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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Foma Gordyeff, by Maxim Gorky
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Foma Gordyeff
+       (The Man Who Was Afraid)
+
+Author: Maxim Gorky
+
+Translator: Herman Bernstein
+
+Posting Date: December 13, 2008 [EBook #2709]
+Release Date: July, 2001
+Last Updated: November 7, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOMA GORDYEFF ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Martin Adamson
+
+
+
+
+
+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:
+
+“Oh God, Almighty Lord, who cureth every disease, cure also Thy servant
+Natalya, who has just given birth to a child; and restore her from the
+bed on which she now lies, for in the words of David, ‘We indulge in
+lawlessness and are wicked in Thine eyes.”’
+
+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: ‘Oh 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, ‘Oh Lord! Oh 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. Oh 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 sitting. He sat in the corner on a lounge, which was
+covered with oilcloth--and waited. On the table before him were a few
+bottles of vodka and beer, and plates with bread and dessert. He
+covered the windows and did not light the lamp; the faint light from
+the bonfire, penetrating through the curtains, fell on the table, on
+the bottles and on the wall, and trembled, now growing brighter, now
+fainter. It was quiet on the steamer and on the barges, only from
+the shore came indistinct sounds of conversation, and the river was
+splashing, scarcely audible, against the sides of the steamer. It seemed
+to Foma that somebody was hiding in the dark near by, listening to him
+and spying upon him. Now somebody is walking over the gang-plank of the
+barges with quick and heavy steps--the gang-plank strikes against the
+water clangously and angrily. Foma hears the muffled laughter of the
+captain and his lowered voice. Yefim stands by the cabin door and
+speaks softly, but somewhat reprimandingly, as though instructing. Foma
+suddenly felt like crying out:
+
+“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:
+
+“Oh 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? Oh 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. Oh Lord, have pity upon me through Thy great mercy.” And
+heaving a penitent sigh, he would lift heavenward his stern eyes, grown
+dim now, devoid of their bright, sparkling glitter.
+
+“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.
+
+“Oh Lord, Jesus Christ!” said he in a low voice, making the sign of the
+cross. “Yes. There it is--the last hour of my life.”
+
+“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. Oh 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.
+Oh 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! Oh 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, O--O--O! 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! Oh
+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. Oh 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! Oh Lord! I
+was ashamed to look upon them, and as I am telling you, she would say a
+few words, and everything would become clear to me. For I did not come
+to her with love alone--I came to her with all my soul! I sought--I
+thought that since she was so beautiful, consequently, I might become a
+man by her side!”
+
+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.
+
+“Oh 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: “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 can
+     And 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. Oh 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.”
+
+“I 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 tone from
+the bottom of the river. He wished that they might not succeed, that
+they might feel embarrassed in his presence, and a wicked thought
+flashed through his mind:
+
+“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,”
+ 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.”
+
+“Oh Lord!” Foma nodded his head. “It is hard for one to make himself
+understood. Yes, it is hard!” And irritated, he almost cried out: “What
+business? I have no yearning toward business! What is business? Business
+is merely a name--and if you should look into the depth, into the root
+of it--you’ll find it is nothing but absurdity! Do I not understand it?
+I understand everything, I see everything, I feel everything! Only my
+tongue is dumb. What aim is there in business? Money? I have plenty
+of it! I could choke you to death with it, cover you with it. All this
+business is nothing but fraud. I meet business people--well, and what
+about them? Their greediness is immense, and yet they purposely
+whirl about in business that they might not see themselves. They hide
+themselves, the devils. Try to free them from this bustle--what will
+happen? Like blind men they will grope about hither and thither; they’ll
+lose their mind--they’ll go mad! I know it! Do you think that business
+brings happiness into man? No, that’s not so--something else is missing
+here. This is not everything yet! The river flows that men may sail on
+it; the tree grows--to be useful; the dog--to guard the house. There is
+justification for everything in the world! And men, like cockroaches,
+are altogether superfluous on earth. Everything is for them, and
+they--what are they for? Aha! Wherein is their justification? Ha, ha,
+ha!”
+
+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. O 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 in everything!”
+
+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. Oh Lord! What shall I do? Oh, alone!
+Am I not wise? Am I not clever? But life has outwitted me also. What
+does it love? Whom does it fondle? It beats the good, and suffers not
+the bad to go unpunished, and no one understands life’s justice.”
+
+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--Oh people! You merit reward and
+respect! You’ve arranged life cleverly. Everything is good, everything
+is pleasant. Only you, our successors, you are devoid of all live
+feelings! Any little charlatan from among the commoners is cleverer than
+you! Take that Yozhov, for instance, what is he? And yet he represents
+himself as judge over us, and even over life itself--he has courage. But
+you, pshaw! You live like beggars! In your joy you are beasts, in your
+misfortune vermin! You are rotten! They ought to inject fire into your
+veins, they ought to take your skin off and strew salt upon your raw
+flesh, then you would have jumped!”
+
+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:
+
+“Oh 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.
+
+“Oh Lord Jesus Christ!” thought he, sadly gazing at the sky. “What a
+failure I am. There is nothing in me. God has put nothing into me. Of
+what use am I? Oh Lord Jesus!”
+
+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:
+
+“Oh Lord Jesus Christ! Other people do not understand anything either,
+but they think that all is known to them, and therefore it is easier for
+them to live. While I--I have no justification. Here it is night, and I
+am alone, I have no place to go, I am unable to say anything to anybody.
+I love no one--only my godfather, and he is soulless. If Thou hadst but
+punished him somehow! He thinks there is none cleverer and better on
+earth than himself. While Thou sufferest it. And the same with me. If
+some misfortune were but sent to me. If some illness were to overtake
+me. But here I am as strong as iron. I am drinking, leading a gay life.
+I live in filth, but the body does not even rust, and only my soul
+aches. Oh Lord! To what purpose is such a life?”
+
+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.
+
+“Oh Lord, Oh Lord!” thought Foma, painfully and bitterly, feeling that
+grief was oppressing his heart with ever greater power. “Here I am,
+alone, even as that fire. Only no light comes from me, nothing but fumes
+and smoke. If I could only meet a wise man! Someone to speak to. It is
+utterly impossible for me to live alone. I cannot do anything. I wish I
+might meet a man.”
+
+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.”
+
+“Oh 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 I am a clown in the employ of society. Fame pursues me
+here in town, dear. I walk along the street and I hear one driver say to
+another: ‘There goes Yozhov! How cleverly he barks, the deuce take him!’
+Yes! Even this cannot be so easily attained.”
+
+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. Oh devil! I myself and many others
+with me, we have all robbed ourselves for the sake of saving up
+something for life. Just think of it: desiring to make of myself a
+valuable man, I have underrated my individuality in every way possible.
+In order to study, and not die of starvation, I have for six years in
+succession taught blockheads how to read and write, and had to bear
+a mass of abominations at the hands of various papas and mammas, who
+humiliated me without any constraint. Earning my bread and tea, I
+could not, I had not the time to earn my shoes, and I had to turn to
+charitable institutions with humble petitions for loans on the strength
+of my poverty. If the philanthropists could only reckon up how much of
+the spirit they kill in man while supporting the life of his body! If
+they only knew that each rouble they give for bread contains ninety-nine
+copecks’ worth of poison for the soul! If they could only burst from
+excess of their kindness and pride, which they draw from their holy
+activity! There is none on earth more disgusting and repulsive than he
+who gives alms, even as there is none more miserable than he who accepts
+it!”
+
+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
+love, with his back to the fire, and he saw before him a row of brightly
+illuminated, cheerful and simple faces. They were all excited from
+drinking, but were not yet intoxicated; they laughed, jested, tried to
+sing, drank, and ate cucumbers, white bread and sausages. All this had
+for Foma a particularly pleasant flavour; he grew bolder, seized by
+the general good feeling, and he longed to say something good to these
+people, to please them all in some way or other. Yozhov, sitting by
+his side, moved about on the ground, jostled him with his shoulder and,
+shaking his head, muttered something indistinctly.
+
+“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, Oh 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!”
+
+“Oh, 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, Oh 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? Oh 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, Oh 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! Oh Lord! If he were only a kind man! Make him kind, sincere. Oh
+Lord! A strange man comes, examines you, and takes you unto himself
+for years, if you please him! How disgraceful that is, how terrible. Oh
+Lord, my God! If I could only run away! If I only had someone to advise
+me what to do! Who is he? How can I learn to know him? I cannot do
+anything! And I have thought, ah, how much I have thought! I have read.
+To what purpose have I read? Why should I know that it is possible to
+live otherwise, so as I cannot live? And it may be that were it not for
+the books my life would be easier, simpler. How painful all this is!
+What a wretched, unfortunate being I am! Alone. If Taras at least were
+here.”
+
+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.
+
+“Oh!” 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.
+
+“Oh, 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.”
+
+“Oh Lord! Oh 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, Oh 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, Oh 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. O, you nits! How dearly your country
+has paid for you! What are you doing for its sake in return? Have you
+transformed the tears of the past into pearls? What have you contributed
+toward life? What have you accomplished? You have permitted yourselves
+to be conquered? What are you doing? You permit yourselves to be
+mocked.’”
+
+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, Oh, I am not a
+nightingale! Compared with them I am an ignorant man, I am only a
+feuilleton-writer, a man to amuse the public. Let them cry and silence
+me, let them do it! A blow will fall on my cheek, but the heart will
+nevertheless keep on throbbing! And I will say to them:
+
+“‘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 a hissing 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.
+
+“Oh 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, Oh 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:
+
+“Oh 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.
+
+“Oh Lord, God of our fathers, who hadst commanded Noah, Thy servant, to
+build an ark for the preservation of the world,” said the priest in his
+deep bass voice, lifting his eyes and outstretching his hands skyward,
+“protect also this vessel and give unto it a guarding angel of good and
+peace. Guard those that will sail upon it.”
+
+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.
+
+“Oh 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? O 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! Oh Lord! I am glad that I have lived with
+understanding through Thy mercy! Farewell, my children. Live in harmony,
+and don’t philosophize too much. Know this, not he is holy who hides
+himself from sin and lies calm. With cowardice you cannot defend
+yourself against sin, thus also says the parable of the talents. But he
+who wants to attain his goal in life fears not sin. God will pardon
+him an error. God has appointed man as the builder of life, but has not
+endowed him with too much wisdom. Consequently, He will not call in his
+outstanding debts severely. For He is holy and most merciful.”
+
+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!”
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Foma Gordyeff, by Maxim Gorky
+
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+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      Foma Gordyeff, by Maxim Gorky
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
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+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
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+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Foma Gordyeff, by Maxim Gorky
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Foma Gordyeff
+       (The Man Who Was Afraid)
+
+Author: Maxim Gorky
+
+Translator: Herman Bernstein
+
+Release Date: December 13, 2008 [EBook #2709]
+Last Updated: November 7, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOMA GORDYEFF ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Martin Adamson, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      FOMA GORDYEFF
+    </h1>
+    <h2>
+      (The Man Who Was Afraid)
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Maxim Gorky
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      Translated by Herman Bernstein
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      Contents
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> INTRODUCTORY NOTE. </a>
+          </p>
+          <br />
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>FOMA GORDYEEF</b> </a>
+          </p>
+          <br />
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      OUT of the darkest depths of life, where vice and crime and misery abound,
+      comes the Byron of the twentieth century, the poet of the vagabond and the
+      proletariat, Maxim Gorky. Not like the beggar, humbly imploring for a
+      crust in the name of the Lord, nor like the jeweller displaying his
+      precious stones to dazzle and tempt the eye, he comes to the world,&mdash;nay,
+      in accents of Tyrtaeus this commoner of Nizhni Novgorod spurs on his
+      troops of freedom-loving heroes to conquer, as it were, the placid,
+      self-satisfied literatures of to-day, and bring new life to pale,
+      bloodless frames.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like Byron&rsquo;s impassioned utterances, &ldquo;borne on the tones of a wild and
+      quite artless melody,&rdquo; is Gorky&rsquo;s mad, unbridled, powerful voice, as he
+      sings of the &ldquo;madness of the brave,&rdquo; of the barefooted dreamers, who are
+      proud of their idleness, who possess nothing and fear nothing, who are gay
+      in their misery, though miserable in their joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gorky&rsquo;s voice is not the calm, cultivated, well-balanced voice of Chekhov,
+      the Russian De Maupassant, nor even the apostolic, well-meaning, but
+      comparatively faint voice of Tolstoy, the preacher: it is the roaring of a
+      lion, the crash of thunder. In its elementary power is the heart rending
+      cry of a sincere but suffering soul that saw the brutality of life in all
+      its horrors, and now flings its experiences into the face of the world
+      with unequalled sympathy and the courage of a giant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For Gorky, above all, has courage; he dares to say that he finds the
+      vagabond, the outcast of society, more sublime and significant than
+      society itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His Bosyak, the symbolic incarnation of the Over-man, is as naive and as
+      bold as a child&mdash;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,&mdash;in these he sees
+      something beautiful, something powerful, something monumental, and is
+      carried away by their strange psychology. For the barefooted dreamer&rsquo;s
+      life is Gorky&rsquo;s life, his ideals are Gorky&rsquo;s ideals, his pleasures and
+      pains, Gorky&rsquo;s pleasures and pains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Gorky, though broken in health now, buffeted by the storms of fate,
+      bruised and wounded in the battle-field of life, still like Byron and like
+      Lermontov,
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;&mdash;seeks the storm
+     As though the storm contained repose.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      And in a leonine voice he cries defiantly:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;Let the storm rage with greater force and fury!&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      HERMAN BERNSTEIN.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      September 20, 1901.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h1>
+      FOMA GORDYEEF
+    </h1>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+                               Dedicated to
+
+                               ANTON P. CHEKHOV
+
+                               By
+
+                               Maxim Gorky
+                          </pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      ABOUT sixty years ago, when fortunes of millions had been made on the
+      Volga with fairy-tale rapidity, Ignat Gordyeeff, a young fellow, was
+      working as water-pumper on one of the barges of the wealthy merchant
+      Zayev.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Built like a giant, handsome and not at all stupid, he was one of those
+      people whom luck always follows everywhere&mdash;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&mdash;they
+      are just as healthy and strong under its sway as when they lived without
+      conscience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the age of forty Ignat Gordyeeff was himself the owner of three
+      steamers and ten barges. On the Volga he was respected as a rich and
+      clever man, but was nicknamed &ldquo;Frantic,&rdquo; 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&mdash;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&rsquo;s body.
+      One of them, the mightiest, was only greedy, and when Ignat lived
+      according to its commands, he was merely a man seized with untamable
+      passion for work. This passion burned in him by day and by night, he was
+      completely absorbed by it, and, grabbing everywhere hundreds and thousands
+      of roubles, it seemed as if he could never have enough of the jingle and
+      sound of money. He worked about up and down the Volga, building and
+      fastening nets in which he caught gold: he bought up grain in the
+      villages, floated it to Rybinsk on his barges; he plundered, cheated,
+      sometimes not noticing it, sometimes noticing, and, triumphant, be openly
+      laughed at by his victims; and in the senselessness of his thirst for
+      money, he rose to the heights of poetry. But, giving up so much strength
+      to this hunt after the rouble, he was not greedy in the narrow sense, and
+      sometimes he even betrayed an inconceivable but sincere indifference to
+      his property. Once, when the ice was drifting down the Volga, he stood on
+      the shore, and, seeing that the ice was breaking his new barge, having
+      crushed it against the bluff shore, he ejaculated:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s it. Again. Crush it! Now, once more! Try!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Ignat,&rdquo; asked his friend Mayakin, coming up to him, &ldquo;the ice is
+      crushing about ten thousand out of your purse, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s nothing! I&rsquo;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 &lsquo;Boyarinya!&rsquo; She floated but once. Well,
+      we&rsquo;ll have mass said for the dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The barge was crushed into splinters. Ignat and the godfather, sitting in
+      the tavern on the shore, drank vodka and looked out of the window,
+      watching the fragments of the &ldquo;Boyarinya&rdquo; drifting down the river together
+      with the ice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you sorry for the vessel, Ignat?&rdquo; asked Mayakin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nevertheless.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&mdash;nevertheless? It is good at least that I saw how it was all
+      done. It&rsquo;s a lesson for the future. But when my &lsquo;Volgar&rsquo; was burned&mdash;I
+      was really sorry&mdash;I didn&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weren&rsquo;t you sorry for that either?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For the steamer? It is true, I did feel sorry for the steamer. But then
+      it is mere foolishness to feel sorry! What&rsquo;s the use? I might have cried;
+      tears cannot extinguish fire. Let the steamers burn. And even though
+      everything be burned down, I&rsquo;d spit upon it! If the soul is but burning to
+      work, everything will be erected anew. Isn&rsquo;t it so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mayakin, smiling. &ldquo;These are strong words you say. And whoever
+      speaks that way, even though he loses all, will nevertheless be rich.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Regarding losses of thousands of roubles so philosophically, Ignat knew
+      the value of every kopeika; he gave to the poor very seldom, and only to
+      those that were altogether unable to work. When a more or less healthy man
+      asked him for alms, Ignat would say, sternly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get away! You can work yet. Go to my dvornik and help him to remove the
+      dung. I&rsquo;ll pay you for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Whenever he had been carried away by his work he regarded people morosely
+      and piteously, nor did he give himself rest while hunting for roubles. And
+      suddenly&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;in anything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It happened one day that a degraded priest, a short, stout little
+      bald-headed man in a torn cassock, chanced on Ignat, and stuck to him,
+      just as a piece of mud will stick to a shoe. An impersonal, deformed and
+      nasty creature, he played the part of a buffoon: they smeared his bald
+      head with mustard, made him go upon all-fours, drink mixtures of different
+      brandies and dance comical dances; he did all this in silence, an idiotic
+      smile on his wrinkled face, and having done what he was told to do, he
+      invariably said, outstretching his hand with his palm upward:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me a rouble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They laughed at him and sometimes gave him twenty kopeiks, sometimes gave
+      him nothing, but it sometimes happened that they threw him a ten-rouble
+      bill and even more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You abominable fellow,&rdquo; cried Ignat to him one day. &ldquo;Say, who are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The priest was frightened by the call, and bowing low to Ignat, was
+      silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who? Speak!&rdquo; roared Ignat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a man&mdash;to be abused,&rdquo; answered the priest, and the company
+      burst out laughing at his words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you a rascal?&rdquo; asked Ignat, sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A rascal? Because of need and the weakness of my soul?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come here!&rdquo; Ignat called him. &ldquo;Come and sit down by my side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Trembling with fear, the priest walked up to the intoxicated merchant with
+      timid steps and remained standing opposite him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down beside me!&rdquo; said Ignat, taking the frightened priest by the hand
+      and seating him next to himself. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand,&rdquo; said the priest, softly. All the company were giggling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know now what I am?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, say, &lsquo;You are a rascal, Ignat!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The priest could not do it. He looked with terror at the huge figure of
+      Ignat and shook his head negatively. The company&rsquo;s laughter was now like
+      the rattling of thunder. Ignat could not make the priest abuse him. Then
+      he asked him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I give you money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; quickly answered the priest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what do you need it for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not care to answer. Then Ignat seized him by the collar, and shook
+      out of his dirty lips the following speech, which he spoke almost in a
+      whisper, trembling with fear:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have a daughter sixteen years old in the seminary. I save for her,
+      because when she comes out there won&rsquo;t be anything with which to cover her
+      nakedness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said Ignat, and let go the priest&rsquo;s collar. Then he sat for a long
+      time gloomy and lost in thought, and now and again stared at the priest.
+      Suddenly his eyes began to laugh, and he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you a liar, drunkard?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The priest silently made the sign of the cross and lowered his head on his
+      breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is the truth!&rdquo; said one of the company, confirming the priest&rsquo;s words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True? Very well!&rdquo; shouted Ignat, and, striking the table with his fist,
+      he addressed himself to the priest:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you! Sell me your daughter! How much will you take?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The priest shook his head and shrank back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One thousand!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The company giggled, seeing that the priest was shrinking as though cold
+      water was being poured on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two!&rdquo; roared Ignat, with flashing eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with you? How is it?&rdquo; muttered the priest, stretching
+      out both hands to Ignat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ignat Matveyich!&rdquo; cried the priest, in a thin, ringing voice. &ldquo;For God&rsquo;s
+      sake! For Christ&rsquo;s sake! Enough! I&rsquo;ll sell her! For her own sake I&rsquo;ll sell
+      her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In his sickly, sharp voice was heard a threat to someone, and his eyes,
+      unnoticed by anybody before, flashed like coals. But the intoxicated crowd
+      only laughed at him foolishly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Silence!&rdquo; cried Ignat, sternly, straightening himself to his full length
+      and flashing his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you understand, devils, what&rsquo;s going on here? It&rsquo;s enough to make
+      one cry, while you giggle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked up to the priest, went down on his knees before him, and said to
+      him firmly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father now you see what a rascal I am. Well, spit into my face!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Something ugly and ridiculous took place. The priest too, knelt before
+      Ignat, and like a huge turtle, crept around near his feet, kissed his
+      knees and muttered something, sobbing. Ignat bent over him, lifted him
+      from the floor and cried to him, commanding and begging:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spit! Spit right into my shameless eyes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The company, stupefied for a moment by Ignat&rsquo;s stern voice, laughed again
+      so that the panes rattled in the tavern windows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll give you a hundred roubles. Spit!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the priest crept over the floor and sobbed for fear, or for happiness,
+      to hear that this man was begging him to do something degrading to
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Finally Ignat arose from the floor, kicked the priest, and, flinging at
+      him a package of money, said morosely, with a smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t think at
+      all. Just so! Get out of here! And see that you never show yourself to me
+      again. Do you hear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, a queer fellow!&rdquo; said the crowd, somewhat moved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Legends were composed about his drinking bouts in town; everybody censured
+      him strictly, but no one ever declined his invitation to those drinking
+      bouts. Thus he lived for weeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And unexpectedly he used to come home, not yet altogether freed from the
+      odour of the kabaks, but already crestfallen and quiet. With humbly
+      downcast eyes, in which shame was burning now, he silently listened to his
+      wife&rsquo;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&mdash;like the breathing of a tired and sickly horse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God! You see,&rdquo; whispered Ignat in a muffled voice, firmly pressing the
+      palms of his hands to his broad breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During the days of repentance he drank nothing but water and ate only rye
+      bread.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the morning his wife placed at the door of his room a big bottle of
+      water, about a pound and a half of bread, and salt. He opened the door,
+      took in these victuals and locked himself in again. During this time he
+      was not disturbed in any way; everybody tried to avoid him. A few days
+      later he again appeared on the exchange, jested, laughed, made contracts
+      to furnish corn as sharp-sighted as a bird of prey, a rare expert at
+      anything concerning his affairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But in all the moods of Ignat&rsquo;s life there was one passionate desire that
+      never left him&mdash;the desire to have a son; and the older he grew the
+      greater was this desire. Very often such conversation as this took place
+      between him and his wife. In the morning, at her tea, or at noon during
+      dinner hour he gloomily glared at his wife, a stout, well-fed woman, with
+      a red face and sleepy eyes, and asked her:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, don&rsquo;t you feel anything?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She knew what he meant, but she invariably replied:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I help feeling? Your fists are like dumb-bells.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know what I&rsquo;m talking about, you fool.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can one become pregnant from such blows?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not on account of the blows that you don&rsquo;t bear any children; it&rsquo;s
+      because you eat too much. You fill your stomach with all sorts of food&mdash;and
+      there&rsquo;s no room for the child to engender.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I didn&rsquo;t bear you any children?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Those were girls,&rdquo; said Ignat, reproachfully. &ldquo;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&rsquo;ll marry
+      again, and my money will be turned over to some fool. Do you think this is
+      what I am working for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he was seized with sardonic anguish, for he felt that his life was
+      aimless if he should have no son to follow him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During the nine years of their married life his wife had borne him four
+      daughters, all of whom had passed away. While Ignat had awaited their
+      birth tremblingly, he mourned their death but little&mdash;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: &ldquo;Love your wife like
+      your soul and shake her like a pear-tree;&rdquo; but after each confinement,
+      deceived in his expectation, his hatred for his wife grew stronger, and he
+      began to beat her with pleasure, in revenge for not bearing him a son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once while on business in the province of Samarsk, he received a telegram
+      from relatives at home, informing him of his wife&rsquo;s death. He made the
+      sign of the cross, thought awhile and wrote to his friend Mayakin:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bury her in my absence; look after my property.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he went to the church to serve the mass for the dead, and, having
+      prayed for the repose of the late Aquilina&rsquo;s soul, he began to think that
+      it was necessary for him to marry as soon as possible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was then forty-three years old, tall, broad-shouldered, with a heavy
+      bass voice, like an arch-deacon; his large eyes looked bold and wise from
+      under his dark eyebrows; in his sunburnt face, overgrown with a thick,
+      black beard, and in all his mighty figure there was much truly Russian,
+      crude and healthy beauty; in his easy motions as well as in his slow,
+      proud walk, a consciousness of power was evident&mdash;a firm confidence
+      in himself. He was liked by women and did not avoid them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ere six months had passed after the death of his wife, he courted the
+      daughter of an Ural Cossack. The father of the bride, notwithstanding that
+      Ignat was known even in Ural as a &ldquo;pranky&rdquo; man, gave him his daughter in
+      marriage, and toward autumn Ignat Gordyeeff came home with a young
+      Cossack-wife. Her name was Natalya. Tall, well-built, with large blue eyes
+      and with a long chestnut braid, she was a worthy match for the handsome
+      Ignat. He was happy and proud of his wife and loved her with the
+      passionate love of a healthy man, but he soon began to contemplate her
+      thoughtfully, with a vigilant eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Seldom did a smile cross the oval, demure face of his wife&mdash;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&rsquo;s
+      wealth, but the Cossack-wife walked past the costly furniture and the
+      silverware in a shy and somewhat frightened manner, as though fearing lest
+      they might seize and choke her. Evidently, the noisy life of the big
+      commercial town did not interest this silent woman, and whenever she went
+      out driving with her husband, her eyes were fixed on the back of the
+      driver. When her husband took her visiting she went and behaved there just
+      as queerly as at home; when guests came to her house, she zealously served
+      them refreshments, taking no interest whatever in what was said, and
+      showing preference toward none. Only Mayakin, a witty, droll man, at times
+      called forth on her face a smile, as vague as a shadow. He used to say of
+      her:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a tree&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh!&rdquo; Ignat used to say to her jestingly. &ldquo;What are you thinking about?
+      Are you homesick? Brighten up a bit!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She would remain silent, calmly looking at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t sin you don&rsquo;t repent; if you don&rsquo;t repent, you don&rsquo;t work out your
+      salvation. You better sin while you are young. Shall we go out for a
+      drive?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t feel like going out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He used to sit down beside her and embrace her. She was cold, returning
+      his caresses but sparingly. Looking straight into her eyes, he used to
+      say:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Natalya! Tell me&mdash;why are you so sad? Do you feel lonesome here with
+      me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she replied shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What then is it? Are you longing for your people?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it&rsquo;s nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you thinking about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not thinking.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, nothing!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Once he managed to get from her a more complete answer:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is something confused in my heart. And also in my eyes. And it
+      always seems to me that all this is not real.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She waved her hand around her, pointing at the walls, the furniture and
+      everything. Ignat did not reflect on her words, and, laughing, said to
+      her:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s to no purpose! Everything here is genuine. All these are costly,
+      solid things. If you don&rsquo;t want these, I&rsquo;ll burn them, I&rsquo;ll sell them,
+      I&rsquo;ll give them away&mdash;and I&rsquo;ll get new ones! Do you want me to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo; said she calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wondered, at last, how one so young and healthy could live as though
+      she were sleeping all the time, caring for nothing, going nowhere, except
+      to the church, and shunning everybody. And he used to console her:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just wait. You&rsquo;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&rsquo;ll bear me a son, will you not?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If it pleases God,&rdquo; she answered, lowering her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then her mood began to irritate him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, why do you wear such a long face? You walk as though on glass. You
+      look as if you had ruined somebody&rsquo;s soul! Eh! You are such a succulent
+      woman, and yet you have no taste for anything. Fool!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Coming home intoxicated one day, he began to ply her with caresses, while
+      she turned away from him. Then he grew angry, and exclaimed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Natalya! Don&rsquo;t play the fool, look out!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned her face to him and asked calmly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat became enraged at these words and at her fearless look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo; he roared, coming up close to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you wish to kill me?&rdquo; asked she, not moving from her place, nor
+      winking an eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat was accustomed to seeing people tremble before his wrath, and it was
+      strange and offensive to him to see her calm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There,&rdquo; he cried, lifting his hand to strike her. Slowly, but in time,
+      she eluded the blow; then she seized his hand, pushed it away from her,
+      and said in the same tone:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you dare to touch me. I will not allow you to come near me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes became smaller and their sharp, metallic glitter sobered Ignat.
+      He understood by her face that she, too, was a strong beast, and if she
+      chose to she wouldn&rsquo;t admit him to her, even though she were to lose her
+      life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; he growled, and went away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But having retreated once, he would not do it again: he could not bear
+      that a woman, and his wife at that, should not bow before him&mdash;this
+      would have degraded him. He then began to realise that henceforth his wife
+      would never yield to him in any matter, and that an obstinate strife for
+      predominance must start between them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well! We&rsquo;ll see who will conquer,&rdquo; he thought the next day, watching
+      his wife with stern curiosity; and in his soul a strong desire was already
+      raging to start the strife, that he might enjoy his victory the sooner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But about four days later, Natalya Fominichna announced to her husband
+      that she was pregnant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat trembled for joy, embraced her firmly, and said in a dull voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re a fine fellow, Natalya! Natasha, if it should be a son! If you
+      bear me a son I&rsquo;ll enrich you! I tell you plainly, I&rsquo;ll be your slave! By
+      God! I&rsquo;ll lie down at your feet, and you may trample upon me, if you
+      like!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is not within our power; it&rsquo;s the will of the Lord,&rdquo; said she in a
+      low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, the Lord&rsquo;s!&rdquo; exclaimed Ignat with bitterness and drooped his head
+      sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From that moment he began to look after his wife as though she were a
+      little child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you sit near the window? Look out. You&rsquo;ll catch cold in your side;
+      you may take sick,&rdquo; he used to say to her, both sternly and mildly. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the pregnancy made Natalya more morose and silent, as though she were
+      looking still deeper into herself, absorbed in the throbbing of new life
+      within her. But the smile on her lips became clearer, and in her eyes
+      flashed at times something new, weak and timid, like the first ray of the
+      dawn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When, at last, the time of confinement came, it was early on an autumn
+      morning. At the first cry of pain she uttered, Ignat turned pale and
+      started to say something, but only waved his hand and left the bedroom,
+      where his wife was shrinking convulsively, and went down to the little
+      room which had served his late mother as a chapel. He ordered vodka,
+      seated himself by the table and began to drink sternly, listening to the
+      alarm in the house and to the moans of his wife that came from above. In
+      the corner of the room, the images of the ikons, indifferent and dark,
+      stood out confusedly, dimly illumined by the glimmering light of the image
+      lamp. There was a stamping and scraping of feet over his head, something
+      heavy was moved from one side of the floor to the other, there was a
+      clattering of dishes, people were bustling hurriedly, up and down the
+      staircase. Everything was being done in haste, yet time was creeping
+      slowly. Ignat could hear a muffled voice from above,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As it seems, she cannot be delivered that way. We had better send to the
+      church to open the gates of the Lord.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Vassushka, one of the hangers-on in his house, entered the room next to
+      Ignat&rsquo;s and began to pray in a loud whisper:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And suddenly drowning all other sounds, a superhuman, soul-rending cry
+      rang out, and a continuous moan floated softly over the room and died out
+      in the corners, which were filled now with the twilight. Ignat cast stern
+      glances at the ikons, heaved a deep sigh and thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it possible that it&rsquo;s again a daughter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At times he arose, stupidly stood in the middle of the room, and crossed
+      himself in silence, bowing before the ikons; then he went back to the
+      table, drank the vodka, which had not made him dizzy during these hours,
+      dozed off, and thus passed the whole night and following morning until
+      noon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, at last, the midwife came down hastily, crying to him in a thin,
+      joyous voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I congratulate you with a son, Ignat Matveyich!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie!&rdquo; said he in a dull voice. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with you,
+      batushka!&rdquo; Heaving a sigh with all the strength of his massive chest,
+      Ignat went down on his knees, and clasping his hands firmly to his breast,
+      muttered in a trembling voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo; and, rising to his feet, he immediately began to command
+      noisily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The chambermaid appeared and said to him with alarm:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ignat Matveyich, Natalya Fominichna is calling you. She is feeling bad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why bad? It&rsquo;ll pass!&rdquo; he roared, his eyes flashing cheerfully. &ldquo;Tell her
+      I&rsquo;ll be there immediately! Tell her she&rsquo;s a fine fellow! I&rsquo;ll just get a
+      present for her and I&rsquo;ll come! Hold on! Prepare something to eat for the
+      priest. Send somebody after Mayakin!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His enormous figure looked as though it had grown bigger, and intoxicated
+      with joy, he stupidly tossed about the room; he was smiling, rubbing his
+      hands and casting fervent glances at the images; he crossed himself
+      swinging his hand wide. At last he went up to his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His eyes first of all caught a glimpse of the little red body, which the
+      midwife was bathing in a tub. Noticing him, Ignat stood up on tiptoes,
+      and, folding his hands behind his back, walked up to him, stepping
+      carefully and comically putting forth his lips. The little one was
+      whimpering and sprawling in the water, naked, impotent and pitiful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look out there! Handle him more carefully! He hasn&rsquo;t got any bones yet,&rdquo;
+       said Ignat to the midwife, softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She began to laugh, opening her toothless mouth, and cleverly throwing the
+      child over from one hand to the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You better go to your wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He obediently moved toward the bed and asked on his way:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, how is it, Natalya?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, on reaching her, he drew back the bed curtain, which had thrown a
+      shadow over the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll not survive this,&rdquo; said she in a low, hoarse voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat was silent, fixedly staring at his wife&rsquo;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&mdash;her
+      face was strange to him. And the glance of those terrible eyes,
+      motionlessly fixed somewhere in the distance through the wall&mdash;that,
+      too, was unfamiliar to Ignat. His heart, compressed by a painful
+      foreboding, slackened its joyous throbbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s nothing. That&rsquo;s nothing. It&rsquo;s always like this,&rdquo; said he softly,
+      bending over his wife to give her a kiss. But she moaned right into his
+      face:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll not survive this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her lips were gray and cold, and when he touched them with his own he
+      understood that death was already within her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Lord!&rdquo; he uttered, in an alarmed whisper, feeling that fright was
+      choking his throat and suppressing his breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Natasha? What will become of him? He must be nursed! What is the matter
+      with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He almost began to cry at his wife. The midwife was bustling about him;
+      shaking the crying child in the air. She spoke to him reassuringly, but he
+      heard nothing&mdash;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: &ldquo;Just think of it! He cannot do without
+      you; he&rsquo;s an infant! Gather strength! Drive this thought away from you!
+      Drive it away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He talked, yet he understood he was speaking useless words. Tears welled
+      up within him, and in his breast there came a feeling heavy as stone and
+      cold as ice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forgive me. Goodbye! Take care. Look out. Don&rsquo;t drink,&rdquo; whispered
+      Natalya, soundlessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The priest came, and, covering her face with something, and sighing, began
+      to read gentle, beseeching words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh God, Almighty Lord, who cureth every disease, cure also Thy servant
+      Natalya, who has just given birth to a child; and restore her from the bed
+      on which she now lies, for in the words of David, &lsquo;We indulge in
+      lawlessness and are wicked in Thine eyes.&rdquo;&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man&rsquo;s voice was interrupted now and then, his thin face was stern
+      and from his clothes came the odour of rock-rose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat listened to the prayer, and wept silently. His big, hot tears fell
+      on the bare hand of his wife. But the hand, evidently, did not feel that
+      the tears were dropping upon it: it remained motionless, and the skin did
+      not tremble from the fall of the tears. After the prayer Natalya became
+      unconscious and a day later she died, without saying another word&mdash;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&rsquo;s dark beard, but in the stern glitter of his
+      eyes appeared a new expression, gentle, clear and mild.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      MAYAKIN lived in an enormous two-story house near a big palisade, where
+      sturdy, old spreading linden trees were growing magnificently. The rank
+      branches covered the windows with a dense, dark embroidery, and the sun in
+      broken rays peeped into the small rooms, which were closely crowded with
+      miscellaneous furniture and big trunks, wherefore a stern and melancholy
+      semi-darkness always reigned there supreme. The family was devout&mdash;the
+      odour of wax, of rock-rose and of image-lamp oil filled the house, and
+      penitent sighs and prayers soared about in the air. Religious ceremonials
+      were performed infallibly, with pleasure, absorbing all the free power of
+      the souls of the dwellers of the house. Feminine figures almost
+      noiselessly moved about the rooms in the half-dark, stifling, heavy
+      atmosphere. They were dressed in black, wore soft slippers on their feet,
+      and always had a penitent look on their faces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The family of Yakov Tarazovich Mayakin consisted of himself, his wife, a
+      daughter and five kinswomen, the youngest of whom was thirty-four years
+      old. These were alike devout and impersonal, and subordinate to Antonina
+      Ivanovna, the mistress of the house. She was a tall, thin woman, with a
+      dark face and with stern gray eyes, which had an imperious and intelligent
+      expression. Mayakin also had a son Taras, but his name was never mentioned
+      in the house; acquaintances knew that since the nineteen-year-old Taras
+      had gone to study in Moscow&mdash;he married there three years later,
+      against his father&rsquo;s will&mdash;Yakov disowned him. Taras disappeared
+      without leaving any trace. It was rumoured that he had been sent to
+      Siberia for something.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yakov Mayakin was very queerly built. Short, thin, lively, with a little
+      red beard, sly greenish eyes, he looked as though he said to each and
+      every one:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind, sir, don&rsquo;t be uneasy. Even though I know you for what you
+      are, if you don&rsquo;t annoy me I will not give you away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His beard resembled an egg in shape and was monstrously big. His high
+      forehead, covered with wrinkles, joined his bald crown, and it seemed as
+      though he really had two faces&mdash;one an open, penetrating and
+      intellectual face, with a long gristle nose, and above this face another
+      one, eyeless and mouthless, covered with wrinkles, behind which Mayakin
+      seemed to hide his eyes and his lips until a certain time; and when that
+      time had arrived, he would look at the world with different eyes and smile
+      a different smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was the owner of a rope-yard and kept a store in town near the harbour.
+      In this store, filled up to the ceiling with rope, twine, hemp and tow, he
+      had a small room with a creaking glass door. In this room stood a big,
+      old, dilapidated table, and near it a deep armchair, covered with
+      oilcloth, in which Mayakin sat all day long, sipping tea and always
+      reading the same &ldquo;Moskovskiya Vedomosty,&rdquo; to which he subscribed, year in
+      and year out, all his life. Among merchants he enjoyed the respect and
+      reputation of a &ldquo;brainy&rdquo; man, and he was very fond of boasting of the
+      antiquity of his race, saying in a hoarse voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We, the Mayakins, were merchants during the reign of &lsquo;Mother&rsquo; Catherine,
+      consequently I am a pure-blooded man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In this family Ignat Gordyeeff&rsquo;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&rsquo;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
+      &ldquo;Buzya.&rdquo; She was a dull, somewhat timid creature; and even to the children
+      she spoke in a low voice, in words of monosyllables. Having devoted her
+      time to learning prayers, she had no stories to tell Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was on friendly terms with the little girl, but when she angered or
+      teased him he turned pale, his nostrils became distended, his eyes stared
+      comically and he beat her audaciously. She cried, ran to her mother and
+      complained to her, but Antonina loved Foma and she paid but little
+      attention to her daughter&rsquo;s complaints, which strengthened the friendship
+      between the children still more. Foma&rsquo;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&mdash;during
+      the summer&mdash;the children went to the big palisade, which ran down to
+      a ravine, whose bottom always looked dark and damp, filling them with
+      terror. The children were not allowed to go even to the edge of the
+      ravine, and this inspired in them a fear of it. In winter, from tea time
+      to dinner, they played in the house when it was very cold outside, or went
+      out in the yard to slide down the big ice hill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had dinner at noon, &ldquo;in Russian style,&rdquo; 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&mdash;pork, goose, veal or rennet, with
+      gruel&mdash;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&mdash;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&rsquo;s house was filled with
+      snoring and with drowsy sighs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Awaking from sleep, they drank tea and talked about local news, the
+      choristers, the deacons, weddings, or the dishonourable conduct of this or
+      that merchant. After tea Mayakin used to say to his wife:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, mother, hand me the Bible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yakov Tarasovich used to read the Book of Job more often than anything
+      else. Putting his heavy, silver-framed spectacles on his big, ravenous
+      nose, he looked around at his listeners to see whether all were in their
+      places.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were all seated where he was accustomed to see them and on their
+      faces was a familiar, dull and timid expression of piety.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was a man in the land of Uz,&rdquo; began Mayakin, in a hoarse voice, and
+      Foma, sitting beside Luba on the lounge in the corner of the room, knew
+      beforehand that soon his godfather would become silent and pat his bald
+      head with his hand. He sat and, listening, pictured to himself this man
+      from the land of Uz. The man was tall and bare, his eyes were enormously
+      large, like those of the image of the Saviour, and his voice was like a
+      big brass trumpet on which the soldiers played in the camps. The man was
+      constantly growing bigger and bigger; and, reaching the sky, he thrust his
+      dark hands into the clouds, and, tearing them asunder, cried out in a
+      terrible voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged
+      in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Dread fell on Foma, and he trembled, slumber fled from his eyes, he heard
+      the voice of his godfather, who said, with a light smile, now and then
+      pinching his beard:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See how audacious he was!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy knew that his godfather spoke of the man from the land of Uz, and
+      the godfather&rsquo;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&mdash;he sits on the ground, &ldquo;his flesh is clothed with
+      worms and clods of dust, his skin is broken.&rdquo; But now he is small and
+      wretched, he is like a beggar at the church porch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here he says:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is man, that he should be clean? And he which is born of woman, that
+      he should be righteous?&rdquo; [These words attributed by Mayakin to Job are
+      from Eliphaz the Temanite&rsquo;s reply&mdash;Translator&rsquo;s Note.]
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He says this to God,&rdquo; explained Mayakin, inspired. &ldquo;How, says he, can I
+      be righteous, since I am made of flesh? That&rsquo;s a question asked of God.
+      How is that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the reader, triumphantly and interrogatively looks around at his
+      listeners.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He merited it, the righteous man,&rdquo; they replied with a sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yakov Mayakin eyes them with a smile, and says:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fools! You better put the children to sleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat visited the Mayakins every day, brought playthings for his son,
+      caught him up into his arms and hugged him, but sometimes dissatisfied he
+      said to him with ill-concealed uneasiness:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you such a bugbear? Oh! Why do you laugh so little?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he would complain to the lad&rsquo;s godfather:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid that he may turn out to be like his mother. His eyes are
+      cheerless.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You disturb yourself rather too soon,&rdquo; Mayakin smilingly replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He, too, loved his godson, and when Ignat announced to him one day that he
+      would take Foma to his own house, Mayakin was very much grieved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave him here,&rdquo; he begged. &ldquo;See, the child is used to us; there! he&rsquo;s
+      crying.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;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&rsquo;s hermitage.
+      This is harmful to the child. And without him I am lonesome. I come home&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the boy was brought to his father&rsquo;s house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There he was met by a comical old woman, with a long, hook-like nose and
+      with a mouth devoid of teeth. Tall, stooping, dressed in gray, with gray
+      hair, covered by a black silk cap, she did not please the boy at first;
+      she even frightened him. But when he noticed on the wrinkled face her
+      black eyes, which beamed so tenderly on him, he at once pressed his head
+      close to her knees in confidence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My sickly little orphan!&rdquo; she said in a velvet-like voice that trembled
+      from the fulness of sound, and quietly patted his face with her hand,
+      &ldquo;stay close to me, my dear child!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was something particularly sweet and soft in her caresses, something
+      altogether new to Foma, and he stared into the old woman&rsquo;s eyes with
+      curiosity and expectation on his face. This old woman led him into a new
+      world, hitherto unknown to him. The very first day, having put him to bed,
+      she seated herself by his side, and, bending over the child, asked him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I tell you a story, Fomushka?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And after that Foma always fell asleep amid the velvet-like sounds of the
+      old woman&rsquo;s voice, which painted before him a magic life. Giants defeating
+      monsters, wise princesses, fools who turned out to be wise&mdash;troops of
+      new and wonderful people were passing before the boy&rsquo;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&mdash;now like the witch of the fairy-tales&mdash;only a kind and
+      amiable old witch&mdash;now like the beautiful, all-wise Vasilisa. His
+      eyes wide open, holding his breath, the boy looked into the darkness that
+      filled his chamber and watched it as it slowly trembled in the light of
+      the little lamp that was burning before the image. And Foma filled this
+      darkness with wonderful pictures of fairy-tale life. Silent, yet living
+      shadows, were creeping over the walls and across the floor; it was both
+      pleasant and terrible to him to watch their life; to deal out unto them
+      forms and colours, and, having endowed them with life, instantly to
+      destroy them all with a single twinkle of the eyelashes. Something new
+      appeared in his dark eyes, something more childish and naive, less grave;
+      the loneliness and the darkness, awaking in him a painful feeling of
+      expectation, stirred his curiosity, compelled him to go out to the dark
+      corner and see what was hidden there beyond the thick veils of darkness.
+      He went and found nothing, but he lost no hope of finding it out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He feared his father and respected him. Ignat&rsquo;s enormous size, his harsh,
+      trumpet-like voice, his bearded face, his gray-haired head, his powerful,
+      long arms and his flashing eyes&mdash;all these gave to Ignat the
+      resemblance of the fairy-tale robbers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma shuddered whenever he heard his voice or his heavy, firm steps; but
+      when the father, smiling kind-heartedly, and talking playfully in a loud
+      voice, took him upon his knees or threw him high up in the air with his
+      big hands the boy&rsquo;s fear vanished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once, when the boy was about eight years old, he asked his father, who had
+      returned from a long journey:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa, where were you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the Volga.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Were you robbing there?&rdquo; asked Foma, softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wha-at?&rdquo; Ignat drawled out, and his eyebrows contracted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you a robber, papa? I know it,&rdquo; said Foma, winking his eyes slyly,
+      satisfied that he had already read the secret of his father&rsquo;s life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a merchant!&rdquo; said Ignat, sternly, but after a moment&rsquo;s thought he
+      smiled kind-heartedly and added: &ldquo;And you are a little fool! I deal in
+      corn, I run a line of steamers. Have you seen the &lsquo;Yermak&rsquo;? Well, that is
+      my steamer. And yours, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a very big one,&rdquo; said Foma with a sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;ll buy you a small one while you are small yourself. Shall I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; Foma assented, but after a thoughtful silence he again
+      drawled out regretfully: &ldquo;But I thought you were a robber or a giant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you I am a merchant!&rdquo; repeated Ignat, insinuatingly, and there was
+      something discontented and almost timorous in his glance at the
+      disenchanted face of his son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Like Grandpa Fedor, the Kalatch baker?&rdquo; asked Foma, having thought
+      awhile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, yes, like him. Only I am richer than he. I have more money than
+      Fedor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you much money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, some people have still more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many barrels do you have?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of money, I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fool! Is money counted by the barrel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How else?&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, enthusiastically, and, turning his face toward
+      his father, began to tell him quickly: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did your aunt tell you that?&rdquo; asked Ignat admiring his son&rsquo;s enthusiasm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes! Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing!&rdquo; said Ignat, laughing. &ldquo;So you thought your father was a
+      robber.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And perhaps you were a robber long ago?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma again returned to his theme, and it was evident on his face that he
+      would be very glad to hear an affirmative answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was never a robber. Let that end it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t believe in God&mdash;they
+      rob churches. They are all cursed in the churches. Yes. Look here, my son,
+      you&rsquo;ll have to start to study soon. It is time; you&rsquo;ll soon be nine years
+      old. Start with the help of God. You&rsquo;ll study during the winter and in
+      spring I&rsquo;ll take you along with me on the Volga.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will I go to school?&rdquo; asked Foma, timidly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;First you&rsquo;ll study at home with auntie.&rdquo; Soon after the boy would sit
+      down near the table in the morning and, fingering the Slavonic alphabet,
+      repeat after his aunt:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Az, Buky, Vedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When they reached &ldquo;bra, vra, gra, dra&rdquo; 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: &ldquo;Blessed is the man that
+      walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s it, my darling! So, Fomushka, that&rsquo;s right!&rdquo; chimed in his aunt
+      with emotion, enraptured by his progress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re a fine fellow, Foma!&rdquo; Ignat would approvingly say when informed of
+      his son&rsquo;s progress. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll go to Astrakhan for fish in the spring, and
+      toward autumn I&rsquo;ll send you to school!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy&rsquo;s life rolled onward, like a ball downhill. Being his teacher, his
+      aunt was his playmate as well. Luba Mayakin used to come, and when with
+      them, the old woman readily became one of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They played at &ldquo;hide and seek&rdquo; and &ldquo;blind man&rsquo;s buff;&rdquo; the children were
+      pleased and amused at seeing Anfisa, her eyes covered with a handkerchief,
+      her arms outstretched, walking about the room carefully, and yet striking
+      against chairs and tables, or looking for them in each and every
+      commodious corner, saying:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, little rascals. Eh, rogues. Where have they hidden themselves? Eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the sun shone cheerfully and playfully upon the old worn-out body,
+      which yet retained a youthful soul, and upon the old life, that was
+      adorning, according to its strength and abilities, the life-path of two
+      children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat used to go to the Exchange early in the morning and sometimes stayed
+      away until evening; in the evening he used to go to the town council or
+      visiting or elsewhere. Sometimes he returned home intoxicated. At first
+      Foma, on such occasions, ran from him and hid himself, then he became
+      accustomed to it, and learned that his father was better when drunk than
+      sober: he was kinder and plainer and was somewhat comical. If it happened
+      at night, the boy was usually awakened by his trumpet-like voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anfisa! Dear sister! Let me in to my son; let me in to my successor!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And auntie answered him in a crying and reproachful voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on. You better go to sleep, you cursed devil! Drunk again, eh? You are
+      gray already?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anfisa! May I see my son, with one eye?&rdquo; Foma knew that Anfisa would not
+      let him in, and he again fell asleep in spite of the noise of their
+      voices. But when Ignat came home intoxicated during the day he immediately
+      seized his son with his enormous paws and carried him about the rooms,
+      asking him with an intoxicated, happy laughter:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fomka! What do you wish? Speak! Presents? Playthings? Ask! Because you
+      must know there&rsquo;s nothing in this world that I wouldn&rsquo;t buy for you. I
+      have a million! Ha, ha, ha! And I&rsquo;ll have still more! Understand? All&rsquo;s
+      yours! Ha, ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And suddenly his enthusiasm was extinguished like a candle put out by a
+      violent puff of the wind. His flushed face began to shake, his eyes,
+      burning red, filled with tears, and his lips expanded into a sad and
+      frightened smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anfisa, in case he should die, what am I to do then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And immediately after these words he was seized with fury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;d burn everything!&rdquo; he roared, staring wildly into some dark corner of
+      the room. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d destroy everything! I&rsquo;d blow it up with dynamite!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enough, you ugly brute! Do you wish to frighten the child? Or do you want
+      him to take sick?&rdquo; interposed Anfisa, and that was sufficient for Ignat to
+      rush off hastily, muttering:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, well! I am going, I am going, but don&rsquo;t cry! Don&rsquo;t make any
+      noise. Don&rsquo;t frighten him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And when Foma was somewhat sick, his father, casting everything aside, did
+      not leave the house for a moment, but bothered his sister and his son with
+      stupid questions and advice; gloomy, sighing, and with fear in his eyes,
+      he walked about the house quite out of sorts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you vex the Lord?&rdquo; said Anfisa. &ldquo;Beware, your grumblings will
+      reach Him, and He will punish you for your complaints against His graces.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, sister!&rdquo; sighed Ignat. &ldquo;And if it should happen? My entire life is
+      crumbling away! Wherefore have I lived? No one knows.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Similar scenes and the striking transitions of his father from one mood to
+      another frightened the child at first, but he soon became accustomed to
+      all this, and when he noticed through the window that his father, on
+      coming home, was hardly able to get out of the sledge, Foma said
+      indifferently:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Auntie, papa came home drunk again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      .............................
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Spring came, and, fulfilling his promise, Ignat took his son along on one
+      of his steamers, and here a new life, abounding in impressions, was opened
+      before Foma&rsquo;s eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The beautiful and mighty &ldquo;Yermak,&rdquo; Gordyeeff&rsquo;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&mdash;the left side, all
+      bathed in sunshine, stretching itself to the very end of the sky like a
+      pompous carpet of verdure; the right shore, its high banks overgrown with
+      woods, swung skyward, sinking in stern repose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The broad-bosomed river stretched itself majestically between the shores;
+      noiselessly, solemnly and slowly flowed its waters, conscious of their
+      invincible power; the mountainous shore is reflected in the water in a
+      black shadow, while on the left side it is adorned with gold and with
+      verdant velvet by a border of sand and the wide meadows. Here and there
+      villages appear on mountain and on meadow, the sun shines bright on the
+      window-panes of the huts and on the yellow roofs of straw, the church
+      crosses sparkle amid the verdure of the trees, gray wind-mill wings
+      revolve lazily in the air, smoke from the factory chimney rises skyward in
+      thick, black curling clouds. Crowds of children in blue, red or white
+      shirts, standing on the banks, shouted loudly at the sight of the steamer,
+      which had disturbed the quiet of the river, and from under the steamer&rsquo;s
+      wheels the cheerful waves are rushing toward the feet of the children and
+      splash against the bank. Now a crowd of children, seated in a boat, rowed
+      toward the middle of the river to rock there on the waves as in a cradle.
+      Trees stood out above the water; sometimes many of them are drowned in the
+      overflow of the banks, and these stand in the water like islands. From the
+      shore a melancholy song is heard:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, o-o-o, once more!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The steamer passes many rafts, splashing them with waves. The beams are in
+      continual motion under the blows of the waves; the men on the rafts in
+      blue shirts, staggering, look at the steamer and laugh and shout
+      something. The big, beautiful vessel goes sidewise on the river; the
+      yellow scantlings with which it is loaded sparkle like gold and are dimly
+      reflected in the muddy, vernal water. A passenger steamer comes from the
+      opposite side and whistles&mdash;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&rsquo; 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&rsquo;s toys; the
+      small figure of the shepherd stands leaning on a staff, and looks at the
+      river.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The glare of the water&mdash;freedom and liberty are everywhere, the
+      meadows are cheerfully verdant and the blue sky is tenderly clear; a
+      restrained power is felt in the quiet motion of the water; above it the
+      generous May sun is shining, the air is filled with the exquisite odour of
+      fir trees and of fresh foliage. And the banks keep on meeting them,
+      caressing the eyes and the soul with their beauty, as new pictures
+      constantly unfold themselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everything surrounding them bears the stamp of some kind of tardiness: all&mdash;nature
+      as well as men&mdash;live there clumsily, lazily; but in that laziness
+      there is an odd gracefulness, and it seems as though beyond the laziness a
+      colossal power were concealed; an invincible power, but as yet deprived of
+      consciousness, as yet without any definite desires and aims. And the
+      absence of consciousness in this half-slumbering life throws shades of
+      sadness over all the beautiful slope. Submissive patience, silent hope for
+      something new and more inspiriting are heard even in the cry of the
+      cuckoo, wafted to the river by the wind from the shore. The melancholy
+      songs sound as though imploring someone for help. And at times there is in
+      them a ring of despair. The river answers the songs with sighs. And the
+      tree-tops shake, lost in meditation. Silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma spent all day long on the captain&rsquo;s bridge beside his father. Without
+      uttering a word, he stared wide-eyed at the endless panorama of the banks,
+      and it seemed to him he was moving along a broad silver path in those
+      wonderful kingdoms inhabited by the sorcerers and giants of his familiar
+      fairy-tales. At times he would load his father with questions about
+      everything that passed before them. Ignat answered him willingly and
+      concisely, but the boy was not pleased with his answers; they contained
+      nothing interesting and intelligible to him, and he did not hear what he
+      longed to hear. Once he told his father with a sigh:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Auntie Anfisa knows better than you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does she know?&rdquo; asked Ignat, smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everything,&rdquo; replied the boy, convincedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonderful kingdom appeared before him. But often cities appeared on the
+      banks of the river, just such cities as the one where Foma lived. Some of
+      them were larger, some smaller, but the people, and the houses, and the
+      churches&mdash;all were the same as in his own city. Foma examined them in
+      company with his father, but was still unsatisfied and returned to the
+      steamer gloomy and fatigued.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tomorrow we shall be in Astrakhan,&rdquo; said Ignat one day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And is it just the same as the other cities?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course. How else should it be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what is beyond Astrakhan?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The sea. The Caspian Sea it is called.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what is there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fishes, queer fellow! What else can there be in the water?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s the city Kitezh standing in the water.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s a different thing! That&rsquo;s Kitezh. Only righteous people live
+      there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And are there no righteous cities on the sea?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Ignat, and, after a moment&rsquo;s silence, added: &ldquo;The sea water is
+      bitter and nobody can drink it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And is there more land beyond the sea?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly, the sea must have an end. It is like a cup.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And are there cities there too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I saw them,&rdquo; replied Foma, and became pensive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day he asked his father:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there much more land left?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The earth is very big, my dear! If you should go on foot, you couldn&rsquo;t go
+      around it even in ten years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat talked for a long time with his son about the size of the earth, and
+      said at length:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet no one knows for certain how big it really is, nor where it
+      ends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And is everything alike on earth?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The cities and all?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, of course, the cities are like cities. There are houses, streets&mdash;and
+      everything that is necessary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After many similar conversations the boy no longer stared so often into
+      the distance with the interrogative look of his black eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crew of the steamer loved him, and he, too, loved those fine,
+      sun-burnt and weather-beaten fellows, who laughingly played with him. They
+      made fishing tackles for him, and little boats out of bark, played with
+      him and rowed him about the anchoring place, when Ignat went to town on
+      business. The boy often heard the men talking about his father, but he
+      paid no attention to what they said, and never told his father what he
+      heard about him. But one day, in Astrakhan, while the steamer was taking
+      in a cargo of fuel, Foma heard the voice of Petrovich, the machinist:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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. &lsquo;You break
+      the machinery too often,&rsquo; he says. &lsquo;You pour oil,&rsquo; he says, &lsquo;at random.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The voice of the gray and stern pilot replied:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all his exorbitant greediness. Fuel is cheaper here, so he is taking
+      all he can. He is greedy, the devil!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how greedy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This word, repeated many times in succession, fixed itself in Foma&rsquo;s
+      memory, and in the evening, at supper, he suddenly asked his father:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you greedy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In reply to his father&rsquo;s questions Foma told him of the conversation
+      between the pilot and the machinist. Ignat&rsquo;s face became gloomy, and his
+      eyes began to flash angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s how it is,&rdquo; ejaculated Ignat, shaking his head. &ldquo;Well, you&mdash;don&rsquo;t
+      you listen to them. They are not your equals; don&rsquo;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&rsquo;s enemy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      About two days later there was a new pilot and another machinist on the
+      steamer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And where is Yakov?&rdquo; asked the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I discharged him. I ordered him away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For that?&rdquo; queried Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, for that very thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And Petrovich, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I sent him the same way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was pleased with the fact that his father was able to change the men
+      so quickly. He smiled to his father, and, coming out on the deck, walked
+      up to a sailor, who sat on the floor, untwisting a piece of rope and
+      making a swab.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have a new pilot here,&rdquo; announced Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know. Good health to you, Foma Ignatich! How did you sleep?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And a new machinist, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And a new machinist. Are you sorry for Petrovich?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really? And he was so good to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, why did he abuse my father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh? Did he abuse him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course he did. I heard it myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm&mdash;and your father heard it, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I told him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;so&rdquo;&mdash;drawled the sailor and became silent, taking up his
+      work again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And papa says to me: &lsquo;You,&rsquo; he says, &lsquo;you are master here&mdash;you can
+      drive them all away if you wish.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s way,
+      that no one cared to play with him and that no one regarded him kindly.
