initial commit of ebook 2709HEADmain

2 files changed, 16392 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/old/fomag10.txt b/old/fomag10.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bf65145
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/fomag10.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,16392 @@
+Project Gutenberg Etext of Foma Gordeev/Gordyeeff, by Maxim Gorky
+#3 in our series by Maxim Gorky
+
+
+Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check
+the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!!
+
+Please take a look at the important information in this header.
+We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an
+electronic path open for the next readers.  Do not remove this.
+
+*It must legally be the first thing seen when opening the book.*
+In fact, our legal advisors said we can't even change margins.
+
+**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
+
+**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
+
+*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations*
+
+Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and
+further information is included below.  We need your donations.
+
+
+Title:  Foma Gordyeff
+Title:  (The Man Who Was Afraid)
+
+Author:  Maxim Gorky
+
+Translator:  Herman Bernstein
+
+July, 2001  [Etext #2709]
+[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule]
+
+Project Gutenberg Etext of Foma Gordeev/Gordyeeff, by Maxim Gorky
+*******This file should be named fomag10.txt or fomag10.zip******
+
+Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, fomag11.txt
+VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, fomag10a.txt
+
+
+E-text created by Martin Adamson
+martin@grassmarket.freeserve.co.uk
+
+Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions,
+all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a
+copyright notice is included.  Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any
+of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance
+of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
+
+Please note:  neither this list nor its contents are final till
+midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
+The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at
+Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
+preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
+and editing by those who wish to do so.  To be sure you have an
+up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes
+in the first week of the next month.  Since our ftp program has
+a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a
+look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a
+new copy has at least one byte more or less.
+
+
+Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
+
+We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
+time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
+to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
+searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.  This
+projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If our value
+per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
+million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-six text
+files per month, or 432 more Etexts in 1999 for a total of 2000+
+If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the
+total should reach over 200 billion Etexts given away this year.
+
+The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext
+Files by December 31, 2001.  [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion]
+This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
+which is only ~5% of the present number of computer users.
+
+At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third
+of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333 Etexts unless we
+manage to get some real funding; currently our funding is mostly
+from Michael Hart's salary at Carnegie-Mellon University, and an
+assortment of sporadic gifts; this salary is only good for a few
+more years, so we are looking for something to replace it, as we
+don't want Project Gutenberg to be so dependent on one person.
+
+We need your donations more than ever!
+
+
+All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are
+tax deductible to the extent allowable by law.  (CMU = Carnegie-
+Mellon University).
+
+For these and other matters, please mail to:
+
+Project Gutenberg
+P. O. Box  2782
+Champaign, IL 61825
+
+When all other email fails. . .try our Executive Director:
+Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>
+hart@pobox.com forwards to hart@prairienet.org and archive.org
+if your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if
+it bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . .
+
+We would prefer to send you this information by email.
+
+******
+
+To access Project Gutenberg etexts, use any Web browser
+to view http://promo.net/pg.  This site lists Etexts by
+author and by title, and includes information about how
+to get involved with Project Gutenberg.  You could also
+download our past Newsletters, or subscribe here.  This
+is one of our major sites, please email hart@pobox.com,
+for a more complete list of our various sites.
+
+To go directly to the etext collections, use FTP or any
+Web browser to visit a Project Gutenberg mirror (mirror
+sites are available on 7 continents; mirrors are listed
+at http://promo.net/pg).
+
+Mac users, do NOT point and click, typing works better.
+
+Example FTP session:
+
+ftp metalab.unc.edu
+login: anonymous
+password: your@login
+cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg
+cd etext90 through etext99 or etext00 through etext01, etc.
+dir [to see files]
+get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files]
+GET GUTINDEX.??  [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99]
+GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books]
+
+***
+
+**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor**
+
+(Three Pages)
+
+
+***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START***
+Why is this "Small Print!" statement here?  You know: lawyers.
+They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
+your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
+someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
+fault.  So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
+disclaims most of our liability to you.  It also tells you how
+you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to.
+
+*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT
+By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
+etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
+this "Small Print!" statement.  If you do not, you can receive
+a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by
+sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
+you got it from.  If you received this etext on a physical
+medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.
+
+ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS
+This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-
+tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor
+Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at
+Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project").  Among other
+things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
+on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
+distribute it in the United States without permission and
+without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules, set forth
+below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext
+under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.
+
+To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable
+efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
+works.  Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any
+medium they may be on may contain "Defects".  Among other
+things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
+intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
+disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer
+codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
+
+LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
+But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
+[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this
+etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
+legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
+UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
+INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
+OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
+POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.
+
+If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of
+receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
+you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
+time to the person you received it from.  If you received it
+on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
+such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
+copy.  If you received it electronically, such person may
+choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
+receive it electronically.
+
+THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS".  NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
+TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
+LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
+PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
+
+Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
+the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
+above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
+may have other legal rights.
+
+INDEMNITY
+You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors,
+officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost
+and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or
+indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause:
+[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification,
+or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect.
+
+DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
+You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by
+disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
+"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
+or:
+
+[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
+     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
+     etext or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
+     if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable
+     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
+     including any form resulting from conversion by word pro-
+     cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as
+     *EITHER*:
+
+     [*]  The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
+          does *not* contain characters other than those
+          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
+          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
+          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
+          author, and additional characters may be used to
+          indicate hypertext links; OR
+
+     [*]  The etext may be readily converted by the reader at
+          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
+          form by the program that displays the etext (as is
+          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
+          OR
+
+     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
+          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
+          etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
+          or other equivalent proprietary form).
+
+[2]  Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this
+     "Small Print!" statement.
+
+[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the
+     net profits you derive calculated using the method you
+     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
+     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
+     payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon
+     University" within the 60 days following each
+     date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare)
+     your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return.
+
+WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
+The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time,
+scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty
+free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution
+you can think of.  Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg
+Association / Carnegie-Mellon University".
+
+We are planning on making some changes in our donation structure
+in 2000, so you might want to email me, hart@pobox.com beforehand.
+
+
+
+
+*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
+
+
+
+
+
+E-text created by Martin Adamson
+martin@grassmarket.freeserve.co.uk
+
+
+
+
+
+Foma Gordyeff
+(The Man Who Was Afraid)
+
+by Maxim Gorky
+
+
+
+
+Translated by Herman Bernstein
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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,
+
+"--seeks the storm
+As though the storm contained repose."
+
+And in a leonine voice he cries defiantly:
+
+"Let the storm rage with greater force and fury!"
+
+HERMAN BERNSTEIN.
+
+September 20, 1901.
+
+
+
+FOMA GORDYEEF
+
+Dedicated to
+
+ANTON P. CHEKHOV
+
+By
+
+Maxim Gorky
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"That's it. Again. Crush it! Now, once more! Try!"
+
+"Well, Ignat," asked his friend Mayakin, coming up to him, "the
+ice is crushing about ten thousand out of your purse, eh?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Are you sorry for the vessel, Ignat?" asked Mayakin.
+
+"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."
+
+"Nevertheless."
+
+"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."
+
+"Weren't you sorry for that either?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Yes," said Mayakin, smiling. "These are strong words you say.
+And whoever speaks that way, even though he loses all, will
+nevertheless be rich."
+
+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:
+
+"Get away! You can work yet. Go to my dvornik and help him to
+remove the dung. I'll pay you for it."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Give me a rouble."
+
+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.
+
+"You abominable fellow," cried Ignat to him one day. "Say, who
+are you?"
+
+The priest was frightened by the call, and bowing low to Ignat,
+was silent.
+
+"Who? Speak!" roared Ignat.
+
+"I am a man--to be abused," answered the priest, and the company
+burst out laughing at his words.
+
+"Are you a rascal?" asked Ignat, sternly.
+
+"A rascal? Because of need and the weakness of my soul?"
+
+"Come here!" Ignat called him. "Come and sit down by my side."
+
+Trembling with fear, the priest walked up to the intoxicated
+merchant with timid steps and remained standing opposite him.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I understand," said the priest, softly. All the company were
+giggling.
+
+"Do you know now what I am?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"Well, say, 'You are a rascal, Ignat!'"
+
+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:
+
+"Shall I give you money?"
+
+"Yes," quickly answered the priest.
+
+"And what do you need it for?"
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"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:
+
+"Aren't you a liar, drunkard?"
+
+The priest silently made the sign of the cross and lowered his
+head on his breast.
+
+"It is the truth!" said one of the company, confirming the
+priest's words.
+
+"True? Very well!" shouted Ignat, and, striking the table with
+his fist, he addressed himself to the priest:
+
+"Eh, you! Sell me your daughter! How much will you take?"
+
+The priest shook his head and shrank back.
+
+"One thousand!"
+
+The company giggled, seeing that the priest was shrinking as
+though cold water was being poured on him.
+
+"Two!" roared Ignat, with flashing eyes.
+
+"What's the matter with you? How is it?" muttered the priest,
+stretching out both hands to Ignat.
+
+"Three!"
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Silence!" cried Ignat, sternly, straightening himself to his
+full length and flashing his eyes.
+
+"Don't you understand, devils, what's going on here? It's enough
+to make one cry, while you giggle."
+
+He walked up to the priest, went down on his knees before him,
+and said to him firmly:
+
+"Father now you see what a rascal I am. Well, spit into my face!"
+
+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:
+
+"Spit! Spit right into my shameless eyes!"
+
+The company, stupefied for a moment by Ignat's stern voice,
+laughed again so that the panes rattled in the tavern windows.
+
+"I'll give you a hundred roubles. Spit!"
+
+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.
+
+Finally Ignat arose from the floor, kicked the priest, and,
+flinging at him a package of money, said morosely, with a smile:
+
+"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?"
+
+"Oh, a queer fellow!" said the crowd, somewhat moved.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"God! You see," whispered Ignat in a muffled voice, firmly
+pressing the palms of his hands to his broad breast.
+
+During the days of repentance he drank nothing but water and ate
+only rye bread.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Well, don't you feel anything?"
+
+She knew what he meant, but she invariably replied:
+
+"How can I help feeling? Your fists are like dumb-bells."
+
+"You know what I'm talking about, you fool."
+
+"Can one become pregnant from such blows?"
+
+"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."
+
+"As if I didn't bear you any children?"
+
+"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?"
+
+And he was seized with sardonic anguish, for he felt that his
+life was aimless if he should have no son to follow him.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Bury her in my absence; look after my property."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"Eh!" Ignat used to say to her jestingly. "What are you thinking
+about? Are you homesick? Brighten up a bit!"
+
+She would remain silent, calmly looking at him.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I don't feel like going out."
+
+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:
+
+"Natalya! Tell me--why are you so sad? Do you feel lonesome here
+with me?"
+
+"No," she replied shortly.
+
+"What then is it? Are you longing for your people?"
+
+No, it's nothing."
+
+"What are you thinking about?"
+
+"I am not thinking."
+
+"What then?"
+
+"Oh, nothing!"
+
+Once he managed to get from her a more complete answer:
+
+"There is something confused in my heart. And also in my eyes.
+And it always seems to me that all this is not real."
+
+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:
+
+"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?"
+
+"What for?" said she calmly.
+
+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:
+
+"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?
+
+"If it pleases God," she answered, lowering her head.
+
+Then her mood began to irritate him.
+
+"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!"
+
+Coming home intoxicated one day, he began to ply her with
+caresses, while she turned away from him. Then he grew angry, and
+exclaimed:
+
+"Natalya! Don't play the fool, look out!"
+
+She turned her face to him and asked calmly:
+
+"What then?"
+
+Ignat became enraged at these words and at her fearless look.
+
+"What?" he roared, coming up close to her.
+
+"Do you wish to kill me?" asked she, not moving from her place, nor
+winking an eye.
+
+Ignat was accustomed to seeing people tremble before his wrath,
+and it was strange and offensive to him to see her calm.
+
+"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:
+
+"Don't you dare to touch me. I will not allow you to come near me!"
+
+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.
+
+"Oh," he growled, and went away.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+But about four days later, Natalya Fominichna announced to her
+husband that she was pregnant.
+
+Ignat trembled for joy, embraced her firmly, and said in a dull
+voice:
+
+"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!"
+
+"This is not within our power; it's the will of the Lord," said
+she in a low voice.
+
+"Yes, the Lord's!" exclaimed Ignat with bitterness and drooped
+his head sadly.
+
+From that moment he began to look after his wife as though she
+were a little child.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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
+
+"As it seems, she cannot be delivered that way. We had better
+send to the church to open the gates of the Lord."
+
+Vassushka, one of the hangers-on in his house, entered the room
+next to Ignat's and began to pray in a loud whisper:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Is it possible that it's again a daughter?"
+
+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.
+
+And then, at last, the midwife came down hastily, crying to him
+in a thin, joyous voice.
+
+"I congratulate you with a son, Ignat Matveyich!"
+
+"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:
+
+"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:
+
+"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."
+
+The chambermaid appeared and said to him with alarm:
+
+"Ignat Matveyich, Natalya Fominichna is calling you. She is
+feeling bad."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Look out there! Handle him more carefully! He hasn't got any
+bones yet," said Ignat to the midwife, softly.
+
+She began to laugh, opening her toothless mouth, and cleverly
+throwing the child over from one hand to the other.
+
+"You better go to your wife."
+
+He obediently moved toward the bed and asked on his way:
+
+"Well, how is it, Natalya?"
+
+Then, on reaching her, he drew back the bed curtain, which had
+thrown a shadow over the bed.
+
+"I'll not survive this," said she in a low, hoarse voice.
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"I'll not survive this."
+
+Her lips were gray and cold, and when he touched them with his
+own he understood that death was already within her.
+
+"Oh, Lord!" he uttered, in an alarmed whisper, feeling that
+fright was choking his throat and suppressing his breath.
+
+"Natasha? What will become of him? He must be nursed! What is the
+matter with you?"
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"Forgive me. Goodbye! Take care. Look out. Don't drink,"
+whispered Natalya, soundlessly.
+
+The priest came, and, covering her face with something, and
+sighing, began to read gentle, beseeching words:
+
+"0h 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."'
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"We, the Mayakins, were merchants during the reign of 'Mother'
+Catherine, consequently I am a pure-blooded man."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Well, mother, hand me the Bible."
+
+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.
+
+They were all seated where he was accustomed to see them and on
+their faces was a familiar, dull and timid expression of piety.
+
+"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:
+
+"Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath
+hedged in?"
+
+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:
+
+"See how audacious he was!"
+
+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.
+
+Here he says:
+
+"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.]
+
+"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?"
+
+And the reader, triumphantly and interrogatively looks around at
+his listeners.
+
+"He merited it, the righteous man," they replied with a sigh.
+
+Yakov Mayakin eyes them with a smile, and says:
+
+"Fools! You better put the children to sleep."
+
+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:
+
+"Why are you such a bugbear? Oh! Why do you laugh so little?"
+
+And he would complain to the lad's godfather:
+
+"I am afraid that he may turn out to be like his mother. His eyes
+are cheerless."
+
+"You disturb yourself rather too soon," Mayakin smilingly replied.
+
+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.
+
+"Leave him here," he begged. "See, the child is used to us;
+there! he's crying."
+
+"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."
+
+And the boy was brought to his father's house.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"Shall I tell you a story, Fomushka?"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Once, when the boy was about eight years old, he asked his
+father, who had returned from a long journey:
+
+"Papa, where were you?"
+
+"On the Volga."
+
+"Were you robbing there?" asked Foma, softly.
+
+"Wha-at?" Ignat drawled out, and his eyebrows contracted.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"It is a very big one," said Foma with a sigh.
+
+"Well, I'll buy you a small one while you are small yourself.
+Shall I?"
+
+"Very well," Foma assented, but after a thoughtful silence he
+again drawled out regretfully: "But I thought you were a robber
+or a giant."
+
+"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.
+
+"Like Grandpa Fedor, the Kalatch baker?" asked Foma, having
+thought awhile.
+
+"Well, yes, like him. Only I am richer than he. I have more money
+than Fedor."
+
+"Have you much money?"
+
+Well, some people have still more."
+
+"How many barrels do you have?"
+
+"Of what?"
+
+"Of money, I mean."
+
+"Fool! Is money counted by the barrel?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Did your aunt tell you that?" asked Ignat admiring his son's
+enthusiasm.
+
+"Yes! Why?"
+
+"Nothing!" said Ignat, laughing. "So you thought your father was
+a robber."
+
+"And perhaps you were a robber long ago?"
+
+Foma again returned to his theme, and it was evident on his face
+that he would be very glad to hear an affirmative answer.
+
+"I was never a robber. Let that end it."
+
+"Never?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Will I go to school?" asked Foma, timidly.
+
+"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:
+
+"Az, Buky, Vedy."
+
+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."
+
+"That's it, my darling! So, Fomushka, that's right!" chimed in
+his aunt with emotion, enraptured by his progress.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Eh, little rascals. Eh, rogues. Where have they hidden
+themselves? Eh?"
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Anfisa! Dear sister! Let me in to my son; let me in to my successor!"
+
+And auntie answered him in a crying and reproachful voice:
+
+"Go on. You better go to sleep, you cursed devil! Drunk again, eh?
+You are gray already?"
+
+"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:
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Anfisa, in case he should die, what am I to do then?"
+
+And immediately after these words he was seized with fury.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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:
+
+"Well, well, well! I am going, I am going, but don't cry! Don't
+make any noise. Don't frighten him."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Eh, sister!" sighed Ignat. "And if it should happen? My entire
+life is crumbling away! Wherefore have I lived? No one knows."
+
+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:
+
+"Auntie, papa came home drunk again."
+
+.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Oh, o-o-o, once more!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Auntie Anfisa knows better than you."
+
+"What does she know?" asked Ignat, smiling.
+
+"Everything," replied the boy, convincedly.
+
+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.
+
+"Tomorrow we shall be in Astrakhan," said Ignat one day.
+
+"And is it just the same as the other cities?"
+
+"Of course. How else should it be?"
+
+"And what is beyond Astrakhan?"
+
+"The sea. The Caspian Sea it is called."
+
+"And what is there?"
+
+"Fishes, queer fellow! What else can there be in the water?"
+
+"There's the city Kitezh standing in the water."
+
+"That's a different thing! That's Kitezh. Only righteous people
+live there."
+
+"And are there no righteous cities on the sea?"
+
+No," said Ignat, and, after a moment's silence, added: "The sea
+water is bitter and nobody can drink it."
+
+"And is there more land beyond the sea?"
+
+"Certainly, the sea must have an end. It is like a cup."
+
+"And are there cities there too?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Yes, I saw them," replied Foma, and became pensive.
+
+One day he asked his father:
+
+"Is there much more land left?"
+
+"The earth is very big, my dear! If you should go on foot, you
+couldn't go around it even in ten years."
+
+Ignat talked for a long time with his son about the size of the
+earth, and said at length:
+
+"And yet no one knows for certain how big it really is, nor where
+it ends."
+
+"And is everything alike on earth?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"The cities and all?"
+
+"Well, of course, the cities are like cities. There are houses,
+streets--and everything that is necessary."
+
+After many similar conversations the boy no longer stared so
+often into the distance with the interrogative look of his black
+eyes.
+
+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:
+
+"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.'"
+
+The voice of the gray and stern pilot replied:
+
+"It's all his exorbitant greediness. Fuel is cheaper here, so he
+is taking all he can. He is greedy, the devil!"
+
+"Oh, how greedy!"
+
+This word, repeated many times in succession, fixed itself in Foma's
+memory, and in the evening, at supper, he suddenly asked his father:
+
+"Papa!"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Are you greedy?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+About two days later there was a new pilot and another machinist
+on the steamer.
+
+"And where is Yakov?" asked the boy.
+
+"I discharged him. I ordered him away."
+
+"For that?" queried Foma.
+
+"Yes, for that very thing."
+
+"And Petrovich, too?"
+
+"Yes, I sent him the same way."
+
+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.
+
+"We have a new pilot here," announced Foma.
+
+"I know. Good health to you, Foma Ignatich! How did you sleep?"
+
+"And a new machinist, too."
+
+"And a new machinist. Are you sorry for Petrovich?"
+
+"Really? And he was so good to you."
+
+"Well, why did he abuse my father?"
+
+"Oh? Did he abuse him?"
+
+"Of course he did. I heard it myself."
+
+"Mm--and your father heard it, too?"
+
+"No, I told him."
+
+"You--so"--drawled the sailor and became silent, taking up his
+work again.
+
+"And papa says to me: 'You,' he says, 'you are master here--you
+can drive them all away if you wish.'"
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Enough!" he would say, morosely, "you are not loading a horse,
+are you?"
+
+"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?"
+
+Suddenly Ignat appeared, walked up to the sailor and, stopping in
+front of him, asked sternly:
+
+"What were you talking about?"
+
+"I am talking--I know," replied Yefim, hesitating. "There was no
+agreement--that I must say nothing."
+
+"And who is going to suck blood?" asked Ignat, stroking his beard.
+
+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:
+
+"And am I not right? Don't you suck it?"
+
+"I?"
+
+"You."
+
+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.
+
+At dinner Foma was pensive and now and then glanced at his father
+with fear in his eyes.
+
+"Why do you frown?" asked his father, gently.
