + </p> + <p> + “You have grown old, Taras.” + </p> + <p> + The son laughed in his father’s face silently, and, with a swift glance, + surveyed him from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + The father tearing his hands from the door posts, made a step toward his + son and suddenly stopped short with a frown. Then Taras Mayakin, with one + huge step, came up to his father and gave him his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Well, let us kiss each other,” suggested the father, softly. + </p> + <p> + The two old men convulsively clasped each other in their arms, exchanged + warm kisses and then stepped apart. The wrinkles of the older man + quivered, the lean face of the younger was immobile, almost stern. The + kisses had changed nothing in the external side of this scene, only Lubov + burst into a sob of joy, and Foma awkwardly moved about in his seat, + feeling as though his breath were failing him. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, children, you are wounds to the heart—you are not its joy,” + complained Yakov Tarasovich in a ringing voice, and he evidently invested + a great deal in these words, for immediately after he had pronounced them + he became radiant, more courageous, and he said briskly, addressing + himself to his daughter: + </p> + <p> + “Well, have you melted with joy? You had better go and prepare something + for us—tea and so forth. We’ll entertain the prodigal son. You must + have forgotten, my little old man, what sort of a man your father is?” + </p> + <p> + Taras Mayakin scrutinized his parent with a meditative look of his large + eyes and he smiled, speechless, clad in black, wherefore the gray hair on + his head and in his beard told more strikingly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, be seated. Tell me—how have you lived, what have you done? + What are you looking at? Ah! That’s my godson. Ignat Gordyeeff’s son, + Foma. Do you remember Ignat?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember everything,” said Taras. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! That’s good, if you are not bragging. Well, are you married?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a widower.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any children?” + </p> + <p> + “They died. I had two.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a pity. I would have had grandchildren.” + </p> + <p> + “May I smoke?” asked Taras. + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead. Just look at him, you’re smoking cigars.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you like them?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Come on, it’s all the same to me. I say that it looks rather + aristocratic to smoke cigars.” + </p> + <p> + “And why should we consider ourselves lower than the aristocrats?” said + Taras, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Do, I consider ourselves lower?” exclaimed the old man. “I merely said it + because it looked ridiculous to me, such a sedate old fellow, with beard + trimmed in foreign fashion, cigar in his mouth. Who is he? My son—he-he-he!” + the old man tapped Taras on the shoulder and sprang away from him, as + though frightened lest he were rejoicing too soon, lest that might not be + the proper way to treat that half gray man. And he looked searchingly and + suspiciously into his son’s large eyes, which were surrounded by yellowish + swellings. + </p> + <p> + Taras smiled in his father’s face an affable and warm smile, and said to + him thoughtfully: + </p> + <p> + “That’s the way I remember you—cheerful and lively. It looks as + though you had not changed a bit during all these years.” + </p> + <p> + The old man straightened himself proudly, and, striking his breast with + his fist, said: + </p> + <p> + “I shall never change, because life has no power over him who knows his + own value. Isn’t that so?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! How proud you are!” + </p> + <p> + “I must have taken after my son,” said the old man with a cunning grimace. + “Do you know, dear, my son was silent for seventeen years out of pride.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s because his father would not listen to him,” Taras reminded him. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right now. Never mind the past. Only God knows which of us is to + blame. He, the upright one, He’ll tell it to you—wait! I shall keep + silence. This is not the time for us to discuss that matter. You better + tell me—what have you been doing all these years? How did you come + to that soda factory? How have you made your way?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a long story,” said Taras with a sigh; and emitting from his mouth + a great puff of smoke, he began slowly: “When I acquired the possibility + to live at liberty, I entered the office of the superintendent of the gold + mines of the Remezovs.” + </p> + <p> + “I know; they’re very rich. Three brothers. I know them all. One is a + cripple, the other a fool, and the third a miser. Go on!” + </p> + <p> + “I served under him for two years. And then I married his daughter,” + narrated Mayakin in a hoarse voice. + </p> + <p> + “The superintendent’s? That wasn’t foolish at all.” Taras became + thoughtful and was silent awhile. The old man looked at his sad face and + understood his son. + </p> + <p> + “And so you lived with your wife happily,” he said. “Well, what can you + do? To the dead belongs paradise, and the living must live on. You are not + so very old as yet. Have you been a widower long?” + </p> + <p> + “This is the third year.” + </p> + <p> + “So? And how did you chance upon the soda factory?” + </p> + <p> + “That belongs to my father-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha! What is your salary?” + </p> + <p> + “About five thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “Mm. That’s not a stale crust. Yes, that’s a galley slave for you!” + </p> + <p> + Taras glanced at his father with a firm look and asked him drily: + </p> + <p> + “By the way, what makes you think that I was a convict?” + </p> + <p> + The old man glanced at his son with astonishment, which was quickly + changed into joy: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! What then? You were not? The devil take them! Then—how was it? + Don’t take offence! How could I know? They said you were in Siberia! Well, + and there are the galleys!” + </p> + <p> + “To make an end of this once for all,” said Taras, seriously and + impressively, clapping his hand on his knee, “I’ll tell you right now how + it all happened. I was banished to Siberia to settle there for six years, + and, during all the time of my exile, I lived in the mining region of the + Lena. In Moscow I was imprisoned for about nine months. That’s all!” + </p> + <p> + “So-o! But what does it mean?” muttered Yakov Tarasovich, with confusion + and joy. + </p> + <p> + “And here they circulated that absurd rumour.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s right—it is absurd indeed!” said the old man, distressed. + </p> + <p> + “And it did a pretty great deal of harm on a certain occasion.” + </p> + <p> + “Really? Is that possible?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I was about to go into business for myself, and my credit was ruined + on account of—” + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw!” said Yakov Tarasovich, as he spat angrily. “Oh, devil! Come, + come, is that possible?” + </p> + <p> + Foma sat all this time in his corner, listening to the conversation + between the Mayakins, and, blinking perplexedly, he fixedly examined the + newcomer. Recalling Lubov’s bearing toward her brother, and influenced, to + a certain degree, by her stories about Taras, he expected to see in him + something unusual, something unlike the ordinary people. He had thought + that Taras would speak in some peculiar way, would dress in a manner + peculiar to himself; and in general he would be unlike other people. While + before him sat a sedate, stout man, faultlessly dressed, with stern eyes, + very much like his father in face, and the only difference between them + was that the son had a cigar in his mouth and a black beard. He spoke + briefly in a business-like way of everyday things—where was, then, + that peculiar something about him? Now he began to tell his father of the + profits in the manufacture of soda. He had not been a galley slave—Lubov + had lied! And Foma was very much pleased when he pictured to himself how + he would speak to Lubov about her brother. + </p> + <p> + Now and then she appeared in the doorway during the conversation between + her father and her brother. Her face was radiant with happiness, and her + eyes beamed with joy as she looked at the black figure of Taras, clad in + such a peculiarly thick frock coat, with pockets on the sides and with big + buttons. She walked on tiptoe, and somehow always stretched her neck + toward her brother. Foma looked at her questioningly, but she did not + notice him, constantly running back and forth past the door, with plates + and bottles in her hands. + </p> + <p> + It so happened that she glanced into the room just when her brother was + telling her father about the galleys. She stopped as though petrified, + holding a tray in her outstretched hands and listened to everything her + brother said about the punishment inflicted upon him. She listened, and + slowly walked away, without catching Foma’s astonished and sarcastic + glance. Absorbed in his reflections on Taras, slightly offended by the + lack of attention shown him, and by the fact that since the handshake at + the introduction Taras had not given him a single glance, Foma ceased for + awhile to follow the conversation of the Mayakins, and suddenly he felt + that someone seized him by the shoulder. He trembled and sprang to his + feet, almost felling his godfather, who stood before him with excited + face: + </p> + <p> + “There—look! That is a man! That’s what a Mayakin is! They have + seven times boiled him in lye; they have squeezed oil out of him, and yet + he lives! Understand? Without any aid—alone—he made his way + and found his place and—he is proud! That means Mayakin! A Mayakin + means a man who holds his fate in his own hands. Do you understand? Take a + lesson from him! Look at him! You cannot find another like him in a + hundred; you’d have to look for one in a thousand. What? Just bear this in + mind: You cannot forge a Mayakin from man into either devil or angel.” + </p> + <p> + Stupefied by this tempestuous shock, Foma became confused and did not know + what to say in reply to the old man’s noisy song of praise. He saw that + Taras, calmly smoking his cigar, was looking at his father, and that the + corners of his lips were quivering with a smile. His face looked + condescendingly contented, and all his figure somewhat aristocratic and + haughty. He seemed to be amused by the old man’s joy. + </p> + <p> + And Yakov Tarasovich tapped Foma on the chest with his finger and said: + </p> + <p> + “I do not know him, my own son. He has not opened his soul to me. It may + be that such a difference had grown up between us that not only an eagle, + but the devil himself cannot cross it. Perhaps his blood has overboiled; + that there is not even the scent of the father’s blood in it. But he is a + Mayakin! And I can feel it at once! I feel it and say: ‘Today thou + forgivest Thy servant, Oh Lord!’” + </p> + <p> + The old man was trembling with the fever of his exultation, and fairly + hopped as he stood before Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Calm yourself, father!” said Taras, slowly rising from his chair and + walking up to his father. “Why confuse the young man? Come, let us sit + down.” + </p> + <p> + He gave Foma a fleeting smile, and, taking his father by the arm, led him + toward the table. + </p> + <p> + “I believe in blood,” said Yakov Tarasovich; “in hereditary blood. Therein + lies all power! My father, I remember, told me: ‘Yashka, you are my + genuine blood!’ There. The blood of the Mayakins is thick—it is + transferred from father to father and no woman can ever weaken it. Let us + drink some champagne! Shall we? Very well, then! Tell me more—tell + me about yourself. How is it there in Siberia?” + </p> + <p> + And again, as though frightened and sobered by some thought, the old man + fixed his searching eyes upon the face of his son. And a few minutes later + the circumstantial but brief replies of his son again aroused in him a + noisy joy. Foma kept on listening and watching, as he sat quietly in his + corner. + </p> + <p> + “Gold mining, of course, is a solid business,” said Taras, calmly, with + importance, “but it is a rather risky operation and one requiring a large + capital. The earth says not a word about what it contains within it. It is + very profitable to deal with foreigners. Dealings with them, under any + circumstances, yield an enormous percentage. That is a perfectly + infallible enterprise. But a weary one, it must be admitted. It does not + require much brains; there is no room in it for an extraordinary man; a + man with great enterprising power cannot develop in it.” + </p> + <p> + Lubov entered and invited them all into the dining-room. When the Mayakins + stepped out Foma imperceptibly tugged Lubov by the sleeve, and she + remained with him alone, inquiring hastily: + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Foma, with a smile. “I want to ask you whether you are + glad?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am!” exclaimed Lubov. + </p> + <p> + “And what about?” + </p> + <p> + “That is, what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so. What about?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re queer!” said Lubov, looking at him with astonishment. “Can’t you + see?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Foma, sarcastically. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the trouble with you?” said Lubov, looking at him uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you!” drawled out Foma, with contemptuous pity. “Can your father, can + the merchant class beget anything good? Can you expect a radish to bring + forth raspberries? And you lied to me. Taras is this, Taras is that. What + is in him? A merchant, like the other merchants, and his paunch is also + that of the real merchant. He-he!” He was satisfied, seeing that the girl, + confused by his words, was biting her lips, now flushing, now turning + pale. + </p> + <p> + “You—you, Foma,” she began, in a choking voice, and suddenly + stamping her foot, she cried: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you dare to speak to me!” + </p> + <p> + On reaching the threshold of the room, she turned her angry face to him, + and ejaculated in a low voice, emphatically: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you malicious man!” + </p> + <p> + Foma burst into laughter. He did not feel like going to the table, where + three happy people were engaged in a lively conversation. He heard their + merry voices, their contented laughter, the rattle of the dishes, and he + understood that, with that burden on his heart, there was no place for him + beside them. Nor was there a place for him anywhere. If all people only + hated him, even as Lubov hated him now, he would feel more at ease in + their midst, he thought. Then he would know how to behave with them, would + find something to say to them. While now he could not understand whether + they were pitying him or whether they were laughing at him, because he had + lost his way and could not conform himself to anything. As he stood awhile + alone in the middle of the room, he unconsciously resolved to leave this + house where people were rejoicing and where he was superfluous. On + reaching the street, he felt himself offended by the Mayakins. After all, + they were the only people near to him in the world. Before him arose his + godfather’s face, on which the wrinkles quivered with agitation, and + illuminated by the merry glitter of his green eyes, seemed to beam with + phosphoric light. + </p> + <p> + “Even a rotten trunk of a tree stands out in the dark!” reflected Foma, + savagely. Then he recalled the calm and serious face of Taras and beside + it the figure of Lubov bowing herself hastily toward him. That aroused in + him feelings of envy and sorrow. + </p> + <p> + “Who will look at me like that? There is not a soul to do it.” + </p> + <p> + He came to himself from his broodings on the shore, at the landing-places, + aroused by the bustle of toil. All sorts of articles and wares were + carried and carted in every direction; people moved about hastily, + care-worn, spurring on their horses excitedly, shouting at one another, + filling the street with unintelligible bustle and deafening noise of + hurried work. They busied themselves on a narrow strip of ground, paved + with stone, built up on one side with tall houses, and the other side cut + off by a steep ravine at the river, and their seething bustle made upon + Foma an impression as though they had all prepared themselves to flee from + this toil amid filth and narrowness and tumult—prepared themselves + to flee and were now hastening to complete the sooner the unfinished work + which would not release them. Huge steamers, standing by the shore and + emitting columns of smoke from their funnels, were already awaiting them. + The troubled water of the river, closely obstructed with vessels, was + softly and plaintively splashing against the shore, as though imploring + for a minute of rest and repose. + </p> + <p> + “Your Honour!” a hoarse cry rang out near Foma’s ears, “contribute some + brandy in honour of the building!” + </p> + <p> + Foma glanced at the petitioner indifferently; he was a huge, bearded + fellow, barefooted, with a torn shirt and a bruised, swollen face. + </p> + <p> + “Get away!” muttered Foma, and turned away from him. + </p> + <p> + “Merchant! When you die you can’t take your money with you. Give me for + one glass of brandy, or are you too lazy to put your hand into your + pocket?” + </p> + <p> + Foma again looked at the petitioner; the latter stood before him, covered + more with mud than with clothes, and, trembling with intoxication, waited + obstinately, staring at Foma with blood-shot, swollen eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the way to ask?” inquired Foma. + </p> + <p> + “How else? Would you want me to go down on my knees before you for a + ten-copeck piece?” asked the bare-footed man, boldly. + </p> + <p> + “There!” and Foma gave him a coin. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks! Fifteen copecks. Thanks! And if you give me fifteen more I’ll + crawl on all fours right up to that tavern. Do you want me to?” proposed + the barefooted man. + </p> + <p> + “Go, leave me alone!” said Foma, waving him off with his hand. + </p> + <p> + “He who gives not when he may, when he fain would, shall have nay,” said + the barefooted man, and stepped aside. + </p> + <p> + Foma looked at him as he departed, and said to himself: + </p> + <p> + “There is a ruined man and yet how bold he is. He asks alms as though + demanding a debt. Where do such people get so much boldness?” + </p> + <p> + And heaving a deep sigh, he answered himself: + </p> + <p> + “From freedom. The man is not fettered. What is there that he should + regret? What does he fear? And what do I fear? What is there that I should + regret?” + </p> + <p> + These two questions seemed to strike Foma’s heart and called forth in him + a dull perplexity. He looked at the movement of the working people and + kept on thinking: What did he regret? What did he fear? + </p> + <p> + “Alone, with my own strength, I shall evidently never come out anywhere. + Like a fool I shall keep on tramping about among people, mocked and + offended by all. If they would only jostle me aside; if they would only + hate me, then—then—I would go out into the wide world! Whether + I liked or not, I would have to go!” + </p> + <p> + From one of the landing wharves the merry “dubinushka” [“Dubinushka,” or + the “Oaken Cudgel,” is a song popular with the Russian workmen.] had + already been smiting the air for a long time. The carriers were doing a + certain work, which required brisk movements, and were adapting the song + and the refrain to them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “In the tavern sit great merchants + Drinking liquors strong,” + </pre> + <p> + narrated the leader, in a bold recitative. The company joined in unison: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, dubinushka, heave-ho!” + </pre> + <p> + And then the bassos smote the air with deep sounds: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “It goes, it goes.” + </pre> + <p> + And the tenors repeated: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “It goes, it goes.” + </pre> + <p> + Foma listened to the song and directed his footsteps toward it, on the + wharf. There he noticed that the carriers, formed in two rows, were + rolling out of the steamer’s hold huge barrels of salted fish. Dirty, clad + in red blouses, unfastened at the collar, with mittens on their hands, + with arms bare to the elbow, they stood over the hold, and, merrily + jesting, with faces animated by toil, they pulled the ropes, all together, + keeping time to their song. And from the hold rang out the high, laughing + voice of the invisible leader: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “But for our peasant throats + There is not enough vodka.” + </pre> + <p> + And the company, like one huge pair of lungs, heaved forth loudly and in + unison: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, dubinushka, heave-ho!” + </pre> + <p> + Foma felt pleased and envious as he looked at this work, which was as + harmonious as music. The slovenly faces of the carriers beamed with + smiles, the work was easy, it went on smoothly, and the leader of the + chorus was in his best vein. Foma thought that it would be fine to work + thus in unison, with good comrades, to the tune of a cheerful song, to get + tired from work to drink a glass of vodka and eat fat cabbage soup, + prepared by the stout, sprightly matron of the company. + </p> + <p> + “Quicker, boys, quicker!” rang out beside him someone’s unpleasant, hoarse + voice. + </p> + <p> + Foma turned around. A stout man, with an enormous paunch, tapped on the + boards of the landing bridge with his cane, as he looked at the carriers + with his small eyes and said: + </p> + <p> + “Bawl less and work faster.” + </p> + <p> + His face and neck were covered with perspiration; he wiped it off every + now and then with his left hand and breathed heavily, as though he were + going uphill. + </p> + <p> + Foma cast at the man a hostile look and thought: + </p> + <p> + “Others are working and he is sweating. And I am still worse than he. I’m + like a crow on the fence, good for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + From each and every impression there immediately stood out in his mind the + painful thought of his unfitness for life. Everything that attracted his + attention contained something offensive to him, and this something fell + like a brick upon his breast. At one side of him, by the freight scales, + stood two sailors, and one of them, a square-built, red-faced fellow, was + telling the other: + </p> + <p> + “As they rushed on me it began for fair, my dear chap! There were four of + them—I was alone! But I didn’t give in to them, because I saw that + they would beat me to death! Even a ram will kick out if you fleece it + alive. How I tore myself away from them! They all rolled away in different + directions.” + </p> + <p> + “But you came in for a sound drubbing all the same?” inquired the other + sailor. + </p> + <p> + “Of course! I caught it. I swallowed about five blows. But what’s the + difference? They didn’t kill me. Well, thank God for it!” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “To the stern, devils, to the stern, I’m telling you!” roared the + perspiring man in a ferocious voice at two carriers who were rolling a + barrel of fish along the deck. + </p> + <p> + “What are you yelling for?” Foma turned to him sternly, as he had started + at the shout. + </p> + <p> + “Is that any of your business?” asked the perspiring man, casting a glance + at Foma. + </p> + <p> + “It is my business! The people are working and your fat is melting away. + So you think you must yell at them?” said Foma, threateningly, moving + closer toward him. + </p> + <p> + “You—you had better keep your temper.” + </p> + <p> + The perspiring man suddenly rushed away from his place and went into his + office. Foma looked after him and also went away from the wharf; filled + with a desire to abuse some one, to do something, just to divert his + thoughts from himself at least for a short while. But his thoughts took a + firmer hold on him. + </p> + <p> + “That sailor there, he tore himself away, and he’s safe and sound! Yes, + while I—” + </p> + <p> + In the evening he again went up to the Mayakins. The old man was not at + home, and in the dining-room sat Lubov with her brother, drinking tea. On + reaching the door Foma heard the hoarse voice of Taras: + </p> + <p> + “What makes father bother himself about him?” + </p> + <p> + At the sight of Foma he stopped short, staring at his face with a serious, + searching look. An expression of agitation was clearly depicted on Lubov’s + face, and she said with dissatisfaction and at the same time + apologetically: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! So it’s you?” + </p> + <p> + “They’ve been speaking of me,” thought Foma, as he seated himself at the + table. Taras turned his eyes away from him and sank deeper in the + armchair. There was an awkward silence lasting for about a minute, and + this pleased Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to the banquet?” + </p> + <p> + “What banquet?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know? Kononov is going to consecrate his new steamer. A mass + will be held there and then they are going to take a trip up the Volga.” + </p> + <p> + “I was not invited,” said Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody was invited. He simply announced on the Exchange: ‘Anybody who + wishes to honour me is welcome! + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? But there will be a grand drinking bout,” said Lubov, looking at him + askance. + </p> + <p> + “I can drink at my own expense if I choose to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Lubov, nodding her head expressively. + </p> + <p> + Taras toyed with his teaspoon, turning it between his fingers and looking + at them askance. + </p> + <p> + “And where’s my godfather?” asked Foma. + </p> + <p> + “He went to the bank. There’s a meeting of the board of directors today. + Election of officers is to take place. + </p> + <p> + “They’ll elect him again.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course.” + </p> + <p> + And again the conversation broke off. Foma began to watch the brother and + the sister. Having dropped the spoon, Taras slowly drank his tea in big + sips, and silently moving the glass over to his sister, smiled to her. + She, too, smiled joyously and happily, seized the glass and began to rinse + it assiduously. Then her face assumed a strained expression; she seemed to + prepare herself for something and asked her brother in a low voice, almost + reverently: + </p> + <p> + “Shall we return to the beginning of our conversation?” + </p> + <p> + “If you please,” assented Taras, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “You said something, but I didn’t understand. What was it? I asked: ‘If + all this is, as you say, Utopia, if it is impossible, dreams, then what is + he to do who is not satisfied with life as it is?’” + </p> + <p> + The girl leaned her whole body toward her brother, and her eyes, with + strained expectation, stopped on the calm face of her brother. He glanced + at her in a weary way, moved about in his seat, and, lowering his head, + said calmly and impressively: + </p> + <p> + “We must consider from what source springs that dissatisfaction with life. + It seems to me that, first of all, it comes from the inability to work; + from the lack of respect for work. And, secondly, from a wrong conception + of one’s own powers. The misfortune of most of the people is that they + consider themselves capable of doing more than they really can. And yet + only little is required of man: he must select for himself an occupation + to suit his powers and must master it as well as possible, as attentively + as possible. You must love what you are doing, and then labour, be it ever + so rough, rises to the height of creativeness. A chair, made with love, + will always be a good, beautiful and solid chair. And so it is with + everything. Read Smiles. Haven’t you read him? It is a very sensible book. + It is a sound book. Read Lubbock. In general, remember that the English + people constitute the nation most qualified for labour, which fact + explains their astonishing success in the domain of industry and commerce. + With them labour is almost a cult. The height of culture stands always + directly dependent upon the love of labour. And the higher the culture the + more satisfied are the requirements of man, the fewer the obstacles on the + road toward the further development of man’s requirements. Happiness is + possible—it is the complete satisfaction of requirements. There it + is. And, as you see, man’s happiness is dependent upon his relation toward + his work.” + </p> + <p> + Taras Mayakin spoke slowly and laboriously, as though it were unpleasant + and tedious for him to speak. And Lubov, with knitted brow, leaning toward + him, listened to his words with eager attention in her eyes, ready to + accept everything and imbibe it into her soul. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and suppose everything is repulsive to a man?” asked Foma, + suddenly, in a deep voice, casting a glance at Taras’s face. + </p> + <p> + “But what, in particular, is repulsive to the man?” asked Mayakin, calmly, + without looking at Foma. + </p> + <p> + Foma bent his head, leaned his arms against the table and thus, like a + bull, went on to explain himself: + </p> + <p> + “Nothing pleases him—business, work, all people and deeds. Suppose I + see that all is deceit, that business is not business, but merely a plug + that we prop up with it the emptiness of our souls; that some work, while + others only give orders and sweat, but get more for that. Why is it so? + Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot grasp your idea,” announced Taras, when Foma paused, feeling on + himself Lubov’s contemptuous and angry look. + </p> + <p> + “You do not understand?” asked Foma, looking at Taras with a smile. “Well, + I’ll put it in this way: + </p> + <p> + A man is sailing in a boat on the river. The boat may be good, but under + it there is always a depth all the same. The boat is sound, but if the man + feels beneath him this dark depth, no boat can save him.” + </p> + <p> + Taras looked at Foma indifferently and calmly. He looked in silence, and + softly tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. Lubov was uneasily + moving about in her chair. The pendulum of the clock told the seconds with + a dull, sighing sound. And Foma’s heart throbbed slowly and painfully, as + though conscious that here no one would respond with a warm word to its + painful perplexity. + </p> + <p> + “Work is not exactly everything for a man,” said he, more to himself than + to these people who had no faith in the sincerity of his words. “It is not + true that in work lies justification. There are people who do not work at + all during all their lives long, and yet they live better than those that + do work. How is that? And the toilers—they are merely unfortunate—horses! + Others ride on them, they suffer and that’s all. But they have their + justification before God. They will be asked: ‘To what purpose did you + live?’ Then they will say: ‘We had no time to think of that. We worked all + our lives.’ And I—what justification have I? And all those people + who give orders—how will they justify themselves? To what purpose + have they lived? It is my idea that everybody necessarily ought to know, + to know firmly what he is living for.” + </p> + <p> + He became silent, and, tossing his head up, exclaimed in a heavy voice: + </p> + <p> + “Can it be that man is born merely to work, acquire money, build a house, + beget children and—die? No, life means something. A man is born, he + lives and dies. What for? It is necessary, by God, it is necessary for all + of us to consider what we are living for. There is no sense in our life. + No sense whatever! Then things are not equal, that can be seen at once. + Some are rich—they have money enough for a thousand people, and they + live in idleness. Others bend their backs over their work all their lives, + and yet they have not even a grosh. And the difference in people is very + insignificant. There are some that have not even any trousers and yet they + reason as though they were attired in silks.” + </p> + <p> + Carried away by his thoughts, Foma would have continued to give them + utterance, but Taras moved his armchair away from the table, rose and said + softly, with a sigh: + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you! I don’t want any more.” + </p> + <p> + Foma broke off his speech abruptly, shrugged his shoulders and looked at + Lubov with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you picked up such philosophy?” she asked, suspiciously and + drily. + </p> + <p> + “That is not philosophy. That is simply torture!” said Foma in an + undertone. “Open your eyes and look at everything. Then you will think so + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “By the way, Luba, turn your attention to the fact,” began Taras, standing + with his back toward the table and scrutinizing the clock, “that pessimism + is perfectly foreign to the Anglo-Saxon race. That which they call + pessimism in Swift and in Byron is only a burning, sharp protest against + the imperfection of life and man. But you cannot find among them the cold, + well weighed and passive pessimism.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as though suddenly recalling Foma, he turned to him, clasping his + hands behind his back, and, wriggling his thigh, said: + </p> + <p> + “You raise very important questions, and if you are seriously interested + in them you must read books. In them will you find many very valuable + opinions as to the meaning of life. How about you—do you read + books?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” replied Foma, briefly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like them.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha! But they might nevertheless be of some help to you,” said Taras, and + a smile passed across his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Books? Since men cannot help me in my thoughts books can certainly do + nothing for me,” ejaculated Foma, morosely. + </p> + <p> + He began to feel awkward and weary with this indifferent man. He felt like + going away, but at the same time he wished to tell Lubov something + insulting about her brother, and he waited till Taras would leave the + room. Lubov washed the dishes; her face was concentrated and thoughtful; + her hands moved lazily. Taras was pacing the room, now and then he stopped + short before the sideboard on which was the silverware, whistled, tapped + his fingers against the window-panes and examined the articles with his + eyes half shut. The pendulum of the clock flashed beneath the glass door + of the case like some broad, grinning face, and monotonously told the + seconds. When Foma noticed that Lubov glanced at him a few times + questioningly, with expectant and hostile looks, he understood that he was + in her way and that she was impatiently expecting him to leave. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to stay here over night,” said he, with a smile. “I must speak + with my godfather. And then it is rather lonesome in my house alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Then go and tell Marfusha to make the bed for you in the corner room,” + Lubov hastened to advise him. + </p> + <p> + “I shall.” + </p> + <p> + He arose and went out of the dining-room. And he soon heard that Taras + asked his sister about something in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “About me!” he thought. Suddenly this wicked thought flashed through his + mind: “It were but right to listen and hear what wise people have to say.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed softly, and, stepping on tiptoe, went noiselessly into the + other room, also adjoining the dining-room. There was no light there, and + only a thin band of light from the dining-room, passing through the + unclosed door, lay on the dark floor. Softly, with sinking heart and + malicious smile, Foma walked up close to the door and stopped. + </p> + <p> + “He’s a clumsy fellow,” said Taras. + </p> + <p> + Then came Lubov’s lowered and hasty speech: + </p> + <p> + “He was carousing here all the time. He carried on dreadfully! It all + started somehow of a sudden. The first thing he did was to thrash the + son-in-law of the Vice-Governor at the Club. Papa had to take the greatest + pains to hush up the scandal, and it was a good thing that the + Vice-Governor’s son-in-law is a man of very bad reputation. He is a + card-sharper and in general a shady personality, yet it cost father more + than two thousand roubles. And while papa was busying himself about that + scandal Foma came near drowning a whole company on the Volga.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha-ha! How monstrous! And that same man busies himself with investigating + as to the meaning of life.” + </p> + <p> + “On another occasion he was carousing on a steamer with a company of + people like himself. Suddenly he said to them: ‘Pray to God! I’ll fling + every one of you overboard!’ He is frightfully strong. They screamed, + while he said: ‘I want to serve my country. I want to clear the earth of + base people.’” + </p> + <p> + “Really? That’s clever!” + </p> + <p> + “He’s a terrible man! How many wild pranks he has perpetrated during these + years! How much money he has squandered!” + </p> + <p> + “And, tell me, on what conditions does father manage his affairs for him? + Do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t. He has a full power of attorney. Why do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Simply so. It’s a solid business. Of course it is conducted in purely + Russian fashion; in other words, it is conducted abominably. But it is a + splendid business, nevertheless. If it were managed properly it would be a + most profitable gold mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Foma does absolutely nothing. Everything is in father’s hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? That’s fine.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, sometimes it occurs to me that his thoughtful frame of mind—that + these words of his are sincere, and that he can be very decent. But I + cannot reconcile his scandalous life with his words and arguments. I + cannot do it under any circumstances!” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t even worthwhile to bother about it. The stripling and lazy bones + seeks to justify his laziness.” + </p> + <p> + “No. You see, at times he is like a child. He was particularly so before.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s what I have said: he’s a stripling. Is it worth while + talking about an ignoramus and a savage, who wishes to remain an ignoramus + and a savage, and does not conceal the fact? You see: he reasons as the + bear in the fable bent the shafts.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very harsh.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am harsh! People require that. We Russians are all desperately + loose. Happily, life is so arranged that, whether we will it or not, we + gradually brace up. Dreams are for the lads and maidens, but for serious + people there is serious business.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I feel very sorry for Foma. What will become of him?” + </p> + <p> + “That does not concern me. I believe that nothing in particular will + become of him—neither good nor bad. The insipid fellow will squander + his money away, and will be ruined. What else? Eh, the deuce take him! + Such people as he is are rare nowadays. Now the merchant knows the power + of education. And he, that foster-brother of yours, he will go to ruin.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true, sir!” said Foma, opening the door and appearing on the + threshold. + </p> + <p> + Pale, with knitted brow and quivering lips, he stared straight into + Taras’s face and said in a dull voice: “True! I will go to ruin and—amen! + The sooner the better!” + </p> + <p> + Lubov sprang up from the chair with frightened face, and ran up to Taras, + who stood calmly in the middle of the room, with his hands thrust in his + pockets. + </p> + <p> + “Foma! Oh! Shame! You have been eavesdropping. Oh, Foma!” said she in + confusion. + </p> + <p> + “Keep quiet, you lamb!” said Foma to her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, eavesdropping is wrong!” ejaculated Taras, slowly, without lifting + from Foma his look of contempt. + </p> + <p> + “Let it be wrong!” said Foma, with a wave of the hand. “Is it my fault + that the truth can be learned by eavesdropping only?” + </p> + <p> + “Go away, Foma, please!” entreated Lubov, pressing close to her brother. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you have something to say to me?” asked Taras, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “I?” exclaimed Foma. “What can I say? I cannot say anything. It is you who—you, + I believe, know everything.” + </p> + <p> + “You have nothing then to discuss with me?” asked Taras again. + </p> + <p> + “I am very pleased.” + </p> + <p> + He turned sideways to Foma and inquired of Lubov: + </p> + <p> + “What do you think—will father return soon?” + </p> + <p> + Foma looked at him, and, feeling something akin to respect for the man, + deliberately left the house. He did not feel like going to his own huge + empty house, where each step of his awakened a ringing echo, he strolled + along the street, which was enveloped in the melancholy gray twilight of + late autumn. He thought of Taras Mayakin. + </p> + <p> + “How severe he is. He takes after his father. Only he’s not so restless. + He’s also a cunning rogue, I think, while Lubka regarded him almost as a + saint. That foolish girl! What a sermon he read to me! A regular judge. + And she—she was kind toward me.” But all these thoughts stirred in + him no feelings—neither hatred toward Taras nor sympathy for Lubov. + He carried with him something painful and uncomfortable, something + incomprehensible to him, that kept growing within his breast, and it + seemed to him that his heart was swollen and was gnawing as though from an + abscess. He hearkened to that unceasing and indomitable pain, noticed that + it was growing more and more acute from hour to hour, and, not knowing how + to allay it, waited for the results. + </p> + <p> + Then his godfather’s trotter passed him. Foma saw in the carriage the + small figure of Yakov Mayakin, but even that aroused no feeling in him. A + lamplighter ran past Foma, overtook him, placed his ladder against the + lamp post and went up. The ladder suddenly slipped under his weight, and + he, clasping the lamp post, cursed loudly and angrily. A girl jostled Foma + in the side with her bundle and said: + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced at her and said nothing. Then a drizzling rain began to fall + from the sky—tiny, scarcely visible drops of moisture overcast the + lights of the lanterns and the shop windows with grayish dust. This dust + made him breathe with difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I go to Yozhov and pass the night there? I might drink with him,” + thought Foma and went away to Yozhov, not having the slightest desire + either to see the feuilleton-writer or to drink with him. + </p> + <p> + At Yozhov’s he found a shaggy fellow sitting on the lounge. He had on a + blouse and gray pantaloons. His face was swarthy, as though smoked, his + eyes were large, immobile and angry, his thick upper lip was covered with + a bristle-like, soldier moustache. He was sitting on the lounge, with his + feet clasped in his huge arms and his chin resting on his knees. Yozhov + sat sideways in a chair, with his legs thrown across the arm of the chair. + Among books and newspapers on the table stood a bottle of vodka and there + was an odour of something salty in the room. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you tramping about?” Yozhov asked Foma, and, nodding at him, said + to the man on the lounge: “Gordyeeff!” + </p> + <p> + The man glanced at the newcomer and said in a harsh, shrill voice: + “Krasnoshchokov.” + </p> + <p> + Foma seated himself on a corner of the lounge and said to Yozhov: + </p> + <p> + “I have come to stay here over night.” + </p> + <p> + “Well? Go on, Vasily.” + </p> + <p> + The latter glanced at Foma askance and went on in a creaking voice: + </p> + <p> + “In my opinion, you are attacking the stupid people in vain. Masaniello + was a fool, but what had to be performed was done in the best way + possible. And that Winkelried was certainly a fool also, and yet had he + not thrust the imperial spears into himself the Swiss would have been + thrashed. Have there not been many fools like that? Yet they are the + heroes. And the clever people are the cowards. Where they ought to deal + the obstacle a blow with all their might they stop to reflect: ‘What will + come of it? Perhaps we may perish in vain?’ And they stand there like + posts—until they breathe their last. And the fool is brave! He + rushes headforemost against the wall—bang! If his skull breaks—what + of it? Calves’ heads are not dear. And if he makes a crack in the wall the + clever people will pick it open into gates, will pass and credit + themselves with the honour. No, Nikolay Matveyich, bravery is a good thing + even though it be without reason.” + </p> + <p> + “Vasily, you are talking nonsense!” said Yozhov, stretching his hand + toward him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, of course!” assented Vasily. “How am I to sip cabbage soup with a + bast shoe? And yet I am not blind. I can see. There is plenty of brains, + but no good comes of it. During the time the clever people think and + reflect as to how to act in the wisest way, the fools will down them. + That’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little!” said Yozhov. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t! I am on duty today. I am rather late as it is. I’ll drop in + tomorrow—may I?” + </p> + <p> + “Come! I’ll give a roasting!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s exactly your business.” + </p> + <p> + Vasily adjusted himself slowly, rose from the lounge, took Yozhov’s + yellow, thin little hand in his big, swarthy paw and pressed it. + </p> + <p> + “Goodbye!” + </p> + <p> + Then he nodded toward Foma and went through the door sideways. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen?” Yozhov asked Foma, pointing his hand at the door, behind + which the heavy footsteps still resounded. + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a man is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Assistant machinist, Vaska Krasnoshchokov. Here, take an example from + him: At the age of fifteen he began to study, to read and write, and at + twenty-eight he has read the devil knows how many good books, and has + mastered two languages to perfection. Now he’s going abroad.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” inquired Foma. + </p> + <p> + “To study. To see how people live there, while you languish here—what + for?” + </p> + <p> + “He spoke sensibly of the fools,” said Foma, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, for I am not a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “That was well said. The stupid man ought to act at once. Rush forward and + overturn.” + </p> + <p> + “There, he’s broken loose!” exclaimed Yozhov. “You better tell me whether + it is true that Mayakin’s son has returned?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “I can see by your face that there is something.” + </p> + <p> + “We know all about his son; we’ve heard about him.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have seen him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well? What sort of man is he?” + </p> + <p> + “The devil knows him! What have I to do with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Is he like his father?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s stouter, plumper; there is more seriousness about him; he is so + cold.” + </p> + <p> + “Which means that he will be even worse than Yashka. Well, now, my dear, + be on your guard or they will suck you dry.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let them do it!” + </p> + <p> + “They’ll rob you. You’ll become a pauper. That Taras fleeced his + father-in-law in Yekateringburg so cleverly.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him fleece me too, if he likes. I shall not say a word to him except + ‘thanks.’” + </p> + <p> + “You are still singing that same old tune?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “To be set at liberty.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Drop it! What do you want freedom for? What will you do with it? Don’t + you know that you are not fit for anything, that you are illiterate, that + you certainly cannot even split a log of wood? Now, if I could only free + myself from the necessity of drinking vodka and eating bread!” + </p> + <p> + Yozhov jumped to his feet, and, stopping in front of Foma, began to speak + in a loud voice, as though declaiming: + </p> + <p> + “I would gather together the remains of my wounded soul, and together with + the blood of my heart I would spit them into the face of our intelligent + society, the devil take it! I would say to them: + </p> + <p> + ‘You insects, you are the best sap of my country! The fact of your + existence has been repaid by the blood and the tears of scores of + generations of Russian people. O, you nits! How dearly your country has + paid for you! What are you doing for its sake in return? Have you + transformed the tears of the past into pearls? What have you contributed + toward life? What have you accomplished? You have permitted yourselves to + be conquered? What are you doing? You permit yourselves to be mocked.’” + </p> + <p> + He stamped his feet with rage, and setting his teeth together stared at + Foma with burning, angry looks, and resembled an infuriated wild beast. + </p> + <p> + “I would say to them: ‘You! You reason too much, but you are not very + wise, and you are utterly powerless, and you are all cowards! Your hearts + are filled up with morality and noble intentions, but they are as soft and + warm as feather beds; the spirit of creativeness sleeps within them a + profound and calm sleep, and your hearts do not throb, they merely rock + slowly, like cradles.’ Dipping my finger in the blood of my heart, I would + smear upon their brows the brands of my reproaches, and they, paupers in + spirit, miserable in their self-contentment, they would suffer. Oh, how + they would suffer! My scourge is sharp, my hand is firm! And I love too + deeply to have compassion! They would suffer! And now they do not suffer, + for they speak of their sufferings too much, too often, and too loud! They + lie! Genuine suffering is mute, and genuine passion knows no bounds! + Passions, passions! When will they spring up in the hearts of men? We are + all miserable because of apathy.” + </p> + <p> + Short of breath he burst into a fit of coughing, he coughed for a long + time, hopping about hither and thither, waving his hands like a madman. + And then he again stopped in front of Foma with pale face and blood-shot + eyes. He breathed heavily, his lips trembled now and then, displaying his + small, sharp teeth. Dishevelled, with his head covered with short heir, he + looked like a perch just thrown out of the water. This was not the first + time Foma saw him in such a state, and, as always, he was infected by his + agitation. He listened to the fiery words of the small man, silently, + without attempting to understand their meaning, having no desire to know + against whom they were directed, absorbing their force only. Yozhov’s + words bubbled on like boiling water, and heated his soul. + </p> + <p> + “I will say to them, to those miserable idlers: + </p> + <p> + ‘Look! Life goes onward, leaving you behind!’” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! That’s fine!” exclaimed Foma, ecstatically, and began to move about + on the lounge. “You’re a hero, Nikolay! Oh! Go ahead! Throw it right into + their faces!” + </p> + <p> + But Yozhov was not in need of encouragement, it seemed even as though he + had not heard at all Foma’s exclamations, and he went on: + </p> + <p> + “I know the limitations of my powers. I know they’ll shout at me: ‘Hold + your peace!’ They’ll tell me: ‘Keep silence!’ They will say it wisely, + they will say it calmly, mocking me, they will say it from the height of + their majesty. I know I am only a small bird, Oh, I am not a nightingale! + Compared with them I am an ignorant man, I am only a feuilleton-writer, a + man to amuse the public. Let them cry and silence me, let them do it! A + blow will fall on my cheek, but the heart will nevertheless keep on + throbbing! And I will say to them: + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, I am an ignorant man! And my first advantage over you is that I do + not know a single book-truth dearer to me than a man! Man is the universe, + and may he live forever who carries the whole world within him! And you,’ I + will say, ‘for the sake of a word which, perhaps, does not always contain + a meaning comprehensible to you, for the sake of a word you often inflict + sores and wounds on one another, for the sake of a word you spurt one + another with bile, you assault the soul. For this, believe me, life will + severely call you to account: a storm will break loose, and it will whisk + and wash you off the earth, as wind and rain whisk and wash the dust off a + tree I There is in human language only one word whose meaning is clear and + dear to everybody, and when that word is pronounced, it sounds thus: + ‘Freedom!’” + </p> + <p> + “Crush on!” roared Foma, jumping up from the lounge and grasping Yozhov by + the shoulders. With flashing eyes he gazed into Yozhov’s face, bending + toward him, and almost moaned with grief and affliction: “Oh! Nikolay! My + dear fellow, I am mortally sorry for you! I am more sorry than words can + tell!” + </p> + <p> + “What’s this? What’s the matter with you?” cried Yozhov, pushing him away, + amazed and shifted from his position by Foma’s unexpected outburst and + strange words. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, brother!” said Foma, lowering his voice, which thus sounded deeper, + more persuasive. “Oh, living soul, why do you sink to ruin?” + </p> + <p> + “Who? I? I sink? You lie!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy! You will not say anything to anybody! There is no one to + speak to! Who will listen to you? Only I!” + </p> + <p> + “Go to the devil!” shouted Yozhov, angrily, jumping away from him as + though he had been scorched. + </p> + <p> + And Foma went toward him, and spoke convincingly, with intense sorrow: + </p> + <p> + “Speak! speak to me! I shall carry away your words to the proper place. I + understand them. And, ah! how I will scorch the people! Just wait! My + opportunity will come.” + </p> + <p> + “Go away!” screamed Yozhov, hysterically, squeezing his back to the wall, + under Foma’s pressure. Perplexed, crushed, and infuriated he stood and + waved off Foma’s arms outstretched toward him. And at this time the door + of the room opened, and on the threshold appeared a woman all in black. + Her face was angry-looking and excited, her cheek was tied up with a + kerchief. She tossed her head back, stretched out her hand toward Yozhov + and said, in a hissing and shrill voice: + </p> + <p> + “Nikolay Matveyich! Excuse me, but this is impossible! Such beast-like + howling and roaring. Guests everyday. The police are coming. No, I can’t + bear it any longer! I am nervous. Please vacate the lodgings to-morrow. + You are not living in a desert, there are people about you here. And an + educated man at that! A writer! All people require rest. I have a + toothache. I request you to move tomorrow. I’ll paste up a notice, I’ll + notify the police.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke rapidly, and the majority of her words were lost in the hissing + and whistling of her voice; only those words were distinct, which she + shrieked out in a shrill, irritated tone. The corners of her kerchief + protruded on her head like small horns, and shook from the movement of her + jaws. At the sight of her agitated and comical figure Foma gradually + retreated toward the lounge, while Yozhov stood, and wiping his forehead, + stared at her fixedly, and listened to her words: + </p> + <p> + “So know it now!” she screamed, and behind the door, she said once more: + </p> + <p> + “Tomorrow! What an outrage.” + </p> + <p> + “Devil!” whispered Yozhov, staring dully at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! what a woman! How strict!” said Foma, looking at him in amazement, + as he seated himself on the lounge. + </p> + <p> + Yozhov, raising his shoulders, walked up to the table, poured out a half a + tea-glass full of vodka, emptied it and sat down by the table, bowing his + head low. There was silence for about a minute. Then Foma said, timidly + and softly: + </p> + <p> + “How it all happened! We had no time even to wink an eye, and, suddenly, + such an outcome. Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “You!” said Yozhov in an undertone, tossing up his head, and staring at + Foma angrily and wildly. “Keep quiet! You, the devil take you. Lie down + and sleep! You monster. Nightmare. Oh!” + </p> + <p> + And he threatened Foma with his fist. Then he filled the glass with more + brandy, and emptied it again. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later Foma lay undressed on the lounge, and, with half-shut + eyes, followed Yozhov who sat by the table in an awkward pose. He stared + at the floor, and his lips were quietly moving. Foma was astonished, he + could not make out why Yozhov had become angry at him. It could not be + because he had been ordered to move out. For it was he himself who had + been shouting. + </p> + <p> + “Oh devil!” whispered Yozhov, and gnashed his teeth. + </p> + <p> + Foma quietly lifted his head from the pillow. Yozhov deeply and noisily + sighing, again stretched out his hand toward the bottle. Then Foma said to + him softly: + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go to some hotel. It isn’t late yet.” + </p> + <p> + Yozhov looked at him, and, rubbing his head with his hands, began to laugh + strangely. Then he rose from his chair and said to Foma curtly: + </p> + <p> + “Dress yourself!” + </p> + <p> + And seeing how clumsily and slowly he turned on the lounge, Yozhov shouted + with anger and impatience: + </p> + <p> + “Well, be quicker! You personification of stupidity. You symbolical + cart-shaft.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t curse!” said Foma, with a peaceable smile. “Is it worthwhile to be + angry because a woman has cackled?” + </p> + <p> + Yozhov glanced at him, spat and burst into harsh laughter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + “ARE all here?” asked Ilya Yefimovich Kononov, standing on the bow of his + new steamer, and surveying the crowd of guests with beaming eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to be all!” + </p> + <p> + And raising upward his stout, red, happy-looking face, he shouted to the + captain, who was already standing on the bridge, beside the speaking-tube: + </p> + <p> + “Cast off, Petrukha!