+      Surprised and melancholy, he left the deck, walked up to the wheel, sat
+      down there, and, offended, he thoughtfully began to stare at the distant
+      green bank and the dented strip of woods upon it. And below, on the deck,
+      the water was splashing playfully, and the sailors were gaily laughing. He
+      yearned to go down to them, but something held him back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep away from them as much as possible,&rdquo; he recalled his father&rsquo;s words;
+      &ldquo;you are their master.&rdquo; Then he felt like shouting at the sailors&mdash;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s eyes became more sharp-sighted. A conscious
+      searchfulness appeared in them and in his questions to his father rang a
+      yearning to understand which threads and springs were managing the deeds
+      of men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day a scene took place before him: the sailors were carrying wood, and
+      one of them, the young, curly-haired and gay Yefim, passing the deck of
+      the ship with hand-barrows, said loudly and angrily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, he has no conscience whatever! There was no agreement that I should
+      carry wood. A sailor&mdash;well, one&rsquo;s business is clear&mdash;but to
+      carry wood into the bargain&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy heard this grumbling and knew that it was concerning his father.
+      He also noticed that although Yefim was grumbling, he carried more wood on
+      his stretcher than the others, and walked faster than the others. None of
+      the sailors replied to Yefim&rsquo;s grumbling, and even the one who worked with
+      him was silent, only now and then protesting against the earnestness with
+      which Yefim piled up the wood on the stretchers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enough!&rdquo; he would say, morosely, &ldquo;you are not loading a horse, are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you had better keep quiet. You were put to the cart&mdash;cart it and
+      don&rsquo;t kick&mdash;and should your blood be sucked&mdash;keep quiet again.
+      What can you say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly Ignat appeared, walked up to the sailor and, stopping in front of
+      him, asked sternly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What were you talking about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am talking&mdash;I know,&rdquo; replied Yefim, hesitating. &ldquo;There was no
+      agreement&mdash;that I must say nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And who is going to suck blood?&rdquo; asked Ignat, stroking his beard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sailor understood that he had been caught unawares, and seeing no way
+      out of it, he let the log of wood fall from his hands, rubbed his palms
+      against his pants, and, facing Ignat squarely, said rather boldly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And am I not right? Don&rsquo;t you suck it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma saw that his father swung his hand. A loud blow resounded, and the
+      sailor fell heavily on the wood. He arose immediately and worked on in
+      silence. Blood was trickling from his bruised face on to the white bark of
+      the birch wood; he wiped the blood off his face with the sleeve of his
+      shirt, looked at his sleeve and, heaving a sigh, maintained silence, and
+      when he went past Foma with the hand-harrows, two big, turbid tears were
+      trembling on his face, near the bridge of his nose, and Foma noticed them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At dinner Foma was pensive and now and then glanced at his father with
+      fear in his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you frown?&rdquo; asked his father, gently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Frown?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you ill, perhaps? Be careful. If there is anything, tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are strong,&rdquo; said Foma of a sudden musingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? That&rsquo;s right. God has favoured me with strength.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How hard you struck him!&rdquo; exclaimed the boy in a low voice, lowering his
+      head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat was about to put a piece of bread with caviar into his mouth, but
+      his hand stopped, held back by his son&rsquo;s exclamation; he looked
+      interrogatively at Foma&rsquo;s drooping head and asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean Yefim, don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he was bleeding. And how he walked afterward, how he cried,&rdquo; said
+      the boy in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm,&rdquo; roared Ignat, chewing a bite. &ldquo;Well, are you sorry for him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a pity!&rdquo; said Foma, with tears in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. So that&rsquo;s the kind of a fellow you are,&rdquo; said Ignat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, after a moment&rsquo;s silence, he filled a wineglass with vodka, emptied
+      it, and said sternly, in a slightly reprimanding tone:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t simple to be
+      master. A punch wouldn&rsquo;t kill him, but will make him wiser. That&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat was silent for awhile, drank some more vodka and went on
+      instinctively:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;pity and assist him. And if he is weak and not inclined
+      to work&mdash;spit upon him, pass him by. Just keep this in mind&mdash;the
+      man who complains against everything, who sighs and moans all the time&mdash;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&rsquo;s house you saw various
+      kinds of people&mdash;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&rsquo;s sake&mdash;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&rsquo;s decay. They are in your way and you trip over
+      them. A good man among them&mdash;like fresh apples among bad ones&mdash;may
+      soon be spoilt, and no one will profit by it. You are young, that&rsquo;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&rsquo;s the way it should be done, according to common sense!
+      Here, for example, two boards, let us say, fall into the mud&mdash;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;ll just watch him for about a week, and then I&rsquo;ll
+      put him at the helm. And there, I am quite sure, he&rsquo;ll be a good pilot.
+      And if he should be promoted to captain, he wouldn&rsquo;t lose courage&mdash;he
+      would make a clever captain! That&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat talked with his son about two hours, telling him of his own youth,
+      of his toils, of men; their terrible power, and of their weakness; of how
+      they live, and sometimes pretend to be unfortunate in order to live on
+      other people&rsquo;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&rsquo;s story did not
+      contain the material of which Aunt Anfisa&rsquo;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&rsquo;s feelings by his
+      eyes: he rose abruptly from his seat, seized him in his arms and pressed
+      him firmly to his breast. And Foma embraced his neck, and, pressing his
+      cheek to that of his father, was silent and breathed rapidly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My son,&rdquo; whispered Ignat in a dull voice, &ldquo;My darling! My joy! Learn
+      while I am alive. Alas! it is hard to live.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The child&rsquo;s heart trembled at this whisper; he set his teeth together, and
+      hot tears gushed from his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Until this day Ignat had never kindled any particular feeling in his son:
+      the boy was used to him; he was tired of looking at his enormous figure,
+      and feared him slightly, but was at the same time aware that his father
+      would do anything for him that he wanted. Sometimes Ignat would stay away
+      from home a day, two, a week, or possibly the entire summer. And yet Foma
+      did not even notice his absence, so absorbed was he by his love for Aunt
+      Anfisa. When Ignat returned the boy was glad, but he could hardly tell
+      whether it was his father&rsquo;s arrival that gladdened him or the playthings
+      he brought with him. But now, at the sight of Ignat, the boy ran to meet
+      him, grasped him by the hand, laughed, stared into his eyes and felt weary
+      if he did not see him for two or three hours: His father became
+      interesting to him, and, rousing his curiosity, he fairly developed love
+      and respect for himself. Every time that they were together Foma begged
+      his father:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa, tell me about yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      .........................
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The steamer was now going up the Volga. One suffocating night in July,
+      when the sky was overcast with thick black clouds, and everything on the
+      Volga was somewhat ominously calm, they reached Kazan and anchored near
+      Uslon at the end of an enormous fleet of vessels. The clinking of the
+      anchor chains and the shouting of the crew awakened Foma; he looked out of
+      the window and saw, far in the distance, small lights glimmering
+      fantastically: the water about the boat black and thick, like oil&mdash;and
+      nothing else could be seen. The boy&rsquo;s heart trembled painfully and he
+      began to listen attentively. A scarcely audible, melancholy song reached
+      his ears&mdash;mournful and monotonous as a chant on the caravan the
+      watchmen called to one another; the steamer hissed angrily getting up
+      steam. And the black water of the river splashed sadly and quietly against
+      the sides of the vessels. Staring fixedly into the darkness, until his
+      eyes hurt, the boy discerned black piles and small lights dimly burning
+      high above them. He knew that those were barges, but this knowledge did
+      not calm him and his heart throbbed unevenly, and, in his imagination,
+      terrifying dark images arose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O-o-o,&rdquo; a drawling cry came from the distance and ended like a wail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Someone crossed the deck and went up to the side of the steamer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O-o-o,&rdquo; was heard again, but nearer this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yefim!&rdquo; some one called in a low voice on the deck. &ldquo;Yefimka!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Devil! Get up! Take the boat-hook.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O-o-o,&rdquo; someone moaned near by, and Foma, shuddering, stepped back from
+      the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The queer sound came nearer and nearer and grew in strength, sobbed and
+      died out in the darkness. While on the deck they whispered with alarm:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yefimka! Get up! A guest is floating!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where?&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s
+      face and almost noiselessly plunged into the water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A gue-e-est!&rdquo; Some began to sob near by, and a quiet, but very queer
+      splash resounded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy trembled with fright at this mournful cry, but he could not tear
+      his hands from the window nor his eyes from the water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Light the lantern. You can&rsquo;t see anything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Directly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And then a spot of dim light fell over the water. Foma saw that the water
+      was rocking calmly, that a ripple was passing over it, as though the water
+      were afflicted, and trembled for pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look! Look!&rdquo; they whispered on the deck with fright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the same time a big, terrible human face, with white teeth set
+      together, appeared on the spot of light. It floated and rocked in the
+      water, its teeth seemed to stare at Foma as though saying, with a smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, boy, boy, it is cold. Goodbye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boat-hooks shook, were lifted in the air, were lowered again into the
+      water and carefully began to push something there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shove him! Shove! Look out, he may be thrown under the wheel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shove him yourself then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boat-hooks glided over the side of the steamer, and, scratching
+      against it, produced a noise like the grinding of teeth. Foma could not
+      close his eyes for watching them. The noise of feet stamping on the deck,
+      over his head, was gradually moving toward the stern. And then again that
+      moaning cry for the dead was heard:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A gue-e-est!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa!&rdquo; cried Foma in a ringing voice. &ldquo;Papa!&rdquo; His father jumped to his
+      feet and rushed toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is that? What are they doing there?&rdquo; cried Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wildly roaring, Ignat jumped out of the cabin with huge bounds. He soon
+      returned, sooner than Foma, staggering and looking around him, had time to
+      reach his father&rsquo;s bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They frightened you? It&rsquo;s nothing!&rdquo; said Ignat, taking him up in his
+      arms. &ldquo;Lie down with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; asked Foma, quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was nothing, my son. Only a drowned man. A man was drowned and he is
+      floating. That&rsquo;s nothing! Don&rsquo;t be afraid, he has already floated clear of
+      us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why did they push him?&rdquo; interrogated the boy, firmly pressing close to
+      his father, and shutting his eyes for fright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s why we shoved him along. What difference does it make
+      to him? He is dead; it doesn&rsquo;t pain him; it doesn&rsquo;t offend him. And the
+      living would be troubled on his account. Sleep, my son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So he will float on that way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He will float. They&rsquo;ll take him out somewhere and bury him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And will a fish devour him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fish do not eat human bodies. Crabs eat them. They like them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma&rsquo;s fright was melting, from the heat of his father&rsquo;s body, but before
+      his eyes the terrible sneering face was still rocking in the black water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And who is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God knows! Say to God about him: &lsquo;Oh Lord, rest his soul! &lsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lord, rest his soul!&rdquo; repeated Foma, in a whisper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s right. Sleep now, don&rsquo;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&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he fall overboard?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course. Perhaps he was drunk, and that&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sleep, sleep, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      DURING the very first day of his school life, stupefied by the lively and
+      hearty noise of provoking mischiefs and of wild, childish games, Foma
+      picked out two boys from the crowd who at once seemed more interesting to
+      him than the others. One had a seat in front of him. Foma, looking
+      askance, saw a broad back; a full neck, covered with freckles; big ears;
+      and the back of the head closely cropped, covered with light-red hair
+      which stood out like bristles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the teacher, a bald-headed man, whose lower lip hung down, called
+      out: &ldquo;Smolin, African!&rdquo; the red-headed boy arose slowly, walked up to the
+      teacher, calmly stared into his face, and, having listened to the problem,
+      carefully began to make big round figures on the blackboard with chalk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good enough!&rdquo; said the teacher. &ldquo;Yozhov, Nicolai. Proceed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One of Foma&rsquo;s neighbours, a fidgety little boy with black little
+      mouse-eyes, jumped up from his seat and passed through the aisle, striking
+      against everything and turning his head on all sides. At the blackboard he
+      seized the chalk, and, standing up on the toes of his boots, noisily began
+      to mark the board with the chalk, creaking and filling with chalk dust,
+      dashing off small, illegible marks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so loud!&rdquo; said the teacher, wrinkling his yellow face and contracting
+      his fatigued eyes. Yozhov spoke quickly and in a ringing voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now we know that the first peddler made 17k. profit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enough! Gordyeeff! Tell me what must we do in order to find out how much
+      the second peddler gained?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Watching the conduct of the boys, so unlike each other, Foma was thus
+      taken unawares by the question and he kept quiet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you know? How? Explain it to him, Smolin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Having carefully wiped his fingers, which had been soiled with chalk,
+      Smolin put the rag away, and, without looking at Foma, finished the
+      problem and again began to wipe his hands, while Yozhov, smiling and
+      skipping along as he walked, returned to his seat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you!&rdquo; he whispered, seating himself beside Foma, incidentally
+      striking his side with his fist. &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know,&rdquo; replied Foma, in a whisper, feeling confused and examining the
+      face of Smolin, who was sedately returning to his seat. He didn&rsquo;t like
+      that round, freckled face, with the blue eyes, which were loaded with fat.
+      And Yozhov pinched his leg and asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whose son are you? The Frantic&rsquo;s?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So. Do you wish me to prompt you always?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what will you give me for it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma thought awhile and asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And do you know it all yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? I am the best pupil. You&rsquo;ll see for yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hey, there! Yozhov, you are talking again?&rdquo; cried the teacher, faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov jumped to his feet and said boldly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not I, Ivan Andreyich&mdash;it&rsquo;s Gordyeeff.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Both of them were whispering,&rdquo; announced Smolin, serenely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wrinkling his face mournfully and moving his big lip comically, the
+      teacher reprimanded them all, but his words did not prevent Yozhov from
+      whispering immediately:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, Smolin! I&rsquo;ll remember you for telling.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, why do you blame it all on the new boy?&rdquo; asked Smolin, in a low
+      voice, without even turning his head to them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, all right,&rdquo; hissed Yozhov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was silent, looking askance at his brisk neighbour, who at once
+      pleased him and roused in him a desire to get as far as possible away from
+      him. During recess he learned from Yozhov that Smolin, too, was rich,
+      being the son of a tan-yard proprietor, and that Yozhov himself was the
+      son of a guard at the Court of Exchequer, and very poor. The last was
+      clearly evident by the adroit boy&rsquo;s costume, made of gray fustian and
+      adorned with patches on the knees and elbows; by his pale, hungry-looking
+      face; and, by his small, angular and bony figure. This boy spoke in a
+      metallic alto, elucidating his words with grimaces and gesticulations, and
+      he often used words whose meaning was known but to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll be friends,&rdquo; he announced to Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why did you complain to the teacher about me?&rdquo; Gordyeeff reminded Yozhov,
+      looking at him suspiciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! What&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;ll go to the Gymnasium from here. I&rsquo;ll pass the second class
+      and then I&rsquo;ll leave. Already a student is preparing me for the second
+      class. There I&rsquo;ll study so that they can&rsquo;t hold me back! How many horses
+      do you have?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three. What do you need to study so much for?&rdquo; asked Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I am poor. The poor must study hard so that they may become rich.
+      They become doctors, functionaries, officers. I shall be a &lsquo;tinkler.&rsquo; A
+      sword at my side, spur on my boots. Cling, cling! And what are you going
+      to be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; said Foma, pensively, examining his companion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You need not be anything. And are you fond of pigeons?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a good-for-nothing you are! Oh! Eh!&rdquo; Yozhov imitated Foma&rsquo;s slow way
+      of speaking. &ldquo;How many pigeons do you have?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have none.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; said Foma, irresolutely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come up to Smolin&rsquo;s and the three of us together will chase the pigeons.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well. If they let me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, does not your father like you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He does like me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, he&rsquo;ll let you go. Only don&rsquo;t tell him that I am coming.
+      Perhaps he would not let you go with me. Tell him you want to go to
+      Smolin&rsquo;s. Smolin!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A plump boy came up to them, and Yozhov accosted him, shaking his head
+      reproachfully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you red-headed slanderer! It isn&rsquo;t worth while to be friends with
+      you, blockhead!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you abuse me?&rdquo; asked Smolin, calmly, examining Foma fixedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not abusing you; I am telling the truth,&rdquo; Yozhov explained,
+      straightening himself with animation. &ldquo;Listen! Although you are a kissel,
+      but&mdash;let it go! We&rsquo;ll come up to see you on Sunday after mass.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; Smolin nodded his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll come up. They&rsquo;ll ring the bell soon. I must run to sell the
+      siskin,&rdquo; declared Yozhov, pulling out of his pocket a paper package,
+      wherein some live thing was struggling. And he disappeared from the
+      school-yard as mercury from the palm of a hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a queer fellow he is!&rdquo; said Foma, dumfounded by Yozhov&rsquo;s adroitness
+      and looking at Smolin interrogatively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is always like this. He&rsquo;s very clever,&rdquo; the red-headed boy explained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And cheerful, too,&rdquo; added Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cheerful, too,&rdquo; Smolin assented. Then they became silent, looking at each
+      other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you come up with him to my house?&rdquo; asked the red-headed boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come up. It&rsquo;s nice there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma said nothing to this. Then Smolin asked him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you many friends?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have none.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neither did I have any friends before I went to school. Only cousins. Now
+      you&rsquo;ll have two friends at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you glad?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you have lots of friends, it is lively. And it is easier to study,
+      too&mdash;they prompt you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And are you a good pupil?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course! I do everything well,&rdquo; said Smolin, calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bell began to bang as though it had been frightened and was hastily
+      running somewhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sitting in school, Foma began to feel somewhat freer, and compared his
+      friends with the rest of the boys. He soon learned that they both were the
+      very best boys in school and that they were the first to attract
+      everybody&rsquo;s attention, even as the two figures 5 and 7, which had not yet
+      been wiped off the blackboard. And Foma felt very much pleased that his
+      friends were better than any of the other boys.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They all went home from school together, but Yozhov soon turned into some
+      narrow side street, while Smolin walked with Foma up to his very house,
+      and, departing, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see, we both go home the same way, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At home Foma was met with pomp: his father made him a present of a heavy
+      silver spoon, with an ingenious monogram on it, and his aunt gave him a
+      scarf knitted by herself. They were awaiting him for dinner, having
+      prepared his favourite dishes for him, and as soon as he took off his
+      coat, seated him at the table and began to ply him with questions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, how was it? How did you like the school?&rdquo; asked Ignat, looking
+      lovingly at his son&rsquo;s rosy, animated face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pretty good. It&rsquo;s nice!&rdquo; replied Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My darling!&rdquo; sighed his aunt, with feeling, &ldquo;look out, hold your own with
+      your friends. As soon as they offend you tell your teachers about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on. What else will you tell him?&rdquo; Ignat smiled. &ldquo;Never do that! Try to
+      get square with every offender yourself, punish him with your own hand,
+      not with somebody else&rsquo;s. Are there any good fellows there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are two,&rdquo; Foma smiled, recalling Yozhov. &ldquo;One of them is so bold&mdash;terrible!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whose is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A guard&rsquo;s son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm! Bold did you say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dreadfully bold!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, let him be! And the other?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The other one is red-headed. Smolin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! Evidently Mitry Ivanovitch&rsquo;s son. Stick to him, he&rsquo;s good company.
+      Mitry is a clever peasant. If the son takes after his father it is all
+      right. But that other one&mdash;you know, Foma, you had better invite them
+      to our house on Sunday. I&rsquo;ll buy some presents and you can treat them.
+      We&rsquo;ll see what sort of boys they are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Smolin asked me to come to him this Sunday,&rdquo; said Foma, looking up at his
+      father questioningly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So. Well, you may go! That&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And, bursting into laughter at his comparison, Ignat added seriously:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Many!&rdquo; sighed the boy, and to his sigh, like an echo, his aunt answered
+      with a heavy sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, study. Don&rsquo;t be worse than others at school. Although, I&rsquo;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&rsquo;ll cut your lips
+      off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Remember God, Fomushka,&rdquo; said the aunt. &ldquo;See that you don&rsquo;t forget our
+      Lord.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma, his elbows leaning on the table, attentively listened to his father,
+      and under the sound of his powerful voice he pictured to himself now the
+      carpenter squaring a beam, now himself, his hands outstretched, carefully
+      and stealthily approaching some colossal and living thing, and desiring to
+      grasp that terrible something.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will reach it!&rdquo; said the boy, looking at his father proudly and with
+      confidence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? You speak courageously!&rdquo; Ignat burst into laughter. And the aunt also
+      began to laugh kindly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Since his trip with his father on the Volga, Foma became more lively and
+      talkative at home, with his father, with his aunt and with Mayakin. But on
+      the street, in a new place, or in the presence of strangers, he was always
+      gloomy, always looking about him with suspicion, as though he felt
+      something hostile to him everywhere, something hidden from him spying on
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At nights he sometimes awoke of a sudden and listened for a long time to
+      the silence about him, fixedly staring into the dark with wide-open eyes.
+      And then his father&rsquo;s stories were transformed before him into images and
+      pictures. Without being aware of it, he mixed up those stories with his
+      aunt&rsquo;s fairy-tales, thus creating for himself a chaos of adventures
+      wherein the bright colours of fantasy were whimsically intertwined with
+      the stern shades of reality. This resulted in something colossal,
+      incomprehensible; the boy closed his eyes and drove it all away from him
+      and tried to check the play of his imagination, which frightened him. In
+      vain he attempted to fall asleep, and the chamber became more and more
+      crowded with dark images. Then he quietly roused his aunt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Auntie! Auntie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? Christ be with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come to you,&rdquo; whispered Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why? Sleep, darling, sleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid,&rdquo; confessed the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You better say to yourself, &lsquo;And the Lord will rise again,&rsquo; then you
+      won&rsquo;t be afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma lies with his eyes open and says the prayer. The silence of the night
+      pictures itself before him in the form of an endless expanse of perfectly
+      calm, dark water, which has overflowed everything and congealed; there is
+      not a ripple on it, not a shadow of a motion, and neither is there
+      anything within it, although it is bottomlessly deep. It is very terrible
+      for one to look down from the dark at this dead water. But now the sound
+      of the night watchman&rsquo;s mallet is heard, and the boy sees that the surface
+      of the water is beginning to tremble, and, covering the surface with
+      ripples, light little balls are dancing upon it. The sound of the bell on
+      the steeple, with one mighty swing, brings all the water in agitation and
+      it is slightly trembling from that sound; a big spot of light is also
+      trembling, spreading light upon the water, radiating from its centre into
+      the dark distance, there growing paler and dying out. Again there is weary
+      and deathlike repose in this dark desert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Auntie,&rdquo; whispers Foma, beseechingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dearest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am coming to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, then, come, my darling.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Going over into auntie&rsquo;s bed, he presses close to her, begging:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me something.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At night?&rdquo; protests auntie, sleepily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He does not have to ask her long. Yawning, her eyes closed, the old woman
+      begins slowly in a voice grown heavy with sleep:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;a child was born&mdash;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&mdash;yet nobody came. And they began to
+      pray to the Lord, &lsquo;Oh Lord! Oh Lord!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma knew this awful story about God&rsquo;s godchild. He had heard it more than
+      once and was already picturing to himself this godchild riding on a white
+      horse to his godfather and godmother; he was riding in the darkness, over
+      the desert, and he saw there all the unbearable miseries to which sinners
+      are condemned. And he heard their faint moans and requests:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Man! Ask the Lord yet how long are we to suffer here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it appeared to Foma that it was he who was riding at night on the
+      white horse, and that the moans and the implorings were addressed to him.
+      His heart contracts with some incomprehensible desire; sorrow compressed
+      his breast and tears gathered in his eyes, which he had firmly closed and
+      now feared to open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He is tossing about in his bed restlessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sleep, my child. Christ be with you!&rdquo; says the old woman, interrupting
+      her tale of men suffering for their sins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But in the morning after such a night Foma rose sound and cheerful, washed
+      himself hastily, drank his tea in haste and ran off to school, provided
+      with sweet cakes, which were awaited by the always hungry little Yozhov,
+      who greedily subsisted on his rich friend&rsquo;s generosity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Got anything to eat?&rdquo; he accosted Foma, turning up his sharp-pointed
+      nose. &ldquo;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&rsquo;clock last night.
+      Have you solved your problems?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I haven&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you lazy bones! Well, I&rsquo;ll dash them off for you directly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Driving his small, thin teeth into the cakes, he purred something like a
+      kitten, stamped his left foot, beating time, and at the same time solved
+      the problem, rattling off short phrases to Foma:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See? Eight bucketfuls leaked out in one hour. And how many hours did it
+      leak&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma liked Yozhov better than Smolin, but he was more friendly with
+      Smolin. He wondered at the ability and the sprightliness of the little
+      fellow. He saw that Yozhov was more clever and better than himself; he
+      envied him, and felt offended on that account, and at the same time he
+      pitied him with the condescending compassion of a satisfied man for a
+      hungry one. Perhaps it was this very compassion that prevented him from
+      preferring this bright boy to the boring red-headed Smolin. Yozhov, fond
+      of having a laugh at the expense of his well-fed friends, told them quite
+      often: &ldquo;Eh, you are little trunks full of cakes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was angry with him for his sneers, and one day, touched to the quick,
+      said wickedly and with contempt:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you are a beggar&mdash;a pauper!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov&rsquo;s yellow face became overcast, and he replied slowly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, so be it! I shall never prompt you again&mdash;and you&rsquo;ll be
+      like a log of wood!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And they did not speak to each other for about three days, very much to
+      the regret of the teacher, who during these days had to give the lowest
+      markings to the son of the esteemed Ignat Matveyich.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov knew everything: he related at school how the procurator&rsquo;s
+      chambermaid gave birth to a child, and that for this the procurator&rsquo;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&rsquo; parents the
+      teacher had received a present that day and precisely what sort of a
+      present it was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sphere of Smolin&rsquo;s knowledge and interests was confined to the
+      merchant&rsquo;s mode of life, and, above all, the red-headed boy was fond of
+      judging whether this man was richer than that, valuing and pricing their
+      houses, their vessels and their horses. All this he knew to perfection,
+      and spoke of it with enthusiasm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like Foma, he regarded Yozhov with the same condescending pity, but more
+      as a friend and equal. Whenever Gordyeeff quarrelled with Yozhov, Smolin
+      hastened to reconcile them, and he said to Foma one day, on their way
+      home:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you always quarrel with Yozhov?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, why is he so self-conceited?&rdquo; said Foma, angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is proud because you never know your lessons, and he always helps you
+      out. He is clever. And because he is poor&mdash;is he to blame for that?
+      He can learn anything he wants to, and he will be rich, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is like a mosquito,&rdquo; said Foma, disdainfully; &ldquo;he will buzz and buzz,
+      and then of a sudden will bite.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But there was something in the life of these boys that united them all;
+      there were hours when the consciousness of difference in their natures and
+      positions was entirely lost. On Sundays they all gathered at Smolin&rsquo;s,
+      and, getting up on the roof of the wing, where they had an enormous
+      pigeon-house, they let the pigeons loose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The beautiful, well-fed birds, ruffling their snow-white wings, darted out
+      of the pigeon-house one by one, and, seating themselves in a row on the
+      ridge of the roof, and, illumined by the sun, cooing, flaunted before the
+      boys.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Scare them!&rdquo; implored Yozhov, trembling for impatience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Smolin swung a pole with a bast-wisp fastened to its end, and whistled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The frightened pigeons rushed into the air, filling it with the hurried
+      flapping of their wings. And now, outlining big circles, they easily soar
+      upwards, into the blue depths of the sky; they float higher and higher,
+      their silver and snow-white feathers flashing. Some of them are striving
+      to reach the dome of the skies with the light soaring of the falcon, their
+      wings outstretched wide and almost motionless; others play, turn over in
+      the air, now dropping downward in a snowy lump, now darting up like an
+      arrow. Now the entire flock seems as though hanging motionless in the
+      desert of the sky, and, growing smaller and smaller, seems to sink in it.
+      With heads thrown back, the boys admire the birds in silence, without
+      taking their eyes from them&mdash;their tired eyes, so radiant with calm
+      joy, not altogether free from envying these winged creatures, which so
+      freely took flight from earth up into the pure and calm atmosphere full of
+      the glitter of the sun. The small group of scarcely visible dots, now mere
+      specks in the azure of the sky, leads on the imagination of the children,
+      and Yozhov expresses their common feeling when, in a low voice, he says
+      thoughtfully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the way we ought to fly, friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While Foma, knowing that human souls, soaring heavenward, oftentimes
+      assume the form of pigeons, felt in his breast the rising of a burning,
+      powerful desire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unified by their joy, attentively and mutely awaiting the return of their
+      birds from the depths of the sky, the boys, pressing close to one another,
+      drifted far away from the breath of life, even as their pigeons were far
+      from earth; at this moment they are merely children, knowing neither envy
+      nor anger; free from everything, they are near to one another, they are
+      mute, judging their feelings by the light in their eyes&mdash;and they
+      feel as happy as the birds in the sky.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But now the pigeons come down on the roof again, and, tired out by their
+      flight, are easily driven into the pigeon-house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friends, let&rsquo;s go for apples?&rdquo; suggests Yozhov, the instigator of all
+      games and adventures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His call drives out of the children&rsquo;s souls the peacefulness brought into
+      them by the pigeons, and then, like plunderers, carefully listening for
+      each and every sound, they steal quietly across the back yards toward the
+      neighbouring garden. The fear of being caught is balanced by the hope of
+      stealing with impunity. But stealing is work and dangerous work at that,
+      and everything that is earned by your own labour is so sweet! And the more
+      effort required to gain it, the sweeter it is. Carefully the boys climb
+      over the fence of the garden, and, bending down, crawl toward the apple
+      trees and, full of fright, look around vigilantly. Their hearts tremble
+      and their throbbing slackens at the faintest rustle. They are alike afraid
+      of being caught, and, if noticed, of being recognised, but in case they
+      should only see them and yell at them, they would be satisfied. They would
+      separate, each going in a different direction, and then, meeting again,
+      their eyes aglow with joy and boldness, would laughingly tell one another
+      how they felt when they heard some one giving chase to them, and what
+      happened to them when they ran so quickly through the garden, as though
+      the ground were burning under their feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such invasions were more to Foma&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s house. The danger of being caught in the
+      act did not frighten him; it rather encouraged him&mdash;his eyes would
+      turn darker, his teeth would clench, and his face would assume an
+      expression of anger and pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Smolin, distorting his big mouth contemptibly, would say to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are making entirely too much fuss about yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not a coward anyway!&rdquo; replied Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know that you are not a coward, but why do you boast of it? One may do
+      a thing as well without boasting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov blamed him from a different point of view:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you thrust yourself into their hands willingly you can go to the
+      devil! I am not your friend. They&rsquo;ll catch you and bring you to your
+      father&mdash;he wouldn&rsquo;t do anything to you, while I would get such a
+      spanking that all my bones would be skinned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coward!&rdquo; Foma persisted, stubbornly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And it came to pass one day that Foma was caught by the second captain,
+      Chumakov, a thin little old man. Noiselessly approaching the boy, who was
+      hiding away in his bosom the stolen apples, the old man seized him by the
+      shoulders and cried in a threatening voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now I have you, little rogue! Aha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was then about fifteen years old, and he cleverly slipped out of the
+      old man&rsquo;s hands. Yet he did not run from him, but, knitting his brow and
+      clenching his fist, he said threateningly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You dare to touch me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t touch you. I&rsquo;ll just turn you over to the police! Whose son
+      are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma did not expect this, and all his boldness and spitefulness suddenly
+      left him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The trip to the police station seemed to him something which his father
+      would never forgive him. He shuddered and said confusedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gordyeeff.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ignat Gordyeeff&rsquo;s?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the second captain was taken aback. He straightened himself, expanded
+      his chest and for some reason or other cleared his throat impressively.
+      Then his shoulders sank and he said to the boy in a fatherly tone:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma watched the play of the old man&rsquo;s physiognomy and understood that he
+      was afraid of his father. Like a young wolf, he looked askance at
+      Chumakov; while the old man, with comical seriousness, twisted his gray
+      moustache, hesitating before the boy, who did not go away, notwithstanding
+      the given permission.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may go,&rdquo; repeated the old man, pointing at the road leading to his
+      house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how about the police?&rdquo; asked Foma, sternly, and was immediately
+      frightened at the possible answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was but jesting,&rdquo; smiled the old man. &ldquo;I just wanted to frighten you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are afraid of my father yourself,&rdquo; said Foma, and, turning his back
+      to the old man, walked off into the depth of the garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid? Ah! Very well!&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s stern question:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foma! Did you go to Chumakov&rsquo;s garden?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I did,&rdquo; said the boy, calmly, looking into his father&rsquo;s eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Evidently Ignat did not expect such an answer and he was silent for
+      awhile, stroking his beard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fool! Why did you do it? Have you not enough of your own apples?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma cast down his eyes and was silent, standing before his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See, you are shamed! Yozhishka must have incited you to this! I&rsquo;ll give
+      it to him when he comes, or I&rsquo;ll make an end of your friendship
+      altogether.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did it myself,&rdquo; said Foma, firmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From bad to worse!&rdquo; exclaimed Ignat. &ldquo;But why did you do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because!&rdquo; mocked the father. &ldquo;Well, if you did it you ought to be able to
+      explain to yourself and to others the reason for so doing. Come here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma walked up to his father, who was sitting on a chair, and placed
+      himself between his knees. Ignat put his hand on the boy&rsquo;s shoulders, and,
+      smiling, looked into his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you ashamed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am ashamed,&rdquo; sighed Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There you have it, fool! You have disgraced me and yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Pressing his son&rsquo;s head to his breast, he stroked his hair and asked
+      again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should you do such a thing&mdash;stealing other people&rsquo;s apples?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; said Foma, confusedly. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Exciting?&rdquo; asked the father, smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm, perhaps it is so. But, nevertheless, Foma, look out&mdash;drop this,
+      or I shall deal with you severely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll never climb anywhere again,&rdquo; said the boy with confidence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And that you take all the blame on yourself&mdash;that is good. What will
+      become of you in the future, only God knows, but meanwhile&mdash;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: &lsquo;I did it myself.&rsquo; That&rsquo;s the proper way, Foma.
+      You commit the sin, but you also account for it. Didn&rsquo;t Chumakov strike
+      you?&rdquo; asked Ignat, pausing as he spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would have struck him back,&rdquo; declared Foma, calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm,&rdquo; roared his father, significantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;By God! Present my respects to your father,&rsquo; he said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;where
+      have you been, what have you seen?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy sat down beside his father and told him in detail all the
+      impressions of that day. Ignat listened, fixedly watching the animated
+      face of his son, and the eyebrows of the big man contracted pensively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are still but floating on the surface, dear. You are still but a
+      child. Eh! Eh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We scared an owl in the ravine,&rdquo; related the boy. &ldquo;That was fun! It began
+      to fly about and struck against a tree&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Blind!&rdquo; said Ignat; &ldquo;some men will toss about in life even as this owl in
+      daytime. Ever searching for his place, he strives and strives&mdash;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How painful is it to them?&rdquo; said Foma in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just as painful as to that owl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why is it so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why? It is hard to tell. Someone suffers because he is darkened by his
+      pride&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come in and have some tea,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s
+      shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus day by day Foma&rsquo;s life developed slowly&mdash;a quiet, peaceful life,
+      not at all brimful of emotions. Powerful impressions, rousing the boy&rsquo;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&rsquo;s soul was as yet but a calm lake&mdash;a lake hidden
+      from the stormy winds of life, and all that touched the surface of the
+      lake either sank to the bottom, stirring the placid water for a moment, or
+      gliding over the smooth surface, swam apart in big circles and
+      disappeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having stayed at the district school for five years, Foma passed four
+      classes tolerably well and came out a brave, dark-haired fellow, with a
+      swarthy face, heavy eyebrows and dark down on the upper lip. His big dark
+      eyes had a naive and pensive look, and his lips were like a child&rsquo;s,
+      half-open; but when meeting with opposition to his desires or when
+      irritated by something else, the pupils of his eyes would grow wide, his
+      lips press tight, and his whole face assume a stubborn and resolute
+      expression. His godfather, smiling sceptically, would often say to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To women, Foma, you&rsquo;ll be sweeter than honey, but as yet not much common
+      sense can be seen in you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat would heave a sigh at these words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You had better start out your son as soon as possible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s time yet, wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why wait? He&rsquo;ll go about the Volga for two or three years and then we&rsquo;ll
+      have him married. There&rsquo;s my Lubov.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lubov Mayakina was now studying in the fifth class of some boarding
+      school. Foma often met her on the street at which meeting she always bowed
+      condescendingly, her fair head in a fashionable cap. Foma liked her, but
+      her rosy cheeks, her cheerful brown eyes and crimson lips could not smooth
+      the impression of offence given to him by her condescending bows. She was
+      acquainted with some Gymnasium students, and although Yozhov, his old
+      friend, was among them, Foma felt no inclination to be with them, and
+      their company embarrassed him. It seemed to him that they were all
+      boasting of their learning before him and that they were mocking his
+      ignorance. Gathered together in Lubov&rsquo;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&rsquo;s, Luba called him to go for a walk in the garden, and there,
+      walking by his side, asked him with a grimace on her face:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you so unsociable? You never talk about anything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What shall I talk about, since I know nothing!&rdquo; said Foma, plainly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Study&mdash;read books.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t feel like doing it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see, the Gymnasium students know everything, and know how to talk
+      about everything. Take Yozhov, for instance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know Yozhov&mdash;a chatterbox.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You simply envy him. He is very clever&mdash;yes. He will soon graduate
+      from the Gymnasium&mdash;and then he&rsquo;ll go to Moscow to study in the
+      University.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what of it?&rdquo; said Foma, indifferently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you&rsquo;ll remain just an ignorant man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, be it so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That will be nice!&rdquo; exclaimed Luba, ironically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall hold my ground without science,&rdquo; said Foma, sarcastically. &ldquo;And
+      I&rsquo;ll have a laugh at all the learned people. Let the hungry study. I don&rsquo;t
+      need it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pshaw, how stupid you are, bad, disgusting!&rdquo; said the girl with contempt
+      and went away, leaving him alone in the garden. Offended and gloomy, he
+      looked after her, moved his eyebrows and lowering his head, slowly walked
+      off into the depth of the garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He already began to recognise the beauty of solitude and the sweet poison
+      of contemplation. Oftentimes, during summer evenings, when everything was
+      coloured by the fiery tints of sunset, kindling the imagination, an uneasy
+      longing for something incomprehensible penetrated his breast. Sitting
+      somewhere in a dark corner of the garden or lying in bed, he conjured up
+      before him the images of the fairy-tale princesses&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;he felt like
+      crying, but ashamed of shedding tears, he restrained himself and never
+      wept in silence. Or suddenly his heart began to tremble with the desire to
+      express his gratitude to God, to bow before Him; the words of the prayer
+      flashed through his memory, and beholding the sky, he whispered them for a
+      long time, one by one, and his heart grew lighter, breathing into prayer
+      the excess of his power.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The father patiently and carefully introduced him into commercial circles,
+      took him on the Exchange, told him about his contracts and enterprises,
+      about his co-associates, described to him how they had made their way,
+      what fortunes they now possessed, what natures were theirs. Foma soon
+      mastered it, regarding everything seriously and thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our bud is blooming into a blood-red cup-rose!&rdquo; Mayakin smiled, winking
+      to Ignat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet, even when Foma was nineteen years old, there was something
+      childish in him, something naive which distinguished him from the boys of
+      his age. They were laughing at him, considering him stupid; he kept away
+      from them, offended by their relations toward him. As for his father and
+      Mayakin, who were watching him vigilantly, this uncertainty of Foma&rsquo;s
+      character inspired them with serious apprehensions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot understand him!&rdquo; Ignat would say with contrite heart. &ldquo;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&mdash;he is more
+      like a pretty girl than a fellow! And yet he does not seem to be stupid!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, there&rsquo;s nothing particularly stupid about him,&rdquo; said Mayakin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It looks as though he were waiting for something&mdash;as though some
+      kind of shroud were covering his eyes. His late mother groped on earth in
+      the same way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just look, there&rsquo;s Afrikanka Smolin, but two years older than my boy&mdash;what
+      a man he has become! That is, it is difficult to tell whether he is his
+      father&rsquo;s head or his father his. He wants to go to some factory to study.
+      He swears:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Eh,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;papa, you have not taught me enough.&rsquo; Yes. While mine
+      does not express himself at all. Oh Lord!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; Mayakin advised him, &ldquo;you had better push him head foremost
+      into some active business! I assure you! Gold is tested in fire. We&rsquo;ll see
+      what his inclinations are when at liberty. Send him out on the Kama&mdash;alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To give him a trial?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, he&rsquo;ll do some mischief&mdash;you&rsquo;ll lose something&mdash;but then
+      we&rsquo;ll know what stuff he is made of.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed&mdash;I&rsquo;ll send him off,&rdquo; Ignat decided.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thus in the spring, Ignat sent his son off on the Kama with two barges
+      laden with corn. The barges were led by Gordyeeff&rsquo;s steamer &ldquo;Philezhny,&rdquo;
+       under the command of Foma&rsquo;s old acquaintance, the former sailor Yefim&mdash;now,
+      Yefim Ilyich, a squarely built man of about thirty with lynx-like eyes&mdash;a
+      sober-minded, steady and very strict captain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They sailed fast and cheerfully, because all were contented. At first Foma
+      was proud of the responsible commission with which he had been charged.
+      Yefim was pleased with the presence of the young master, who did not
+      rebuke or abuse him for each and every oversight; and the happy frame of
+      mind of the two most important persons on the steamer reflected in
+      straight rays on the entire crew. Having left the place where they had
+      taken in their cargo of corn in April, the steamer reached the place of
+      its destination in the beginning of May, and the barges were anchored near
+      the shore with the steamer at their side. Foma&rsquo;s duty was to deliver the
+      corn as soon as possible, and receiving the payments, start off for Perm,
+      where a cargo of iron was awaiting him, which Ignat had undertaken to
+      deliver at the market.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The barges stood opposite a large village, near a pine forest, about two
+      versts distant from the shore. On the very next day after their arrival, a
+      big and noisy crowd of women and peasants, on foot and on horses, came up
+      to the shore early in the morning. Shouting and singing, they scattered on
+      the decks and in an instant work started expeditiously. Having descended
+      into the holds, the women were filling the sacks with rye, the peasants,
+      throwing the sacks upon their shoulders, ran over the gang-planks to the
+      shore, and from the shore, carts, heavily laden with the long-expected
+      corn, went off slowly to the village. The women sang songs; the peasants
+      jested and gaily abused one another; the sailors representing the
+      guardians of peace, scolded the working people now and then; the
+      gang-planks, bending under the feet of the carriers, splashed against the
+      water heavily; while on the shore the horses neighed, and the carts and
+      the sand under the wheels were creaking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sun had just risen, the air was fresh and invigorating and densely
+      filled with the odour of pines; the calm water of the river, reflecting
+      the clear sky, was gently murmuring, breaking against the sides of the
+      vessels and the chains of the anchors. The loud and cheerful noise of
+      toil, the youthful beauty of nature, gaily illumined by the sunbeams&mdash;all
+      was full of a kind-hearted, somewhat crude, sound power, which pleasantly
+      stirred Foma&rsquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;a tall, yellow, sandy steep shore, whose edges were covered
+      with pine trees. It was unpeopled and quiet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have to go over there,&rdquo; thought Foma. And as though from a distance
+      the receiver&rsquo;s tiresome, unpleasant, harsh voice fell on his ears:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t believe it&mdash;at last it became horrible! Such an
+      incident took place! A peasant came up to a certain intelligent man in Osa
+      and brought along with him a girl about sixteen years old.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;What do you wish?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Here,&rsquo; he says, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve brought my daughter to your Honour.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;What for?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Perhaps,&rsquo; he says, &lsquo;you&rsquo;ll take her&mdash;you are a bachelor.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;That is, how? What do you mean?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;I took her around town,&rsquo; he says. &lsquo;I wanted to hire her out as a servant&mdash;but
+      nobody would have her&mdash;take her at least as your mistress!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you understand? He offered his own daughter&mdash;just think of it! A
+      daughter&mdash;as a mistress! The devil knows what that is! Eh? The man,
+      of course, became indignant and began abusing the peasant. But the peasant
+      spoke to him reasonably:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Your Honour! Of what use is she to me at this time? Utterly useless. I
+      have,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;three boys&mdash;they will be working men; it is
+      necessary to keep them up. Give me,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;ten roubles for the girl,
+      and that will improve my lot and that of my boys.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is that? Eh? It is simply terrible, I tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No good!&rdquo; sighed Yefim. &ldquo;As they say&mdash;hunger will break through
+      stone walls. The stomach, you see, has its own laws.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This story called forth in Foma a great incomprehensible interest in the
+      fate of the girl, and the youth hastened to enquire of the receiver:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, did the man buy her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not!&rdquo; exclaimed the receiver, reproachfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, and what became of her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some good people took pity on her&mdash;and provided for her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A-h!&rdquo; drawled Foma, and suddenly he said firmly and angrily: &ldquo;I would
+      have given that peasant such a thrashing! I would have broken his head!&rdquo;
+       And he showed the receiver his big tightly-clenched fist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh! What for?&rdquo; cried the receiver in a sickly, loud voice, tearing his
+      spectacles from his eyes. &ldquo;You do not understand the motive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do understand it!&rdquo; said Foma, with an obstinate shake of his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what could he do? It came to his mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can one allow himself to sell a human being?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! It is brutal, I agree with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And a girl at that! I would have given him the ten roubles!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The receiver waved his hand hopelessly and became silent. His gesture
+      confused Foma. He arose from his seat, walked off to the railing and
+      looked down at the deck of the barge, which was covered with an
+      industriously working crowd of people. The noise intoxicated him, and the
+      uneasy something, which was rambling in his soul, was now defined into a
+      powerful desire to work, to have the strength of a giant, to possess
+      enormous shoulders and put on them at one time a hundred bags of rye, that
+      every one looking at him might be astonished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come now, hurry up there!&rdquo; he shouted down in a ringing voice. A few
+      heads were raised to him, some faces appeared before him, and one of them&mdash;the
+      face of a dark-eyed woman&mdash;smiled at him a gentle and enticing smile.
+      Something flared up in his breast at this smile and began to spread over
+      his veins in a hot wave. He drew back from the railing and walked up to
+      the table again, feeling that his cheeks were burning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; said the receiver, addressing him, &ldquo;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,&rdquo; he concluded with a biting grimace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How much shall I allow?&rdquo; asked Foma, boldly and disdainfully. &ldquo;Do you
+      want a hundred puds? [A pud is a weight of 40 Russian pounds.] Two
+      hundred?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I thank you!&rdquo; exclaimed the receiver, overjoyed and confused, &ldquo;if
+      you have the right to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am the master!&rdquo; said Foma, firmly. &ldquo;And you must not speak that way
+      about my father&mdash;nor make such faces.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me! I&mdash;I do not doubt that you have full power. I thank you
+      heartily. And your father, too&mdash;in behalf of all these men&mdash;in
+      behalf of the people!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yefim looked cautiously at the young master, spreading out and smacking
+      his lips, while the master with an air of pride on his face listened to
+      the quick-witted speech of the receiver, who was pressing his hand firmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two hundred puds! That is Russian-like, young man! I shall directly
+      notify the peasants of your gift. You&rsquo;ll see how grateful they will be&mdash;how
+      glad.&rdquo; And he shouted down:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, boys! The master is giving away two hundred puds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three hundred!&rdquo; interposed Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three hundred puds. Oh! Thank you! Three hundred puds of grain, boys!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But their response was weak. The peasants lifted up their heads and mutely
+      lowered them again, resuming their work. A few voices said irresolutely
+      and as though unwillingly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks. May God give you. We thank you very humbly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And some cried out gaily and disdainfully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the use of that? If they had given each of us a glass of vodka
+      instead&mdash;that would be a just favour. For the grain is not for us&mdash;but
+      for the country Council.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh! They do not understand!&rdquo; exclaimed the receiver, confused. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go
+      down and explain it to them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he disappeared. But the peasants&rsquo; regard for his gift did not interest
+      Foma. He saw that the black eyes of the rosy-cheeked woman were looking at
+      him so strangely and pleasingly. They seemed to thank him and caressingly
+      beckoned him, and besides those eyes he saw nothing. The woman was dressed
+      like the city women. She wore shoes, a calico waist, and over her black
+      hair she had a peculiar kerchief. Tall and supple, seated on a pile of
+      wood, she repaired sacks, quickly moving her hands, which were bare up to
+      the elbows, and she smiled at Foma all the time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foma Ignatyich!&rdquo; he heard Yefim&rsquo;s reproachful voice, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ve showed off
+      too much. Well, if it were only about fifty puds! But why so much? Look
+      out that we don&rsquo;t get a good scolding for this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave me alone!&rdquo; said Foma, shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it to me? I&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell my father all about it. Keep quiet!&rdquo; said Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As for me&mdash;let it be so&mdash;so that you are master here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have said this, Foma Ignatyich, for your own sake&mdash;because you are
+      so young and simple-minded.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave me alone, Yefim!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yefim heaved a sigh and became silent, while Foma stared at the woman and
+      thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish they would bring such a woman for sale to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His heart beat rapidly. Though as yet physically pure, he already knew
+      from conversations the mysteries of intimate relations between men and
+      women. He knew by rude and shameful names, and these names kindled in him
+      an unpleasant, burning curiosity and shame; his imagination worked
+      obstinately, for he could not picture it to himself in intelligible
+      images. And in his soul he did not believe that those relations were
+      really so simple and rude, as he had been told. When they had laughed at
+      him and assured him that they were such, and, indeed, could not be
+      otherwise, he smiled stupidly and confusedly, but thought nevertheless
+      that the relations with women did not have to be in such a shameful form
+      for everyone, and that, in all probability, there was something purer,
+      less rude and abusive to a human being.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now looking at the dark-eyed working woman with admiration, Foma
+      distinctly felt just that rude inclination toward her, and he was ashamed
+      and afraid of something. And Yefim, standing beside him, said
+      admonitively:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;and with a nature like yours&mdash;you may do such a
+      thing that we&rsquo;ll have to go home on foot by the shore. And we&rsquo;ll have to
+      thank God if our trousers at least remain with us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you want?&rdquo; asked Foma, red with confusion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are lying,&rdquo; said Foma, softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;ll make you acquainted with her in a moment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said Foma, feeling that he could hardly breathe and that
+      something was choking his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, I&rsquo;ll bring her up in the evening.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Yefim smiled approvingly into Foma&rsquo;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&rsquo;s instigation. Dread fell on him, he felt himself guilty
+      before somebody, and to all those that addressed him he replied humbly and
+      gently, as though excusing himself for something. Some of the working
+      people went home toward evening, others gathered on the shore near a big,
+      bright bonfire and began cooking their supper. Fragments of their
+      conversation floated about in the stillness of the evening. The reflection
+      of the fire fell on the river in red and yellow stripes, which trembled on
+      the calm water and on the window panes of the cabin where Foma was
+      sitting. He sat in the corner on a lounge, which was covered with oilcloth&mdash;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&mdash;the gang-plank
+      strikes against the water clangously and angrily. Foma hears the muffled
+      laughter of the captain and his lowered voice. Yefim stands by the cabin
+      door and speaks softly, but somewhat reprimandingly, as though
+      instructing. Foma suddenly felt like crying out:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not necessary!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he arose from the lounge&mdash;but at this moment the cabin door was
+      opened, the tall form of a woman appeared on the threshold, and,
+      noiselessly closing the door behind her, she said in a low voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh dear! How dark it is! Is there a living soul somewhere around here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered Foma, softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, good evening.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the woman moved forward carefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll light the lamp,&rdquo; said Foma in a broken voice, and, sinking on the
+      lounge, he curled himself up in the corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is good enough this way. When you get used to it you can see
+      everything in the dark as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be seated,&rdquo; said Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She sat down on the lounge about two steps away from him. Foma saw the
+      glitter of her eyes, he saw a smile on her full lips. It seemed to him
+      that this smile of hers was not at all like that other smile before&mdash;this
+      smile seemed plaintive, sad. This smile encouraged him; he breathed with
+      less difficulty at the sight of these eyes, which, on meeting his own,
+      suddenly glanced down on the floor. But he did not know what to say to
+      this woman and for about two minutes both were silent. It was a heavy,
+      awkward silence. She began to speak:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must be feeling lonesome here all alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And do you like our place here?&rdquo; asked the woman in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is nice. There are many woods here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And again they became silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The river, if you like, is more beautiful than the Volga,&rdquo; uttered Foma,
+      with an effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was on the Volga.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the city of Simbirsk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Simbirsk?&rdquo; repeated Foma like an echo, feeling that he was again unable
+      to say a word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But she evidently understood with whom she had to deal, and she suddenly
+      asked him in a bold whisper:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you treat me to something?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; Foma gave a start. &ldquo;Indeed, how queer I am? Well, then, come up to
+      the table.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He bustled about in the dark, pushed the table, took up one bottle, then
+      another, and again returned them to their place, laughing guiltily and
+      confusedly as he did so. She came up close to him and stood by his side,
+      and, smiling, looked at his face and at his trembling hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you bashful?&rdquo; she suddenly whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt her breath on his cheek and replied just as softly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she placed her hands on his shoulders and quietly drew him to her
+      breast, saying in a soothing whisper:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind, don&rsquo;t be bashful, my young, handsome darling. How I pity
+      you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he felt like crying because of her whisper, his heart was melting in
+      sweet fatigue; pressing his head close to her breast, he clasped her with
+      his hands, mumbling to her some inarticulate words, which were unknown to
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be gone!&rdquo; said Foma in a heavy voice, staring at the wall with his eyes
+      wide open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having kissed him on the cheek she walked out of the cabin, saying to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, good-bye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma felt intolerably ashamed in her presence; but no sooner did she
+      disappear behind the door than he jumped up and seated himself on the
+      lounge. Then he arose, staggering, and at once he was seized with the
+      feeling of having lost something very valuable, something whose presence
+      he did not seem to have noticed in himself until the moment it was lost.
+      But immediately a new, manly feeling of self-pride took possession of him.
+      It drowned his shame, and, instead of the shame, pity for the woman sprang
+      up within him&mdash;for the half-clad woman, who went out alone into the
+      dark of the chilly May night. He hastily came out on the deck&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;from
+      the prow&mdash;a moan reached his ears&mdash;a deep, loud moan, resembling
+      a wail. He shuddered and went thither carefully, understanding that she
+      was there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She sat on the deck close to the side of the steamer, and, leaning her
+      head against a heap of ropes, she wept. Foma saw that her bare white
+      shoulders were trembling, he heard her pitiful moans, and began to feel
+      depressed. Bending over her, he asked her timidly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She nodded her head and said nothing in reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I offended you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go away,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, how?&rdquo; said Foma, alarmed and confused, touching her head with his
+      hand. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be angry. You came of your own free will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not angry!&rdquo; she replied in a loud whisper. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And taking Foma by the hand, she made him sit down, like a child, in her
+      lap, pressed his head close to her breast, and, bending over him, pressed
+      her lips to his for a long time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you crying about?&rdquo; asked Foma, caressing her cheek with one
+      hand, while the other clasped the woman&rsquo;s neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am crying about myself. Why have you sent me away?&rdquo; she asked
+      plaintively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I began to feel ashamed of myself,&rdquo; said Foma, lowering his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My darling! Tell me the truth&mdash;haven&rsquo;t you been pleased with me?&rdquo;
+       she asked with a smile, but her big, hot tears were still trickling down
+      on Foma&rsquo;s breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should you speak like this?&rdquo; exclaimed the youth, almost frightened,
+      and hotly began to mumble to her some words about her beauty, about her
+      kindness, telling her how sorry he was for her and how bashful in her
+      presence. And she listened and kept on kissing his cheeks, his neck, his
+      head and his uncovered breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He became silent&mdash;then she began to speak&mdash;softly and mournfully
+      as though speaking of the dead:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I thought it was something else. When you said, &lsquo;Be gone!&rsquo; 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!&rdquo; she exclaimed, lifting her voice louder, and
+      reiterating the rhythm of her harmonious speech, whose accents rose and
+      fell in unison with the melodious murmuring of the water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen to me&mdash;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&rsquo;ll have a good time with you, if I
+      please you, we&rsquo;ll enjoy ourselves as much as we can. Eh! I&rsquo;ll burn to
+      ashes, now that I have blazed up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And pressing the youth close to herself, she greedily began to kiss him on
+      the lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lo-o-ok o-u-u-u-t!&rdquo; the watch on the barge wailed mournfully, and,
+      cutting short the last syllable, began to strike his mallet against the
+      cast-iron board.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The shrill, trembling sounds harshly broke the solemn quiet of the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A few days later, when the barges had discharged their cargo and the
+      steamer was ready to leave for Perm, Yefim noticed, to his great sorrow,
+      that a cart came up to the shore and that the dark-eyed Pelageya, with a
+      trunk and with some bundles, was in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Send a sailor to bring her things,&rdquo; ordered Foma, nodding his head toward
+      the shore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a reproachful shake of his head, Yefim carried out the order angrily,
+      and then asked in a lowered voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So she, too, is coming with us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is going with me,&rdquo; Foma announced shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is understood. Not with all of us. Oh, Lord!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you sighing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Foma Ignatyich! We are going to a big city. Are there not plenty of
+      women of her kind?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, keep quiet!&rdquo; said Foma, sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will keep quiet, but this isn&rsquo;t right!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This very wantonness of ours. Our steamer is perfect, clean&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma frowned insinuatingly and addressed the captain, imperiously
+      emphasizing his words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;ll strike him on
+      the head with a log of wood!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How terrible!&rdquo; said Yefim, incredulously, looking into the master&rsquo;s face
+      with curiosity. But he immediately made a step backward. Ignat&rsquo;s son, like
+      a wolf, showed his teeth, the apples of his eyes became wider, and he
+      roared:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laugh! I&rsquo;ll show you how to laugh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Though Yefim lost courage, he nevertheless said with dignity:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Although you, Foma Ignatyich, are the master, yet as I was told, &lsquo;Watch,
+      Yefim,&rsquo; and then I am the captain here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The captain?&rdquo; cried Foma, shuddering in every limb and turning pale. &ldquo;And
+      who am I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, don&rsquo;t bawl! On account of such a trifle as a woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Red spots came out on Foma&rsquo;s pale face, he shifted from one foot to the
+      other, thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket with a convulsive
+      motion and said in a firm and even voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You! Captain! See here, say another word against me&mdash;and you go to
+      the devil! I&rsquo;ll put you ashore! I&rsquo;ll get along as well with the pilot!