+
+"Frown?"
+
+"Are you ill, perhaps? Be careful. If there is anything, tell me."
+
+"You are strong," said Foma of a sudden musingly.
+
+"I? That's right. God has favoured me with strength."
+
+"How hard you struck him!" exclaimed the boy in a low voice,
+lowering his head.
+
+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:
+
+"You mean Yefim, don't you?"
+
+"Yes, he was bleeding. And how he walked afterward, how he
+cried," said the boy in a low voice.
+
+"Mm," roared Ignat, chewing a bite. "Well, are you sorry for him?"
+
+"It's a pity!" said Foma, with tears in his voice.
+
+"Yes. So that's the kind of a fellow you are," said Ignat.
+
+Then, after a moment's silence, he filled a wineglass with vodka,
+emptied it, and said sternly, in a slightly reprimanding tone:
+
+"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."
+
+Ignat was silent for awhile, drank some more vodka and went on
+instinctively:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"My son," whispered Ignat in a dull voice, "My darling! My joy!
+Learn while I am alive. Alas! it is hard to live."
+
+The child's heart trembled at this whisper; he set his teeth
+together, and hot tears gushed from his eyes.
+
+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:
+
+"Papa, tell me about yourself."
+
+.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
+
+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.
+
+"O-o-o," a drawling cry came from the distance and ended like a
+wail.
+
+Someone crossed the deck and went up to the side of the steamer.
+
+"O-o-o," was heard again, but nearer this time.
+
+"Yefim!" some one called in a low voice on the deck. "Yefimka!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Devil! Get up! Take the boat-hook."
+
+"O-o-o," someone moaned near by, and Foma, shuddering, stepped
+back from the window.
+
+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:
+
+"Yefimka! Get up! A guest is floating!"
+
+"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.
+
+"A gue-e-est!" Some began to sob near by, and a quiet, but very
+queer splash resounded.
+
+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.
+
+"Light the lantern. You can't see anything."
+
+"Directly."
+
+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.
+
+"Look! Look!" they whispered on the deck with fright.
+
+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:
+
+"Eh, boy, boy, it is cold. Goodbye!"
+
+The boat-hooks shook, were lifted in the air, were lowered again
+into the water and carefully began to push something there.
+
+"Shove him! Shove! Look out, he may be thrown under the wheel."
+
+"Shove him yourself then."
+
+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:
+
+"A gue-e-est!"
+
+"Papa!" cried Foma in a ringing voice. "Papa!" His father jumped
+to his feet and rushed toward him.
+
+"What is that? What are they doing there?" cried Foma.
+
+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.
+
+"They frightened you? It's nothing!" said Ignat, taking him up in
+his arms. "Lie down with me."
+
+"What is it?" asked Foma, quietly.
+
+"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."
+
+"Why did they push him?" interrogated the boy, firmly pressing
+close to his father, and shutting his eyes for fright.
+
+"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.
+
+"So he will float on that way?"
+
+"He will float. They'll take him out somewhere and bury him."
+
+"And will a fish devour him?"
+
+"Fish do not eat human bodies. Crabs eat them. They like them."
+
+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.
+
+"And who is he?"
+
+"God knows! Say to God about him: '0h Lord, rest his soul! '"
+
+"Lord, rest his soul!" repeated Foma, in a whisper.
+
+"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--"
+
+"Did he fall overboard?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Papa."
+
+"Sleep, sleep, dear."
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Good enough!" said the teacher. "Yozhov, Nicolai. Proceed!"
+
+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.
+
+"Not so loud!" said the teacher, wrinkling his yellow face and
+contracting his fatigued eyes. Yozhov spoke quickly and in a
+ringing voice:
+
+"Now we know that the first peddler made 17k. profit."
+
+"Enough! Gordyeeff! Tell me what must we do in order to find out
+how much the second peddler gained?"
+
+Watching the conduct of the boys, so unlike each other, Foma was
+thus taken unawares by the question and he kept quiet.
+
+"Don't you know? How? Explain it to him, Smolin."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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:
+
+"Whose son are you? The Frantic's?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"So. Do you wish me to prompt you always?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And what will you give me for it?"
+
+Foma thought awhile and asked:
+
+"And do you know it all yourself?"
+
+"I? I am the best pupil. You'll see for yourself."
+
+"Hey, there! Yozhov, you are talking again?" cried the teacher,
+faintly.
+
+Yozhov jumped to his feet and said boldly:
+
+"It's not I, Ivan Andreyich--it's Gordyeeff."
+
+"Both of them were whispering," announced Smolin, serenely.
+
+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:
+
+"Very well, Smolin! I'll remember you for telling."
+
+"Well, why do you blame it all on the new boy?" asked Smolin, in
+a low voice, without even turning his head to them.
+
+"All right, all right," hissed Yozhov.
+
+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.
+
+"We'll be friends," he announced to Foma.
+
+"Why did you complain to the teacher about me?" Gordyeeff
+reminded Yozhov, looking at him suspiciously.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Three. What do you need to study so much for?" asked Foma.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I don't know," said Foma, pensively, examining his companion.
+
+"You need not be anything. And are you fond of pigeons?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What a good-for-nothing you are! Oh! Eh!" Yozhov imitated Foma's
+slow way of speaking. "How many pigeons do you have?"
+
+"I have none."
+
+"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?"
+
+"I don't know," said Foma, irresolutely.
+
+"Come up to Smolin's and the three of us together will chase the
+pigeons."
+
+"Very well. If they let me."
+
+"Why, does not your father like you?"
+
+"He does like me."
+
+"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!"
+
+A plump boy came up to them, and Yozhov accosted him, shaking his
+head reproachfully:
+
+"Eh, you red-headed slanderer! It isn't worth while to be friends
+with you, blockhead!"
+
+"Why do you abuse me?" asked Smolin, calmly, examining Foma
+fixedly.
+
+"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."
+
+"Come," Smolin nodded his head.
+
+"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.
+
+"What a queer fellow he is!" said Foma, dumfounded by Yozhov's
+adroitness and looking at Smolin interrogatively.
+
+"He is always like this. He's very clever," the red-headed boy
+explained.
+
+"And cheerful, too," added Foma.
+
+"Cheerful, too," Smolin assented. Then they became silent,
+looking at each other.
+
+"Will you come up with him to my house?" asked the red-headed boy.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Come up. It's nice there."
+
+Foma said nothing to this. Then Smolin asked him:
+
+"Have you many friends?"
+
+"I have none."
+
+"Neither did I have any friends before I went to school. Only
+cousins. Now you'll have two friends at once."
+
+"Yes," said Foma.
+
+"Are you glad?"
+
+"I'm glad."
+
+"When you have lots of friends, it is lively. And it is easier to
+study, too--they prompt you."
+
+"And are you a good pupil?"
+
+"Of course! I do everything well," said Smolin, calmly.
+
+The bell began to bang as though it had been frightened and was
+hastily running somewhere.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"You see, we both go home the same way, too."
+
+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.
+
+"Well, how was it? How did you like the school?" asked Ignat,
+looking lovingly at his son's rosy, animated face.
+
+"Pretty good. It's nice!" replied Foma.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"There are two," Foma smiled, recalling Yozhov. "One of them is
+so bold--terrible!"
+
+"Whose is he?"
+
+"A guard's son."
+
+"Mm! Bold did you say?"
+
+"Dreadfully bold!"
+
+"Well, let him be! And the other?"
+
+"The other one is red-headed. Smolin."
+
+"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."
+
+"Smolin asked me to come to him this Sunday," said Foma, looking
+up at his father questioningly.
+
+"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."
+
+And, bursting into laughter at his comparison, Ignat added
+seriously:
+
+"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?"
+
+"Many!" sighed the boy, and to his sigh, like an echo, his aunt
+answered with a heavy sigh.
+
+"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."
+
+"Remember God, Fomushka," said the aunt. "See that you don't
+forget our Lord."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"I will reach it!" said the boy, looking at his father proudly
+and with confidence.
+
+"Eh? You speak courageously!" Ignat burst into laughter. And the
+aunt also began to laugh kindly.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Auntie! Auntie!"
+
+"What? Christ be with you."
+
+"I'll come to you," whispered Foma.
+
+"Why? Sleep, darling, sleep."
+
+"I am afraid," confessed the boy.
+
+"You better say to yourself, 'And the Lord will rise again,' then
+you won't be afraid."
+
+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.
+
+"Auntie," whispers Foma, beseechingly.
+
+"Dearest?"
+
+"I am coming to you."
+
+"Come, then, come, my darling."
+
+Going over into auntie's bed, he presses close to her, begging:
+
+"Tell me something."
+
+"At night?" protests auntie, sleepily.
+
+"Please."
+
+He does not have to ask her long. Yawning, her eyes closed, the
+old woman begins slowly in a voice grown heavy with sleep:
+
+"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, '0h Lord! 0h Lord!'"
+
+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:
+
+"Oh! Man! Ask the Lord yet how long are we to suffer here!"
+
+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.
+
+He is tossing about in his bed restlessly,
+
+"Sleep, my child. Christ be with you!" says the old woman,
+interrupting her tale of men suffering for their sins.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"No, I haven't."
+
+"Eh, you lazy bones! Well, I'll dash them off for you directly!"
+
+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:
+
+"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?"
+
+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!"
+
+Foma was angry with him for his sneers, and one day, touched to
+the quick, said wickedly and with contempt:
+
+"And you are a beggar--a pauper!"
+
+Yozhov's yellow face became overcast, and he replied slowly:
+
+"Very well, so be it! I shall never prompt you again--and you'll
+be like a log of wood!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Why do you always quarrel with Yozhov?"
+
+"Well, why is he so self-conceited?" said Foma, angrily.
+
+"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."
+
+"He is like a mosquito," said Foma, disdainfully; "he will buzz
+and buzz, and then of a sudden will bite."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Scare them!" implored Yozhov, trembling for impatience.
+
+Smolin swung a pole with a bast-wisp fastened to its end, and
+whistled.
+
+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:
+
+"That's the way we ought to fly, friends."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+But now the pigeons come down on the roof again, and, tired out
+by their flight, are easily driven into the pigeon-house.
+
+"Friends, let's go for apples?" suggests Yozhov, the instigator
+of all games and adventures.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Smolin, distorting his big mouth contemptibly, would say to him:
+
+"You are making entirely too much fuss about yourself."
+
+"I am not a coward anyway!" replied Foma.
+
+"I know that you are not a coward, but why do you boast of it?
+One may do a thing as well without boasting."
+
+Yozhov blamed him from a different point of view:
+
+"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."
+
+"Coward!" Foma persisted, stubbornly.
+
+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:
+
+"Now I have you, little rogue! Aha!"
+
+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:
+
+"You dare to touch me!"
+
+"I wouldn't touch you. I'll just turn you over to the police!
+Whose son are you?"
+
+Foma did not expect this, and all his boldness and spitefulness
+suddenly left him.
+
+The trip to the police station seemed to him something which his
+father would never forgive him. He shuddered and said confusedly:
+
+"Gordyeeff."
+
+"Ignat Gordyeeff's?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"You may go," repeated the old man, pointing at the road leading
+to his house.
+
+"And how about the police?" asked Foma, sternly, and was immediately
+frightened at the possible answer.
+
+"I was but jesting," smiled the old man. "I just wanted to frighten
+you."
+
+"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.
+
+"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:
+
+"Foma! Did you go to Chumakov's garden?"
+
+"Yes, I did," said the boy, calmly, looking into his father's eyes.
+
+Evidently Ignat did not expect such an answer and he was silent for
+awhile, stroking his beard.
+
+"Fool! Why did you do it? Have you not enough of your own apples?"
+
+Foma cast down his eyes and was silent, standing before his father.
+
+"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."
+
+"I did it myself," said Foma, firmly.
+
+"From bad to worse!" exclaimed Ignat. "But why did you do it?"
+
+"Because."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Are you ashamed?"
+
+"I am ashamed," sighed Foma.
+
+"There you have it, fool! You have disgraced me and yourself."
+
+Pressing his son's head to his breast, he stroked his hair and
+asked again:
+
+"Why should you do such a thing--stealing other people's apples?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Exciting?" asked the father, smiling.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Mm, perhaps it is so. But, nevertheless, Foma, look out--drop
+this, or I shall deal with you severely."
+
+"I'll never climb anywhere again," said the boy with confidence.
+
+"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.
+
+"I would have struck him back," declared Foma, calmly.
+
+"Mm," roared his father, significantly.
+
+"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."
+
+"Is that so?"
+
+"'By God! Present my respects to your father,' he said."
+
+"Did he?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"You are still but floating on the surface, dear. You are still
+but a child. Eh! Eh!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"How painful is it to them?" said Foma in a low voice.
+
+"Just as painful as to that owl."
+
+"And why is it so?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"To women, Foma, you'll be sweeter than honey, but as yet not
+much common sense can be seen in you."
+
+Ignat would heave a sigh at these words.
+
+"You had better start out your son as soon as possible."
+
+"There's time yet, wait."
+
+"Why wait? He'll go about the Volga for two or three years and
+then we'll have him married. There's my Lubov."
+
+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:
+
+"Why are you so unsociable? You never talk about anything."
+
+"What shall I talk about, since I know nothing!" said Foma, plainly.
+
+"Study--read books."
+
+"I don't feel like doing it."
+
+"You see, the Gymnasium students know everything, and know how to
+talk about everything. Take Yozhov, for instance."
+
+"I know Yozhov--a chatterbox."
+
+"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."
+
+"Well, what of it?" said Foma, indifferently.
+
+"And you'll remain just an ignorant man."
+
+"Well, be it so."
+
+"That will be nice!" exclaimed Luba, ironically.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Our bud is blooming into a blood-red cup-rose!" Mayakin smiled,
+winking to Ignat.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"No, there's nothing particularly stupid about him," said Mayakin.
+
+"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.
+
+"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:
+
+"'Eh,' says he, 'papa, you have not taught me enough.' Yes. While
+mine does not express himself at all. 0h Lord!"
+
+"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."
+
+"To give him a trial?"
+
+"Well, he'll do some mischief--you'll lose something--but then
+we'll know what stuff he is made of."
+
+"Indeed--I'll send him off," Ignat decided.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"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.
+
+"'What do you wish?"
+
+"'Here,' he says, 'I've brought my daughter to your Honour.'
+
+"'What for?'
+
+"'Perhaps,' he says, 'you'll take her--you are a bachelor.'
+
+"'That is, how? What do you mean?'
+
+"'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!'
+
+"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:
+
+"'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.'
+
+"How is that? Eh? It is simply terrible, I tell you."
+
+"No good!" sighed Yefim. "As they say--hunger will break through
+stone walls. The stomach, you see, has its own laws."
+
+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:
+
+"Well, did the man buy her?"
+
+"Of course not!" exclaimed the receiver, reproachfully.
+
+"Well, and what became of her?"
+
+"Some good people took pity on her--and provided for her."
+
+"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.
+
+"Eh! What for?" cried the receiver in a sickly, loud voice, tearing
+his spectacles from his eyes. "You do not understand the motive."
+
+"I do understand it!" said Foma, with an obstinate shake of his head.
+
+"But what could he do? It came to his mind."
+
+"How can one allow himself to sell a human being?"
+
+"Ah! It is brutal, I agree with you."
+
+"And a girl at that! I would have given him the ten roubles!"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I--I thank you!" exclaimed the receiver, overjoyed and confused,
+"if you have the right to do it."
+
+"I am the master!" said Foma, firmly. "And you must not speak
+that way about my father--nor make such faces."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"Eh, boys! The master is giving away two hundred puds."
+
+"Three hundred!" interposed Foma.
+
+"Three hundred puds. Oh! Thank you! Three hundred puds of grain,
+boys!"
+
+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:
+
+"Thanks. May God give you. We thank you very humbly."
+
+And some cried out gaily and disdainfully:
+
+"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."
+
+"Eh! They do not understand!" exclaimed the receiver, confused.
+"I'll go down and explain it to them."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Leave me alone!" said Foma, shortly.
+
+"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."
+
+"I'll tell my father all about it. Keep quiet!" said Foma.
+
+"As for me--let it be so--so that you are master here."
+
+"Very well."
+
+"I have said this, Foma Ignatyich, for your own sake--because you
+are so young and simple-minded."
+
+"Leave me alone, Yefim!"
+
+Yefim heaved a sigh and became silent, while Foma stared at the
+woman and thought:
+
+"I wish they would bring such a woman for sale to me."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"What do you want?" asked Foma, red with confusion.
+
+"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."
+
+"You are lying," said Foma, softly.
+
+"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."
+
+"Very well," said Foma, feeling that he could hardly breathe and
+that something was choking his throat.
+
+"Well, then, I'll bring her up in the evening."
+
+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 s
+itting. 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:
+
+"It is not necessary!"
+
+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:
+
+"0h dear! How dark it is! Is there a living soul somewhere around
+here?"
+
+"Yes," answered Foma, softly.
+
+"Well, then, good evening."
+
+And the woman moved forward carefully.
+
+"I'll light the lamp," said Foma in a broken voice, and, sinking
+on the lounge, he curled himself up in the corner.
+
+"It is good enough this way. When you get used to it you can see
+everything in the dark as well."
+
+"Be seated," said Foma.
+
+"I will."
+
+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:
+
+"You must be feeling lonesome here all alone?"
+
+"Yes," answered Foma.
+
+"And do you like our place here?" asked the woman in a low voice.
+
+"It is nice. There are many woods here."
+
+And again they became silent.
+
+"The river, if you like, is more beautiful than the Volga,"
+uttered Foma, with an effort.
+
+"I was on the Volga."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"In the city of Simbirsk."
+
+"Simbirsk?" repeated Foma like an echo, feeling that he was again
+unable to say a word.
+
+But she evidently understood with whom she had to deal, and she
+suddenly asked him in a bold whisper:
+
+"Why don't you treat me to something?"
+
+"Here!" Foma gave a start. "Indeed, how queer I am? Well, then,
+come up to the table."
+
+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.
+
+"Are you bashful?" she suddenly whispered.
+
+He felt her breath on his cheek and replied just as softly:
+
+"Yes."
+
+Then she placed her hands on his shoulders and quietly drew him
+to her breast, saying in a soothing whisper:
+
+"Never mind, don't be bashful, my young, handsome darling. How I
+pity you!"
+
+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.
+
+"Be gone!" said Foma in a heavy voice, staring at the wall with
+his eyes wide open.
+
+Having kissed him on the cheek she walked out of the cabin,
+saying to him:
+
+"Well, good-bye."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"What is it?"
+
+She nodded her head and said nothing in reply.
+
+"Have I offended you?"
+
+"Go away," she said.
+
+"But, how?" said Foma, alarmed and confused, touching her head
+with his hand. "Don't be angry. You came of your own free will."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"What are you crying about?" asked Foma, caressing her cheek with
+one hand, while the other clasped the woman's neck.
+
+"I am crying about myself. Why have you sent me away?" she asked
+plaintively.
+
+"I began to feel ashamed of myself," said Foma, lowering his head.
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+He became silent--then she began to speak--softly and mournfully
+as though speaking of the dead:
+
+"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.
+
+"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!"
+
+And pressing the youth close to herself, she greedily began to
+kiss him on the lips.
+
+"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.
+
+The shrill, trembling sounds harshly broke the solemn quiet of
+the night.
+
+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.
+
+"Send a sailor to bring her things," ordered Foma, nodding his
+head toward the shore.
+
+With a reproachful shake of his head, Yefim carried out the order
+angrily, and then asked in a lowered voice:
+
+"So she, too, is coming with us?"
+
+"She is going with me," Foma announced shortly.
+
+"It is understood. Not with all of us. Oh, Lord!"
+
+"Why are you sighing?"
+
+"Yes. Foma Ignatyich! We are going to a big city. Are there not
+plenty of women of her kind?"
+
+"Well, keep quiet!" said Foma, sternly.
+
+"I will keep quiet, but this isn't right!"
+
+"What?"
+
+"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."
+
+Foma frowned insinuatingly and addressed the captain, imperiously
+emphasizing his words:
+
+"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!"
+
+"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:
+
+"Laugh! I'll show you how to laugh!"
+
+Though Yefim lost courage, he nevertheless said with dignity:
+
+"Although you, Foma Ignatyich, are the master, yet as I was told,
+'Watch, Yefim,' and then I am the captain here."
+
+"The captain?" cried Foma, shuddering in every limb and turning
+pale. "And who am I?"
+
+"Well, don't bawl! On account of such a trifle as a woman."
+
+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:
+
+"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?"
+
+Yefim was dumfounded. He looked at his master and comically
+winked his eyes, finding no reply to his words.
+
+"Do you understand, I say?"
+
+"Yes. I understand! " drawled Yefim. "But what is all this noise
+about? On account of--"
+
+"Silence!"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Don't squander your money too freely. See that your father does
+not get angry. I love you anyway, without all this."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+But he still tried to persuade her not to forsake him, and, finally--
+which was to be expected--announced his desire to marry her.
+
+"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."
+
+But the more she spoke, the more persistent Foma became in his
+desire not to part with her.
+
+"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."
+
+"I do not understand your words."