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir!” + </p> + <p> + The captain bared his huge, bald head, made the sign of the cross, + glancing up at the sky, passed his hand over his wide, black beard, + cleared his throat, and gave the command: + </p> + <p> + “Back!” + </p> + <p> + The guests watched the movements of the captain silently and attentively, + and, emulating his example, they also began to cross themselves, at which + performance their caps and high hats flashed through the air like a flock + of black birds. + </p> + <p> + “Give us Thy blessing, Oh Lord!” exclaimed Kononov with emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Let go astern! Forward!” ordered the captain. The massive “Ilya + Murometz,” heaving a mighty sigh, emitted a thick column of white steam + toward the side of the landing-bridge, and started upstream easily, like a + swan. + </p> + <p> + “How it started off,” enthusiastically exclaimed commercial counsellor Lup + Grigoryev Reznikov, a tall, thin, good-looking man. “Without a quiver! + Like a lady in the dance!” + </p> + <p> + “Half speed!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not a ship, it’s a Leviathan!” remarked with a devout sigh the + pock-marked and stooping Trofim Zubov, cathedral-warden and principal + usurer in town. + </p> + <p> + It was a gray day. The sky, overcast with autumn clouds, was reflected in + the water of the river, thus giving it a cold leaden colouring. Flashing + in the freshness of its paint the steamer sailed along the monotonous + background of the river like a huge bright spot, and the black smoke of + its breath hung in the air like a heavy cloud. All white, with pink + paddle-boxes and bright red blades, the steamer easily cut through the + cold water with its bow and drove it apart toward the shores, and the + round window-panes on the sides of the steamer and the cabin glittered + brilliantly, as though smiling a self-satisfied, triumphant smile. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen of this honourable company!” exclaimed Kononov, removing his + hat, and making a low bow to the guests. “As we have now rendered unto + God, so to say, what is due to God, would you permit that the musicians + render now unto the Emperor what is due to the Emperor?” + </p> + <p> + And, without waiting for an answer from his guests, he placed his fist to + his mouth, and shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Musicians! Play ‘Be Glorious!’” + </p> + <p> + The military orchestra, behind the engine, thundered out the march. + </p> + <p> + And Makar Bobrov, the director and founder of the local commercial bank, + began to hum in a pleasant basso, beating time with his fingers on his + enormous paunch: + </p> + <p> + “Be glorious, be glorious, our Russian Czar—tra-rata! Boom!” + </p> + <p> + “I invite you to the table, gentlemen! Please! Take pot-luck, he, he! I + entreat you humbly,” said Kononov, pushing himself through the dense group + of guests. + </p> + <p> + There were about thirty of them, all sedate men, the cream of the local + merchants. The older men among them, bald-headed and gray, wore + old-fashioned frock-coats, caps and tall boots. But there were only few of + these; high silk hats, shoes and stylish coats reigned supreme. They were + all crowded on the bow of the steamer, and little by little, yielding to + Kononov’s requests, moved towards the stern covered with sailcloth, where + stood tables spread with lunch. Lup Reznikov walked arm in arm with Yakov + Mayakin, and, bending over to his ear, whispered something to him, while + the latter listened and smiled. Foma, who had been brought to the festival + by his godfather, after long admonitions, found no companion for himself + among these people who were repulsive to him, and, pale and gloomy, held + himself apart from them. During the past two days he had been drinking + heavily with Yozhov, and now he had a terrible headache. He felt ill at + ease in the sedate and yet jolly company; the humming of the voices, the + thundering of the music and the clamour of the steamer, all these + irritated him. + </p> + <p> + He felt a pressing need to doze off, and he could find no rest from the + thought as to why his godfather was so kind to him today, and why he + brought him hither into the company of the foremost merchants of the town. + Why had he urged so persuasively, and even entreated him to attend + Kononov’s mass and banquet? + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be foolish, come!” Foma recalled his godfather’s admonitions. “Why + do you fight shy of people? Man gets his character from nature, and in + riches you are lower than very few. You must keep yourself on an equal + footing with the others. Come!” + </p> + <p> + “But when are you going to speak seriously with me, papa?” Foma had asked, + watching the play of his godfather’s face and green eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You mean about setting you free from the business? Ha, ha! We’ll talk it + over, we’ll talk it over, my friend! What a queer fellow you are. Well? + Will you enter a monastery when you have thrown away your wealth? After + the example of the saints? Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll see then!” Foma had answered. + </p> + <p> + “So. Well, and meanwhile, before you go to the monastery, come along with + me! Get ready quickly. Rub your phiz with something wet, for it is very + much swollen. Sprinkle yourself with cologne, get it from Lubov, to drive + away the smell of the kabak. Go ahead!” + </p> + <p> + Arriving on the steamer while the mass was in progress, Foma took up a + place on the side and watched the merchants during the whole service. + </p> + <p> + They stood in solemn silence; their faces had an expression of devout + concentration; they prayed with fervour, deeply sighing, bowing low, + devoutly lifting their eyes heavenward. And Foma looked now at one, now at + another, and recalled what he knew about them. + </p> + <p> + There was Lup Reznikov; he had begun his career as a brothel-keeper, and + had become rich all of a sudden. They said he had strangled one of his + guests, a rich Siberian. Zubov’s business in his youth had been to + purchase thread from the peasants. He had failed twice. Kononov had been + tried twenty years ago for arson, and even now he was indicted for the + seduction of a minor. Together with him, for the second time already, on a + similar charge, Zakhar Kirillov Robustov had been dragged to court. + Robustov was a stout, short merchant with a round face and cheerful blue + eyes. Among these people there was hardly one about whom Foma did not know + something disgraceful. + </p> + <p> + And he knew that they were all surely envying the successful Kononov, who + was constantly increasing the number of his steamers from year to year. + Many of those people were at daggers’ points with one another, none of + them would show mercy to the others in the battlefield of business, and + all knew wicked and dishonest things about one another. But now, when they + gathered around Kononov, who was triumphant and happy, they blended in one + dense, dark mass, and stood and breathed as one man, concentrated and + silent, surrounded by something invisible yet firm, by something which + repulsed Foma from them, and which inspired him with fear of them. + </p> + <p> + “Impostors!” thought he, thus encouraging himself. + </p> + <p> + And they coughed gently, sighed, crossed themselves, bowed, and, + surrounding the clergy in a thick wall, stood immovable and firm, like + big, black rocks. + </p> + <p> + “They are pretending!” Foma exclaimed to himself. Beside him stood the + hump-backed, one-eyed Pavlin Gushchin—he who, not long before, had + turned the children of his half-witted brother into the street as beggars—he + stood there and whispered penetratingly as he looked at the gloomy sky + with his single eye: + </p> + <p> + “Oh Lord! Do not convict me in Thy wrath, nor chastise me in Thy + indignation.” + </p> + <p> + And Foma felt that that man was addressing the Lord with the most profound + and firm faith in His mercy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh Lord, God of our fathers, who hadst commanded Noah, Thy servant, to + build an ark for the preservation of the world,” said the priest in his + deep bass voice, lifting his eyes and outstretching his hands skyward, + “protect also this vessel and give unto it a guarding angel of good and + peace. Guard those that will sail upon it.” + </p> + <p> + The merchants in unison made the sign of the cross, with wide swings of + their arms, and all their faces bore the expression of one sentiment—faith + in the power of prayer. All these pictures took root in Foma’s memory and + awakened in him perplexity as to these people, who, being able to believe + firmly in the mercy of God, were, nevertheless, so cruel unto man. He + watched them persistently, wishing to detect their fraud, to convince + himself of their falsehood. + </p> + <p> + Their grave firmness angered him, their unanimous self-confidence, their + triumphant faces, their loud voices, their laughter. They were already + seated by the tables, covered with luncheon, and were hungrily admiring + the huge sturgeon, almost three yards in length, nicely sprinkled over + with greens and large crabs. Trofim Zubov, tying a napkin around his neck, + looked at the monster fish with happy, sweetly half-shut eyes, and said to + his neighbour, the flour merchant, Yona Yushkov: + </p> + <p> + “Yona Nikiforich! Look, it’s a regular whale! It’s big enough to serve as + a casket for your person, eh? Ha, ha! You could creep into it as a foot + into a boot, eh? Ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + The small-bodied and plump Yona carefully stretched out his short little + hand toward the silver pail filled with fresh caviar, smacked his lips + greedily, and squinted at the bottles before him, fearing lest he might + overturn them. + </p> + <p> + Opposite Kononov, on a trestle, stood a half-vedro barrel of old vodka, + imported from Poland; in a huge silver-mounted shell lay oysters, and a + certain particoloured cake, in the shape of a tower, stood out above all + the viands. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen! I entreat you! Help yourselves to whatever you please!” cried + Kononov. “I have here everything at once to suit the taste of everyone. + There is our own, Russian stuff, and there is foreign, all at once! That’s + the best way! Who wishes anything? Does anybody want snails, or these + crabs, eh? They’re from India, I am told.” + </p> + <p> + And Zubov said to his neighbour, Mayakin: + </p> + <p> + “The prayer ‘At the Building of a Vessel’ is not suitable for steam-tugs + and river steamers, that is, not that it is not suitable, it isn’t enough + alone. A river steamer is a place of permanent residence for the crew, and + therefore it ought to be considered as a house. Consequently it is + necessary to make the prayer ‘At the Building of a House,’ in addition to + that for the vessel. But what will you drink?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not much of a wine fiend. Pour me out some cumin vodka,” replied + Yakov Tarasovich. + </p> + <p> + Foma, seated at the end of the table among some timid and modest men who + were unfamiliar to him, now and again felt on himself the sharp glances of + the old man. + </p> + <p> + “He’s afraid I’ll make a scandal,” thought Foma. “Brethren!” roared the + monstrously stout ship builder Yashchurov, in a hoarse voice, “I can’t do + without herring! I must necessarily begin with herring, that’s my nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Musicians! strike up ‘The Persian March!’” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on! Better ‘How Glorious!’” + </p> + <p> + “Strike up ‘How Glorious.’” + </p> + <p> + The puffing of the engine and the clatter of the steamer’s wheels, + mingling with the sounds of the music, produced in the air something which + sounded like the wild song of a snow-storm. The whistle of the flute, the + shrill singing of the clarionets, the heavy roaring of the basses, the + ruffling of the little drum and the drones of the blows on the big one, + all this fell on the monotonous and dull sounds of the wheels, as they cut + the water apart, smote the air rebelliously, drowned the noise of the + human voices and hovered after the steamer, like a hurricane, causing the + people to shout at the top of their voices. At times an angry hissing of + steam rang out within the engine, and there was something irritable and + contemptuous in this sound as it burst unexpectedly upon the chaos of the + drones and roars and shouts. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never forget, even unto my grave, that you refused to discount + the note for me,” cried some one in a fierce voice. + </p> + <p> + “That will do! Is this a place for accounts?” rang out Bobrov’s bass. + </p> + <p> + “Brethren! Let us have some speeches!” + </p> + <p> + “Musicians, bush!” + </p> + <p> + “Come up to the bank and I’ll explain to you why I didn’t discount it.” + </p> + <p> + “A speech! Silence!” + </p> + <p> + “Musicians, cease playing!” + </p> + <p> + “Strike up ‘In the Meadows.’” + </p> + <p> + “Madame Angot!” + </p> + <p> + “No! Yakov Tarasovich, we beg of you!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s called Strassburg pastry.” + </p> + <p> + “We beg of you! We beg of you!” + </p> + <p> + “Pastry? It doesn’t look like it, but I’ll taste it all the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Tarasovich! Start.” + </p> + <p> + “Brethren! It is jolly! By God.” + </p> + <p> + “And in ‘La Belle Helene’ she used to come out almost naked, my dear,” + suddenly Robustov’s shrill and emotional voice broke through the noise. + </p> + <p> + “Look out! Jacob cheated Esau? Aha!” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t! My tongue is not a hammer, and I am no longer young. + </p> + <p> + “Yasha! We all implore you!” + </p> + <p> + “Do us the honour!” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll elect you mayor!” + </p> + <p> + “Tarasovich! don’t be capricious!” + </p> + <p> + “Sh! Silence! Gentlemen! Yakov Tarasovich will say a few words!” + </p> + <p> + “Sh!” + </p> + <p> + And just at the moment the noise subsided some one’s loud, indignant + whisper was heard: + </p> + <p> + “How she pinched me, the carrion.” + </p> + <p> + And Bobrov inquired in his deep basso: + </p> + <p> + “Where did she pinch you?” + </p> + <p> + All burst into ringing laughter, but soon fell silent, for Yakov + Tarasovich Mayakin, rising to his feet, cleared his throat, and, stroking + his bald crown, surveyed the merchants with a serious look expecting + attention. + </p> + <p> + “Well, brethren, open your ears!” shouted Kononov, with satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen of the merchant class!” began Mayakin with a smile. “There is a + certain foreign word in the language of intelligent and learned people, + and that word is ‘culture.’ So now I am going to talk to you about that + word in all the simplicity of my soul.” + </p> + <p> + “So, that’s where he is aiming to!” some ones satisfied exclamation was + heard. + </p> + <p> + “Sh! Silence!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear gentlemen!” said Mayakin, raising his voice, “in the newspapers they + keep writing about us merchants, that we are not acquainted with this + ‘culture,’ that we do not want it, and do not understand it. And they call + us savage, uncultured people. What is culture? It pains me, old man as I + am, to hear such words, and one day I made it my business to look up that + word, to see what it really contains.” Mayakin became silent, surveyed the + audience with his eyes, and went on distinctly, with a triumphant smile: + </p> + <p> + “It proved, upon my researches, that this word means worship, that is, + love, great love for business and order in life. ‘That’s right!’ I + thought, ‘that’s right!’ That means that he is a cultured man who loves + business and order, who, in general, loves to arrange life, loves to live, + knows the value of himself and of life. Good!” Yakov Tarasovich trembled, + his wrinkles spread over his face like beams, from his smiling eyes to his + lips, and his bald head looked like some dark star. + </p> + <p> + The merchants stared silently and attentively at his mouth, and all faces + bespoke intense attention. The people seemed petrified in the attitudes in + which Mayakin’s speech had overtaken them. + </p> + <p> + “But if that word is to be interpreted precisely thus, and not otherwise, + if such is the case—then the people who call us uncultured and + savage, slander and blaspheme us! For they love only the word, but not its + meaning; while we love the very root of the word, we love its real + essence, we love activity. We have within us the real cult toward life, + that is, the worship of life; we, not they! They love reasoning’ we love + action. And here, gentlemen of the merchant class, here is an example of + our culture, of our love for action. Take the Volga! Here she is, our dear + own mother! With each and every drop of her water she can corroborate our + honour and refute the empty blasphemy spattered on us. Only one hundred + years have elapsed, my dear sirs, since Emperor Peter the Great launched + decked barks on this river, and now thousands of steamships sail up and + down the river. Who has built them? The Russian peasant, an utterly + unlettered man! All these enormous steamers, barges—whose are they? + Ours! Who has invented them? We! Everything here is ours, everything here + is the fruit of our minds, of our Russian shrewdness, and our great love + for action! Nobody has assisted us in anything! We ourselves exterminated + piracy on the Volga; at our own expense we hired troops; we exterminated + piracy and sent out on the Volga thousands of steamers and various vessels + over all the thousands of miles of her course. Which is the best town on + the Volga? The one that has the most merchants. Whose are the best houses + in town? The merchants! Who takes the most care of the poor? The merchant! + He collects groshes and copecks, and donates hundreds of thousands of + roubles. Who has erected the churches? We! Who contributes the most money + to the government? The merchants! Gentlemen! to us alone is the work dear + for its own sake, for the sake of our love for the arrangement of life, + and we alone love order and life! And he who talks about us merely talks, + and that’s all! Let him talk! When the wind blows the willow rustles; when + the wind subsides the willow is silent; and neither a cart-shaft, nor a + broom can be made out of the willow; it is a useless tree! And from this + uselessness comes the noise. What have they, our judges, accomplished; how + have they adorned life? We do not know it. While our work is clearly + evident! Gentlemen of the merchant class! Seeing in you the foremost men + in life, most industrious and loving your labours, seeing in you the men + who can accomplish and have accomplished everything, I now heartily, with + respect and love for you, lift my brimming goblet, to the glorious, + strong-souled, industrious Russian merchant class. Long may you live! May + you succeed for the glory of Mother Russia! Hurrah!” + </p> + <p> + The shrill, jarring shout of Mayakin called forth a deafening, triumphant + roar from the merchants. All these big, fleshy bodies, aroused by wine and + by the old man’s words, stirred and uttered from their chests such a + unanimous, massive shout that everything around them seemed to tremble and + to quake. + </p> + <p> + “Yakov! you are the trumpet of the Lord!” cried Zubov, holding out his + goblet toward Mayakin. + </p> + <p> + Overturning the chairs, jostling the tables, thus causing the dishes and + the bottles to rattle and fall, the merchants, agitated, delighted, some + with tears in their eyes, rushed toward Mayakin with goblets in their + hands. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Do you understand what has been said here?” asked Kononov, grasping + Robustov by the shoulder and shaking him. “Understand it! That was a great + speech!” + </p> + <p> + “Yakov Tarasovich! Come, let me embrace you!” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s toss, Mayakin! + </p> + <p> + “Strike up the band.” + </p> + <p> + “Sound a flourish! A march. ‘The Persian March.”’ + </p> + <p> + “We don’t want any music! The devil take it!” + </p> + <p> + “Here is the music! Eh, Yakov Tarasovich! What a mind!” + </p> + <p> + “I was small among my brethren, but I was favoured with understanding.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie, Trofim!” + </p> + <p> + “Yakov! you’ll die soon. Oh, what a pity! Words can’t express how sorry we + are!” + </p> + <p> + “But what a funeral that is going to be!” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen! Let us establish a Mayakin fund! I put up a thousand!” + </p> + <p> + “Silence! Hold on!” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen!” Yakov Tarasovich began to speak again, quivering in every + limb. “And, furthermore, we are the foremost men in life and the real + masters in our fatherland because we are—peasants!’ + </p> + <p> + “Corr-rect!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s right! Dear mother! That’s an old man for you!” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on! Let him finish.” + </p> + <p> + “We are primitive Russian people, and everything that comes from us is + truly Russian! Consequently it is the most genuine, the most useful and + obligatory.” + </p> + <p> + “As true as two and two make four!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s so simple.” + </p> + <p> + “He is as wise as a serpent!” + </p> + <p> + “And as meek as a—” + </p> + <p> + “As a hawk. Ha, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + The merchants encircled their orator in a close ring, they looked at him + with their oily eyes, and were so agitated that they could no longer + listen to his words calmly. Around him a tumult of voices smote the air, + and mingling with the noise of the engine, and the beating of the wheels + upon the water, it formed a whirlwind of sounds which drowned the jarring + voice of the old man. The excitement of the merchants was growing more and + more intense; all faces were radiant with triumph; hands holding out + goblets were outstretched toward Mayakin; the merchants clapped him on the + shoulder, jostled him, kissed him, gazed with emotion into his face. And + some screamed ecstatically: + </p> + <p> + “The kamarinsky. The national dance!” + </p> + <p> + “We have accomplished all that!” cried Yakov Tarasovich, pointing at the + river. “It is all ours! We have built up life!” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly rang out a loud exclamation which drowned all sounds: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! So you have done it? Ah, you.” + </p> + <p> + And immediately after this, a vulgar oath resounded through the air, + pronounced distinctly with great rancour, in a dull but powerful voice. + Everyone heard it and became silent for a moment, searching with their + eyes the man who had abused them. At this moment nothing was heard save + the deep sighs of the engines and the clanking of the rudder chains. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s snarling there?” asked Kononov with a frown. + </p> + <p> + “We can’t get along without scandals!” said Reznikov, with a contrite + sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Who was swearing here at random?” + </p> + <p> + The faces of the merchants mirrored alarm, curiosity, astonishment, + reproach, and all the people began to bustle about stupidly. Only Yakov + Tarasovich alone was calm and seemed even satisfied with what had + occurred. Rising on tiptoe, with his neck outstretched, he stared + somewhere toward the end of the table, and his eyes flashed strangely, as + though he saw there something which was pleasing to him. + </p> + <p> + “Gordyeeff,” said Yona Yushkov, softly. + </p> + <p> + And all heads were turned toward the direction in which Yakov Tarasovich + was staring. + </p> + <p> + There, with his hands resting on the table, stood Foma. His face distorted + with wrath, his teeth firmly set together, he silently surveyed the + merchants with his burning, wide-open eyes. His lower jaw was trembling, + his shoulders were quivering, and the fingers of his hands, firmly + clutching the edge of the table, were nervously scratching the tablecloth. + At the sight of his wolf-like, angry face and his wrathful pose, the + merchants again became silent for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “What are you gaping at?” asked Foma, and again accompanied his question + with a violent oath. + </p> + <p> + “He’s drunk!” said Bobrov, with a shake of the head. + </p> + <p> + “And why was he invited?” whispered Reznikov, softly. + </p> + <p> + “Foma Ignatyevich!” said Kononov, sedately, “you mustn’t create any + scandals. If your head is reeling—go, my dear boy, quietly and + peacefully into the cabin and lie down! Lie down, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, you!” roared Foma, and turned his eye at him. “Do not dare to + speak to me! I am not drunk. I am soberer than any one of you here! Do you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “But wait awhile, my boy. Who invited you here?” asked Kononov, reddening + with offence. + </p> + <p> + “I brought him!” rang out Mayakin’s voice. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Well, then, of course. Excuse me, Foma Ignatyevich. But as you + brought him, Yakov, you ought to subdue him. Otherwise it’s no good.” + </p> + <p> + Foma maintained silence and smiled. And the merchants, too, were silent, + as they looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Fomka!” began Mayakin. “Again you disgrace my old age.” + </p> + <p> + “Godfather!” said Foma, showing his teeth, “I have not done anything as + yet, so it is rather early to read me a lecture. I am not drunk, I have + drunk nothing, but I have heard everything. Gentlemen merchants! Permit me + to make a speech! My godfather, whom you respect so much, has spoken. Now + listen to his godson.” + </p> + <p> + “What—speeches?” said Reznikov. “Why have any discourses? We have + come together to enjoy ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, you had better drop that, Foma Ignatyevich.” + </p> + <p> + “Better drink something.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s have a drink! Ah, Foma, you’re the son of a fine father!” + </p> + <p> + Foma recoiled from the table, straightened himself and continuously + smiling, listened to the kind, admonitory words. Among all those sedate + people he was the youngest and the handsomest. His well-shaped figure, in + a tight-fitting frock coat, stood out, to his advantage, among the mass of + stout bodies with prominent paunches. His swarthy face with large eyes was + more regularly featured, more full of life than the shrivelled or red + faces of those who stood before him with astonishment and expectancy. He + threw his chest forward, set his teeth together, and flinging the skirts + of his frock coat apart, thrust his hands into his pockets. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t stop up my mouth now with flattery and caresses!” said he, + firmly and threateningly, “Whether you will listen or not, I am going to + speak all the same. You cannot drive me away from here.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head, and, raising his shoulders, announced calmly: + </p> + <p> + “But if any one of you dare to touch me, even with a finger, I’ll kill + him! I swear it by the Lord. I’ll kill as many as I can!” + </p> + <p> + The crowd of people that stood opposite him swayed back, even as bushes + rocked by the wind. They began to talk in agitated whispers. Foma’s face + grew darker, his eyes became round. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it has been said here that you have built up life, and that you + have done the most genuine and proper things.” + </p> + <p> + Foma heaved a deep sigh, and with inexpressible aversion scrutinized his + listeners’ faces, which suddenly became strangely puffed up, as though + they were swollen. The merchants were silent, pressing closer and closer + to one another. Some one in the back rows muttered: + </p> + <p> + “What is he talking about? Ah! From a paper, or by heart?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you rascals!” exclaimed Gordyeeff, shaking his head. “What have you + made? It is not life that you have made, but a prison. It is not order + that you have established, you have forged fetters on man. It is + suffocating, it is narrow, there is no room for a living soul to turn. Man + is perishing! You are murderers! Do you understand that you exist today + only through the patience of mankind?” + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean?” exclaimed Reznikov, clasping his hands in rage and + indignation. “Ilya Yefimov, what’s this? I can’t bear to hear such words.” + </p> + <p> + “Gordyeeff!” cried Bobrov. “Look out, you speak improper words.” + </p> + <p> + “For such words you’ll get—oi, oi, oi!” said Zubov, insinuatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” roared Foma, with blood-shot eyes. “Now they’re grunting.