+      Understand? You cannot command me. Do you see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yefim was dumfounded. He looked at his master and comically winked his
+      eyes, finding no reply to his words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you understand, I say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I understand!&rdquo; drawled Yefim. &ldquo;But what is all this noise about? On
+      account of&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Silence!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma&rsquo;s eyes, which flashed wildly, and his face distorted with wrath,
+      suggested to the captain the happy thought to leave his master as soon as
+      possible and, turning around quickly, he walked off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pshaw! How terrible! As it seems the apple did not fall too far from the
+      tree,&rdquo; he muttered sneeringly, walking on the deck. He was angry at Foma,
+      and considered himself offended for nothing, but at the same time he began
+      to feel over himself the real, firm hand of a master. For years accustomed
+      to being subordinate, he rather liked this manifestation of power over
+      him, and, entering the cabin of the old pilot, he related to him the scene
+      between himself and his master, with a shade of satisfaction in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See?&rdquo; he concluded his story. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yefim spoke the truth: during these few days Foma underwent a striking
+      transformation. The passion now kindled in him made him master of the soul
+      and body of a woman; he eagerly absorbed the fiery sweetness of this
+      power, and this burned out all that was awkward in him, all that gave him
+      the appearance of a somewhat stupid, gloomy fellow, and, destroying it,
+      filled his heart with youthful pride, with the consciousness of his human
+      personality. Love for a woman is always fruitful to the man, be the love
+      whatever it may; even though it were to cause but sufferings there is
+      always much that is rich in it. Working as a powerful poison on those
+      whose souls are afflicted, it is for the healthy man as fire for iron,
+      which is to be transformed into steel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma&rsquo;s passion for the thirty-year-old woman, who lamented in his embraces
+      her dead youth, did not tear him away from his affairs; he was never lost
+      in the caresses, or in his affairs, bringing into both his whole self. The
+      woman, like good wine, provoked in him alike a thirst for labour and for
+      love, and she, too, became younger from the kisses of the youth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In Perm, Foma found a letter waiting for him. It was from his godfather,
+      who notified him that Ignat, out of anxiety for his son, had begun to
+      drink heavily, and that it was harmful to drink thus, for a man of his
+      age. The letter concluded with advice to hurry up matters in order to
+      return home the sooner. Foma felt alarmed over this advice, and it clouded
+      the clear holiday of his heart. But this shadow soon melted in his worries
+      over his affairs, and in the caresses of Pelageya. His life streamed on
+      with the swiftness of a river wave, and each day brought to him new
+      sensations, awakening in him new thoughts. Pelageya&rsquo;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&mdash;something
+      similar to a mother&rsquo;s yearning to guard her beloved son from errors, to
+      teach him the wisdom of life. Oftentimes at night, sitting in his embraces
+      on the deck, she spoke to him tenderly and sadly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;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.&rdquo; She became silent and looked for a long time at the water, which
+      was stirred by the vessel. Then she heaved a sigh and spoke to him again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May the Holy Virgin guard you from women of my kind&mdash;be careful. You
+      are tender as yet, your heart has not become properly hardened. And women
+      are fond of such as you&mdash;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And she was indeed disinterested. In Perm Foma purchased for her different
+      new things and what-not. She was delighted, but later, having examined
+      them, she said sadly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t squander your money too freely. See that your father does not get
+      angry. I love you anyway, without all this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had already told him that she would go with him only as far as Kazan,
+      where she had a married sister. Foma could not believe that she would
+      leave him, and when, on the eve of their arrival at Kazan, she repeated
+      her words, he became gloomy and began to implore her not to forsake him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not feel sorry in advance,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But he still tried to persuade her not to forsake him, and, finally&mdash;which
+      was to be expected&mdash;announced his desire to marry her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So, so!&rdquo; and she began to laugh. &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the more she spoke, the more persistent Foma became in his desire not
+      to part with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just listen to what I&rsquo;ll tell you,&rdquo; said the woman, calmly. &ldquo;A splinter
+      of wood is burning in your hand, and you can see well even without its
+      light&mdash;you had better dip it into water, so that there will be no
+      smell of smoke and your hand will not be burned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not understand your words.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do understand. You have done me no wrong, and I do not wish to do you
+      any. And, therefore, I am going away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It is hard to say what might have been the result of this dispute if an
+      accident had not interfered with it. In Kazan Foma received a telegram
+      from Mayakin, who wrote to his godson briefly: &ldquo;Come immediately on the
+      passenger steamer.&rdquo; Foma&rsquo;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&rsquo;s shirt was wet, and from her tears, his heart, full of gloomy alarm,
+      was sad and cold. The figure of the woman was growing smaller and smaller,
+      as though melting away, and Foma, without lifting his eyes, stared at her
+      and felt that aside from fear for his father and sorrow for the woman,
+      some new, powerful and caustic sensation was awakening in his soul. He
+      could not name it, but it seemed to him as something like a grudge against
+      someone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd in the harbour blended into a close, dark and dead spot,
+      faceless, formless, motionless. Foma went away from the rail and began to
+      pace the deck gloomily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The passengers, conversing aloud, seated themselves to drink tea; the
+      porters bustled about on the gallery, setting the tables; somewhere below,
+      on the stern, in the third class, a child was crying, a harmonica was
+      wailing, the cook was chopping something with knives, the dishes were
+      jarring&mdash;producing a rather harsh noise. Cutting the waves and making
+      foam, shuddering under the strain and sighing heavily, the enormous
+      steamer moved rapidly against the current. Foma looked at the wide strip
+      of broken, struggling, and enraged waves at the stern of the steamer, and
+      began to feel a wild desire to break or tear something; also to go, breast
+      foremost, against the current and to mass its pressure against himself,
+      against his breast and his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fate!&rdquo; said someone beside him in a hoarse and weary voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This word was familiar to him: his Aunt Anfisa had often used it as an
+      answer to his questions, and he had invested in this brief word a
+      conception of a power, similar to the power of God. He glanced at the
+      speakers: one of them was a gray little old man, with a kind face; the
+      other was younger, with big, weary eyes and with a little black
+      wedge-shaped beard. His big gristly nose and his yellow, sunken cheeks
+      reminded Foma of his godfather.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fate!&rdquo; The old man repeated the exclamation of his interlocutor with
+      confidence, and began to smile. &ldquo;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&mdash;and the
+      man is struggling, flopping on the ground, and then you see his heart is
+      broken. That&rsquo;s how it is, my dear man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma closed his eyes, as if a ray of the sun had fallen full on them, and
+      shaking his head, he said aloud:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True! That is true!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The companions looked at him fixedly: the old man, with a fine, wise
+      smile; the large-eyed man, unfriendly, askance. This confused Foma; he
+      blushed and walked away, thinking of Fate and wondering why it had first
+      treated him kindly by giving him a woman, and then took back the gift from
+      him, so simply and abusively? And he now understood that the vague,
+      caustic feeling which he carried within him was a grudge against Fate for
+      thus sporting with him. He had been too much spoiled by life, to regard
+      more plainly the first drop of poison from the cup which was just started,
+      and he passed all the time of the journey without sleep, pondering over
+      the old man&rsquo;s words and fondling his grudge. This grudge, however, did not
+      awaken in him despondency and sorrow, but rather a feeling of anger and
+      revenge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was met by his godfather, and to his hasty and agitated question,
+      Mayakin, his greenish little eyes flashing excitedly, said when he seated
+      himself in the carriage beside his godson:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your father has grown childish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drinking?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Worse&mdash;he has lost his mind completely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really? Oh Lord! Tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you understand? A certain lady is always around him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What about her?&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, recalling his Pelageya, and for some
+      reason or other his heart was filled with joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She sticks to him and&mdash;bleeds him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is she a quiet one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She? Quiet as a fire. Seventy-five thousand roubles she blew out of his
+      pocket like a feather!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Who is she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sonka Medinskaya, the architect&rsquo;s wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great God! Is it possible that she&mdash;Did my father&mdash;Is it
+      possible that he took her as his sweetheart?&rdquo; asked Foma, with
+      astonishment, in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His godfather drew back from him, and comically opening his eyes wide,
+      said convincedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are out of your mind, too! By God, you&rsquo;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&rsquo;ll tell this to Ignat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Mayakin filled the air with a jarring, hasty laughter, at which his
+      goat-like beard began to tremble in an uncomely manner. It took Foma a
+      long time to obtain a categorical answer; the old man, contrary to his
+      habit, was restless and irritated; his speech, usually fluent, was now
+      interrupted; he was swearing and expectorating as he spoke, and it was
+      with difficulty that Foma learned what the matter was. Sophya Pavlovna
+      Medinskaya, the wealthy architect&rsquo;s wife, who was well known in the city
+      for her tireless efforts in the line of arranging various charitable
+      projects, persuaded Ignat to endow seventy-five thousand roubles for the
+      erection of a lodging-house in the city and of a public library with a
+      reading-room. Ignat had given the money, and already the newspapers lauded
+      him for his generosity. Foma had seen the woman more than once on the
+      streets; she was short; he knew that she was considered as one of the most
+      beautiful women in the city, and that bad rumours were afoot as to her
+      behaviour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that all?&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, when his godfather concluded the story.
+      &ldquo;And I thought God knows what!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You? You thought?&rdquo; cried Mayakin, suddenly grown angry. &ldquo;You thought
+      nothing, you beardless youngster!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you abuse me?&rdquo; Foma said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me, in your opinion, is seventy-five thousand roubles a big sum or
+      not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, a big sum,&rdquo; said Foma, after a moment&rsquo;s thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But my father has much money. Why do you make such a fuss about it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yakov Tarasovich was taken aback. He looked into the youth&rsquo;s face with
+      contempt and asked him in a faint voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you speak like this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? Who then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie! It is your young foolishness that speaks. Yes! And my old
+      foolishness&mdash;brought to test a million times by life&mdash;says that
+      you are a young dog as yet, and it is too early for you to bark in a
+      basso.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma hearing this, had often been quite provoked by his godfather&rsquo;s too
+      picturesque language.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin always spoke to him more roughly than his father, but now the
+      youth felt very much offended by the old man and said to him reservedly,
+      but firmly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You had better not abuse me without reflection, for I am no longer a
+      small child.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come!&rdquo; exclaimed Mayakin, mockingly lifting his eyebrows and
+      squinting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This roused Foma&rsquo;s indignation. He looked full into the old man&rsquo;s eyes and
+      articulated with emphasis:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I am telling you that I don&rsquo;t want to hear any more of that
+      undeserved abuse of yours. Enough!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm! So-o! Pardon me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yakov Tarasovich closed his eyes, chewed a little with his lips, and,
+      turning aside from his godson, kept silent for awhile. The carriage turned
+      into a narrow street, and, noticing from afar the roof of his house, Foma
+      involuntarily moved forward. At the same time Mayakin asked him with a
+      roguish and gentle smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foma! Tell me&mdash;on whom you have sharpened your teeth? Eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, are they sharp?&rdquo; asked Foma, pleased with the manner in which
+      Mayakin now regarded him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pretty good. That&rsquo;s good, dear. That&rsquo;s very good! Your father and I were
+      afraid lest you should be a laggard. Well, have you learned to drink
+      vodka?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I drank it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rather too soon! Did you drink much of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why much?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does it taste good?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not very.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t always necessary to do that. Sometimes
+      by keeping silent you both please people and commit no sins. Yes. A man&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was at home: his loud, somewhat hoarse laughter was heard from the open
+      windows of the rooms. The noise of the carriage, which stopped at the
+      house, caused Ignat to look out of the window, and at the sight of his son
+      he cried out with joy:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! You&rsquo;ve come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After a while he pressed Foma to his breast with one hand, and, pressing
+      the palm of his other hand against his son&rsquo;s forehead, thus bending his
+      head back, he looked into his face with beaming eyes and spoke
+      contentedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are sunburnt. You&rsquo;ve grown strong. You&rsquo;re a fine fellow! Madame!
+      How&rsquo;s my son? Isn&rsquo;t he fine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not bad looking,&rdquo; a gentle, silver voice was heard. Foma glanced from
+      behind his father&rsquo;s shoulder and noticed that a slender woman with
+      magnificent fair hair was sitting in the front corner of the room, resting
+      her elbows on the table; her dark eyes, her thin eyebrows and plump, red
+      lips strikingly defined on her pale face. Behind her armchair stood a
+      large philodendron-plant whose big, figured leaves were hanging down in
+      the air over her little golden head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, Sophya Pavlovna,&rdquo; said Mayakin, tenderly, approaching her
+      with his hand outstretched. &ldquo;What, are you still collecting contributions
+      from poor people like us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma bowed to her mutely, not hearing her answer to Mayakin, nor what his
+      father was saying to him. The lady stared at him steadfastly and smiled to
+      him affably and serenely. Her childlike figure, clothed in some kind of
+      dark fabric, was almost blended with the crimson stuff of the armchair,
+      while her wavy, golden hair and her pale face shone against the dark
+      background. Sitting there in the corner, beneath the green leaves, she
+      looked at once like a flower, and like an ikon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See, Sophya Pavlovna, how he is staring at you. An eagle, eh?&rdquo; said
+      Ignat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes became narrower, a faint blush leaped to her cheeks, and she
+      burst into laughter. It sounded like the tinkling of a little silver bell.
+      And she immediately arose, saying:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t disturb you. Good-bye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When she went past Foma noiselessly, the scent of perfume came to him, and
+      he noticed that her eyes were dark blue, and her eyebrows almost black.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The sly rogue glided away,&rdquo; said Mayakin in a low voice, angrily looking
+      after her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, tell us how was the trip? Have you squandered much money?&rdquo; roared
+      Ignat, pushing his son into the same armchair where Medinskaya had been
+      sitting awhile before. Foma looked at him askance and seated himself in
+      another chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t she a beautiful young woman, eh?&rdquo; said Mayakin, smiling, feeling
+      Foma with his cunning eyes. &ldquo;If you keep on gaping at her she will eat
+      away all your insides.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma shuddered for some reason or other, and, saying nothing in reply,
+      began to tell his father about the journey in a matter-of-fact tone. But
+      Ignat interrupted him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait, I&rsquo;ll ask for some cognac.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you are keeping on drinking all the time, they say,&rdquo; said Foma,
+      disapprovingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat glanced at his son with surprise and curiosity, and asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is this the way to speak to your father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma became confused and lowered his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s it!&rdquo; said Ignat, kind-heartedly, and ordered cognac to be brought
+      to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin, winking his eyes, looked at the Gordyeeffs, sighed, bid them
+      good-bye, and, after inviting them to have tea with him in his raspberry
+      garden in the evening, went away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is Aunt Anfisa?&rdquo; asked Foma, feeling that now, being alone with his
+      father, he was somewhat ill at ease.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She went to the cloister. Well, tell me, and I will have some cognac.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma told his father all about his affairs in a few minutes and he
+      concluded his story with a frank confession:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have spent much money on myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How much?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About six hundred roubles.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In six weeks! That&rsquo;s a good deal. I see as a clerk you&rsquo;re too expensive
+      for me. Where have you squandered it all?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I gave away three hundred puds of grain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To whom? How?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma told him all about it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm! Well, that&rsquo;s all right!&rdquo; Ignat approved. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s to show what stuff
+      we are made of. That&rsquo;s clear enough&mdash;for the father&rsquo;s honour&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then, I somehow spent more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak frankly. It&rsquo;s not the money that I am asking you about&mdash;I just
+      want to know how you lived there,&rdquo; insisted Ignat, regarding his son
+      attentively and sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was eating, drinking.&rdquo; Foma did not give in, bending his head morosely
+      and confusedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drinking vodka?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Vodka, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! So. Isn&rsquo;t it rather too soon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ask Yefim whether I ever drank enough to be intoxicated.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should I ask Yefim? You must tell me everything yourself. So you are
+      drinking? I don&rsquo;t like it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I can get along without drinking.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come! Do you want some cognac?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma looked at his father and smiled broadly. And his father answered him
+      with a kindly smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you. Devil! Drink, but look out&mdash;know your business. What can
+      you do? A drunkard will sleep himself sober, a fool&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. There was one on the steamer. I had her there from Perm to Kazan.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So,&rdquo; Ignat sighed heavily and said, frowning: &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve become defiled
+      rather too soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am twenty years old. And you yourself told me that in your days fellows
+      married at the age of fifteen,&rdquo; replied Foma, confused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then they married. Very well, then, let us drop the subject. Well, you&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat became pensive and was silent for a long time, sitting motionless,
+      his head bent low on his breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, Foma,&rdquo; he started again, sternly and firmly. &ldquo;I shall die before
+      long. I am old. Something oppresses my breast. I breathe with difficulty.
+      I&rsquo;ll die. Then all my affairs will fall on your shoulders. At first your
+      godfather will assist you&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma looked at his father&rsquo;s broad chest, heard his heavy voice and thought
+      to himself:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but you won&rsquo;t die so soon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This thought pleased him and awakened in him a kind, warm feeling for his
+      father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They will!&rdquo; said Foma with confidence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If there were but a reason why they should.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the lodging-house?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat looked at his son and began to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yakov has had time to tell it to you already! The old miser. He must have
+      abused me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A little.&rdquo; Foma smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course! Don&rsquo;t I know him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He spoke of it as though it were his own money.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat leaned back in his chair and burst into still louder laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The old raven, eh? That&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma thought awhile and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you&rsquo;re stupid. He wants to tell our fortunes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come now, guess!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma looked at his father and&mdash;guessed it. His face became gloomy, he
+      slightly raised himself from the armchair and said resolutely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t want to. I shall not marry her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh? Why so? She is a strong girl; she is not foolish; she&rsquo;s his only
+      child.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And Taras? The lost one? But I&mdash;I don&rsquo;t want to at all!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The lost one is gone, consequently it is not worthwhile speaking of him.
+      There is a will, dear, which says: &lsquo;All my movable and real estates shall
+      go to my daughter, Lubov.&rsquo; And as to the fact that she is your godfather&rsquo;s
+      daughter, we&rsquo;ll set this right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is all the same,&rdquo; said Foma, firmly. &ldquo;I shall not marry her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it is rather early to speak of it now! But why do you dislike her
+      so much?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not like such as she is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So-o! Just think of it! And which women are more to your liking, sir, may
+      I ask?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Those that are more simple. She&rsquo;s always busy with her Gymnasium students
+      and with her books. She&rsquo;s become learned. She&rsquo;ll be laughing at my
+      expense,&rdquo; said Foma, emotionally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;descending from Mother
+      Yekaterina&mdash;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&rsquo;s place, do
+      you see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I&rsquo;d rather select my place myself,&rdquo; said Foma, stubbornly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are foolish as yet.&rdquo; Ignat smiled in reply to his son&rsquo;s words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Aunt Anfisa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foma! You&rsquo;ve come,&rdquo; she cried out, somewhere behind the doors. Foma rose
+      and went to meet her, with a gentle smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again his life streamed on slowly, calmly, monotonously. Again the
+      Exchange and his father&rsquo;s instructions. Retaining a kindly sarcastic and
+      encouraging tone in his relation toward his son, Ignat began to treat him
+      more strictly. He censured him for each and every trifle and constantly
+      reminded him that he brought him up freely; that he was never in his way
+      and that he never beat him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Other fathers beat fellows like yourself with logs of wood. And I never
+      even touched you with a finger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Evidently I didn&rsquo;t deserve it,&rdquo; said Foma one day, calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ignat became angry at his son for these words and for the tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk so much!&rdquo; he roared. &ldquo;You&rsquo;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&rsquo;ve grown up too soon, like a
+      toad-stool, just sprung up from the ground. You have a bad smell already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you so angry at me?&rdquo; asked Foma, perplexed and offended, when his
+      father chanced to be in a happy frame of mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because you cannot tolerate it when your father grumbles at you. You&rsquo;re
+      ready to quarrel immediately.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it is offensive. I have not grown worse than I was before. Don&rsquo;t I
+      see how others live at my age?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your head wouldn&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      These words of Ignat made the son very thoughtful. Foma also felt
+      something strange in himself, something which distinguished him from the
+      youth of his age, but he, too, could not understand what it was. And he
+      looked at himself with suspicion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma liked to be on the Exchange amid the bustle and talk of the sedate
+      people who were making deals amounting to thousands of roubles; the
+      respect with which the less well-to-do tradesmen greeted and spoke to him&mdash;to
+      Foma, the son of the millionaire&mdash;flattered him greatly. He felt
+      happy and proud whenever he successfully managed some part of his father&rsquo;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&mdash;just
+      as before his trip to Perm&mdash;he lived as in solitude; he still felt no
+      longing for friends, although he now came in contact everyday with the
+      merchants&rsquo; sons of his age. They had invited him more than once to join
+      them in their sprees, but he rather rudely and disdainfully declined their
+      invitations and even laughed at them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid. Your fathers may learn of your sprees, and as they&rsquo;ll give
+      you a drubbing, I might also come in for a share.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What he did not like in them was that they were leading a dissipated and
+      depraved life, without their fathers&rsquo; knowledge, and that the money they
+      were spending was either stolen from their parents or borrowed on
+      long-termed promissory notes, to be paid with exorbitant interest. They in
+      turn did not like him for this very reserve and aversion, which contained
+      the pride so offensive to them. He was timid about speaking to people
+      older than himself, fearing lest he should appear in their eyes stupid and
+      thick-headed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He often recalled Pelageya, and at first he felt melancholy whenever her
+      image flashed before his imagination. But time went on, and little by
+      little rubbed off the bright colours of this woman; and before he was
+      aware of it his thoughts were occupied by the slender, angel-like
+      Medinskaya. She used to come up to Ignat almost every Sunday with various
+      requests, all of which generally had but one aim&mdash;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&rsquo;s large eyes. He noticed that every time she looked at
+      him, her eyes would grow darker, while her upper lip would tremble and
+      raise itself slightly, thus displaying very small white teeth. This always
+      frightened him. When his father noticed how steadfastly he was staring at
+      Medinskaya he told him one day:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;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&mdash;altogether
+      cold to all appearances&mdash;but take it into your hand and it will burn
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Medinskaya did not kindle in the youth any sensual passion, for there was
+      nothing in her that resembled Pelageya, and altogether she was not at all
+      like other women. He knew that shameful rumours about her were in the air,
+      but he did not believe any of them. But his relations to her were changed
+      when he noticed her one day in a carriage beside a stout man in a gray hat
+      and with long hair falling over his shoulders. His face was like a bladder&mdash;red
+      and bloated; he had neither moustache nor beard, and altogether he looked
+      like a woman in disguise. Foma was told that this was her husband. Then
+      dark and contradicting feelings sprang up within him: he felt like
+      insulting the architect, and at the same time he envied and respected him.
+      Medinskaya now seemed to him less beautiful and more accessible; he began
+      to feel sorry for her, and yet he thought malignantly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She must surely feel disgusted when he kisses her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And after all this he sometimes perceived in himself some bottomless and
+      oppressive emptiness, which could not be filled up by anything&mdash;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&mdash;all
+      were swallowed up by this emptiness. It alarmed him: in the dark depth of
+      this emptiness he suspected some hidden existence of a hostile power, as
+      yet formless but already carefully and persistently striving to become
+      incarnate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the meantime Ignat, changing but little outwardly, was growing ever
+      more restless and querulous and was complaining more often of being ill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;and it seems as
+      though it would soon tear itself away and fall somewhere into the deep;
+      into the bosom. Oh Lord, have pity upon me through Thy great mercy.&rdquo; And
+      heaving a penitent sigh, he would lift heavenward his stern eyes, grown
+      dim now, devoid of their bright, sparkling glitter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Death keeps an eye on me somewhere close by,&rdquo; he said one day morosely,
+      but humbly. And indeed, it soon felled his big, sturdy body to the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This happened in August, early in the morning. Foma was sound asleep when
+      suddenly he felt somebody shaking him by the shoulder, and a hoarse voice
+      called at his ear:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He opened his eyes and saw that his father was seated in a chair near his
+      bed, monotonously repeating in a dull voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get up, get up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sun had just risen, and its light, falling on Ignat&rsquo;s white linen
+      shirt, had not yet lost its rosy tints.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s early,&rdquo; said Foma, stretching himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;ll sleep enough later.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lazily muffling himself in the blanket, Foma asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you need me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get up, dear, will you, please?&rdquo; exclaimed Ignat, adding, somewhat
+      offended: &ldquo;It must be necessary, since I am waking you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Foma looked closely at his father&rsquo;s face, he noticed that it was gray
+      and weary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you ill?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Slightly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall we send for a doctor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil take him!&rdquo; Ignat waved his hand. &ldquo;I am not a young man any
+      longer. I know it as well without him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I know it!&rdquo; said the old man, mysteriously, casting a strange glance
+      around the room. Foma was dressing himself, and his father, with lowered
+      head, spoke slowly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you talking about, papa?&rdquo; Foma smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing. Wash yourself and go into the garden. I ordered the samovar to
+      be brought there. We&rsquo;ll drink our tea in the morning coolness. I feel like
+      drinking now hot, strong tea. Be quicker.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man rose with difficulty from the chair, and, bent and barefooted,
+      left the room in a staggering gait. Foma looked at his father, and a
+      shooting chill of fear made his heart shrink. He washed himself in haste,
+      and hurried out into the garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There, under an old, spreading apple-tree sat Ignat in a big oaken
+      armchair. The light of the sun fell in thin stripes through the branches
+      of the trees upon the white figure of the old man clad in his
+      night-garments. There was such a profound silence in the garden that even
+      the rustle of a branch, accidentally touched by Foma&rsquo;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&mdash;nor
+      the feeling that sprang up within him at the sight of the sickly, bent old
+      man, who was dressed in white, and who sat alone underneath the mute,
+      motionless, dark-green foliage, wherein red apples were modestly peeping.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be seated,&rdquo; said Ignat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We ought to send for a doctor.&rdquo; Foma advised him irresolutely, seating
+      himself opposite him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t necessary. It&rsquo;s a little better now in the open air. And now
+      I&rsquo;ll sip some tea and perhaps that will do me more good,&rdquo; said Ignat,
+      pouring out tea into the glasses, and Foma noticed that the teapot was
+      trembling in his father&rsquo;s hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drink.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Silently moving up one glass for himself, Foma bent over it, blowing the
+      foam off the surface of the tea, and with pain in his heart, hearing the
+      loud, heavy breathing of his father. Suddenly something struck against the
+      table with such force that the dishes began to rattle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma shuddered, threw up his head and met the frightened, almost senseless
+      look of his father&rsquo;s eyes. Ignat stared at his son and whispered hoarsely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An apple fell down (the devil take it!). It sounded like the firing of a
+      gun.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you have some cognac in your tea?&rdquo; Foma suggested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is good enough without it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They became silent. A flight of finches winged past over the garden,
+      scattering a provokingly cheerful twittering in the air. And again the
+      ripe beauty of the garden was bathed in solemn silence. The fright was
+      still in Ignat&rsquo;s eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh Lord, Jesus Christ!&rdquo; said he in a low voice, making the sign of the
+      cross. &ldquo;Yes. There it is&mdash;the last hour of my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop, papa!&rdquo; whispered Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why stop? We&rsquo;ll have our tea, and then send for the priest, and for
+      Mayakin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;d rather send for them now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They&rsquo;ll soon toll for the mass&mdash;the priest isn&rsquo;t home&mdash;and then
+      there&rsquo;s no hurry, it may pass soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he noisily started to sip the tea out of the saucer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was hard for him to speak, he stopped short and rubbed his chest with
+      his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not rely upon others; expect but little from them. We all live in
+      order to take, not to give. Oh Lord! Have mercy on the sinner!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Somewhere in the distance the deep sound of the bell fell on the silence
+      of the morning. Ignat and Foma crossed themselves three times.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After the first sound of the bell-tone came another, then a third, and
+      soon the air was filled with sounds of the church-bells, coming from all
+      sides&mdash;flowing, measured, calling aloud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, they are tolling for the mass,&rdquo; said Ignat, listening to the echo
+      of the bell-metal. &ldquo;Can you tell the bells by their sounds?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; answered Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just listen. This one now&mdash;do you hear? the bass&mdash;this is from
+      the Nikola Church. It was presented by Peter Mitrich Vyagin&mdash;and
+      this, the hoarse one&mdash;this is at the church of Praskeva Pyatnitza.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The singing waves of the bell-tones agitated the air, which was filled
+      with them, and they died away in the clear blue of the sky. Foma stared
+      thoughtfully at his father&rsquo;s face and saw that the alarm was disappearing
+      from his eyes, and that they were now brighter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But suddenly the old man&rsquo;s face turned very red, his eyes distended and
+      rolled out of their orbits, his mouth opened with fright, and from it
+      issued a strange, hissing sound:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;F-F-A-A-ch.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Immediately after this Ignat&rsquo;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&mdash;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&rsquo;s hands
+      began to tremble, he let go his father&rsquo;s head, and it struck heavily
+      against the ground. Dark, thick blood began to gush in a narrow stream
+      from his open mouth across his blue cheek.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma struck his breast with both hands, and kneeling before the dead body,
+      he wildly cried aloud. He was trembling with fright, and with eyes like
+      those of a madman he was searching for someone in the verdure of the
+      garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      HIS father&rsquo;s death stupefied Foma and filled him with a strange sensation;
+      quiet was poured into his soul&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;everything on earth looked dark and melancholy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The funeral was arranged by Mayakin. Hastily and briskly he was bustling
+      about in the rooms, making much clatter with the heels of his boots; he
+      cried at the household help imperiously, clapped his godson on the
+      shoulder, consoling him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why are you petrified? Roar and you will feel relieved. Your father
+      was old&mdash;old in body. Death is prepared for all of us, you cannot
+      escape it&mdash;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: &lsquo;When the body is robbed of the soul
+      by the terrible angels, the soul forgets all relatives and acquaintances,&rsquo; 
+      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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But neither did these words provoke anything in Foma&rsquo;s head or in his
+      heart. He came to himself, however, on the day of the funeral, thanks to
+      the persistence of his godfather, who was assiduously and oddly trying to
+      rouse his sad soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The day of the funeral was cloudy and dreary. Amid a heavy cloud of dust
+      an enormous crowd of people, winding like a black ribbon, followed the
+      coffin of Ignat Gordyeeff. Here and there flashed the gold of the priest&rsquo;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&rsquo;s
+      choristers. Foma was pushed from behind and from the sides; he walked,
+      seeing nothing but the gray head of his father, and the mournful singing
+      resounded in his heart like a melancholy echo. And Mayakin, walking beside
+      him, kept on intrusively whispering in his ears:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look, what a crowd&mdash;thousands! The governor himself came out to
+      accompany your father to the church, the mayor, and almost the entire city
+      council. And behind you&mdash;just turn around! There goes Sophya
+      Pavlovna. The town pays its respects to Ignat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At first Foma did not listen to his godfather&rsquo;s whisper, but when he
+      mentioned Medinskaya, he involuntarily looked back and noticed the
+      governor. A little drop of something pleasant fell into his heart at the
+      sight of this important personage, with a bright ribbon across his
+      shoulder, with orders on his breast, pacing after the coffin, an
+      expression of sorrow on his stern countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Blessed is the road where this soul goeth today,&rdquo; Yakov Tarasovich hummed
+      softly, moving his nose, and he again whispered in his godson&rsquo;s ear:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma again turned back, and his eyes met the eyes of Medinskaya. He heaved
+      a deep sigh at her caressing glance, and felt relieved at once, as if a
+      warm ray of light penetrated his soul and something melted there. And then
+      and there he considered that it was unbecoming him to turn his head from
+      side to side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At church Foma&rsquo;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&rsquo;s brow,
+      reminded him of drops of blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma&rsquo;s awakened soul was greedily feeding itself on the solemn, gloomy
+      poetry of the liturgy, and when the touching citation was heard, &ldquo;Come,
+      let us give him the last kiss,&rdquo; a loud, wailing sob escaped from Foma&rsquo;s
+      chest, and the crowd in church was stirred to agitation by this outburst
+      of grief.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+Having uttered the sob, Foma staggered. His godfather immediately caught
+him by his arms and began to push him forward to the coffin, singing
+quite loudly and with some anger:
+
+ &ldquo;Kiss him who was but lately with us.
+ Kiss, Foma, kiss him&mdash;he is given over to the grave, covered with a stone.
+ He is settling down in darkness, and is buried with the dead.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Foma touched his father&rsquo;s forehead with his lips and sprang back from the
+      coffin with horror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold your peace! You nearly knocked me down,&rdquo; Mayakin remarked to him, in
+      a low voice, and these simple, calm words supported Foma better than his
+      godfather&rsquo;s hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye that behold me mute and lifeless before you, weep for me, brethren and
+      friends,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s lament for its
+      sinful son. He was surrounded by acquaintances, who were kindly consoling
+      him; he listened to them and understood that they all felt sorry for him
+      and that he became dear to them. And his godfather whispered in his ear:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See, how they all fawn upon you. The tom-cats have smelt the fat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      These words were unpleasant to Foma, but they were useful to him, as they
+      caused him to answer at all events.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the cemetery, when they sang for Ignat&rsquo;s eternal memory, he cried again
+      bitterly and loud. His godfather immediately seized him by the arms and
+      led him away from the grave, speaking to him earnestly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;how
+      much had been spoken, how much thought&mdash;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man&rsquo;s voice began to jar and squeak queerly. His face was
+      distorted, his lips were stretched into a big grimace and were quivering,
+      and from his small eyes frequent tears were running over the now
+      contracted wrinkles of his face. He looked so pitiful and so unlike
+      himself, that Foma stopped short, pressed him close to his body with the
+      tenderness of a strong man and cried with alarm:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t cry, father&mdash;darling! Don&rsquo;t cry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There you have it!&rdquo; said Mayakin, faintly, and, heaving a deep sigh, he
+      suddenly turned again into a firm and clever old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must not cry,&rdquo; said he, mysteriously, seating himself in the carriage
+      beside his godson. &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Surprised at the quickness of his transformation, Foma listened to his
+      words and for some reason or other they reminded him of those clods of
+      earth, which the people threw into Ignat&rsquo;s grave upon his coffin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On whom am I to make war?&rdquo; said Foma with a sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll teach you that! Did your father tell you that I was a clever old man
+      and that you should mind me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt is there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt? She is sick. She will not live long.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not speak of it,&rdquo; begged Foma in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I will speak of it. You need not fear death&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what do you understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are probably lying?&rdquo; Mayakin doubted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, why must we die?&rdquo; asked Foma in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin looked into his face with regret, smacked his lips and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re simply mocking me at random,&rdquo; said Foma, sternly. &ldquo;The sea is not
+      flowing anywhere.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What of it? But my father is dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will die as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what have I to do with the fact that people are growing in number?&rdquo;
+       Foma smiled sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, he, he!&rdquo; sighed Mayakin. &ldquo;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&mdash;you wear them out and throw them away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma glanced at his godfather reproachfully, and noticing that the old man
+      was smiling, he was astonished and he asked respectfully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can it be true, father, that you do not fear death?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Most of all I fear foolishness, my child,&rdquo; replied Mayakin with humble
+      bitterness. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man&rsquo;s mocking words offended and angered Foma. He turned aside and
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can never speak without these subterfuges.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot!&rdquo; exclaimed Mayakin, and his eyes began to sparkle with alarm.
+      &ldquo;Each man uses the very same tongue he has. Do I seem to be stern? Do I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you. Know this&mdash;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. &lsquo;Ecclesiastes&rsquo; reflected on death better than anybody else
+      reflected on it, and said that a living dog is better than a dead lion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They came home. The street near the house was crowded with carriages, and
+      from the open windows came loud sounds of talk. As soon as Foma appeared
+      in the hall, he was seized by the arms and led away to the table and there
+      was urged to drink and eat something. A marketplace noise smote the air;
+      the hall was crowded and suffocating. Silently, Foma drank a glass of
+      vodka, then another, and a third. Around him they were munching and
+      smacking their lips; the vodka poured out from the bottles was gurgling,
+      the wine-glasses were tinkling. They were speaking of dried sturgeon and
+      of the bass of the soloist of the bishop&rsquo;s choir, and then again of the
+      dried sturgeon, and then they said that the mayor also wished to make a
+      speech, but did not venture to do so after the bishop had spoken, fearing
+      lest he should not speak so well as the bishop. Someone was telling with
+      feeling:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us follow his example,&rdquo; roared a thick basso. Offended to the quick,
+      Foma looked with a frown at the fat lips and at the jaws chewing the tasty
+      food, and he felt like crying out and driving away all these people, whose
+      sedateness had but lately inspired him with respect for them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You had better be more kind, more sociable,&rdquo; said Mayakin in a low voice,
+      coming up to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are they gobbling here? Is this a tavern?&rdquo; cried Foma, angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush,&rdquo; Mayakin remarked with fright and hastily turned to look around
+      with a kind smile on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was too late; his smile was of no avail. Foma&rsquo;s words had been
+      overheard, the noise and the talk was subsiding, some of the guests began
+      to bustle about hurriedly, others, offended, frowned, put down their forks
+      and knives and walked away from the table, all looking at Foma askance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Silent and angry, he met these glances without lowering his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ask you to come up to the table!&rdquo; cried Mayakin, gleaming amid the
+      crowd of people like an ember amid ashes. &ldquo;Be seated, pray! They&rsquo;re soon
+      serving pancakes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma shrugged his shoulders and walked off toward the door, saying aloud:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall not eat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He heard a hostile rumbling behind him and his godfather&rsquo;s wheedling voice
+      saying to somebody:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s for grief. Ignat was at once father and mother to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma came out in the garden and sat down on the same place where his
+      father had died. The feeling of loneliness and grief oppressed his heart.
+      He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt to make his breathing easier, rested
+      his elbows on the table, and with his head tightly pressed between his
+      hands, he sat motionless. It was drizzling and the leaves of the
+      apple-tree were rustling mournfully under the drops of the rain. He sat
+      there for a long time alone, motionless, watching how the small drops were
+      falling from the apple-tree. His head was heavy from the vodka, and in his
+      heart there was a growing grudge against men. Some indefinite, impersonal
+      feelings and thoughts were springing up and vanishing within him; before
+      him flashed the bald skull of his godfather with a little crown of silver
+      hair and with a dark face, which resembled the faces of the ancient ikons.
+      This face with the toothless mouth and the malicious smile, rousing in
+      Foma hatred and fear, augmented in him the consciousness of solitude. Then
+      he recalled the kind eyes of Medinskaya and her small, graceful figure;
+      and beside her arose the tall, robust, and rosy-cheeked Lubov Mayakina
+      with smiling eyes and with a big light golden-coloured braid. &ldquo;Do not rely
+      upon men, expect but little at their hands&rdquo;&mdash;his father&rsquo;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&rsquo;s soul was dry, dark; it was filled
+      with a painful feeling of orphanhood. But this feeling gave birth to the
+      question:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How shall I live now that I am alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rain drenched his clothes, and when he felt that he was shivering with
+      cold he arose and went into the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Life was tugging him from all sides, giving him no chance to be
+      concentrated in thinking of and grieving for his father, and on the
+      fortieth day after Ignat&rsquo;s death Foma, attired in holiday clothes, with a
+      pleasant feeling in his heart, went to the ceremony of the corner-stone
+      laying of the lodging-asylum. Medinskaya notified him in a letter the day
+      before, that he had been elected as a member of the building committee and
+      also as honorary member of the society of which she was president. This
+      pleased him and he was greatly agitated by the part he was to play today
+      at the laying of the corner-stone. On his way he thought of how everything
+      would be and how he should behave in order not to be confused before the
+      people.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, eh! Hold on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned around. Mayakin came hastening to him from the sidewalk. He was
+      in a frock-coat that reached his heels, in a high cap, and he carried a
+      huge umbrella in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, take me up there,&rdquo; said the old man, cleverly jumping into the
+      carriage like a monkey. &ldquo;To tell the truth, I was waiting for you. I was
+      looking around, thinking it was time for you to go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you going there?&rdquo; asked Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course! I must see how they will bury my friend&rsquo;s money in the
+      ground.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma looked at him askance and was silent. &ldquo;Why do you frown upon me?
+      Don&rsquo;t fear, you will also start out as a benefactor among men.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; asked Foma, reservedly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;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&rsquo;s society.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This membership will eat into your pocket!&rdquo; sighed Mayakin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That wouldn&rsquo;t ruin me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know it,&rdquo; observed the old man, maliciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I speak of this more because there is altogether very little wisdom in
+      this charity business, and I may even say that it isn&rsquo;t a business at all,
+      but simply harmful nonsense.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it harmful to aid people?&rdquo; asked Foma, hotly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you cabbage head!&rdquo; said Mayakin with a smile. &ldquo;You had better come up
+      to my house, I&rsquo;ll open your eyes in regard to this. I must teach you! Will
+      you come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, I will come!&rdquo; replied Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So. And in the meantime, hold yourself proud at the laying of the
+      corner-stone. Stand in view of everybody. If I don&rsquo;t tell this to you, you
+      might hide yourself behind somebody&rsquo;s back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should I hide myself?&rdquo; said Foma, displeased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;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&rsquo; worth of
+      work, you should get a rouble in return for it. And if you will hide
+      yourself&mdash;nothing but foolishness will be the result.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They arrived at their destination, where all the important people had
+      gathered already, and an enormous crowd of people surrounded the piles of
+      wood, bricks and earth. The bishop, the governor, the representatives of
+      the city&rsquo;s aristocracy and the administration formed, together with the
+      splendidly dressed ladies, a big bright group and looked at the efforts of
+      the two stonemasons, who were preparing the bricks and the lime. Mayakin
+      and his godson wended their way toward this group. He whispered to Foma:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lose no courage, these people have robbed their bellies to cover
+      themselves with silk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he greeted the governor before the bishop, in a respectfully cheerful
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, your Excellency? Give me your blessing, your Holiness!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Yakov Tarasovich!&rdquo; exclaimed the governor with a friendly smile,
+      shaking and squeezing Mayakin&rsquo;s hand, while the old man was at the same
+      time kissing the bishop&rsquo;s hand. &ldquo;How are you, deathless old man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you humbly, your Excellency! My respects to Sophya Pavlovna!&rdquo;
+       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&mdash;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s adroitness and lost his courage, and feeling that
+      he was losing his courage&mdash;he grew still more timid. But now Mayakin
+      seized him by the hand and drew him up to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, your Excellency, this is my godson, Foma, the late Ignat&rsquo;s only
+      son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said the governor in his basso, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m very pleased. I sympathise with
+      you in your misfortune, young man!&rdquo; he said, shaking Foma&rsquo;s hand, and
+      became silent; then he added resolutely and confidently: &ldquo;To lose a
+      father, that is a very painful misfortune.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And, having waited about two seconds for Foma&rsquo;s answer, he turned away
+      from him, addressing Mayakin approvingly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then, your Excellency, a small capital means that the city will have
+      to add its own money.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perfectly true! Perfectly true!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Temperance, I say, is good! Would to God that all were sober! I don&rsquo;t
+      drink, either, but what is the use of these performances, libraries and
+      all that, since the people cannot even read?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The governor replied approvingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t, we can ask for more in St. Petersburg&mdash;they&rsquo;ll
+      give it to us. Then the city wouldn&rsquo;t have to add of its own money, and
+      the whole affair would be more sensible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Precisely! I fully agree with you! But how the liberals began to cry at
+      you! Eh? Ha, ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That has always been their business, to cry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The deep cough of the archdeacon of the cathedral announced the beginning
+      of the divine service.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sophya Pavlovna came up to Foma, greeted him and said in a sad, low voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I looked at your face on the day of the funeral, and my heart saddened.
+      My God, I thought, how he must suffer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Foma listened to her and felt as though he was drinking honey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t that so?&rdquo; she asked, naively looking into his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was silent, his head bent on his breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you believe that I am an old woman?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe you; that is, I believe everything you may say; only this is
+      not true!&rdquo; said Foma, feelingly, in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is not true? What do you believe me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! not this, but that. I&mdash;excuse me! I cannot speak!&rdquo; said Foma,
+      sadly, all aflush with confusion. &ldquo;I am not cultured.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You need not trouble yourself on this account,&rdquo; said Medinskaya,
+      patronisingly. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What could Foma say in answer to this question? He said sincerely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you humbly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And noticing that his words called forth a gay gleam in Medinskaya&rsquo;s eyes,
+      Foma appeared ridiculous and stupid in his own eyes; he immediately became
+      angry at himself and said in a muffled voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What makes you speak that way?&rdquo; said the woman, reproachfully, and
+      adjusting her dress, she accidentally stroked Foma&rsquo;s hand, in which he
+      held his hat. This made him look at his wrist and smile joyously and
+      confusedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will surely be present at the dinner, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; asked Medinskaya.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And tomorrow at the meeting in my house?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Without fail!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And perhaps sometime you will drop in, simply on a visit, wouldn&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I thank you! I&rsquo;ll come!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must thank you for the promise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They became silent. In the air soared the reverently soft voice of the
+      bishop, who recited the prayer expressively, outstretching his hand over
+      the place where the corner-stone of the house was laid:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How rich and beautiful our prayers are, are they not?&rdquo; asked Medinskaya.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Foma, shortly, without understanding her words and feeling
+      that he was blushing again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They will always be opponents of our commercial interests,&rdquo; Mayakin
+      whispered loudly and convincingly, standing beside the city mayor, not far
+      from Foma. &ldquo;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.&mdash;Translator&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;t it so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the archdeacon droned, his head thrown back:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eternal me-emo-ory to the founder of this ho-ouse!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma shuddered, but Mayakin was already by his side, and pulling him by
+      the sleeve, asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you going to the dinner?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Medinskaya&rsquo;s velvet-like, warm little hand glided once more over
+      Foma&rsquo;s hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dinner was to Foma a real torture. For the first time in his life
+      among these uniformed people, he saw that they were eating and speaking&mdash;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&mdash;plump, short,
+      round-faced and a lively talker&mdash;he looked like a brand new bell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The very best thing in our society is the patroness; the most reasonable
+      is what we are doing&mdash;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 &lsquo;the Society of Solicitude,&rsquo; and so
+      on, but of the Society of Tantaluses, which is composed of persons bent on
+      pleasing Sophya Medinskaya.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma listened to his chatter, now and then looking at the patroness, who
+      was absorbed in a conversation with the chief of the police; Foma roared
+      in reply to his interlocutor, pretending to be busy eating, and he wished
+      that all this would end the sooner. He felt that he was wretched, stupid,
+      ridiculous and he was certain that everybody was watching and censuring
+      him. This tied him with invisible shackles, thus checking his words and
+      his thoughts. At last he went so far, that the line of various
+      physiognomies, stretched out by the table opposite him, seemed to him a
+      long and wavy white strip besprinkled with laughing eyes, and all these
+      eyes were pricking him unpleasantly and painfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin sat near the city mayor, waved his fork in the air quickly, and
+      kept on talking all the time, now contracting, now expanding the wrinkles
+      of his face. The mayor, a gray-headed, red-faced, short-necked man, stared
+      at him like a bull, with obstinate attention and at times he rapped on the
+      edge of the table with his big finger affirmatively. The animated talk and
+      laughter drowned his godfather&rsquo;s bold speech, and Foma was unable to hear
+      a single word of it, much more so that the tenor of the secretary was
+      unceasingly ringing in his ears:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look, there, the archdeacon arose; he is filling his lungs with air; he
+      will soon proclaim an eternal memory for Ignat Matveyich.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I not go away?&rdquo; asked Foma in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? Everybody will understand this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The deacon&rsquo;s resounding voice drowned and seemed to have crushed the noise
+      in the hail; the eminent merchants fixed their eyes on the big, wide-open
+      mouth, from which a deep sound was streaming forth, and availing himself
+      of this moment, Foma arose from his seat and left the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After awhile he breathed freely and, sitting in his cab, thought sadly
+      that there was no place for him amid these people. Inwardly, he called
+      them polished. He did not like their brilliancy, their faces, their smiles
+      or their words, but the freedom and the cleverness of their movements,
+      their ability to speak much and on any subject, their pretty costumes&mdash;all
+      this aroused in him a mixture of envy and respect for them. He felt sad
+      and oppressed at the consciousness of being unable to talk so much and so
+      fluently as all these people, and here he recalled that Luba Mayakina had
+      more than once scoffed at him on this account.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma did not like Mayakin&rsquo;s daughter, and since he had learned from his
+      father of Mayakin&rsquo;s intention to marry him to Luba, the young Gordyeeff
+      began to shun her. But after his father&rsquo;s death he was almost every day at
+      the Mayakins, and somehow Luba said to him one day:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am looking at you, and, do you know?&mdash;you do not resemble a
+      merchant at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor do you look like a merchant&rsquo;s daughter,&rdquo; said Foma, and looked at her
+      suspiciously. He did not understand the meaning of her words; did she mean
+      to offend him, or did she say these words without any kind thoughts?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God for this!&rdquo; said she and smiled to him a kind, friendly smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What makes you so glad?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fact that we don&rsquo;t resemble our fathers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma glanced at her in astonishment and kept silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me frankly,&rdquo; said she, lowering her voice, &ldquo;you do not love my
+      father, do you? You don&rsquo;t like him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not very much,&rdquo; said Foma, slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I dislike him very much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For everything. When you grow wiser, you will know it yourself. Your
+      father was a better man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course!&rdquo; said Foma, proudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After this conversation an attachment sprang up between them almost
+      immediately, and growing stronger from day to day, it soon developed into
+      friendship, though a somewhat odd friendship it was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Though Luba was not older than her god-brother, she nevertheless treated
+      him as an older person would treat a little boy. She spoke to him
+      condescendingly, often jesting at his expense; her talk was always full of
+      words which were unfamiliar to Foma; and she pronounced these words with
+      particular emphasis and with evident satisfaction. She was especially fond
+      of speaking about her brother Taras, whom she had never seen, but of whom
+      she was telling such stories as would make him look like Aunt Anfisa&rsquo;s
+      brave and noble robbers. Often, when complaining of her father, she said
+      to Foma:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will also be just such a skinflint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All this was unpleasant to the youth and stung his vanity. But at times
+      she was straightforward, simple-minded, and particularly kind and friendly
+      to him; then he would unburden his heart before her, and for a long time
+      they would share each other&rsquo;s thoughts and feelings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Both spoke a great deal and spoke sincerely, but neither one understood
+      the other; it seemed to Foma that whatever Luba had to say was foreign to
+      him and unnecessary to her, and at the same time he clearly saw that his
+      awkward words did not at all interest her, and that she did not care to
+      understand them. No matter how long these conversations lasted, they gave
+      both of them the sensation of discomfort and dissatisfaction. As if an
+      invisible wall of perplexity had suddenly arisen and stood between them.
+      They did not venture to touch this wall, or to tell each other that they
+      felt it was there&mdash;they resumed their conversations, dimly conscious
+      that there was something in each of them that might bind and unite them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Foma arrived at his godfather&rsquo;s house, he found Luba alone. She came
+      out to meet him, and it was evident that she was either ill or out of
+      humour; her eyes were flashing feverishly and were surrounded with black
+      circles. Feeling cold, she muffled herself in a warm shawl and said with a
+      smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is good that you&rsquo;ve come! For I was sitting here alone; it is lonesome&mdash;I
+      don&rsquo;t feel like going anywhere. Will you drink tea?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will. What is the matter with you, are you ill?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go to the dining-room, and I&rsquo;ll tell them to bring the samovar,&rdquo; she
+      said, not answering his question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went into one of the small rooms of the house, whose two windows
+      overlooked the garden. In the middle of the room stood an oval table,
+      surrounded with old-fashioned, leather-covered chairs; on one partition
+      hung a clock in a long case with a glass door, in the corner was a
+      cupboard for dishes, and opposite the windows, by the walls, was an oaken
+      sideboard as big as a fair-sized room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you coming from the banquet?&rdquo; asked Luba, entering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma nodded his head mutely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, how was it? Grand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was terrible!&rdquo; Foma smiled. &ldquo;I sat there as if on hot coals. They all
+      looked there like peacocks, while I looked like a barn-owl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Luba was taking out dishes from the cupboard and said nothing to Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really, why are you so sad?&rdquo; asked Foma again, glancing at her gloomy
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned to him and said with enthusiasm and anxiety:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Foma! What a book I&rsquo;ve read! If you could only understand it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It must be a good book, since it worked you up in this way,&rdquo; said Foma,
+      smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not sleep. I read all night long. Just think of it: you read&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t like this,&rdquo; said Foma, dissatisfied. &ldquo;That&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The theatre and the school are one and the same, Foma,&rdquo; said Luba,
+      instructively. &ldquo;The merchants used to be like this. And what deceit can
+      there be in books?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just as in fairy&mdash;tales, nothing is real.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are wrong! You have read no books; how can you judge? Books are
+      precisely real. They teach you how to live.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come!&rdquo; Foma waved his hand. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is he striving for?&rdquo; exclaimed Luba. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You need not compare them. They evidently like one thing, while your
+      father likes another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They do not like anything!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      How&rsquo;s that?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They want to change everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So they do strive for something?&rdquo; said Foma, thoughtfully. &ldquo;They do wish
+      for something?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They wish for happiness for all!&rdquo; cried Luba, hotly. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t understand
+      this,&rdquo; said Foma, nodding his head. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Those are not men!&rdquo; announced Luba, categorically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Foma!&rdquo; exclaimed Luba, vexed. &ldquo;You understand nothing! Nothing
+      agitates you! You are an idler.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, that&rsquo;s going too far! I&rsquo;ve simply not had time enough to see where I
+      am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are simply an empty man,&rdquo; said Luba, resolutely and firmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were not within my soul,&rdquo; replied Foma, calmly. &ldquo;You cannot know my
+      thoughts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is there that you should think of?&rdquo; said Luba, shrugging her
+      shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So? First of all, I am alone. Secondly, I must live. Don&rsquo;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.&rdquo; Foma concluded his words and smiled confusedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is necessary to read, to study,&rdquo; Luba advised him convincingly, pacing
+      up and down the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Something is stirring within my soul,&rdquo; Foma went on, not looking at her,
+      as though speaking to himself; &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean the aristocrats?&rdquo; asked Luba.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s just the place for you!&rdquo; said Luba, with a smile of contempt. &ldquo;Eh,
+      you! Are they men? Do they have souls?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you know them? You are not acquainted with them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the books? Have I not read books about them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The maid brought in the samovar, and the conversation was interrupted.
+      Luba made tea in silence while Foma looked at her and thought of
+      Medinskaya. He was wishing to have a talk with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the girl, thoughtfully, &ldquo;I am growing more and more convinced
+      everyday that it is hard to live. What shall I do? Marry? Whom? Shall I
+      marry a merchant who will do nothing but rob people all his life, nothing
+      but drink and play cards? A savage? I do not want it! I want to be an
+      individual. I am such, for I know how wrong the construction of life is.
+      Shall I study? My father will not allow this. Oh Lord! Shall I run away? I
+      have not enough courage. What am I to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She clasped her hands and bowed her head over the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you knew but how repulsive everything is. There is not a living soul
+      around here. Since my mother died, my father drove everyone away. Some
+      went off to study. Lipa, too, left us. She writes me:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Read.&rsquo; Ah, I am reading! I am reading!&rsquo; she exclaimed, with despair in
+      her voice, and after a moment&rsquo;s silence she went on sadly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Books do not contain what the heart needs most, and there&rsquo;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: &lsquo;Read and
+      you will understand it.&rsquo; I want bread and she gives me a stone. I
+      understand what one must do&mdash;one must stand up for what he loves and
+      believes. He must fight for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And she concluded, uttering something like a moan:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am alone! Whom shall I fight? There are no enemies here. There are
+      no men! I live here in a prison!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma listened to her words, fixedly examining the fingers of his hand; he
+      felt that in her words was some great distress, but he could not
+      understand her. And when she became silent, depressed and sad, he found
+      nothing to tell her save a few words that were like a reproach:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, you yourself say that books are worthless to you, and yet you
+      instruct me to read.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked into his face, and anger flashed in her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All aflush, she looked at him so angrily and spoke with so much
+      spitefulness, that in his astonishment he did not even feel offended by
+      her. She had never before spoken to him in such manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with you?&rdquo; he asked her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hate you, too! You, what are you? Dead, empty; how will you live? What
+      will you give to mankind?&rdquo; she said with malice, in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll give nothing; let them strive for it themselves,&rdquo; answered Foma,
+      knowing that these words would augment her anger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Unfortunate creature!&rdquo; exclaimed the girl with contempt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The assurance and the power of her reproaches involuntarily compelled Foma
+      to listen attentively to her spiteful words; he felt there was common
+      sense in them. He even came nearer to her, but she, enraged and
+      exasperated, turned away from him and became silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was still light outside, and the reflection of the setting sun lay
+      still on the branches of the linden-trees before the windows, but the room
+      was already filled with twilight, and the sideboard, the clock and the
+      cupboard seemed to have grown in size. The huge pendulum peeped out every
+      moment from beneath the glass of the clock-case, and flashing dimly, was
+      hiding with a weary sound now on the right side, now on the left. Foma
+      looked at the pendulum and he began to feel awkward and lonesome. Luba
+      arose and lighted the lamp which was hanging over the table. The girl&rsquo;s
+      face was pale and stern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You went for me,&rdquo; said Foma, reservedly. &ldquo;What for? I can&rsquo;t understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to speak to you!&rdquo; replied Luba, angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s your affair. But nevertheless, what wrong have I done to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s house.
+      They keep me here as a housekeeper. Then they&rsquo;ll marry me! Again
+      housekeeping. It&rsquo;s a swamp. I am drowning, suffocating.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what have I to do with it?&rdquo; asked Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are no better than the others.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And therefore I am guilty before you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, guilty! You must desire to be better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But do I not wish it?&rdquo; exclaimed Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl was about to tell him something, but at this time the bell began
+      to ring somewhere, and she said in a low voice, leaning back in her chair:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would not feel sorry if he stayed away a little longer,&rdquo; said Foma. &ldquo;I
+      wish I could listen to you some more. You speak so very oddly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! my children, my doves!&rdquo; exclaimed Yakov Tarasovich, appearing in the
+      doorway. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re drinking tea? Pour out some tea for me, Lugava!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sweetly smiling, and rubbing his hands, he sat down near Foma and asked,
+      playfully jostling him in the side:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you been cooing about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So&mdash;about different trifles,&rdquo; answered Luba.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t asked you, have I?&rdquo; said her father to her, with a grimace.
+      &ldquo;You just sit there, hold your tongue, and mind your woman&rsquo;s affairs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been telling her about the dinner,&rdquo; Foma interrupted his godfather&rsquo;s
+      words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aha! So-o-o. Well, then, I&rsquo;ll also speak about the dinner. I have been
+      watching you of late. You don&rsquo;t behave yourself sensibly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; asked Foma, knitting his brow, ill pleased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I just mean that your behaviour is preposterous, and that&rsquo;s all. When the
+      governor, for instance, speaks to you, you keep quiet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But as the Lord willed it so, I do not grumble, your Excellency. That&rsquo;s
+      what you should have said, or something in this spirit. Governors, my
+      dear, are very fond of meekness in a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was I to look at him like a lamb?&rdquo; said Foma, with a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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: &lsquo;You are our father, we are your children,&rsquo; and he will
+      immediately soften.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what is this for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For any event. A governor, my dear, can always be of use somewhere.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you teach him, papa?&rdquo; said Luba, indignantly, in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To dance attendance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Luba rose quickly and throwing the towel across the back of the chair,
+      left the room. Mayakin, winking his eyes, looked after her, tapped the
+      table with his fingers and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma saw how the wrinkles on the old man&rsquo;s forehead were twitching, and
+      they seemed to him like lines of Slavonic letters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;this
+      is the wrong side; the other is concealed&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is there to consider here?&rdquo; said Foma, wearily &ldquo;Everybody knows what
+      they are for&mdash;for the poor and feeble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s name to his own.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What has this to do with it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all to the point. So you say that these houses are for the poor, for
+      beggars, consequently, in accordance with Christ&rsquo;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: &lsquo;For the sake of Christ!&rsquo; and
+      by his singing he reminds us of Christ, of His holy commandment to help
+      the neighbour. But men have so arranged their life that it is impossible
+      for them to act according to the teachings of Christ, and Jesus Christ has
+      become altogether unnecessary to us. Not one time, but perhaps a hundred
+      thousand times have we turned Him over to the cross, and yet we cannot
+      drive Him altogether out of life, because His poor brethren sing His Holy
+      name on the streets and thus remind us of Him. And now we have arranged to
+      lock up these beggars in separate houses that they should not walk around
+      on the streets and should not rouse our conscience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cle-ver!&rdquo; whispered Foma, amazed, staring fixedly at his godfather.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aha!&rdquo; exclaimed Mayakin, his eyes beaming with triumph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is it that my father did not think of this?&rdquo; asked Foma, uneasily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; said Foma, confused by the old man&rsquo;s clever words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And this is not all. The pool is not yet baled out to the bottom!&rdquo;
+       exclaimed Mayakin, swinging his hand in the air with animation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wrinkles of his face were in motion; his long, ravenous nose was
+      stirring, and in his voice rang notes of irritability and emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;everything from
+      them. Before, they were land-owners, now their land was snatched away from
+      them&mdash;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&rsquo;t that so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True!&rdquo; assented Foma, eager to hear the sooner that which was to follow,
+      and which was already sparkling in the eyes of his godfather.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just mark this,&rdquo; the old man went on distinctly and impressively. &ldquo;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&mdash;idlers and poor unfortunates;
+      and since by multiplying them they obstructed life and spoilt it&mdash;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&mdash;we, judge it
+      for yourself, why should we mend another&rsquo;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: &lsquo;Pray, help us, gentlemen!&rsquo; 
+      and we&rsquo;ll tell them: &lsquo;Let us have room for our work! Rank us among the
+      builders of this same life!&rsquo; 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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, I do!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When his godfather spoke of the functionaries, Foma reminded himself of
+      the people that were present at the dinner; he recalled the brisk
+      secretary, and a thought flashed through his mind that this stout little
+      man has in all probability an income of no more than a thousand roubles a
+      year, while he, Foma, has a million. But that man lives so easily and
+      freely, while he, Foma, does not know how to live, is indeed abashed to
+      live. This comparison and his godfather&rsquo;s speech roused in him a whirl of
+      thoughts, but he had time to grasp and express only one of them:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, do we work for the sake of money only? What&rsquo;s the use of money if
+      it can give us no power?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aha!&rdquo; said Mayakin, winking his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, offended. &ldquo;How about my father? Have you spoken to
+      him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I spoke to him for twenty years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, how about him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My words did not reach him. The crown of your father&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not sorry for the money.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should have tried to earn even a tenth part of it, then speak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I come in?&rdquo; came Luba&rsquo;s voice from behind the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, step right in,&rdquo; said the father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you have lunch now?&rdquo; she asked, entering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us have it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She walked up to the sideboard and soon the dishes were rattling. Yakov
+      Tarasovich looked at her, moved his lips, and suddenly striking Foma&rsquo;s
+      knee with his hand, he said to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the way, my godson! Think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma responded with a smile and thought: &ldquo;But he&rsquo;s clever&mdash;cleverer
+      than my father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But another voice within him immediately replied:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cleverer, but worse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      FOMA&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s important position in town
+      and to his extensive acquaintance on the Volga, business was splendid, but
+      Mayakin&rsquo;s zealous interest in his affairs strengthened Foma&rsquo;s suspicions
+      that his godfather was firmly resolved to marry him to Luba, and this made
+      the old man more repulsive to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He liked Luba, but at the same time she seemed suspicious and dangerous
+      for him. She did not marry, and Mayakin never said a word about it; he
+      gave no evening parties, invited none of the youths to his house and did
+      not allow Luba to leave the house. And all her girl friends were married
+      already. Foma admired her words and listened to her just as eagerly as to
+      her father; but whenever she started to speak of Taras with love and
+      anguish, it seemed to him that she was hiding another man under that name,
+      perhaps that same Yozhov, who according to her words, had to leave the
+      university for some reason or other, and go to Moscow. There was a great
+      deal of simplemindedness and kindness in her, which pleased Foma, and
+      ofttimes her words awakened in him a feeling of pity for her; it seemed to
+      him that she was not alive, that she was dreaming though awake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His conduct at the funeral feast for his father became known to all the
+      merchants and gave him a bad reputation. On the Exchange, he noticed,
+      everybody looked at him sneeringly, malevolently, and spoke to him in some
+      peculiar way. One day he heard behind him a low exclamation, full of
+      contempt:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gordyeeff! Milksop!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt that this was said of him, but he did not turn around to see who
+      it was that flung those words at him. The rich people, who had inspired
+      him with timidity before, were now losing in his eyes the witchery of
+      their wealth and wisdom. They had more than once snatched out of his hands
+      this or that profitable contract; he clearly saw that they would do it
+      again, and they all seemed to him alike&mdash;greedy for money, always
+      ready to cheat one another. When he imparted to his godfather his
+      observation, the old man said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How then? Business is just the same as war&mdash;a hazardous affair.