+
+"Do understand. You have done me no wrong, and I do not wish to
+do you any. And, therefore, I am going away."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Fate!" said someone beside him in a hoarse and weary voice.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Foma closed his eyes, as if a ray of the sun had fallen full on
+them, and shaking his head, he said aloud:
+
+"True! That is true!"
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Your father has grown childish."
+
+"Drinking?"
+
+"Worse--he has lost his mind completely."
+
+"Really? 0h Lord! Tell me."
+
+"Don't you understand? A certain lady is always around him."
+
+"What about her?" exclaimed Foma, recalling his Pelageya, and for
+some reason or other his heart was filled with joy.
+
+"She sticks to him and--bleeds him."
+
+"Is she a quiet one?"
+
+"She? Quiet as a fire. Seventy-five thousand roubles she blew out
+of his pocket like a feather!"
+
+"Oh! Who is she?"
+
+"Sonka Medinskaya, the architect's wife."
+
+"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.
+
+His godfather drew back from him, and comically opening his eyes
+wide, said convincedly:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Is that all?" exclaimed Foma, when his godfather concluded the story.
+"And I thought God knows what!"
+
+"You? You thought?" cried Mayakin, suddenly grown angry. "You
+thought nothing, you beardless youngster!"
+
+"Why do you abuse me?" Foma said.
+
+"Tell me, in your opinion, is seventy-five thousand roubles a big
+sum or not?"
+
+"Yes, a big sum," said Foma, after a moment's thought.
+
+"Ah, ha!"
+
+"But my father has much money. Why do you make such a fuss about it?"
+
+Yakov Tarasovich was taken aback. He looked into the youth's face
+with contempt and asked him in a faint voice:
+
+"And you speak like this?"
+
+"I? Who then?"
+
+"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."
+
+Foma hearing this, had often been quite provoked by his godfather's
+too picturesque language.
+
+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:
+
+"You had better not abuse me without reflection, for I am no
+longer a small child."
+
+"Come, come!" exclaimed Mayakin, mockingly lifting his eyebrows
+and squinting.
+
+This roused Foma's indignation. He looked full into the old man's
+eyes and articulated with emphasis:
+
+"And I am telling you that I don't want to hear any more of that
+undeserved abuse of yours. Enough!"
+
+"Mm! So-o! Pardon me."
+
+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:
+
+"Foma! Tell me--on whom you have sharpened your teeth? Eh?"
+
+"Why, are they sharp?" asked Foma, pleased with the manner in
+which Mayakin now regarded him.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I drank it."
+
+"Rather too soon! Did you drink much of it?"
+
+"Why much?"
+
+"Does it taste good?"
+
+"Not very."
+
+"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?"
+
+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:
+
+"Ah! You've come."
+
+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:
+
+"You are sunburnt. You've grown strong. You're a fine fellow! Madame!
+How's my son? Isn't he fine?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"See, Sophya Pavlovna, how he is staring at you. An eagle, eh?"
+said Ignat.
+
+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:
+
+"I wouldn't disturb you. Good-bye!"
+
+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.
+
+"The sly rogue glided away," said Mayakin in a low voice, angrily
+looking after her.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Wait, I'll ask for some cognac."
+
+"And you are keeping on drinking all the time, they say," said
+Foma, disapprovingly.
+
+Ignat glanced at his son with surprise and curiosity, and asked:
+
+"Is this the way to speak to your father?"
+
+Foma became confused and lowered his head.
+
+"That's it!" said Ignat, kind-heartedly, and ordered cognac to be
+brought to him.
+
+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.
+
+"Where is Aunt Anfisa?" asked Foma, feeling that now, being alone
+with his father, he was somewhat ill at ease.
+
+"She went to the cloister. Well, tell me, and I will have some
+cognac."
+
+Foma told his father all about his affairs in a few minutes and
+he concluded his story with a frank confession:
+
+"I have spent much money on myself."
+
+"How much?"
+
+"About six hundred roubles."
+
+"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?"
+
+"I gave away three hundred puds of grain."
+
+"To whom? How?"
+
+Foma told him all about it.
+
+"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?"
+
+"And then, I somehow spent more."
+
+"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.
+
+"I was eating, drinking." Foma did not give in, bending his head
+morosely and confusedly.
+
+"Drinking vodka?"
+
+"Vodka, too."
+
+"Ah! So. Isn't it rather too soon?"
+
+"Ask Yefim whether I ever drank enough to be intoxicated."
+
+"Why should I ask Yefim? You must tell me everything yourself. So
+you are drinking? I don't like it."
+
+"But I can get along without drinking."
+
+"Come, come! Do you want some cognac?"
+
+Foma looked at his father and smiled broadly. And his father
+answered him with a kindly smile:
+
+"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?"
+
+"Yes. There was one on the steamer. I had her there from Perm to
+Kazan."
+
+"So," Ignat sighed heavily and said, frowning: "You've become
+defiled rather too soon."
+
+"I am twenty years old. And you yourself told me that in your days
+fellows married at the age of fifteen," replied Foma, confused.
+
+"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."
+
+Ignat became pensive and was silent for a long time, sitting
+motionless, his head bent low on his breast.
+
+"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."
+
+Foma looked at his father's broad chest, heard his heavy voice
+and thought to himself:
+
+"Oh, but you won't die so soon!"
+
+This thought pleased him and awakened in him a kind, warm feeling
+for his father.
+
+"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."
+
+"They will!" said Foma with confidence.
+
+"If there were but a reason why they should."
+
+"And the lodging-house?"
+
+Ignat looked at his son and began to laugh.
+
+"Yakov has had time to tell it to you already! The old miser. He
+must have abused me?"
+
+"A little." Foma smiled.
+
+"Of course! Don't I know him?"
+
+"He spoke of it as though it were his own money."
+
+Ignat leaned back in his chair and burst into still louder laughter.
+
+"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?"
+
+Foma thought awhile and said:
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Eh, you're stupid. He wants to tell our fortunes."
+
+How is that?"
+
+"Come now, guess!"
+
+Foma looked at his father and--guessed it. His face became gloomy, he
+slightly raised himself from the armchair and said resolutely:
+
+"No, I don't want to. I shall not marry her!"
+
+"Oh? Why so? She is a strong girl; she is not foolish; she's his
+only child."
+
+"And Taras? The lost one? But I--I don't want to at all!"
+
+"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."
+
+"It is all the same," said Foma, firmly. "I shall not marry her!"
+
+"Well, it is rather early to speak of it now! But why do you
+dislike her so much?"
+
+I do not like such as she is."
+
+"So-o! Just think of it! And which women are more to your liking,
+sir, may I ask?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"No, I'd rather select my place myself," said Foma, stubbornly.
+
+"You are foolish as yet." Ignat smiled in reply to his son's words.
+
+Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Aunt Anfisa.
+
+"Foma! You've come," she cried out, somewhere behind the doors.
+Foma rose and went to meet her, with a gentle smile.
+
+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.
+
+"Other fathers beat fellows like yourself with logs of wood. And
+I never even touched you with a finger."
+
+"Evidently I didn't deserve it," said Foma one day, calmly.
+
+Ignat became angry at his son for these words and for the tone.
+
+"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."
+
+"Why are you so angry at me?" asked Foma, perplexed and offended,
+when his father chanced to be in a happy frame of mind.
+
+"Because you cannot tolerate it when your father grumbles at you.
+You're ready to quarrel immediately."
+
+"But it is offensive. I have not grown worse than I was before.
+Don't I see how others live at my age?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"She must surely feel disgusted when he kisses her."
+
+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.
+
+In the meantime Ignat, changing but little outwardly, was growing ever
+more restless and querulous and was complaining more often of being
+ill.
+
+"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. 0h 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.
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"Get up."
+
+He opened his eyes and saw that his father was seated in a chair
+near his bed, monotonously repeating in a dull voice:
+
+"Get up, get up."
+
+The sun had just risen, and its light, falling on Ignat's white
+linen shirt, had not yet lost its rosy tints.
+
+"It's early," said Foma, stretching himself.
+
+"Well, you'll sleep enough later."
+
+Lazily muffling himself in the blanket, Foma asked:
+
+"Why do you need me?"
+
+"Get up, dear, will you, please?" exclaimed Ignat, adding, somewhat
+offended: "It must be necessary, since I am waking you."
+
+When Foma looked closely at his father's face, he noticed that it
+was gray and weary.
+
+"Are you ill? "
+
+"Slightly."
+
+"Shall we send for a doctor?"
+
+"The devil take him!" Ignat waved his hand. "I am not a young man
+any longer. I know it as well without him."
+
+"What?"
+
+"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:
+
+"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."
+
+"What are you talking about, papa?" Foma smiled.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Be seated," said Ignat.
+
+"We ought to send for a doctor." Foma advised him irresolutely,
+seating himself opposite him.
+
+"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.
+
+"Drink."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"An apple fell down (the devil take it!). It sounded like the
+firing of a gun."
+
+"Won't you have some cognac in your tea?" Foma suggested.
+
+"It is good enough without it."
+
+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.
+
+"0h 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."
+
+"Stop, papa!" whispered Foma.
+
+"Why stop? We'll have our tea, and then send for the priest, and
+for Mayakin."
+
+"I'd rather send for them now."
+
+"They'll soon toll for the mass--the priest isn't home--and then
+there's no hurry, it may pass soon."
+
+And he noisily started to sip the tea out of the saucer.
+
+"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."
+
+It was hard for him to speak, he stopped short and rubbed his
+chest with his hand.
+
+"Do not rely upon others; expect but little from them. We all live in
+order to take, not to give. 0h Lord! Have mercy on the sinner!"
+
+Somewhere in the distance the deep sound of the bell fell on the
+silence
+of the morning. Ignat and Foma crossed themselves three times.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"No," answered Foma.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"F-F-A-A-ch."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+Foma touched his father's forehead with his lips and sprang back
+from the coffin with horror.
+
+"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.
+
+"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:
+
+"See, how they all fawn upon you. The tom-cats have smelt the fat."
+
+These words were unpleasant to Foma, but they were useful to him,
+as they caused him to answer at all events.
+
+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:
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"Don't cry, father--darling! Don't cry."
+
+"There you have it!" said Mayakin, faintly, and, heaving a deep
+sigh, he suddenly turned again into a firm and clever old man.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"On whom am I to make war?" said Foma with a sigh.
+
+"I'll teach you that! Did your father tell you that I was a
+clever old man and that you should mind me?"
+
+"He did."
+
+"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."
+
+"Aunt is there."
+
+"Aunt? She is sick. She will not live long."
+
+"Do not speak of it," begged Foma in a low voice.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I am."
+
+"And what do you understand?"
+
+"Everything."
+
+"You are probably lying?" Mayakin doubted.
+
+"But, why must we die?" asked Foma in a low voice.
+
+Mayakin looked into his face with regret, smacked his lips and said:
+
+"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."
+
+"You're simply mocking me at random," said Foma, sternly. "The
+sea is not flowing anywhere."
+
+"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."
+
+"What of it? But my father is dead."
+
+"You will die as well."
+
+"Then what have I to do with the fact that people are growing in
+number?" Foma smiled sadly.
+
+"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."
+
+Foma glanced at his godfather reproachfully, and noticing that the old
+man was smiling, he was astonished and he asked respectfully:
+
+"Can it be true, father, that you do not fear death?"
+
+"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."
+
+The old man's mocking words offended and angered Foma. He turned
+aside and said:
+
+"You can never speak without these subterfuges."
+
+"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?"
+
+Foma was silent.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"You had better be more kind, more sociable," said Mayakin in a
+low voice, coming up to him.
+
+"Why are they gobbling here? Is this a tavern?" cried Foma, angrily.
+
+"Hush," Mayakin remarked with fright and hastily turned to look
+around with a kind smile on his face.
+
+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.
+
+Silent and angry, he met these glances without lowering his eyes.
+
+"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."
+
+Foma shrugged his shoulders and walked off toward the door,
+saying aloud:
+
+"I shall not eat."
+
+He heard a hostile rumbling behind him and his godfather's
+wheedling voice saying to somebody:
+
+"It's for grief. Ignat was at once father and mother to him."
+
+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:
+
+"How shall I live now that I am alone?"
+
+The rain drenched his clothes, and when he felt that he was
+shivering with cold he arose and went into the house.
+
+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.
+
+"Eh, eh! Hold on!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Are you going there?" asked Foma.
+
+"Of course! I must see how they will bury my friend's money in
+the ground."
+
+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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"This membership will eat into your pocket!" sighed Mayakin.
+
+"That wouldn't ruin me."
+
+"I don't know it," observed the old man, maliciously.
+
+"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."
+
+"Is it harmful to aid people?" asked Foma, hotly.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Very well, I will come!" replied Foma.
+
+"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."
+
+"Why should I hide myself?" said Foma, displeased.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Lose no courage, these people have robbed their bellies to cover
+themselves with silk."
+
+And he greeted the governor before the bishop, in a respectfully
+cheerful voice.
+
+"How do you do, your Excellency? Give me your blessing, your
+Holiness!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"There, your Excellency, this is my godson, Foma, the late Ignat's
+only son."
+
+"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."
+
+And, having waited about two seconds for Foma's answer, he turned
+away from him, addressing Mayakin approvingly:
+
+"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."
+
+"And then, your Excellency, a small capital means that the city
+will have to add its own money."
+
+"Perfectly true! Perfectly true!"
+
+"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?"
+
+The governor replied approvingly.
+
+"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."
+
+"Precisely! I fully agree with you! But how the liberals began to
+cry at you! Eh? Ha, ha!"
+
+"That has always been their business, to cry."
+
+The deep cough of the archdeacon of the cathedral announced the
+beginning of the divine service.
+
+Sophya Pavlovna came up to Foma, greeted him and said in a sad,
+low voice:
+
+"I looked at your face on the day of the funeral, and my heart
+saddened. My God, I thought, how he must suffer!"
+
+And Foma listened to her and felt as though he was drinking honey.
+
+"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."
+
+"You!" exclaimed Foma, softly.
+
+"Isn't that so?" she asked, naively looking into his face.
+
+Foma was silent, his head bent on his breast.
+
+"Don't you believe that I am an old woman?"
+
+"I believe you; that is, I believe everything you may say; only
+this is not true!" said Foma, feelingly, in a low voice.
+
+"What is not true? What do you believe me?"
+
+"No! not this, but that. I--excuse me! I cannot speak!" said
+Foma, sadly, all aflush with confusion. "I am not cultured."
+
+"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?"
+
+What could Foma say in answer to this question? He said sincerely:
+
+"I thank you humbly!"
+
+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:
+
+"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!"
+
+"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.
+
+"You will surely be present at the dinner, won't you?" asked
+Medinskaya.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And tomorrow at the meeting in my house?"
+
+"Without fail!"
+
+"And perhaps sometime you will drop in, simply on a visit, wouldn't
+you?"
+
+"I--I thank you! I'll come!"
+
+"I must thank you for the promise."
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"How rich and beautiful our prayers are, are they not?" asked
+Medinskaya.
+
+"Yes," said Foma, shortly, without understanding her words and
+feeling that he was blushing again.
+
+"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?
+
+And the archdeacon droned, his head thrown back:
+
+"Eternal me-emo-ory to the founder of this ho-ouse!"
+
+Foma shuddered, but Mayakin was already by his side, and pulling
+him by the sleeve, asked:
+
+"Are you going to the dinner?"
+
+And Medinskaya's velvet-like, warm little hand glided once more
+over Foma's hand.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Look, there, the archdeacon arose; he is filling his lungs with air;
+he will soon proclaim an eternal memory for Ignat Matveyich."
+
+"May I not go away?" asked Foma in a low voice.
+
+"Why not? Everybody will understand this."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"I am looking at you, and, do you know?--you do not resemble a
+merchant at all."
+
+"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?
+
+"Thank God for this!" said she and smiled to him a kind, friendly
+smile.
+
+"What makes you so glad?" he asked.
+
+"The fact that we don't resemble our fathers."
+
+Foma glanced at her in astonishment and kept silent.
+
+"Tell me frankly," said she, lowering her voice, "you do not love
+my father, do you? You don't like him?"
+
+"Not very much," said Foma, slowly.
+
+"And I dislike him very much."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"For everything. When you grow wiser, you will know it yourself.
+Your father was a better man."
+
+"Of course!" said Foma, proudly.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"You will also be just such a skinflint."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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?"
+
+"I will. What is the matter with you, are you ill?"
+
+"Go to the dining-room, and I'll tell them to bring the samovar,"
+she said, not answering his question.
+
+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.
+
+"Are you coming from the banquet?" asked Luba, entering.
+
+Foma nodded his head mutely.
+
+"Well, how was it? Grand?"
+
+"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."
+
+Luba was taking out dishes from the cupboard and said nothing to Foma.
+
+"Really, why are you so sad?" asked Foma again, glancing at her
+gloomy face.
+
+She turned to him and said with enthusiasm and anxiety:
+
+"Ah, Foma! What a book I've read! If you could only understand it!"
+
+"It must be a good book, since it worked you up in this way,"
+said Foma, smiling.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Just as in fairy--tales, nothing is real."
+
+"You are wrong! You have read no books; how can you judge? Books
+are precisely real. They teach you how to live."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"You need not compare them. They evidently like one thing, while
+your father likes another."
+
+"They do not like anything!"
+
+How's that?
+
+"They want to change everything."
+
+"So they do strive for something?" said Foma, thoughtfully. "They
+do wish for something?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Those are not men!" announced Luba, categorically.
+
+"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."
+
+"Ah, Foma!" exclaimed Luba, vexed. "You understand nothing!
+Nothing agitates you! You are an idler."
+
+"Now, that's going too far! I've simply not had time enough to
+see where I am."
+
+"You are simply an empty man," said Luba, resolutely and firmly.
+
+"You were not within my soul," replied Foma, calmly. "You cannot
+know my thoughts."
+
+"What is there that you should think of?" said Luba, shrugging
+her shoulders.
+
+"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.
+
+"It is necessary to read, to study," Luba advised him
+convincingly, pacing up and down the room.
+
+"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."
+
+"You mean the aristocrats?" asked Luba.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"That's just the place for you!" said Luba, with a smile of contempt.
+"Eh, you! Are they men? Do they have souls?"
+
+"How do you know them? You are not acquainted with them."
+
+"And the books? Have I not read books about them?"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+0h Lord! Shall I run away? I have not enough courage. What am I to
+do?"
+
+She clasped her hands and bowed her head over the table.
+
+"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:
+
+'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:
+
+"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."
+
+And she concluded, uttering something like a moan:
+
+"But I am alone! Whom shall I fight? There are no enemies here.
+There are no men! I live here in a prison!
+
+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:
+
+"There, you yourself say that books are worthless to you, and yet
+you instruct me to read."
+
+She looked into his face, and anger flashed in her eyes.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" he asked her.
+
+"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.
+
+"I'll give nothing; let them strive for it themselves," answered
+Foma, knowing that these words would augment her anger.
+
+"Unfortunate creature!" exclaimed the girl with contempt.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"You went for me," said Foma, reservedly. "What for? I can't
+understand."
+
+"I don't want to speak to you!" replied Luba, angrily.
+
+"That's your affair. But nevertheless, what wrong have I done to you?"
+
+"You?
+
+"I."
+
+"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."
+
+"And what have I to do with it?" asked Foma.
+
+"You are no better than the others."
+
+"And therefore I am guilty before you?"
+
+"Yes, guilty! You must desire to be better."
+
+"But do I not wish it?" exclaimed Foma.
+
+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:
+
+"It's father."
+
+"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."
+
+"Ah! my children, my doves! " exclaimed Yakov Tarasovich, appearing in
+the doorway. "You're drinking tea? Pour out some tea for me, Lugava!"
+
+Sweetly smiling, and rubbing his hands, he sat down near Foma and
+asked, playfully jostling him in the side:
+
+"What have you been cooing about?"
+
+"So--about different trifles," answered Luba.
+
+"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."
+
+"I've been telling her about the dinner," Foma interrupted his
+godfather's words.
+
+"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!"
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Foma, knitting his brow, ill pleased.
+
+"I just mean that your behaviour is preposterous, and that's all.
+When the governor, for instance, speaks to you, you keep quiet."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Was I to look at him like a lamb?" said Foma, with a smile.
+
+"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."
+
+"And what is this for?"
+
+"For any event. A governor, my dear, can always be of use somewhere."
+
+"What do you teach him, papa?" said Luba, indignantly, in a low voice.
+
+"Well, what?"
+
+"To dance attendance."
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+Foma saw how the wrinkles on the old man's forehead were twitching,
+and they seemed to him like lines of Slavonic letters.
+
+"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?"
+
+"What is there to consider here?" said Foma, wearily "Everybody
+knows what they are for--for the poor and feeble."
+
+"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."
+
+"What has this to do with it?"
+
+"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.
+
+"Cle-ver!" whispered Foma, amazed, staring fixedly at his godfather.
+
+"Aha!" exclaimed Mayakin, his eyes beaming with triumph.
+
+"How is it that my father did not think of this?" asked Foma,
+uneasily.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Yes!" said Foma, confused by the old man's clever words.
+
+"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.
+
+The wrinkles of his face were in motion; his long, ravenous nose was
+stirring, and in his voice rang notes of irritability and emotion.