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen!” rang out Mayakin’s calm, malicious voice, like the screech of + a smooth-file on iron. “Don’t touch him! I entreat you earnestly, do not + hinder him. Let him snarl. Let him amuse himself. His words cannot harm + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, I humbly thank you!” cried Yushkov. And close at Foma’s side + stood Smolin and whispered in his ear: + </p> + <p> + “Stop, my dear boy! What’s the matter with you? Are you out of your wits? + They’ll do you—!” + </p> + <p> + “Get away!” said Foma, firmly, flashing his angry eyes at him. “You go to + Mayakin and flatter him, perhaps something will come your way!” + </p> + <p> + Smolin whistled through his teeth and stepped aside. And the merchants + began to disperse on the steamer, one by one. This irritated Foma still + more he wished he could chain them to the spot by his words, but he could + not find such powerful words. + </p> + <p> + “You have built up life!” he shouted. “Who are you? Swindlers, robbers.” + </p> + <p> + A few men turned toward Foma, as if he had called them. + </p> + <p> + “Kononov! are they soon going to try you for that little girl? They’ll + convict you to the galleys. Goodbye, Ilya! You are building your steamers + in vain. They’ll transport you to Siberia on a government vessel.” + </p> + <p> + Kononov sank into a chair; his blood leaped to his face, and he shook his + fist in silence. Foma said hoarsely: + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Good. I shall not forget it.” + </p> + <p> + Foma saw his distorted face with its trembling lips, and understood with + what weapons he could deal these men the most forcible blows. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha, ha! Builders of life! Gushchin, do you give alms to your little + nephews and nieces? Give them at least a copeck a day. You have stolen + sixty-seven thousand roubles from them. Bobrov! why did you lie about that + mistress of yours, saying that she had robbed you, and then send her to + prison? If you had grown tired of her, you might have given her over to + your son. Anyway he has started an intrigue with that other mistress of + yours. Didn’t you know it? Eh, you fat pig, ha, ha! And you, Lup, open + again a brothel, and fleece your guests there as before. And then the + devil will fleece you, ha, ha! It is good to be a rascal with a pious face + like yours! Whom did you kill then, Lup?” + </p> + <p> + Foma spoke, interrupting his speech with loud, malevolent laughter, and + saw that his words were producing an impression on these people. Before, + when he had spoken to all of them they turned away from him, stepping + aside, forming groups, and looking at their accuser from afar with anger + and contempt. He saw smiles on their faces, he felt in their every + movement something scornful, and understood that while his words angered + them they did not sting as deep as he wished them to. All this had chilled + his wrath, and within him there was already arising the bitter + consciousness of the failure of his attack on them. But as soon as he + began to speak of each one separately, there was a swift and striking + change in the relation of his hearers toward him. + </p> + <p> + When Kononov sank heavily in the chair, as though he were unable to + withstand the weight of Foma’s harsh words, Foma noticed that bitter and + malicious smiles crossed the faces of some of the merchants. He heard some + one’s whisper of astonishment and approval: + </p> + <p> + “That’s well aimed!” + </p> + <p> + This whisper gave strength to Foma, and he confidently and passionately + began to hurl reproaches, jeers and abuses at those who met his eyes. He + growled joyously, seeing that his words were taking effect. He was + listened to silently, attentively; several men moved closer toward him. + </p> + <p> + Exclamations of protest were heard, but these were brief, not loud, and + each time Foma shouted some one’s name, all became silent, listening, + casting furtive, malicious glances in the direction of their accused + comrade. + </p> + <p> + Bobrov laughed perplexedly, but his small eyes bored into Foma as gimlets. + And Lup Reznikov, waving his hands, hopped about awkwardly and, short of + breath, said: + </p> + <p> + “Be my witnesses. What’s this! No-o! I will not forgive this! I’ll go to + court. What’s that?” and suddenly he screamed in a shrill voice, + out-stretching his hand toward Foma: + </p> + <p> + “Bind him!” + </p> + <p> + Foma was laughing. + </p> + <p> + “You cannot bind the truth, you can’t do it! Even bound, truth will not + grow dumb!” + </p> + <p> + “Go-o-od!” drawled out Kononov in a dull, broken voice. + </p> + <p> + “See here, gentlemen of the merchant class!” rang out Mayakin’s voice. “I + ask! you to admire him, that’s the kind of a fellow he is!” + </p> + <p> + One after another the merchants moved toward Foma, and on their faces he + saw wrath, curiosity, a malicious feeling of satisfaction, fear. Some one + of those modest people among whom Foma was sitting, whispered to him: + </p> + <p> + “Give it to them. God bless you. Go ahead! That will be to your credit.” + </p> + <p> + “Robustov!” cried Foma. “What are you laughing at? What makes you glad? + You will also go to the galleys.” + </p> + <p> + “Put him ashore!” suddenly roared Robustov, springing to his feet. + </p> + <p> + And Kononov shouted to the captain: + </p> + <p> + “Back! To the town! To the Governor.” + </p> + <p> + And someone insinuatingly, in a voice trembling with feeling: + </p> + <p> + “That’s a collusive agreement. That was done on purpose. He was + instigated, and made drunk to give him courage.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s a revolt!” + </p> + <p> + “Bind him! Just bind him!” + </p> + <p> + Foma grasped a champagne bottle and swung it in the air. + </p> + <p> + “Come on now! No, it seems that you will have to listen to me.” + </p> + <p> + With renewed fury, frantic with joy at seeing these people shrinking and + quailing under the blows of his words, Foma again started to shout names + and vulgar oaths, and the exasperated tumult was hushed once more. The + men, whom Foma did not know, gazed at him with eager curiosity, with + approval, while some looked at him even with joyous surprise. One of them, + a gray-haired little old man with rosy cheeks and small mouse eyes, + suddenly turned toward the merchants, who had been abused by Foma, and + said in a sweet voice: + </p> + <p> + “These are words from the conscience! That’s nothing! You must endure it. + That’s a prophetic accusation. We are sinful. To tell the truth we are + very—” + </p> + <p> + He was hissed, and Zubov even jostled him on the shoulder. He made a low + bow and disappeared in the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “Zubov!” cried Foma. “How many people have you fleeced and turned to + beggars? Do you ever dream of Ivan Petrov Myakinnikov, who strangled + himself because of you? Is it true that you steal at every mass ten + roubles out of the church box?” + </p> + <p> + Zubov had not expected the attack, and he remained as petrified, with his + hand uplifted. But he immediately began to scream in a shrill voice, as he + jumped up quickly: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You turn against me also? Against me, too?” + </p> + <p> + And suddenly he puffed up his cheeks and furiously began to shake his fist + at Foma, as he screamed in a shrill voice: + </p> + <p> + “The fool says in his heart there is no God! I’ll go to the bishop! + Infidel! You’ll get the galleys!” + </p> + <p> + The tumult on the steamer grew, and at the sight of these enraged, + perplexed and insulted people, Foma felt himself a fairy-tale giant, + slaying monsters. They bustled about, waving their arms, talking to one + another—some red with anger, others pale, yet all equally powerless + to check the flow of his jeers at them. + </p> + <p> + “Send the sailors over here!” cried Reznikov, tugging Kononov by the + shoulder. “What’s the matter with you, Ilya? Ah? Have you invited us to be + ridiculed?” + </p> + <p> + “Against one puppy,” screamed Zubov. + </p> + <p> + A crowd had gathered around Yakov Tarasovitch Mayakin, and listened to his + quiet speech with anger, and nodded their heads affirmatively. + </p> + <p> + “Act, Yakov!” said Robustov, loudly. “We are all witnesses. Go ahead!” + </p> + <p> + And above the general tumult of voices rang out Foma’s loud, accusing + voice: + </p> + <p> + “It was not life that you have built—you have made a cesspool! You + have bred filth and putrefaction by your deeds! Have you a conscience? Do + you remember God? Money—that’s your God! And your conscience you + have driven away. Whither have you driven it away? Blood-suckers! You live + on the strength of others. You work with other people’s hands! You shall + pay for all this! When you perish, you will be called to account for + everything! For everything, even to a teardrop. How many people have wept + blood at those great deeds of yours? And according to your deserts, even + hell is too good a place for you, rascals. Not in fire, but in boiling mud + you shall be scorched. Your sufferings shall last for centuries. The + devils will hurl you into a boiler and will pour into it—ha, ha, ha! + they’ll pour into it—ha, ha, ha! Honourable merchant class! Builders + of Life. Oh, you devils!” + </p> + <p> + Foma burst into ringing laughter, and, holding his sides, staggered, + tossing his head up high. + </p> + <p> + At that moment several men quickly exchanged glances, simultaneously + rushed on Foma and downed him with their weight. A racket ensued. + </p> + <p> + “Now you’re caught!” ejaculated some one in a suffocating voice. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Is that the way you’re doing it?” cried Foma, hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + For about a half a minute a whole heap of black bodies bustled about on + one spot, heavily stamping their feet, and dull exclamations were heard: + </p> + <p> + “Throw him to the ground!” + </p> + <p> + “Hold his hand, his hand! Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “By the beard?” + </p> + <p> + “Get napkins, bind him with napkins.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll bite, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “So! Well, how’s it? Aha!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t strike! Don’t dare to strike.” + </p> + <p> + “Ready!” + </p> + <p> + “How strong he is!” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s carry him over there toward the side.” + </p> + <p> + “Out in the fresh air, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + They dragged Foma away to one side, and having placed him against the wall + of the captain’s cabin, walked away from him, adjusting their costumes, + and mopping their sweat-covered brows. Fatigued by the struggle, and + exhausted by the disgrace of his defeat, Foma lay there in silence, + tattered, soiled with something, firmly bound, hand and foot, with napkins + and towels. With round, blood-shot eyes he gazed at the sky; they were + dull and lustreless, as those of an idiot, and his chest heaved unevenly + and with difficulty. + </p> + <p> + Now came their turn to mock him. Zubov began. He walked up to him, kicked + him in the side and asked in a soft voice, all trembling with the pleasure + of revenge: + </p> + <p> + “Well, thunder-like prophet, how is it? Now you can taste the sweetness of + Babylonian captivity, he, he, he!” + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” said Foma, hoarsely, without looking at him. “Wait until I’m + rested. You have not tied up my tongue.” + </p> + <p> + But saying this, Foma understood that he could no longer do anything, nor + say anything. And that not because they had bound him, but because + something had burned out within him, and his soul had become dark and + empty. + </p> + <p> + Zubov was soon joined by Reznikov. Then one after another the others began + to draw near. Bobrov, Kononov and several others preceded by Yakov Mayakin + went to the cabin, anxiously discussing something in low tones. + </p> + <p> + The steamer was sailing toward the town at full speed. The bottles on the + tables trembled and rattled from the vibration of the steamer, and Foma + heard this jarring, plaintive sound above everything else. Near him stood + a throng of people, saying malicious, offensive things. + </p> + <p> + But Foma saw them as though through a fog, and their words did not touch + him to the quick. A vast, bitter feeling was now springing up within him, + from the depth of his soul; he followed its growth and though he did not + yet understand it, he already experienced something melancholy and + degrading. + </p> + <p> + “Just think, you charlatan! What have you done to yourself?” said + Reznikov. “What sort of a life is now possible to you? Do you know that + now no one of us would care even as much as to spit on you?” + </p> + <p> + “What have I done?” Foma tried to understand. The merchants stood around + him in a dense, dark mass. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Yashchurov, “now, Fomka, your work is done.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait, we’ll see,” bellowed Zubov in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Let me free!” said Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no! we thank you humbly!” + </p> + <p> + “Untie me.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right! You can lie that way as well.” + </p> + <p> + “Call up my godfather.” + </p> + <p> + But Yakov Tarasovich came up at this moment. He came up, stopped near + Foma, sternly surveyed with his eyes the outstretched figure of his + godson, and heaved a deep sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Foma,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Order them to unbind me,” entreated Foma, softly, in a mournful voice. + </p> + <p> + “So you can be turbulent again? No, no, you’d better lie this way,” his + godfather replied. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t say another word. I swear it by God! Unbind me. I am ashamed! For + Christ’s sake. You see I am not drunk. Well, you needn’t untie my hands.” + </p> + <p> + “You swear that you’ll not be troublesome?” asked Mayakin. + </p> + <p> + “Oh Lord! I will not, I will not,” moaned Foma. + </p> + <p> + They untied his feet, but left his hands bound. When he rose, he looked at + them all, and said softly with a pitiful smile: + </p> + <p> + “You won.” + </p> + <p> + “We always shall!” replied his godfather, smiling sternly. + </p> + <p> + Foma bent, with his hands tied behind his back, advanced toward the table + silently, without lifting his eyes to anyone. He seemed shorter in stature + and thinner. His dishevelled hair fell on his forehead and temples; the + torn and crumpled bosom of his shirt protruding from under his vest, and + the collar covered his lips. He turned his head to push the collar down + under his chin, and was unable to do it. Then the gray-headed little old + man walked up to him, adjusted what was necessary, looked into his eyes + with a smile and said: + </p> + <p> + “You must endure it.” + </p> + <p> + Now, in Mayakin’s presence, those who had mocked Foma were silent, looking + at the old man questioningly, with curiosity and expectancy. He was calm + but his eyes gleamed in a way not at all becoming to the occasion, + contentedly and brightly. + </p> + <p> + “Give me some vodka,” begged Foma, seating himself at the table, and + leaning his chest against its edge. His bent figure look piteous and + helpless. Around they were talking in whispers, passing this way and that + cautiously. And everyone looked now at him, now at Mayakin, who had seated + himself opposite him. The old man did not give Foma the vodka at once. + First he surveyed him fixedly, then he slowly poured out a wine glassful, + and finally, without saying a word, raised it to Foma’s lips. Foma drank + the vodka, and asked: + </p> + <p> + “Some more!