+      There they fight for the purse, and in the purse is the soul.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t like this,&rdquo; announced Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neither do I like everything&mdash;there&rsquo;s too much fraud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo; worth for a half a copeck.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, this isn&rsquo;t too good,&rdquo; said Foma, thoughtfully. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man smiled, and the broken teeth in his mouth roused in Foma the
+      keen thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have bitten many, it seems.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s but one word&mdash;battle!&rdquo; repeated the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is this the real one?&rdquo; asked Foma, looking at Mayakin searchingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is, what do you mean&mdash;the real?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there nothing better than this? Does this contain everything?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;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: &lsquo;Man is born unto
+      trouble, as the sparks, to fly upward.&rsquo; 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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand this!&rdquo; said Foma, firmly and confidently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;Foma sat and watched them sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Over the soft rugs she was noiselessly passing hither and thither, casting
+      to him kind glances and smiles, while her admirers were fawning upon her,
+      and they all, like serpents, were cleverly gliding by the various little
+      tables, chairs, screens, flower-stands&mdash;a storehouse full of
+      beautiful and frail things, scattered about the room with a carelessness
+      equally dangerous to them and to Foma. But when he walked there, the rugs
+      did not drown his footsteps, and all these things caught at his coat,
+      trembled and fell. Beside the piano stood a sailor made of bronze, whose
+      hand was lifted, ready to throw the life-saving ring; on this ring were
+      ropes of wire, and these always pulled Foma by the hair. All this provoked
+      laughter among Sophya Pavlovna and her admirers, and Foma suffered
+      greatly, changing from heat to cold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he felt no less uncomfortable even when alone with her. Greeting him
+      with a kindly smile, she would take a seat beside him in one of the cosy
+      corners of her drawing-room and would usually start her conversation by
+      complaining to him of everybody:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t believe how glad I am to see you!&rdquo; Bending like a cat, she
+      would gaze into his eyes with her dark glance, in which something avidious
+      would now flash up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I love to speak to you,&rdquo; she said, musically drawling her words. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
+      grown tired of all the rest of them. They&rsquo;re all so boring, ordinary and
+      worn-out, while you are fresh, sincere. You don&rsquo;t like those people
+      either, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t bear them!&rdquo; replied Foma, firmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And me?&rdquo; she asked softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma turned his eyes away from her and said, with a sigh:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many times have you asked me that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it hard for you to tell me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t hard, but what for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must know it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are making sport of me,&rdquo; said Foma, sternly. And she opened her eyes
+      wide and inquired in a tone of great astonishment:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do I make sport of you? What does it mean to make sport?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And her face looked so angelic that he could not help believing her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I love you! I love you! It is impossible not to love you!&rdquo; said he hotly,
+      and immediately added sadly, lowering his voice: &ldquo;But you don&rsquo;t need it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There you have it!&rdquo; sighed Medinskaya, satisfied, drawing back from him.
+      &ldquo;I am always extremely pleased to hear you say this, with so much
+      youthfulness and originality. Would you like to kiss my hand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Without saying a word he seized her thin, white little hand and carefully
+      bending down to it, he passionately kissed it for a long time. Smiling and
+      graceful, not in the least moved by his passion, she freed her hand from
+      his. Pensively, she looked at him with that strange glitter in her eyes,
+      which always confused Foma; she examined him as something rare and
+      extremely curious, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;you are a precious stone, and you should be polished.
+      Oh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Whenever she told him: &ldquo;You,&rdquo; or &ldquo;according to your merchant fashion,&rdquo; 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&mdash;her beauty, her words, her
+      dresses. And beside this adoration there was in him a painfully keen
+      consciousness of his remoteness from her, of her supremacy over him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These relations were established between them within a short time; after
+      two or three meetings Medinskaya was in full possession of the youth and
+      she slowly began to torture him. Evidently she liked to have a healthy,
+      strong youth at her mercy; she liked to rouse and tame the animal in him
+      merely with her voice and glance, and confident of the power of her
+      superiority, she found pleasure in thus playing with him. On leaving her,
+      he was usually half-sick from excitement, bearing her a grudge, angry with
+      himself, filled with many painful and intoxicating sensations. And about
+      two days later he would come to undergo the same torture again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day he asked her timidly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sophya Pavlovna! Have you ever had any children?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought not!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma with delight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She cast at him the look of a very naive little girl, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What made you think so? And why do you want to know whether I had any
+      children or not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma blushed, and, bending his head, began to speak to her in a heavy
+      voice, as though he was lifting every word from the ground and as though
+      each word weighed a few puds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see&mdash;a woman who&mdash;has given birth to children&mdash;such a
+      woman has altogether different eyes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So? What kind are they then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shameless!&rdquo; Foma blurted out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Medinskaya broke into her silver laughter, and Foma, looking at her, also
+      began to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me!&rdquo; said he, at length. &ldquo;Perhaps I&rsquo;ve said something wrong,
+      improper.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, no! You cannot say anything improper. You are a pure, amiable
+      boy. And so, my eyes are not shameless?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yours are like an angel&rsquo;s!&rdquo; announced Foma with enthusiasm, looking at
+      her with beaming eyes. And she glanced at him, as she had never done
+      before; her look was that of a mother, a sad look of love mingled with
+      fear for the beloved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go, dear one. I am tired; I need a rest,&rdquo; she said to him, as she rose
+      without looking at him. He went away submissively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For some time after this incident her attitude toward him was stricter and
+      more sincere, as though she pitied him, but later their relations assumed
+      the old form of the cat-and-mouse play.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma&rsquo;s relation toward Medinskaya could not escape his godfather&rsquo;s notice,
+      and one day the old man asked him, with a malicious grimace:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foma! You had better feel your head more often so that you may not lose
+      it by accident.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; asked Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I speak of Sonka. You are going to see her too often.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What has that to do with you?&rdquo; said Foma, rather rudely. &ldquo;And why do you
+      call her Sonka?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s nothing to me. I would lose nothing if you should be fleeced. And as
+      to calling her Sonka&mdash;everybody knows that is her name. So does
+      everybody know that she likes to rake up the fire with other people&rsquo;s
+      hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is clever!&rdquo; announced Foma, firmly, frowning and hiding his hands in
+      his pockets. &ldquo;She is intelligent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clever, that&rsquo;s true! How cleverly she arranged that entertainment; there
+      was an income of two thousand four hundred roubles, the expenses&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They&rsquo;re not idlers, they are clever people!&rdquo; replied Foma, angrily,
+      contradicting himself now. &ldquo;And I learn from them. What am I? I know
+      nothing. What was I taught? While there they speak of everything&mdash;and
+      each one has his word to say. Do not hinder me from being like a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pooh! How you&rsquo;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&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Intensely agitated, Foma set his teeth together and walked away from
+      Mayakin, thrusting his hands still deeper into his pockets. But the old
+      man soon started again a conversation about Medinskaya.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were on their way back from the bay after an inspection of the
+      steamers, and seated in a big and commodious sledge, they were
+      enthusiastically discussing business matters in a friendly way. It was in
+      March. The water under the sledge-runners was bubbling, the snow was
+      already covered with a rather dirty fleece, and the sun shone warmly and
+      merrily in the clear sky.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you go to your lady as soon as we arrive?&rdquo; asked Mayakin,
+      unexpectedly, interrupting their business talk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will,&rdquo; said Foma, shortly, and with displeasure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm. Tell me, how often do you give her presents?&rdquo; asked Mayakin, plainly
+      and somewhat intimately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What presents? What for?&rdquo; Foma wondered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You make her no presents? You don&rsquo;t say. Does she live with you then
+      merely so, for love&rsquo;s sake?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma boiled up with anger and shame, turned abruptly toward the old man
+      and said reproachfully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin smacked his lips and sang out in a mournful voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a blockhead you are! What a fool!&rdquo; and suddenly grown angry, he spat
+      out: &ldquo;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: &lsquo;I want to
+      be your lover. I am a young man, don&rsquo;t charge me much for it.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Godfather!&rdquo; said Foma, sternly, in a threatening voice, &ldquo;I cannot bear to
+      hear such words. If it were someone else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But who except myself would caution you? Good God!&rdquo; Mayakin cried out,
+      clasping his hands. &ldquo;So she has led you by the nose all winter long! What
+      a nose! What a beast she is!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man was agitated; in his voice rang vexation, anger, even tears
+      Foma had never before seen him in such a state, and looking at him, he was
+      involuntarily silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She will ruin you! Oh Lord! The Babylonian prostitute!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin&rsquo;s eyes were blinking, his lips were trembling, and in rude,
+      cynical words he began to speak of Medinskaya, irritated, with a wrathful
+      jar in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma felt that the old man spoke the truth. He now began to breathe with
+      difficulty and he felt that his mouth had a dry, bitter taste.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, father, enough,&rdquo; he begged softly and sadly, turning aside
+      from Mayakin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you ought to get married as soon as possible!&rdquo; exclaimed the old man
+      with alarm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For Christ&rsquo;s sake, do not speak,&rdquo; uttered Foma in a dull voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin glanced at his godson and became silent. Foma&rsquo;s face looked drawn;
+      he grew pale, and there was a great deal of painful, bitter stupor in his
+      half-open lips and in his sad look. On the right and on the left of the
+      road a field stretched itself, covered here and there with patches of
+      winter-raiment. Rooks were hopping busily about over the black spots,
+      where the snow had melted. The water under the sledge-runners was
+      splashing, the muddy snow was kicked up by the hoofs of the horses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How foolish man is in his youth!&rdquo; exclaimed Mayakin, in a low voice. Foma
+      did not look at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Before him stands the stump of a tree, and yet he sees the snout of a
+      beast&mdash;that&rsquo;s how he frightens himself. Oh, oh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak more plainly,&rdquo; said Foma, sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t understand,&rdquo; said Foma, in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it I do not understand? I understand everything!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The heart. Man has a heart,&rdquo; sighed the youth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin winked his eyes and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he has no mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      WHEN Foma arrived in the city he was seized with sad, revengeful anger. He
+      was burning with a passionate desire to insult Medinskaya, to abuse her.
+      His teeth firmly set together, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, he
+      walked for a few hours in succession about the deserted rooms of his
+      house, he sternly knitted his brow, and constantly threw his chest
+      forward. His breast was too narrow to hold his heart, which was filled
+      with wrath. He stamped the floor with heavy and measured steps, as though
+      he were forging his anger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The vile wretch&mdash;disguised herself as an angel!&rdquo; Pelageya vividly
+      arose in his memory, and he whispered malignantly and bitterly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;white and sound.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes Hope would whisper timidly in his ear:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps all that was said of her was a lie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But he recalled the eager certainty of his godfather, and the power of his
+      words, and this thought perished. He set his teeth more firmly together
+      and threw his chest still more forward. Evil thoughts like splinters of
+      wood stuck into his heart, and his heart was shattered by the acute pain
+      they caused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By disparaging Medinskaya, Mayakin made her more accessible to his godson,
+      and Foma soon understood this. A few days passed, and Foma&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;that&rsquo;s all! He even felt a
+      certain joy at this resolution, and he boldly started off to Medinskaya,
+      thinking on the way only how to tell her best all that was necessary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The servants of Medinskaya were accustomed to his visits, and to his
+      question whether the lady was at home the maid replied:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please go into the drawing-room. She is there alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He became somewhat frightened, but noticing in the mirror his stately
+      figure neatly clad with a frock-coat, and his swarthy, serious face in a
+      frame of a downy black beard, set with large dark eyes&mdash;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&mdash;it
+      always filled him with sadness. Even when the &ldquo;machine&rdquo; in the tavern
+      played some sad tune, his heart filled with melancholy anguish, and he
+      would either ask them to stop the &ldquo;machine&rdquo; or would go away some little
+      distance feeling that he could not listen calmly to these tunes without
+      words, but full of lamentation and tears. And now he involuntarily stopped
+      short at the door of the drawing-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A curtain of long strings of parti-coloured glass beads hung over the
+      door. The beads had been strung so as to form a fantastic figure of some
+      kind of plants; the strings were quietly shaking and it seemed that pale
+      shadows of flowers were soaring in the air. This transparent curtain did
+      not hide the inside of the drawing-room from Foma&rsquo;s eyes. Seated on a
+      couch in her favourite corner, Medinskaya played the mandolin. A large
+      Japanese umbrella, fastened up to the wall, shaded the little woman in
+      black by its mixture of colours; the high bronze lamp under a red
+      lamp-shade cast on her the light of sunset. The mild sounds of the slender
+      strings were trembling sadly in the narrow room, which was filled with
+      soft and fragrant twilight. Now the woman lowered the mandolin on her
+      knees and began running her fingers over the strings, also to examine
+      fixedly something before her. Foma heaved a sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A soft sound of music soared about Medinskaya, and her face was forever
+      changing as though shadows were falling on it, falling and melting away
+      under the flash of her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma looked at her and saw that when alone she was not quite so
+      good-looking as in the presence of people&mdash;now her face looked older,
+      more serious&mdash;her eyes had not the expression of kindness and
+      gentleness, they had a rather tired and weary look. And her pose, too, was
+      weary, as if the woman were about to stir but could not. Foma noticed that
+      the feeling which prompted him to come to her was now changing in his
+      heart into some other feeling. He scraped with his foot along the floor
+      and coughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is that?&rdquo; asked the woman, starting with alarm. And the strings
+      trembled, issuing an alarmed sound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is I,&rdquo; said Foma, pushing aside the strings of the beads.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! But how quietly you&rsquo;ve entered. I am glad to see you. Be seated! Why
+      didn&rsquo;t you come for such a long time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Holding out her hand to him, she pointed with the other at a small
+      armchair beside her, and her eyes were gaily smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was out on the bay inspecting my steamers,&rdquo; said Foma, with exaggerated
+      ease, moving his armchair nearer to the couch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there much snow yet on the fields?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As much as one may want. But it is already melting considerably. There is
+      water on the roads everywhere.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at her and smiled. Evidently Medinskaya noticed the ease of his
+      behaviour and something new in his smile, for she adjusted her dress and
+      drew farther away from him. Their eyes met&mdash;and Medinskaya lowered
+      her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Melting!&rdquo; said she, thoughtfully, examining the ring on her little
+      finger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye-es, streams everywhere.&rdquo; Foma informed her, admiring his boots.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s good. Spring is coming.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now it won&rsquo;t be delayed long.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spring is coming,&rdquo; repeated Medinskaya, softly, as if listening to the
+      sounds of her words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;People will start to fall in love,&rdquo; said Foma, with a smile, and for some
+      reason or other firmly rubbed his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you preparing yourself?&rdquo; asked Medinskaya, drily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have no need for it. I have been ready long ago. I am already in love
+      for all my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She cast a glance at him, and started to play again, looking at the
+      strings and saying pensively:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sophya Pavlovna!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, softly. She interrupted him with a
+      caressing gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The strings trembled and wept under the touch of her fingers, and it
+      seemed to Foma that their sounds and the soft voice of the woman were
+      touching his heart gently and caressingly. But, still firm in his
+      decision, he listened to her words and, not knowing their meaning,
+      thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may speak! And I won&rsquo;t believe anything you may say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This thought irritated him. And he felt sorry that he could not listen to
+      her words as attentively and trustfully as before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you thinking of how it is necessary to live?&rdquo; asked the woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sometimes I think of it, and then I forget again. I have no time for it!&rdquo;
+       said Foma and smiled. &ldquo;And then, what is there to think of? It is simple.
+      You see how others live. Well, consequently, you must imitate them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, don&rsquo;t do this! Spare yourself. You are so good! There is something
+      peculiar in you; what&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She spoke quickly, with a look of alarm in her eyes. Looking at her, Foma
+      thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is she driving at?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he answered her slowly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps I will have a desire for something else. Perhaps I have it
+      already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Drawing up closer to him, she looked into his face and spoke convincingly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen! Do not live like all other people! Arrange your life somehow
+      differently. You are strong, young. You are good!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if I am good then there must be good for me!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, feeling
+      that he was seized with agitation, and that his heart was beginning to
+      beat with anxiety.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, but that is not the case! Here on earth it is worse for the good
+      people than for the bad ones!&rdquo; said Medinskaya, sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And again the trembling notes of music began to dance at the touch of her
+      fingers. Foma felt that if he did not start to say at once what was
+      necessary, he would tell her nothing later.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God bless me!&rdquo; he said to himself, and in a lowered voice, strengthening
+      his heart, began:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sophya Pavlovna! Enough! I have something to say. I have come to tell
+      you: &lsquo;Enough!&rsquo; 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&mdash;do you understand now what brought me here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His eyes began to flash and with each word his voice became warmer and
+      louder. She moved her body forward and said with alarm:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, cease.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I won&rsquo;t, I will speak!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know what you want to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t know it all!&rdquo; said Foma, threateningly, rising to his feet.
+      &ldquo;But I know everything about you&mdash;everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes? Then the better it is for me,&rdquo; said Medinskaya, calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She also arose from the couch, as though about to go away somewhere, but
+      after a few seconds she again seated herself on the couch. Her face was
+      serious, her lips were tightly compressed, but her eyes were lowered, and
+      Foma could not see their expression. He thought that when he told her, &ldquo;I
+      know everything about you!&rdquo; she would be frightened, she would feel
+      ashamed and confused, would ask his forgiveness for having made sport of
+      him. Then he would embrace her and forgive her. But that was not the case;
+      it was he who was confused by her calmness. He looked at her, searching
+      for words to resume his speech, but found them not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is better,&rdquo; she repeated firmly and drily. &ldquo;So you have learned
+      everything, have you? And, of course, you&rsquo;ve censured me, as I deserve. I
+      understand. I am guilty before you. But no, I cannot justify myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She became silent and suddenly, lifting her hands with a nervous gesture,
+      clasped her head, and began to adjust her hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma heaved a deep sigh. Her words had killed in him a certain hope&mdash;a
+      hope, whose presence in his heart he only felt now that it was dead. And
+      shaking his head, he said, with bitter reproach:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was a time when I looked at you and thought, &lsquo;How beautiful she is,
+      how good, the dove!&rsquo; And now you say yourself, &lsquo;I am guilty.&rsquo; Ah!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The voice of the youth broke down. And the woman began to laugh softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How fine and how ridiculous you are, and what a pity that you cannot
+      understand all this!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The youth looked at her, feeling himself disarmed by her caressing words
+      and melancholy smile. That cold, harsh something, which he had in his
+      heart against her, was now melting before the warm light of her eyes. The
+      woman now seemed to him small, defenseless, like a child. She was saying
+      something in a gentle voice as though imploring, and forever smiling, but
+      he paid no attention to her words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve come to you,&rdquo; said he, interrupting her words, &ldquo;without pity. I
+      meant to tell you everything. And yet I said nothing. I don&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait, dearest, don&rsquo;t go away!&rdquo; said the woman, hastily, holding out her
+      hand to him. &ldquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;it is life that is laughing at him. And as to
+      men. Listen! Like a mother, I advise you, I beg and implore you&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Trying to speak as plainly and intelligibly as possible, she was agitated,
+      and her words came incoherently hurriedly one after another. A pitiful
+      smile played on her lips all the time, and her face was not beautiful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;just to
+      avoid being alone with himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma lifted his head and said distrustfully, with surprise:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot understand what it is! Lubov also says the same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which Lubov? What does she say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My foster-sister. She says the same,&mdash;she is forever complaining of
+      life. It is impossible to live, she says.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, she is yet young! And it is a great happiness that she already speaks
+      of this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Happiness!&rdquo; Foma drawled out mockingly. &ldquo;It must be a fine happiness that
+      makes people sigh and complain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;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,&mdash;they will teach you to find your
+      way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma heard the woman&rsquo;s voice, which sounded convincing; and perplexed,
+      looked about him. Everything had long been familiar to him, but today it
+      looked somewhat new to him. A mass of trifles filled the room, all the
+      walls were covered with pictures and shelves, bright and beautiful objects
+      were staring from every corner. The reddish light of the lamp filled one
+      with melancholy. Twilight wrapped everything in the room, and only here
+      and there the gold of the frames, or the white spots of marble flashed
+      dimly. Heavy fabrics were motionlessly hanging before the doors. All this
+      embarrassed and almost choked Foma; he felt as though he had lost his way.
+      He was sorry for the woman. But she also irritated him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at her and said with a sigh:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. I used to believe you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now?&rdquo; she asked hastily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now&mdash;it is best for me to go! I don&rsquo;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&mdash;&lsquo;I am as a
+      mother to you&rsquo;&mdash;which means&mdash;begone!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Understand me, I feel sorry for you!&rdquo; the woman exclaimed softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma&rsquo;s irritation against her was growing stronger and stronger, and as he
+      went on speaking to her, his words became absurd. While he spoke, he kept
+      on moving his shoulders as though tearing something that entangled him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sorry? What for? I do not need it. Eh, I cannot speak well! It is bad to
+      be dumb. But&mdash;I would have told you! You did not treat me properly&mdash;indeed,
+      why have you so enticed a man? Am I a plaything for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I only wanted to see you by my side,&rdquo; said the woman simply, in a guilty
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not hear these words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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: &lsquo;I feel bad,&rsquo; you say, &lsquo;let him also feel bad&mdash;there, I&rsquo;ll
+      besprinkle his heart with my poisonous tears!&rsquo; Isn&rsquo;t that so? Eh! God has
+      given you the beauty of an angel, but your heart&mdash;where is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Standing before her, he trembled in every limb, and examined her from head
+      to foot with reproachful looks. Now his words came freely from his heart,
+      he spoke not loud, but with power and pleasure. Her head raised, the woman
+      stared into his face, with wide-open eyes. Her lips were trembling and
+      deep wrinkles appeared at the corners of her mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A beautiful person should lead a good life. While of you they say
+      things.&rdquo; Foma&rsquo;s voice broke down; he raised his hand and concluded in a
+      dull voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodbye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodbye!&rdquo; said Medinskaya, softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not give her his hand, but, turning abruptly, he walked away from
+      her. But already at the door he felt that he was sorry for her, and he
+      glanced at her across his shoulder. There, in the corner, she stood alone,
+      her head bent, her hands hanging motionless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Understanding that he could not leave her thus, he became confused, and
+      said softly, but without repenting:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps I said something offensive&mdash;forgive me! For after all I love
+      you,&rdquo; and he heaved a deep sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The woman burst into soft, nervous laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you have not offended me. God speed you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then goodbye!&rdquo; repeated Foma in a still lower voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied the woman, also in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma pushed aside the strings of beads with his hand; they swung back
+      noisily and touched his cheeks. He shuddered at this cold touch and went
+      out, carrying away a heavy, perplexed feeling in his breast, with his
+      heart beating as though a soft but strong net were cast over it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was night by this time; the moon was shining and the frost covered the
+      puddles with coatings of dull silver. Foma walked along the sidewalk, he
+      broke these with his cane, and they cracked mournfully. The shadows of the
+      houses fell on the road in black squares, and the shadows of the trees&mdash;in
+      wonderful patterns. And some of them looked like thin hands, helplessly
+      clutching the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is she doing now?&rdquo; thought Foma, picturing to himself the woman,
+      alone, in the corner of a narrow room, in the reddish half-light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is best for me to forget her,&rdquo; 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&mdash;six big rooms, where he lived alone. Aunt
+      Anfisa had gone to the cloister, perhaps never to return&mdash;she might
+      die there. At home were Ivan, the old deaf dvornik, the old maid,
+      Sekleteya, his cook and servant, and a black, shaggy dog, with a snout as
+      blunt as that of a sheat-fish. And the dog, too, was old.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps I really ought to get married,&rdquo; thought Foma, with a sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the very thought of how easy it was for him to get married made him
+      ill at ease, and even ridiculous in his own eyes. It were but necessary to
+      ask his godfather tomorrow for a bride,&mdash;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: &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go for a walk!&rdquo; and she would
+      go. He would tell her: &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go to sleep!&rdquo; 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: &ldquo;Go away, I don&rsquo;t want it,&rdquo; she would feel
+      offended. What would he speak to her about? What would she tell him? He
+      thought and pictured to himself young ladies of his acquaintance,
+      daughters of merchants. Some of them were very pretty, and he knew that
+      any one of them would marry him willingly. But he did not care to have any
+      of them as his wife. How awkward and shameful it must be when a girl
+      becomes a wife. And what does the newly-married couple say to each other
+      after the wedding, in the bedroom? Foma tried to think what he would say
+      in such a case, and confused, he began to laugh, finding no appropriate
+      words. Then he recalled Luba Mayakin. She would surely be first to say
+      something, uttering some unintelligible words, which were foreign to
+      herself. Somehow it seemed to him that all her words were foreign, and she
+      did not speak as was proper for a girl of her age, appearance and descent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And here his thoughts rested on Lubov&rsquo;s complaints. His gait became
+      slower; he was now astounded by the fact that all the people that were
+      near to him and with whom he talked a great deal, always spoke to him of
+      life. His father, his aunt, his godfather, Lubov, Sophya Pavlovna, all
+      these either taught him to understand life, or complained of it. He
+      recalled the words said by the old man on the steamer about Fate, and many
+      other remarks on life, reproaches and bitter complaints against it, which
+      he happened to hear from all sorts of people.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does it mean?&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A painful feeling of fear fell on the youth; he shuddered and hastily
+      looked around. The street was deserted and quiet; the dark windows of the
+      houses stared dimly into the dark of night, and along the walls and fences
+      Foma&rsquo;s shadow followed him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Driver!&rdquo; he cried out aloud, quickening his steps. The shadow started and
+      crawled after him, frightened, black, silent. It seemed to Foma that there
+      was a cold breath behind him, and that something huge, invisible, and
+      terrible was overtaking him. Frightened, he almost ran to meet the cab,
+      which appeared noisily from the darkness, and when he seated himself in
+      the cab, he dared not look back, though he wished to do so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      ABOUT a week passed since Foma spoke to Medinskaya. And her image stood
+      fixedly before Foma by night and by day, awakening in his heart a gnawing
+      feeling of anxiety. He longed to go to her, and was so much afflicted over
+      her that even his bones were aching from the desire of his heart to be
+      near her again. But he was sternly silent; he frowned and did not care to
+      yield to this desire, industriously occupying himself with his affairs and
+      provoking in himself a feeling of anger against the woman. He felt that if
+      he went up to her, he would no longer find her to be the same as he had
+      left her; something must have changed within her after that conversation,
+      and she would no longer receive him as cordially as before, would not
+      smile at him the clear smile that used to awaken in him strange thoughts
+      and hopes. Fearing that all this was lost and that something else must
+      have taken its place, he restrained himself and suffered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His work and his longing for the woman did not hinder him from thinking of
+      life. He did not philosophize about this enigma, which was already
+      stirring a feeling of alarm in his heart; he was not able to argue, but he
+      began to listen attentively to everything that men said of life, and he
+      tried to remember their words. They did not make anything clear to him;
+      nay, they increased his perplexity and prompted him to regard them
+      suspiciously. They were clever, cunning and sensible&mdash;he saw it; in
+      dealings with them it was always necessary to be on one&rsquo;s guard; he knew
+      already that in important matters none of them spoke as they thought. And
+      watching them carefully, he felt that their sighs and their complaints of
+      life awakened in him distrust. Silently he looked at everybody with
+      suspicion, and a thin wrinkle masked his forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One morning his godfather said to him on the Exchange:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;ll lift his eyes toward heaven, and meanwhile will put his
+      paw into your pocket and grab your purse. Be on your guard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do we owe him anything?&rdquo; asked Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course! We haven&rsquo;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&mdash;don&rsquo;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&mdash;it
+      goes up in the air, you turn around and see&mdash;it has brought a whole
+      flock with it into the pigeon-house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how can we help paying it now, if he demands it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let him cry and ask for it&mdash;and you roar&mdash;but don&rsquo;t give it to
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go up there soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Anany Savvich Shchurov was a rich lumber-dealer, had a big saw-mill, built
+      barges and ran rafts. He had had dealings with Ignat, and Foma had more
+      than once seen this tall, heavily-bearded, long-armed, white-haired old
+      man, who kept himself as erect as a pine-tree. His big, handsome figure,
+      his open face and his clear eyes called forth in Foma a feeling of respect
+      for Shchurov, although he heard it rumoured that this lumber-dealer had
+      gained his wealth not by honest toil and that he was leading an evil life
+      at home, in an obscure village of the forest district; and Ignat had told
+      Foma that when Shchurov was young and was but a poor peasant, he sheltered
+      a convict in the bath-house, in his garden, and that there the convict
+      made counterfeit money for him. Since that time Anany began to grow rich.
+      One day his bathhouse burned down, and in the ashes they discovered the
+      corpse of a man with a fractured skull. There was a rumour in the village
+      that Shchurov himself had killed his workman&mdash;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&mdash;they had all, it was said, hoarded up their millions by way of
+      robberies, murders and, mainly, by passing counterfeit money. Foma had
+      heard such stories in his childhood and he never before considered whether
+      they were true or not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He also knew that Shchurov had got rid of two wives&mdash;one of them died
+      during the first night of the wedding, in Anany&rsquo;s embraces. Then he took
+      his son&rsquo;s wife away from him, and his son took to drink for grief and
+      would have perished in drunkenness had he not come to himself in time and
+      gone off to save himself in a hermitage, in Irgiz. And when his
+      mistress-daughter-in-law had passed away, Shchurov took into his house a
+      dumb beggar-girl, who was living with him to this day, and who had
+      recently borne him a dead child. On his way to the hotel, where Anany
+      stayed, Foma involuntarily recalled all this, and felt that Shchurov had
+      become strangely interesting to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Foma opened the door and stopped respectfully on the threshold of the
+      small room, whose only window overlooked the rusty roof of the
+      neighbouring house, he noticed that the old Shchurov had just risen from
+      sleep, and sitting on his bed, leaning his hands against it, he stared at
+      the ground; and he was so bent that his long, white beard fell over his
+      knees. But even bent, he was large.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who entered?&rdquo; asked Anany in a hoarse and angry voice, without lifting
+      his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I. How do you do, Anany Savvich?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man raised his head slowly and, winking his large eyes, looked at
+      Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ignat&rsquo;s son, is that right?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, come over here, sit down by the window. Let me see how you&rsquo;ve grown
+      up. Will you not have a glass of tea with me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Waiter!&rdquo; cried the old man, expanding his chest, and, taking his beard in
+      his hand, he began to examine Foma in silence. Foma also looked at him
+      stealthily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man&rsquo;s lofty forehead was all covered with wrinkles, and its skin
+      was dark. Gray, curly locks covered his temples and his sharp-pointed
+      ears; his calm blue eyes lent the upper part of his face a wise and good
+      expression. But his cheeks and his lips were thick and red, and seemed out
+      of place on his face. His thin, long nose was turned downward as though it
+      wished to hide itself in his white moustache; the old man moved his lips,
+      and from beneath them small, yellow teeth were gleaming. He had on a pink
+      calico shirt, a silk belt around his waist, and black, loose trousers,
+      which were tucked into his boots. Foma stared at his lips and thought that
+      the old man was surely such as he was said to be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As a boy you looked more like your father,&rdquo; said Shchurov suddenly, and
+      sighed. Then, after a moment&rsquo;s silence, he asked: &ldquo;Do you remember your
+      father? Do you ever pray for him? You must, you must pray!&rdquo; he went on,
+      after he heard Foma&rsquo;s brief answer. &ldquo;Ignat was a terrible sinner, and he
+      died without repentance, taken unawares. He was a great sinner!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was not more sinful than others,&rdquo; replied Foma, angrily, offended in
+      his father&rsquo;s behalf.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Than who, for instance?&rdquo; demanded Shchurov, strictly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are there not plenty of sinners?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is but one man on earth more sinful than was the late Ignat&mdash;and
+      that is that cursed heathen, your godfather Yashka,&rdquo; ejaculated the old
+      man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you sure of it?&rdquo; inquired Foma, smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? Of course, I am!&rdquo; said Shchurov, confidently, nodding his head, and
+      his eyes became somewhat darker. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you sure of this, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I am. And don&rsquo;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&rsquo;s why Yashka Mayakin is
+      extraordinarily clever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Listening to the old man&rsquo;s hoarse and confident voice, Foma thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is scenting death, it seems.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The waiter, a small man, with a face which was pale and characterless,
+      brought in the samovar and quickly hastened out of the room, with short
+      steps. The old man was undoing some bundles on the window-sill and said,
+      without looking at Foma:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;both the people and the sins, and now
+      everything has become complicated. Eh, eh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made tea, seated himself opposite Foma and went on again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;here I am
+      looking at you, but cannot see what you are. Who are you? You don&rsquo;t know
+      it yourself, my lad, and that&rsquo;s why you&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; said Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There again, you are not married, and yet, I&rsquo;m quite sure, you are not
+      pure any longer. Well, are you working hard in your business?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sometimes. Meanwhile I am with my godfather.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What sort of work is it you have nowadays?&rdquo; said the old man, shaking his
+      head, and his eyes were constantly twinkling, now turning dark, now
+      brightening up again. &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s trap for you. He thus catches you in it. While
+      toiling, you find no time for sin, but having a machine&mdash;you have
+      freedom. Freedom kills a man, even as the sunbeams kill the worm, the
+      dweller of the depth of earth. Freedom kills man!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And pronouncing his words distinctly and positively, the old Anany struck
+      the table four times with his finger. His face beamed triumphantly, his
+      chest rose high, and over it the silver hair of his beard shook
+      noiselessly. Dread fell on Foma as he looked at him and listened to his
+      words, for there was a ring of firm faith in them, and it was the power of
+      this faith that confused Foma. He had already forgotten all he knew about
+      the old man, all of which he had but a while ago believed to be true.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whoever gives freedom to his body, kills his soul!&rdquo; 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. &ldquo;All you
+      people of today will perish through freedom. The devil has captured you&mdash;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Foma, softly, &ldquo;they were leading depraved lives and drinking
+      just as much in former days as now, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know it? You should keep silence!&rdquo; cried Anany, flashing his eyes
+      sternly. &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s death, God will condemn the rat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can a man tell how God will judge man?&rdquo; asked Foma, thoughtfully. &ldquo;A
+      visible trial is necessary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why a visible trial?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That people might understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who, but the Lord, is my judge?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma glanced at the old man and lowering his head, became silent. He again
+      recalled the fugitive convict, who was killed and burnt by Shchurov, and
+      again he believed that it really was so. And the women&mdash;his wives and
+      his mistresses&mdash;had surely been hastened toward their graves by this
+      old man&rsquo;s caresses; he had crushed them with his bony chest, drunk the sap
+      of their life with these thick lips of his which were scarlet yet from the
+      clotted blood of the women, who died in the embraces of his long sinewy
+      arms. And now, awaiting death, which was already somewhere beside him, he
+      counts his sins, judges others, and perhaps judges himself, and says:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who, but the Lord, is my judge?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he afraid or not?&rdquo; Foma asked himself and became pensive, stealthily
+      scrutinising the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, my lad! Think,&rdquo; spoke Shchurov, shaking his head, &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can you tell what and how much I have within my heart?&rdquo; said Foma,
+      gloomily, offended by his laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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,
+      &lsquo;Is it possible that one man could accomplish so much? Is it possible that
+      I have witnessed all this?&rsquo;&rdquo; The old man glanced at Foma sternly, shook
+      his head and became silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It became quiet. Outside the window something was softly rustling on the
+      roof of the house; the rattle of wheels and the muffled sounds of
+      conversation were heard from below, from the street. The samovar on the
+      table sang a sad tune. Shchurov was fixedly staring into his glass of tea,
+      stroking his beard, and one could hear that something rattled in his
+      breast, as if some burden was turning about in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s hard for you to live without your father, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am getting used to it,&rdquo; replied Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are rich, and when Yakov dies, you will be richer still. He&rsquo;ll leave
+      everything to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t need it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;no
+      matter! That can be arranged&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t say! Eh, eh, eh! the merchant is passing away. A certain
+      forester told me&mdash;I don&rsquo;t know whether he lied or not&mdash;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&rsquo;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&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, they always speak of money!&rdquo; said Foma, with dissatisfaction.
+      &ldquo;What joy does man derive from money?&rdquo; &ldquo;Mm,&rdquo; bellowed Shchurov. &ldquo;You will
+      make a poor merchant, if you do not understand the power of money.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who does understand it?&rdquo; asked Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I!&rdquo; said Shchurov, with confidence. &ldquo;And every clever man. Yashka
+      understands it. Money? That is a great deal, my lad! Just spread it out
+      before you and think, &lsquo;What does it contain?&rsquo; 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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But nobody does this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s the way. Well, and you&mdash;have you brought me
+      money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; answered Foma. From the words of the old man Foma&rsquo;s head was heavy
+      and troubled, and he was glad that the conversation had, at last, turned
+      to business matters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That isn&rsquo;t right,&rdquo; said Shchurov, sternly knitting his brow. &ldquo;It is
+      overdue&mdash;you must pay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll get a half of it tomorrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why a half? Why not all?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are badly in need of money now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And haven&rsquo;t you any? But I also need it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait a little.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;ll protest the notes. It wouldn&rsquo;t take me long to do it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma looked at Shchurov, with astonishment. It was not at all that same
+      old man, who but a moment ago spoke so sagaciously about the devil. Then
+      his face and his eyes seemed different, and now he looked fierce, his lips
+      smiled pitilessly, and the veins on his cheeks, near his nostrils, were
+      eagerly trembling. Foma saw that if he did not pay him at once, Shchurov
+      would indeed not spare him and would dishonour the firm by protesting the
+      notes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Evidently business is poor?&rdquo; grinned Shchurov. &ldquo;Well, tell the truth&mdash;where
+      have you squandered your father&rsquo;s money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma wanted to test the old man:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Business is none too brisk,&rdquo; said he, with a frown. &ldquo;We have no
+      contracts. We have received no earnest money, and so it is rather hard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So-o! Shall I help you out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be so kind. Postpone the day of payment,&rdquo; begged Foma, modestly lowering
+      his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm. Shall I assist you out of my friendship for your father? Well, be it
+      so, I&rsquo;ll do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And for how long will you postpone it?&rdquo; inquired Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For six months.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you humbly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;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&rsquo;ll take a mortgage on
+      your two barges.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma rose from the chair and said, with a smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Send me the notes tomorrow. I&rsquo;ll pay you in full.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Shchurov also rose from his chair and, without lowering his eyes at Foma&rsquo;s
+      sarcastic look, said, calmly scratching his chest:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you for your kindness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s nothing! You don&rsquo;t give me a chance, or I would have shown you my
+      kindness!&rdquo; said the old man lazily, showing his teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes! If one should fall into your hands&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;d find it warm&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sure you&rsquo;d make it warm for him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, my lad, that will do!&rdquo; said Shchurov, sternly. &ldquo;Though you consider
+      yourself quite clever, it is rather too soon. You&rsquo;ve gained nothing, and
+      already you began to boast! But you just win from me&mdash;then you may
+      shout for joy. Goodbye. Have all the money for tomorrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t let that trouble you. Goodbye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God be with you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Foma came out of the room he heard that the old man gave a slow, loud
+      yawn, and then began to hum in a rather hoarse bass:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Open for us the doors of mercy. Oh blessed Virgin Mary!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma carried away with him from the old man a double feeling. Shchurov
+      pleased him and at the same time was repulsive to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He recalled the old man&rsquo;s words about sin, thought of the power of his
+      faith in the mercy of the Lord, and the old man aroused in Foma a feeling
+      akin to respect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He, too, speaks of life; he knows his sins; but does not weep over them,
+      does not complain of them. He has sinned&mdash;and he is willing to stand
+      the consequences. Yes. And she?&rdquo; He recalled Medinskaya, and his heart
+      contracted with pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.
+      &lsquo;Who, but the Lord,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;is to judge me?&rsquo; That&rsquo;s how it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed to Foma that he envied Anany, and the youth hastened to recall
+      Shchurov&rsquo;s attempts to swindle him. This called forth in him an aversion
+      for the old man He could not reconcile his feelings and, perplexed, he
+      smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I have just been at Shchurov&rsquo;s,&rdquo; he said, coming to Mayakin and
+      seating himself by the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin, in a greasy morning-gown, a counting-board in his hand, began to
+      move about in his leather-covered arm-chair impatiently, and said with
+      animation:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pour out some tea for him, Lubava! Tell me, Foma, I must be in the City
+      Council at nine o&rsquo;clock; tell me all about it, make haste!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Smiling, Foma related to him how Shchurov suggested to rewrite the notes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh!&rdquo; exclaimed Yakov Tarasovich regretfully, with a shake of the head.
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hardly! He says, &lsquo;I am an oak.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it&rsquo;s all the same, we have to pay, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yakov Tarasovich was positively dissatisfied with his godson. He frowned
+      and in an angry manner ordered his daughter, who was silently pouring out
+      tea:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Push the sugar nearer to me. Don&rsquo;t you see that I can&rsquo;t reach it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lubov&rsquo;s face was pale, her eyes seemed troubled, and her hands moved
+      lazily and awkwardly. Foma looked at her and thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How meek she is in the presence of her father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did he speak to you about?&rdquo; asked Mayakin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About sins.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He speaks with weight,&rdquo; said Foma, thoughtfully, stirring his tea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he abuse me?&rdquo; inquired Mayakin, with a malicious grimace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somewhat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what did you do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I listened.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm! And what did you hear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;The strong,&rsquo; he says, &lsquo;will be forgiven; but there is no forgiveness for
+      the weak.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just think of it! What wisdom! Even the fleas know that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For some reason or another, the contempt with which Mayakin regarded
+      Shchurov, irritated Foma, and, looking into the old man&rsquo;s face, he said
+      with a grin:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But he doesn&rsquo;t like you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody likes me, my dear,&rdquo; said Mayakin, proudly. &ldquo;There is no reason why
+      they should like me. I am no girl. But they respect me. And they respect
+      only those they fear.&rdquo; And the old man winked at his godson boastfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He speaks with weight,&rdquo; repeated Foma. &ldquo;He is complaining. &lsquo;The real
+      merchant,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;is passing away. All people are taught the same
+      thing,&rsquo; he says: &lsquo;so that all may be equal, looking alike.&rdquo;&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does he consider it wrong?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Evidently so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fo-o-o-l!&rdquo; Mayakin drawled out, with contempt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why? Is it good?&rdquo; asked Foma, looking at his godfather suspiciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;then must we acknowledge
+      that it is wise. Because&mdash;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&mdash;I
+      can place in any position I like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And whom does it please to be a brick?&rdquo; said Foma, morosely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;what can you do? It merely
+      shows it was weak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He also spoke about toil. &lsquo;Everything,&rsquo; he says, &lsquo;is done by machinery,
+      and thus are men spoiled.&rdquo;&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is out of his wits!&rdquo; Mayakin waved his hand disdainfully. &ldquo;I am
+      surprised, what an appetite you have for all sorts of nonsense! What does
+      it come from?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t that true, either?&rdquo; asked Foma, breaking into stern laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What true thing can he know? A machine! The old blockhead should have
+      thought&mdash;&lsquo;what is the machine made of?&rsquo; Of iron! Consequently, it
+      need not be pitied; it is wound up&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose and went away, loudly scraping with his slippers along the floor.
+      Foma glanced after him and said softly, with a frown:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil himself could not see through all this. One says this, the
+      other, that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is precisely the same with books,&rdquo; said Lubov in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma looked at her, smiling good-naturedly. And she answered him with a
+      vague smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes looked fatigued and sad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You still keep on reading?&rdquo; asked Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; the girl answered sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And are you still lonesome?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I feel disgusted, because I am alone. There&rsquo;s no one here to say a word
+      to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s bad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She said nothing to this, but, lowering her head, she slowly began to
+      finger the fringes of the towel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You ought to get married,&rdquo; said Foma, feeling that he pitied her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave me alone, please,&rdquo; answered Lubov, wrinkling her forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why leave you alone? You will get married, I am sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; exclaimed the girl softly, with a sigh. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s just what I am
+      thinking of&mdash;it is necessary. That is, I&rsquo;ll have to get married. But
+      how? Do you know, I feel now as though a mist stood between other people
+      and myself&mdash;a thick, thick mist!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s from your books,&rdquo; Foma interposed confidently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not so, not so,&rdquo; muttered Foma. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s from your books. Yes.
+      Although I also feel that it&rsquo;s wrong. Perhaps that is because we are so
+      young and foolish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At first it seemed to me,&rdquo; said Lubov, not listening to him, &ldquo;that
+      everything in the books was clear to me. But now&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drop your books,&rdquo; suggested Foma, with contempt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, don&rsquo;t say that! How can I drop them? You know how many different
+      ideas there are in the world! O Lord! They&rsquo;re such ideas that set your
+      head afire. According to a certain book everything that exists on earth is
+      rational.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everything?&rdquo; asked Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everything! While another book says the contrary is true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait! Now isn&rsquo;t this nonsense?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What were you discussing?&rdquo; asked Mayakin, appearing at the door, in a
+      long frock-coat and with several medals on his collar and his breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just so,&rdquo; said Lubov, morosely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We spoke about books,&rdquo; added Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What kind of books?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The books she is reading. She read that everything on earth is rational.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, and I say it is a lie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; Yakov Tarasovich became thoughtful, he pinched his beard and winked
+      his eyes a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What kind of a book is it?&rdquo; he asked his daughter, after a pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A little yellow-covered book,&rdquo; said Lubov, unwillingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just put that book on my table. That is said not without reflection&mdash;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&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll stay here a little longer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lubov and Foma again remained alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a man your father is,&rdquo; said Foma, nodding his head toward the
+      direction of his godfather.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what kind of a man do you think he is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He retorts every call, and wants to cover everything with his words.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he is clever. And yet he does not understand how painful my life
+      is,&rdquo; said Lubov, sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neither do I understand it. You imagine too much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do I imagine?&rdquo; cried the girl, irritated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, all these are not your own ideas. They are someone else&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Someone else&rsquo;s. Someone else&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She felt like saying something harsh; but broke down and became silent.
+      Foma looked at her and, setting Medinskaya by her side, thought sadly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How different everything is&mdash;both men and women&mdash;and you never
+      feel alike.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They sat opposite each other; both were lost in thought, and neither one
+      looked at the other. It was getting dark outside, and in the room it was
+      quite dark already. The wind was shaking the linden-trees, and their
+      branches seemed to clutch at the walls of the house, as though they felt
+      cold and implored for shelter in the rooms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Luba!&rdquo; said Foma, softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She raised her head and looked at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know, I have quarrelled with Medinskaya.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; asked Luba, brightening up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So. It came about that she offended me. Yes, she offended me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s good that you&rsquo;ve quarrelled with her,&rdquo; said the girl,
+      approvingly, &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She&rsquo;s not at all a vile creature,&rdquo; said Foma, morosely. &ldquo;And you don&rsquo;t
+      know anything about her. You are all lying!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I beg your pardon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. See here, Luba,&rdquo; said Foma, softly, in a beseeching tone, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t
+      speak ill of her in my presence. It isn&rsquo;t necessary. I know everything. By
+      God! She told me everything herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Herself!&rdquo; exclaimed Luba, in astonishment. &ldquo;What a strange woman she is!
+      What did she tell you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That she is guilty,&rdquo; Foma ejaculated with difficulty, with a wry smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that all?&rdquo; There was a ring of disappointment in the girl&rsquo;s question;
+      Foma heard it and asked hopefully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t that enough?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What will you do now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s just what I am thinking about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you love her very much?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was silent. He looked into the window and answered confusedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. But it seems to me that now I love her more than before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Than before the quarrel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder how one can love such a woman!&rdquo; said the girl, shrugging her
+      shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Love such a woman? Of course! Why not?&rdquo; exclaimed Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t understand it. I think, you have become attached to her just
+      because you have not met a better woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I have not met a better one!&rdquo; Foma assented, and after a moment&rsquo;s
+      silence said shyly, &ldquo;Perhaps there is none better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Among our people,&rdquo; Lubov interposed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I need her very badly! Because, you see, I feel ashamed before her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;wouldn&rsquo;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, &lsquo;What if she finds it out?&rsquo; and I am afraid to do
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; the girl drawled out thoughtfully, &ldquo;that shows that you love her. I
+      would also be like this. If I loved, I would think of him&mdash;of what he
+      might say...&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And everything about her is so peculiar,&rdquo; Foma related softly. &ldquo;She
+      speaks in a way all her own. And, God! How beautiful she is! And then she
+      is so small, like a child.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what took place between you?&rdquo; asked Lubov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma moved his chair closer to her, and stooping, he lowered his voice for
+      some reason or other, and began to relate to her all that had taken place
+      between him and Medinskaya. He spoke, and as he recalled the words he said
+      to Medinskaya, the sentiments that called forth the words were also
+      awakened in him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told her, &lsquo;Oh, you! why did you make sport of me?&rsquo;&rdquo; he said angrily and
+      with reproach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Luba, her cheeks aflame with animation, spurred him on, nodding her
+      head approvingly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s it! That&rsquo;s good! Well, and she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She was silent!&rdquo; said Foma, sadly, with a shrug of the shoulders. &ldquo;That
+      is, she said different things; but what&rsquo;s the use?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He waved his hand and became silent. Luba, playing with her braid, was
+      also silent. The samovar had already become cold. And the dimness in the
+      room was growing thicker and thicker, outside the window it was heavy with
+      darkness, and the black branches of the linden-trees were shaking
+      pensively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You might light the lamp,&rdquo; Foma went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How unhappy we both are,&rdquo; said Luba, with a sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma did not like this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not unhappy,&rdquo; he objected in a firm voice. &ldquo;I am simply&mdash;not
+      yet accustomed to life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He who knows not what he is going to do tomorrow, is unhappy,&rdquo; said Luba,
+      sadly. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is the same with me,&rdquo; said Foma. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t go away,&rdquo; Luba entreated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must. Somebody is waiting there for me. I am going. Goodbye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Till we meet again!&rdquo; She held out her hand to him and sadly looked into
+      his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you go to sleep now?&rdquo; asked Foma, firmly shaking her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll read a little.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re to your books as the drunkard to his whisky,&rdquo; said the youth, with
+      pity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is there that is better?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Walking along the street he looked at the windows of the house and in one
+      of them he noticed Luba&rsquo;s face. It was just as vague as everything that
+      the girl told him, even as vague as her longings. Foma nodded his head
+      toward her and with a consciousness of his superiority over her, thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She has also lost her way, like the other one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this recollection he shook his head, as though he wanted to frighten
+      away the thought of Medinskaya, and quickened his steps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Night was coming on, and the air was fresh. A cold, invigorating wind was
+      violently raging in the street, driving the dust along the sidewalks and
+      throwing it into the faces of the passers-by. It was dark, and people were
+      hastily striding along in the darkness. Foma wrinkled his face, for the
+      dust filled his eyes, and thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If it is a woman I meet now&mdash;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&mdash;I won&rsquo;t go tomorrow, I&rsquo;ll wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was a dog that came to meet him, and this irritated Foma to such an
+      extent that he felt like striking him with his cane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the refreshment-room of the club, Foma was met by the jovial
+      Ookhtishchev. He stood at the door, and chatted with a certain stout,
+      whiskered man; but, noticing Gordyeeff, he came forward to meet him,
+      saying, with a smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, modest millionaire!&rdquo; Foma rather liked him for his jolly
+      mood, and was always pleased to meet him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Firmly and kind-heartedly shaking Ookhtishchev&rsquo;s hand, Foma asked him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what makes you think that I am modest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sophya Pavlovna?&rdquo; asked Foma, slowly. &ldquo;Of course! The sun of my life is
+      setting. And, perhaps, of yours as well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ookhtishchev made a comical, sly grimace and looked into Foma&rsquo;s face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Foma stood before him, feeling that his head was lowering on his
+      breast, and that he was unable to hinder it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, the radiant Aurora.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Medinskaya going away?&rdquo; a deep bass voice asked. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s fine! I am
+      glad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I know why?&rdquo; exclaimed Ookhtishchev. Foma smiled sheepishly and
+      stared in confusion at the whiskered man, Ookhtishchev&rsquo;s interlocutor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That man was stroking his moustache with an air of importance, and deep,
+      heavy, repulsive words fell from his lips on Foma&rsquo;s ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because, you see, there will be one co-cot-te less in town.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shame, Martin Nikitich!&rdquo; said Ookhtishchev, reproachfully, knitting his
+      brow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you know that she is a coquette?&rdquo; asked Foma, sternly, coming
+      closer to the whiskered man. The man measured him with a scornful look,
+      turned aside and moving his thigh, drawled out:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t say&mdash;coquette.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Martin Nikitich, you mustn&rsquo;t speak that way about a woman who&mdash;&rdquo;
+       began Ookhtishchev in a convincing tone, but Foma interrupted him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me, just a moment! I wish to ask the gentleman, what is the
+      meaning of the word he said?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And as he articulated this firmly and calmly, Foma thrust his hands deep
+      into his trousers-pockets, threw his chest forward, which at once gave his
+      figure an attitude of defiance. The whiskered gentleman again eyed Foma
+      with a sarcastic smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen!&rdquo; exclaimed Ookhtishchev, softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said, co-cot-te,&rdquo; pronounced the whiskered man, moving his lips as if
+      he tasted the word. &ldquo;And if you don&rsquo;t understand it, I can explain it to
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You had better explain it,&rdquo; said Foma, with a deep sigh, not lifting his
+      eyes off the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ookhtishchev clasped his hands and rushed aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A cocotte, if you want to know it, is a prostitute,&rdquo; said the whiskered
+      man in a low voice, moving his big, fat face closer to Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma gave a soft growl and, before the whiskered man had time to move
+      away, he clutched with his right hand his curly, grayish hair. With a
+      convulsive movement of the hand, Foma began to shake the man&rsquo;s head and
+      his big, solid body; lifting up his left hand, he spoke in a dull voice,
+      keeping time to the punishment:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t abuse a person&mdash;in his absence. Abuse him&mdash;right in his
+      face&mdash;straight in his eyes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He experienced a burning delight, seeing how comically the stout arms were
+      swinging in the air, and how the legs of the man, whom he was shaking,
+      were bending under him, scraping against the floor. His gold watch fell
+      out of the pocket and dangled on the chain, over his round paunch.
+      Intoxicated with his own strength and with the degradation of the sedate
+      man, filled with the burning feeling of malignancy, trembling with the
+      happiness of revenge, Foma dragged him along the floor and in a dull
+      voice, growled wickedly, in wild joy. In these moments he experienced a
+      great feeling&mdash;the feeling of emancipation from the wearisome burden
+      which had long oppressed his heart with grief and morbidness. He felt that
+      he was seized by the waist and shoulders from behind, that someone seized
+      his hand and bent it, trying to break it; that someone was crushing his
+      toes; but he saw nothing, following with his bloodshot eyes the dark,
+      heavy mass moaning and wriggling in his hand. Finally, they tore him away
+      and downed him, and, as through a reddish mist, he noticed before him on
+      the floor, at his feet, the man he had thrashed. Dishevelled, he was
+      moving his legs over the floor, attempting to rise; two dark men were
+      holding him by the arms, his hands were dangling in the air like broken
+      wings, and, in a voice that was choking with sobs, he cried to Foma:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mustn&rsquo;t beat me! You mustn&rsquo;t! I have an...
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Order. You rascal! Oh, rascal! I have children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everybody knows me! Scoundrel! Savage, O&mdash;O&mdash;O! You may expect
+      a duel!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Ookhtishchev spoke loudly in Foma&rsquo;s ear:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, my dear boy, for God&rsquo;s sake!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait, I&rsquo;ll give him a kick in the face,&rdquo; begged Foma. But he was dragged
+      off. There was a buzzing in his ears, his heart beat fast, but he felt
+      relieved and well. At the entrance of the club he heaved a deep sigh of
+      relief and said to Ookhtishchev, with a good-natured smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I gave him a sound drubbing, didn&rsquo;t I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; exclaimed the gay secretary, indignantly. &ldquo;You must pardon me
+      but that was the act of a savage! The devil take it. I never witnessed
+      such a thing before!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear man!&rdquo; said Foma, friendly, &ldquo;did he not deserve the drubbing? Is
+      he not a scoundrel? How can he speak like that behind a person&rsquo;s back? No!
+      Let him go to her and tell it plainly to her alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me. The devil take you! But it wasn&rsquo;t for her alone that you gave
+      him the drubbing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is, what do you mea,&mdash;not for her alone? For whom then?&rdquo; asked
+      Foma, amazed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For whom? I don&rsquo;t know. Evidently you had old accounts to settle! Oh
+      Lord! That was a scene! I shall not forget it in all my life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&mdash;that man&mdash;who is he?&rdquo; asked Foma, and suddenly burst out
+      laughing. &ldquo;How he roared, the fool!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ookhtishchev looked fixedly into his face and asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me, is it true, that you don&rsquo;t know whom you&rsquo;ve thrashed? And is it
+      really only for Sophya Pavlovna?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is, by God!&rdquo; avowed Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So, the devil knows what the result may be!&rdquo; He stopped short, shrugged
+      his shoulders perplexedly, waved his hand, and again began to pace the
+      sidewalk, looking at Foma askance. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll pay for this, Foma
+      Ignatyevich.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will he take me to court?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would to God he does. He is the Vice-Governor&rsquo;s son-in-law.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that so?&rdquo; said Foma, slowly, and made a long face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; said Foma, firmly, placing his hand on Ookhtishchev&rsquo;s shoulder, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was great emotion in Foma&rsquo;s voice. Ookhtishchev looked at him and
+      said thoughtfully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a queer man, I must confess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a simple man&mdash;a savage. I have given him a thrashing and now I
+      feel jolly, and as to the result, let come what will.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid that it will result in something bad. Do you know&mdash;to be
+      frank, in return for your frankness&mdash;I also like you, although&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How so? This was but the first time. I am not going to beat people every
+      day, am I?&rdquo; said Foma, confused. His companion began to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a monster you are! Listen to me&mdash;it is savage to fight&mdash;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&mdash;a
+      man who robbed his nephews with impunity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, thank God for that!&rdquo; said Foma with satisfaction. &ldquo;Now I have
+      punished him a little.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And will he soon fall into your hands?&rdquo; inquired Foma, naively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is hard to tell. Being far from stupid, he will probably never be
+      caught, and to the end of his days he will live with you and me in the
+      same degree of equality before the law. Oh God, what I am telling you!&rdquo;
+       said Ookhtishchev, with a comical sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Betraying secrets?&rdquo; grinned Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma stopped suddenly, as though he had met an obstacle on his way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nemesis&mdash;the goddess of Justice,&rdquo; babbled Ookhtishchev. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the
+      matter with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And it all came about,&rdquo; said Foma, slowly, in a dull voice, &ldquo;because you
+      said that she was going away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sophya Pavlovna.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, she is going away. Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood opposite Foma and stared at him, with a smile in his eyes.