+
+"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?"
+
+"True!" assented Foma, eager to hear the sooner that which was to
+follow, and which was already sparkling in the eyes of his godfather.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Of course, I do!" exclaimed Foma.
+
+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:
+
+"Indeed, do we work for the sake of money only? What's the use of
+money if it can give us no power?"
+
+"Aha!" said Mayakin, winking his eyes.
+
+"Eh!" exclaimed Foma, offended. "How about my father? Have you
+spoken to him?"
+
+"I spoke to him for twenty years."
+
+"Well, how about him?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I am not sorry for the money."
+
+"You should have tried to earn even a tenth part of it, then speak."
+
+"May I come in?" came Luba's voice from behind the door.
+
+"Yes, step right in," said the father.
+
+"Will you have lunch now?" she asked, entering.
+
+"Let us have it."
+
+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:
+
+"That's the way, my godson! Think."
+
+Foma responded with a smile and thought: "But he's clever--
+cleverer than my father."
+
+But another voice within him immediately replied:
+
+"Cleverer, but worse."
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Gordyeeff! Milksop!"
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"I don't like this," announced Foma.
+
+"Neither do I like everything--there's too much fraud.
+
+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."
+
+"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.
+
+The old man smiled, and the broken teeth in his mouth roused in
+Foma the keen thought:
+
+"You have bitten many, it seems."
+
+"There's but one word--battle!" repeated the old man.
+
+"Is this the real one?" asked Foma, looking at Mayakin searchingly.
+
+"That is, what do you mean--the real?"
+
+"Is there nothing better than this? Does this contain everything?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"I understand this!" said Foma, firmly and confidently.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I can't bear them!" replied Foma, firmly.
+
+"And me?" she asked softly.
+
+Foma turned his eyes away from her and said, with a sigh:
+
+"How many times have you asked me that?"
+
+"Is it hard for you to tell me?"
+
+"It isn't hard, but what for?"
+
+"I must know it."
+
+"You are making sport of me," said Foma, sternly. And she opened
+her eyes wide and inquired in a tone of great astonishment:
+
+"How do I make sport of you? What does it mean to make sport?"
+
+And her face looked so angelic that he could not help believing her.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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?"
+
+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:
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+One day he asked her timidly:
+
+"Sophya Pavlovna! Have you ever had any children?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I thought not!" exclaimed Foma with delight.
+
+She cast at him the look of a very naive little girl, and said:
+
+"What made you think so? And why do you want to know whether I
+had any children or not?"
+
+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.
+
+"You see--a woman who--has given birth to children--such a woman
+has altogether different eyes."
+
+"So? What kind are they then?"
+
+"Shameless!" Foma blurted out.
+
+Medinskaya broke into her silver laughter, and Foma, looking at
+her, also began to laugh.
+
+"Excuse me!" said he, at length. "Perhaps I've said something
+wrong, improper."
+
+"Oh, no, no! You cannot say anything improper. You are a pure,
+amiable boy. And so, my eyes are not shameless?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+Foma's relation toward Medinskaya could not escape his godfather's
+notice, and one day the old man asked him, with a malicious grimace:
+
+"Foma! You had better feel your head more often so that you may
+not lose it by accident."
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Foma.
+
+"I speak of Sonka. You are going to see her too often."
+
+"What has that to do with you?" said Foma, rather rudely. "And
+why do you call her Sonka?"
+
+"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."
+
+"She is clever!" announced Foma, firmly, frowning and hiding his
+hands in his pockets. "She is intelligent."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Will you go to your lady as soon as we arrive?" asked Mayakin,
+unexpectedly, interrupting their business talk.
+
+"I will," said Foma, shortly, and with displeasure,
+
+"Mm. Tell me, how often do you give her presents?" asked Mayakin,
+plainly and somewhat intimately.
+
+"What presents? What for?" Foma wondered.
+
+"You make her no presents? You don't say. Does she live with you
+then merely so, for love's sake?"
+
+Foma boiled up with anger and shame, turned abruptly toward the
+old man and said reproachfully:
+
+"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?"
+
+Mayakin smacked his lips and sang out in a mournful voice:
+
+"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.'"
+
+"Godfather!" said Foma, sternly, in a threatening voice, "I
+cannot bear to hear such words. If it were someone else."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"She will ruin you! 0h Lord! The Babylonian prostitute!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Very well, father, enough," he begged softly and sadly, turning
+aside from Mayakin.
+
+"Eh, you ought to get married as soon as possible!" exclaimed the
+old man with alarm.
+
+"For Christ's sake, do not speak," uttered Foma in a dull voice.
+
+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.
+
+"How foolish man is in his youth!" exclaimed Mayakin, in a low voice.
+Foma did not look at him.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Speak more plainly," said Foma, sternly.
+
+"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?"
+
+"You don't understand," said Foma, in a low voice.
+
+"What is it I do not understand? I understand everything!"
+
+"The heart. Man has a heart," sighed the youth.
+
+Mayakin winked his eyes and said:
+
+"Then he has no mind."
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+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.
+
+"The vile wretch--disguised herself as an angel!" Pelageya vividly
+arose in his memory, and he whispered malignantly and bitterly:
+
+"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."
+
+Sometimes Hope would whisper timidly in his ear:
+
+"Perhaps all that was said of her was a lie."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The servants of Medinskaya were accustomed to his visits, and to
+his question whether the lady was at home the maid replied:
+
+"Please go into the drawing-room. She is there alone."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Who is that?" asked the woman, starting with alarm. And the
+strings trembled, issuing an alarmed sound.
+
+"It is I," said Foma, pushing aside the strings of the beads.
+
+"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?"
+
+Holding out her hand to him, she pointed with the other at a small
+armchair beside her, and her eyes were gaily smiling.
+
+"I was out on the bay inspecting my steamers," said Foma, with
+exaggerated ease, moving his armchair nearer to the couch.
+
+"Is there much snow yet on the fields?"
+
+"As much as one may want. But it is already melting considerably.
+There is water on the roads everywhere."
+
+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.
+
+"Melting!" said she, thoughtfully, examining the ring on her little
+finger.
+
+"Ye-es, streams everywhere." Foma informed her, admiring his boots.
+
+"That's good. Spring is coming."
+
+Now it won't be delayed long."
+
+"Spring is coming," repeated Medinskaya, softly, as if listening to
+the sounds of her words.
+
+"People will start to fall in love," said Foma, with a smile, and
+for some reason or other firmly rubbed his hands.
+
+"Are you preparing yourself?" asked Medinskaya, drily.
+
+"I have no need for it. I have been ready long ago. I am already in
+love for all my life."
+
+She cast a glance at him, and started to play again, looking at the
+strings and saying pensively:
+
+"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."
+
+"Sophya Pavlovna!" exclaimed Foma, softly.She interrupted him with
+a caressing gesture.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"You may speak! And I won't believe anything you may say."
+
+This thought irritated him. And he felt sorry that he could not
+listen to her words as attentively and trustfully as before.
+
+"Are you thinking of how it is necessary to live?" asked the woman.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+She spoke quickly, with a look of alarm in her eyes. Looking at
+her, Foma thought:
+
+"What is she driving at?"
+
+And he answered her slowly:
+
+"Perhaps I will have a desire for something else. Perhaps I have it
+already."
+
+Drawing up closer to him, she looked into his face and spoke
+convincingly:
+
+"Listen! Do not live like all other people! Arrange your life
+somehow differently. You are strong, young. You are good!"
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"God bless me!" he said to himself, and in a lowered voice,
+strengthening his heart, began:
+
+"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?"
+
+His eyes began to flash and with each word his voice became warmer
+and louder. She moved her body forward and said with alarm:
+
+"Oh, cease."
+
+"No, I won't, I will speak!"
+
+"I know what you want to say."
+
+"You don't know it all!" said Foma, threateningly, rising to his
+feet. "But I know everything about you--everything."
+
+"Yes? Then the better it is for me," said Medinskaya, calmly.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+She became silent and suddenly, lifting her hands with a nervous
+gesture, clasped her head, and began to adjust her hair.
+
+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:
+
+"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!"
+
+The voice of the youth broke down. And the woman began to laugh
+softly.
+
+"How fine and how ridiculous you are, and what a pity that you
+cannot understand all this!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Foma lifted his head and said distrustfully, with surprise:
+
+"I cannot understand what it is! Lubov also says the same."
+
+"Which Lubov? What does she say?"
+
+"My foster-sister. She says the same,--she is forever complaining
+of life. It is impossible to live, she says."
+
+"Oh, she is yet young! And it is a great happiness that she already
+speaks of this."
+
+"Happiness!" Foma drawled out mockingly. "It must be a fine
+happiness that makes people sigh and complain."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+He looked at her and said with a sigh:
+
+"I don't know. I used to believe you."
+
+"And now?" she asked hastily.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Understand me, I feel sorry for you!" the woman exclaimed softly.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I only wanted to see you by my side," said the woman simply, in a
+guilty voice.
+
+He did not hear these words.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"Goodbye!"
+
+"Goodbye!" said Medinskaya, softly.
+
+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.
+
+Understanding that he could not leave her thus, he became confused,
+and said softly, but without repenting:
+
+"Perhaps I said something offensive--forgive me! For after all I
+love you," and he heaved a deep sigh.
+
+The woman burst into soft, nervous laughter.
+
+"No, you have not offended me. God speed you."
+
+"Well, then goodbye!" repeated Foma in a still lower voice.
+
+"Yes," replied the woman, also in a low voice.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+"Perhaps I really ought to get married," thought Foma, with a sigh.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+One morning his godfather said to him on the Exchange:
+
+"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."
+
+"Do we owe him anything?" asked Foma.
+
+"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."
+
+"But how can we help paying it now, if he demands it?"
+
+"Let him cry and ask for it--and you roar--but don't give it to
+him."
+
+I'll go up there soon."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Who entered?" asked Anany in a hoarse and angry voice, without
+lifting his head.
+
+"I. How do you do, Anany Savvich?"
+
+The old man raised his head slowly and, winking his large eyes,
+looked at Foma.
+
+"Ignat's son, is that right?"
+
+"The same."
+
+"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?"
+
+"I wouldn't mind."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"He was not more sinful than others," replied Foma, angrily,
+offended in his father's behalf.
+
+"Than who, for instance?" demanded Shchurov, strictly.
+
+"Are there not plenty of sinners?"
+
+"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.
+
+"Are you sure of it?" inquired Foma, smiling.
+
+"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."
+
+"Are you sure of this, too?"
+
+"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."
+
+Listening to the old man's hoarse and confident voice, Foma
+thought:
+
+"He is scenting death, it seems."
+
+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:
+
+"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!"
+
+He made tea, seated himself opposite Foma and went on again:
+
+"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?"
+
+"Not yet," said Foma.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Sometimes. Meanwhile I am with my godfather."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Well," said Foma, softly, "they were leading depraved lives and
+drinking just as much in former days as now, I suppose."
+
+"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!"
+
+"How can a man tell how God will judge man?" asked Foma,
+thoughtfully. "A visible trial is necessary."
+
+"Why a visible trial?"
+
+"That people might understand."
+
+"Who, but the Lord, is my judge?"
+
+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:
+
+"Who, but the Lord, is my judge?"
+
+"Is he afraid or not?" Foma asked himself and became pensive,
+stealthily scrutinising the old man.
+
+"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!"
+
+"How can you tell what and how much I have within my heart?" said
+Foma, gloomily, offended by his laughter.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"It's hard for you to live without your father, isn't it?" said he.
+
+"I am getting used to it," replied Foma.
+
+"You are rich, and when Yakov dies, you will be richer still. He'll
+leave everything to you."
+
+"I don't need it."
+
+"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?"
+
+"No."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Who does understand it?" asked Foma.
+
+"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."
+
+"But nobody does this."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"That isn't right," said Shchurov, sternly knitting his brow. "It
+is overdue--you must pay.
+
+"You'll get a half of it tomorrow."
+
+"Why a half? Why not all?"
+
+"We are badly in need of money now."
+
+"And haven't you any? But I also need it."
+
+"Wait a little."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Evidently business is poor?" grinned Shchurov. "Well, tell the
+truth--where have you squandered your father's money?"
+
+Foma wanted to test the old man:
+
+"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."
+
+"So-o! Shall I help you out?"
+
+"Be so kind. Postpone the day of payment," begged Foma, modestly
+lowering his eyes.
+
+"Mm. Shall I assist you out of my friendship for your father? Well,
+be it so, I'll do it."
+
+"And for how long will you postpone it?" inquired Foma.
+
+"For six months."
+
+"I thank you humbly."
+
+"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."
+
+Foma rose from the chair and said, with a smile:
+
+"Send me the notes tomorrow. I'll pay you in full."
+
+Shchurov also rose from his chair and, without lowering his eyes at
+Foma's sarcastic look, said, calmly scratching his chest:
+
+"That's all right."
+
+"Thank you for your kindness."
+
+"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.
+
+"Yes! If one should fall into your hands--"
+
+"He'd find it warm--"
+
+"I am sure you'd make it warm for him."
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't let that trouble you. Goodbye!"
+
+"God be with you!"
+
+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:
+
+"Open for us the doors of mercy. Oh blessed Virgin Mary!"
+
+Foma carried away with him from the old man a double feeling.
+Shchurov pleased him and at the same time was repulsive to him.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Well, I have just been at Shchurov's," he said, coming to Mayakin
+and seating himself by the table.
+
+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:
+
+"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!"
+
+Smiling, Foma related to him how Shchurov suggested to rewrite the
+notes.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Hardly! He says, 'I am an oak.'"
+
+"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."
+
+"But it's all the same, we have to pay, anyway."
+
+"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!"
+
+Yakov Tarasovich was positively dissatisfied with his godson. He
+frowned and in an angry manner ordered his daughter, who was
+silently pouring out tea:
+
+"Push the sugar nearer to me. Don't you see that I can't reach it?"
+
+Lubov's face was pale, her eyes seemed troubled, and her hands
+moved lazily and awkwardly. Foma looked at her and thought:
+
+"How meek she is in the presence of her father."
+
+"What did he speak to you about?" asked Mayakin.
+
+"About sins."
+
+"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."
+
+"He speaks with weight," said Foma, thoughtfully, stirring his tea.
+
+"Did he abuse me?" inquired Mayakin, with a malicious grimace.
+
+"Somewhat."
+
+"And what did you do?"
+
+"I listened."
+
+"Mm! And what did you hear?"
+
+"'The strong,' he says, ' will be forgiven; but there is no
+forgiveness for the weak.'"
+
+"Just think of it! What wisdom! Even the fleas know that."
+
+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:
+
+"But he doesn't like you."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."'
+
+"Does he consider it wrong?"
+
+"Evidently so."
+
+"Fo-o-o-l!" Mayakin drawled out, with contempt.
+
+"Why? Is it good?" asked Foma, looking at his godfather
+suspiciously.
+
+"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."
+
+"And whom does it please to be a brick?" said Foma, morosely.
+
+"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."
+
+"He also spoke about toil. 'Everything,' he says, 'is done by
+machinery, and thus are men spoiled."'
+
+"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?"
+
+"Isn't that true, either?" asked Foma, breaking into stern
+laughter.
+
+"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."
+
+He rose and went away, loudly scraping with his slippers along the
+floor. Foma glanced after him and said softly, with a frown:
+
+"The devil himself could not see through all this. One says this,
+the other, that."
+
+"It is precisely the same with books," said Lubov in a low voice.
+
+Foma looked at her, smiling good-naturedly. And she answered him
+with a vague smile.
+
+Her eyes looked fatigued and sad.
+
+"You still keep on reading?" asked Foma.
+
+"Yes," the girl answered sadly.
+
+"And are you still lonesome?"
+
+"I feel disgusted, because I am alone. There's no one here to say a
+word to."
+
+"That's bad."
+
+She said nothing to this, but, lowering her head, she slowly began
+to finger the fringes of the towel.
+
+"You ought to get married," said Foma, feeling that he pitied her.
+
+"Leave me alone, please," answered Lubov, wrinkling her forehead.
+
+"Why leave you alone? You will get married, I am sure."
+
+"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!"
+
+"That's from your books," Foma interposed confidently.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"At first it seemed to me," said Lubov, not listening to him, "that
+everything in the books was clear to me. But now--"
+
+"Drop your books," suggested Foma, with contempt.
+
+"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."
+
+"Everything?" asked Foma.
+
+"Everything! While another book says the contrary is true."
+
+"Wait! Now isn't this nonsense?"
+
+"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.
+
+"Just so," said Lubov, morosely.
+
+"We spoke about books," added Foma.
+
+"What kind of books?"
+
+"The books she is reading. She read that everything on earth is
+rational."
+
+"Really!"
+
+"Well, and I say it is a lie!"
+
+"Yes." Yakov Tarasovich became thoughtful, he pinched his beard and
+winked his eyes a little.
+
+"What kind of a book is it?" he asked his daughter, after a pause.
+
+"A little yellow-covered book," said Lubov, unwillingly.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I'll stay here a little longer."
+
+"Very well."
+
+Lubov and Foma again remained alone.
+
+"What a man your father is," said Foma, nodding his head toward the
+direction of his godfather.
+
+"Well, what kind of a man do you think he is?"
+
+"He retorts every call, and wants to cover everything with his
+words."
+
+"Yes, he is clever. And yet he does not understand how painful my
+life is," said Lubov, sadly.
+
+"Neither do I understand it. You imagine too much."
+
+"What do I imagine?" cried the girl, irritated.
+
+"Why, all these are not your own ideas. They are someone else's."
+
+"Someone else's. Someone else's."
+
+She felt like saying something harsh; but broke down and became
+silent. Foma looked at her and, setting Medinskaya by her side,
+thought sadly:
+
+"How different everything is--both men and women--and you never
+feel alike."
+
+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.
+
+"Luba!" said Foma, softly.
+
+She raised her head and looked at him.
+
+"Do you know, I have quarrelled with Medinskaya."
+
+"Why?" asked Luba, brightening up.
+
+"So. It came about that she offended me. Yes, she offended me."
+
+"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!"
+
+"She's not at all a vile creature," said Foma, morosely. "And you
+don't know anything about her. You are all lying!"
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Herself!" exclaimed Luba, in astonishment. "What a strange woman
+she is! What did she tell you?"
+
+"That she is guilty," Foma ejaculated with difficulty, with a wry
+smile.
+
+"Is that all?" There was a ring of disappointment in the girl's
+question; Foma heard it and asked hopefully:
+
+"Isn't that enough?"
+
+"What will you do now?"
+
+"That's just what I am thinking about."
+
+"Do you love her very much?"
+
+Foma was silent. He looked into the window and answered confusedly:
+
+"I don't know. But it seems to me that now I love her more than
+before."
+
+"Than before the quarrel?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I wonder how one can love such a woman!" said the girl, shrugging
+her shoulders.
+
+"Love such a woman? Of course! Why not?" exclaimed Foma.
+
+"I can't understand it. I think, you have become attached to her
+just because you have not met a better woman."
+
+"No, I have not met a better one!" Foma assented, and after a
+moment's silence said shyly, "Perhaps there is none better."
+
+"Among our people," Lubov interposed.
+
+"I need her very badly! Because, you see, I feel ashamed before
+her."
+
+"Why so?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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..."
+
+"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."
+
+"And what took place between you?" asked Lubov.
+
+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.
+
+"I told her, 'Oh, you! why did you make sport of me?'" he said
+angrily and with reproach.
+
+And Luba, her cheeks aflame with animation, spurred him on, nodding
+her head approvingly:
+
+"That's it! That's good! Well, and she?"
+
+"She was silent!" said Foma, sadly, with a shrug of the shoulders.
+"That is, she said different things; but what's the use?"
+
+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.
+
+"You might light the lamp," Foma went on.
+
+"How unhappy we both are," said Luba, with a sigh.
+
+Foma did not like this.
+
+"I am not unhappy," he objected in a firm voice. "I am simply--not
+yet accustomed to life."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't go away," Luba entreated.
+
+"I must. Somebody is waiting there for me. I am going. Goodbye!"
+
+"Till we meet again!" She held out her hand to him and sadly looked
+into his eyes.
+
+"Will you go to sleep now?" asked Foma, firmly shaking her hand.
+
+"I'll read a little."
+
+"You're to your books as the drunkard to his whisky," said the
+youth, with pity.
+
+"What is there that is better?"
+
+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:
+
+"She has also lost her way, like the other one."
+
+At this recollection he shook his head, as though he wanted to
+frighten away the thought of Medinskaya, and quickened his steps.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"How do you do, modest millionaire!" Foma rather liked him for his
+jolly mood, and was always pleased to meet him.
+
+Firmly and kind-heartedly shaking Ookhtishchev's hand, Foma asked
+him:
+
+"And what makes you think that I am modest?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Sophya Pavlovna?" asked Foma, slowly. "Of course! The sun of my
+life is setting. And, perhaps, of yours as well?"
+
+Ookhtishchev made a comical, sly grimace and looked into Foma's
+face.
+
+And Foma stood before him, feeling that his head was lowering on
+his breast, and that he was unable to hinder it.
+
+"Yes, the radiant Aurora."