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s enough!” replied Mayakin. + </p> + <p> + And immediately after this there fell a minute of perfect, painful + silence. People were coming up to the table noiselessly, on tiptoe, and + when they were near they stretched their necks to see Foma. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Fomka, do you understand now what you have done?” asked Mayakin. He + spoke softly, but all heard his question. + </p> + <p> + Foma nodded his head and maintained silence. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no forgiveness for you!” Mayakin went on firmly, and raising his + voice. “Though we are all Christians, yet you will receive no forgiveness + at our hands. Just know this.” + </p> + <p> + Foma lifted his head and said pensively: + </p> + <p> + “I have quite forgotten about you, godfather. You have not heard anything + from me.” + </p> + <p> + “There you have it!” exclaimed Mayakin, bitterly, pointing at his godson. + “You see?” + </p> + <p> + A dull grumble of protest burst forth. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s all the same!” resumed Foma with a sigh. “It’s all the same! + Nothing—no good came out of it anyway.” + </p> + <p> + And again he bent over the table. + </p> + <p> + “What did you want?” asked Mayakin, sternly. + </p> + <p> + “What I wanted?” Foma raised his head, looked at the merchants and smiled. + “I wanted—” + </p> + <p> + “Drunkard! Nasty scamp!” + </p> + <p> + “I am not drunk!” retorted Foma, morosely. “I have drank only two glasses. + I was perfectly sober.” + </p> + <p> + “Consequently,” said Bobrov, “you are right, Yakov Tarasovich, he is + insane.” + </p> + <p> + “I?” exclaimed Foma. + </p> + <p> + But they paid no attention to him. Reznikov, Zubov and Bobrov leaned over + to Mayakin and began to talk in low tones. + </p> + <p> + “Guardianship!” Foma’s ears caught this one word. “I am in my right mind!” + he said, leaning back in his chair and staring at the merchants with + troubled eyes. “I understand what I wanted. I wanted to speak the truth. I + wanted to accuse you.” + </p> + <p> + He was again seized with emotion, and he suddenly jerked his hands in an + effort to free them. + </p> + <p> + “Eh! Hold on!” exclaimed Bobrov, seizing him by the shoulders. “Hold him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hold me!” said Foma with sadness and bitterness. “Hold me—what + do you need me for?” + </p> + <p> + “Sit still!” cried his godfather, sternly. + </p> + <p> + Foma became silent. He now understood that what he had done was of no + avail, that his words had not staggered the merchants. Here they stood, + surrounding him in a dense throng, and he could not see anything for them. + They were calm, firm, treating him as a drunkard and a turbulent fellow, + and were plotting something against him. He felt himself pitiful, + insignificant, crushed by that dark mass of strong-souled, clever and + sedate people. It seemed to him that a long time had passed since he had + abused them, so long a time that he himself seemed as a stranger, + incapable of comprehending what he had done to these people, and why he + had done it. He even experienced in himself a certain feeling of offence, + which resembled shame at himself in his own eyes. There was a tickling + sensation in his throat, and he felt there was something foreign in his + breast, as though some dust or ashes were strewn upon his heart, and it + throbbed unevenly and with difficulty. Wishing to explain to himself his + act, he said slowly and thoughtfully, without looking at anyone: + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to speak the truth. Is this life?” + </p> + <p> + “Fool!” said Mayakin, contemptuously. “What truth can you speak? What do + you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “My heart is wounded, that I understand! What justification have you all + in the eyes of God? To what purpose do you live? Yes, I feel—I felt + the truth!” + </p> + <p> + “He is repenting!” said Reznikov, with a sarcastic smile. + </p> + <p> + “Let him!” replied Bobrov, with contempt. + </p> + <p> + Some one added: + </p> + <p> + “It is evident, from his words, that he is out of his wits.” + </p> + <p> + “To speak the truth, that’s not given to everyone!” said Yakov Tarasovich, + sternly and instructively, lifting his hand upward. “It is not the heart + that grasps truth; it is the mind; do you understand that? And as to your + feeling, that’s nonsense! A cow also feels when they twist her tail. But + you must understand, understand everything! Understand also your enemy. + Guess what he thinks even in his dreams, and then go ahead!” + </p> + <p> + According to his wont, Mayakin was carried away by the exposition of his + practical philosophy, but he realised in time that a conquered man is not + to be taught how to fight, and he stopped short. Foma cast at him a dull + glance, and shook his head strangely. + </p> + <p> + “Lamb!” said Mayakin. + </p> + <p> + “Leave me alone!” entreated Foma, plaintively. “It’s all yours! Well, what + else do you want? Well, you crushed me, bruised me, that serves me right! + Who am I? O Lord!” + </p> + <p> + All listened attentively to his words, and in that attention there was + something prejudiced, something malicious. + </p> + <p> + “I have lived,” said Foma in a heavy voice. “I have observed. I have + thought; my heart has become wounded with thoughts! And here—the + abscess burst. Now I am utterly powerless! As though all my blood had + gushed out. I have lived until this day, and still thought that now I will + speak the truth. Well, I have spoken it.” + </p> + <p> + He talked monotonously, colourlessly, and his speech resembled that of one + in delirium. + </p> + <p> + “I have spoken it, and I have only emptied myself, that’s all. Not a trace + have my words left behind them. Everything is uninjured. And within me + something blazed up; it has burned out, and there’s nothing more there. + What have I to hope for now? And everything remains as it was.” + </p> + <p> + Yakov Tarasovich burst into bitter laughter. + </p> + <p> + “What then, did you think to lick away a mountain with your tongue? You + armed yourself with malice enough to fight a bedbug, and you started out + after a bear, is that it? Madman! If your father were to see you now. Eh!” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” said Foma, suddenly, loudly, with assurance, and his eyes again + flared up, “and yet it is all your fault! You have spoiled life! You have + made everything narrow. We are suffocating because of you! And though my + truth against you is weak, it is truth, nevertheless! You are godless + wretches! May you all be cursed!” + </p> + <p> + He moved about in his chair, attempting to free his hands, and cried out, + flashing his eyes with fury: + </p> + <p> + “Unbind my hands!” + </p> + <p> + They came closer to him; the faces of the merchants became more severe, + and Reznikov said to him impressively: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t make a noise, don’t be bothersome! We’ll soon be in town. Don’t + disgrace yourself, and don’t disgrace us either. We are not going to take + you direct from the wharf to the insane asylum.” + </p> + <p> + “So!” exclaimed Foma. “So you are going to put me into an insane asylum?” + </p> + <p> + No one replied. He looked at their faces and hung his head. + </p> + <p> + “Behave peacefully! We’ll unbind you!” said someone. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not necessary!” said Foma in a low voice. “It’s all the same. I spit + on it! Nothing will happen.” + </p> + <p> + And his speech again assumed the nature of a delirium. + </p> + <p> + “I am lost, I know it! Only not because of your power, but rather because + of my weakness. Yes! You, too, are only worms in the eyes of God. And, + wait! You shall choke. I am lost through blindness. I saw much and I + became blind, like an owl. As a boy, I remember, I chased an owl in a + ravine; it flew about and struck against something. The sun blinded it. It + was all bruised and it disappeared, and my father said to me then: ‘It is + the same with man; some man bustles about to and fro, bruises himself, + exhausts himself, and then throws himself anywhere, just to rest.’ Hey I + unbind my hands.” + </p> + <p> + His face turned pale, his eyes closed, his shoulders quivered. Tattered + and crumpled he rocked about in the chair, striking his chest against the + edge of the table, and began to whisper something. + </p> + <p> + The merchants exchanged significant glances. Some, nudging one another in + the sides, shook their heads at Foma in silence. Yakov Mayakin’s face was + dark and immobile as though hewn out of stone. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we perhaps unbind him?” whispered Bobrov. + </p> + <p> + “When we get a little nearer.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s not necessary,” said Mayakin in an undertone-“We’ll leave him + here. Let someone send for a carriage. We’ll take him straight to the + asylum.” + </p> + <p> + “And where am I to rest?” Foma muttered again. “Whither shall I fling + myself?” And he remained as though petrified in a broken, uncomfortable + attitude, all distorted, with an expression of pain on his face. + </p> + <p> + Mayakin rose from his seat and went to the cabin, saying softly: + </p> + <p> + “Keep an eye on him, he might fling himself overboard.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry for the fellow,” said Bobrov, looking at Yakov Tarasovich as + he departed. + </p> + <p> + “No one is to blame for his madness,” replied Reznikov, morosely. + </p> + <p> + “And Yakov,” whispered Zubov, nodding his head in the direction of + Mayakin. + </p> + <p> + “What about Yakov? He loses nothing through it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, now he’ll, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll be his guardian, ha, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + Their quiet laughter and whisper mingled with the groaning of the engine + did not seem to reach Foma’s ear. Motionlessly he stared into the distance + before him with a dim look, and only his lips were slightly quivering. + </p> + <p> + “His son has returned,” whispered Bobrov. + </p> + <p> + “I know his son,” said Yashchurov. “I met him in Perm.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a man is he?” + </p> + <p> + “A business-like, clever fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” + </p> + <p> + “He manages a big business in Oosolye.” + </p> + <p> + “Consequently Yakov does not need this one. Yes. So that’s it.” + </p> + <p> + “Look, he’s weeping!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh?” + </p> + <p> + Foma was sitting leaning against the back of the chair, and drooping his + head on the shoulder. His eyes were shut, and from under his eyelids tears + were trickling one after another. They coursed down his cheeks into his + moustache. Foma’s lips quivered convulsively, and the tears fell from his + moustache upon his breast. He was silent and motionless, only his chest + heaved unevenly, and with difficulty. The merchants looked at his pale, + tear-stained face, grown lean with suffering, with the corners of his lips + lowered downward, and walked away from him quietly and mutely. + </p> + <p> + And then Foma remained alone, with his hands tied behind his back, sitting + at the table which was covered with dirty dishes and different remains of + the feast. At times he slowly opened his heavy, swollen eyelids, and his + eyes, through tears, looked dimly and mournfully at the table where + everything was dirty, upset, ruined. + </p> + <p> + .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + </p> + <p> + Three years have passed. + </p> + <p> + About a year ago Yakov Tarasovich Mayakin died. He died in full + consciousness, and remained true to himself; a few hours before his death + he said to his son, daughter and son-in-law: + </p> + <p> + “Well, children, live in richness! Yakov has tasted everything, so now it + is time for Yakov to go. You see, I am dying, yet I am not despondent; and + the Lord will set that down to my credit. I have bothered Him, the Most + Gracious One, with jests only, but never with moans and complaints! Oh + Lord! I am glad that I have lived with understanding through Thy mercy! + Farewell, my children. Live in harmony, and don’t philosophize too much. + Know this, not he is holy who hides himself from sin and lies calm. With + cowardice you cannot defend yourself against sin, thus also says the + parable of the talents. But he who wants to attain his goal in life fears + not sin. God will pardon him an error. God has appointed man as the + builder of life, but has not endowed him with too much wisdom. + Consequently, He will not call in his outstanding debts severely. For He + is holy and most merciful.” + </p> + <p> + He died after a short but very painful agony. + </p> + <p> + Yozhov was for some reason or other banished from the town soon after the + occurrence on the steamer. + </p> + <p> + A great commercial house sprang up in the town under the firm-name of + “Taras Mayakin & African Smolin.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing had been heard of Foma during these three years. It was rumoured + that upon his discharge from the asylum Mayakin had sent him away to some + relatives of his mother in the Ural. + </p> + <p> + Not long ago Foma appeared in the streets of the town. He is worn out, + shabby and half-witted. Almost always intoxicated, he appears now gloomy, + with knitted brow, and with head bent down on his breast, now smiling the + pitiful and melancholy smile of a silly fanatic. Sometimes he is + turbulent, but that happens rarely. He lives with his foster-sister in a + little wing in the yard. His acquaintances among the merchants and + citizens often ridicule him. As Foma walks along the street, suddenly + someone shouts to him: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you prophet, come here!” + </p> + <p> + Yet he rarely goes to those who call him; he shuns people and does not + care to speak with them. But when he does approach them they say to him: + </p> + <p> + “Well, tell us something about doomsday, won’t you? Ha, ha, ha! Prophet!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Foma Gordyeff, by Maxim Gorky + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOMA GORDYEFF *** + +***** This file should be named 2709-h.htm or 2709-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/0/2709/ + +Produced by Martin Adamson, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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