+      Gordyeeff was silent, with lowered head, tapping the stone of the sidewalk
+      with his cane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; said Ookhtishchev.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma started, saying indifferently:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, let her go. And I am alone.&rdquo; Ookhtishchev, waving his cane, began
+      to whistle, looking at his companion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t I be able to get along without her?&rdquo; asked Foma, looking
+      somewhere in front of him and then, after a pause, he answered himself
+      softly and irresolutely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, I shall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen to me!&rdquo; exclaimed Ookhtishchev. &ldquo;I&rsquo;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&rsquo;t your genre.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak to me more simply, sir,&rdquo; said Foma, having listened attentively to
+      his words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;More simply? Very well. I want to say, give up thinking of this little
+      lady. She is poisonous food for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She told me the same,&rdquo; put in Foma, gloomily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She told you?&rdquo; Ookhtishchev asked and became thoughtful. &ldquo;Now, I&rsquo;ll tell
+      you, shouldn&rsquo;t we perhaps go and have supper?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go,&rdquo; Foma assented. And he suddenly roared obdurately, clinching
+      his fists and waving them in the air: &ldquo;Well, let us go, and I&rsquo;ll get wound
+      up; I&rsquo;ll break loose, after all this, so you can&rsquo;t hold me back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for? We&rsquo;ll do it modestly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! wait!&rdquo; said Foma, anxiously, seizing him by the shoulder. &ldquo;What&rsquo;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&rsquo;s sake. I have no reason to pretend. I am a
+      fool. I don&rsquo;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&mdash;just
+      what I expected, I cannot tell; but she is the best of women! And I had so
+      much faith in her&mdash;when sometimes she spoke such peculiar words, all
+      her own. Her eyes, my dear boy, are so beautiful! Oh Lord! I was ashamed
+      to look upon them, and as I am telling you, she would say a few words, and
+      everything would become clear to me. For I did not come to her with love
+      alone&mdash;I came to her with all my soul! I sought&mdash;I thought that
+      since she was so beautiful, consequently, I might become a man by her
+      side!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ookhtishchev listened to the painful, unconnected words that burst from
+      his companion&rsquo;s lips. He saw how the muscles of his face contracted with
+      the effort to express his thoughts, and he felt that behind this bombast
+      there was a great, serious grief. There was something intensely pathetic
+      in the powerlessness of this strong and savage youth, who suddenly started
+      to pace the sidewalk with big, uneven steps. Skipping along after him with
+      his short legs, Ookhtishchev felt it his duty somehow to calm Foma.
+      Everything Foma had said and done that evening awakened in the jolly
+      secretary a feeling of lively curiosity toward Foma, and then he felt
+      flattered by the frankness of the young millionaire. This frankness
+      confused him with its dark power; he was disconcerted by its pressure, and
+      though, in spite of his youth, he had a stock of words ready for all
+      occasions in life, it took him quite awhile to recall them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I feel that everything is dark and narrow about me,&rdquo; said Gordyeeff. &ldquo;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&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, my dear boy!&rdquo; Ookhtishchev interrupted Foma, gently taking his arm.
+      &ldquo;That isn&rsquo;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&mdash;live and let others live. That&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;ll make you acquainted with her! We
+      must drive one nail out with another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My conscience does not allow it,&rdquo; said Foma, sadly and sternly. &ldquo;So long
+      as she is alive, I cannot even look at women.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Such a robust and healthy young man. Ho, ho!&rdquo; exclaimed Ookhtishchev, and
+      in the tone of a teacher began to argue with Foma that it was essential
+      for him to give his passion an outlet in a good spree, in the company of
+      women.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This will be magnificent, and it is indispensable to you. You may believe
+      me. And as to conscience, you must excuse me. You don&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma walked on, regulating his steps to those of his companion, and
+      staring along the road, which lay between two rows of buildings, resembled
+      an enormous ditch, and was filled with darkness. It seemed that there was
+      no end to the road and that something dark, inexhaustible and suffocating
+      was slowly flowing along it in the distance. Ookhtishchev&rsquo;s kind, suasive
+      voice rang monotonously in Foma&rsquo;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&mdash;and why should he
+      resist them?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t for everyone to philosophize,&rdquo; said Ookhtishchev, swinging his
+      cane in the air, and somewhat carried away by his wisdom. &ldquo;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&rsquo;s true! But
+      what&rsquo;s the use of talking? Would you permit me to give you a shaking up?
+      Let&rsquo;s go immediately to a pleasure-house I know. Two sisters live there.
+      Ah, how they live! You will come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;ll go,&rdquo; said Foma, calmly, and yawned. &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it rather late?&rdquo; he
+      asked, looking up at the sky which was covered with clouds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s never too late to go to see them!&rdquo; exclaimed Ookhtishchev, merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      ON the third day after the scene in the club, Foma found himself about
+      seven versts from the town, on the timber-wharf of the merchant Zvantzev,
+      in the company of the merchant&rsquo;s son of Ookhtishchev&mdash;a sedate,
+      bald-headed and red-nosed gentleman with side whiskers&mdash;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s lady&rsquo;s
+      name was Vera; she was a tall, pale woman with red hair. She had so much
+      hair, that it seemed as though the woman had put on her head an enormous
+      cap which was coming down over her ears, her cheeks and her high forehead,
+      from under which her large blue eyes looked forth calmly and lazily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gentleman with the side whiskers sat beside a young, plump, buxom
+      girl, who constantly giggled in a ringing voice at something which he
+      whispered in her ear as he leaned over her shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Foma&rsquo;s lady was a stately brunette, clad all in black.
+      Dark-complexioned, with wavy locks, she kept her head so erect and high
+      and looked at everything about her with such condescending haughtiness,
+      that it was at once evident that she considered herself the most important
+      person there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The company were seated on the extreme link of the raft, extending far
+      into the smooth expanse of the river. Boards were spread out on the raft
+      and in the centre stood a crudely constructed table; empty bottles,
+      provision baskets, candy-wrappers and orange peels were scattered about
+      everywhere. In the corner of the raft was a pile of earth, upon which a
+      bonfire was burning, and a peasant in a short fur coat, squatting, warmed
+      his hands over the fire, and cast furtive glances at the people seated
+      around the table. They had just finished eating their sturgeon soup, and
+      now wines and fruits were before them on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fatigued with a two-days&rsquo; spree and with the dinner that had just been
+      finished, the company was in a weary frame of mind. They all gazed at the
+      river, chatting, but their conversation was now and again interrupted by
+      long pauses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The day was clear and bright and young, as in spring. The cold, clear sky
+      stretched itself majestically over the turbid water of the
+      gigantically-wide, overflowing river, which was as calm as the sky and as
+      vast as the sea. The distant, mountainous shore was tenderly bathed in
+      bluish mist. Through it, there, on the mountain tops, the crosses of
+      churches were flashing like big stars. The river was animated at the
+      mountainous shore; steamers were going hither and thither, and their noise
+      came in deep moans toward the rafts and into the meadows, where the calm
+      flow of the waves filled the air with soft and faint sounds. Gigantic
+      barges stretched themselves one after another against the current, like
+      huge pigs, tearing asunder the smooth expanse of the river. Black smoke
+      came in ponderous puffs from the chimneys of the steamers, slowly melting
+      in the fresh air, which was full of bright sunshine. At times a whistle
+      resounded&mdash;it was like the roar of some huge, enraged animal,
+      embittered by toil. And on the meadows near the rafts, all was calm and
+      silent. Solitary trees that had been drowned by the flood, were now
+      already covered with light-green spangles of foliage. Covering their roots
+      and reflecting their tops, the water gave them the appearance of globes,
+      and it seemed as though the slightest breeze would send them floating,
+      fantastically beautiful, down the mirror-like bosom of the river.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The red-haired woman, pensively gazing into the distance, began to sing
+      softly and sadly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Along the Volga river A little boat is flo-o-oating.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The brunette, snapping her large, stern eyes with contempt, said, without
+      looking at her: &ldquo;We feel gloomy enough without this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t touch her. Let her sing!&rdquo; entreated Foma, kindly, looking into his
+      lady&rsquo;s face. He was pale some spark seemed to flash up in his eyes now and
+      then, and an indefinite, indolent smile played about his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us sing in chorus!&rdquo; suggested the man with the side whiskers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, let these two sing!&rdquo; exclaimed Ookhtishchev with enthusiasm. &ldquo;Vera,
+      sing that song! You know, &lsquo;I will go at dawn.&rsquo; How is it? Sing, Pavlinka!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The giggling girl glanced at the brunette and asked her respectfully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I sing, Sasha?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall sing myself,&rdquo; announced Foma&rsquo;s companion, and turning toward the
+      lady with the birdlike face, she ordered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Vassa, sing with me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Vassa immediately broke off her conversation with Zvantzev, stroked her
+      throat a little with her hand and fixed her round eyes on the face of her
+      sister. Sasha rose to her feet, leaned her hand against the table, and her
+      head lifted haughtily, began to declaim in a powerful, almost masculine
+      voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Life on earth is bright to him, Who knows no cares or woe, And whose
+      heart is not consumed By passion&rsquo;s ardent glow!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her sister nodded her head and slowly, plaintively began to moan in a deep
+      contralto:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah me! Of me the maiden fair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Flashing her eyes at her sister, Sasha exclaimed in her low-pitched notes:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Like a blade of grass my heart has withered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The two voices mingled and floated over the water in melodious, full
+      sounds, which quivered from excess of power. One of them was complaining
+      of the unbearable pain in the heart, and intoxicated by the poison of its
+      plaint, it sobbed with melancholy and impotent grief; sobbed, quenching
+      with tears the fire of the suffering. The other&mdash;the lower, more
+      masculine voice&mdash;rolled powerfully through the air, full of the
+      feeling of bloody mortification and of readiness to avenge. Pronouncing
+      the words distinctly, the voice came from her breast in a deep stream, and
+      each word reeked with boiling blood, stirred up by outrage, poisoned by
+      offence and mightily demanding vengeance.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;I will requite him,&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      sang Vassa, plaintively, closing her eyes.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;I will inflame him,
+     I&rsquo;ll dry him up,&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Sasha promised sternly and confidently, wafting into the air strong,
+      powerful tones, which sounded like blows. And suddenly, changing the tempo
+      of the song and striking a higher pitch, she began to sing, as slowly as
+      her sister, voluptuous and exultant threats:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drier than the raging wind, Drier than the mown-down grass, Oi, the mown
+      and dried-up grass.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Resting his elbows on the table, Foma bent his head, and with knitted
+      brow, gazed into the face of the woman, into her black, half-shut eyes
+      Staring fixedly into the distance, her eyes flashed so brightly and
+      malignantly that, because of their light, the velvety voice, that burst
+      from the woman&rsquo;s chest, seemed to him also black and flashing, like her
+      eyes. He recalled her caresses and thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How does she come to be such as she is? It is even fearful to be with
+      her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ookhtishchev, sitting close to his lady, an expression of happiness on his
+      face, listened to the song and was radiant with satisfaction. The
+      gentleman with the side whiskers and Zvantzev were drinking wine, softly
+      whispering something as they leaned toward each other. The red-headed
+      woman was thoughtfully examining the palm of Ookhtishchev&rsquo;s hand, holding
+      it in her own, and the jolly girl became sad. She drooped her head low and
+      listened to the song, motionless, as though bewitched by it. From the fire
+      came the peasant. He stepped carefully over the boards, on tiptoe; his
+      hands were clasped behind his back, and his broad, bearded face was now
+      transformed into a smile of astonishment and of a naive delight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh! but feel, my kind, brave man!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      entreated Vassa, plaintively, nodding her head. And her sister, her chest
+      bent forward, her hand still higher, wound up the song in powerful
+      triumphant notes:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The yearning and the pangs of love!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When she finished singing, she looked haughtily about her, and seating
+      herself by Foma&rsquo;s side, clasped his neck with a firm and powerful hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, was it a nice song?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s capital!&rdquo; said Foma with a sigh, as he smiled at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The song filled his heart with thirst for tenderness and, still full of
+      charming sounds, it quivered, but at the touch of her arm he felt awkward
+      and ashamed before the other people.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bravo-o! Bravo, Aleksandra Sarelyevna!&rdquo; shouted Ookhtishchev, and the
+      others were clapping their hands. But she paid no attention to them, and
+      embracing Foma authoritatively, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, make me a present of something for the song.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, I will,&rdquo; Foma assented.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you when we come to town. And if you&rsquo;ll give me what I like&mdash;Oh,
+      how I will love you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For the present?&rdquo; asked Foma, smiling suspiciously. &ldquo;You ought to love me
+      anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at him calmly and, after a moment&rsquo;s thought, said resolutely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;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&mdash;I&rsquo;ll know you better and then, perhaps, I may
+      love you free of charge. And meanwhile, you mustn&rsquo;t take me amiss. I need
+      much money in my mode of life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma listened to her, smiled and now and then quivered from the nearness
+      of her sound, well-shaped body. Zvantzev&rsquo;s sour, cracked and boring voice
+      was falling on his ears. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;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&rsquo;s the groan of a sick dog&mdash;altogether
+      something beastly. There&rsquo;s nothing cheerful, there&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me, Ivan Nikolayevich,&rdquo; cried Ookhtishchev, agitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must agree with you, the Russian song is monotonous and gloomy. It has
+      not, you know, that brilliancy of culture,&rdquo; said the man with the side
+      whiskers wearily, as he sipped some wine out of his glass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But nevertheless, there is always a warm heart in it,&rdquo; put in the
+      red-haired lady, as she peeled an orange.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sun was setting. Sinking somewhere far beyond the forest, on the
+      meadow shore, it painted the entire forest with purple tints and cast rosy
+      and golden spots over the dark cold water. Foma gazed in that direction at
+      this play of the sunbeams, watched how they quivered as they were
+      transposed over the placid and vast expanse of waters, and catching
+      fragments of conversation, he pictured to himself the words as a swarm of
+      dark butterflies, busily fluttering in the air. Sasha, her head resting on
+      his shoulder, was softly whispering into his ear something at which he
+      blushed and was confused, for he felt that she was kindling in him the
+      desire to embrace this woman and kiss her unceasingly. Aside from her,
+      none of those assembled there interested him&mdash;while Zvantzev and the
+      gentleman with the side whiskers were actually repulsive to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you staring at? Eh?&rdquo; he heard Ookhtishchev&rsquo;s jestingly-stern
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The peasant, at whom Ookhtishchev shouted, drew the cap from his head,
+      clapped it against his knee and answered, with a smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I came over to listen to the lady&rsquo;s song.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, does she sing well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a question! Of course,&rdquo; said the peasant, looking at Sasha, with
+      admiration in his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s right!&rdquo; exclaimed Ookhtishchev.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is a great power of voice in that lady&rsquo;s breast,&rdquo; said the peasant,
+      nodding his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At his words, the ladies burst out laughing and the men made some
+      double-meaning remarks about Sasha.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After she had calmly listened to these and said nothing in reply, Sasha
+      asked the peasant:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you sing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We sing a little!&rdquo; and he waved his hand, &ldquo;What songs do you know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All kinds. I love singing.&rdquo; And he smiled apologetically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, let&rsquo;s sing something together, you and I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can we? Am I a match for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, strike up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I sit down?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come over here, to the table.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How lively this is!&rdquo; exclaimed Zvantzev, wrinkling his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you find it tedious, go and drown yourself,&rdquo; said Sasha, angrily
+      flashing her eyes at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, the water is cold,&rdquo; replied Zvantzev, shrinking at her glance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As you please!&rdquo; The woman shrugged her shoulders. &ldquo;But it is about time
+      you did it, and then, there&rsquo;s also plenty of water now, so that you
+      wouldn&rsquo;t spoil it all with your rotten body.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fie, how witty!&rdquo; hissed the youth, turning away from her, and added with
+      contempt: &ldquo;In Russia even the prostitutes are rude.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He addressed himself to his neighbour, but the latter gave him only an
+      intoxicated smile in return. Ookhtishchev was also drunk. Staring into the
+      face of his companion, with his eyes grown dim, he muttered something and
+      heard nothing. The lady with the bird-like face was pecking candy, holding
+      the box under her very nose. Pavlinka went away to the edge of the raft
+      and, standing there, threw orange peels into the water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never before participated in such an absurd outing and&mdash;company,&rdquo;
+       said Zvantzev, to his neighbour, plaintively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Foma watched him with a smile, delighted that this feeble and
+      ugly-looking man felt bored, and that Sasha had insulted him. Now and then
+      he cast at her a kind glance of approval. He was pleased with the fact
+      that she was so frank with everybody and that she bore herself proudly,
+      like a real gentlewoman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The peasant seated himself on the boards at her feet, clasped his knees in
+      his hands, lifted his face to her and seriously listened to her words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must raise your voice, when I lower mine, understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand; but, Madam, you ought to hand me some just to give me
+      courage!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foma, give him a glass of brandy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And when the peasant emptied it, cleared his throat with pleasure, licked
+      his lips and said: &ldquo;Now, I can do it,&rdquo; she ordered, knitting her brow:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Begin!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The peasant made a wry mouth, lifted his eyes to her face, and started in
+      a high-pitched tenor:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot drink, I cannot eat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Trembling in every limb, the woman sobbed out tremulously, with strange
+      sadness:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wine cannot gladden my soul.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The peasant smiled sweetly, tossed his head to and fro, and closing his
+      eyes, poured out into the air a tremulous wave of high-pitched notes:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, time has come for me to bid goodbye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the woman, shuddering and writhing, moaned and wailed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oi, from my kindred I must part.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lowering his voice and swaying to and fro, the peasant declaimed in a
+      sing-song with a remarkably intense expression of anguish:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas, to foreign lands I must depart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the two voices, yearning and sobbing, poured forth into the silence
+      and freshness of the evening, everything about them seemed warmer and
+      better; everything seemed to smile the sorrowful smile of sympathy on the
+      anguish of the man whom an obscure power is tearing away from his native
+      soil into some foreign place, where hard labour and degradation are in
+      store for him. It seemed as though not the sounds, nor the song, but the
+      burning tears of the human heart in which the plaint had surged up&mdash;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&mdash;all this was invested in the simple, crude words and was tossed
+      in ineffably melancholy sounds toward the distant, empty sky, which has no
+      echo for anybody or anything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma had stepped aside from the singers, and stared at them with a feeling
+      akin to fright, and the song, in a huge wave, poured forth into his
+      breast, and the wild power of grief, with which it had been invested,
+      clutched his heart painfully. He felt that tears would soon gush from his
+      breast, something was clogging his throat and his face was quivering. He
+      dimly saw Sasha&rsquo;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&mdash;that everything about
+      him was singing and sobbing, quivering and palpitating in torrents of
+      sorrow, madly striving somewhere, shedding burning tears, and all&mdash;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&mdash;with
+      the people, the river and the distant shore, whence came plaintive moans
+      that mingled with the song.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the peasant went down on his knees, and gazing at Sasha, waved his
+      hands, and she bent down toward him and shook her head, keeping time to
+      the motions of his hands. Both were now singing without words, with sounds
+      only, and Foma still could not believe that only two voices were pouring
+      into the air these moans and sobs with such mighty power.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they had finished singing, Foma, trembling with excitement, with a
+      tear-stained face, gazed at them and smiled sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, did it move you?&rdquo; asked Sasha. Pale with fatigue, she breathed
+      quickly and heavily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma glanced at the peasant. The latter was wiping the sweat off his brow
+      and looking around him with such a wandering look as though he could not
+      make out what had taken place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All was silence. All were motionless and speechless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh Lord!&rdquo; sighed Foma, rising to his feet. &ldquo;Eh, Sasha! Peasant! Who are
+      you?&rdquo; he almost shouted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am&mdash;Stepan,&rdquo; said the peasant, smiling confusedly, and also rose
+      to his feet. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m Stepan. Of course!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How you sing! Ah!&rdquo; Foma exclaimed in astonishment, uneasily shifting from
+      foot to foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, your Honour!&rdquo; sighed the peasant and added softly and convincingly:
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;that
+      is to say, so you might just lie down and die with sorrow! Well, that&rsquo;s a
+      lady.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was sung very well!&rdquo; said Ookhtishchev in a drunken voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, the devil knows what this is!&rdquo; Zvantzev suddenly shouted, almost
+      crying, irritated as he jumped up from the table. &ldquo;I&rsquo;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&rsquo;t stand this any longer. I&rsquo;m going
+      away!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jean, I am also going. I&rsquo;m weary, too,&rdquo; announced the gentleman with the
+      side whiskers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Vassa,&rdquo; cried Zvantzev to his lady, &ldquo;dress yourself!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it&rsquo;s time to go,&rdquo; said the red-haired lady to Ookhtishchev. &ldquo;It is
+      cold, and it will soon be dark.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stepan! Clear everything away!&rdquo; commanded Vassa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All began to bustle about, all began to speak of something. Foma stared at
+      them in suspense and shuddered. Staggering, the crowd walked along the
+      rafts. Pale and fatigued, they said to one another stupid, disconnected
+      things. Sasha jostled them unceremoniously, as she was getting her things
+      together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stepan! Call for the horses!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I&rsquo;ll drink some more cognac. Who wants some more cognac with me?&rdquo;
+       drawled the gentleman with the side whiskers in a beatific voice, holding
+      a bottle in his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Vassa was muffling Zvantzev&rsquo;s neck with a scarf. He stood in front of her,
+      frowning, dissatisfied, his lips curled capriciously, the calves of his
+      legs shivering. Foma became disgusted as he looked at them, and he went
+      off to the other raft. He was astonished that all these people behaved as
+      though they had not heard the song at all. In his breast the song was
+      alive and there it called to life a restless desire to do something, to
+      say something. But he had no one there to speak to.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sun had set and the distance was enveloped in blue mist. Foma glanced
+      thither and turned away. He did not feel like going to town with these
+      people, neither did he care to stay here with them. And they were still
+      pacing the raft with uneven steps, shaking from side to side and muttering
+      disconnected words. The women were not quite as drunk as the men, and only
+      the red-haired one could not lift herself from the bench for a long time,
+      and finally, when she rose, she declared:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m drunk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma sat down on a log of wood, and lifting the axe, with which the
+      peasant had chopped wood for the fire, he began to play with it, tossing
+      it up in the air and catching it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my God! How mean this is!&rdquo; Zvantzev&rsquo;s capricious voice was heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma began to feel that he hated it, and him, and everybody, except Sasha,
+      who awakened in him a certain uneasy feeling, which contained at once
+      admiration for her and a fear lest she might do something unexpected and
+      terrible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Brute!&rdquo; shouted Zvantzev in a shrill voice, and Foma noticed that he
+      struck the peasant on the chest, after which the peasant removed his cap
+      humbly and stepped aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fo-o-ol!&rdquo; cried Zvantzev, walking after him and lifting his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma jumped to his feet and said threateningly, in a loud voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you! Don&rsquo;t touch him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wha-a-at?&rdquo; Zvantzev turned around toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stepan, come over here,&rdquo; called Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Peasant!&rdquo; Zvantzev hurled with contempt, looking at Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma shrugged his shoulders and made a step toward him; but suddenly a
+      thought flashed vividly through his mind! He smiled maliciously and
+      inquired of Stepan, softly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The string of rafts is moored in three places, isn&rsquo;t it?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In three, of course!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cut the connections!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep quiet! Cut!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cut! Quietly, so they don&rsquo;t notice it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The peasant took the axe in his hands, slowly walked up to the place where
+      one link was well fastened to another link, struck a few times with his
+      axe, and returned to Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not responsible, your Honour,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They&rsquo;ve started off,&rdquo; whispered the peasant with fright, and hastily made
+      the sign of the cross. And Foma gazed, laughing softly, and experienced a
+      painful sensation that keenly and sharply stung his heart with a certain
+      strange, pleasant and sweet fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The people on the raft were still pacing to and fro, moving about slowly,
+      jostling one another, assisting the ladies with their wraps, laughing and
+      talking, and the raft was meanwhile turning slowly and irresolutely in the
+      water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If the current carries them against the fleet,&rdquo; whispered the peasant,
+      &ldquo;they&rsquo;ll strike against the bows&mdash;and they&rsquo;ll be smashed into
+      splinters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep quiet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They&rsquo;ll drown!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll get a boat, and overtake them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s it! Thank you. What then? They&rsquo;re after all human beings. And
+      we&rsquo;ll be held responsible for them.&rdquo; Satisfied now, laughing with delight,
+      the peasant dashed in bounds across the rafts to the shore. And Foma stood
+      by the water and felt a passionate desire to shout something, but he
+      controlled himself, in order to give time for the raft to float off
+      farther, so that those drunken people would not be able to jump across to
+      the moored links. He experienced a pleasant caressing sensation as he saw
+      the raft softly rocking upon the water and floating off farther and
+      farther from him every moment. The heavy and dark feeling, with which his
+      heart had been filled during this time, now seemed to float away together
+      with the people on the raft. Calmly he inhaled the fresh air and with it
+      something sound that cleared his brain. At the very edge of the floating
+      raft stood Sasha, with her back toward Foma; he looked at her beautiful
+      figure and involuntarily recalled Medinskaya. The latter was smaller in
+      size. The recollection of her stung him, and he cried out in a loud,
+      mocking voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, there! Good-bye! Ha! ha! ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly the dark figures of the people moved toward him and crowded
+      together in one group, in the centre of the raft. But by this time a clear
+      strip of water, about three yards wide, was flashing between them and
+      Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a silence lasting for a few seconds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then suddenly a hurricane of shrill, repulsively pitiful sounds, which
+      were full of animal fright, was hurled at Foma, and louder than all and
+      more repulsive than all, Zvantzev&rsquo;s shrill, jarring cry pierced the ear:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He-e-elp!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Some one&mdash;in all probability, the sedate gentleman with the side
+      whiskers&mdash;roared in his basso:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drowning! They&rsquo;re drowning people!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you people?&rdquo; cried Foma, angrily, irritated by their screams which
+      seemed to bite him. And the people ran about on the raft in the madness of
+      fright; the raft rocked under their feet, floated faster on account of
+      this, and the agitated water was loudly splashing against and under it.
+      The screams rent the air, the people jumped about, waving their hands, and
+      the stately figure of Sasha alone stood motionless and speechless on the
+      edge of the raft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give my regards to the crabs!&rdquo; cried Foma. Foma felt more and more
+      cheerful and relieved in proportion as the raft was floating away from
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foma Ignatyevich!&rdquo; said Ookhtishchev in a faint, but sober voice, &ldquo;look
+      out, this is a dangerous joke. I&rsquo;ll make a complaint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you are drowned? You may complain!&rdquo; answered Foma, cheerfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a murderer!&rdquo; exclaimed Zvantzev, sobbing. But at this time a
+      ringing splash of water was heard as though it groaned with fright or with
+      astonishment. Foma shuddered and became as though petrified. Then rang out
+      the wild, deafening shrieks of the women, and the terror-stricken screams
+      of men, and all the figures on the raft remained petrified in their
+      places. And Foma, staring at the water, felt as though he really were
+      petrified. In the water something black, surrounded with splashes, was
+      floating toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rather instinctively than consciously, Foma threw himself with his chest
+      on the beams of the raft, and stretched out his hands, his head hanging
+      down over the water. Several incredibly long seconds passed. Cold, wet
+      arms clasped his neck and dark eyes flashed before him. Then he understood
+      that it was Sasha.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dull horror, which had suddenly seized him, vanished, replaced now by
+      wild, rebellious joy. Having dragged the woman out of the water, he
+      grasped her by the waist, clasped her to his breast, and, not knowing what
+      to say to her, he stared into her eyes with astonishment. She smiled at
+      him caressingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am cold,&rdquo; said Sasha, softly, and quivered in every limb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma laughed gaily at the sound of her voice, lifted her into his arms and
+      quickly, almost running, dashed across the rafts to the shore. She was wet
+      and cold, but her breathing was hot, it burned Foma&rsquo;s cheek and filled his
+      breast with wild joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wanted to drown me?&rdquo; said she, firmly, pressing close to him. &ldquo;It was
+      rather too early. Wait!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How well you have done it,&rdquo; muttered Foma, as he ran.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re a fine, brave fellow! And your device wasn&rsquo;t bad, either, though
+      you seem to be so peaceable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And they are still roaring there, ha! ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil take them! If they are drowned, we&rsquo;ll be sent to Siberia,&rdquo; said
+      the woman, as though she wanted to console and encourage him by this. She
+      began to shiver, and the shudder of her body, felt by Foma, made him
+      hasten his pace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sobs and cries for help followed them from the river. There, on the placid
+      water, floated in the twilight a small island, withdrawing from the shore
+      toward the stream of the main current of the river, and on that little
+      island dark human figures were running about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Night was closing down upon them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      ONE Sunday afternoon, Yakov Tarasovich Mayakin was drinking tea in his
+      garden and talking to his daughter. The collar of his shirt unbuttoned, a
+      towel wound round his neck, he sat on a bench under a canopy of verdant
+      cherry-trees, waved his hands in the air, wiped the perspiration off his
+      face, and incessantly poured forth into the air his brisk speech.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man&rsquo;s eyes sparkled irritably and angrily, his lips twisted with
+      contempt, and the wrinkles of his gloomy face quivered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If Foma were my own son, I would have made a man of him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Playing with an acacia branch, Lubov mutely listened to her father&rsquo;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&rsquo;s side, involuntarily causing the girl to prefer his live
+      words to the cold letters of the book. Always overwhelmed with business
+      affairs, always alert and clever, he went his own way alone, and she
+      perceived his solitude, knew how painful it was, and her relations toward
+      her father grew in warmth. At times she even entered into arguments with
+      the old man; he always regarded her remarks contemptuously and
+      sarcastically; but more tenderly and attentively from time to time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If the deceased Ignat could read in the newspapers of the indecent life
+      his son is leading, he would have killed Foma!&rdquo; said Mayakin, striking the
+      table with his fists. &ldquo;How they have written it up! It&rsquo;s a disgrace!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He deserves it,&rdquo; said Lubov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t say it was done at random! They&rsquo;ve barked at him, as was
+      necessary. And who was it that got into such a fit of anger?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What difference does it make to you?&rdquo; asked the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s interesting to know. How cleverly the rascal described Foma&rsquo;s
+      behaviour. Evidently he must have been with him and witnessed all the
+      indecency himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, he wouldn&rsquo;t go with Foma on a spree!&rsquo; said Lubov, confidently,
+      and blushed deeply at her father&rsquo;s searching look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So! You have fine acquaintances, Lubka!&rdquo; said Mayakin with humorous
+      bitterness. &ldquo;Well, who wrote it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you wish to know it for, papa?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, tell me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had no desire to tell, but the old man persisted, and his voice was
+      growing more and more dry and angry. Then she asked him uneasily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you will not do him any ill for it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? I will&mdash;bite his head off! Fool! What can I do to him? They,
+      these writers, are not a foolish lot and are therefore a power&mdash;a
+      power, the devils! And I am not the governor, and even he cannot put one&rsquo;s
+      hand out of joint or tie one&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you remember, when I was going to school, a Gymnasium student used to
+      come up to us. Yozhov? Such a dark little fellow!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm! Of course, I saw him. I know him. So it&rsquo;s he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lubov looked at her father, smiled inimically, and asked hotly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And isn&rsquo;t he who writes for newspapers a man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a long while, the old man did not answer his daughter. Thoughtfully,
+      he drummed with his fingers against the table and examined his face, which
+      was reflected in the brightly polished brass of the samovar. Then he
+      raised his head, winked his eyes and said impressively and irritably:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That isn&rsquo;t right, papa!&rdquo; said Lubov, softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean by&mdash;not right?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Writers are the most unselfish people, they are noble personalities! They
+      don&rsquo;t want anything&mdash;all they strive for is justice&mdash;truth!
+      They&rsquo;re not mosquitoes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lubov grew excited as she lauded her beloved people; her face was flushed,
+      and her eyes looked at her father with so much feeling, as though
+      imploring him to believe her, being unable to convince him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you!&rdquo; said the old man, with a sigh, interrupting her. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve read
+      too much! You&rsquo;ve been poisoned! Tell me&mdash;who are they? No one knows!
+      That Yozhov&mdash;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&mdash;man cannot be unselfish. Man will not fight for what
+      belongs not to him, and if he does fight&mdash;his name is &lsquo;fool,&rsquo; 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&mdash;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&rsquo;s throat is too delicate for this. And then,
+      the real truth is known to nobody.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa!&rdquo; exclaimed Lubov, sadly, &ldquo;But in books and in newspapers they
+      defend the general interests of all the people.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, papa, that isn&rsquo;t right, that isn&rsquo;t right! I cannot refute you, but I
+      feel that this isn&rsquo;t right!&rdquo; said Lubov almost with despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is right!&rdquo; said the old man, firmly. &ldquo;Russia is confused, and there is
+      nothing steadfast in it; everything is staggering! Everybody lives awry,
+      everybody walks on one side, there&rsquo;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&mdash;everybody inhales
+      that mist, and that&rsquo;s why the blood of the people has become spoiled&mdash;hence
+      the sores. Man is given great liberty to reason, but is not permitted to
+      do anything&mdash;that&rsquo;s why man does not live; but rots and stinks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What ought one to do, then?&rdquo; asked Lubov, resting her elbows on the table
+      and bending toward her father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everything!&rdquo; cried the old man, passionately. &ldquo;Do everything. Go ahead!
+      Let each man do whatever he knows best! But for that liberty must be given
+      to man&mdash;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&mdash;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&rsquo;ll believe himself to be a miracle
+      worker, and then he&rsquo;ll start to show his spirit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man paused awhile and, lowering his voice, went on, with a
+      malicious smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there is very little of that creative spirit in him! He&rsquo;ll bristle up
+      for a day or two, stretch himself on all sides&mdash;and the poor fellow
+      will soon grow weak. For his heart is rotten&mdash;he, he, he! Here, he,
+      he, he! The dear fellow will be caught by the real, worthy people, by
+      those real people who are competent to be the actual civil masters, who
+      will manage life not with a rod nor with a pen, but with a finger and with
+      brains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, they will say. Have you grown tired, gentlemen? What, they will
+      say, your spleens cannot stand a real fire, can they? So&mdash;&rdquo; and,
+      raising his voice, the old man concluded his speech in an authoritative
+      tone:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, now, you rabble, hold your tongues, and don&rsquo;t squeak! Or
+      we&rsquo;ll shake you off the earth, like worms from a tree! Silence, dear
+      fellows! Ha, ha, ha! That&rsquo;s how it&rsquo;s going to happen, Lubavka! He, he,
+      he!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man was in a merry mood. His wrinkles quivered, and carried away
+      by his words, he trembled, closed his eyes now and then, and smacked his
+      lips as though tasting his own wisdom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then those who will take the upper hand in the confusion will arrange
+      life wisely, after their own fashion. Then things won&rsquo;t go at random, but
+      as if by rote. It&rsquo;s a pity that we shall not live to see it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man&rsquo;s words fell one after another upon Lubov like meshes of a big
+      strong net&mdash;they fell and enmeshed her, and the girl, unable to free
+      herself from them, maintained silence, dizzied by her father&rsquo;s words.
+      Staring into his face with an intense look, she sought support for herself
+      in his words and heard in them something similar to what she had read in
+      books, and which seemed to her the real truth. But the malignant,
+      triumphant laughter of her father stung her heart, and the wrinkles, which
+      seemed to creep about on his face like so many dark little snakes,
+      inspired her with a certain fear for herself in his presence. She felt
+      that he was turning her aside from what had seemed so simple and so easy
+      in her dreams.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa!&rdquo; she suddenly asked the old man, in obedience to a thought and a
+      desire that unexpectedly flashed through her mind. &ldquo;Papa! and what sort of
+      a man&mdash;what in your opinion is Taras?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin shuddered. His eyebrows began to move angrily, he fixed his keen,
+      small eyes on his daughter&rsquo;s face and asked her drily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What sort of talk is this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Must he not even be mentioned?&rdquo; said Lubov, softly and confusedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I don&rsquo;t want to speak of him&mdash;and I also advise you not to speak of
+      him! &ldquo;&mdash;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&rsquo;s silence he said sternly and angrily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;is that my son? A blunt-snouted young pig. He would
+      not speak to his father, and&mdash;he stumbled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did he do?&rdquo; asked Lubov, eagerly listening to the old man&rsquo;s words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who knows? It may be that now he cannot understand himself, if he became
+      sensible, and he must have become a sensible man; he&rsquo;s the son of a father
+      who&rsquo;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&rsquo;d show
+      them what to do. Into the desert! Into the isolated places&mdash;march!
+      Come, now, my wise fellows, arrange life there according to your own will!
+      Go ahead! And as authorities over them I&rsquo;d station the robust peasants.
+      Well, now, honourable gentlemen, you were given to eat and to drink, you
+      were given an education&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;give
+      a look.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Turning around, Lubov noticed the captain of the &ldquo;Yermak,&rdquo; Yefim, coming
+      along the garden path. He had respectfully removed his cap and bowed to
+      her. There was a hopelessly guilty expression on his face and he seemed
+      abashed. Yakov Tarasovich recognized him and, instantly grown alarmed, he
+      cried:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are you coming from? What has happened?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I have come to you!&rdquo; said Yefim, stopping short at the table,
+      with a low bow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I see, you&rsquo;ve come to me. What&rsquo;s the matter? Where&rsquo;s the steamer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The steamer is there!&rdquo; Yefim thrust his hand somewhere into the air and
+      heavily shifted from one foot to the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is it, devil? Speak coherently&mdash;what has happened?&rdquo; cried the
+      old man, enraged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So&mdash;a misfortune, Yakov.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you been wrecked?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, God saved us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Burned up? Well, speak more quickly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yefim drew air into his chest and said slowly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Barge No. 9 was sunk&mdash;smashed up. One man&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So-o!&rdquo; drawled out Mayakin, measuring the captain with an ill-omened
+      look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Yefimushka, I&rsquo;ll strip your skin off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It wasn&rsquo;t I who did it!&rdquo; said Yefim, quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not you?&rdquo; cried the old man, shaking with rage. &ldquo;Who then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The master himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foma? And you. Where were you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was lying in the hatchway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! You were lying.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was bound there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wha-at?&rdquo; screamed the old man in a shrill voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Allow me to tell you everything as it happened. He was drunk and he
+      shouted: &ldquo;&lsquo;Get away! I&rsquo;ll take command myself!&rsquo; I said &lsquo;I can&rsquo;t! I am the
+      captain.&rsquo; &lsquo;Bind him!&rsquo; 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 &lsquo;Cheruigorez.&rsquo; So Foma Ignatyich blocked their way. They
+      whistled. More than once. I must tell the truth&mdash;they whistled!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, and they couldn&rsquo;t manage it&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin rose from the chair and burst into jarring, angry laughter. And
+      Yefim sighed, and, outstretching his hands, said: &ldquo;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&mdash;then he
+      breaks loose. Then he is not master of himself and of his business&mdash;but
+      their wild enemy&mdash;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep quiet!&rdquo; said Mayakin, sternly. &ldquo;Where&rsquo;s Foma?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There; at the same place. Immediately after the accident, he came to
+      himself and at once sent for workmen. They&rsquo;ll lift the barge. They may
+      have started by this time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he there alone?&rdquo; asked Mayakin, lowering his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not quite,&rdquo; replied Yefim, softly, glancing stealthily at Lubov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a lady with him. A dark one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It looks as though the woman is out of her wits,&rdquo; said Yefim, with a
+      sigh. &ldquo;She&rsquo;s forever singing. She sings very well. It&rsquo;s very captivating.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not asking you about her!&rdquo; cried Mayakin, angrily. The wrinkles of
+      his face were painfully quivering, and it seemed to Lubov that her father
+      was about to weep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Calm yourself, papa!&rdquo; she entreated caressingly. &ldquo;Maybe the loss isn&rsquo;t so
+      great.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not great?&rdquo; cried Yakov Tarasovich in a ringing voice. &ldquo;What do you
+      understand, you fool? Is it only that the barge was smashed? Eh, you! A
+      man is lost! That&rsquo;s what it is! And he is essential to me! I need him,
+      dull devils that you are!&rdquo; The old man shook his head angrily and with
+      brisk steps walked off along the garden path leading toward the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Foma was at this time about four hundred versts away from his
+      godfather, in a village hut, on the shore of the Volga. He had just
+      awakened from sleep, and lying on the floor, on a bed of fresh hay, in the
+      middle of the hut, he gazed gloomily out of the window at the sky, which
+      was covered with gray, scattered clouds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wind was tearing them asunder and driving them somewhere; heavy and
+      weary, one overtaking another, they were passing across the sky in an
+      enormous flock. Now forming a solid mass, now breaking into fragments, now
+      falling low over the earth, in silent confusion, now again rising upward,
+      one swallowed by another.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+Without moving his head, which was heavy from intoxication, Foma looked
+long at the clouds and finally began to feel as though silent clouds
+were also passing through his breast,&mdash;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&mdash;to-day not
+those of yesterday, new ones each day, yet all looking alike&mdash;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&rsquo;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:
+
+     &ldquo;And so let us live while we can
+     And then&mdash;e&rsquo;en grass may cease to grow.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      All these people, like himself, grown wild and beastlike, were seized by
+      the same dark wave and carried away like rubbish. All these people, like
+      himself, must have been afraid to look forward to see whither this
+      powerful, wild wave was carrying them. And drowning their fear in wine,
+      they were rushing forward down the current struggling, shouting, doing
+      something absurd, playing the fool, clamouring, clamouring, without ever
+      being cheerful. He was doing the same, whirling in their midst. And now it
+      seemed to him, that he was doing all this for fear of himself, in order to
+      pass the sooner this strip of life, or in order not to think of what would
+      be afterward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Amid the burning turmoil of carouses, in the crowd of people, seized by
+      debauchery, perplexed by violent passions, half-crazy in their longing to
+      forget themselves&mdash;only Sasha was calm and contained. She never drank
+      to intoxication, always addressed people in a firm, authoritative voice,
+      and all her movements were equally confident, as though this stream had
+      not taken possession of her, but she was herself mastering its violent
+      course. She seemed to Foma the cleverest person of all those that
+      surrounded him, and the most eager for noise and carouse; she held them
+      all in her sway, forever inventing something new and speaking in one and
+      the same manner to everybody; for the driver, the lackey and the sailor
+      she had the same tone and the same words as for her friends and for Foma.
+      She was younger and prettier than Pelageya, but her caresses were silent,
+      cold. Foma imagined that deep in her heart she was concealing from
+      everybody something terrible, that she would never love anyone, never
+      reveal herself entire. This secrecy in the woman attracted him toward her
+      with a feeling of timorous curiosity, of a great, strained interest in her
+      calm, cold soul, which seemed even as dark as her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Somehow Foma said to her one day:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what piles of money you and I have squandered!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She glanced at him, and asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why should we save it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, why?&rdquo; thought Foma, astonished by the fact that she reasoned so
+      simply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; he asked her at another occasion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, have you forgotten my name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, the idea!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you wish to know then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am asking you about your origin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I am a native of the province of Yaroslavl. I&rsquo;m from Ooglich. I was a
+      harpist. Well, shall I taste sweeter to you, now that you know who I am?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do I know it?&rdquo; asked Foma, laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;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&rsquo;s rather think a little as to how we shall pass the day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On that day they took a trip on a steamer, with an orchestra of music,
+      drank champagne, and every one of them got terribly drunk. Sasha sang a
+      peculiar, wonderfully sad song, and Foma, moved by her singing, wept like
+      a child. Then he danced with her the &ldquo;Russian dance,&rdquo; and finally,
+      perspiring and fatigued, threw himself overboard in his clothes and was
+      nearly drowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, recalling all this and a great deal more, he felt ashamed of himself
+      and dissatisfied with Sasha. He looked at her well-shaped figure, heard
+      her even breathing and felt that he did not love this woman, and that she
+      was unnecessary to him. Certain gray, oppressive thoughts were slowly
+      springing up in his heavy, aching head. It seemed to him as though
+      everything he had lived through during this time was twisted within him
+      into a heavy and moist ball, and that now this ball was rolling about in
+      his breast, unwinding itself slowly, and the thin gray cords were binding
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is going on in me?&rdquo; he thought. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve begun to carouse. Why? I don&rsquo;t
+      know how to live. I don&rsquo;t understand myself. Who am I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was astonished by this question, and he paused over it, attempting to
+      make it clear to himself&mdash;why he was unable to live as firmly and
+      confidently as other people do. He was now still more tortured. by
+      conscience. More uneasy at this thought, he tossed about on the hay and
+      irritated, pushed Sasha with his elbow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be careful!&rdquo; said she, although nearly asleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right. You&rsquo;re not such a lady of quality!&rdquo; muttered Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned her back to him, and said lazily, with a lazy yawn:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dreamed that I became a harpist again. It seemed to me that I was
+      singing a solo, and opposite me stood a big, dirty dog, snarling and
+      waiting for me to finish the song. And I was afraid of the dog. And I knew
+      that it would devour me, as soon as I stopped singing. So I kept singing,
+      singing. And suddenly it seemed my voice failed me. Horrible! And the dog
+      is gnashing his teeth. Oh Lord, have mercy on me! What does it mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop your idle talk!&rdquo; Foma interrupted her sternly. &ldquo;You better tell me
+      what you know about me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, for instance, that you are awake now,&rdquo; she answered, without
+      turning to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Awake? That&rsquo;s true. I&rsquo;ve awakened,&rdquo; said Foma, thoughtfully and, throwing
+      his arm behind his head, went on: &ldquo;That&rsquo;s why I am asking you. What sort
+      of man do you think I am?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A man with a drunken headache,&rdquo; answered Sasha, yawning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aleksandra!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, beseechingly, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t talk nonsense! Tell me
+      conscientiously, what do you think of me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think anything!&rdquo; she said drily. &ldquo;Why are you bothering me with
+      nonsense?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is this nonsense?&rdquo; said Foma, sadly. &ldquo;Eh, you devils! This is the
+      principal thing. The most essential thing to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He heaved a deep sigh and became silent. After a minute&rsquo;s silence, Sasha
+      began to speak in her usual, indifferent voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t feel like doing it at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma laughed drily and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish I were like this&mdash;and had no desires for anything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the woman raised her head from the pillow, looked into Foma&rsquo;s face
+      and lay down again, saying:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are musing too much. Look out&mdash;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&rsquo;ll tell you&mdash;you are better than others. But what of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And in what way am I better?&rdquo; asked Foma, thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So! When one sings a good song&mdash;you weep. When one does some mean
+      thing&mdash;you beat him. With women you are simple, you are not impudent
+      to them. You are peaceable. And you can also be daring, sometimes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet all this did not satisfy Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re not telling me the right thing!&rdquo; said he, softly. &ldquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t
+      know what you want. But see here, what are we going to do after they have
+      raised the barge?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What can we do?&rdquo; asked Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall we go to Nizhni or to Kazan?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To carouse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to carouse any more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What else are you going to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? Nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And both were silent for a long time, without looking at each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have a disagreeable character,&rdquo; said Sasha, &ldquo;a wearisome character.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But nevertheless I won&rsquo;t get drunk any more!&rdquo; said Foma, firmly and
+      confidently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are lying!&rdquo; retorted Sasha, calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll see! What do you think&mdash;is it good to lead such a life as
+      this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, just tell me&mdash;is it good?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what is better?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma looked at her askance and, irritated, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What repulsive words you speak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, here again I haven&rsquo;t pleased him!&rdquo; said Sasha, laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a fine crowd!&rdquo; said Foma, painfully wrinkling his face. &ldquo;They&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on!&rdquo; Sasha interrupted him, and asked him calmly: &ldquo;What have you to
+      do with me? You may take from me all that you want, but don&rsquo;t you creep
+      into my soul!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Into your so-o-ul!&rdquo; Foma drawled out, with contempt. &ldquo;Into what soul? He,
+      he!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She began to pace the room, gathering together the clothes that were
+      scattered everywhere. Foma watched her and was displeased because she did
+      not get angry at him for his words about her soul. Her face looked calm
+      and indifferent, as usual, but he wished to see her angry or offended; he
+      wished for something human from the woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The soul!&rdquo; he exclaimed, persisting in his aim. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By this time she was sitting on a bench, putting on her stockings, but at
+      his words she raised her head and sternly fixed her eyes upon his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you staring at?&rdquo; asked Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you speak that way?&rdquo; said she, without lifting her eyes from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I must.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look out&mdash;must you really?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was something threatening in her question. Foma felt intimidated and
+      said, this time without provocation in his voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How could I help speaking?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you!&rdquo; sighed Sasha and resumed dressing herself
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what about me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Merely so. You seem as though you were born of two fathers. Do you know
+      what I have observed among people?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If a man cannot answer for himself, it means that he is afraid of
+      himself, that his price is a grosh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you refer to me?&rdquo; asked Foma, after a pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To you, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She threw a pink morning gown over her shoulders and, standing in the
+      centre of the room, stretched out her hand toward Foma, who lay at her
+      feet, and said to him in a low, dull voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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,&mdash;who will
+      dare to listen to me, if I should speak at the top of my voice? And I have
+      some words about you,&mdash;they&rsquo;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&mdash;you cannot be cured by words. You should be burned in
+      the fire&mdash;just as frying-pans are burned out on the first Monday of
+      Lent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Raising her hands she abruptly loosened her hair, and when it fell over
+      her shoulders in heavy, black locks&mdash;the woman shook her head
+      haughtily and said, with contempt:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;I am silent! For I fear that if I should sing
+      it to you&mdash;my soul would become empty. I would have nothing to live
+      on.&rdquo; Foma looked at her, and now he was pleased with her. In her words
+      there was something akin to his frame of mind. Laughing, he said to her,
+      with satisfaction on his face and in his voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I also feel that something is growing within my soul. Eh, I too shall
+      have my say, when the time comes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Against whom?&rdquo; asked Sasha, carelessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;against everybody!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, jumping to his feet. &ldquo;Against
+      falsehood. I shall ask&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ask whether the samovar is ready,&rdquo; Sasha ordered indifferently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma glanced at her and cried, enraged:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go to the devil! Ask yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, all right, I shall. What are you snarling about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And she stepped out of the hut.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In piercing gusts the wind blew across the river, striking against its
+      bosom, and covered with troubled dark waves, the river was spasmodically
+      rushing toward the wind with a noisy splash, and all in the froth of
+      wrath. The willow bushes on the shore bent low to the ground&mdash;trembling,
+      they now were about to lie down on the ground, now, frightened, they
+      thrust themselves away from it, driven by the blows of the wind. In the
+      air rang a whistling, a howling, and a deep groaning sound, that burst
+      from dozens of human breasts:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It goes&mdash;it goes&mdash;it goes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This exclamation, abrupt as a blow, and heavy as the breath from an
+      enormous breast, which is suffocating from exertion, was soaring over the
+      river, falling upon the waves, as if encouraging their mad play with the
+      wind, and they struck the shores with might.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two empty barges lay anchored by the mountainous shore, and their tall
+      masts, rising skyward, rocked in commotion from side to side, as though
+      describing some invisible pattern in the air. The decks of both barges
+      were encumbered with scaffolds, built of thick brown beams; huge sheaves
+      were hanging everywhere; chains and ropes were fastened to them, and
+      rocking in the air; the links of the chains were faintly clanging. A
+      throng of peasants in blue and in red blouses pulled a large beam across
+      the dock and, heavily stamping their feet, groaned with full chest:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It goes&mdash;it goes&mdash;it goes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here and there human figures clung to the scaffoldings, like big lumps of
+      blue and red; the wind, blowing their blouses and their trousers, gave the
+      men odd forms, making them appear now hump-backed, now round and puffed up
+      like bladders. The people on the scaffolds and on the decks of the barges
+      were making fast, hewing, sawing, driving in nails; and big arms, with
+      shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows were seen everywhere. The wind
+      scattered splinters of wood, and a varied, lively, brisk noise in the air;
+      the saw gnawed the wood, choking with wicked joy; the beams, wounded by
+      the axes, moaned and groaned drily; the boards cracked sickly as they
+      split from the blows they received; the jointer squeaked maliciously. The
+      iron clinking of the chains and the groaning creaking of the sheaves
+      joined the wrathful roaring of the waves, and the wind howled loudly,
+      scattering over the river the noise of toil and drove the clouds across
+      the sky.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mishka-a! The deuce take you!&rdquo; cried someone from the top of the
+      scaffolding. And from the deck, a large-formed peasant, with his head
+      thrown upward, answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wh-a-at?&rdquo; And the wind, playing with his long, flaxen beard, flung it
+      into his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hand us the end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A resounding basso shouted as through a speaking-trumpet:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See how you&rsquo;ve fastened this board, you blind devil? Can&rsquo;t you see? I&rsquo;ll
+      rub your eyes for you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pull, my boys, come on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Once more&mdash;brave&mdash;boys!&rdquo; cried out some one in a loud,
+      beseeching voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Handsome and stately, in a short cloth jacket and high boots, Foma stood,
+      leaning his back against a mast, and stroking his beard with his trembling
+      hand, admired the daring work of the peasants. The noise about him called
+      forth in him a persistent desire to shout, to work together with the
+      peasants, to hew wood, to carry burdens, to command&mdash;to compel
+      everybody to pay attention to him, and to show them his strength, his
+      skill, and the live soul within him. But he restrained himself. And
+      standing speechless, motionless, he felt ashamed and afraid of something.
+      He was embarrassed by the fact that he was master over everybody there,
+      and that if he were to start to work himself, no one would believe that he
+      was working merely to satisfy his desire, and not to spur them on in their
+      work; to set them an example. And then, the peasants might laugh at him,
+      in all probability.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A fair and curly-headed fellow, with his shirt collar unbuttoned, was now
+      and again running past him, now carrying a log on his shoulder, now an axe
+      in his hands; he was skipping along, like a frolicsome goat, scattering
+      about him cheerful, ringing laughter, jests, violent oaths, and working
+      unceasingly, now assisting one, now another, as he was cleverly and
+      quickly running across the deck, which was obstructed with timber and
+      shavings. Foma watched him closely, and envied this merry fellow, who was
+      radiant with something healthy and inspiring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Evidently he is happy,&rdquo; 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&mdash;they all lived. While he stood alone, aside from them, not
+      knowing what to do, not knowing how to do anything, feeling himself
+      superfluous to this great toil. It vexed him to feel that he was
+      superfluous among men, and the more closely he watched them, the more
+      intense was this vexation. And he was stung most by the thought that all
+      this was being done for him. And yet he was out of place there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is my place, then?&rdquo; he thought gloomily. &ldquo;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?&rdquo; The chains clanged, the pulleys groaned, the
+      blows of the axes resounded loud over the river, and the barges rocked
+      from the shocks of the waves, but to Foma it seemed that he was rocking
+      not because the barge was rocking under his feet, but rather because he
+      was not able to stand firmly anywhere, he was not destined to do so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The contractor, a small-sized peasant with a small pointed gray beard, and
+      with narrow little eyes on his gray wrinkled face, came up to him and
+      said, not loud, but pronouncing his words with a certain tone from the
+      bottom of the river. He wished that they might not succeed, that they
+      might feel embarrassed in his presence, and a wicked thought flashed
+      through his mind:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps the chains will break.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boys! Attention!&rdquo; shouted the contractor. &ldquo;Start all together. God bless
+      us!&rdquo; And suddenly, clasping his hands in the air, he cried in a shrill
+      voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let&mdash;her&mdash;go-o-o!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The labourers took up his shout, and all cried out in one voice, with
+      excitement and exertion:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let her go! She moves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pulleys squeaked and creaked, the chains clanked, strained under the
+      heavy weight that suddenly fell upon them; and the labourers, bracing
+      their chests against the handle of the windlasses, roared and tramped
+      heavily. The waves splashed noisily between the barges as though unwilling
+      to give up their prize to the men. Everywhere about Foma, chains and ropes
+      were stretched and they quivered from the strain&mdash;they were creeping
+      somewhere across the deck, past his feet, like huge gray worms; they were
+      lifted upward, link after link, falling back with a rattling noise, and
+      all these sounds were drowned by the deafening roaring of the labourers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It goes, it goes, it goes,&rdquo; they all sang in unison, triumphantly. But
+      the ringing voice of the contractor pierced the deep wave of their voices,
+      and cut it even as a knife cuts bread.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My boys! Go ahead, all at once, all at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was seized with a strange emotion; passionately he now longed to
+      mingle with this excited roaring of the labourers, which was as broad and
+      as powerful as the river&mdash;to blend with this irritating, creaking,
+      squeaking, clanging of iron and turbulent splashing of waves. Perspiration
+      came out on his face from the intensity of his desire, and suddenly pale
+      from agitation, he tore himself away from the mast, and rushed toward the
+      windlasses with big strides.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All at once! At once!&rdquo; 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&mdash;would overthrow, conquer and then breathe easily and freely,
+      full of proud delight. For the first time in his life he experienced such
+      a powerful, spiritualizing sensation, and he drank it with all the
+      strength of a hungry, thirsty soul; he was intoxicated by it and he gave
+      vent to his joy in loud, exulting cries in unison with the workers:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It goes&mdash;it goes&mdash;it goes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on! Fasten! Hold on, boys!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Something dashed against Foma&rsquo;s chest, and he was hurled backward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I congratulate you on a successful result, Foma Ignatyich!&rdquo; the
+      contractor congratulated him and the wrinkles quivered on his face in
+      cheerful beams.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God! You must be quite tired now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cold wind blew in Foma&rsquo;s face. A contented, boastful bustle was in the air
+      about him; swearing at one another in a friendly way, merry, with smiles
+      on their perspiring brows, the peasants approached him and surrounded him
+      closely. He smiled in embarrassment: the excitement within him had not yet
+      calmed down and this hindered him from understanding what had happened and
+      why all those who surrounded him were so merry and contented.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve raised a hundred and seventy thousand puds as if we plucked a
+      radish from a garden-bed!&rdquo; said some one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We ought to get a vedro of whisky from our master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma, standing on a heap of cable, looked over the heads of the workers
+      and saw; between the barges, side by side with them, stood a third barge,
+      black, slippery, damaged, wrapped in chains. It was warped all over, it
+      seemed as though it swelled from some terrible disease and, impotent,
+      clumsy, it was suspended between its companions, leaning against them. Its
+      broken mast stood out mournfully in the centre; reddish streams of water,
+      like blood, were running across the deck, which was covered with stains of
+      rust. Everywhere on the deck lay heaps of iron, of black, wet stumps of
+      wood, and of ropes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Raised?&rdquo; asked Foma, not knowing what to say at the sight of this ugly,
+      heavy mass, and again feeling offended at the thought that merely for the
+      sake of raising this dirty, bruised monster from the water, his soul had
+      foamed up with such joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How&rsquo;s the barge?&rdquo; asked Foma, indefinitely, addressing the contractor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s pretty good! We must unload right away, and put a company of about
+      twenty carpenters to work on it&mdash;they&rsquo;ll bring it quickly into
+      shape,&rdquo; said the contractor in a consoling tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the light-haired fellow, gaily and broadly smiling into Foma&rsquo;s face,
+      asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are we going to have any vodka?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you wait? You have time!&rdquo; said the contractor, sternly. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you
+      see&mdash;the man is tired.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the peasants began to speak:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, he is tired!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That wasn&rsquo;t easy work!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, one gets tired if he isn&rsquo;t used to work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is even hard to eat gruel if you are not used to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not tired,&rdquo; said Foma, gloomily, and again were heard the respectful
+      exclamations of the peasants, as they surrounded him more closely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Work, if one likes it, is a pleasant thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s just like play.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s like playing with a woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the light-haired fellow persisted in his request:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Honour! You ought to treat us to a vedro of vodka, eh?&rdquo; he said,
+      smiling and sighing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma looked at the bearded faces before him and felt like saying something
+      offensive to them. But somehow everything became confused in his brain, he
+      found no thoughts in it and, finally, without giving himself an account of
+      his words, said angrily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All you want is to drink all the time! It makes no difference to you what
+      you do! You should have thought&mdash;why? to what purpose? Eh, you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was an expression of perplexity on the faces of those that
+      surrounded him, blue and red, bearded figures began to sigh, scratch
+      themselves, shift themselves from one foot to another. Others cast a
+      hopeless glance at Foma and turned away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes!&rdquo; said the contractor, with a sigh. &ldquo;That wouldn&rsquo;t harm! That is&mdash;to
+      think&mdash;why and how. These are words of wisdom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The light-haired fellow had a different opinion on the matter; smiling
+      kind-heartedly, he waved his hand and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We don&rsquo;t have to think over our work! If we have it&mdash;we do it! Our
+      business is simple! When a rouble is earned&mdash;thank God! we can do
+      everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And do you know what&rsquo;s necessary to do?&rdquo; questioned Foma, irritated by
+      the contradiction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everything is necessary&mdash;this and that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But where&rsquo;s the sense?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s but one and the same sense in everything for our class&mdash;when
+      you have earned for bread and taxes&mdash;live! And when there&rsquo;s something
+      to drink, into the bargain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, with contempt. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re also talking! What do
+      you understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it our business to understand?&rdquo; said the light-haired fellow, with a
+      nod of the head. It now bored him to speak to Foma. He suspected that he
+      was unwilling to treat them to vodka and he was somewhat angry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s it!&rdquo; said Foma, instructively, pleased that the fellow yielded to
+      him, and not noticing the cross, sarcastic glances. &ldquo;And he who
+      understands feels that it is necessary to do everlasting work!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is, for God!&rdquo; explained the contractor, eyeing the peasants, and
+      added, with a devout sigh:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s true. Oh, how true that is!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Foma was inspired with the desire to say something correct and
+      important, after which these people might regard him in a different light,
+      for he was displeased with the fact that all, save the light-haired
+      fellow, kept silent and looked at him askance, surlily, with such weary,
+      gloomy eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is necessary to do such work,&rdquo; he said, moving his eyebrows. &ldquo;Such
+      work that people may say a thousand years hence: &lsquo;This was done by the
+      peasants of Bogorodsk&mdash;yes!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The light-haired fellow glanced at Foma with astonishment and asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are we, perhaps, to drink the Volga dry?&rdquo; Then he sniffed and, nodding
+      his head, announced: &ldquo;We can&rsquo;t do that&mdash;we should all burst.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma became confused at his words and looked about him; the peasants were
+      smiling morosely, disdainfully, sarcastically. And these smiles stung him
+      like needles. A serious-looking peasant, with a big gray beard, who had
+      not yet opened his mouth up to that time, suddenly opened it now, came
+      closer to Foma and said slowly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And even if we were to drink the Volga dry, and eat up that mountain,
+      into the bargain&mdash;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&mdash;that we can!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke and sceptically spitting at his feet, indifferently walked off
+      from Foma, and slipped into the crowd, as a wedge into a tree. His words
+      crushed Foma completely; he felt, that the peasants considered him stupid
+      and ridiculous. And in order to save his importance as master in their
+      eyes, to attract again the now exhausted attention of the peasants to
+      himself, he bristled up, comically puffed up his cheeks and blurted out in
+      an impressive voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I make you a present of three buckets of vodka.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Brief speeches have always the most meaning and are always apt to produce
+      a strong impression. The peasants respectfully made way for Foma, making
+      low bows to him, and, smiling merrily and gratefully, thanked him for his
+      generosity in a unanimous roar of approval.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take me over to the shore,&rdquo; said Foma, feeling that the excitement that
+      had just been aroused in him would not last long. A worm was gnawing his
+      heart, and he was weary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I feel disgusted!&rdquo; he said, entering the hut where Sasha, in a smart,
+      pink gown, was bustling about the table, arranging wines and refreshments.