+
+"Is Medinskaya going away?" a deep bass voice asked. "That's fine!
+I am glad."
+
+"May I know why?" exclaimed Ookhtishchev. Foma smiled sheepishly
+and stared in confusion at the whiskered man, Ookhtishchev's
+interlocutor.
+
+That man was stroking his moustache with an air of importance, and
+deep, heavy, repulsive words fell from his lips on Foma's ears.
+
+"Because, you see, there will be one co-cot-te less in town."
+
+"Shame, Martin Nikitich!" said Ookhtishchev, reproachfully,
+knitting his brow.
+
+"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:
+
+"I didn't say--coquette."
+
+"Martin Nikitich, you mustn't speak that way about a woman who--"
+began Ookhtishchev in a convincing tone, but Foma interrupted him:
+
+"Excuse me, just a moment! I wish to ask the gentleman, what is the
+meaning of the word he said?"
+
+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.
+
+"Gentlemen!" exclaimed Ookhtishchev, softly.
+
+"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."
+
+"You had better explain it," said Foma, with a deep sigh, not
+lifting his eyes off the man.
+
+Ookhtishchev clasped his hands and rushed aside.
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"Don't abuse a person--in his absence. Abuse him--right in his
+face--straight in his eyes."
+
+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:
+
+"You mustn't beat me! You mustn't! I have an...
+
+Order. You rascal! Oh, rascal! I have children.
+
+Everybody knows me! Scoundrel! Savage, 0--0--0! You may expect a
+duel!"
+
+And Ookhtishchev spoke loudly in Foma's ear:
+
+"Come, my dear boy, for God's sake!"
+
+"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:
+
+"I gave him a sound drubbing, didn't I?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Excuse me. The devil take you! But it wasn't for her alone that
+you gave him the drubbing?"
+
+"That is, what do you mea,--not for her alone? For whom then?"
+asked Foma, amazed.
+
+"For whom? I don't know. Evidently you had old accounts to settle!
+0h Lord! That was a scene! I shall not forget it in all my life!"
+
+"He--that man--who is he?" asked Foma, and suddenly burst out
+laughing. "How he roared, the fool!"
+
+Ookhtishchev looked fixedly into his face and asked:
+
+"Tell me, is it true, that you don't know whom you've thrashed? And
+is it really only for Sophya Pavlovna?"
+
+"It is, by God!" avowed Foma.
+
+"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."
+
+"Will he take me to court?"
+
+"Would to God he does. He is the Vice-Governor's son-in-law,"
+
+"Is that so?" said Foma, slowly, and made a long face.
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+There was great emotion in Foma's voice. Ookhtishchev looked at him
+and said thoughtfully:
+
+"You are a queer man, I must confess."
+
+"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.'
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Well, thank God for that!" said Foma with satisfaction. "Now I
+have punished him a little."
+
+"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."
+
+"And will he soon fall into your hands?" inquired Foma, naively.
+
+"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. 0h God, what I am
+telling you!" said Ookhtishchev, with a comical sigh.
+
+"Betraying secrets?" grinned Foma.
+
+"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."
+
+Foma stopped suddenly, as though he had met an obstacle on his way.
+
+"Nemesis--the goddess of Justice," babbled Ookhtishchev. "What's
+the matter with you?"
+
+"And it all came about," said Foma, slowly, in a dull voice,
+"because you said that she was going away."
+
+"Who?
+
+"Sophya Pavlovna."
+
+"Yes, she is going away. Well?"
+
+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.
+
+"Come," said Ookhtishchev.
+
+Foma started, saying indifferently:
+
+"Well, let her go. And I am alone." Ookhtishchev, waving his cane,
+began to whistle, looking at his companion.
+
+"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:
+
+"Of course, I shall."
+
+"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."
+
+"Speak to me more simply, sir," said Foma, having listened
+attentively to his words.
+
+"More simply? Very well. I want to say, give up thinking of this
+little lady. She is poisonous food for you."
+
+"She told me the same," put in Foma, gloomily.
+
+"She told you?" Ookhtishchev asked and became thoughtful. "Now,
+I'll tell you, shouldn't we perhaps go and have supper?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"What for? We'll do it modestly."
+
+"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! 0h
+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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"My conscience does not allow it," said Foma, sadly and sternly.
+"So long as she is alive, I cannot even look at women."
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+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?
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"It's never too late to go to see them!" exclaimed Ookhtishchev,
+merrily.
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The red-haired woman, pensively gazing into the distance, began
+to sing softly and sadly:
+
+"Along the Volga river
+A little boat is flo-o-oating."
+
+The brunette, snapping her large, stern eyes with contempt,
+said, without looking at her: "We feel gloomy enough without
+this."
+
+"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.
+
+"Let us sing in chorus!" suggested the man with the side
+whiskers.
+
+"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!"
+
+The giggling girl glanced at the brunette and asked her
+respectfully:
+
+"Shall I sing, Sasha?"
+
+"I shall sing myself," announced Foma's companion, and turning
+toward the lady with the birdlike face, she ordered:
+
+"Vassa, sing with me!"
+
+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:
+
+"Life on earth is bright to him,
+Who knows no cares or woe,
+And whose heart is not consumed
+By passion's ardent glow!"
+
+Her sister nodded her head and slowly, plaintively began to moan
+in a deep contralto:
+
+"Ah me! Of me the maiden fair."
+
+Flashing her eyes at her sister, Sasha exclaimed in her low-
+pitched notes:
+
+"Like a blade of grass my heart has withered."
+
+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.
+
+"I will requite him,"
+
+sang Vassa, plaintively, closing her eyes.
+
+"I will inflame him,
+I'll dry him up,"
+
+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:
+
+"Drier than the raging wind,
+Drier than the mown-down grass,
+Oi, the mown and dried-up grass."
+
+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:
+
+"How does she come to be such as she is? It is even fearful to be
+with her."
+
+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.
+
+"Eh! but feel, my kind, brave man!"
+
+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:
+
+"The yearning and the pangs of love!"
+
+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.
+
+"Well, was it a nice song?"
+
+"It's capital!" said Foma with a sigh, as he smiled at her.
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"Well, make me a present of something for the song."
+
+"Very well, I will," Foma assented.
+
+"What?"
+
+"You tell me."
+
+"I'll tell you when we come to town. And if you'll give me what I
+like--Oh, how I will love you!"
+
+"For the present?" asked Foma, smiling suspiciously. "You ought
+to love me anyway."
+
+She looked at him calmly and, after a moment's thought, said
+resolutely:
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+"Excuse me, Ivan Nikolayevich," cried Ookhtishchev, agitated.
+
+"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.
+
+"But nevertheless, there is always a warm heart in it," put in
+the red-haired lady, as she peeled an orange.
+
+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.
+
+"What are you staring at? Eh?" he heard Ookhtishchev's jestingly-
+stern voice.
+
+The peasant, at whom Ookhtishchev shouted, drew the cap from his
+head, clapped it against his knee and answered, with a smile:
+
+"I came over to listen to the lady's song."
+
+"Well, does she sing well?"
+
+"What a question! Of course," said the peasant, looking at Sasha,
+with admiration in his eyes.
+
+"That's right!" exclaimed Ookhtishchev.
+
+"There is a great power of voice in that lady's breast," said the
+peasant, nodding his head.
+
+At his words, the ladies burst out laughing and the men made some
+double-meaning remarks about Sasha.
+
+After she had calmly listened to these and said nothing in reply,
+Sasha asked the peasant:
+
+"Do you sing?"
+
+"We sing a little!" and he waved his hand, "What songs do you
+know?"
+
+"All kinds. I love singing." And he smiled apologetically.
+
+"Come, let's sing something together, you and I."
+
+"How can we? Am I a match for you?"
+
+"Well, strike up!"
+
+"May I sit down?"
+
+"Come over here, to the table."
+
+"How lively this is!" exclaimed Zvantzev, wrinkling his face.
+
+"If you find it tedious, go and drown yourself," said Sasha,
+angrily flashing her eyes at him.
+
+"No, the water is cold," replied Zvantzev, shrinking at her
+glance.
+
+"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."
+
+"Fie, how witty!" hissed the youth, turning away from her, and
+added with contempt: "In Russia even the prostitutes are rude."
+
+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.
+
+"I never before participated in such an absurd outing and--
+company," said Zvantzev, to his neighbour, plaintively.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"You must raise your voice, when I lower mine, understand?"
+
+"I understand; but, Madam, you ought to hand me some just to give
+me courage!"
+
+"Foma, give him a glass of brandy!"
+
+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:
+
+"Begin!"
+
+The peasant made a wry mouth, lifted his eyes to her face, and
+started
+in a high-pitched tenor:
+
+"I cannot drink, I cannot eat."
+
+Trembling in every limb, the woman sobbed out tremulously, with
+strange sadness:
+
+"Wine cannot gladden my soul."
+
+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:
+
+"Oh, time has come for me to bid goodbye!"
+
+And the woman, shuddering and writhing, moaned and wailed:
+
+"Oi, from my kindred I must part."
+
+Lowering his voice and swaying to and fro, the peasant declaimed
+in a sing-song with a remarkably intense expression of anguish:
+
+"Alas, to foreign lands I must depart."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+When they had finished singing, Foma, trembling with excitement,
+with a tear-stained face, gazed at them and smiled sadly.
+
+"Well, did it move you?" asked Sasha. Pale with fatigue, she
+breathed quickly and heavily.
+
+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.
+
+All was silence. All were motionless and speechless.
+
+"0h Lord!" sighed Foma, rising to his feet. "Eh, Sasha! Peasant!
+Who are you?" he almost shouted.
+
+"I am--Stepan," said the peasant, smiling confusedly, and also
+rose to his feet. "I'm Stepan. Of course!"
+
+"How you sing! Ah!" Foma exclaimed in astonishment, uneasily
+shifting from foot to foot.
+
+"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."
+
+"That was sung very well!" said Ookhtishchev in a drunken voice.
+
+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!"
+
+"Jean, I am also going. I'm weary, too," announced the gentleman
+with the side whiskers.
+
+"Vassa," cried Zvantzev to his lady, "dress yourself!"
+
+"Yes, it's time to go," said the red-haired lady to Ookhtishchev.
+"It is cold, and it will soon be dark."
+
+"Stepan! Clear everything away!" commanded Vassa.
+
+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.
+
+"Stepan! Call for the horses!"
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Well, I'm drunk."
+
+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.
+
+"Oh, my God! How mean this is!" Zvantzev's capricious voice was
+heard.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"Fo-o-ol!" cried Zvantzev, walking after him and lifting his
+hand.
+
+Foma jumped to his feet and said threateningly, in a loud voice:
+
+"Eh, you! Don't touch him!"
+
+"Wha-a-at?" Zvantzev turned around toward him.
+
+"Stepan, come over here," called Foma.
+
+"Peasant!" Zvantzev hurled with contempt, looking at Foma.
+
+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:
+
+"The string of rafts is moored in three places, isn't it?
+
+"In three, of course!"
+
+"Cut the connections!"
+
+"And they?"
+
+"Keep quiet! Cut!"
+
+"But--"
+
+"Cut! Quietly, so they don't notice it!"
+
+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.
+
+"I'm not responsible, your Honour," he said.
+
+"Don't be afraid."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"If the current carries them against the fleet," whispered the
+peasant, "they'll strike against the bows--and they'll be smashed
+into splinters."
+
+"Keep quiet!"
+
+"They'll drown!"
+
+"You'll get a boat, and overtake them."
+
+"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:
+
+"Eh, there! Good-bye! Ha! ha! ha!"
+
+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.
+
+There was a silence lasting for a few seconds.
+
+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:
+
+"He-e-elp!"
+
+Some one--in all probability, the sedate gentleman with the side
+whiskers--roared in his basso:
+
+"Drowning! They're drowning people!"
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+"Foma Ignatyevich!" said Ookhtishchev in a faint, but sober
+voice, "look out, this is a dangerous joke. I'll make a
+complaint."
+
+"When you are drowned? You may complain!" answered Foma,
+cheerfully.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"I am cold," said Sasha, softly, and quivered in every limb.
+
+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.
+
+"You wanted to drown me?" said she, firmly, pressing close to
+him. "It was rather too early. Wait!"
+
+"How well you have done it," muttered Foma, as he ran.
+
+"You're a fine, brave fellow! And your device wasn't bad, either,
+though you seem to be so peaceable."
+
+"And they are still roaring there, ha! ha!"
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+Night was closing down upon them.
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+The old man's eyes sparkled irritably and angrily, his lips
+twisted with contempt, and the wrinkles of his gloomy face
+quivered.
+
+"If Foma were my own son, I would have made a man of him!"
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"He deserves it," said Lubov.
+
+"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?"
+
+"What difference does it make to you?" asked the girl.
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh, no, he wouldn't go with Foma on a spree!' said Lubov,
+confidently, and blushed deeply at her father's searching look.
+
+"So! You have fine acquaintances, Lubka! " said Mayakin with
+humorous bitterness. "Well, who wrote it?"
+
+"What do you wish to know it for, papa?"
+
+"Come, tell me!"
+
+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:
+
+"And you will not do him any ill for it?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Do you remember, when I was going to school, a Gymnasium student
+used to come up to us. Yozhov? Such a dark little fellow!"
+
+"Mm! Of course, I saw him. I know him. So it's he?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"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."
+
+Lubov looked at her father, smiled inimically, and asked hotly:
+
+"And isn't he who writes for newspapers a man?"
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"That isn't right, papa!" said Lubov, softly.
+
+"What do you mean by--not right?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Papa!" exclaimed Lubov, sadly, "But in books and in newspapers
+they defend the general interests of all the people."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"What ought one to do, then?" asked Lubov, resting her elbows on
+the table and bending toward her father.
+
+"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."
+
+The old man paused awhile and, lowering his voice, went on, with
+a malicious smile:
+
+"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.
+
+"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:
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+Mayakin shuddered. His eyebrows began to move angrily, he fixed
+his keen, small eyes on his daughter's face and asked her drily:
+
+"What sort of talk is this?"
+
+"Must he not even be mentioned?" said Lubov, softly and
+confusedly.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"What did he do?" asked Lubov, eagerly listening to the old man's
+words.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Where are you coming from? What has happened?"
+
+"I--I have come to you!" said Yefim, stopping short at the table,
+with a low bow.
+
+"Well, I see, you've come to me. What's the matter? Where's the
+steamer?"
+
+"The steamer is there!" Yefim thrust his hand somewhere into the
+air and heavily shifted from one foot to the other.
+
+"Where is it, devil? Speak coherently--what has happened?" cried
+the old man, enraged.
+
+"So--a misfortune, Yakov."
+
+"Have you been wrecked?"
+
+"No, God saved us."
+
+"Burned up? Well, speak more quickly."
+
+Yefim drew air into his chest and said slowly:
+
+"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."
+
+"So-o!" drawled out Mayakin, measuring the captain with an ill-
+omened look.
+
+"Well, Yefimushka, I'll strip your skin off"
+
+"It wasn't I who did it!" said Yefim, quickly.
+
+"Not you?" cried the old man, shaking with rage. "Who then?"
+
+"The master himself."
+
+"Foma? And you. Where were you?"
+
+"I was lying in the hatchway."
+
+"Ah! You were lying."
+
+"I was bound there."
+
+"Wha-at?" screamed the old man in a shrill voice.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"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."
+
+Mayakin rose from the chair and burst into jarring, angry
+laughter. And Yefim sighed, and, outstretching his hands,
+said:xxx"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!"
+
+"Keep quiet!" said Mayakin, sternly. "Where's Foma?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Is he there alone?" asked Mayakin, lowering his head.
+
+"Not quite," replied Yefim, softly, glancing stealthily at Lubov.
+
+"Really?"
+
+"There's a lady with him. A dark one."
+
+"So."
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"Calm yourself, papa!" she entreated caressingly. "Maybe the loss
+isn't so great."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 canAnd then--e'en grass may cease to
+grow."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Somehow Foma said to her one day:
+
+"But what piles of money you and I have squandered!"
+
+She glanced at him, and asked:
+
+"And why should we save it?"
+
+"Indeed, why?" thought Foma, astonished by the fact that she
+reasoned so simply.
+
+"Who are you?" he asked her at another occasion.
+
+"Why, have you forgotten my name?"
+
+"Well, the idea!"
+
+"What do you wish to know then?"
+
+"I am asking you about your origin."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Do I know it?" asked Foma, laughing.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"Be careful!" said she, although nearly asleep.
+
+"It's all right. You're not such a lady of quality!" muttered
+Foma.
+
+"What's the matter with you?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+She turned her back to him, and said lazily, with a lazy yawn:
+
+"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. 0h Lord, have mercy on me! What does it mean?"
+
+"Stop your idle talk!" Foma interrupted her sternly. "You better
+tell me what you know about me."
+
+"I know, for instance, that you are awake now," she answered,
+without turning to him.
+
+"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?"
+
+"A man with a drunken headache," answered Sasha, yawning.
+
+"Aleksandra!" exclaimed Foma, beseechingly, "don't talk nonsense!
+Tell me conscientiously, what do you think of me?"
+
+"I don't think anything!" she said drily. "Why are you bothering
+me with nonsense?"
+
+"Is this nonsense?" said Foma, sadly. "Eh, you devils! This is
+the principal thing. The most essential thing to me."
+
+He heaved a deep sigh and became silent. After a minute's
+silence, Sasha began to speak in her usual, indifferent voice:
+
+"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."
+
+Foma laughed drily and said:
+
+"I wish I were like this--and had no desires for anything."
+
+Then the woman raised her head from the pillow, looked into
+Foma's face and lay down again, saying:
+
+"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?"
+
+"And in what way am I better?" asked Foma, thoughtfully.
+
+"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."
+
+Yet all this did not satisfy Foma.
+
+"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?"
+
+"What can we do?" asked Foma.
+
+"Shall we go to Nizhni or to Kazan?"
+
+"What for?"
+
+To carouse."
+
+"1 don't want to carouse any more."
+
+"What else are you going to do?"
+
+"What? Nothing."
+
+And both were silent for a long time, without looking at each
+other.
+
+"You have a disagreeable character," said Sasha, "a wearisome
+character."
+
+"But nevertheless I won't get drunk any more!" said Foma, firmly
+and confidently.
+
+"You are lying!" retorted Sasha, calmly.
+
+"You'll see! What do you think--is it good to lead such a life as
+this?"
+
+"I'll see."
+
+"No, just tell me--is it good?"
+
+"But what is better?"
+
+Foma looked at her askance and, irritated, said:
+
+"What repulsive words you speak."
+
+"Well, here again I haven't pleased him!" said Sasha, laughing.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Into your so-o-ul!" Foma drawled out, with contempt. "Into what
+soul? He, he!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"What are you staring at?" asked Foma.
+
+"Why do you speak that way?" said she, without lifting her eyes
+from him.
+
+"Because I must."
+
+"Look out--must you really?"
+
+There was something threatening in her question. Foma felt
+intimidated and said, this time without provocation in his voice:
+
+"How could I help speaking?"
+
+"Oh, you!" sighed Sasha and resumed dressing herself
+
+"And what about me?"
+
+"Merely so. You seem as though you were born of two fathers. Do
+you know what I have observed among people?"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"If a man cannot answer for himself, it means that he is afraid
+of himself, that his price is a grosh!"
+
+"Do you refer to me?" asked Foma, after a pause.
+
+"To you, too."
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"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:
+
+"And I also feel that something is growing within my soul. Eh, I
+too shall have my say, when the time comes."
+
+"Against whom?" asked Sasha, carelessly.
+
+"I--against everybody!" exclaimed Foma, jumping to his feet.
+"Against falsehood. I shall ask--"
+
+"Ask whether the samovar is ready," Sasha ordered indifferently.
+
+Foma glanced at her and cried, enraged:
+
+"Go to the devil! Ask yourself."
+
+"Well, all right, I shall. What are you snarling about?"
+
+And she stepped out of the hut.
+
+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:
+
+"It goes--it goes--it goes!"
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"It goes--it goes--it goes!"
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"Wh-a-at?" And the wind, playing with his long, flaxen beard,
+flung it into his face.
+
+"Hand us the end."
+
+A resounding basso shouted as through a speaking-trumpet:
+
+"See how you've fastened this board, you blind devil? Can't you
+see? I'll rub your eyes for you!"
+
+"Pull, my boys, come on!"
+
+"Once more--brave--boys!" cried out some one in a loud,
+beseeching voice.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+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 m 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:
+
+"Perhaps the chains will break."
+
+"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:
+
+"Let--her--go-o-o!"
+
+The labourers took up his shout, and all cried out in one voice,
+with excitement and exertion:
+
+"Let her go! She moves."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"My boys! Go ahead, all at once, all at once."
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"It goes--it goes--it goes."
+
+"Hold on! Fasten! Hold on, boys!"
+
+Something dashed against Foma's chest, and he was hurled
+backward.
+
+"I congratulate you on a successful result, Foma Ignatyich!" the
+contractor congratulated him and the wrinkles quivered on his
+face in cheerful beams.
+
+"Thank God! You must be quite tired now?"
+
+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.
+
+"We've raised a hundred and seventy thousand puds as if we
+plucked a radish from a garden-bed!" said some one.