+      &ldquo;I feel disgusted, Aleksandra! If you could only do something with me,
+      eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at him attentively and, seating herself on the bench, shoulder
+      to shoulder with him, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Since you feel disgusted&mdash;it means that you want something. What is
+      it you want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know!&rdquo; replied Foma, nodding his head mournfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think of it&mdash;search.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am unable to think. Nothing comes out of my thinking.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you, my child!&rdquo; said Sasha, softly and disdainfully, moving away from
+      him. &ldquo;Your head is superfluous to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma neither caught her tone nor noticed her movement. Leaning his hands
+      against the bench, he bent forward, looked at the floor, and, swaying his
+      body to and fro, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sometimes I think and think&mdash;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&mdash;dark, damp and
+      empty&mdash;there is nothing at all in it! It is even terrible&mdash;I
+      feel then as though I were not a man, but a bottomless ravine. You ask me
+      what I want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sasha looked at him askance and pensively began to sing softly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, when the wind blows&mdash;mist comes from the sea.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to carouse&mdash;it is repulsive! Always the same&mdash;the
+      people, the amusements, the wine. When I grow malicious&mdash;I&rsquo;d thrash
+      everybody. I am not pleased with men&mdash;what are they? It is impossible
+      to understand them&mdash;why do they keep on living? And when they speak
+      the truth&mdash;to whom are we to listen? One says this, another that.
+      While I&mdash;I cannot say anything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;Eh, without thee, dear, my life is weary,&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      sang Sasha, staring at the wall before her. And Foma kept on rocking and
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are times when I feel guilty before men. Everybody lives, makes
+      noise, while I am frightened, staggered&mdash;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&mdash;that she was forever
+      yearning towards something. I am also yearning. Toward men I am yearning.
+      I&rsquo;d like to go to them and say: &lsquo;Brethren, help me! Teach me! I know not
+      how to live!. And if I am guilty&mdash;forgive me!&rsquo; But looking about, I
+      see there&rsquo;s no one to speak to. No one wants it&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma uttered some violent, unbecoming invectives and became silent. Sasha
+      broke off her song and moved still farther away from him. The wind was
+      raging outside the window, hurling dust against the window-panes.
+      Cockroaches were rustling on the oven as they crawled over a bunch of pine
+      wood splinters. Somewhere in the yard a calf was lowing pitifully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sasha glanced at Foma, with a sarcastic smile, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s another unfortunate creature lowing. You ought to go to him;
+      perhaps you could sing in unison. And placing her hand on his curly head
+      she jestingly pushed it on the side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are people like yourself good for? That&rsquo;s what you ought to think
+      of. What are you groaning about? You are disgusted with being idle&mdash;occupy
+      yourself, then, with business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh Lord!&rdquo; Foma nodded his head. &ldquo;It is hard for one to make himself
+      understood. Yes, it is hard!&rdquo; And irritated, he almost cried out: &ldquo;What
+      business? I have no yearning toward business! What is business? Business
+      is merely a name&mdash;and if you should look into the depth, into the
+      root of it&mdash;you&rsquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;what will
+      happen? Like blind men they will grope about hither and thither; they&rsquo;ll
+      lose their mind&mdash;they&rsquo;ll go mad! I know it! Do you think that
+      business brings happiness into man? No, that&rsquo;s not so&mdash;something else
+      is missing here. This is not everything yet! The river flows that men may
+      sail on it; the tree grows&mdash;to be useful; the dog&mdash;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&mdash;what are they for? Aha! Wherein is their justification? Ha,
+      ha, ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was triumphant. It seemed to him that he had found something good for
+      himself, something severe against men. And feeling that, because of this,
+      there was great joy in him, he laughed loudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does not your head ache?&rdquo; inquired Sasha, anxiously, scrutinizing his
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My soul aches!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, passionately. &ldquo;And it aches because it is
+      upright&mdash;because it is not to be satisfied with trifles. Answer it,
+      how to live? To what purpose? There&mdash;take my godfather&mdash;he is
+      wise! He says&mdash;create life! But he&rsquo;s the only one like this. Well,
+      I&rsquo;ll ask him, wait! And everybody says&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; said Sasha, seriously. &ldquo;I think you ought to get married, that&rsquo;s
+      all!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo; asked Foma, shrugging his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You need a bridle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right! I am living with you&mdash;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&rsquo;s sake. She had taken a liking to
+      me&mdash;and consented; she was good&mdash;but, otherwise, she was in
+      every way the same as you&mdash;though you are prettier than she. But I
+      took a liking to a certain lady&mdash;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&mdash;that&rsquo;s where I&rsquo;ll taste the
+      real thing! I did not get her&mdash;and, it may be, if I had succeeded,
+      all would have taken a different turn. I yearned toward her. I thought&mdash;I
+      could not tear myself away. While now that I have given myself to drink,
+      I&rsquo;ve drowned her in wine&mdash;I am forgetting her&mdash;and that also is
+      wrong. O man! You are a rascal, to be frank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma became silent and sank into meditation. And Sasha rose from the bench
+      and paced the hut to and fro, biting her lips. Then she stopped short
+      before him, and, clasping her hands to her head, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know what? I&rsquo;ll leave you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where will you go?&rdquo; asked Foma, without lifting his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know&mdash;it&rsquo;s all the same!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re always saying unnecessary things. It is lonesome with you. You
+      make me sad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma lifted his head, looked at her and burst into mournful laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really? Is it possible?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;for I am also of that
+      sort&mdash;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I&mdash;will I, too, be lost?&rdquo; asked Foma, indifferently, already
+      fatigued by his words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course!&rdquo; replied Sasha, calmly and confidently. &ldquo;All such people are
+      lost. He, whose character is inflexible, and who has no brains&mdash;what
+      sort of a life is his? We are like this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have no character at all,&rdquo; said Foma, stretching himself. Then after a
+      moment&rsquo;s silence he added:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I have no brains, either.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They were silent for a minute, eyeing each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are we going to do?&rdquo; asked Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We must have dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I mean, in general? Afterward?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Afterward? I don&rsquo;t know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you are leaving me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am. Come, let&rsquo;s carouse some more before we part. Let&rsquo;s go to Kazan,
+      and there we&rsquo;ll have a spree&mdash;smoke and flame! I&rsquo;ll sing your
+      farewell song.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; assented Foma. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s quite proper at leave taking. Eh, you
+      devil! That&rsquo;s a merry life! Listen, Sasha. They say that women of your
+      kind are greedy for money; are even thieves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let them say,&rdquo; said Sasha, calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you feel offended?&rdquo; asked Foma, with curiosity. &ldquo;But you are not
+      greedy. It&rsquo;s advantageous to you to be with me. I am rich, and yet you are
+      going away; that shows you&rsquo;re not greedy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I?&rdquo; Sasha thought awhile and said with a wave of the hand: &ldquo;Perhaps I am
+      not greedy&mdash;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&rdquo; and bursting
+      into malicious laughter, Sasha said: &ldquo;Well, that will do, we&rsquo;ve spoken
+      enough nonsense. Sit down at the table!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the morning of the next day Foma and Sasha stood side by side on the
+      gangway of a steamer which was approaching a harbour on the Ustye. Sasha&rsquo;s
+      big black hat attracted everybody&rsquo;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&rsquo;s backs, and yet lifted not his eye from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go into the cabin!&rdquo; said he to his companion uneasily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t acquire the habit of hiding your sins from people,&rdquo; replied Sasha,
+      with a smile. &ldquo;Have you perhaps noticed an acquaintance there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm. Yes. Somebody is watching me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A nurse with a milk bottle? Ha, ha, ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, there you&rsquo;re neighing!&rdquo; said Foma, enraged, looking at her askance.
+      &ldquo;Do you think I am afraid?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can see how brave you are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll see. I&rsquo;ll face anybody,&rdquo; said Foma, angrily, but after a close
+      look at the crowd in the harbour his face suddenly assumed another
+      expression, and he added softly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s my godfather.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the very edge of the landing-stage stood Yakov Tarasovich, squeezed
+      between two stout women, with his iron-like face lifted upward, and he
+      waved his cap in the air with malicious politeness. His beard shook, his
+      bald crown flashed, and his small eye pierced Foma like borers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a vulture!&rdquo; muttered Foma, raising his cap and nodding his head to
+      his godfather.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His bow evidently afforded great pleasure to Mayakin. The old man somehow
+      coiled himself up, stamped his feet, and his face seemed beaming with a
+      malicious smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The little boy will get money for nuts, it seems!&rdquo; Sasha teased Foma. Her
+      words together with his godfather&rsquo;s smile seemed to have kindled a fire in
+      Foma&rsquo;s breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We shall see what is going to happen,&rdquo; hissed Foma, and suddenly he
+      became as petrified in malicious calm. The steamer made fast, and the
+      people rushed in a wave to the landing-place. Pressed by the crowd,
+      Mayakin disappeared for awhile from the sight of his godson and appeared
+      again with a maliciously triumphant smile. Foma stared at him fixedly,
+      with knitted brow, and came toward him slowly pacing the gang planks. They
+      jostled him in the back, they leaned on him, they squeezed him, and this
+      provoked Foma still more. Now he came face to face with the old man, and
+      the latter greeted him with a polite bow, and asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whither are you travelling, Foma Ignatyich?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About my affairs,&rdquo; replied Foma, firmly, without greeting his godfather.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s praiseworthy, my dear sir!&rdquo; said Yakov Tarasovich, all beaming
+      with a smile. &ldquo;The lady with the feathers&mdash;what is she to you, may I
+      ask?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She&rsquo;s my mistress,&rdquo; said Foma, loud, without lowering his eyes at the
+      keen look of his godfather.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sasha stood behind him calmly examining over his shoulder the little old
+      man, whose head hardly reached Foma&rsquo;s chin. Attracted by Foma&rsquo;s loud
+      words, the public looked at them, scenting a scandal. And Mayakin, too,
+      perceived immediately the possibility of a scandal and instantly estimated
+      correctly the quarrelsome mood of his godson. He contracted his wrinkles,
+      bit his lips, and said to Foma, peaceably:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have something to speak to you about. Will you come with me to the
+      hotel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; for a little while.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have no time, then? It&rsquo;s a plain thing, you must be making haste to
+      wreck another barge, eh?&rdquo; said the old man, unable to contain himself any
+      longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why not wreck them, since they can be wrecked?&rdquo; retorted Foma,
+      passionately and firmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, you did not earn them yourself; why should you spare them?
+      Well, come. And couldn&rsquo;t we drown that lady in the water for awhile?&rdquo; said
+      Mayakin, softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drive to the town, Sasha, and engage a room at the Siberian Inn. I&rsquo;ll be
+      there shortly!&rdquo; said Foma and turning to Mayakin, he announced boldly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am ready! Let us go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Neither of them spoke on their way to the hotel. Foma, seeing that his
+      godfather had to skip as he went in order to keep up with him, purposely
+      took longer strides, and the fact that the old man could not keep step
+      with him supported and strengthened in him the turbulent feeling of
+      protest which he was by this time scarcely able to master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Waiter!&rdquo; said Mayakin, gently, on entering the hall of the hotel, and
+      turning toward a remote corner, &ldquo;let us have a bottle of moorberry kvass.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I want some cognac,&rdquo; ordered Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So-o! When you have poor cards you had better always play the lowest
+      trump first!&rdquo; Mayakin advised him sarcastically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t know my game!&rdquo; said Foma, seating himself by the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really? Come, come! Many play like that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean as you do&mdash;boldly, but foolishly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I play so that either the head is smashed to pieces, or the wall broken
+      in half,&rdquo; said Foma, hotly, and struck the table with his fist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you recovered from your drunkenness yet?&rdquo; asked Mayakin with a
+      smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma seated himself more firmly in his chair, and, his face distorted with
+      wrathful agitation, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Godfather, you are a sensible man. I respect you for your common sense.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, my son!&rdquo; and Mayakin bowed, rising slightly, and leaning his
+      hands against the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t mention it. I want to tell you that I am no longer twenty. I am not
+      a child any longer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not!&rdquo; assented Mayakin. &ldquo;You&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop your joking!&rdquo; Foma warned him, and he did it so calmly that Mayakin
+      started back, and the wrinkles on his face quivered with alarm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you come here for?&rdquo; asked Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! you&rsquo;ve done some nasty work here. So I want to find out whether
+      there&rsquo;s much damage in it! You see, I am a relative of yours. And then, I
+      am the only one you have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are troubling yourself in vain. Do you know, papa, what I&rsquo;ll tell
+      you? Either give me full freedom, or take all my business into your own
+      hands. Take everything! Everything&mdash;to the last rouble!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This proposition burst forth from Foma altogether unexpectedly to himself;
+      he had never before thought of anything like it. But now that he uttered
+      such words to his godfather it suddenly became clear to him that if his
+      godfather were to take from him all his property he would become a
+      perfectly free man, he could go wherever he pleased, do whatever he
+      pleased. Until this moment he had been bound and enmeshed with something,
+      but he knew not his fetters and was unable to break them, while now they
+      were falling off of themselves so simply, so easily. Both an alarming and
+      a joyous hope blazed up within his breast, as though he noticed that
+      suddenly light had begun to flash upon his turbid life, that a wide,
+      spacious road lay open now before him. Certain images sprang up in his
+      mind, and, watching their shiftings, he muttered incoherently:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, this is better than anything! Take everything, and be done with it!
+      And&mdash;as for me&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;I would forsake
+      men&mdash;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&rsquo;m entangled with that woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin looked at him, listened attentively to his words, and his face was
+      stern, immobile as though petrified. A dull, tavern noise smote the air,
+      some people went past them, they greeted Mayakin, but he saw nothing,
+      staring fixedly at the agitated face of his godson, who smiled
+      distractedly, both joyously and pitifully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, my sour blackberry!&rdquo; said Mayakin, with a sigh, interrupting Foma&rsquo;s
+      speech. &ldquo;I see you&rsquo;ve lost your way. And you&rsquo;re prating nonsense. I would
+      like to know whether the cognac is to blame for it, or is it your
+      foolishness?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, &ldquo;this can surely be done. There were cases where
+      people have cast away all their possessions and thus saved themselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That wasn&rsquo;t in my time. Not people that are near to me!&rdquo; said Mayakin,
+      sternly, &ldquo;or else I would have shown them how to go away!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Many have become saints when they went away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm! They couldn&rsquo;t have gone away from me! The matter is simple&mdash;you
+      know how to play at draughts, don&rsquo;t you? Move from one place to another
+      until you are beaten, and if you&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa! why don&rsquo;t you want it?&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t talk nonsense, and don&rsquo;t
+      creep where you don&rsquo;t belong. Arrange your life after your pattern.&rdquo; And
+      from the dark lips of the old man gushed forth in a trembling, glittering
+      stream the jarring, but confident and bold words so familiar to Foma.
+      Seized with the thought of freedom, which seemed to him so easily
+      possible, Foma did not listen to his words. This idea had eaten into his
+      brains, and in his heart the desire grew stronger and stronger to sever
+      all his connections with this empty and wearisome life, with his
+      godfather, with the steamers, the barges and the carouses, with everything
+      amidst which it was narrow and stifling for him to live.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man&rsquo;s words seemed to fall on him from afar; they were blended
+      with the clatter of the dishes, with the scraping of the lackey&rsquo;s feet
+      along the floor, with some one&rsquo;s drunken shouting. Not far from them sat
+      four merchants at a table and argued loudly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two and a quarter&mdash;and thank God!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Luka Mitrich! How can I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give him two and a half!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s right! You ought to give it, it&rsquo;s a good steamer, it tows
+      briskly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear fellows, I can&rsquo;t. Two and a quarter!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And all this nonsense came to your head from your youthful passion!&rdquo; said
+      Mayakin, importantly, accompanying his words with a rap on the table.
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma listened in silence. The buzzing noise about him now seemed to move
+      farther away from him. He pictured himself amid a vast restless crowd of
+      people; without knowing why they bustled about hither and thither, jumped
+      on one another; their eyes were greedily opened wide; they were shouting,
+      cursing, falling, crushing one another, and they were all jostling about
+      on one place. He felt bad among them because he did not understand what
+      they wanted, because he had no faith in their words, and he felt that they
+      had no faith in themselves, that they understood nothing. And if one were
+      to tear himself away from their midst to freedom, to the edge of life, and
+      thence behold them&mdash;then all would become clear to him. Then he would
+      also understand what they wanted, and would find his own place among them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t I understand,&rdquo; said Mayakin, more gently, seeing Foma lost in
+      thought, and assuming that he was reflecting on his words&mdash;&ldquo;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&rsquo;t a toad-stool.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you will set me free?&rdquo; asked Foma, suddenly lifting his head, and
+      Mayakin turned his eyes away from his fiery look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father! at least for a short time! Let me breathe, let me step aside from
+      everything!&rdquo; entreated Foma. &ldquo;I will watch how everything goes on. And
+      then&mdash;if not&mdash;I shall become a drunkard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk nonsense. Why do you play the fool?&rdquo; cried Mayakin, angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, then!&rdquo; replied Foma, calmly. &ldquo;Very well! You do not want it?
+      Then there will be nothing! I&rsquo;ll squander it all! And there is nothing
+      more for us to speak of. Goodbye! I&rsquo;ll set out to work, you&rsquo;ll see! It
+      will afford you joy. Everything will go up in smoke!&rdquo; Foma was calm, he
+      spoke with confidence; it seemed to him that since he had thus decided,
+      his godfather could not hinder him. But Mayakin straightened himself in
+      his chair and said, also plainly and calmly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And do you know how I can deal with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As you like!&rdquo; said Foma, with a wave of the hand. &ldquo;Well then. Now I like
+      the following: I&rsquo;ll return to town and will see to it that you are
+      declared insane, and put into a lunatic asylum.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can this be done?&rdquo; asked Foma, distrustfully, but with a tone of fright
+      in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We can do everything, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma lowered his head, and casting a furtive glance at his godfather&rsquo;s
+      face, shuddered, thinking:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;ll do it; he won&rsquo;t spare me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;ll cover you all up. I&rsquo;ll have a bell forged
+      over you. It is very inconvenient to fool with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin spoke gently. The wrinkles of his cheeks all rose upward, and his
+      small eyes in their dark sockets were smiling sarcastically, coldly. And
+      the wrinkles on his forehead formed an odd pattern, rising up to his bald
+      crown. His face was stern and merciless, and breathed melancholy and
+      coldness upon Foma&rsquo;s soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So there&rsquo;s no way out for me?&rdquo; asked Foma, gloomily. &ldquo;You are blocking
+      all my ways?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is a way. Go there! I shall guide you. Don&rsquo;t worry, it will be
+      right! You will come just to your proper place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This self-confidence, this unshakable boastfulness aroused Foma&rsquo;s
+      indignation. Thrusting his hands into his pockets in order not to strike
+      the old man, he straightened himself in his chair and clinching his teeth,
+      said, facing Mayakin closely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you boasting? What are you boasting of? Your own son, where is
+      he? Your daughter, what is she? Eh, you&mdash;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&rsquo;ve captured me. You&rsquo;ve taken hold of me, you&rsquo;ve conquered
+      me. But wait, I may yet tear myself away from you! It isn&rsquo;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&mdash;what have you
+      done?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin&rsquo;s wrinkles quivered and sank downward, wherefore his face assumed
+      a sickly, weeping expression.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How will you justify yourself?&rdquo; asked Foma, softly, without lifting his
+      eyes from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold your tongue, you puppy!&rdquo; said the old man in a low voice, casting a
+      glance of alarm about the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve said everything! And now I&rsquo;m going! Hold me back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma rose from his chair, thrust his cap on his head, and measured the old
+      man with abhorrence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may go; but I&rsquo;ll&mdash;I&rsquo;ll catch you! It will come out as I say!&rdquo;
+       said Yakov Tarasovich in a broken voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I&rsquo;ll go on a spree! I&rsquo;ll squander all!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, we&rsquo;ll see!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodbye! you hero,&rdquo; Foma laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodbye, for a short while! I&rsquo;ll not go back on my own. I love it. I love
+      you, too. Never mind, you&rsquo;re a good fellow!&rdquo; said Mayakin, softly, and as
+      though out of breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not love me, but teach me. But then, you cannot teach me the right
+      thing!&rdquo; said Foma, as he turned his back on the old man and left the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yakov Tarasovich Mayakin remained in the tavern alone. He sat by the
+      table, and, bending over it, made drawings of patterns on the tray,
+      dipping his trembling finger in the spilt kvass, and his sharp-pointed
+      head was sinking lower and lower over the table, as though he did not
+      decipher, and could not make out what his bony finger was drawing on the
+      tray.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beads of perspiration glistened on his bald crown, and as usual the
+      wrinkles on his cheeks quivered with frequent, irritable starts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the tavern a resounding tumult smote the air so that the window-panes
+      were rattling. From the Volga were wafted the whistlings of steamers, the
+      dull beating of the wheels upon the water, the shouting of the loaders&mdash;life
+      was moving onward unceasingly and unquestionably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Summoning the waiter with a nod Yakov Tarasovich asked him with peculiar
+      intensity and impressiveness,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How much do I owe for all this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      PREVIOUS to his quarrel with Mayakin, Foma had caroused because of the
+      weariness of life, out of curiosity, and half indifferently; now he led a
+      dissipated life out of spite, almost in despair; now he was filled with a
+      feeling of vengeance and with a certain insolence toward men, an insolence
+      which astonished even himself at times. He saw that the people about him,
+      like himself, lacked support and reason, only they did not understand
+      this, or purposely would not understand it, so as not to hinder themselves
+      from living blindly, and from giving themselves completely, without a
+      thought, to their dissolute life. He found nothing firm in them, nothing
+      steadfast; when sober, they seemed to him miserable and stupid; when
+      intoxicated, they were repulsive to him, and still more stupid. None of
+      them inspired him with respect, with deep, hearty interest; he did not
+      even ask them what their names were; he forgot where and when he made
+      their acquaintance, and regarding them with contemptuous curiosity, always
+      longed to say and do something that would offend them. He passed days and
+      nights with them in different places of amusement, and his acquaintances
+      always depended just upon the category of each of these places. In the
+      expensive and elegant restaurants certain sharpers of the better class of
+      society surrounded him&mdash;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&mdash;freer.
+      In these he saw plain people, not so monstrously deformed and distorted as
+      that &ldquo;clean society&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;clean society,&rdquo; these were also eager for money, and shamelessly
+      fleeced him, and he saw it and rudely mocked them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, there were women. Physically healthy, but not sensual, Foma
+      bought them, the dear ones and the cheap ones, the beautiful and the ugly,
+      gave them large sums of money, changed them almost every week, and in
+      general, he treated the women better than the men. He laughed at them,
+      said to them disgraceful and offensive words, but he could never, even
+      when half-drunk, rid himself of a certain bashfulness in their presence.
+      They all, even the most brazen-faced, the strongest and the most
+      shameless, seemed to him weak and defenseless, like small children. Always
+      ready to thrash any man, he never laid a hand on women, although when
+      irritated by something he sometimes abused them indecently. He felt that
+      he was immeasurably stronger than any woman, and every woman seemed to him
+      immeasurably more miserable than he was. Those of the women who led their
+      dissolute lives audaciously, boasting of their depravity, called forth in
+      Foma a feeling of bashfulness, which made him timid and awkward. One
+      evening, during supper hour, one of these women, intoxicated and impudent,
+      struck Foma on the cheek with a melon-rind. Foma was half-drunk. He turned
+      pale with rage, rose from his chair, and thrusting his hands into his
+      pockets, said in a fierce voice which trembled with indignation:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A few days after her arrival in Kazan, Sasha became the mistress of a
+      certain vodka-distiller&rsquo;s son, who was carousing together with Foma. Going
+      away with her new master to some place on the Kama, she said to Foma:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodbye, dear man! Perhaps we may meet again. We&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And she impressed a hot kiss upon his lips, at which her eyes looked still
+      darker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was glad that she was leaving him, he had grown tired of her and her
+      cold indifference frightened him. But now something trembled within him,
+      he turned aside from her and said in a low voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you will not live well together, then come back to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you!&rdquo; she replied, and for some reason or other burst into hoarse
+      laughter, which was uncommon with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus lived Foma, day in and day out, always turning around on one and the
+      same place, amid people who were always alike, and who never inspired him
+      with any noble feelings. And then he considered himself superior to them,
+      because the thoughts of the possibility of freeing himself from this life
+      was taking deeper and deeper root in his mind, because the yearning for
+      freedom held him in an ever firmer embrace, because ever brighter were the
+      pictures as he imagined himself drifting away to the border of life, away
+      from this tumult and confusion. More than once, by night, remaining all by
+      himself, he would firmly close his eyes and picture to himself a dark
+      throng of people, innumerably great and even terrible in its immenseness.
+      Crowded together somewhere in a deep valley, which was surrounded by
+      hillocks, and filled with a dusty mist, this throng jostled one another on
+      the same place in noisy confusion, and looked like grain in a hopper. It
+      was as though an invisible millstone, hidden beneath the feet of the
+      crowd, were grinding it, and people moved about it like waves&mdash;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&mdash;clutching
+      at one another, they twined about heavily, crawled somewhere and
+      interfered with one another, and could do nothing to free themselves from
+      captivity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma saw familiar faces amid the crowd: there his father is walking
+      boldly, sturdily pushing aside and overthrowing everybody on his way; he
+      is working with his long paws, massing everything with his chest, and
+      laughing in thundering tones. And then he disappears, sinking somewhere in
+      the depth, beneath the feet of the people. There, wriggling like a snake,
+      now jumping on people&rsquo;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&mdash;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&rsquo;s
+      shoulders, grope everywhere like blind people, stumbling everywhere over
+      others like themselves, struggle, and, falling, disappear from sight.
+      Money rustles, soaring like bats over the heads of the people, and the
+      people greedily stretch out their hands toward it, the gold and silver
+      jingles, bottles rattle, corks pop, someone sobs, and a melancholy female
+      voice sings:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so let us live while we can, And then&mdash;e&rsquo;en grass may cease to
+      grow!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This wild picture fastened itself firmly in Foma&rsquo;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&mdash;to tell them certain loud firm words, to guide them all into
+      one direction, and not one against another. He desired to seize them by
+      their heads, to tear them apart one from another, to thrash some, to
+      fondle others, to reproach them all, to illumine them with a certain fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was nothing in him, neither the necessary words, nor the fire; all
+      he had was the longing which was clear to him, but impossible of
+      fulfillment. He pictured himself above life outside of the deep valley,
+      wherein people were bustling about; he saw himself standing firmly on his
+      feet and&mdash;speechless. He might have cried to the people:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See how you live! Aren&rsquo;t you ashamed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he might have abused them. But if they were to ask on hearing his
+      voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how ought we to live?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was perfectly clear to him that after such a question he would have to
+      fly down head foremost from the heights there, beneath the feet of the
+      throng, upon the millstone. And laughter would accompany him to his
+      destruction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes he was delirious under the pressure of this nightmare. Certain
+      meaningless and unconnected words burst from his lips; he even perspired
+      from this painful struggle within him. At times it occurred to him that he
+      was going mad from intoxication, and that that was the reason why this
+      terrible and gloomy picture was forcing itself into his mind. With a great
+      effort of will he brushed aside these pictures and excitements; but as
+      soon as he was alone and not very drunk, he was again seized by his
+      delirium and again grew faint under its weight. And his thirst for freedom
+      was growing more and more intense, torturing him by its force. But tear
+      himself away from the shackles of his wealth he could not. Mayakin, who
+      had Foma&rsquo;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&rsquo;s power,
+      and did not venture to take anyone&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;the people. With each succeeding day he became more
+      and more convinced that they were more irrational and altogether worse
+      than he&mdash;that they were not the masters of life, but its slaves, and
+      that it was turning them around, bending and breaking them at its will,
+      while they succumbed to it unfeelingly and resignedly, and none of them
+      but he desired freedom. But he wanted it, and therefore proudly elevated
+      himself above his drinking companions, not desiring to see in them
+      anything but wrong.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day in a tavern a certain half-intoxicated man complained to him of
+      his life. This was a small-sized, meagre man, with dim, frightened eyes,
+      unshaven, in a short frock coat, and with a bright necktie. He blinked
+      pitifully, his ears quivered spasmodically, and his soft little voice also
+      trembled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve struggled hard to make my way among men; I&rsquo;ve tried everything, I&rsquo;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&rsquo;ve taken to drink. I
+      feel that I&rsquo;ll be ruined. Well, that&rsquo;s the only way open to me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fool!&rdquo; said Foma with contempt. &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t understand your words.&rdquo; The little man shook his close-cropped,
+      angular head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma laughed, self-satisfied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it for you to understand it?&rdquo; &ldquo;No; do you know, I think that he whom
+      God decreed&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not God, but man arranges life!&rdquo; Foma blurted out, and was even himself
+      astonished at the audacity of his words. And the little man glancing at
+      him askance also shrank timidly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has God given you reason?&rdquo; asked Foma, recovering from his embarrassment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course; that is to say, as much as is the share of a small man,&rdquo; said
+      Foma&rsquo;s interlocutor irresolutely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It happened very often that Foma would suddenly say something which seemed
+      audacious even to himself, and which, at the same time, elevated him in
+      his own eyes. There were certain unexpected, daring thoughts and words,
+      which suddenly flashed like sparks, as though an impression produced them
+      from Foma&rsquo;s brains. And he noticed more than once that whatever he had
+      carefully thought out beforehand was expressed by him not quite so well,
+      and more obscure, than that which suddenly flashed up in his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma lived as though walking in a swamp, in danger of sinking at each step
+      in the mire and slime, while his godfather, like a river loach, wriggled
+      himself on a dry, firm little spot, vigilantly watching the life of his
+      godson from afar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After his quarrel with Foma, Yakov Tarasovich returned home, gloomy and
+      pensive. His eyes flashed drily, and he straightened himself like a
+      tightly-stretched string. His wrinkles shrank painfully, his face seemed
+      to have become smaller and darker, and when Lubov saw him in this state it
+      appeared to her that he was seriously ill, but that he was forcing and
+      restraining himself. Mutely and nervously the old man flung himself about
+      the room, casting in reply to his daughter&rsquo;s questions, dry curt words,
+      and finally shouted to her:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave me alone! You see it has nothing to do with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She felt sorry for him when she noticed the gloomy and melancholy
+      expression of his keen, green eyes; she made it her duty to question him
+      as to what had happened to him, and when he seated himself at the
+      dinner-table she suddenly approached him, placed her hands on his
+      shoulders, and looking down into his face, asked him tenderly and
+      anxiously:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa, are you ill? tell me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her caresses were extremely rare; they always softened the lonely old man,
+      and though he did not respond to them for some reason or other he
+      nevertheless could not help appreciating them. And now he shrugged his
+      shoulders, thus throwing off her hands and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go, go to your place. How the itching curiosity of Eve gives you no
+      rest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Lubov did not go away; persistingly looking into his eyes, she asked,
+      with an offended tone in her voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa, why do you always speak to me in such a way as though I were a
+      small child, or very stupid?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because you are grown up and yet not very clever. Yes! That&rsquo;s the whole
+      story! Go, sit down and eat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She walked away and silently seated herself opposite her father,
+      compressing her lips for affront. Contrary to his habits Mayakin ate
+      slowly, stirring his spoon in his plate of cabbage-soup for a long time,
+      and examining the soup closely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If your obstructed mind could but comprehend your father&rsquo;s thoughts!&rdquo;
+       said he, suddenly, as he sighed with a sort of whistling sound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lubov threw her spoon aside and almost with tears in her voice, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you insult me, papa? You see that I am alone, always alone! You
+      understand how difficult my life is, and you never say a single kind word
+      to me. You never say anything to me! And you are also lonely; life is
+      difficult for you too, I can see it. You find it very hard to live, but
+      you alone are to blame for it! You alone!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now Balaam&rsquo;s she-ass has also started to talk!&rdquo; said the old man,
+      laughing. &ldquo;Well! what will be next?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are very proud of your wisdom, papa.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what else?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That isn&rsquo;t good; and it pains me greatly. Why do you repulse me? You know
+      that, save you, I have no one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Tears leaped to her eyes; her father noticed them, and his face quivered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you were not a girl!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;If you had as much brains as
+      Marfa Poosadnitza, for instance. Eh, Lubov? Then I&rsquo;d laugh at everybody,
+      and at Foma. Come now, don&rsquo;t cry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She wiped her eyes and asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What about Foma?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;s rebellious. Ha! ha! he says: &lsquo;Take away my property, give me
+      freedom!&rsquo; He wants to save his soul in the kabak. That&rsquo;s what entered
+      Foma&rsquo;s head.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what is this?&rdquo; asked Lubov, irresolutely. She wanted to say that
+      Foma&rsquo;s desire was good, that it was a noble desire if it were earnest, but
+      she feared to irritate her father with her words, and she only gazed at
+      him questioningly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; said Mayakin, excitedly, trembling. &ldquo;That either comes to
+      him from excessive drinking, or else&mdash;Heaven forbid&mdash;from his
+      mother, the orthodox spirit. And if this heathenish leaven is going to
+      rise in him I&rsquo;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&rsquo;s young&mdash;there&rsquo;s not much
+      cunning in him as yet. He says: &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll drink away everything, everything
+      will go up in smoke! I&rsquo;ll show you how to drink!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin lifted his hand over his head, and, clenching his fist, threatened
+      furiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s
+      where we must hold our course. That&rsquo;s where the problem lies; but Foma
+      does not comprehend this. But he must understand it, must resume the work.
+      He has his father&rsquo;s means. When I die mine will be added to his. Work, you
+      puppy! And he is raving. No, wait! I&rsquo;ll lift you up to the proper point!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man was choking with agitation and with flashing eyes looked at
+      his daughter so furiously as though Foma were sitting in her place. His
+      agitation frightened Lubov, but she lacked the courage to interrupt her
+      father, and she looked at his stern and gloomy face in silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man drooped his head mournfully, his voice broke down, and he said
+      sadly, as if he were speaking unto himself:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;they have no firmness in them. What is it? Why is it
+      so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin looked at his daughter with alarm. She was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me,&rdquo; he asked her, &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The questions fell on Lubov&rsquo;s head quite unexpectedly to her, and she was
+      embarrassed. She was pleased that her father asked her about this matter,
+      and was at the same time afraid to reply, lest she should be lowered in
+      his estimation. And then, gathering courage, as though preparing to jump
+      across the table, she said irresolutely and in a trembling voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That all the people should be happy and contented; that all the people
+      should be equal, all the people have an equal right to life, to the bliss
+      of life, all must have freedom, even as they have air. And equality in
+      everything!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the beginning of her agitated speech her father looked at her face with
+      anxious curiosity in his eyes, but as she went on hastily hurling her
+      words at him his eyes assumed an altogether different expression, and
+      finally he said to her with calm contempt:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew it before&mdash;you are a gilded fool!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She lowered her head, but immediately raised it and exclaimed sadly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have said so yourself&mdash;freedom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You had better hold your tongue!&rdquo; the old man shouted at her rudely. &ldquo;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&rsquo;ve read much trash, and you&rsquo;ve devoured it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bitter reproach and biting contempt were expressed on the old man&rsquo;s face.
+      He noisily pushed his chair away from the table, jumped up, and folding
+      his hands behind his back, began to dart about in the room with short
+      steps, shaking his head and saying something to himself in an angry,
+      hissing whisper. Lubov, pale with emotion and anger, feeling herself
+      stupid and powerless before him, listening to his whisper, and her heart
+      palpitated wildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am left alone, alone, like Job. Oh Lord! What shall I do? Oh, alone! Am
+      I not wise? Am I not clever? But life has outwitted me also. What does it
+      love? Whom does it fondle? It beats the good, and suffers not the bad to
+      go unpunished, and no one understands life&rsquo;s justice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl began to feel painfully sorry for the old man; she was seized
+      with an intense yearning to help him; she longed to be of use to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Following him with burning eyes, she suddenly said in a low voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa, dear! do not grieve. Taras is still alive. Perhaps he&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin stopped suddenly as though nailed to the spot, and he slowly
+      lifted his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The tree that grew crooked in its youth and could not hold out will
+      certainly break when it&rsquo;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&rsquo;s daring. He can take a great deal on
+      himself. But Taraska, you recalled him just in time. Yes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the old man, who a moment ago had lost his courage to the point of
+      complaining, and, grief-stricken had run about the room like a mouse in a
+      trap, now calmly and firmly walked up with a careworn face to the table,
+      carefully adjusted his chair, and seated himself, saying:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have to sound Taraska. He lives in Usolye at some factory. I was
+      told by some merchants&mdash;they&rsquo;re making soda there, I believe. I&rsquo;ll
+      find out the particulars. I&rsquo;ll write to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Allow me to write to him, papa!&rdquo; begged Lubov, softly, flushing,
+      trembling with joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You?&rdquo; asked Mayakin, casting a brief glance at her; he then became
+      silent, thought awhile and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s all right. That&rsquo;s even better! Write to him. Ask him whether he
+      isn&rsquo;t married, how he lives, what he thinks. But then I&rsquo;ll tell you what
+      to write when the time has come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do it at once, papa,&rdquo; said the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is necessary to marry you off the sooner. I am keeping an eye on a
+      certain red-haired fellow. He doesn&rsquo;t seem to be stupid. He&rsquo;s been
+      polished abroad, by the way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it Smolin, papa?&rdquo; asked Lubov, inquisitively and anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And supposing it is he, what of it?&rdquo; inquired Yakov Tarasovich in a
+      business-like tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, I don&rsquo;t know him,&rdquo; replied Lubov, indefinitely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll make you acquainted. It&rsquo;s time, Lubov, it&rsquo;s time. Our hopes for
+      Foma are poor, although I do not give him up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not reckon on Foma&mdash;what is he to me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s wrong. If you had been cleverer perhaps he wouldn&rsquo;t have gone
+      astray! Whenever I used to see you together, I thought: &lsquo;My girl will
+      attract the fellow to herself! That will be a fine affair!&rsquo; But I was
+      wrong. I thought that you would know what is to your advantage without
+      being told of it. That&rsquo;s the way, my girl!&rdquo; said the father,
+      instructively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She became thoughtful as she listened to his impressive speech. Robust and
+      strong, Lubov was thinking of marriage more and more frequently of late,
+      for she saw no other way out of her loneliness. The desire to forsake her
+      father and go away somewhere in order to study something, to do something.
+      This desire she had long since overcome, even as she conquered in herself
+      many another longing just as keen, but shallow and indefinite. From the
+      various books she had read a thick sediment remained within her, and
+      though it was something live it had the life of a protoplasm. This
+      sediment developed in the girl a feeling of dis-satisfaction with her
+      life, a yearning toward personal independence, a longing to be freed from
+      the heavy guardianship of her father, but she had neither the power to
+      realize these desires, nor the clear conception of their realization. But
+      nature had its influence on her, and at the sight of young mothers with
+      children in their arms Lubov often felt a sad and mournful languor within
+      her. At times stopping before the mirror she sadly scrutinized in it her
+      plump, fresh face with dark circles around her eyes, and she felt sorry
+      for herself. She felt that life was going past her, forgetting her
+      somewhere on the side. Now listening to her father&rsquo;s words she pictured to
+      herself what sort of man Smolin might be. She had met him when he was yet
+      a Gymnasium student, his face was covered with freckles, he was
+      snub-nosed, always clean, sedate and tiresome. He danced heavily,
+      awkwardly, he talked uninterestingly. A long time had passed since then,
+      he had been abroad, had studied something there, how was he now? From
+      Smolin her thoughts darted to her brother, and with a sinking heart she
+      thought: what would he say in reply to her letter? What sort of a man was
+      he? The image of her brother as she had pictured it to herself prevented
+      her from seeing both her father and Smolin, and she had already made up
+      her mind not to consent to marry before meeting Taras, when suddenly her
+      father shouted to her:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Lubovka! Why are you thoughtful? What are you thinking of mostly?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So, everything goes so swiftly,&rdquo; replied Luba, with a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What goes swiftly?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everything. A week ago it was impossible to speak with you about Taras,
+      while now&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Tis need, my girl! Need is a power, it bends a steel rod into a spring.
+      And steel is stubborn. Taras, we&rsquo;ll see what he is! Man is to be
+      appreciated by his resistance to the power of life; if it isn&rsquo;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&rsquo;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!&rdquo; The old man
+      smacked his lips, rubbed his hands, and his small eyes gleamed greedily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;Oh
+      people! You merit reward and respect! You&rsquo;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&mdash;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yakov Tarasovich, small-sized, wrinkled and bony, with black, broken teeth
+      in his mouth, bald-headed and dark, as though burned by the heat of life
+      and smoked in it, trembled in vehement agitation, showering jarring words
+      of contempt upon his daughter, who was young, well-grown and plump. She
+      looked at him with a guilty expression in her eyes, smiled confusedly, and
+      in her heart grew a greater and greater respect for the live old man who
+      was so steadfast in his desires.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Foma went on straying and raving, passing his days and nights in
+      taverns and dens, and mastering more and more firmly his
+      contemptuously-hateful bearing toward the people that surrounded him. At
+      times they awakened in him a sad yearning to find among them some sort of
+      resistance to his wicked feeling, to meet a worthy and courageous man who
+      would cause him to blush with shame by his burning reproach. This yearning
+      became clearer&mdash;each time it sprang up in him it was a longing for
+      assistance on the part of a man who felt that he had lost his way and was
+      perishing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Brethren!&rdquo; he cried one day, sitting by the table in a tavern,
+      half-intoxicated, and surrounded by certain obscure and greedy people, who
+      ate and drank as though they had not had a piece of bread in their mouths
+      for many a long day before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, they could treat him in a different way. In the depth of his
+      soul perhaps not one of them considered himself lower than Foma, but he
+      was rich, and this hindered them from treating him more as a companion,
+      and then he always spoke certain comically wrathful, conscience-rending
+      words, and this embarrassed them. Moreover, he was strong and ready to
+      fight, and they dared not say a word against him. And that was just what
+      he wanted. He wished more and more intensely that one of these people he
+      despised would stand up against him, face to face, and would tell him
+      something strong, which, like a lever, would turn him aside from the
+      sloping road, whose danger he felt, and whose filth he saw, being filled
+      with helpless aversion for it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Foma found what he needed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day, irritated by the lack of attention for him, he cried to his
+      drinking-companions:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You boys, keep quiet, every one of you! Who gives you to drink and to
+      eat? Have you forgotten it? I&rsquo;ll bring you in order! I&rsquo;ll show you how to
+      respect me! Convicts! When I speak you must all keep quiet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And, indeed, all became silent; either for fear lest they might lose his
+      good will, or, perhaps, afraid that he, that healthy and strong beast,
+      might beat them. They sat in silence about a minute, concealing their
+      anger at him, bending over the plates and attempting to hide from him
+      their fright and embarrassment. Foma measured them with a self-satisfied
+      look, and gratified by their slavish submissiveness, said boastfully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! You&rsquo;ve grown dumb now, that&rsquo;s the way! I am strict! I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You sluggard!&rdquo; came some one&rsquo;s calm, loud exclamation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wha-at?&rdquo; roared Foma, jumping up from his chair. &ldquo;Who said that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then a certain, strange, shabby-looking man arose at the end of the table;
+      he was tall, in a long frock-coat, with a heap of grayish hair on his
+      large head. His hair was stiff, standing out in all directions in thick
+      locks, his face was yellow, unshaven, with a long, crooked nose. To Foma
+      it seemed that he resembled a swab with which the steamer decks are
+      washed, and this amused the half-intoxicated fellow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How fine!&rdquo; said he, sarcastically. &ldquo;What are you snarling at, eh? Do you
+      know who I am?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With the gesture of a tragic actor the man stretched out to Foma his hand,
+      with its long, pliant fingers like those of a juggler, and he said in a
+      deep hoarse basso:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are the rotten disease of your father, who, though he was a
+      plunderer, was nevertheless a worthy man in comparison with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Because of the unexpectedness of this, and because of his wrath, Foma&rsquo;s
+      heart shrank. He fiercely opened his eyes wide and kept silent, finding no
+      words to reply to this insolence. And the man, standing before him, went
+      on hoarsely, with animation, beastlike rolling his large, but dim and
+      swollen, eyes:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you jailbird!&rdquo; roared Foma, rushing toward the artist. But he was
+      seized and held back. Struggling in the arms of those that seized him, he
+      was compelled to listen without replying, to the thundering, deep and
+      heavy bass of the man who resembled a swab.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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: &lsquo;You are a fool
+      and a beggar because you are too rich! Here lies the wisdom: all the rich
+      are beggars.&rsquo; That&rsquo;s how the famous coupletist, Rimsky-Kannibalsky, serves
+      Truth!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was now standing meekly among the people that had closely surrounded
+      him, and he eagerly listened to the coupletist&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s soul more and
+      more passionately, and the coupletist went on thundering, intoxicated with
+      the impurity of his accusation:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think that you are the master of life? You are the low slave of the
+      rouble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Someone in the crowd hiccoughed, and, evidently displeased with himself
+      for this, cursed each time he hiccoughed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh devil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And a certain, unshaven, fat-faced man took pity on Foma, or, perhaps,
+      became tired of witnessing that scene, and, waving his hands, he drawled
+      out plaintively:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen, drop that! It isn&rsquo;t good! For we are all sinners! Decidedly
+      all, believe me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, speak on!&rdquo; muttered Foma. &ldquo;Say everything! I won&rsquo;t touch you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The mirrors on the walls reflected this drunken confusion, and the people,
+      as reflected in the mirrors, seemed more disgusting and hideous than they
+      were in reality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not want to speak!&rdquo; exclaimed the coupletist, &ldquo;I do not want to cast
+      the pearls of truth and of my wrath before you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rushed forward, and raising his head majestically, turned toward the
+      door with tragic footsteps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie!&rdquo; said Foma, attempting to follow him. &ldquo;Hold on! you have made me
+      agitated, now calm me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They seized him, surrounded him and shouted something to him while he was
+      rushing forward, overturning everybody. When he met tactile obstacles on
+      his way the struggle with them gave him ease, uniting all his riotous
+      feelings into one yearning to overthrow that which hindered him. And now,
+      after he had jostled them all aside and rushed out into the street, he was
+      already less agitated. Standing on the sidewalk he looked about the street
+      and thought with shame:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How could I permit that swab to mock me and abuse my father as a thief?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was dark and quiet about him, the moon was shining brightly, and a
+      light refreshing breeze was blowing. Foma held his face to the cool breeze
+      as he walked against the wind with rapid strides, timidly looking about on
+      all sides, and wishing that none of the company from the tavern would
+      follow him. He understood that he had lowered himself in the eyes of all
+      these people. As he walked he thought of what he had come to: a sharper
+      had publicly abused him in disgraceful terms, while he, the son of a
+      well-known merchant, had not been able to repay him for his mocking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It serves me right!&rdquo; thought Foma, sadly and bitterly. &ldquo;That serves me
+      right! Don&rsquo;t lose your head, understand. And then again, I wanted it
+      myself. I interfered with everybody, so now, take your share!&rdquo; These
+      thoughts made him feel painfully sorry for himself. Seized and sobered by
+      them he kept on strolling along the streets, and searching for something
+      strong and firm in himself. But everything within him was confused; it
+      merely oppressed his heart, without assuming any definite forms. As in a
+      painful dream he reached the river, seated himself on the beams by the
+      shore, and began to look at the calm dark water, which was covered with
+      tiny ripples. Calmly and almost noiselessly flowed on the broad, mighty
+      river, carrying enormous weights upon its bosom. The river was all covered
+      with black vessels, the signal lights and the stars were reflected in its
+      water; the tiny ripples, murmuring softly, were gently breaking against
+      the shore at the very feet of Foma. Sadness was breathed down from the
+      sky, the feeling of loneliness oppressed Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh Lord Jesus Christ!&rdquo; thought he, sadly gazing at the sky. &ldquo;What a
+      failure I am. There is nothing in me. God has put nothing into me. Of what
+      use am I? Oh Lord Jesus!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the recollection of Christ Foma felt somewhat better&mdash;his
+      loneliness seemed alleviated, and heaving a deep sigh, he began to address
+      God in silence:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh Lord Jesus Christ! Other people do not understand anything either, but
+      they think that all is known to them, and therefore it is easier for them
+      to live. While I&mdash;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&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Vague thoughts of protest flashed one after another through the mind of
+      the lonely, straying man, while the silence about him was growing deeper,
+      and night ever darker and darker. Not far from the shore lay a boat at
+      anchor; it rocked from side to side, and something was creaking in it as
+      though moaning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How am I to free myself from such a life as this?&rdquo; reflected Foma,
+      staring at the boat. &ldquo;And what occupation is destined to be mine?
+      Everybody is working.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And suddenly he was struck by a thought which appeared great to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was pleasantly roused by this thought. It seemed to him that he
+      discovered another falsehood in the life of man, another fraud which they
+      conceal. He recalled one of his stokers, the old man Ilya, who, for ten
+      copecks, used to be on watch at the fireplace out of his turn, working for
+      a comrade eight hours in succession, amid suffocating heat. One day, when
+      he had fallen sick on account of overwork, he was lying on the bow of the
+      steamer, and when Foma asked him why he was thus ruining himself, Ilya
+      replied roughly and sternly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because every copeck is more necessary to me than a hundred roubles to
+      you. That&rsquo;s why!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And, saying this, the old man turned his body, which was burning with
+      pain, with its back to Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Reflecting on the stoker his thoughts suddenly and without any effort,
+      embraced all those petty people that were doing hard work. He wondered,
+      Why do they live? What pleasure is it for them to live on earth? They
+      constantly do but their dirty, hard work, they eat poorly, are poorly
+      clad, they drink. One man is sixty years old, and yet he keeps on toiling
+      side by side with the young fellows. And they all appeared to Foma as a
+      huge pile of worms, which battled about on earth just to get something to
+      eat. In his memory sprang up his meetings with these people, one after
+      another&mdash;their remarks about life&mdash;now sarcastic and mournful,
+      now hopelessly gloomy remarks&mdash;their wailing songs. And now he also
+      recalled how one day in the office Yefim had said to the clerk who hired
+      the sailors:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some Lopukhin peasants have come here to hire themselves out, so don&rsquo;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&mdash;they&rsquo;ll work for
+      ten roubles.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sitting on the beams, Foma rocked his whole body to and fro, and out of
+      the darkness, from the river, various human figures appeared silently
+      before him&mdash;sailors, stokers, clerks, waiters, half-intoxicated
+      painted women, and tavern-loungers. They floated in the air like shadows;
+      something damp and brackish came from them, and the dark, dense throng
+      moved on slowly, noiselessly and swiftly, like clouds in an autumn sky.
+      The soft splashing of the waves poured into his soul like sadly sighing
+      music. Far away, somewhere on the other bank of the river, burned a
+      wood-pile; embraced by the darkness on all sides, it was at times almost
+      absorbed by it, and in the darkness it trembled, a reddish spot scarcely
+      visible to the eye. But now the fire flamed up again, the darkness
+      receded, and it was evident that the flame was striving upward. And then
+      it sank again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh Lord, Oh Lord!&rdquo; thought Foma, painfully and bitterly, feeling that
+      grief was oppressing his heart with ever greater power. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Far away, on the river, two large purple fires appeared, and high above
+      them was a third. A dull noise resounded in the distance, something black
+      was moving toward Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A steamer going up stream,&rdquo; he thought. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lights of the steamer were reflected in the river, quivering in it;
+      the illumined water rushed away from it with a dull murmur, and the
+      steamer looked like a huge black fish with fins of fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A few days elapsed after this painful night, and Foma caroused again. It
+      came about by accident and against his will. He had made up his mind to
+      restrain himself from drinking, and so went to dinner in one of the most
+      expensive hotels in town, hoping to find there none of his familiar
+      drinking-companions, who always selected the cheaper and less respectable
+      places for their drinking bouts. But his calculation proved to be wrong;
+      he at once came into the friendly joyous embrace of the brandy-distiller&rsquo;s
+      son, who had taken Sasha as mistress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He ran up to Foma, embraced him and burst into merry laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here&rsquo;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&rsquo;re a gay lot, although at first they played the aristocrat and kept
+      sneering at me. After awhile we all got dead drunk. They&rsquo;ll be here again
+      today&mdash;I swear by the fortune of my father! I&rsquo;ll introduce you to
+      them. There is one writer of feuilletons here; you know, that some one who
+      always lauded you, what&rsquo;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&rsquo;s that? I
+      had a certain coupletist in my employ,&mdash;it was rather entertaining to
+      be with him. I used to say to him sometimes: &lsquo;Rimsky! give us some
+      couplets!&rsquo; He would start, I tell you, and he&rsquo;d make you split your sides
+      with laughter. It&rsquo;s a pity, he ran off somewhere. Have you had dinner?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not yet. And how&rsquo;s Aleksandra?&rdquo; asked Foma, somewhat deafened by the loud
+      speech of this tall, frank, red-faced fellow clad in a motley costume.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, do you know,&rdquo; said the latter with a frown, &ldquo;that Aleksandra of
+      yours is a nasty woman! She&rsquo;s so obscure, it&rsquo;s tiresome to be with her,
+      the devil take her! She&rsquo;s as cold as a frog,&mdash;brrr! I guess I&rsquo;ll send
+      her away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cold&mdash;that&rsquo;s true,&rdquo; said Foma and became pensive. &ldquo;Every person must
+      do his work in a first class manner,&rdquo; said the distiller&rsquo;s son,
+      instructively. &ldquo;And if you become some one&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They had a drink. And naturally they got drunk. A large and noisy company
+      gathered in the hotel toward evening. And Foma, intoxicated, but sad and
+      calm, spoke to them with heavy voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;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&mdash;all of you&mdash;are
+      to no purpose. We live so that we cannot be compared to anything&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he wept, shedding many drunken tears. A drunken, small-sized, swarthy
+      man sat down close to him, began to remind him of something, tried to kiss
+      him, and striking a knife against the table, shouted:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo; And again he clutched
+      at Foma&rsquo;s shoulders, flung himself on his breast, raising to Foma&rsquo;s face
+      his round, black, closely-cropped head, which was ceaselessly turning
+      about on his shoulders on all sides, so that Foma was unable to see his
+      face, and he was angry at him for this, and kept on pushing him aside,
+      crying excitedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get away! Where is your face? Go on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A deafening, drunken laughter smote the air about them, and choking with
+      laughter, the son of the brandy-distiller roared to someone hoarsely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come to me! A hundred roubles a month with board and lodging! Throw the
+      paper to the dogs. I&rsquo;ll give you more!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And everything rocked from side to side in rhythmic, wave-like movement.
+      Now the people moved farther away from Foma, now they came nearer to him,
+      the ceiling descended, the floor rose, and it seemed to Foma that he would
+      soon be flattened and crushed. Then he began to feel that he was floating
+      somewhere over an immensely wide and stormy river, and, staggering, he
+      cried out in fright:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are we floating? Where is the captain?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was answered by the loud, senseless laughter of the drunken crowd, and
+      by the shrill, repulsive shout of the swarthy little man:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True! we are all without helm and sails. Where is the captain? What? Ha,
+      ha, ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma awakened from this nightmare in a small room with two windows, and
+      the first thing his eyes fell upon was a withered tree. It stood near the
+      window; its thick trunk, barkless, with a rotten heart, prevented the
+      light from entering the room; the bent, black branches, devoid of leaves,
+      stretched themselves mournfully and helplessly in the air, and shaking to
+      and fro, they creaked softly, plaintively. A rain was falling; streams of
+      water were beating against the window-panes, and one could hear how the
+      water was falling to the ground from the roof, sobbing there. This sobbing
+      sound was joined by another sound&mdash;a shrill, often interrupted, hasty
+      scratching of a pen over paper, and then by a certain spasmodic grumbling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he turned with difficulty his aching, heavy head on the pillow, Foma
+      noticed a small, swarthy man, who sat by the table hastily scratching with
+      his pen over the paper, shaking his round head approvingly, wagging it
+      from side to side, shrugging his shoulders, and, with all his small body
+      clothed in night garments only, constantly moving about in his chair, as
+      though he were sitting on fire, and could not get up for some reason or
+      other. His left hand, lean and thin, was now firmly rubbing his forehead,
+      now making certain incomprehensible signs in the air; his bare feet
+      scraped along the floor, a certain vein quivered on his neck, and even his
+      ears were moving. When he turned toward Foma, Foma saw his thin lips
+      whispering something, his sharp-pointed nose turned down to his thin
+      moustache, which twitched upward each time the little man smiled. His face
+      was yellow, bloated, wrinkled, and his black, vivacious small sparkling
+      eyes did not seem to belong to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having grown tired of looking at him, Foma slowly began to examine the
+      room with his eyes. On the large nails, driven into the walls, hung piles
+      of newspapers, which made the walls look as though covered with swellings.
+      The ceiling was pasted with paper which had been white once upon a time;
+      now it was puffed up like bladders, torn here and there, peeled off and
+      hanging in dirty scraps; clothing, boots, books, torn pieces of paper lay
+      scattered on the floor. Altogether the room gave one the impression that
+      it had been scalded with boiling water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man dropped the pen, bent over the table, drummed briskly on
+      its edge with his fingers and began to sing softly in a faint voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take the drum and fear not,&mdash;And kiss the sutler girl aloud&mdash;That&rsquo;s
+      the sense of learning&mdash;And that&rsquo;s philosophy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma heaved a deed sigh and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I have some seltzer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; exclaimed the little man, and jumping up from his chair, appeared at
+      the wide oilcloth-covered lounge, where Foma lay. &ldquo;How do you do, comrade!
+      Seltzer? Of course! With cognac or plain?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better with cognac,&rdquo; said Foma, shaking the lean, burning hand which was
+      outstretched to him, and staring fixedly into the face of the little man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yegorovna!&rdquo; cried the latter at the door, and turning to Foma, asked:
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you recognise me, Foma Ignatyevich?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I remember something. It seems to me we had met somewhere before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That meeting lasted for four years, but that was long ago! Yozhov.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh Lord!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, in astonishment, slightly rising from the
+      lounge. &ldquo;Is it possible that it is you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are times, dear, when I don&rsquo;t believe it myself, but a real fact is
+      something from which doubt jumps back as a rubber ball from iron.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov&rsquo;s face was comically distorted, and for some reason or other his
+      hands began to feel his breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well!&rdquo; drawled out Foma. &ldquo;But how old you have grown! Ah-ah! How
+      old are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thirty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you look as though you were fifty, lean, yellow. Life isn&rsquo;t sweet to
+      you, it seems? And you are drinking, too, I see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma felt sorry to see his jolly and brisk schoolmate so worn out, and
+      living in this dog-hole, which seemed to be swollen from burns. He looked
+      at him, winked his eyes mournfully and saw that Yozhov&rsquo;s face was for ever
+      twitching, and his small eyes were burning with irritation. Yozhov was
+      trying to uncork the bottle of water, and thus occupied, was silent; he
+      pressed the bottle between his knees and made vain efforts to take out the
+      cork. And his impotence moved Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; life has sucked you dry. And you have studied. Even science seems to
+      help man but little,&rdquo; said Gordyeeff plaintively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drink!&rdquo; said Yozhov, turning pale with fatigue, and handing him the
+      glass. Then he wiped his forehead, seated himself on the lounge beside
+      Foma, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? What else am I to do?&rdquo; asked Foma, laughing. Yozhov looked at Foma
+      searchingly with his eyes half closed, and he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh!&rdquo; sighed Foma, heavily, rising from the lounge. &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s interesting!&rdquo; said Yozhov, rubbing his hands and turning about in
+      all directions. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been told that you have already written something about me?&rdquo;
+       inquired Foma, with curiosity, and once more attentively scrutinized his
+      old friend unable to understand what so wretched a creature could write.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I have! Did you read it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I did not have the chance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what have they told you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That you gave me a clever scolding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm! And doesn&rsquo;t it interest you to read it yourself?&rdquo; inquired Yozhov,
+      scrutinizing Gordyeeff closely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll read it!&rdquo; Foma assured him, feeling embarrassed before Yozhov, and
+      that Yozhov was offended by such regard for his writings. &ldquo;Indeed, it is
+      interesting since it is about myself,&rdquo; he added, smiling kindheartedly at
+      his comrade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In saying this he was not at all interested, and he said it merely out of
+      pity for Yozhov. There was quite another feeling in him; he wished to know
+      what sort of a man Yozhov was, and why he had become so worn out. This
+      meeting with Yozhov gave rise in him to a tranquil and kind feeling; it
+      called forth recollections of his childhood, and these flashed now in his
+      memory,&mdash;flashed like modest little lights, timidly shining at him
+      from the distance of the past. Yozhov walked up to the table on which
+      stood a boiling samovar, silently poured out two glasses of tea as strong
+      as tar, and said to Foma:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come and drink tea. And tell me about yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov became thoughtful, not ceasing to turn his whole body and to waggle
+      his head. In thoughtfulness his face became motionless, all its wrinkles
+      gathered near his eyes and seemed to surround them with rays, and because
+      of this his eyes receded deeper under his forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, my dear, I have seen a thing or two, and I know a great deal,&rdquo; he
+      began, with a shake of the head. &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s
+      interest in you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can see by your face and by everything else that your life has not been
+      a smooth one!&rdquo; said Foma, feeling pleased with the fact that, to all
+      appearances, life was not sweet to his comrade as well. Yozhov drank his
+      tea at one draught, thrust the glass on the saucer, placed his feet on the
+      edge of the chair, and clasping his knees in his hands, rested his chin
+      upon them. In this pose, small sized and flexible as rubber, he began:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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: &lsquo;You&rsquo;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,&rsquo; 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&mdash;a superabundance of
+      rascals; while we, the proletariats, take pleasure in filling their dense
+      throngs. My teacher, I repeat, is a lackey, a characterless and dumb
+      creature, who must obey the orders of the mayor. While I am a clown in the
+      employ of society. Fame pursues me here in town, dear. I walk along the
+      street and I hear one driver say to another: &lsquo;There goes Yozhov! How
+      cleverly he barks, the deuce take him!&rsquo; Yes! Even this cannot be so easily
+      attained.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov&rsquo;s face wrinkled into a bitter grimace, and he began to laugh,
+      noiselessly, with his lips only. Foma did not understand his words, and,
+      just to say something, he remarked at random:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t hit, then, what you aimed at?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I thought I would grow up higher. And so I should! So I should, I
+      say!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He jumped up from his chair and began to run about in the room, exclaiming
+      briskly in a shrill voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But to preserve one&rsquo;s self pure for life and to be a free man in it, one
+      must have vast powers! I had them. I had elasticity, cleverness. I have
+      spent all these in order to learn something which is absolutely
+      unnecessary to me now. I have wasted the whole of myself in order to
+      preserve something within myself. Oh devil! I myself and many others with
+      me, we have all robbed ourselves for the sake of saving up something for
+      life. Just think of it: desiring to make of myself a valuable man, I have
+      underrated my individuality in every way possible. In order to study, and
+      not die of starvation, I have for six years in succession taught
+      blockheads how to read and write, and had to bear a mass of abominations
+      at the hands of various papas and mammas, who humiliated me without any
+      constraint. Earning my bread and tea, I could not, I had not the time to
+      earn my shoes, and I had to turn to charitable institutions with humble
+      petitions for loans on the strength of my poverty. If the philanthropists
+      could only reckon up how much of the spirit they kill in man while
+      supporting the life of his body! If they only knew that each rouble they
+      give for bread contains ninety-nine copecks&rsquo; 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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov staggered about in the room like a drunken man, seized with
+      madness, and the paper under his feet was rustling, tearing, flying in
+      scraps. He gnashed his teeth, shook his head, his hands waved in the air
+      like broken wings of a bird, and altogether it seemed as though he were
+      being boiled in a kettle of hot water. Foma looked at him with a strange,
+      mixed sensation; he pitied Yozhov, and at the same time he was pleased to
+      see him suffering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not alone, he is suffering, too,&rdquo; thought Foma, as Yozhov spoke. And
+      something clashed in Yozhov&rsquo;s throat, like broken glass, and creaked like
+      an unoiled hinge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil take the district inspectors!&rdquo; said Foma, with a wave of the
+      hand. &ldquo;Tell me about yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About myself! I am here entire!&rdquo; exclaimed Yozhov, stopping short in the
+      middle of the room, and striking his chest with his hands. &ldquo;I have already
+      accomplished all I could accomplish. I have attained the rank of the
+      public&rsquo;s entertainer&mdash;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&mdash;that is torture!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s it! Wait awhile!&rdquo; said Foma, enthusiastically. &ldquo;Now tell me what
+      one should do in order to live calmly; that is, in order to be satisfied
+      with one&rsquo;s self.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To Foma these words sounded loud, but empty, and their sounds died away
+      without stirring any emotion in his heart, without giving rise to a single
+      thought in his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must always be in love with something unattainable to you. A man
+      grows in height by stretching himself upwards.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now that he had ceased speaking of himself, Yozhov began to talk more
+      calmly, in a different voice. His voice was firm and resolute, and his
+      face assumed an expression of importance and sternness. He stood in the
+      centre of the room, his hand with outstretched fingers uplifted, and spoke
+      as though he were reading:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again he started as though all his veins and muscles were suddenly
+      strained, and again he began to run about the room in seething agitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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: &lsquo;Narrow mindedness and weakness of soul!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma watched Yozhov bustling about the room, and thought mournfully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whom is he abusing? I can&rsquo;t understand; but I can see that he has been
+      terribly wounded.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many such people have I seen!&rdquo; exclaimed Yozhov, with wrath and
+      terror. &ldquo;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: &lsquo;There goes a
+      well-fed, but over-watered mare, all decorated with bells; she&rsquo;s carting a
+      load of rubbish out of the town, and the miserable wretch is content with
+      her fate.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are superfluous people, then,&rdquo; said Foma. Yozhov stopped short in
+      front of him and said with a biting smile on his lips:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;only those people are superfluous; but even they are
+      necessary, if only for the sake of enabling me to pour my hatred upon
+      them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All day long, until evening, Yozhov was excited, venting his blasphemy on
+      men he hated, and his words, though their contents were obscure to Foma,
+      infected him with their evil heat, and infecting called forth in him an
+      eager desire for combat. At times there sprang up in him distrust of
+      Yozhov, and in one of these moments he asked him plainly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well! And can you speak like that in the face of men?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do it at every convenient occasion. And every Sunday in the newspaper.
+      I&rsquo;ll read some to you if you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Without waiting for Foma&rsquo;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&rsquo;s creations, Foma felt their daring audacity, their
+      biting sarcasm, their passionate malice, and he was as well pleased with
+      them as though he had been scourged with besoms in a hot bath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clever!&rdquo; he exclaimed, catching some separate phrase. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s cleverly
+      aimed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Every now and again there flashed before him the familiar names of
+      merchants and well-known citizens, whom Yozhov had stung, now stoutly and
+      sharply, now respectfully and with a fine needle-like sting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma&rsquo;s approbation, his eyes burning with satisfaction, and his excited
+      face gave Yozhov still more inspiration, and he cried and roared ever
+      louder and louder, now falling on the lounge from exhaustion, now jumping
+      up again and rushing toward Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, now, read about me!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, longing to hear it. Yozhov
+      rummaged among a pile of papers, tore out one sheet, and holding it in
+      both hands, stopped in front of Foma, with his legs straddled wide apart,
+      while Foma leaned back in the broken-seated armchair and listened with a
+      smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The notice about Foma started with a description of the spree on the
+      rafts, and during the reading of the notice Foma felt that certain
+      particular words stung him like mosquitoes. His face became more serious,
+      and he bent his head in gloomy silence. And the mosquitoes went on
+      multiplying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s too much!&rdquo; said he, at length, confused and dissatisfied.
+      &ldquo;Surely you cannot gain the favour of God merely because you know how to
+      disgrace a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep quiet! Wait awhile!&rdquo; said Yozhov, curtly, and went on reading.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having established in his article that the merchant rises beyond doubt
+      above the representatives of other classes of society in the matter of
+      nuisance and scandal-making, Yozhov asked: &ldquo;Why is this so?&rdquo; and replied:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s true!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, striking the table with his fist. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+      true! I have the strength of a bull and do the work of a sparrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s thirst for power; their
+      aim will be the omnipotence of one class, and the merchant will not be
+      particular about the means toward the attainment of this aim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what do you say, is it true?&rdquo; asked Yozhov, when he had finished
+      reading the newspaper, and thrown it aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t understand the end,&rdquo; replied Foma. &ldquo;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&rsquo;s where the trouble lies! What ought to be done that life may be
+      freer? That I do not understand, and that&rsquo;s all there is to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; drawled out Yozhov. &ldquo;So that&rsquo;s where you&rsquo;ve gone! That, dear, is a
+      good thing! Ah, you ought to study a little! How are you about books? Do
+      you read any?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t care for them. I haven&rsquo;t read any.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s just why you don&rsquo;t care for them.&rdquo; &ldquo;I am even afraid to read them.
+      I know one&mdash;a certain girl&mdash;it&rsquo;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&rsquo;s all right. But learn
+      from a book how to live!&mdash;that is something absurd. It was written by
+      man, not by God, and what laws and examples can man establish for
+      himself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how about the Gospels? Were they not written by men?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Those were apostles. Now there are none.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good, your refutation is sound! It is true, dear, there are no apostles.
+      Only the Judases remained, and miserable ones at that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma felt very well, for he saw that Yozhov was attentively listening to
+      his words and seemed to be weighing each and every word he uttered.
+      Meeting such bearing toward him for the first time in his life, Foma
+      unburdened himself boldly and freely before his friend, caring nothing for
+      the choice of words, and feeling that he would be understood because
+      Yozhov wanted to understand him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a curious fellow!&rdquo; said Yozhov, about two days after their
+      meeting. &ldquo;And though you speak with difficulty, one feels that there is a
+      great deal in you&mdash;great daring of heart! If you only knew a little
+      about the order of life! Then you would speak loud enough, I think. Yes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you cannot wash yourself clean with words, nor can you then free
+      yourself,&rdquo; remarked Foma, with a sigh. &ldquo;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&rsquo;re a pretty dangerous
+      set!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot imagine, Foma, how you will get along in life if you preserve
+      within you that which you now have,&rdquo; said Yozhov, thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;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&rsquo;ll make his way wherever he pleases. But I am a big, heavy man, that&rsquo;s
+      why I am suffocating! That&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what then?&rdquo; asked Yozhov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then?&rdquo; Foma became pensive, and, after a moment&rsquo;s thought, waved his
+      hand. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what will be then. I shall see!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We shall see!&rdquo; assented Yozhov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was given to drink, this little man who was scalded by life. His day
+      began thus: in the morning at his tea he looked over the local newspapers
+      and drew from the news notices material for his feuilleton, which he wrote
+      right then and there on the corner of the table. Then he ran to the
+      editorial office, where he made up &ldquo;Provincial Pictures&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;survey and study of
+      charitable institutions.&rdquo; Together with Foma he strolled about the clubs,
+      hotels and taverns till late at night, drawing material everywhere for his
+      articles, which he called &ldquo;brushes for the cleansing of the conscience of
+      society.&rdquo; The censor he styled as &ldquo;superintendent of the diffusion of
+      truth and righteousness in life,&rdquo; the newspaper he called &ldquo;the go-between,
+      engaged in introducing the reader to dangerous ideas,&rdquo; and his own work,
+      &ldquo;the sale of a soul in retail,&rdquo; and &ldquo;an inclination to audacity against
+      holy institutions.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma could hardly make out when Yozhov jested and when he was in earnest.
+      He spoke of everything enthusiastically and passionately, he condemned
+      everything harshly, and Foma liked it. But often, beginning to argue
+      enthusiastically, he refuted and contradicted himself with equal
+      enthusiasm or wound up his speech with some ridiculous turn. Then it
+      appeared to Foma that that man loved nothing, that nothing was firmly
+      rooted within him, that nothing guided him. Only when speaking of himself
+      he talked in a rather peculiar voice, and the more impassioned he was in
+      speaking of himself, the more merciless and enraged was he in reviling
+      everything and everybody. And his relation toward Foma was dual; sometimes
+      he gave him courage and spoke to him hotly, quivering in every limb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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: &lsquo;Freedom! Freedom!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But when Foma, warmed up by the glowing sparks of these words, began to
+      dream of how he should start to refute and overthrow people who, for the
+      sake of personal profit, do not want to broaden life, Yozhov would often
+      cut him short:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No? You are lying!&rdquo; cried Foma, irritated by contradiction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what can you accomplish?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I can kill you!&rdquo; said Foma, angrily, clenching his fist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you scarecrow!&rdquo; said Yozhov, convincingly and pitifully, with a shrug
+      of the shoulder. &ldquo;Is there anything in that? Why, I am anyway half dead
+      already from my wounds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And suddenly inflamed with melancholy malice, he stretched himself and
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He almost wept, and kept on scratching his breast and his neck with his
+      thin, feeble hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But sometimes he was seized with a flow of courage, and then he spoke in a
+      different spirit:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? Oh, no, my song is not yet sung to the end! My breast has imbibed
+      something, and I&rsquo;ll hiss like a whip! Wait, I&rsquo;ll drop the newspaper, I&rsquo;ll
+      start to do serious work, and write one small book, which I will entitle
+      &lsquo;The Passing of the Soul&rsquo;; 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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Listening to each and every word of his, watching him and comparing his
+      remarks, Foma saw that Yozhov was just as weak as he was, that he, too,
+      had lost his way. But Yozhov&rsquo;s mood still infected Foma, his speeches
+      enriched Foma&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day Yozhov said to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well!&rdquo; said Foma, to whom it was immaterial with whom he passed the
+      time, which was a burden to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the evening of that day Foma and Yozhov sat in the company of
+      rough-faced people, on the outskirts of a grove, outside the town. There
+      were twelve compositors there, neatly dressed; they treated Yozhov simply,
+      as a comrade, and this somewhat surprised and embarrassed Foma, in whose
+      eyes Yozhov was after all something of a master or superior to them, while
+      they were really only his servants. They did not seem to notice Gordyeeff,
+      although, when Yozhov introduced Foma to them, they shook hands with him
+      and said that they were glad to see him. He lay down under a hazel-bush,
+      and watched them all, feeling himself a stranger in this company, and
+      noticing that even Yozhov seemed to have got away from him deliberately,
+      and was paying but little attention to him. He perceived something strange
+      about Yozhov; the little feuilleton-writer seemed to imitate the tone and
+      the speech of the compositors. He bustled about with them at the woodpile,
+      uncorked bottles of beer, cursed, laughed loudly and tried his best to
+      resemble them. He was even dressed more simply than usual.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, brethren!&rdquo; he exclaimed, with enthusiasm. &ldquo;I feel well with you! I&rsquo;m
+      not a big bird, either. I am only the son of the courthouse guard, and
+      noncommissioned officer, Matvey Yozhov!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why does he say that?&rdquo; thought Foma. &ldquo;What difference does it make whose
+      son a man is? A man is not respected on account of his father, but for his
+      brains.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sun was setting like a huge bonfire in the sky, tinting the clouds
+      with hues of gold and of blood. Dampness and silence were breathed from
+      the forest, while at its outskirts dark human figures bustled about
+      noisily. One of them, short and lean, in a broad-brimmed straw hat, played
+      the accordion; another one, with dark moustache and with his cap on the
+      back of his head, sang an accompaniment softly. Two others tugged at a
+      stick, testing their strength. Several busied themselves with the basket
+      containing beer and provisions; a tall man with a grayish beard threw
+      branches on the fire, which was enveloped in thick, whitish smoke. The
+      damp branches, falling on the fire, crackled and rustled plaintively, and
+      the accordion teasingly played a lively tune, while the falsetto of the
+      singer reinforced and completed its loud tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Apart from them all, on the brink of a small ravine, lay three young
+      fellows, and before them stood Yozhov, who spoke in a ringing voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s true, Nikolay Matveyich!&rdquo; some one&rsquo;s thick voice interrupted him.
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s earnings; if he takes
+      sick the same is done. We ought to be permitted to present the doctor&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; that is certainly reasonable,&rdquo; assented Yozhov. &ldquo;But, my friends,
+      the principle of cooperation&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma ceased listening to the speech of his friend, for his attention was
+      diverted by the conversation of others. Two men were talking; one was a
+      tall consumptive, poorly dressed and angry-looking man; the other a
+      fair-haired and fair-bearded young man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In my opinion,&rdquo; said the tall man sternly, and coughing, &ldquo;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&mdash;and then you can&rsquo;t tell what
+      sort of a woman you may strike.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She&rsquo;s a fine girl,&rdquo; said the fair-haired man, softly. &ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s now
+      that she is fine. A betrothed girl is one thing, a wife quite another. But
+      that isn&rsquo;t the main point. You can try&mdash;perhaps she will really be
+      good. But then you&rsquo;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&mdash;nothing but worry and care.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He began to cough, coughed for a long time, with a groan, and when he had
+      ceased, he said to his comrade in a choking voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drop it, nothing will come of it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His interlocutor bent his head mournfully, while Foma thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He speaks sensibly. It&rsquo;s evident he can reason well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lack of attention shown to Foma somewhat offended him and aroused in
+      him at the same time a feeling of respect for these men with dark faces
+      impregnated with lead-dust. Almost all of them were engaged in practical
+      serious conversation, and their remarks were studded with certain peculiar
+      words. None of them fawned upon him, none bothered him with love, with his
+      back to the fire, and he saw before him a row of brightly illuminated,
+      cheerful and simple faces. They were all excited from drinking, but were
+      not yet intoxicated; they laughed, jested, tried to sing, drank, and ate
+      cucumbers, white bread and sausages. All this had for Foma a particularly
+      pleasant flavour; he grew bolder, seized by the general good feeling, and
+      he longed to say something good to these people, to please them all in
+      some way or other. Yozhov, sitting by his side, moved about on the ground,
+      jostled him with his shoulder and, shaking his head, muttered something
+      indistinctly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Brethren!&rdquo; shouted the stout fellow. &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s strike up the student song.
+      Well, one, two!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;Swift as the waves,&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Someone roared in his bass voice:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;Are the days of our life.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friends!&rdquo; said Yozhov, rising to his feet, a glass in his hand. He
+      staggered, and leaned his other hand against Foma&rsquo;s head. The started song
+      was broken off, and all turned their heads toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Working men! Permit me to say a few words, words from the heart. I am
+      happy in your company! I feel well in your midst. That is because you are
+      men of toil, men whose right to happiness is not subject to doubt,
+      although it is not recognised. In your ennobling midst, Oh honest people,
+      the lonely man, who is poisoned by life, breathes so easily, so freely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov&rsquo;s voice quivered and quaked, and his head began to shake. Foma felt
+      that something warm trickled down on his hand, and he looked up at the
+      wrinkled face of Yozhov, who went on speaking, trembling in every limb:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does he beg of them?&rdquo; thought Foma, listening to Yozhov&rsquo;s words with
+      perplexity. And examining the faces of the compositors he saw that they
+      also looked at the orator inquiringly, perplexedly, wearily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The future is yours, my friends!&rdquo; 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. &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov emptied his glass and sank heavily to the ground. The compositors
+      unanimously took up his broken exclamation, and a powerful, thundering
+      shout rolled through the air, causing the leaves on the trees to tremble.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s start a song now,&rdquo; proposed the stout fellow again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on!&rdquo; chimed in two or three voices. A noisy dispute ensued as to
+      what to sing. Yozhov listened to the noise, and, turning his head from one
+      side to another, scrutinized them all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Brethren,&rdquo; Yozhov suddenly cried again, &ldquo;answer me. Say a few words in
+      reply to my address of welcome.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again&mdash;though not at once&mdash;all became silent, some looking at
+      him with curiosity, others concealing a grin, still others with an
+      expression of dissatisfaction plainly written on their faces. And he again
+      rose from the ground and said, hotly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two of us here are cast away by life&mdash;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&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nikolay Matveyich, you had better not insult our guest!&rdquo; said someone in
+      a deep, displeased voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, that&rsquo;s unnecessary,&rdquo; affirmed the stout fellow, who had invited Foma
+      to the fireside. &ldquo;Why use offensive language?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A third voice rang out loudly and distinctly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have come together to enjoy ourselves&mdash;to take a rest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fools!&rdquo; laughed Yozhov, faintly. &ldquo;Kind-hearted fools! Do you pity him?
+      But do you know who he is? He is of those people who suck your blood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That will do, Nikolay Matveyich!&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s attacks were now purposely ignoring the
+      feuilleton-writer, and he understood that this would pain Yozhov if he
+      were to notice it. And in order to take his friend away from possible
+      unpleasantness, he nudged him in the side and said, with a kind-hearted
+      laugh:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you grumbler, shall we have a drink? Or is it time to go home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Home? Where is the home of the man who has no place among men?&rdquo; asked
+      Yozhov, and shouted again: &ldquo;Comrades!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Unanswered, his shout was drowned in the general murmur. Then he drooped
+      his head and said to Foma:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go from here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go. Though I don&rsquo;t mind sitting a little longer. It&rsquo;s interesting.
+      They behave so nobly, the devils. By God!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t bear it any longer. I feel cold. I am suffocating.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, come then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma rose to his feet, removed his cap, and, bowing to the compositors,
+      said loudly and cheerfully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, gentlemen, for your hospitality! Good-bye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They immediately surrounded him and spoke to him persuasively:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stay here! Where are you going? We might sing all together, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you ought to wait a little!&rdquo; exclaimed the stout fellow, and then
+      whispered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some one will escort him home!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The consumptive also remarked in a low voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You stay here. We&rsquo;ll escort him to town, and get him into a cab and&mdash;there
+      you are!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma felt like staying there, and at the same time was afraid of
+      something. While Yozhov rose to his feet, and, clutching at the sleeves of
+      his overcoat, muttered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, the devil take them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Till we meet again, gentlemen! I&rsquo;m going!&rdquo; said Foma and departed amid
+      exclamations of polite regret.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha, ha, ha!&rdquo; Yozhov burst out laughing when he had got about twenty steps
+      away from the fire. &ldquo;They see us off with sorrow, but they are glad that I
+      am going away. I hindered them from turning into beasts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s true, you did disturb them,&rdquo; said Foma. &ldquo;Why do you make such
+      speeches? People have come out to enjoy themselves, and you obtrude
+      yourself upon them. That bores them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep quiet! You don&rsquo;t understand anything!&rdquo; cried Yozhov, harshly. &ldquo;You
+      think I am drunk? It&rsquo;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&mdash;these
+      stupid, miserable men.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov paused, and, clasping his head with his hands, stood for awhile,
+      staggering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; drawled out Foma. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the darkness behind them the men struck up a powerful choral song.
+      Inharmonious at first, it swelled and grew until it rolled in a huge,
+      powerful wave through the invigorating nocturnal air, above the deserted
+      field.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God!&rdquo; said Yozhov, sadly and softly, heaving a sigh. &ldquo;Whereby are we
+      to live? Whereon fasten our soul? Who shall quench its thirsts for
+      friendship brotherhood, love, for pure and sacred toil?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These simple people,&rdquo; said Foma, slowly and pensively, without listening
+      to his companion s words, absorbed as he was in his own thoughts, &ldquo;if one
+      looks into these people, they&rsquo;re not so bad! It&rsquo;s even very&mdash;it is
+      interesting. Peasants, labourers, to look at them plainly, they are just
+      like horses. They carry burdens, they puff and blow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They carry our life on their backs,&rdquo; exclaimed Yozhov with irritation.
+      &ldquo;They carry it like horses, submissively, stupidly. And this
+      submissiveness of theirs is our misfortune, our curse!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Foma, carried away by his own thought, argued:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They carry burdens, they toil all their life long for mere trifles. And
+      suddenly they say something that wouldn&rsquo;t come into your mind in a
+      century. Evidently they feel. Yes, it is interesting to be with them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Staggering, Yozhov walked in silence for a long time, and suddenly he
+      waved his hand in the air and began to declaim in a dull, choking voice,
+      which sounded as though it issued from his stomach:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Life has cruelly deceived me, I have suffered so much pain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These, dear boy, are my own verses,&rdquo; said he, stopping short and nodding
+      his head mournfully. &ldquo;How do they run? I&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The buried dreams within my breast Will never rise again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Brother! You are happier than I, because you are stupid. While I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be rude!&rdquo; said Foma, irritated. &ldquo;You would better listen how they
+      are singing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to listen to other people&rsquo;s songs,&rdquo; said Yozhov, with a
+      shake of the head. &ldquo;I have my own, it is the song of a soul rent in pieces
+      by life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he began to wail in a wild voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The buried dreams within my breast Will never rise again... How great
+      their number is!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov burst into tears, sobbing like a woman. Foma pitied him, and felt
+      uncomfortable with him. He jerked at his shoulder impatiently, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop crying! Come, how weak you are, brother!&rdquo; Clasping his head in his
+      hand Yozhov straightened up his stooping frame, made an effort and started
+      again mournfully and wildly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How great their number is! Their sepulchre how narrow! I clothed them all
+      in shrouds of rhyme And many sad and solemn songs O&rsquo;er them I sang from
+      time to time!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Lord!&rdquo; sighed Foma in despair. &ldquo;Stop that, for Christ&rsquo;s sake! By God,
+      how sad!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the distance the loud choral song was rolling through the darkness and
+      the silence. Some one was whistling, keeping time to the refrain, and this
+      shrill sound, which pierced the ear, ran ahead of the billow of powerful
+      voices. Foma looked in that direction and saw the tall, black wall of
+      forest, the bright fiery spot of the bonfire shining upon it, and the
+      misty figures surrounding the fire. The wall of forest was like a breast,
+      and the fire like a bloody wound in it. It seemed as though the breast was
+      trembling, as the blood coursed down in burning streams. Embraced in dense
+      gloom from all sides the people seemed on the background of the forest,
+      like little children; they, too, seemed to burn, illuminated by the blaze
+      of the bonfire. They waved their hands and sang their songs loudly,
+      powerfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Yozhov, standing beside Foma, spoke excitedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Without lifting his eyes off the forest and the fire, so beautiful in the
+      darkness, Foma made a few steps aside from Yozhov and said to him in a low
+      voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t play the fool. Why do you abuse me at random?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to remain alone, and finish singing my song.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Staggering, he, too, moved aside from Foma, and after a few seconds again
+      exclaimed in a sobbing voice:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;My song is done! And nevermore
+     Shall I disturb their sleep of death,
+     Oh Lord, Oh Lord, repose my soul!
+     For it is hopeless in its wounds,
+     Oh Lord, repose my soul.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Foma shuddered at the sounds of their gloomy wailing, and he hurried after
+      Yozhov; but before he overtook him the little feuilleton-writer uttered a
+      hysterical shriek, threw himself chest down upon the ground and burst out
+      sobbing plaintively and softly, even as sickly children cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nikolay!&rdquo; said Foma, lifting him by the shoulders. &ldquo;Cease crying; what&rsquo;s
+      the matter? Oh Lord. Nikolay! Enough, aren&rsquo;t you ashamed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Yozhov was not ashamed; he struggled on the ground, like a fish just
+      taken from the water, and when Foma had lifted him to his feet, he pressed
+      close to Foma&rsquo;s breast, clasping his sides with his thin arms, and kept on
+      sobbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, that&rsquo;s enough!&rdquo; said Foma, with his teeth tightly clenched.
+      &ldquo;Enough, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And agitated by the suffering of the man who was wounded by the narrowness
+      of life, filled with wrath on his account, he turned his face toward the
+      gloom where the lights of the town were glimmering, and, in an outburst of
+      wrathful grief, roared in a deep, loud voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A-a-ana-thema! Be cursed! Just wait. You, too, shall choke! Be cursed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;LUBAVKA!&rdquo; said Mayakin one day when he came home from the Exchange,
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lubov was sitting by the window darning her father&rsquo;s socks, and her head
+      was bent low over her work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is all this for, papa?&rdquo; she asked, dissatisfied and offended.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, for sauce, for flavour. And then, it&rsquo;s in due order. For a girl is
+      not a horse; you can&rsquo;t dispose of her without the harness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All aflush with offence, Lubov tossed her head nervously, and flinging her
+      work aside, cast a glance at her father; and, taking up the socks again,
+      she bent her head still lower over them. The old man paced the room to and
+      fro, plucking at his fiery beard with anxiety; his eyes stared somewhere
+      into the distance, and it was evident that he was all absorbed in some
+      great complicated thought. The girl understood that he would not listen to
+      her and would not care to comprehend how degrading his words were for her.
+      Her romantic dreams of a husband-friend, an educated man, who would read
+      with her wise books and help her to find herself in her confused desires,
+      these dreams were stifled by her father&rsquo;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&rsquo;s heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the old man kept on pacing the room to and fro, now humming psalms
+      softly, now impressively instructing his daughter how to behave with the
+      bridegroom. And then he also counted something on his fingers, frowned and
+      smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm! So! Try me, Oh Lord, and judge me. From the unjust and the false man,
+      deliver me. Yes! Put on your mother&rsquo;s emeralds, Lubov.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enough, papa!&rdquo; exclaimed the girl, sadly. &ldquo;Pray, leave that alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you kick! Listen to what I&rsquo;m telling you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he was again absorbed in his calculations, snapping his green eyes and
+      playing with his fingers in front of his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That makes thirty-five percent. Mm! The fellow&rsquo;s a rogue. Send down thy
+      light and thy truth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa!&rdquo; exclaimed Lubov, mournfully and with fright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;are you pleased with him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With whom?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Smolin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Smolin? Yes, he&rsquo;s a rogue, he&rsquo;s a clever fellow, a splendid merchant!
+      Well, I&rsquo;m off now. So be on your guard, arm yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Lubov remained alone she flung her work aside and leaned against the
+      back of her chair, closing her eyes tightly. Her hands firmly clasped
+      together lay on her knees, and their fingers twitched. Filled with the
+      bitterness of offended vanity, she felt an alarming fear of the future,
+      and prayed in silence:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God! Oh Lord! If he were only a kind man! Make him kind, sincere. Oh
+      Lord! A strange man comes, examines you, and takes you unto himself for
+      years, if you please him! How disgraceful that is, how terrible. Oh Lord,
+      my God! If I could only run away! If I only had someone to advise me what
+      to do! Who is he? How can I learn to know him? I cannot do anything! And I
+      have thought, ah, how much I have thought! I have read. To what purpose
+      have I read? Why should I know that it is possible to live otherwise, so
+      as I cannot live? And it may be that were it not for the books my life
+      would be easier, simpler. How painful all this is! What a wretched,
+      unfortunate being I am! Alone. If Taras at least were here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the recollection of her brother she felt still more grieved, still more
+      sorry for herself. She had written to Taras a long, exultant letter, in
+      which she had spoken of her love for him, of her hope in him; imploring
+      her brother to come as soon as possible to see his father, she had
+      pictured to him plans of arranging to live together, assuring Taras that
+      their father was extremely clever and understood everything; she told
+      about his loneliness, had gone into ecstasy over his aptitude for life and
+      had, at the same time, complained of his attitude toward her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For two weeks she impatiently expected a reply, and when she had received
+      and read it she burst out sobbing for joy and disenchantment. The answer
+      was dry and short; in it Taras said that within a month he would be on the
+      Volga on business and would not fail to call on his father, if the old man
+      really had no objection to it. The letter was cold, like a block of ice;
+      with tears in her eyes she perused it over and over again, rumpled it,
+      creased it, but it did not turn warmer on this account, it only became
+      wet. From the sheet of stiff note paper which was covered with writing in
+      a large, firm hand, a wrinkled and suspiciously frowning face, thin and
+      angular like that of her father, seemed to look at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On Yakov Tarasovich the letter of his son made a different impression. On
+      learning the contents of Taras&rsquo;s reply the old man started and hastily
+      turned to his daughter with animation and with a peculiar smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, let me see it! Show it to me! He-he! Let&rsquo;s read how wise men write.
+      Where are my spectacles? Mm! &lsquo;Dear sister!&rsquo; Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man became silent; he read to himself the message of his son, put
+      it on the table, and, raising his eyebrows, silently paced the room to and
+      fro, with an expression of amazement on his countenance. Then he read the
+      letter once more, thoughtfully tapped the table with his fingers and
+      spoke:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That letter isn&rsquo;t bad&mdash;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&rsquo;ll take a look at him. It&rsquo;s interesting.
+      Yes. In the psalm of David concerning the mysteries of his son it is said:
+      &lsquo;When Thou hast returned my enemy&rsquo;&mdash;I&rsquo;ve forgotten how it reads
+      further. &lsquo;My enemy&rsquo;s weapons have weakened in the end, and his memory hath
+      perished amid noise. Well, we&rsquo;ll talk it over with him without noise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man tried to speak calmly and with a contemptuous smile, but the
+      smile did not come; his wrinkles quivered irritably, and his small eyes
+      had a particularly clear brilliancy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Write to him again, Lubovka. &lsquo;Come along!&rsquo; write him, &lsquo;don&rsquo;t be afraid to
+      come!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lubov wrote Taras another letter, but this time it was shorter and more
+      reserved, and now she awaited a reply from day to day, attempting to
+      picture to herself what sort of man he must be, this mysterious brother of
+      hers. Before she used to think of him with sinking heart, with that solemn
+      respect with which believers think of martyrs, men of upright life; now
+      she feared him, for he had acquired the right to be judge over men and
+      life at the price of painful sufferings, at the cost of his youth, which
+      was ruined in exile. On coming, he would ask her:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are marrying of your own free will, for love, are you not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What should she tell him? Would he forgive her faint-heartedness? And why
+      does she marry? Can it really be possible that this is all she can do in
+      order to change her life?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gloomy thoughts sprang up one after another in the head of the girl and
+      confused and tortured her, impotent as she was to set up against them some
+      definite, all-conquering desire. Though she was in an anxious and
+      compressing her lips. Smolin rose from his chair, made a step toward her
+      and bowed respectfully. She was rather pleased with this low and polite
+      bow, also with the costly frock coat, which fitted Smolin&rsquo;s supple figure
+      splendidly. He had changed but slightly&mdash;he was the same red-headed,
+      closely-cropped, freckled youth; only his moustache had become long, and
+      his eyes seemed to have grown larger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now he&rsquo;s changed, eh?&rdquo; exclaimed Mayakin to his daughter, pointing at the
+      bridegroom. And Smolin shook hands with her, and smiling, said in a
+      ringing baritone voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I venture to hope that you have not forgotten your old friend?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right! You can talk of this later,&rdquo; said the old man, scanning
+      his daughter with his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lubova, you can make your arrangements here, while we finish our little
+      conversation. Well then, African Mitrich, explain yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will pardon me, Lubov Yakovlevna, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; asked Smolin, gently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray do not stand upon ceremony,&rdquo; said Lubov. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s polite and clever,&rdquo;
+       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&rsquo;s words.
+      He spoke softly, confidently, with a simplicity, in which was felt
+      condescendence toward the interlocutor. &ldquo;Well then, for four years I have
+      carefully studied the condition of Russian leather in foreign markets.
+      It&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm!&rdquo; bellowed the old man, looking at his guest with one eye, and
+      watching his daughter with the other. &ldquo;So that now your intention is to
+      build such a great factory that all the others will go to the dogs?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no!&rdquo; exclaimed Smolin, warding off the old man&rsquo;s words with an easy
+      wave of the hand. &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does it require much capital, did you say?&rdquo; asked Mayakin, thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About three hundred thousand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father won&rsquo;t give me such a dowry,&rdquo; thought Lubov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My factory will also turn out leather goods, such as trunks, foot-wear,
+      harnesses, straps and so forth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And of what per cent, are you dreaming?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not dreaming, I am calculating with all the exactness possible under
+      conditions in Russia,&rdquo; said Smolin, impressively. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How&rsquo;s that!&rdquo; laughed Mayakin. &ldquo;Bring me that note, it&rsquo;s interesting! It
+      seems you did not spend your time for nothing in Western Europe. And now,
+      let&rsquo;s eat something, after the Russian fashion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How are you passing the time, Lubov Yakovlevna?&rdquo; asked Smolin, arming
+      himself with knife and fork.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is rather lonesome here with me,&rdquo; replied Mayakin for his daughter.
+      &ldquo;My housekeeper, all the household is on her shoulders, so she has no time
+      to amuse herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And no place, I must add,&rdquo; said Lubov. &ldquo;I am not fond of the balls and
+      entertainments given by the merchants.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the theatre?&rdquo; asked Smolin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I seldom go there. I have no one to go with.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The theatre!&rdquo; exclaimed the old man. &ldquo;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&mdash;he
+      isn&rsquo;t life-life! Of course, when they present something historical, such
+      as: &lsquo;Life for the Czar,&rsquo; with song and dance, or &lsquo;Hamlet,&rsquo; &lsquo;The
+      Sorceress,&rsquo; or &lsquo;Vasilisa,&rsquo; truthful reproduction is not required, because
+      they&rsquo;re matters of the past and don&rsquo;t concern us. Whether true or not, it
+      matters little so long as they&rsquo;re good, but when you represent modern
+      times, then don&rsquo;t lie! And show the man as he really is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Smolin listened to the old man&rsquo;s words with a covetous smile on his lips,
+      and cast at Lubov glances which seemed to invite her to refute her father.
+      Somewhat embarrassed, she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet, papa, the majority of the merchant class is uneducated and
+      savage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; remarked Smolin with regret, nodding his head affirmatively, &ldquo;that
+      is the sad truth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take Foma, for instance,&rdquo; went on the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; exclaimed Mayakin. &ldquo;Well, you are young folks, you can have books in
+      your hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And do you not take interest in any of the societies?&rdquo; Smolin asked
+      Lubov. &ldquo;You have so many different societies here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Lubov with a sigh, &ldquo;but I live rather apart from everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Housekeeping!&rdquo; interposed the father. &ldquo;We have here such a store of
+      different things, everything has to be kept clean, in order, and complete
+      as to number.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a self-satisfied air he nodded first at the table, which was set with
+      brilliant crystal and silverware, and then at the sideboard, whose shelves
+      were fairly breaking under the weight of the articles, and which reminded
+      one of the display in a store window. Smolin noted all these and an
+      ironical smile began to play upon his lips. Then he glanced at Lubov&rsquo;s
+      face: in his look she caught something friendly, sympathetic to her. A
+      faint flush covered her cheeks, and she said to herself with timid joy:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The light of the heavy bronze lamp now seemed to flash more brilliantly on
+      the sides of the crystal vases, and it became brighter in the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like our dear old town!&rdquo; said Smolin, looking at the girl with a kindly
+      smile, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whom do you mean by You?&rdquo; asked Mayakin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I, Urvantzov, Shchukin&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s praiseworthy!&rdquo; said the old man, rapping the table with his hand.
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s very practical! It is time to stop their mouths, it was high time
+      long ago! Particularly that Yozhov; he&rsquo;s like a sharp-toothed saw. Just
+      put the thumb-screw on him! And do it well!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Smolin again cast at Lubov a smiling glance, and her heart trembled with
+      joy once more. With flushing face she said to her father, inwardly
+      addressing herself to the bridegroom:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What then can be done with it?&rdquo; asked the old man, shrugging his
+      shoulders. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing in it but empty talk and agitation. Of course,
+      if the practical people, the merchants themselves, take to writing for it&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The publication of a newspaper,&rdquo; began Smolin, instructively,
+      interrupting the old man, &ldquo;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&mdash;that is, to protect the
+      right of the individual and the interests of industry and commerce.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s just what I say, if the merchant himself will manage the
+      newspaper, then it will be useful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me, papa,&rdquo; said Lubov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She began to feel the need of expressing herself before Smolin; she wanted
+      to assure him that she understood the meaning of his words, that she was
+      not an ordinary merchant-daughter, interested in dresses and balls only.
+      Smolin pleased her. This was the first time she had seen a merchant who
+      had lived abroad for a long time, who reasoned so impressively, who bore
+      himself so properly, who was so well dressed, and who spoke to her father,
+      the cleverest man in town, with the condescending tone of an adult towards
+      a minor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After the wedding I&rsquo;ll persuade him to take me abroad,&rdquo; thought Lubov,
+      suddenly, and, confused at this thought she forgot what she was about to
+      say to her father. Blushing deeply, she was silent for a few seconds,
+      seized with fear lest Smolin might interpret this silence in a way
+      unflattering to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On account of your conversation, you have forgotten to offer some wine to
+      our guest,&rdquo; she said at last, after a few seconds of painful silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s your business. You are hostess,&rdquo; retorted the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t disturb yourself!&rdquo; exclaimed Smolin, with animation. &ldquo;I hardly
+      drink at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really?&rdquo; asked Mayakin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I assure you! Sometimes I drink a wine glass or two in case of fatigue or
+      illness. But to drink wine for pleasure&rsquo;s sake is incomprehensible to me.
+      There are other pleasures more worthy of a man of culture.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean ladies, I suppose?&rdquo; asked the old man with a wink.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Smolin&rsquo;s cheeks and neck became red with the colour which leaped to his
+      face. With apologetic eyes he glanced at Lubov, and said to her father
+      drily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean the theatre, books, music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lubov became radiant with joy at his words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man looked askance at the worthy young man, smiled keenly and
+      suddenly blurted out:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lubov turned pale and looked at Smolin with fright. He was calm,
+      scrutinising an ancient salt box, decorated with enamel; he twisted his
+      moustache and looked as though he had not heard the old man&rsquo;s words. But
+      his eyes grew darker, and his lips were compressed very tightly, and his
+      clean-shaven chin obstinately projected forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so, my future leading manufacturer,&rdquo; said Mayakin, as though nothing
+      had happened, &ldquo;three hundred thousand roubles, and your business will
+      flash up like a fire?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And within a year and a half I shall send out the first lot of goods,
+      which will be eagerly sought for,&rdquo; said Smolin, simply, with unshakable
+      confidence, and he eyed the old man with a cold and firm look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it; the firm of Smolin and Mayakin, and that&rsquo;s all? So. Only it
+      seems rather late for me to start a new business, doesn&rsquo;t it? I presume
+      the grave has long been prepared for me; what do you think of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Instead of an answer Smolin burst into a rich, but indifferent and cold
+      laughter, and then said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t say that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man shuddered at his laughter, and started back with fright, with
+      a scarcely perceptible movement of his body. After Smolin&rsquo;s words all
+      three maintained silence for about a minute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mayakin, without lifting his head, which was bent low. &ldquo;It is
+      necessary to think of that. I must think of it.&rdquo; Then, raising his head,
+      he closely scrutinised his daughter and the bridegroom, and, rising from
+      his chair, he said sternly and brusquely: &ldquo;I am going away for awhile to
+      my little cabinet. You surely won&rsquo;t feel lonesome without me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he went out with bent back and drooping head, heavily scraping with
+      his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The young people, thus left alone, exchanged a few empty phrases, and,
+      evidently conscious that these only helped to remove them further from
+      each other, they maintained a painful, awkward and expectant silence.
+      Taking an orange, Lubov began to peel it with exaggerated attention, while
+      Smolin, lowering his eyes, examined his moustaches, which he carefully
+      stroked with his left hand, toyed with a knife and suddenly asked the girl
+      in a lowered voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me for my indiscretion. It is evidently really difficult for you,
+      Lubov Yakovlevna, to live with your father. He&rsquo;s a man with old-fashioned
+      views and, pardon me, he&rsquo;s rather hard-hearted!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lubov shuddered, and, casting at the red-headed man a grateful look, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t easy, but I have grown accustomed to it. He also has his good
+      qualities.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled so kindly and sympathetically, and his voice was so soft, a
+      breath of soul-cheering warmth filled the room. And in the heart of the
+      girl there blazed up more and more brightly the timid hope of finding
+      happiness, of being freed from the close captivity of solitude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A DENSE, grayish fog lay over the river, and a steamer, now and then
+      uttering a dull whistle, was slowly forging up against the current. Damp
+      and cold clouds, of a monotone pallor, enveloped the steamer from all
+      sides and drowned all sounds, dissolving them in their troubled dampness.
+      The brazen roaring of the signals came out in a muffled, melancholy drone,
+      and was oddly brief as it burst forth from the whistle. The sound seemed
+      to find no place for itself in the air, which was soaked with heavy
+      dampness, and fell downward, wet and choked. And the splashing of the
+      steamer&rsquo;s wheels sounded so fantastically dull that it seemed as though it
+      were not begotten near by, at the sides of the vessel, but somewhere in
+      the depth, on the dark bottom of the river. From the steamer one could see
+      neither the water, nor the shore, nor the sky; a leaden-gray gloominess
+      enwrapped it on all sides; devoid of shadings, painfully monotonous, the
+      gloominess was motionless, it oppressed the steamer with immeasurable
+      weight, slackened its movements and seemed as though preparing itself to
+      swallow it even as it was swallowing the sounds. In spite of the dull
+      blows of the paddles upon the water and the measured shaking of the body
+      of the vessel, it seemed that the steamer was painfully struggling on one
+      spot, suffocating in agony, hissing like a fairy tale monster breathing
+      his last, howling in the pangs of death, howling with pain, and in the
+      fear of death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lifeless were the steamer lights. About the lantern on the mast a yellow
+      motionless spot had formed; devoid of lustre, it hung in the fog over the
+      steamer, illuminating nothing save the gray mist. The red starboard light
+      looked like a huge eye crushed out by some one&rsquo;s cruel fist, blinded,
+      overflowing with blood. Pale rays of light fell from the steamer&rsquo;s windows
+      into the fog, and only tinted its cold, cheerless dominion over the
+      vessel, which was pressed on all sides by the motionless mass of stifling
+      dampness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The smoke from the funnel fell downwards, and, together with fragments of
+      the fog, penetrated into all the cracks of the deck, where the third-class
+      passengers were silently muffling themselves in their rags, and forming
+      groups, like sheep. From near the machinery were wafted deep, strained
+      groans, the jingling of bells, the dull sounds of orders and the abrupt
+      words of the machinist:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;slow! Yes&mdash;half speed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the stern, in a corner, blocked up by barrels of salted fish, a group
+      of people was assembled, illuminated by a small electric lamp. Those were
+      sedate, neatly and warmly clad peasants. One of them lay on a bench, face
+      down; another sat at his feet, still another stood, leaning his back
+      against a barrel, while two others seated themselves flat on the deck.
+      Their faces, pensive and attentive, were turned toward a round-shouldered
+      man in a short cassock, turned yellow, and a torn fur cap. That man sat on
+      some boxes with his back bent, and staring at his feet, spoke in a low,
+      confident voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Oppressed by his gloominess, Foma had come down on the deck from his
+      cabin, and, for some time, had been standing in the shadow of some wares
+      covered with tarpaulin, and listened to the admonitive and gentle voice of
+      the preacher. Pacing the deck he had chanced upon this group, and
+      attracted by the figure of the pilgrim, had paused near it. There was
+      something familiar to him in that large, strong body, in that stern, dark
+      face, in those large, calm eyes. The curly, grayish hair, falling from
+      under the skull-cap, the unkempt bushy beard, which fell apart in thick
+      locks, the long, hooked nose, the sharp-pointed ears, the thick lips&mdash;Foma
+      had seen all these before, but could not recall when and where.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, we are very much in arrears before the Lord!&rdquo; remarked one of the
+      peasants, heaving a deep sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We must pray,&rdquo; whispered the peasant who lay on the bench, in a scarcely
+      audible voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you scrape your sinful wretchedness off your soul with words of
+      prayer?&rdquo; exclaimed someone loudly, almost with despair in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No one of those that formed the group around the pilgrim turned at this
+      voice, only their heads sank lower on their breasts, and for a long time
+      these people sat motionless and speechless:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The pilgrim measured his audience with a serious and meditative glance of
+      his blue eyes, and said softly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ephraim the Syrian said: &lsquo;Make thy soul the central point of thy thoughts
+      and strengthen thyself with thy desire to be free from sin.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And again he lowered his head, slowly fingering the beads of the rosary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That means we must think,&rdquo; said one of the peasants; &ldquo;but when has a man
+      time to think during his life on earth?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Confusion is all around us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We must flee to the desert,&rdquo; said the peasant who lay on the bench.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not everybody can afford it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The peasants spoke, and became silent again. A shrill whistle resounded, a
+      little bell began to jingle at the machine. Someone&rsquo;s loud exclamation
+      rang out:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, there! To the water-measuring poles.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh Lord! Oh Queen of Heaven!&rdquo;&mdash;a deep sigh was heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And a dull, half-choked voice shouted:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nine! nine!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fragments of the fog burst forth upon the deck and floated over it like
+      cold, gray smoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, kind people, give ear unto the words of King David,&rdquo; said the
+      pilgrim, and shaking his head, began to read distinctly: &ldquo;&lsquo;Lead me, Oh
+      Lord, in thy righteousness because of mine enemies; make thy way straight
+      before my face. For there is no faithfulness in their mouths; their inward
+      part is very wickedness; their throat is an open sepulchre; they flatter
+      with their tongue. Destroy thou them, Oh God; let them fall by their own
+      counsels.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eight! seven!&rdquo; Like moans these exclamations resounded in the distance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The steamer began to hiss angrily, and slackened its speed. The noise of
+      the hissing of the steam deafened the pilgrim&rsquo;s words, and Foma saw only
+      the movement of his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get off!&rdquo; a loud, angry shout was heard. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s my place!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here you have yours!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll rap you on the jaw; then you&rsquo;ll find your place. What a lord!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get away!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An uproar ensued. The peasants who were listening to the pilgrim turned
+      their heads toward the direction where the row was going on, and the
+      pilgrim heaved a sigh and became silent. Near the machine a loud and
+      lively dispute blazed up as though dry branches, thrown upon a dying
+      bonfire, had caught the flame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll give it to you, devils! Get away, both of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take them away to the captain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha! ha! ha! That&rsquo;s a fine settlement for you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was a good rap he gave him on the neck!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The sailors are a clever lot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eight! nine!&rdquo; shouted the man with the measuring pole.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, increase speed!&rdquo; came the loud exclamation of the engineer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Swaying because of the motion of the steamer, Foma stood leaning against
+      the tarpaulin, and attentively listened to each and every sound about him.
+      And everything was blended into one picture, which was familiar to him.
+      Through fog and uncertainty, surrounded on all sides by gloom impenetrable
+      to the eye, life of man is moving somewhere slowly and heavily. And men
+      are grieved over their sins, they sigh heavily, and then fight for a warm
+      place, and asking each other for the sake of possessing the place, they
+      also receive blows from those who strive for order in life. They timidly
+      search for a free road toward the goal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nine! eight!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The wailing cry is softly wafted over the vessel. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma felt like speaking to this pilgrim, in whose softly uttered words
+      there rang sincere fear of God, and all manner of fear for men before His
+      countenance. The kind, admonitive voice of the pilgrim possessed a
+      peculiar power, which compelled Foma to listen to its deep tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to ask him where he lives,&rdquo; thought Foma, fixedly scrutinizing
+      the huge stooping figure. &ldquo;And where have I seen him before? Or does he
+      resemble some acquaintance of mine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly it somehow struck Foma with particular vividness that the humble
+      preacher before him was no other than the son of old Anany Shchurov.
+      Stunned by this conjecture, he walked up to the pilgrim and seating
+      himself by his side, inquired freely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you from Irgiz, father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pilgrim raised his head, turned his face toward Foma slowly and
+      heavily, scrutinized him and said in a calm and gentle voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was on the Irgiz, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you a native of that place?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you now coming from there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I am coming from Saint Stephen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The conversation broke off. Foma lacked the courage to ask the pilgrim
+      whether he was not Shchurov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll be late on account of the fog,&rdquo; said some one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can we help being late!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All were silent, looking at Foma. Young, handsome, neatly and richly
+      dressed, he aroused the curiosity of the bystanders by his sudden
+      appearance among them; he was conscious of this curiosity, he understood
+      that they were all waiting for his words, that they wanted to understand
+      why he had come to them, and all this confused and angered him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems to me that I&rsquo;ve met you before somewhere, father,&rdquo; said he at
+      length.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The pilgrim replied, without looking at him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would like to speak to you,&rdquo; announced Foma, timidly, in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, speak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whither?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To my cabin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pilgrim looked into Foma&rsquo;s face, and, after a moment&rsquo;s silence,
+      assented:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On leaving, Foma felt the looks of the peasants on his back, and now he
+      was pleased to know that they were interested in him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the cabin he asked gently:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you perhaps eat something? Tell me. I will order it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God forbid. What do you wish?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This man, dirty and ragged, in a cassock turned red with age, and covered
+      with patches, surveyed the cabin with a squeamish look, and when he seated
+      himself on the plush-covered lounge, he turned the skirt of the cassock as
+      though afraid to soil it by the plush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is your name, father?&rdquo; asked Foma, noticing the expression of
+      squeamishness on the pilgrim&rsquo;s face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miron.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not Mikhail?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why Mikhail?&rdquo; asked the pilgrim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was in our town the son of a certain merchant Shchurov, he also
+      went off to the Irgiz. And his name was Mikhail.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma spoke and fixedly looked at Father Miron; but the latter was as calm
+      as a deaf-mute&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never met such a man. I don&rsquo;t remember, I never met him,&rdquo; said he,
+      thoughtfully. &ldquo;So you wished to inquire about him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I never met Mikhail Shchurov. Well, pardon me for Christ&rsquo;s sake!&rdquo; and
+      rising from the lounge, the pilgrim bowed to Foma and went toward the
+      door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But wait awhile, sit down, let&rsquo;s talk a little!&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s and his guest&rsquo;s heads. From the distance
+      came a more distant reply, and the whistle overhead again gave out abrupt,
+      timorous sounds. Foma opened the window. Through the fog, not far from
+      their steamer, something was moving along with deep noise; specks of
+      fantastic lights floated by, the fog was agitated and again sank into dead
+      immobility.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How terrible!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, shutting the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is there to be afraid of?&rdquo; asked the pilgrim. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have inward fire within you, have light within your soul, and you shall
+      see everything,&rdquo; said the pilgrim, sternly and instructively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was displeased with these cold words and looked at the pilgrim
+      askance. The latter sat with drooping head, motionless, as though
+      petrified in thought and prayer. The beads of his rosary were softly
+      rustling in his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The pilgrim&rsquo;s attitude gave birth to easy courage in Foma&rsquo;s breast, and he
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me, Father Miron, is it good to live, having full freedom, without
+      work, without relatives, a wanderer, like yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Father Miron raised his head and softly burst into the caressing laughter
+      of a child. All his face, tanned from wind and sunburn, brightened up with
+      inward joy, was radiant with tranquil joy; he touched Foma&rsquo;s knee with his
+      hand and said in a sincere tone:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cast aside from you all that is worldly, for there is no sweetness in it.
+      I am telling you the right word&mdash;turn away from evil. Do you remember
+      it is said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor
+      standeth in the way of sinners.&rsquo; 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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That isn&rsquo;t the thing!&rdquo; said Foma. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s right!&rdquo; cried Foma. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s just what I think. One can see better
+      from the side!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Miron, paying no attention to his words, spoke softly, as though of
+      some great mystery, known only to him, the pilgrim:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The thick slumbering forests around you will start to rustle in sweet
+      voices about the wisdom of the Lord; God&rsquo;s little birds will sing before
+      you of His holy glory, and the grasses of the steppe will burn incense to
+      the Holy Virgin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pilgrim&rsquo;s voice now rose and quivered from excess of emotion, now sank
+      to a mysterious whisper. He seemed as though grown younger; his eyes
+      beamed so confidently and clearly, and all his face was radiant with the
+      happy smile of a man who has found expression for his joy and was
+      delighted while he poured it forth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma listened, and his imagination, captivated by the quiet, charming
+      narrative, pictured to him those wide fields and dense forests, full of
+      beauty and soul-pacifying silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pilgrim spoke, and his voice and sing-song speech reminded Foma of the
+      wonderful fairy-tales of Aunt Anfisa. He felt as though, after a long
+      journey on a hot day, he drank the clear, cold water of a forest brook,
+      water that had the fragrance of the grasses and the flowers it has bathed.
+      Even wider and wider grew the pictures as they unfolded upon him; here is
+      a path through the thick, slumbering forest; the fine sunbeams penetrate
+      through the branches of the trees, and quiver in the air and under the
+      feet of the wanderer. There is a savoury odour of fungi and decaying
+      foliage; the honeyed fragrance of the flowers, the intense odour of the
+      pine-tree invisibly rise in the air and penetrate the breast in a warm,
+      rich stream. All is silence: only the birds are singing, and the silence
+      is so wonderful that it seems as though even the birds were singing in
+      your breast. You go, without haste, and your life goes on like a dream.