+
+"We ought to get a vedro of whisky from our master."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"How's the barge?" asked Foma, indefinitely, addressing the
+contractor.
+
+"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 I "said the contractor in a consoling tone.
+
+And the light-haired fellow, gaily and broadly smiling into
+Foma's face, asked:
+
+"Are we going to have any vodka?"
+
+"Can't you wait? You have time!" said the contractor, sternly.
+"Don't you see--the man is tired."
+
+Then the peasants began to speak:
+
+"Of course, he is tired!
+
+"That wasn't easy work!"
+
+"Of course, one gets tired if he isn't used to work."
+
+"It is even hard to eat gruel if you are not used to it."
+
+"I am not tired," said Foma, gloomily, and again were heard the
+respectful exclamations of the peasants, as they surrounded him
+more closely.
+
+"Work, if one likes it, is a pleasant thing."
+
+"It's just like play."
+
+"It's like playing with a woman."
+
+But the light-haired fellow persisted in his request:
+
+"Your Honour! You ought to treat us to a vedro of vodka, eh?" he
+said, smiling and sighing.
+
+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:
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Yes, yes!" said the contractor, with a sigh. "That wouldn't
+harm! That is--to think--why and how. These are words of wisdom."
+
+The light-haired fellow had a different opinion on the matter;
+smiling kind-heartedly, he waved his hand and said:
+
+"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."
+
+"And do you know what's necessary to do?" questioned Foma,
+irritated by the contradiction.
+
+"Everything is necessary--this and that."
+
+"But where's the sense?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Eh, you!" exclaimed Foma, with contempt. "You're also talking!
+What do you understand?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"That is, for God!" explained the contractor, eyeing the
+peasants, and added, with a devout sigh:
+
+"That's true. Oh, how true that is!"
+
+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.
+
+"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!
+
+The light-haired fellow glanced at Foma with astonishment and
+asked:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"I make you a present of three buckets of vodka."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+She looked at him attentively and, seating herself on the bench,
+shoulder to shoulder with him, said:
+
+"Since you feel disgusted--it means that you want something. What
+is it you want?"
+
+"I don't know!" replied Foma, nodding his head mournfully.
+
+"Think of it--search."
+
+"I am unable to think. Nothing comes out of my thinking."
+
+"Eh, you, my child!" said Sasha, softly and disdainfully, moving
+away from him. "Your head is superfluous to you."
+
+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:
+
+"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?"
+
+Sasha looked at him askance and pensively began to sing softly:
+
+"Eh, when the wind blows--mist comes from the sea."
+
+"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."
+
+"Eh, without thee, dear, my life is weary,"
+
+sang Sasha, staring at the wall before her. And Foma kept on
+rocking and said:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Sasha glanced at Foma, with a sarcastic smile, and said:
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"0h 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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Does not your head ache?" inquired Sasha, anxiously,
+scrutinizing his face.
+
+"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."
+
+"Listen!" said Sasha, seriously. "I think you ought to get
+married, that's all!"
+
+"What for?" asked Foma, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+"You need a bridle."
+
+"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. 0 man! You are a rascal, to be frank."
+
+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:
+
+"Do you know what? I'll leave you."
+
+"Where will you go?" asked Foma, without lifting his head.
+
+"I don't know--it's all the same!"
+
+"But why?"
+
+"You're always saying unnecessary things. It is lonesome with
+you. You make me sad."
+
+Foma lifted his head, looked at her and burst into mournful
+laughter.
+
+"Really? Is it possible?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"And I--will I, too, be lost?" asked Foma, indifferently, already
+fatigued by his words.
+
+"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."
+
+"I have no character at all," said Foma, stretching himself. Then
+after a moment's silence he added:
+
+"And I have no brains, either."
+
+They were silent for a minute, eyeing each other.
+
+"What are we going to do?" asked Foma.
+
+"We must have dinner."
+
+"No, I mean, in general? Afterward?"
+
+"Afterward? I don't know?"
+
+"So you are leaving me?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Let them say," said Sasha, calmly.
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Let's go into the cabin!" said he to his companion uneasily.
+
+"Don't acquire the habit of hiding your sins from people,"
+replied Sasha, with a smile. "Have you perhaps noticed an
+acquaintance there?"
+
+"Mm. Yes. Somebody is watching me."
+
+"A nurse with a milk bottle? Ha, ha, ha!"
+
+"Well, there you're neighing!" said Foma, enraged, looking at her
+askance. "Do you think I am afraid?"
+
+"I can see how brave you are."
+
+"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:
+
+"Oh, it's my godfather."
+
+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.
+
+"What a vulture!" muttered Foma, raising his cap and nodding his
+head to his godfather.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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:
+
+"Whither are you travelling, Foma Ignatyich?"
+
+"About my affairs," replied Foma, firmly, without greeting his
+godfather.
+
+"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?"
+
+"She's my mistress," said Foma, loud, without lowering his eyes
+at the keen look of his godfather.
+
+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:
+
+"I have something to speak to you about. Will you come with me to
+the hotel?"
+
+"Yes; for a little while."
+
+"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.
+
+"And why not wreck them, since they can be wrecked?" retorted
+Foma, passionately and firmly.
+
+"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.
+
+"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:
+
+"I am ready! Let us go!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"And I want some cognac," ordered Foma.
+
+"So-o! When you have poor cards you had better always play the
+lowest trump first!" Mayakin advised him sarcastically.
+
+"You don't know my game!" said Foma, seating himself by the
+table.
+
+"Really? Come, come! Many play like that."
+
+"How?"
+
+"I mean as you do--boldly, but foolishly."
+
+"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.
+
+"Haven't you recovered from your drunkenness yet?" asked Mayakin
+with a smile.
+
+Foma seated himself more firmly in his chair, and, his face
+distorted with wrathful agitation, he said:
+
+"Godfather, you are a sensible man. I respect you for your common
+sense."
+
+"Thank you, my son!" and Mayakin bowed, rising slightly, and
+leaning his hands against the table.
+
+"Don't mention it. I want to tell you that I am no longer twenty.
+I am not a child any longer."
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"What did you come here for?" asked Foma.
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Papa!" exclaimed Foma, "this can surely be done. There were
+cases where people have cast away all their possessions and thus
+saved themselves."
+
+"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!"
+
+"Many have become saints when they went away."
+
+"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!"
+
+"Papa! why don't you want it?" exclaimed Foma, angrily.
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"Two and a quarter--and thank God!"
+
+"Luka Mitrich! How can I?"
+
+"Give him two and a half!"
+
+"That's right! You ought to give it, it's a good steamer, it tows
+briskly."
+
+"My dear fellows, I can't. Two and a quarter!"
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"So you will set me free?" asked Foma, suddenly lifting his head,
+and Mayakin turned his eyes away from his fiery look.
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't talk nonsense. Why do you play the fool?" cried Mayakin,
+angrily.
+
+"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:
+
+"And do you know how I can deal with you?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Can this be done?" asked Foma, distrustfully, but with a tone of
+fright in his voice.
+
+"We can do everything, my dear."
+
+Foma lowered his head, and casting a furtive glance at his
+godfather's face, shuddered, thinking:
+
+"He'll do it; he won't spare me."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"So there's no way out for me?" asked Foma, gloomily. "You are
+blocking all my ways?"
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"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?"
+
+Mayakin's wrinkles quivered and sank downward, wherefore his face
+assumed a sickly, weeping expression.
+
+"How will you justify yourself?" asked Foma, softly, without
+lifting his eyes from him.
+
+"Hold your tongue, you puppy!" said the old man in a low voice,
+casting a glance of alarm about the room.
+
+"I've said everything! And now I'm going! Hold me back!"
+
+Foma rose from his chair, thrust his cap on his head, and
+measured the old man with abhorrence.
+
+"You may go; but I'll--I'll catch you! It will come out as I
+say!" said Yakov Tarasovich in a broken voice.
+
+"And I'll go on a spree! I'll squander all!"
+
+"Very well, we'll see!"
+
+"Goodbye! you hero," Foma laughed.
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+Beads of perspiration glistened on his bald crown, and as usual
+the wrinkles on his cheeks quivered with frequent, irritable
+starts.
+
+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.
+
+Summoning the waiter with a nod Yakov Tarasovich asked him with
+peculiar intensity and impressiveness
+
+"How much do I owe for all this?"
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"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!"
+
+And she impressed a hot kiss upon his lips, at which her eyes
+looked still darker.
+
+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:
+
+"Perhaps you will not live well together, then come back to me."
+
+"Thank you!" she replied, and for some reason or other burst into
+hoarse laughter, which was uncommon with her.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"And so let us live while we can,
+And then--e'en grass may cease to grow!"
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"See how you live! Aren't you ashamed?"
+
+And he might have abused them. But if they were to ask on hearing
+his voice:
+
+"And how ought we to live?"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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!"
+
+"I don't understand your words." The little man shook his close-
+cropped, angular head.
+
+Foma laughed, self-satisfied.
+
+"Is it for you to understand it?""No; do you know, I think that
+he whom God decreed--"
+
+"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.
+
+"Has God given you reason?" asked Foma, recovering from his
+embarrassment.
+
+"Of course; that is to say, as much as is the share of a small
+man," said Foma's interlocutor irresolutely.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Leave me alone! You see it has nothing to do with you."
+
+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:
+
+"Papa, are you ill? tell me!"
+
+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:
+
+"Go, go to your place. How the itching curiosity of Eve gives you
+no rest."
+
+But Lubov did not go away; persistingly looking into his eyes,
+she asked, with an offended tone in her voice:
+
+"Papa, why do you always speak to me in such a way as though I
+were a small child, or very stupid?"
+
+"Because you are grown up and yet not very clever. Yes! That's
+the whole story! Go, sit down and eat!"
+
+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.
+
+"If your obstructed mind could but comprehend your father's
+thoughts!" said he, suddenly, as he sighed with a sort of
+whistling sound.
+
+Lubov threw her spoon aside and almost with tears in her voice,
+said:
+
+"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!
+
+"Now Balaam's she-ass has also started to talk!" said the old
+man, laughing. "Well! what will be next?"
+
+"You are very proud of your wisdom, papa."
+
+"And what else?"
+
+"That isn't good; and it pains me greatly. Why do you repulse me?
+You know that, save you, I have no one."
+
+Tears leaped to her eyes; her father noticed them, and his face
+quivered.
+
+"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!"
+
+She wiped her eyes and asked:
+
+"What about Foma?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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!
+
+Mayakin lifted his hand over his head, and, clenching his fist,
+threatened furiously.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+The old man drooped his head mournfully, his voice broke down,
+and he said sadly, as if he were speaking unto himself:
+
+"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?"
+
+Mayakin looked at his daughter with alarm. She was silent.
+
+"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?"
+
+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:
+
+"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 ineverything!"
+
+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:
+
+"I knew it before--you are a gilded fool!"
+
+She lowered her head, but immediately raised it and exclaimed
+sadly:
+
+"You have said so yourself--freedom."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"I am left alone, alone, like Job. 0h 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."
+
+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.
+
+Following him with burning eyes, she suddenly said in a low
+voice:
+
+"Papa, dear! do not grieve. Taras is still alive. Perhaps he--"
+
+Mayakin stopped suddenly as though nailed to the spot, and he
+slowly lifted his head.
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"Allow me to write to him, papa!" begged Lubov, softly, flushing,
+trembling with joy.
+
+"You?" asked Mayakin, casting a brief glance at her; he then
+became silent, thought awhile and said:
+
+"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."
+
+"Do it at once, papa," said the girl.
+
+"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.
+
+"Is it Smolin, papa?" asked Lubov, inquisitively and anxiously.
+
+"And supposing it is he, what of it?" inquired Yakov Tarasovich
+in a business-like tone.
+
+"Nothing, I don't know him," replied Lubov, indefinitely.
+
+"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."
+
+"I did not reckon on Foma--what is he to me?"
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"Eh, Lubovka! Why are you thoughtful? What are you thinking of
+mostly?"
+
+"So, everything goes so swiftly," replied Luba, with a smile.
+
+"What goes swiftly?"
+
+"Everything. A week ago it was impossible to speak with you about
+Taras, while now--"
+
+"'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.
+
+"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-- 0h 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!"
+
+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.
+
+..  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+And Foma found what he needed.
+
+One day, irritated by the lack of attention for him, he cried to
+his drinking-companions:
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"Ah! You've grown dumb now, that's the way! I am strict! I--"
+
+"You sluggard!" came some one's calm, loud exclamation.
+
+"Wha-at?" roared Foma, jumping up from his chair. "Who said
+that?"
+
+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.
+
+"How fine!" said he, sarcastically. "What are you snarling at,
+eh? Do you know who I am?"
+
+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:
+
+"You are the rotten disease of your father, who, though he was a
+plunderer, was nevertheless a worthy man in comparison with you."
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"You think that you are the master of life? You are the low slave
+of the rouble."
+
+Someone in the crowd hiccoughed, and, evidently displeased with
+himself for this, cursed each time he hiccoughed:
+
+"0h devil."
+
+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:
+
+"Gentlemen, drop that! It isn't good! For we are all sinners!
+Decidedly all, believe me!"
+
+"Well, speak on!" muttered Foma. "Say everything! I won't touch
+you."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+He rushed forward, and raising his head majestically, turned
+toward the door with tragic footsteps.
+
+"You lie!" said Foma, attempting to follow him. "Hold on! you
+have made me agitated, now calm me."
+
+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:
+
+"How could I permit that swab to mock me and abuse my father as a
+thief?"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"0h 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!"
+
+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:
+
+"0h 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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+And suddenly he was struck by a thought which appeared great to
+him:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Because every copeck is more necessary to me than a hundred
+roubles to you. That's why!"
+
+And, saying this, the old man turned his body, which was burning
+with pain, with its back to Foma.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"0h Lord, 0h 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+He ran up to Foma, embraced him and burst into merry laughter.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"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:
+
+"Get away! Where is your face? Go on!"
+
+A deafening, drunken laughter smote the air about them, and
+choking with laughter, the son of the brandy-distiller roared to
+someone hoarsely:
+
+"Come to me! A hundred roubles a month with board and lodging!
+Throw the paper to the dogs. I'll give you more!"
+
+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:
+
+"Where are we floating? Where is the captain?"
+
+He was answered by the loud, senseless laughter of the drunken
+crowd, and by the shrill, repulsive shout of the swarthy little
+man:
+
+"True! we are all without helm and sails. Where is the captain?
+What? Ha, ha, ha!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Take the drum and fear not,--
+And kiss the sutler girl aloud--
+That's the sense of learning--
+And that's philosophy."
+
+Foma heaved a deed sigh and said:
+
+"May I have some seltzer?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"Yegorovna!" cried the latter at the door, and turning to Foma,
+asked: "Don't you recognise me, Foma Ignatyevich?"
+
+"I remember something. It seems to me we had met somewhere
+before."
+
+"That meeting lasted for four years, but that was long ago!
+Yozhov."
+
+"0h Lord!" exclaimed Foma, in astonishment, slightly rising from
+the lounge. "Is it possible that it is you?"
+
+"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."
+
+Yozhov's face was comically distorted, and for some reason or
+other his hands began to feel his breast.
+
+"Well, well!" drawled out Foma. "But how old you have grown! Ah-
+ah! How old are you?"
+
+"Thirty."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Yes; life has sucked you dry. And you have studied. Even science
+seems to help man but little," said Gordyeeff plaintively.
+
+"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:
+
+"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?"
+
+"I? What else am I to do?" asked Foma, laughing. Yozhov looked at
+Foma searchingly with his eyes half closed, and he said:
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"Of course I have! Did you read it?"
+
+"No, I did not have the chance."
+
+"And what have they told you?"
+
+"That you gave me a clever scolding."
+
+"Hm! And doesn't it interest you to read it yourself?" inquired
+Yozhov, scrutinizing Gordyeeff closely.
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"Come and drink tea. And tell me about yourself."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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:
+
+"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 1 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."
+
+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:
+
+"You didn't hit, then, what you aimed at?"
+
+"Yes, I thought I would grow up higher. And so I should! So I
+should, I say!"
+
+He jumped up from his chair and began to run about in the room,
+exclaiming briskly in a shrill voice:
+
+"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. 0h
+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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"The devil take the district inspectors!" said Foma, with a wave
+of the hand. "Tell me about yourself."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"You must always be in love with something unattainable to you. A
+man grows in height by stretching himself upwards."
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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!'"
+
+Foma watched Yozhov bustling about the room, and thought
+mournfully:
+
+"Whom is he abusing? I can't understand; but I can see that he
+has been terribly wounded."
+
+"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.'"
+
+"They are superfluous people, then," said Foma. Yozhov stopped
+short in front of him and said with a biting smile on his lips:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Well! And can you speak like that in the face of men?"
+
+"I do it at every convenient occasion. And every Sunday in the
+newspaper. I'll read some to you if you like."
+
+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.
+
+"Clever!" he exclaimed, catching some separate phrase. "That's
+cleverly aimed!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Keep quiet! Wait awhile!" said Yozhov, curtly, and went on
+reading.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"Well, what do you say, is it true?" asked Yozhov, when he had
+finished reading the newspaper, and thrown it aside.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"No, I don't care for them. I haven't read any."
+
+"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?"
+
+"And how about the Gospels? Were they not written by men?"
+
+"Those were apostles. Now there are none."
+
+"Good, your refutation is sound! It is true, dear, there are no
+apostles. Only the Judases remained, and miserable ones at that."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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!"
+
+"I cannot imagine, Foma, how you will get along in life if you
+preserve within you that which you now have," said Yozhov,
+thoughtfully.
+
+"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!"
+
+"And what then?" asked Yozhov.
+
+"Then?" Foma became pensive, and, after a moment's thought, waved
+his hand. "I don't know what will be then. I shall see!"
+
+"We shall see!" assented Yozhov.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"No? You are lying!" cried Foma, irritated by contradiction.
+
+"Well, what can you accomplish?"
+
+"I?"
+
+"You!"
+
+"Why, I can kill you!" said Foma, angrily, clenching his fist.
+
+"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."
+
+And suddenly inflamed with melancholy malice, he stretched
+himself and said:
+
+"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?"
+
+He almost wept, and kept on scratching his breast and his neck
+with his thin, feeble hands.
+
+But sometimes he was seized with a flow of courage, and then he
+spoke in a different spirit:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+One day Yozhov said to him:
+
+"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."
+
+"Very well!" said Foma, to whom it was immaterial with whom he
+passed the time, which was a burden to him.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Yes; that is certainly reasonable," assented Yozhov. "But, my
+friends, the principle of cooperation--"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Drop it, nothing will come of it!"
+
+His interlocutor bent his head mournfully, while Foma thought:
+
+"He speaks sensibly. It's evident he can reason well."
+
+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 ov, 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.
+
+Brethren!" shouted the stout fellow. "Let's strike up the student
+song. Well, one, two!"
+
+"Swift as the waves,"
+
+Someone roared in his bass voice:
+
+"Are the days of our life."
+
+"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.
+
+"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, 0h honest people, the lonely man, who is
+poisoned by life, breathes so easily, so freely."
+
+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:
+
+"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!"
+
+"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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Let's start a song now," proposed the stout fellow again.
+
+"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.
+
+"Brethren," Yozhov suddenly cried again, "answer me. Say a few
+words in reply to my address of welcome."
+
+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:
+
+"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-
+-"
+
+"Nikolay Matveyich, you had better not insult our guest!" said
+someone in a deep, displeased voice.
+
+"Yes, that's unnecessary," affirmed the stout fellow, who had
+invited Foma to the fireside. "Why use offensive language?"
+
+A third voice rang out loudly and distinctly:
+
+"We have come together to enjoy ourselves--to take a rest."
+
+"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."
+
+"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:
+
+"Well, you grumbler, shall we have a drink? Or is it time to go
+home?"
+
+"Home? Where is the home of the man who has no place among men?"
+asked Yozhov, and shouted again: "Comrades!"
+
+Unanswered, his shout was drowned in the general murmur. Then he
+drooped his head and said to Foma:
+
+"Let's go from here."
+
+"Let's go. Though I don't mind sitting a little longer. It's
+interesting. They behave so nobly, the devils. By God!"
+
+"I can't bear it any longer. I feel cold. I am suffocating."
+
+"Well, come then."
+
+Foma rose to his feet, removed his cap, and, bowing to the
+compositors, said loudly and cheerfully:
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen, for your hospitality! Good-bye!"
+
+They immediately surrounded him and spoke to him persuasively:
+
+"Stay here! Where are you going? We might sing all together, eh?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Eh, you ought to wait a little!" exclaimed the stout fellow, and
+then whispered:
+
+"Some one will escort him home!"
+
+The consumptive also remarked in a low voice:
+
+"You stay here. We'll escort him to town, and get him into a cab
+and--there you are!"
+
+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:
+
+"Come, the devil take them!"
+
+"Till we meet again, gentlemen! I'm going!" said Foma and
+departed amid exclamations of polite regret.
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+Yozhov paused, and, clasping his head with his hands, stood for
+awhile, staggering.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+And Foma, carried away by his own thought, argued:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Life has cruelly deceived me,
+I have suffered so much pain."
+
+"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!"
+
+"The buried dreams within my breast
+Will never rise again."
+
+"Brother! You are happier than I, because you are stupid. While
+I--"
+
+"Don't be rude!" said Foma, irritated. "You would better listen
+how they are singing."
+
+"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."
+
+And he began to wail in a wild voice:
+
+The buried dreams within my breast
+Will never rise again. . .
+How great their number is!"
+
+"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!"
+
+Yozhov burst into tears, sobbing like a woman. Foma pitied him,
+and felt uncomfortable with him. He jerked at his shoulder
+impatiently, and said:
+
+"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:
+
+"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!"
+
+"0h, Lord!" sighed Foma in despair. "Stop that, for Christ's
+sake! By God, how sad!"
+
+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.
+
+And Yozhov, standing beside Foma, spoke excitedly:
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"Don't play the fool. Why do you abuse me at random?"
+
+"I want to remain alone, and finish singing my song."
+
+Staggering, he, too, moved aside from Foma, and after a few
+seconds again exclaimed in a sobbing voice:
+
+"My song is done! And nevermore
+Shall I disturb their sleep of death,
+Oh Lord, 0h Lord, repose my soul!
+For it is hopeless in its wounds,
+Oh Lord, repose my soul."
+
+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.
+
+"Nikolay!" said Foma, lifting him by the shoulders. "Cease
+crying; what's the matter? 0h Lord. Nikolay! Enough, aren't you
+ashamed?"
+
+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.
+
+"Well, that's enough!" said Foma, with his teeth tightly
+clenched. "Enough, dear."
+
+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:
+
+"A-a-ana-thema! Be cursed! Just wait. You, too, shall choke! Be
+cursed!"
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+"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!"
+
+Lubov was sitting by the window darning her father's socks, and
+her head was bent low over her work.
+
+"What is all this for, papa?" she asked, dissatisfied and
+offended.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Mm! So! Try me, 0h Lord, and judge me. From the unjust and the
+false man, deliver me. Yes! Put on your mother's emeralds,
+Lubov."
+
+"Enough, papa!" exclaimed the girl, sadly. "Pray, leave that
+alone."
+
+"Don't you kick! Listen to what I'm telling you."
+
+And he was again absorbed in his calculations, snapping his green
+eyes and playing with his fingers in front of his face.
+
+"That makes thirty-five percent. Mm! The fellow's a rogue. Send
+down thy light and thy truth."
+
+"Papa!" exclaimed Lubov, mournfully and with fright.
+
+"What?"
+
+"You--are you pleased with him?"
+
+"With whom?
+
+"Smolin."
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"My God! 0h Lord! If he were only a kind man! Make him kind,
+sincere. 0h Lord! A strange man comes, examines you, and takes
+you unto himself for years, if you please him! How disgraceful
+that is, how terrible. 0h 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"Write to him again, Lubovka. 'Come along!' write him, 'don't be
+afraid to come!'"
+
+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:
+
+"You are marrying of your own free will, for love, are you not?"
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"I venture to hope that you have not forgotten your old friend?"
+
+It's all right! You can talk of this later," said the old man,
+scanning his daughter with his eyes.
+
+"Lubova, you can make your arrangements here, while we finish our
+little conversation. Well then, African Mitrich, explain
+yourself."
+
+"You will pardon me, Lubov Yakovlevna, won't you?" asked Smolin,
+gently.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Does it require much capital, did you say?" asked Mayakin,
+thoughtfully.
+
+"About three hundred thousand."
+
+"Father won't give me such a dowry," thought Lubov.
+
+"My factory will also turn out leather goods, such as trunks,
+foot-wear, harnesses, straps and so forth."
+
+"And of what per cent, are you dreaming?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"How are you passing the time, Lubov Yakovlevna?" asked Smolin,
+arming himself with knife and fork.
+
+"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."
+
+"And no place, I must add," said Lubov. "I am not fond of the
+balls and entertainments given by the merchants."
+
+"And the theatre?" asked Smolin.
+
+"I seldom go there. I have no one to go with."
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"And yet, papa, the majority of the merchant class is uneducated
+and savage."
+
+"Yes," remarked Smolin with regret, nodding his head
+affirmatively, "that is the sad truth."
+
+"Take Foma, for instance," went on the girl.
+
+"0h!" exclaimed Mayakin. "Well, you are young folks, you can have
+books in your hands."
+
+"And do you not take interest in any of the societies?" Smolin
+asked Lubov. "You have so many different societies here."
+
+"Yes," said Lubov with a sigh, "but I live rather apart from
+everything."
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Thank God!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Whom do you mean by You?" asked Mayakin.
+
+"I, Urvantzov, Shchukin--"
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"That's just what I say, if the merchant himself will manage the
+newspaper, then it will be useful."
+
+"Excuse me, papa," said Lubov.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+"That's your business. You are hostess," retorted the old man.
+
+"0h, don't disturb yourself!" exclaimed Smolin, with animation.
+"I hardly drink at all."
+
+"Really?" asked Mayakin.
+
+"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."
+
+"You mean ladies, I suppose?" asked the old man with a wink.
+
+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:
+
+"I mean the theatre, books, music."
+
+Lubov became radiant with joy at his words.
+
+The old man looked askance at the worthy young man, smiled keenly
+and suddenly blurted out:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+Instead of an answer Smolin burst into a rich, but indifferent
+and cold laughter, and then said:
+
+"Oh, don't say that."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+And he went out with bent back and drooping head, heavily
+scraping with his feet.
+
+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:
+
+"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!"
+
+Lubov shuddered, and, casting at the red-headed man a grateful
+look, said:
+
+"It isn't easy, but I have grown accustomed to it. He also has
+his good qualities."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Yes--slow! Yes--half speed!"
+
+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:
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"Yes, we are very much in arrears before the Lord!" remarked one
+of the peasants, heaving a deep sigh.
+
+"We must pray," whispered the peasant who lay on the bench, in a
+scarcely audible voice.
+
+"Can you scrape your sinful wretchedness off your soul with words
+of prayer?" exclaimed someone loudly, almost with despair in his
+voice.
+
+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:
+
+The pilgrim measured his audience with a serious and meditative
+glance of his blue eyes, and said softly:
+
+"Ephraim the Syrian said: 'Make thy soul the central point of thy
+thoughts and strengthen thyself with thy desire to be free from
+sin.
+
+And again he lowered his head, slowly fingering the beads of the
+rosary.
+
+"That means we must think," said one of the peasants; "but when
+has a man time to think during his life on earth?"
+
+"Confusion is all around us."
+
+"We must flee to the desert," said the peasant who lay on the
+bench.
+
+"Not everybody can afford it."
+
+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:
+
+"Eh, there! To the water-measuring poles."
+
+"0h Lord! 0h Queen of Heaven!"--a deep sigh was heard.
+
+And a dull, half-choked voice shouted:
+
+"Nine! nine!"
+
+Fragments of the fog burst forth upon the deck and floated over
+it like cold, gray smoke.
+
+"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, 0h God; let them fall by their
+own counsels.'"
+
+"Eight! seven!" Like moans these exclamations resounded in the
+distance.
+
+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.
+
+"Get off!" a loud, angry shout was heard. "It's my place!"
+
+"Yours?"
+
+"Here you have yours!"
+
+"I'll rap you on the jaw; then you'll find your place. What a
+lord!"
+
+"Get away!"
+
+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.
+
+"I'll give it to you, devils! Get away, both of you."
+
+"Take them away to the captain."
+
+"Ha! ha! ha! That's a fine settlement for you!"
+
+"That was a good rap he gave him on the neck!"
+
+"The sailors are a clever lot."
+
+"Eight! nine!" shouted the man with the measuring pole.
+
+"Yes, increase speed!" came the loud exclamation of the engineer.
+
+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.
+
+"Nine! eight!"
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+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:
+
+"Are you from Irgiz, father?"
+
+The pilgrim raised his head, turned his face toward Foma slowly
+and heavily, scrutinized him and said in a calm and gentle voice:
+
+"I was on the Irgiz, too."
+
+"Are you a native of that place?"
+
+"Are you now coming from there?"
+
+"No, I am coming from Saint Stephen."
+
+The conversation broke off. Foma lacked the courage to ask the
+pilgrim whether he was not Shchurov.
+
+"We'll be late on account of the fog," said some one.
+
+"How can we help being late!"
+
+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.
+
+"It seems to me that I've met you before somewhere, father," said
+he at length.
+
+The pilgrim replied, without looking at him:
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"I would like to speak to you," announced Foma, timidly, in a low
+voice.
+
+"Well, then, speak."
+
+"Come with me."
+
+"Whither?"
+
+"To my cabin."
+
+The pilgrim looked into Foma's face, and, after a moment's
+silence, assented:
+
+"Come."
+
+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.
+
+In the cabin he asked gently:
+
+"Would you perhaps eat something? Tell me. I will order it."
+
+"God forbid. What do you wish?"
+
+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.
+
+"What is your name, father?" asked Foma, noticing the expression
+of squeamishness on the pilgrim's face.
+
+"Miron."
+
+"Not Mikhail?"
+
+"Why Mikhail?" asked the pilgrim.
+
+"There was in our town the son of a certain merchant Shchurov, he
+also went off to the Irgiz. And his name was Mikhail."
+
+Foma spoke and fixedly looked at Father Miron; but the latter was
+as calm as a deaf-mute--
+
+"I never met such a man. I don't remember, I never met him," said
+he, thoughtfully. "So you wished to inquire about him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+"How terrible!" exclaimed Foma, shutting the window.
+
+"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."
+
+"Have inward fire within you, have light within your soul, and
+you shall see everything," said the pilgrim, sternly and
+instructively.
+
+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.
+
+The pilgrim's attitude gave birth to easy courage in Foma's
+breast, and he said:
+
+"Tell me, Father Miron, is it good to live, having full freedom,
+without work, without relatives, a wanderer, like yourself?"
+
+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:
+
+"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:
+
+'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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"That's right!" cried Foma. "That's just what I think. One can
+see better from the side!"
+
+And Miron, paying no attention to his words, spoke softly, as
+though of some great mystery, known only to him, the pilgrim:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Seven and a half. Seven!"
+
+"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."
+
+"You speak well," said Foma with a sigh.
+
+"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--"
+
+A prolonged shrill sound of the whistle drowned his voice. He
+listened, rose quickly from the lounge and said:
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Come to see me when you are in town," he asked the pilgrim, who
+was hastily turning the handle of the cabin door.
+
+"I will! I will come! Goodbye! Christ save you!"
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"I do! Why shouldn't I drink?"
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I have to go to the old man," said Foma, wrinkling his face.
+
+"Chance it!"
+
+"I don't feel like going. He'll start to lecture me."
+
+"Then don't go!"
+
+"But I must."
+
+"Then go!"
+
+"Why do you always play the buffoon? " said Foma, with
+displeasure, "as though you were indeed merry."
+
+"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! '"
+
+"Eh, the devil take you!" said Foma. "Good-bye. I am going."
+
+"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."
+
+Foma went away, leaving Yozhov singing at the top of his voice:
+
+"Beat the drum and fear not."
+
+"Drum? You are a drum yourself;" thought Foma, with irritation,
+as he slowly came out on the street.
+
+At the Mayakins he was met by Luba. Agitated and animated, she
+suddenly appeared before him, speaking quickly:
+
+"You? My God! How pale you are! How thin you've grown! It seems
+you have been leading a fine life."
+
+Then her face became distorted with alarm and she exclaimed
+almost in a whisper:
+
+"Ah, Foma. You don't know. Do you hear? Someone is ringing the
+bell. Perhaps it is he."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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:
+
+"Stand aside. Get out of the way."
+
+And his face assumed its usual expression.
+
+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:
+
+"How do you do, papa?"
+
+"How are you, Taras Yakovlich, how are you?" said the old man,
+bowing, smiling distractedly, and still clinging to the door
+posts.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"You have grown old, Taras."
+
+The son laughed in his father's face silently, and, with a swift
+glance, surveyed him from head to foot.
+
+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.
+
+"Well, let us kiss each other," suggested the father, softly.
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I remember everything," said Taras.
+
+"Oh! That's good, if you are not bragging. Well, are you
+married?"
+
+"I am a widower."
+
+"Have you any children?"
+
+"They died. I had two."
+
+"That's a pity. I would have had grandchildren."
+
+"May I smoke?" asked Taras.
+
+"Go ahead. Just look at him, you're smoking cigars."
+
+"Don't you like them?"
+
+"I? Come on, it's all the same to me. I say that it looks rather
+aristocratic to smoke cigars."
+
+"And why should we consider ourselves lower than the
+aristocrats?" said Taras, laughing.
+
+"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.
+
+Taras smiled in his father's face an affable and warm smile, and
+said to him thoughtfully:
+
+"That's the way I remember you--cheerful and lively. It looks as
+though you had not changed a bit during all these years."
+
+The old man straightened himself proudly, and, striking his
+breast with his fist, said:
+
+"I shall never change, because life has no power over him who
+knows his own value. Isn't that so?"
+
+"Oh! How proud you are!"
+
+"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."
+
+"That's because his father would not listen to him," Taras
+reminded him.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"I served under him for two years. And then I married his
+daughter," narrated Mayakin in a hoarse voice.
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"This is the third year."
+
+"So? And how did you chance upon the soda factory?"
+
+"That belongs to my father-in-law."
+
+"Aha! What is your salary?"
+
+"About five thousand."
+
+"Mm. That's not a stale crust. Yes, that's a galley slave for
+you!"
+
+Taras glanced at his father with a firm look and asked him drily:
+
+"By the way, what makes you think that I was a convict?"
+
+The old man glanced at his son with astonishment, which was
+quickly changed into joy:
+
+"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!"
+
+"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!"
+
+"So-o! But what does it mean?" muttered Yakov Tarasovich, with
+confusion and joy.
+
+"And here they circulated that absurd rumour."
+
+"That's right--it is absurd indeed!" said the old man,
+distressed.
+
+"And it did a pretty great deal of harm on a certain occasion."
+
+"Really? Is that possible?"
+
+"Yes. I was about to go into business for myself, and my credit
+was ruined on account of--"
+
+"Pshaw!" said Yakov Tarasovich, as he spat angrily. "Oh, devil!
+Come, come, is that possible?"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+And Yakov Tarasovich tapped Foma on the chest with his finger and
+said:
+
+"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, 0h
+Lord!'"
+
+The old man was trembling with the fever of his exultation, and
+fairly hopped as he stood before Foma.
+
+"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."
+
+He gave Foma a fleeting smile, and, taking his father by the arm,
+led him toward the table.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Nothing," said Foma, with a smile. "I want to ask you whether
+you are glad?"
+
+"Of course I am!" exclaimed Lubov.
+
+"And what about?"
+
+"That is, what do you mean?"
+
+"Just so. What about?"
+
+"You're queer!" said Lubov, looking at him with astonishment.
+"Can't you see?"
+
+"What?" asked Foma, sarcastically.
+
+"What's the trouble with you?" said Lubov, looking at him
+uneasily.
+
+"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.
+
+"You--you, Foma," she began, in a choking voice, and suddenly
+stamping her foot, she cried:
+
+"Don't you dare to speak to me!"
+
+On reaching the threshold of the room, she turned her angry face
+to him, and ejaculated in a low voice, emphatically:
+
+"Oh, you malicious man!"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"Who will look at me like that? There is not a soul to do it."
+
+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.
+
+"Your Honour!" a hoarse cry rang out near Foma's ears,
+"contribute some brandy in honour of the building!"
+
+Foma glanced at the petitioner indifferently; he was a huge,
+bearded fellow, barefooted, with a torn shirt and a bruised,
+swollen face.
+
+"Get away!" muttered Foma, and turned away from him.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"Is that the way to ask?" inquired Foma.
+
+"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.
+
+"There!" and Foma gave him a coin.
+
+"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.
+
+"Go, leave me alone!" said Foma, waving him off with his hand.
+
+"He who gives not when he may, when he fain would, shall have
+nay," said the barefooted man, and stepped aside.
+
+Foma looked at him as he departed, and said to himself:
+
+"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?"
+
+And heaving a deep sigh, he answered himself:
+
+"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?"
+
+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?
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"In the tavern sit great merchants
+Drinking liquors strong,"
+
+narrated the leader, in a bold recitative. The company joined in
+unison:
+
+"Oh, dubinushka, heave-ho!"
+
+And then the bassos smote the air with deep sounds:
+
+"It goes, it goes."
+
+And the tenors repeated:
+
+"It goes, it goes."
+
+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:
+
+"But for our peasant throats
+There is not enough vodka."
+
+And the company, like one huge pair of lungs, heaved forth loudly
+and in unison:
+
+"Oh, dubinushka, heave-ho!"
+
+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.
+
+"Quicker, boys, quicker!" rang out beside him someone's
+unpleasant, hoarse voice.
+
+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:
+
+"Bawl less and work faster."
+
+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.
+
+Foma cast at the man a hostile look and thought:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"But you came in for a sound drubbing all the same?" inquired the
+other sailor.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"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.
+
+"What are you yelling for?" Foma turned to him sternly, as he had
+started at the shout.
+
+"Is that any of your business?" asked the perspiring man, casting
+a glance at Foma.
+
+"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.
+
+"You--you had better keep your temper."
+
+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.
+
+"That sailor there, he tore himself away, and he's safe and
+sound! Yes, while I--"
+
+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:
+
+"What makes father bother himself about him?"
+
+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:
+
+"Ah! So it's you?"
+
+"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.
+
+"Are you going to the banquet?"
+
+"What banquet?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I was not invited," said Foma.
+
+"Nobody was invited. He simply announced on the Exchange:
+'Anybody who wishes to honour me is welcome!
+
+"I don't care for it."
+
+"Yes? But there will be a grand drinking bout," said Lubov,
+looking at him askance.
+
+"I can drink at my own expense if I choose to do so."
+
+"I know," said Lubov, nodding her head expressively.
+
+Taras toyed with his teaspoon, turning it between his fingers and
+looking at them askance.
+
+"And where's my godfather?" asked Foma.
+
+"He went to the bank. There's a meeting of the board of directors
+today. Election of officers is to take place.
+
+"They'll elect him again."
+
+"Of course."
+
+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:
+
+"Shall we return to the beginning of our conversation?"
+
+"If you please," assented Taras, shortly.
+
+"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?'"
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Well, and suppose everything is repulsive to a man?" asked Foma,
+suddenly, in a deep voice, casting a glance at Taras's face.
+
+"But what, in particular, is repulsive to the man?" asked
+Mayakin, calmly, without looking at Foma.
+
+Foma bent his head, leaned his arms against the table and thus,
+like a bull, went on to explain himself:
+
+"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?"
+
+"I cannot grasp your idea," announced Taras, when Foma paused,
+feeling on himself Lubov's contemptuous and angry look.
+
+"You do not understand?" asked Foma, looking at Taras with a
+smile. "Well, I'll put it in this way:
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+He became silent, and, tossing his head up, exclaimed in a heavy
+voice:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"No, thank you! I don't want any more."
+
+Foma broke off his speech abruptly, shrugged his shoulders and
+looked at Lubov with a smile.
+
+"Where have you picked up such philosophy?" she asked,
+suspiciously and drily.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+Then, as though suddenly recalling Foma, he turned to him,
+clasping his hands behind his back, and, wriggling his thigh,
+said:
+
+"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?"
+
+"No!" replied Foma, briefly.
+
+"Ah!"
+
+"I don't like them."
+
+"Aha! But they might nevertheless be of some help to you," said
+Taras, and a smile passed across his lips.
+
+"Books? Since men cannot help me in my thoughts books can
+certainly do nothing for me," ejaculated Foma, morosely.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Then go and tell Marfusha to make the bed for you in the corner
+room," Lubov hastened to advise him.
+
+"I shall."
+
+He arose and went out of the dining-room. And he soon heard that
+Taras asked his sister about something in a low voice.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"He's a clumsy fellow," said Taras.
+
+Then came Lubov's lowered and hasty speech:
+
+"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."
+
+"Ha-ha! How monstrous! And that same man busies himself with
+investigating as to the meaning of life."
+
+"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.'"
+
+"Really? That's clever!"
+
+"He's a terrible man! How many wild pranks he has perpetrated
+during these years! How much money he has squandered!"
+
+"And, tell me, on what conditions does father manage his affairs
+for him? Do you know?"
+
+"No, I don't. He has a full power of attorney. Why do you ask?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Foma does absolutely nothing. Everything is in father's hands."
+
+"Yes? That's fine."
+
+"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!"
+
+"It isn't even worthwhile to bother about it. The stripling and
+lazy bones seeks to justify his laziness."
+
+"No. You see, at times he is like a child. He was particularly so
+before."
+
+"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."
+
+"You are very harsh."
+
+"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."
+
+"Sometimes I feel very sorry for Foma. What will become of him?"
+
+"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."
+
+"That's true, sir!" said Foma, opening the door and appearing on
+the threshold.
+
+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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Foma! Oh! Shame! You have been eavesdropping. Oh, Foma!" said
+she in confusion.
+
+"Keep quiet, you lamb!" said Foma to her.
+
+"Yes, eavesdropping is wrong!" ejaculated Taras, slowly, without
+lifting from Foma his look of contempt.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Go away, Foma, please!" entreated Lubov, pressing close to her
+brother.
+
+"Perhaps you have something to say to me?" asked Taras, calmly.
+
+"I?" exclaimed Foma. "What can I say? I cannot say anything. It
+is you who--you, I believe, know everything."
+
+"You have nothing then to discuss with me?" asked Taras again.
+
+"I am very pleased."
+
+He turned sideways to Foma and inquired of Lubov:
+
+"What do you think--will father return soon?"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"Excuse me."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"Why are you tramping about?" Yozhov asked Foma, and, nodding at
+him, said to the man on the lounge: "Gordyeeff!"
+
+The man glanced at the newcomer and said in a harsh, shrill
+voice: "Krasnoshchokov."
+
+Foma seated himself on a corner of the lounge and said to Yozhov:
+
+"I have come to stay here over night."
+
+"Well? Go on, Vasily."
+
+The latter glanced at Foma askance and went on in a creaking
+voice:
+
+"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."
+
+"Vasily, you are talking nonsense!" said Yozhov, stretching his
+hand toward him.
+
+"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."
+
+"Wait a little!" said Yozhov.
+
+"I can't! I am on duty today. I am rather late as it is. I'll
+drop in tomorrow--may I?"
+
+"Come! I'll give a roasting!"
+
+"That's exactly your business."
+
+Vasily adjusted himself slowly, rose from the lounge, took
+Yozhov's yellow, thin little hand in his big, swarthy paw and
+pressed it.
+
+"Goodbye!"
+
+Then he nodded toward Foma and went through the door sideways.
+
+"Have you seen?" Yozhov asked Foma, pointing his hand at the
+door, behind which the heavy footsteps still resounded.
+
+"What sort of a man is he?"
+
+"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."
+
+"What for?" inquired Foma.
+
+"To study. To see how people live there, while you languish here-
+-what for?"
+
+"He spoke sensibly of the fools," said Foma, thoughtfully.
+
+"I don't know, for I am not a fool."
+
+"That was well said. The stupid man ought to act at once. Rush
+forward and overturn."
+
+"There, he's broken loose!" exclaimed Yozhov. "You better tell me
+whether it is true that Mayakin's son has returned?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why do you ask?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"I can see by your face that there is something."
+
+"We know all about his son; we've heard about him."
+
+"But I have seen him."
+
+"Well? What sort of man is he?"
+
+"The devil knows him! What have I to do with him?"
+
+"Is he like his father?"
+
+"He's stouter, plumper; there is more seriousness about him; he
+is so cold."
+
+"Which means that he will be even worse than Yashka. Well, now,
+my dear, be on your guard or they will suck you dry."
+
+"Well, let them do it!"
+
+"They'll rob you. You'll become a pauper. That Taras fleeced his
+father-in-law in Yekateringburg so cleverly."
+
+"Let him fleece me too, if he likes. I shall not say a word to
+him except 'thanks.'"
+
+"You are still singing that same old tune?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"To be set at liberty."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"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!"
+
+Yozhov jumped to his feet, and, stopping in front of Foma, began
+to speak in a loud voice, as though declaiming:
+
+"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:
+
+'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. 0, 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."'
+
+He stamped his feet with rage, and setting his teeth together
+stared at Foma with burning, angry looks, and resembled an
+infuriated wild beast.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"I will say to them, to those miserable idlers:
+
+'Look! Life goes onward, leaving you behind!"'
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"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,
+0h, 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:
+
+"'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!'"
+
+"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!"
+
+"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.
+
+"Oh, brother!" said Foma, lowering his voice, which thus sounded
+deeper, more persuasive. "Oh, living soul, why do you sink to
+ruin?"
+
+"Who? I? I sink? You lie!"
+
+"My dear boy! You will not say anything to anybody! There is no
+one to speak to! Who will listen to you? Only I!"
+
+"Go to the devil!" shouted Yozhov, angrily, jumping away from him
+as though he had been scorched.
+
+And Foma went toward him, and spoke convincingly, with intense
+sorrow:
+
+"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."
+
+"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 ahissing and shrill voice:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"So know it now!" she screamed, and behind the door, she said
+once more:
+
+"Tomorrow! What an outrage."
+
+"Devil!" whispered Yozhov, staring dully at the door.
+
+"Yes! what a woman! How strict!" said Foma, looking at him in
+amazement, as he seated himself on the lounge.
+
+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:
+
+"How it all happened! We had no time even to wink an eye, and,
+suddenly, such an outcome. Ah!"
+
+"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!"
+
+And he threatened Foma with his fist. Then he filled the glass
+with more brandy, and emptied it again.
+
+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.
+
+"0h devil!" whispered Yozhov, and gnashed his teeth.
+
+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:
+
+"Let's go to some hotel. It isn't late yet."
+
+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:
+
+"Dress yourself!"
+
+And seeing how clumsily and slowly he turned on the lounge,
+Yozhov shouted with anger and impatience:
+
+"Well, be quicker! You personification of stupidity. You
+symbolical cart-shaft."
+
+"Don't curse!" said Foma, with a peaceable smile. "Is it
+worthwhile to be angry because a woman has cackled?"
+
+Yozhov glanced at him, spat and burst into harsh laughter.
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+"ARE all here?" asked Ilya Yefimovich Kononov, standing on the
+bow of his new steamer, and surveying the crowd of guests with
+beaming eyes.
+
+"It seems to be all!"
+
+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:
+
+"Cast off, Petrukha!"
+
+"Yes, sir!"
+
+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:
+
+"Back!"
+
+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.
+
+Give us Thy blessing, 0h Lord!" exclaimed Kononov with emotion.
+
+"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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Half speed!"
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+And, without waiting for an answer from his guests, he placed his
+fist to his mouth, and shouted:
+
+"Musicians! Play 'Be Glorious!'"
+
+The military orchestra, behind the engine, thundered out the
+march.
+
+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:
+
+"Be glorious, be glorious, our Russian Czar--tra-rata! Boom!"
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+"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!"
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I'll see then!" Foma had answered.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Impostors!" thought he, thus encouraging himself.
+
+And they coughed gently, sighed, crossed themselves, bowed, and,
+surrounding the clergy in a thick wall, stood immovable and firm,
+like big, black rocks.
+
+"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:
+
+"0h Lord! Do not convict me in Thy wrath, nor chastise me in Thy
+indignation."
+
+And Foma felt that that man was addressing the Lord with the most
+profound and firm faith in His mercy.
+
+"0h 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."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+And Zubov said to his neighbour, Mayakin:
+
+"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?"
+
+"I am not much of a wine fiend. Pour me out some cumin vodka,"
+replied Yakov Tarasovich.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Musicians! strike up 'The Persian March!"
+
+"Hold on! Better 'How Glorious!'"
+
+"Strike up 'How Glorious."'
+
+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.
+
+"I shall never forget, even unto my grave, that you refused to
+discount the note for me," cried some one in a fierce voice.
+
+"That will do! Is this a place for accounts?" rang out Bobrov's
+bass.
+
+"Brethren! Let us have some speeches!"
+
+"Musicians, bush!"
+
+"Come up to the bank and I'll explain to you why I didn't
+discount it."
+
+"A speech! Silence!"
+
+"Musicians, cease playing!"
+
+"Strike up 'In the Meadows.'"
+
+"Madame Angot!"
+
+"No! Yakov Tarasovich, we beg of you!"
+
+"That's called Strassburg pastry."
+
+"We beg of you! We beg of you!"
+
+"Pastry? It doesn't look like it, but I'll taste it all the
+same."
+
+"Tarasovich! Start."
+
+"Brethren! It is jolly! By God."
+
+"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.
+
+"Look out! Jacob cheated Esau? Aha!"
+
+"I can't! My tongue is not a hammer, and I am no longer young.
+
+"Yasha! We all implore you!"
+
+"Do us the honour!"
+
+"We'll elect you mayor!"
+
+"Tarasovich! don't be capricious!"
+
+"Sh! Silence! Gentlemen! Yakov Tarasovich will say a few words!"
+
+"Sh!"
+
+And just at the moment the noise subsided some one's loud,
+indignant whisper was heard:
+
+"How she pinched me, the carrion."
+
+And Bobrov inquired in his deep basso:
+
+"Where did she pinch you?"
+
+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.
+
+"Well, brethren, open your ears!" shouted Kononov, with
+satisfaction.
+
+"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."
+
+"So, that's where he is aiming to!" some ones satisfied
+exclamation was heard.
+
+"Sh! Silence!"
+
+"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:
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Yakov! you are the trumpet of the Lord!" cried Zubov, holding
+out his goblet toward Mayakin.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Yakov Tarasovich! Come, let me embrace you!"
+
+"Let's toss, Mayakin!
+
+"Strike up the band."
+
+"Sound a flourish! A march. 'The Persian March."'
+
+"We don't want any music! The devil take it!"
+
+"Here is the music! Eh, Yakov Tarasovich! What a mind!"
+
+"I was small among my brethren, but I was favoured with
+understanding."
+
+"You lie, Trofim!"
+
+"Yakov! you'll die soon. Oh, what a pity! Words can't express how
+sorry we are!"
+
+"But what a funeral that is going to be!"
+
+"Gentlemen! Let us establish a Mayakin fund! I put up a
+thousand!"
+
+"Silence! Hold on!"
+
+"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!'
+
+"Corr-rect!"
+
+"That's right! Dear mother! That's an old man for you!"
+
+"Hold on! Let him finish."
+
+"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."
+
+"As true as two and two make four!"
+
+"It's so simple."
+
+"He is as wise as a serpent!"
+
+"And as meek as a--"
+
+"As a hawk. Ha, ha, ha!"
+
+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:
+
+"The kamarinsky. The national dance!"
+
+"We have accomplished all that!" cried Yakov Tarasovich, pointing
+at the river. "It is all ours! We have built up life!"
+
+Suddenly rang out a loud exclamation which drowned all sounds:
+
+"Ah! So you have done it? Ah, you."
+
+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.
+
+"Who's snarling there?" asked Kononov with a frown.
+
+"We can't get along without scandals!" said Reznikov, with a
+contrite sigh.
+
+"Who was swearing here at random?"
+
+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.
+
+"Gordyeeff" said Yona Yushkov, softly.
+
+And all heads were turned toward the direction in which Yakov
+Tarasovich was staring.
+
+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.
+
+"What are you gaping at?" asked Foma, and again accompanied his
+question with a violent oath.
+
+"He's drunk!" said Bobrov, with a shake of the head.
+
+"And why was he invited?" whispered Reznikov, softly.
+
+"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--"
+
+"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?"
+
+"But wait awhile, my boy. Who invited you here?" asked Kononov,
+reddening with offence.
+
+"I brought him!" rang out Mayakin's voice.
+
+"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."
+
+Foma maintained silence and smiled. And the merchants, too, were
+silent, as they looked at him.
+
+"Eh, Fomka!" began Mayakin. "Again you disgrace my old age."
+
+"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."
+
+"What--speeches?" said Reznikov. "Why have any discourses? We
+have come together to enjoy ourselves."
+
+"Come, you had better drop that, Foma Ignatyevich."
+
+"Better drink something."
+
+"Let's have a drink! Ah, Foma, you're the son of a fine father!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+He shook his head, and, raising his shoulders, announced calmly:
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Well, it has been said here that you have built up life, and
+that you have done the most genuine and proper things."
+
+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:
+
+"What is he talking about? Ah! From a paper, or by heart?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Gordyeeff!" cried Bobrov. "Look out, you speak improper words."
+
+"For such words you'll get--oi, oi, oi! " said Zubov,
+insinuatingly.
+
+"Silence!" roared Foma, with blood-shot eyes. "Now they're
+grunting."
+
+"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."
+
+"Well, no, I humbly thank you! "cried Yushkov. And close at
+Foma's side stood Smolin and whispered in his ear:
+
+"Stop, my dear boy! What's the matter with you? Are you out of
+your wits? They'll do you--!"
+
+"Get away!" said Foma, firmly, flashing his angry eyes at him.
+"You go to Mayakin and flatter him, perhaps something will come
+your way!"
+
+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.
+
+"You have built up life!" he shouted. "Who are you?
+Swindlers, robbers."
+
+A few men turned toward Foma, as if he had called them.
+
+"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."
+
+Kononov sank into a chair; his blood leaped to his face, and he
+shook his fist in silence. Foma said hoarsely:
+
+"Very well. Good. I shall not forget it."
+
+Foma saw his distorted face with its trembling lips, and
+understood with what weapons he could deal these men the most
+forcible blows.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"That's well aimed!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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:
+
+"Bind him!"
+
+Foma was laughing.
+
+"You cannot bind the truth, you can't do it! Even bound, truth
+will not grow dumb!"
+
+"Go-o-od!" drawled out Kononov in a dull, broken voice.
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"Give it to them. God bless you. Go ahead! That will be to
+your credit."
+
+"Robustov!" cried Foma. "What are you laughing at? What makes you
+glad? You will also go to the galleys."
+
+"Put him ashore!" suddenly roared Robustov, springing to his
+feet.
+
+And Kononov shouted to the captain:
+
+"Back! To the town! To the Governor."
+
+And someone insinuatingly, in a voice trembling with feeling:
+
+"That's a collusive agreement. That was done on purpose. He was
+instigated, and made drunk to give him courage."
+
+"No, it's a revolt!"
+
+"Bind him! Just bind him!"
+
+Foma grasped a champagne bottle and swung it in the air.
+
+"Come on now! No, it seems that you will have to listen to me."
+
+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:
+
+"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--"
+
+He was hissed, and Zubov even jostled him on the shoulder. He
+made a low bow and disappeared in the crowd.
+
+"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?"
+
+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:
+
+"Ah! You turn against me also? Against me, too?
+
+And suddenly he puffed up his cheeks and furiously began to shake
+his fist at Foma, as he screamed in a shrill voice:
+
+"The fool says in his heart there is no God! I'll go to the
+bishop! Infidel! You'll get the galleys!"
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Against one puppy," screamed Zubov.
+
+A crowd had gathered around Yakov Tarasovitch Mayakin, and
+listened to his quiet speech with anger, and nodded their heads
+affirmatively.
+
+"Act, Yakov!" said Robustov, loudly. "We are all witnesses. Go
+ahead!"
+
+And above the general tumult of voices rang out Foma's loud,
+accusing voice:
+
+"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!"
+
+Foma burst into ringing laughter, and, holding his sides,
+staggered, tossing his head up high.
+
+At that moment several men quickly exchanged glances,
+simultaneously rushed on Foma and downed him with their weight. A
+racket ensued.
+
+"Now you're caught!" ejaculated some one in a suffocating voice.
+
+"Ah! Is that the way you're doing it?" cried Foma, hoarsely.
+
+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:
+
+"Throw him to the ground!"
+
+"Hold his hand, his hand! Oh!"
+
+"By the beard?"
+
+"Get napkins, bind him with napkins."
+
+"You'll bite, will you?"
+
+"So! Well, how's it? Aha!"
+
+"Don't strike! Don't dare to strike."
+
+"Ready!"
+
+"How strong he is!"
+
+"Let's carry him over there toward the side."
+
+"Out in the fresh air, ha, ha!"
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Well, thunder-like prophet, how is it? Now you can taste the
+sweetness of Babylonian captivity, he, he, he!"
+
+"Wait," said Foma, hoarsely, without looking at him. "Wait until
+I'm rested. You have not tied up my tongue."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"What have I done?" Foma tried to understand. The merchants stood
+around him in a dense, dark mass.
+
+"Well," said Yashchurov, "now, Fomka, your work is done."
+
+"Wait, we'll see," bellowed Zubov in a low voice.
+
+"Let me free!" said Foma.
+
+"Well, no! we thank you humbly!"
+
+"Untie me."
+
+"It's all right! You can lie that way as well."
+
+"Call up my godfather."
+
+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.
+
+"Well, Foma," he began.
+
+"Order them to unbind me," entreated Foma, softly, in a mournful
+voice.
+
+"So you can be turbulent again? No, no, you'd better lie this
+way," his godfather replied.
+
+"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."
+
+"You swear that you'll not be troublesome?" asked Mayakin.
+
+"0h Lord! I will not, I will not," moaned Foma.
+
+They untied his feet, but left his hands bound. When he rose, he
+looked at them all, and said softly with a pitiful smile:
+
+"You won."
+
+"We always shall!" replied his godfather, smiling sternly.
+
+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:
+
+"You must endure it."
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"Some more!"
+
+"That's enough!" replied Mayakin.
+
+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.
+
+"Well, Fomka, do you understand now what you have done?" asked
+Mayakin. He spoke softly, but all heard his question.
+
+Foma nodded his head and maintained silence.
+
+"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."
+
+Foma lifted his head and said pensively:
+
+"I have quite forgotten about you, godfather. You have not heard
+anything from me."
+
+"There you have it!" exclaimed Mayakin, bitterly, pointing at his
+godson. "You see?"
+
+A dull grumble of protest burst forth.
+
+"Well, it's all the same!" resumed Foma with a sigh. "It's all
+the same! Nothing--no good came out of it anyway."
+
+And again he bent over the table.
+
+"What did you want?" asked Mayakin, sternly.
+
+"What I wanted?" Foma raised his head, looked at the merchants
+and smiled. "I wanted--"
+
+"Drunkard! Nasty scamp!"
+
+"I am not drunk!" retorted Foma, morosely. "I have drank only two
+glasses. I was perfectly sober."
+
+"Consequently," said Bobrov, "you are right, Yakov Tarasovich, he
+is insane."
+
+"I?" exclaimed Foma.
+
+But they paid no attention to him. Reznikov, Zubov and Bobrov
+leaned over to Mayakin and began to talk in low tones.
+
+"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."
+
+He was again seized with emotion, and he suddenly jerked his
+hands in an effort to free them.
+
+"Eh! Hold on!" exclaimed Bobrov, seizing him by the shoulders.
+"Hold him."
+
+"Well, hold me!" said Foma with sadness and bitterness. "Hold me-
+-what do you need me for?"
+
+"Sit still!" cried his godfather, sternly.
+
+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:
+
+"I wanted to speak the truth. Is this life?"
+
+"Fool!" said Mayakin, contemptuously. "What truth can you speak?
+What do you understand?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"He is repenting!" said Reznikov, with a sarcastic smile.
+
+"Let him!" replied Bobrov, with contempt.
+
+Some one added:
+
+"It is evident, from his words, that he is out of his wits."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Lamb!" said Mayakin.
+
+"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? 0 Lord!"
+
+All listened attentively to his words, and in that attention
+there was something prejudiced, something malicious.
+
+"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."
+
+He talked monotonously, colourlessly, and his speech resembled
+that of one in delirium.
+
+"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."
+
+Yakov Tarasovich burst into bitter laughter.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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!"
+
+He moved about in his chair, attempting to free his hands, and
+cried out, flashing his eyes with fury:
+
+"Unbind my hands!"
+
+They came closer to him; the faces of the merchants became more
+severe, and Reznikov said to him impressively:
+
+"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."
+
+"So!" exclaimed Foma. "So you are going to put me into an insane
+asylum?"
+
+No one replied. He looked at their faces and hung his head.
+
+"Behave peacefully! We'll unbind you!" said someone.
+
+"It's not necessary!" said Foma in a low voice. "It's all the
+same. I spit on it! Nothing will happen."
+
+And his speech again assumed the nature of a delirium.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Shall we perhaps unbind him?" whispered Bobrov.
+
+"When we get a little nearer."
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+Mayakin rose from his seat and went to the cabin, saying softly:
+
+"Keep an eye on him, he might fling himself overboard."
+
+"I am sorry for the fellow," said Bobrov, looking at Yakov
+Tarasovich as he departed.
+
+"No one is to blame for his madness," replied Reznikov, morosely.
+
+"And Yakov," whispered Zubov, nodding his head in the direction
+of Mayakin.
+
+"What about Yakov? He loses nothing through it."
+
+"Yes, now he'll, ha, ha!"
+
+"He'll be his guardian, ha, ha, ha!"
+
+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.
+
+"His son has returned," whispered Bobrov.
+
+"I know his son," said Yashchurov. "I met him in Perm."
+
+"What sort of a man is he?"
+
+"A business-like, clever fellow."
+
+"Is that so?"
+
+"He manages a big business in Oosolye."
+
+"Consequently Yakov does not need this one. Yes. So that's it."
+
+"Look, he's weeping!"
+
+"Oh?"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+..  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
+
+Three years have passed.
+
+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:
+
+"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! 0h 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."
+
+He died after a short but very painful agony.
+
+Yozhov was for some reason or other banished from the town soon
+after the occurrence on the steamer.
+
+A great commercial house sprang up in the town under the firm-
+name of "Taras Mayakin & African Smolin."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Eh, you prophet, come here!"
+
+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:
+
+"Well, tell us something about doomsday, won't you? Ha, ha, ha!
+Prophet!"
+
+
+
+
+
+Project Gutenberg Etext of Foma Gordeev/Gordyeeff, by Maxim Gorky
+
diff --git a/old/fomag10.zip b/old/fomag10.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0c490d2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/fomag10.zip