+      While here everything is enveloped in a gray, dead fog, and we are
+      foolishly struggling about in it, yearning for freedom and light. There
+      below they have started to sing something in scarcely audible voices; it
+      was half song, half prayer. Again someone is shouting, scolding. And still
+      they seek the way:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seven and a half. Seven!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you have no care,&rdquo; spoke the pilgrim, and his voice murmured like a
+      brook. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You speak well,&rdquo; said Foma with a sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear brother!&rdquo; exclaimed the pilgrim, softly, moving still closer
+      toward him. &ldquo;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: &lsquo;The real shechinah is man!&rsquo; 
+      Shechinah is a Hebrew word and it means the holy of holies. Consequently&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A prolonged shrill sound of the whistle drowned his voice. He listened,
+      rose quickly from the lounge and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are nearing the harbour. That&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made a low bow to Foma. There was something feminine, caressing and
+      soft in his farewell words and bow. Foma also bowed low to him, bowed and
+      remained as though petrified, standing with drooping head, his hand
+      leaning against the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come to see me when you are in town,&rdquo; he asked the pilgrim, who was
+      hastily turning the handle of the cabin door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will! I will come! Goodbye! Christ save you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the steamer&rsquo;s side touched the wharf Foma came out on the deck and
+      began to look downward into the fog. From the steamer people were walking
+      down the gang-planks, but Foma could not discern the pilgrim among those
+      dark figures enveloped in the dense gloom. All those that left the steamer
+      looked equally indistinct, and they all quickly disappeared from sight, as
+      though they had melted in the gray dampness. One could see neither the
+      shore nor anything else solid; the landing bridge rocked from the
+      commotion caused by the steamer; above it the yellow spot of the lantern
+      was swaying; the noise of the footsteps and the bustle of the people were
+      dull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The steamer put off and slowly moved along into the clouds. The pilgrim,
+      the harbour, the turmoil of people&rsquo;s voices&mdash;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&mdash;where
+      was it?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the next day, about noon, he sat In Yozhov&rsquo;s small room and listened to
+      the local news from the mouth of his friend. Yozhov had climbed on the
+      table, which was piled with newspapers, and, swinging his feet, narrated:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The election campaign has begun. The merchants are putting your godfather
+      up as mayor&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil take them all!&rdquo; said Foma, waving his hand indifferently. &ldquo;What
+      have I to do with them? How about yourself&mdash;do you still keep on
+      drinking?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do! Why shouldn&rsquo;t I drink?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-clad and dishevelled, Yozhov looked like a plucked bird, which had
+      just had a fight and had not yet recovered from the excitement of the
+      conflict.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have to go to the old man,&rdquo; said Foma, wrinkling his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Chance it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t feel like going. He&rsquo;ll start to lecture me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then don&rsquo;t go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I must.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you always play the buffoon?&rdquo; said Foma, with displeasure, &ldquo;as
+      though you were indeed merry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By God, I feel merry!&rdquo; exclaimed Yozhov, jumping down from the table.
+      &ldquo;What a fine roasting I gave a certain gentleman in the paper yesterday!
+      And then&mdash;I&rsquo;ve heard a clever anecdote: A company was sitting on the
+      sea-shore philosophizing at length upon life. And a Jew said to them:
+      &lsquo;Gentlemen, why do you employ so many different words? I&rsquo;ll tell it to you
+      all at once: Our life is not worth a single copeck, even as this stormy
+      sea! &lsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, the devil take you!&rdquo; said Foma. &ldquo;Good-bye. I am going.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t moan, but grunt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma went away, leaving Yozhov singing at the top of his voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beat the drum and fear not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drum? You are a drum yourself;&rdquo; thought Foma, with irritation, as he
+      slowly came out on the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the Mayakins he was met by Luba. Agitated and animated, she suddenly
+      appeared before him, speaking quickly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You? My God! How pale you are! How thin you&rsquo;ve grown! It seems you have
+      been leading a fine life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then her face became distorted with alarm and she exclaimed almost in a
+      whisper:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Foma. You don&rsquo;t know. Do you hear? Someone is ringing the bell.
+      Perhaps it is he.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And she rushed out of the room, leaving behind her in the air the rustle
+      of her silk gown, and the astonished Foma, who had not even had a chance
+      to ask her where her father was. Yakov Tarasovich was at home. Attired in
+      his holiday clothes, in a long frock coat with medals on his breast, he
+      stood on the threshold with his hands outstretched, clutching at the door
+      posts. His green little eyes examined Foma, and, feeling their look upon
+      him, Foma raised his head and met them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, my fine gentleman?&rdquo; said the old man, shaking his head
+      reproachfully. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you no other words for me?&rdquo; asked Foma, sternly, looking straight
+      into the old man&rsquo;s face. And suddenly he noticed that his godfather
+      shuddered, his legs trembled, his eyes began to blink repeatedly, and his
+      hands clutched the door posts with an effort. Foma advanced toward him,
+      presuming that the old man was feeling ill, but Yakov Tarasovich said in a
+      dull and angry voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stand aside. Get out of the way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And his face assumed its usual expression.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma stepped back and found himself side by side with a rather short,
+      stout man, who bowed to Mayakin, and said in a hoarse voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, papa?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How are you, Taras Yakovlich, how are you?&rdquo; said the old man, bowing,
+      smiling distractedly, and still clinging to the door posts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma stepped aside in confusion, seated himself in an armchair, and,
+      petrified with curiosity, wide-eyed, began to watch the meeting of father
+      and son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The father, standing in the doorway, swayed his feeble body, leaning his
+      hands against the door posts, and, with his head bent on one side and eyes
+      half shut, stared at his son in silence. The son stood about three steps
+      away from him; his head already gray, was lifted high; he knitted his brow
+      and gazed at his father with large dark eyes. His small, black, pointed
+      beard and his small moustache quivered on his meagre face, with its
+      gristly nose, like that of his father. And the hat, also, quivered in his
+      hand. From behind his shoulder Foma saw the pale, frightened and joyous
+      face of Luba&mdash;she looked at her father with beseeching eyes and it
+      seemed she was on the point of crying out. For a few moments all were
+      silent and motionless, crushed as they were by the immensity of their
+      emotions. The silence was broken by the low, but dull and quivering voice
+      of Yakov Tarasovich:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have grown old, Taras.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The son laughed in his father&rsquo;s face silently, and, with a swift glance,
+      surveyed him from head to foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The father tearing his hands from the door posts, made a step toward his
+      son and suddenly stopped short with a frown. Then Taras Mayakin, with one
+      huge step, came up to his father and gave him his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, let us kiss each other,&rdquo; suggested the father, softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two old men convulsively clasped each other in their arms, exchanged
+      warm kisses and then stepped apart. The wrinkles of the older man
+      quivered, the lean face of the younger was immobile, almost stern. The
+      kisses had changed nothing in the external side of this scene, only Lubov
+      burst into a sob of joy, and Foma awkwardly moved about in his seat,
+      feeling as though his breath were failing him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, children, you are wounds to the heart&mdash;you are not its joy,&rdquo;
+       complained Yakov Tarasovich in a ringing voice, and he evidently invested
+      a great deal in these words, for immediately after he had pronounced them
+      he became radiant, more courageous, and he said briskly, addressing
+      himself to his daughter:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, have you melted with joy? You had better go and prepare something
+      for us&mdash;tea and so forth. We&rsquo;ll entertain the prodigal son. You must
+      have forgotten, my little old man, what sort of a man your father is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Taras Mayakin scrutinized his parent with a meditative look of his large
+      eyes and he smiled, speechless, clad in black, wherefore the gray hair on
+      his head and in his beard told more strikingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, be seated. Tell me&mdash;how have you lived, what have you done?
+      What are you looking at? Ah! That&rsquo;s my godson. Ignat Gordyeeff&rsquo;s son,
+      Foma. Do you remember Ignat?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I remember everything,&rdquo; said Taras.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! That&rsquo;s good, if you are not bragging. Well, are you married?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a widower.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you any children?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They died. I had two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s a pity. I would have had grandchildren.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I smoke?&rdquo; asked Taras.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go ahead. Just look at him, you&rsquo;re smoking cigars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you like them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? Come on, it&rsquo;s all the same to me. I say that it looks rather
+      aristocratic to smoke cigars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why should we consider ourselves lower than the aristocrats?&rdquo; said
+      Taras, laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do, I consider ourselves lower?&rdquo; exclaimed the old man. &ldquo;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&mdash;he-he-he!&rdquo;
+       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&rsquo;s large eyes, which were surrounded by yellowish
+      swellings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Taras smiled in his father&rsquo;s face an affable and warm smile, and said to
+      him thoughtfully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the way I remember you&mdash;cheerful and lively. It looks as
+      though you had not changed a bit during all these years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man straightened himself proudly, and, striking his breast with
+      his fist, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall never change, because life has no power over him who knows his
+      own value. Isn&rsquo;t that so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! How proud you are!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must have taken after my son,&rdquo; said the old man with a cunning grimace.
+      &ldquo;Do you know, dear, my son was silent for seventeen years out of pride.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s because his father would not listen to him,&rdquo; Taras reminded him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right now. Never mind the past. Only God knows which of us is to
+      blame. He, the upright one, He&rsquo;ll tell it to you&mdash;wait! I shall keep
+      silence. This is not the time for us to discuss that matter. You better
+      tell me&mdash;what have you been doing all these years? How did you come
+      to that soda factory? How have you made your way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s a long story,&rdquo; said Taras with a sigh; and emitting from his mouth
+      a great puff of smoke, he began slowly: &ldquo;When I acquired the possibility
+      to live at liberty, I entered the office of the superintendent of the gold
+      mines of the Remezovs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; they&rsquo;re very rich. Three brothers. I know them all. One is a
+      cripple, the other a fool, and the third a miser. Go on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I served under him for two years. And then I married his daughter,&rdquo;
+       narrated Mayakin in a hoarse voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The superintendent&rsquo;s? That wasn&rsquo;t foolish at all.&rdquo; Taras became
+      thoughtful and was silent awhile. The old man looked at his sad face and
+      understood his son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so you lived with your wife happily,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is the third year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So? And how did you chance upon the soda factory?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That belongs to my father-in-law.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aha! What is your salary?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About five thousand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mm. That&rsquo;s not a stale crust. Yes, that&rsquo;s a galley slave for you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Taras glanced at his father with a firm look and asked him drily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the way, what makes you think that I was a convict?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man glanced at his son with astonishment, which was quickly
+      changed into joy:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! What then? You were not? The devil take them! Then&mdash;how was it?
+      Don&rsquo;t take offence! How could I know? They said you were in Siberia! Well,
+      and there are the galleys!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To make an end of this once for all,&rdquo; said Taras, seriously and
+      impressively, clapping his hand on his knee, &ldquo;I&rsquo;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&rsquo;s all!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So-o! But what does it mean?&rdquo; muttered Yakov Tarasovich, with confusion
+      and joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And here they circulated that absurd rumour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s right&mdash;it is absurd indeed!&rdquo; said the old man, distressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And it did a pretty great deal of harm on a certain occasion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really? Is that possible?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I was about to go into business for myself, and my credit was ruined
+      on account of&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pshaw!&rdquo; said Yakov Tarasovich, as he spat angrily. &ldquo;Oh, devil! Come,
+      come, is that possible?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma sat all this time in his corner, listening to the conversation
+      between the Mayakins, and, blinking perplexedly, he fixedly examined the
+      newcomer. Recalling Lubov&rsquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;Lubov
+      had lied! And Foma was very much pleased when he pictured to himself how
+      he would speak to Lubov about her brother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now and then she appeared in the doorway during the conversation between
+      her father and her brother. Her face was radiant with happiness, and her
+      eyes beamed with joy as she looked at the black figure of Taras, clad in
+      such a peculiarly thick frock coat, with pockets on the sides and with big
+      buttons. She walked on tiptoe, and somehow always stretched her neck
+      toward her brother. Foma looked at her questioningly, but she did not
+      notice him, constantly running back and forth past the door, with plates
+      and bottles in her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It so happened that she glanced into the room just when her brother was
+      telling her father about the galleys. She stopped as though petrified,
+      holding a tray in her outstretched hands and listened to everything her
+      brother said about the punishment inflicted upon him. She listened, and
+      slowly walked away, without catching Foma&rsquo;s astonished and sarcastic
+      glance. Absorbed in his reflections on Taras, slightly offended by the
+      lack of attention shown him, and by the fact that since the handshake at
+      the introduction Taras had not given him a single glance, Foma ceased for
+      awhile to follow the conversation of the Mayakins, and suddenly he felt
+      that someone seized him by the shoulder. He trembled and sprang to his
+      feet, almost felling his godfather, who stood before him with excited
+      face:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&mdash;look! That is a man! That&rsquo;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&mdash;alone&mdash;he made his way
+      and found his place and&mdash;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stupefied by this tempestuous shock, Foma became confused and did not know
+      what to say in reply to the old man&rsquo;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&rsquo;s joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Yakov Tarasovich tapped Foma on the chest with his finger and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s blood in it. But he is a
+      Mayakin! And I can feel it at once! I feel it and say: &lsquo;Today thou
+      forgivest Thy servant, Oh Lord!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man was trembling with the fever of his exultation, and fairly
+      hopped as he stood before Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Calm yourself, father!&rdquo; said Taras, slowly rising from his chair and
+      walking up to his father. &ldquo;Why confuse the young man? Come, let us sit
+      down.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He gave Foma a fleeting smile, and, taking his father by the arm, led him
+      toward the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe in blood,&rdquo; said Yakov Tarasovich; &ldquo;in hereditary blood. Therein
+      lies all power! My father, I remember, told me: &lsquo;Yashka, you are my
+      genuine blood!&rsquo; There. The blood of the Mayakins is thick&mdash;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&mdash;tell
+      me about yourself. How is it there in Siberia?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And again, as though frightened and sobered by some thought, the old man
+      fixed his searching eyes upon the face of his son. And a few minutes later
+      the circumstantial but brief replies of his son again aroused in him a
+      noisy joy. Foma kept on listening and watching, as he sat quietly in his
+      corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gold mining, of course, is a solid business,&rdquo; said Taras, calmly, with
+      importance, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lubov entered and invited them all into the dining-room. When the Mayakins
+      stepped out Foma imperceptibly tugged Lubov by the sleeve, and she
+      remained with him alone, inquiring hastily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; said Foma, with a smile. &ldquo;I want to ask you whether you are
+      glad?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I am!&rdquo; exclaimed Lubov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is, what do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just so. What about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re queer!&rdquo; said Lubov, looking at him with astonishment. &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you
+      see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo; asked Foma, sarcastically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the trouble with you?&rdquo; said Lubov, looking at him uneasily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you!&rdquo; drawled out Foma, with contemptuous pity. &ldquo;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!&rdquo; He was satisfied, seeing that the girl,
+      confused by his words, was biting her lips, now flushing, now turning
+      pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;you, Foma,&rdquo; she began, in a choking voice, and suddenly
+      stamping her foot, she cried:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you dare to speak to me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On reaching the threshold of the room, she turned her angry face to him,
+      and ejaculated in a low voice, emphatically:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you malicious man!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma burst into laughter. He did not feel like going to the table, where
+      three happy people were engaged in a lively conversation. He heard their
+      merry voices, their contented laughter, the rattle of the dishes, and he
+      understood that, with that burden on his heart, there was no place for him
+      beside them. Nor was there a place for him anywhere. If all people only
+      hated him, even as Lubov hated him now, he would feel more at ease in
+      their midst, he thought. Then he would know how to behave with them, would
+      find something to say to them. While now he could not understand whether
+      they were pitying him or whether they were laughing at him, because he had
+      lost his way and could not conform himself to anything. As he stood awhile
+      alone in the middle of the room, he unconsciously resolved to leave this
+      house where people were rejoicing and where he was superfluous. On
+      reaching the street, he felt himself offended by the Mayakins. After all,
+      they were the only people near to him in the world. Before him arose his
+      godfather&rsquo;s face, on which the wrinkles quivered with agitation, and
+      illuminated by the merry glitter of his green eyes, seemed to beam with
+      phosphoric light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even a rotten trunk of a tree stands out in the dark!&rdquo; reflected Foma,
+      savagely. Then he recalled the calm and serious face of Taras and beside
+      it the figure of Lubov bowing herself hastily toward him. That aroused in
+      him feelings of envy and sorrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who will look at me like that? There is not a soul to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He came to himself from his broodings on the shore, at the landing-places,
+      aroused by the bustle of toil. All sorts of articles and wares were
+      carried and carted in every direction; people moved about hastily,
+      care-worn, spurring on their horses excitedly, shouting at one another,
+      filling the street with unintelligible bustle and deafening noise of
+      hurried work. They busied themselves on a narrow strip of ground, paved
+      with stone, built up on one side with tall houses, and the other side cut
+      off by a steep ravine at the river, and their seething bustle made upon
+      Foma an impression as though they had all prepared themselves to flee from
+      this toil amid filth and narrowness and tumult&mdash;prepared themselves
+      to flee and were now hastening to complete the sooner the unfinished work
+      which would not release them. Huge steamers, standing by the shore and
+      emitting columns of smoke from their funnels, were already awaiting them.
+      The troubled water of the river, closely obstructed with vessels, was
+      softly and plaintively splashing against the shore, as though imploring
+      for a minute of rest and repose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Honour!&rdquo; a hoarse cry rang out near Foma&rsquo;s ears, &ldquo;contribute some
+      brandy in honour of the building!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma glanced at the petitioner indifferently; he was a huge, bearded
+      fellow, barefooted, with a torn shirt and a bruised, swollen face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get away!&rdquo; muttered Foma, and turned away from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Merchant! When you die you can&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma again looked at the petitioner; the latter stood before him, covered
+      more with mud than with clothes, and, trembling with intoxication, waited
+      obstinately, staring at Foma with blood-shot, swollen eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that the way to ask?&rdquo; inquired Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How else? Would you want me to go down on my knees before you for a
+      ten-copeck piece?&rdquo; asked the bare-footed man, boldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; and Foma gave him a coin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks! Fifteen copecks. Thanks! And if you give me fifteen more I&rsquo;ll
+      crawl on all fours right up to that tavern. Do you want me to?&rdquo; proposed
+      the barefooted man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go, leave me alone!&rdquo; said Foma, waving him off with his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He who gives not when he may, when he fain would, shall have nay,&rdquo; said
+      the barefooted man, and stepped aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma looked at him as he departed, and said to himself:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And heaving a deep sigh, he answered himself:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      These two questions seemed to strike Foma&rsquo;s heart and called forth in him
+      a dull perplexity. He looked at the movement of the working people and
+      kept on thinking: What did he regret? What did he fear?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;then&mdash;I would go out into the wide world! Whether
+      I liked or not, I would have to go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From one of the landing wharves the merry &ldquo;dubinushka&rdquo; [&ldquo;Dubinushka,&rdquo; or
+      the &ldquo;Oaken Cudgel,&rdquo; is a song popular with the Russian workmen.] had
+      already been smiting the air for a long time. The carriers were doing a
+      certain work, which required brisk movements, and were adapting the song
+      and the refrain to them.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;In the tavern sit great merchants
+     Drinking liquors strong,&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      narrated the leader, in a bold recitative. The company joined in unison:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;Oh, dubinushka, heave-ho!&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      And then the bassos smote the air with deep sounds:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;It goes, it goes.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      And the tenors repeated:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;It goes, it goes.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Foma listened to the song and directed his footsteps toward it, on the
+      wharf. There he noticed that the carriers, formed in two rows, were
+      rolling out of the steamer&rsquo;s hold huge barrels of salted fish. Dirty, clad
+      in red blouses, unfastened at the collar, with mittens on their hands,
+      with arms bare to the elbow, they stood over the hold, and, merrily
+      jesting, with faces animated by toil, they pulled the ropes, all together,
+      keeping time to their song. And from the hold rang out the high, laughing
+      voice of the invisible leader:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;But for our peasant throats
+     There is not enough vodka.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      And the company, like one huge pair of lungs, heaved forth loudly and in
+      unison:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;Oh, dubinushka, heave-ho!&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Foma felt pleased and envious as he looked at this work, which was as
+      harmonious as music. The slovenly faces of the carriers beamed with
+      smiles, the work was easy, it went on smoothly, and the leader of the
+      chorus was in his best vein. Foma thought that it would be fine to work
+      thus in unison, with good comrades, to the tune of a cheerful song, to get
+      tired from work to drink a glass of vodka and eat fat cabbage soup,
+      prepared by the stout, sprightly matron of the company.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quicker, boys, quicker!&rdquo; rang out beside him someone&rsquo;s unpleasant, hoarse
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma turned around. A stout man, with an enormous paunch, tapped on the
+      boards of the landing bridge with his cane, as he looked at the carriers
+      with his small eyes and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bawl less and work faster.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His face and neck were covered with perspiration; he wiped it off every
+      now and then with his left hand and breathed heavily, as though he were
+      going uphill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma cast at the man a hostile look and thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Others are working and he is sweating. And I am still worse than he. I&rsquo;m
+      like a crow on the fence, good for nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From each and every impression there immediately stood out in his mind the
+      painful thought of his unfitness for life. Everything that attracted his
+      attention contained something offensive to him, and this something fell
+      like a brick upon his breast. At one side of him, by the freight scales,
+      stood two sailors, and one of them, a square-built, red-faced fellow, was
+      telling the other:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As they rushed on me it began for fair, my dear chap! There were four of
+      them&mdash;I was alone! But I didn&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you came in for a sound drubbing all the same?&rdquo; inquired the other
+      sailor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course! I caught it. I swallowed about five blows. But what&rsquo;s the
+      difference? They didn&rsquo;t kill me. Well, thank God for it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To the stern, devils, to the stern, I&rsquo;m telling you!&rdquo; roared the
+      perspiring man in a ferocious voice at two carriers who were rolling a
+      barrel of fish along the deck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you yelling for?&rdquo; Foma turned to him sternly, as he had started
+      at the shout.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that any of your business?&rdquo; asked the perspiring man, casting a glance
+      at Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is my business! The people are working and your fat is melting away.
+      So you think you must yell at them?&rdquo; said Foma, threateningly, moving
+      closer toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;you had better keep your temper.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The perspiring man suddenly rushed away from his place and went into his
+      office. Foma looked after him and also went away from the wharf; filled
+      with a desire to abuse some one, to do something, just to divert his
+      thoughts from himself at least for a short while. But his thoughts took a
+      firmer hold on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That sailor there, he tore himself away, and he&rsquo;s safe and sound! Yes,
+      while I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the evening he again went up to the Mayakins. The old man was not at
+      home, and in the dining-room sat Lubov with her brother, drinking tea. On
+      reaching the door Foma heard the hoarse voice of Taras:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What makes father bother himself about him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the sight of Foma he stopped short, staring at his face with a serious,
+      searching look. An expression of agitation was clearly depicted on Lubov&rsquo;s
+      face, and she said with dissatisfaction and at the same time
+      apologetically:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! So it&rsquo;s you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They&rsquo;ve been speaking of me,&rdquo; thought Foma, as he seated himself at the
+      table. Taras turned his eyes away from him and sank deeper in the
+      armchair. There was an awkward silence lasting for about a minute, and
+      this pleased Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you going to the banquet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What banquet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was not invited,&rdquo; said Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody was invited. He simply announced on the Exchange: &lsquo;Anybody who
+      wishes to honour me is welcome!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes? But there will be a grand drinking bout,&rdquo; said Lubov, looking at him
+      askance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can drink at my own expense if I choose to do so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know,&rdquo; said Lubov, nodding her head expressively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Taras toyed with his teaspoon, turning it between his fingers and looking
+      at them askance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And where&rsquo;s my godfather?&rdquo; asked Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He went to the bank. There&rsquo;s a meeting of the board of directors today.
+      Election of officers is to take place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They&rsquo;ll elect him again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And again the conversation broke off. Foma began to watch the brother and
+      the sister. Having dropped the spoon, Taras slowly drank his tea in big
+      sips, and silently moving the glass over to his sister, smiled to her.
+      She, too, smiled joyously and happily, seized the glass and began to rinse
+      it assiduously. Then her face assumed a strained expression; she seemed to
+      prepare herself for something and asked her brother in a low voice, almost
+      reverently:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall we return to the beginning of our conversation?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you please,&rdquo; assented Taras, shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You said something, but I didn&rsquo;t understand. What was it? I asked: &lsquo;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?&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl leaned her whole body toward her brother, and her eyes, with
+      strained expectation, stopped on the calm face of her brother. He glanced
+      at her in a weary way, moved about in his seat, and, lowering his head,
+      said calmly and impressively:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s requirements. Happiness is
+      possible&mdash;it is the complete satisfaction of requirements. There it
+      is. And, as you see, man&rsquo;s happiness is dependent upon his relation toward
+      his work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Taras Mayakin spoke slowly and laboriously, as though it were unpleasant
+      and tedious for him to speak. And Lubov, with knitted brow, leaning toward
+      him, listened to his words with eager attention in her eyes, ready to
+      accept everything and imbibe it into her soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, and suppose everything is repulsive to a man?&rdquo; asked Foma,
+      suddenly, in a deep voice, casting a glance at Taras&rsquo;s face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what, in particular, is repulsive to the man?&rdquo; asked Mayakin, calmly,
+      without looking at Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma bent his head, leaned his arms against the table and thus, like a
+      bull, went on to explain himself:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing pleases him&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot grasp your idea,&rdquo; announced Taras, when Foma paused, feeling on
+      himself Lubov&rsquo;s contemptuous and angry look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do not understand?&rdquo; asked Foma, looking at Taras with a smile. &ldquo;Well,
+      I&rsquo;ll put it in this way:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A man is sailing in a boat on the river. The boat may be good, but under
+      it there is always a depth all the same. The boat is sound, but if the man
+      feels beneath him this dark depth, no boat can save him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Taras looked at Foma indifferently and calmly. He looked in silence, and
+      softly tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. Lubov was uneasily
+      moving about in her chair. The pendulum of the clock told the seconds with
+      a dull, sighing sound. And Foma&rsquo;s heart throbbed slowly and painfully, as
+      though conscious that here no one would respond with a warm word to its
+      painful perplexity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Work is not exactly everything for a man,&rdquo; said he, more to himself than
+      to these people who had no faith in the sincerity of his words. &ldquo;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&mdash;they are merely unfortunate&mdash;horses!
+      Others ride on them, they suffer and that&rsquo;s all. But they have their
+      justification before God. They will be asked: &lsquo;To what purpose did you
+      live?&rsquo; Then they will say: &lsquo;We had no time to think of that. We worked all
+      our lives.&rsquo; And I&mdash;what justification have I? And all those people
+      who give orders&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He became silent, and, tossing his head up, exclaimed in a heavy voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can it be that man is born merely to work, acquire money, build a house,
+      beget children and&mdash;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&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carried away by his thoughts, Foma would have continued to give them
+      utterance, but Taras moved his armchair away from the table, rose and said
+      softly, with a sigh:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, thank you! I don&rsquo;t want any more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma broke off his speech abruptly, shrugged his shoulders and looked at
+      Lubov with a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where have you picked up such philosophy?&rdquo; she asked, suspiciously and
+      drily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is not philosophy. That is simply torture!&rdquo; said Foma in an
+      undertone. &ldquo;Open your eyes and look at everything. Then you will think so
+      yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the way, Luba, turn your attention to the fact,&rdquo; began Taras, standing
+      with his back toward the table and scrutinizing the clock, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, as though suddenly recalling Foma, he turned to him, clasping his
+      hands behind his back, and, wriggling his thigh, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;do you read
+      books?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; replied Foma, briefly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t like them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aha! But they might nevertheless be of some help to you,&rdquo; said Taras, and
+      a smile passed across his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Books? Since men cannot help me in my thoughts books can certainly do
+      nothing for me,&rdquo; ejaculated Foma, morosely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He began to feel awkward and weary with this indifferent man. He felt like
+      going away, but at the same time he wished to tell Lubov something
+      insulting about her brother, and he waited till Taras would leave the
+      room. Lubov washed the dishes; her face was concentrated and thoughtful;
+      her hands moved lazily. Taras was pacing the room, now and then he stopped
+      short before the sideboard on which was the silverware, whistled, tapped
+      his fingers against the window-panes and examined the articles with his
+      eyes half shut. The pendulum of the clock flashed beneath the glass door
+      of the case like some broad, grinning face, and monotonously told the
+      seconds. When Foma noticed that Lubov glanced at him a few times
+      questioningly, with expectant and hostile looks, he understood that he was
+      in her way and that she was impatiently expecting him to leave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going to stay here over night,&rdquo; said he, with a smile. &ldquo;I must speak
+      with my godfather. And then it is rather lonesome in my house alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then go and tell Marfusha to make the bed for you in the corner room,&rdquo;
+       Lubov hastened to advise him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He arose and went out of the dining-room. And he soon heard that Taras
+      asked his sister about something in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About me!&rdquo; he thought. Suddenly this wicked thought flashed through his
+      mind: &ldquo;It were but right to listen and hear what wise people have to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed softly, and, stepping on tiptoe, went noiselessly into the
+      other room, also adjoining the dining-room. There was no light there, and
+      only a thin band of light from the dining-room, passing through the
+      unclosed door, lay on the dark floor. Softly, with sinking heart and
+      malicious smile, Foma walked up close to the door and stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;s a clumsy fellow,&rdquo; said Taras.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came Lubov&rsquo;s lowered and hasty speech:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha-ha! How monstrous! And that same man busies himself with investigating
+      as to the meaning of life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On another occasion he was carousing on a steamer with a company of
+      people like himself. Suddenly he said to them: &lsquo;Pray to God! I&rsquo;ll fling
+      every one of you overboard!&rsquo; He is frightfully strong. They screamed,
+      while he said: &lsquo;I want to serve my country. I want to clear the earth of
+      base people.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really? That&rsquo;s clever!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;s a terrible man! How many wild pranks he has perpetrated during these
+      years! How much money he has squandered!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, tell me, on what conditions does father manage his affairs for him?
+      Do you know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t. He has a full power of attorney. Why do you ask?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Simply so. It&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foma does absolutely nothing. Everything is in father&rsquo;s hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes? That&rsquo;s fine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know, sometimes it occurs to me that his thoughtful frame of mind&mdash;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t even worthwhile to bother about it. The stripling and lazy bones
+      seeks to justify his laziness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. You see, at times he is like a child. He was particularly so before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, that&rsquo;s what I have said: he&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are very harsh.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sometimes I feel very sorry for Foma. What will become of him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That does not concern me. I believe that nothing in particular will
+      become of him&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s true, sir!&rdquo; said Foma, opening the door and appearing on the
+      threshold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pale, with knitted brow and quivering lips, he stared straight into
+      Taras&rsquo;s face and said in a dull voice: &ldquo;True! I will go to ruin and&mdash;amen!
+      The sooner the better!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lubov sprang up from the chair with frightened face, and ran up to Taras,
+      who stood calmly in the middle of the room, with his hands thrust in his
+      pockets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foma! Oh! Shame! You have been eavesdropping. Oh, Foma!&rdquo; said she in
+      confusion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep quiet, you lamb!&rdquo; said Foma to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, eavesdropping is wrong!&rdquo; ejaculated Taras, slowly, without lifting
+      from Foma his look of contempt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let it be wrong!&rdquo; said Foma, with a wave of the hand. &ldquo;Is it my fault
+      that the truth can be learned by eavesdropping only?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go away, Foma, please!&rdquo; entreated Lubov, pressing close to her brother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you have something to say to me?&rdquo; asked Taras, calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I?&rdquo; exclaimed Foma. &ldquo;What can I say? I cannot say anything. It is you who&mdash;you,
+      I believe, know everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have nothing then to discuss with me?&rdquo; asked Taras again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am very pleased.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned sideways to Foma and inquired of Lubov:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you think&mdash;will father return soon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma looked at him, and, feeling something akin to respect for the man,
+      deliberately left the house. He did not feel like going to his own huge
+      empty house, where each step of his awakened a ringing echo, he strolled
+      along the street, which was enveloped in the melancholy gray twilight of
+      late autumn. He thought of Taras Mayakin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How severe he is. He takes after his father. Only he&rsquo;s not so restless.
+      He&rsquo;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&mdash;she was kind toward me.&rdquo; But all these thoughts stirred in
+      him no feelings&mdash;neither hatred toward Taras nor sympathy for Lubov.
+      He carried with him something painful and uncomfortable, something
+      incomprehensible to him, that kept growing within his breast, and it
+      seemed to him that his heart was swollen and was gnawing as though from an
+      abscess. He hearkened to that unceasing and indomitable pain, noticed that
+      it was growing more and more acute from hour to hour, and, not knowing how
+      to allay it, waited for the results.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then his godfather&rsquo;s trotter passed him. Foma saw in the carriage the
+      small figure of Yakov Mayakin, but even that aroused no feeling in him. A
+      lamplighter ran past Foma, overtook him, placed his ladder against the
+      lamp post and went up. The ladder suddenly slipped under his weight, and
+      he, clasping the lamp post, cursed loudly and angrily. A girl jostled Foma
+      in the side with her bundle and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He glanced at her and said nothing. Then a drizzling rain began to fall
+      from the sky&mdash;tiny, scarcely visible drops of moisture overcast the
+      lights of the lanterns and the shop windows with grayish dust. This dust
+      made him breathe with difficulty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I go to Yozhov and pass the night there? I might drink with him,&rdquo;
+       thought Foma and went away to Yozhov, not having the slightest desire
+      either to see the feuilleton-writer or to drink with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At Yozhov&rsquo;s he found a shaggy fellow sitting on the lounge. He had on a
+      blouse and gray pantaloons. His face was swarthy, as though smoked, his
+      eyes were large, immobile and angry, his thick upper lip was covered with
+      a bristle-like, soldier moustache. He was sitting on the lounge, with his
+      feet clasped in his huge arms and his chin resting on his knees. Yozhov
+      sat sideways in a chair, with his legs thrown across the arm of the chair.
+      Among books and newspapers on the table stood a bottle of vodka and there
+      was an odour of something salty in the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you tramping about?&rdquo; Yozhov asked Foma, and, nodding at him, said
+      to the man on the lounge: &ldquo;Gordyeeff!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man glanced at the newcomer and said in a harsh, shrill voice:
+      &ldquo;Krasnoshchokov.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma seated himself on a corner of the lounge and said to Yozhov:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have come to stay here over night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well? Go on, Vasily.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The latter glanced at Foma askance and went on in a creaking voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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: &lsquo;What will
+      come of it? Perhaps we may perish in vain?&rsquo; And they stand there like
+      posts&mdash;until they breathe their last. And the fool is brave! He
+      rushes headforemost against the wall&mdash;bang! If his skull breaks&mdash;what
+      of it? Calves&rsquo; 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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Vasily, you are talking nonsense!&rdquo; said Yozhov, stretching his hand
+      toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, of course!&rdquo; assented Vasily. &ldquo;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&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait a little!&rdquo; said Yozhov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t! I am on duty today. I am rather late as it is. I&rsquo;ll drop in
+      tomorrow&mdash;may I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come! I&rsquo;ll give a roasting!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s exactly your business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Vasily adjusted himself slowly, rose from the lounge, took Yozhov&rsquo;s
+      yellow, thin little hand in his big, swarthy paw and pressed it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodbye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he nodded toward Foma and went through the door sideways.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you seen?&rdquo; Yozhov asked Foma, pointing his hand at the door, behind
+      which the heavy footsteps still resounded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What sort of a man is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s going abroad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo; inquired Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To study. To see how people live there, while you languish here&mdash;what
+      for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He spoke sensibly of the fools,&rdquo; said Foma, thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know, for I am not a fool.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was well said. The stupid man ought to act at once. Rush forward and
+      overturn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, he&rsquo;s broken loose!&rdquo; exclaimed Yozhov. &ldquo;You better tell me whether
+      it is true that Mayakin&rsquo;s son has returned?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you ask?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can see by your face that there is something.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We know all about his son; we&rsquo;ve heard about him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I have seen him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well? What sort of man is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil knows him! What have I to do with him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he like his father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;s stouter, plumper; there is more seriousness about him; he is so
+      cold.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which means that he will be even worse than Yashka. Well, now, my dear,
+      be on your guard or they will suck you dry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, let them do it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They&rsquo;ll rob you. You&rsquo;ll become a pauper. That Taras fleeced his
+      father-in-law in Yekateringburg so cleverly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let him fleece me too, if he likes. I shall not say a word to him except
+      &lsquo;thanks.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are still singing that same old tune?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To be set at liberty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drop it! What do you want freedom for? What will you do with it? Don&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov jumped to his feet, and, stopping in front of Foma, began to speak
+      in a loud voice, as though declaiming:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would gather together the remains of my wounded soul, and together with
+      the blood of my heart I would spit them into the face of our intelligent
+      society, the devil take it! I would say to them:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;You insects, you are the best sap of my country! The fact of your
+      existence has been repaid by the blood and the tears of scores of
+      generations of Russian people. O, you nits! How dearly your country has
+      paid for you! What are you doing for its sake in return? Have you
+      transformed the tears of the past into pearls? What have you contributed
+      toward life? What have you accomplished? You have permitted yourselves to
+      be conquered? What are you doing? You permit yourselves to be mocked.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stamped his feet with rage, and setting his teeth together stared at
+      Foma with burning, angry looks, and resembled an infuriated wild beast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would say to them: &lsquo;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.&rsquo; 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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Short of breath he burst into a fit of coughing, he coughed for a long
+      time, hopping about hither and thither, waving his hands like a madman.
+      And then he again stopped in front of Foma with pale face and blood-shot
+      eyes. He breathed heavily, his lips trembled now and then, displaying his
+      small, sharp teeth. Dishevelled, with his head covered with short heir, he
+      looked like a perch just thrown out of the water. This was not the first
+      time Foma saw him in such a state, and, as always, he was infected by his
+      agitation. He listened to the fiery words of the small man, silently,
+      without attempting to understand their meaning, having no desire to know
+      against whom they were directed, absorbing their force only. Yozhov&rsquo;s
+      words bubbled on like boiling water, and heated his soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will say to them, to those miserable idlers:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Look! Life goes onward, leaving you behind!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh! That&rsquo;s fine!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma, ecstatically, and began to move about
+      on the lounge. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re a hero, Nikolay! Oh! Go ahead! Throw it right into
+      their faces!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Yozhov was not in need of encouragement, it seemed even as though he
+      had not heard at all Foma&rsquo;s exclamations, and he went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know the limitations of my powers. I know they&rsquo;ll shout at me: &lsquo;Hold
+      your peace!&rsquo; They&rsquo;ll tell me: &lsquo;Keep silence!&rsquo; They will say it wisely,
+      they will say it calmly, mocking me, they will say it from the height of
+      their majesty. I know I am only a small bird, Oh, I am not a nightingale!
+      Compared with them I am an ignorant man, I am only a feuilleton-writer, a
+      man to amuse the public. Let them cry and silence me, let them do it! A
+      blow will fall on my cheek, but the heart will nevertheless keep on
+      throbbing! And I will say to them:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;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,&rsquo; I
+      will say, &lsquo;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:
+      &lsquo;Freedom!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Crush on!&rdquo; roared Foma, jumping up from the lounge and grasping Yozhov by
+      the shoulders. With flashing eyes he gazed into Yozhov&rsquo;s face, bending
+      toward him, and almost moaned with grief and affliction: &ldquo;Oh! Nikolay! My
+      dear fellow, I am mortally sorry for you! I am more sorry than words can
+      tell!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s this? What&rsquo;s the matter with you?&rdquo; cried Yozhov, pushing him away,
+      amazed and shifted from his position by Foma&rsquo;s unexpected outburst and
+      strange words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, brother!&rdquo; said Foma, lowering his voice, which thus sounded deeper,
+      more persuasive. &ldquo;Oh, living soul, why do you sink to ruin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who? I? I sink? You lie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear boy! You will not say anything to anybody! There is no one to
+      speak to! Who will listen to you? Only I!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go to the devil!&rdquo; shouted Yozhov, angrily, jumping away from him as
+      though he had been scorched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Foma went toward him, and spoke convincingly, with intense sorrow:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go away!&rdquo; screamed Yozhov, hysterically, squeezing his back to the wall,
+      under Foma&rsquo;s pressure. Perplexed, crushed, and infuriated he stood and
+      waved off Foma&rsquo;s arms outstretched toward him. And at this time the door
+      of the room opened, and on the threshold appeared a woman all in black.
+      Her face was angry-looking and excited, her cheek was tied up with a
+      kerchief. She tossed her head back, stretched out her hand toward Yozhov
+      and said, in a hissing and shrill voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nikolay Matveyich! Excuse me, but this is impossible! Such beast-like
+      howling and roaring. Guests everyday. The police are coming. No, I can&rsquo;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&rsquo;ll paste up a notice, I&rsquo;ll
+      notify the police.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She spoke rapidly, and the majority of her words were lost in the hissing
+      and whistling of her voice; only those words were distinct, which she
+      shrieked out in a shrill, irritated tone. The corners of her kerchief
+      protruded on her head like small horns, and shook from the movement of her
+      jaws. At the sight of her agitated and comical figure Foma gradually
+      retreated toward the lounge, while Yozhov stood, and wiping his forehead,
+      stared at her fixedly, and listened to her words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So know it now!&rdquo; she screamed, and behind the door, she said once more:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tomorrow! What an outrage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Devil!&rdquo; whispered Yozhov, staring dully at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes! what a woman! How strict!&rdquo; said Foma, looking at him in amazement,
+      as he seated himself on the lounge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov, raising his shoulders, walked up to the table, poured out a half a
+      tea-glass full of vodka, emptied it and sat down by the table, bowing his
+      head low. There was silence for about a minute. Then Foma said, timidly
+      and softly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How it all happened! We had no time even to wink an eye, and, suddenly,
+      such an outcome. Ah!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You!&rdquo; said Yozhov in an undertone, tossing up his head, and staring at
+      Foma angrily and wildly. &ldquo;Keep quiet! You, the devil take you. Lie down
+      and sleep! You monster. Nightmare. Oh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he threatened Foma with his fist. Then he filled the glass with more
+      brandy, and emptied it again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A few minutes later Foma lay undressed on the lounge, and, with half-shut
+      eyes, followed Yozhov who sat by the table in an awkward pose. He stared
+      at the floor, and his lips were quietly moving. Foma was astonished, he
+      could not make out why Yozhov had become angry at him. It could not be
+      because he had been ordered to move out. For it was he himself who had
+      been shouting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh devil!&rdquo; whispered Yozhov, and gnashed his teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma quietly lifted his head from the pillow. Yozhov deeply and noisily
+      sighing, again stretched out his hand toward the bottle. Then Foma said to
+      him softly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go to some hotel. It isn&rsquo;t late yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov looked at him, and, rubbing his head with his hands, began to laugh
+      strangely. Then he rose from his chair and said to Foma curtly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dress yourself!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And seeing how clumsily and slowly he turned on the lounge, Yozhov shouted
+      with anger and impatience:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, be quicker! You personification of stupidity. You symbolical
+      cart-shaft.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t curse!&rdquo; said Foma, with a peaceable smile. &ldquo;Is it worthwhile to be
+      angry because a woman has cackled?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov glanced at him, spat and burst into harsh laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;ARE all here?&rdquo; asked Ilya Yefimovich Kononov, standing on the bow of his
+      new steamer, and surveying the crowd of guests with beaming eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems to be all!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And raising upward his stout, red, happy-looking face, he shouted to the
+      captain, who was already standing on the bridge, beside the speaking-tube:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cast off, Petrukha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The captain bared his huge, bald head, made the sign of the cross,
+      glancing up at the sky, passed his hand over his wide, black beard,
+      cleared his throat, and gave the command:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The guests watched the movements of the captain silently and attentively,
+      and, emulating his example, they also began to cross themselves, at which
+      performance their caps and high hats flashed through the air like a flock
+      of black birds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give us Thy blessing, Oh Lord!&rdquo; exclaimed Kononov with emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let go astern! Forward!&rdquo; ordered the captain. The massive &ldquo;Ilya
+      Murometz,&rdquo; heaving a mighty sigh, emitted a thick column of white steam
+      toward the side of the landing-bridge, and started upstream easily, like a
+      swan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How it started off,&rdquo; enthusiastically exclaimed commercial counsellor Lup
+      Grigoryev Reznikov, a tall, thin, good-looking man. &ldquo;Without a quiver!
+      Like a lady in the dance!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Half speed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not a ship, it&rsquo;s a Leviathan!&rdquo; remarked with a devout sigh the
+      pock-marked and stooping Trofim Zubov, cathedral-warden and principal
+      usurer in town.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a gray day. The sky, overcast with autumn clouds, was reflected in
+      the water of the river, thus giving it a cold leaden colouring. Flashing
+      in the freshness of its paint the steamer sailed along the monotonous
+      background of the river like a huge bright spot, and the black smoke of
+      its breath hung in the air like a heavy cloud. All white, with pink
+      paddle-boxes and bright red blades, the steamer easily cut through the
+      cold water with its bow and drove it apart toward the shores, and the
+      round window-panes on the sides of the steamer and the cabin glittered
+      brilliantly, as though smiling a self-satisfied, triumphant smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen of this honourable company!&rdquo; exclaimed Kononov, removing his
+      hat, and making a low bow to the guests. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And, without waiting for an answer from his guests, he placed his fist to
+      his mouth, and shouted:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Musicians! Play &lsquo;Be Glorious!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The military orchestra, behind the engine, thundered out the march.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Makar Bobrov, the director and founder of the local commercial bank,
+      began to hum in a pleasant basso, beating time with his fingers on his
+      enormous paunch:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be glorious, be glorious, our Russian Czar&mdash;tra-rata! Boom!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I invite you to the table, gentlemen! Please! Take pot-luck, he, he! I
+      entreat you humbly,&rdquo; said Kononov, pushing himself through the dense group
+      of guests.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were about thirty of them, all sedate men, the cream of the local
+      merchants. The older men among them, bald-headed and gray, wore
+      old-fashioned frock-coats, caps and tall boots. But there were only few of
+      these; high silk hats, shoes and stylish coats reigned supreme. They were
+      all crowded on the bow of the steamer, and little by little, yielding to
+      Kononov&rsquo;s requests, moved towards the stern covered with sailcloth, where
+      stood tables spread with lunch. Lup Reznikov walked arm in arm with Yakov
+      Mayakin, and, bending over to his ear, whispered something to him, while
+      the latter listened and smiled. Foma, who had been brought to the festival
+      by his godfather, after long admonitions, found no companion for himself
+      among these people who were repulsive to him, and, pale and gloomy, held
+      himself apart from them. During the past two days he had been drinking
+      heavily with Yozhov, and now he had a terrible headache. He felt ill at
+      ease in the sedate and yet jolly company; the humming of the voices, the
+      thundering of the music and the clamour of the steamer, all these
+      irritated him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt a pressing need to doze off, and he could find no rest from the
+      thought as to why his godfather was so kind to him today, and why he
+      brought him hither into the company of the foremost merchants of the town.
+      Why had he urged so persuasively, and even entreated him to attend
+      Kononov&rsquo;s mass and banquet?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be foolish, come!&rdquo; Foma recalled his godfather&rsquo;s admonitions. &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But when are you going to speak seriously with me, papa?&rdquo; Foma had asked,
+      watching the play of his godfather&rsquo;s face and green eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean about setting you free from the business? Ha, ha! We&rsquo;ll talk it
+      over, we&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see then!&rdquo; Foma had answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arriving on the steamer while the mass was in progress, Foma took up a
+      place on the side and watched the merchants during the whole service.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They stood in solemn silence; their faces had an expression of devout
+      concentration; they prayed with fervour, deeply sighing, bowing low,
+      devoutly lifting their eyes heavenward. And Foma looked now at one, now at
+      another, and recalled what he knew about them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was Lup Reznikov; he had begun his career as a brothel-keeper, and
+      had become rich all of a sudden. They said he had strangled one of his
+      guests, a rich Siberian. Zubov&rsquo;s business in his youth had been to
+      purchase thread from the peasants. He had failed twice. Kononov had been
+      tried twenty years ago for arson, and even now he was indicted for the
+      seduction of a minor. Together with him, for the second time already, on a
+      similar charge, Zakhar Kirillov Robustov had been dragged to court.
+      Robustov was a stout, short merchant with a round face and cheerful blue
+      eyes. Among these people there was hardly one about whom Foma did not know
+      something disgraceful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he knew that they were all surely envying the successful Kononov, who
+      was constantly increasing the number of his steamers from year to year.
+      Many of those people were at daggers&rsquo; points with one another, none of
+      them would show mercy to the others in the battlefield of business, and
+      all knew wicked and dishonest things about one another. But now, when they
+      gathered around Kononov, who was triumphant and happy, they blended in one
+      dense, dark mass, and stood and breathed as one man, concentrated and
+      silent, surrounded by something invisible yet firm, by something which
+      repulsed Foma from them, and which inspired him with fear of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Impostors!&rdquo; thought he, thus encouraging himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And they coughed gently, sighed, crossed themselves, bowed, and,
+      surrounding the clergy in a thick wall, stood immovable and firm, like
+      big, black rocks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are pretending!&rdquo; Foma exclaimed to himself. Beside him stood the
+      hump-backed, one-eyed Pavlin Gushchin&mdash;he who, not long before, had
+      turned the children of his half-witted brother into the street as beggars&mdash;he
+      stood there and whispered penetratingly as he looked at the gloomy sky
+      with his single eye:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh Lord! Do not convict me in Thy wrath, nor chastise me in Thy
+      indignation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Foma felt that that man was addressing the Lord with the most profound
+      and firm faith in His mercy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh Lord, God of our fathers, who hadst commanded Noah, Thy servant, to
+      build an ark for the preservation of the world,&rdquo; said the priest in his
+      deep bass voice, lifting his eyes and outstretching his hands skyward,
+      &ldquo;protect also this vessel and give unto it a guarding angel of good and
+      peace. Guard those that will sail upon it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The merchants in unison made the sign of the cross, with wide swings of
+      their arms, and all their faces bore the expression of one sentiment&mdash;faith
+      in the power of prayer. All these pictures took root in Foma&rsquo;s memory and
+      awakened in him perplexity as to these people, who, being able to believe
+      firmly in the mercy of God, were, nevertheless, so cruel unto man. He
+      watched them persistently, wishing to detect their fraud, to convince
+      himself of their falsehood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Their grave firmness angered him, their unanimous self-confidence, their
+      triumphant faces, their loud voices, their laughter. They were already
+      seated by the tables, covered with luncheon, and were hungrily admiring
+      the huge sturgeon, almost three yards in length, nicely sprinkled over
+      with greens and large crabs. Trofim Zubov, tying a napkin around his neck,
+      looked at the monster fish with happy, sweetly half-shut eyes, and said to
+      his neighbour, the flour merchant, Yona Yushkov:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yona Nikiforich! Look, it&rsquo;s a regular whale! It&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The small-bodied and plump Yona carefully stretched out his short little
+      hand toward the silver pail filled with fresh caviar, smacked his lips
+      greedily, and squinted at the bottles before him, fearing lest he might
+      overturn them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Opposite Kononov, on a trestle, stood a half-vedro barrel of old vodka,
+      imported from Poland; in a huge silver-mounted shell lay oysters, and a
+      certain particoloured cake, in the shape of a tower, stood out above all
+      the viands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen! I entreat you! Help yourselves to whatever you please!&rdquo; cried
+      Kononov. &ldquo;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&rsquo;s
+      the best way! Who wishes anything? Does anybody want snails, or these
+      crabs, eh? They&rsquo;re from India, I am told.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Zubov said to his neighbour, Mayakin:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The prayer &lsquo;At the Building of a Vessel&rsquo; is not suitable for steam-tugs
+      and river steamers, that is, not that it is not suitable, it isn&rsquo;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 &lsquo;At the Building of a House,&rsquo; in addition to
+      that for the vessel. But what will you drink?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not much of a wine fiend. Pour me out some cumin vodka,&rdquo; replied
+      Yakov Tarasovich.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma, seated at the end of the table among some timid and modest men who
+      were unfamiliar to him, now and again felt on himself the sharp glances of
+      the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;s afraid I&rsquo;ll make a scandal,&rdquo; thought Foma. &ldquo;Brethren!&rdquo; roared the
+      monstrously stout ship builder Yashchurov, in a hoarse voice, &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t do
+      without herring! I must necessarily begin with herring, that&rsquo;s my nature.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Musicians! strike up &lsquo;The Persian March!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on! Better &lsquo;How Glorious!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strike up &lsquo;How Glorious.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The puffing of the engine and the clatter of the steamer&rsquo;s wheels,
+      mingling with the sounds of the music, produced in the air something which
+      sounded like the wild song of a snow-storm. The whistle of the flute, the
+      shrill singing of the clarionets, the heavy roaring of the basses, the
+      ruffling of the little drum and the drones of the blows on the big one,
+      all this fell on the monotonous and dull sounds of the wheels, as they cut
+      the water apart, smote the air rebelliously, drowned the noise of the
+      human voices and hovered after the steamer, like a hurricane, causing the
+      people to shout at the top of their voices. At times an angry hissing of
+      steam rang out within the engine, and there was something irritable and
+      contemptuous in this sound as it burst unexpectedly upon the chaos of the
+      drones and roars and shouts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall never forget, even unto my grave, that you refused to discount
+      the note for me,&rdquo; cried some one in a fierce voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That will do! Is this a place for accounts?&rdquo; rang out Bobrov&rsquo;s bass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Brethren! Let us have some speeches!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Musicians, bush!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come up to the bank and I&rsquo;ll explain to you why I didn&rsquo;t discount it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A speech! Silence!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Musicians, cease playing!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strike up &lsquo;In the Meadows.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madame Angot!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! Yakov Tarasovich, we beg of you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s called Strassburg pastry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We beg of you! We beg of you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pastry? It doesn&rsquo;t look like it, but I&rsquo;ll taste it all the same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tarasovich! Start.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Brethren! It is jolly! By God.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And in &lsquo;La Belle Helene&rsquo; she used to come out almost naked, my dear,&rdquo;
+       suddenly Robustov&rsquo;s shrill and emotional voice broke through the noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look out! Jacob cheated Esau? Aha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t! My tongue is not a hammer, and I am no longer young.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yasha! We all implore you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do us the honour!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll elect you mayor!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tarasovich! don&rsquo;t be capricious!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sh! Silence! Gentlemen! Yakov Tarasovich will say a few words!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And just at the moment the noise subsided some one&rsquo;s loud, indignant
+      whisper was heard:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How she pinched me, the carrion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Bobrov inquired in his deep basso:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where did she pinch you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All burst into ringing laughter, but soon fell silent, for Yakov
+      Tarasovich Mayakin, rising to his feet, cleared his throat, and, stroking
+      his bald crown, surveyed the merchants with a serious look expecting
+      attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, brethren, open your ears!&rdquo; shouted Kononov, with satisfaction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen of the merchant class!&rdquo; began Mayakin with a smile. &ldquo;There is a
+      certain foreign word in the language of intelligent and learned people,
+      and that word is &lsquo;culture.&rsquo; So now I am going to talk to you about that
+      word in all the simplicity of my soul.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So, that&rsquo;s where he is aiming to!&rdquo; some ones satisfied exclamation was
+      heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sh! Silence!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear gentlemen!&rdquo; said Mayakin, raising his voice, &ldquo;in the newspapers they
+      keep writing about us merchants, that we are not acquainted with this
+      &lsquo;culture,&rsquo; 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.&rdquo; Mayakin became silent, surveyed the
+      audience with his eyes, and went on distinctly, with a triumphant smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It proved, upon my researches, that this word means worship, that is,
+      love, great love for business and order in life. &lsquo;That&rsquo;s right!&rsquo; I
+      thought, &lsquo;that&rsquo;s right!&rsquo; 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!&rdquo; Yakov Tarasovich trembled,
+      his wrinkles spread over his face like beams, from his smiling eyes to his
+      lips, and his bald head looked like some dark star.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The merchants stared silently and attentively at his mouth, and all faces
+      bespoke intense attention. The people seemed petrified in the attitudes in
+      which Mayakin&rsquo;s speech had overtaken them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But if that word is to be interpreted precisely thus, and not otherwise,
+      if such is the case&mdash;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&rsquo; 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&mdash;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&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The shrill, jarring shout of Mayakin called forth a deafening, triumphant
+      roar from the merchants. All these big, fleshy bodies, aroused by wine and
+      by the old man&rsquo;s words, stirred and uttered from their chests such a
+      unanimous, massive shout that everything around them seemed to tremble and
+      to quake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yakov! you are the trumpet of the Lord!&rdquo; cried Zubov, holding out his
+      goblet toward Mayakin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Overturning the chairs, jostling the tables, thus causing the dishes and
+      the bottles to rattle and fall, the merchants, agitated, delighted, some
+      with tears in their eyes, rushed toward Mayakin with goblets in their
+      hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! Do you understand what has been said here?&rdquo; asked Kononov, grasping
+      Robustov by the shoulder and shaking him. &ldquo;Understand it! That was a great
+      speech!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yakov Tarasovich! Come, let me embrace you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s toss, Mayakin!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strike up the band.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sound a flourish! A march. &lsquo;The Persian March.&rdquo;&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We don&rsquo;t want any music! The devil take it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here is the music! Eh, Yakov Tarasovich! What a mind!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was small among my brethren, but I was favoured with understanding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie, Trofim!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yakov! you&rsquo;ll die soon. Oh, what a pity! Words can&rsquo;t express how sorry we
+      are!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what a funeral that is going to be!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen! Let us establish a Mayakin fund! I put up a thousand!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Silence! Hold on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen!&rdquo; Yakov Tarasovich began to speak again, quivering in every
+      limb. &ldquo;And, furthermore, we are the foremost men in life and the real
+      masters in our fatherland because we are&mdash;peasants!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Corr-rect!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s right! Dear mother! That&rsquo;s an old man for you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on! Let him finish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As true as two and two make four!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s so simple.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is as wise as a serpent!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And as meek as a&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As a hawk. Ha, ha, ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The merchants encircled their orator in a close ring, they looked at him
+      with their oily eyes, and were so agitated that they could no longer
+      listen to his words calmly. Around him a tumult of voices smote the air,
+      and mingling with the noise of the engine, and the beating of the wheels
+      upon the water, it formed a whirlwind of sounds which drowned the jarring
+      voice of the old man. The excitement of the merchants was growing more and
+      more intense; all faces were radiant with triumph; hands holding out
+      goblets were outstretched toward Mayakin; the merchants clapped him on the
+      shoulder, jostled him, kissed him, gazed with emotion into his face. And
+      some screamed ecstatically:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The kamarinsky. The national dance!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have accomplished all that!&rdquo; cried Yakov Tarasovich, pointing at the
+      river. &ldquo;It is all ours! We have built up life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly rang out a loud exclamation which drowned all sounds:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! So you have done it? Ah, you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And immediately after this, a vulgar oath resounded through the air,
+      pronounced distinctly with great rancour, in a dull but powerful voice.
+      Everyone heard it and became silent for a moment, searching with their
+      eyes the man who had abused them. At this moment nothing was heard save
+      the deep sighs of the engines and the clanking of the rudder chains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s snarling there?&rdquo; asked Kononov with a frown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We can&rsquo;t get along without scandals!&rdquo; said Reznikov, with a contrite
+      sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who was swearing here at random?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The faces of the merchants mirrored alarm, curiosity, astonishment,
+      reproach, and all the people began to bustle about stupidly. Only Yakov
+      Tarasovich alone was calm and seemed even satisfied with what had
+      occurred. Rising on tiptoe, with his neck outstretched, he stared
+      somewhere toward the end of the table, and his eyes flashed strangely, as
+      though he saw there something which was pleasing to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gordyeeff,&rdquo; said Yona Yushkov, softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And all heads were turned toward the direction in which Yakov Tarasovich
+      was staring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There, with his hands resting on the table, stood Foma. His face distorted
+      with wrath, his teeth firmly set together, he silently surveyed the
+      merchants with his burning, wide-open eyes. His lower jaw was trembling,
+      his shoulders were quivering, and the fingers of his hands, firmly
+      clutching the edge of the table, were nervously scratching the tablecloth.
+      At the sight of his wolf-like, angry face and his wrathful pose, the
+      merchants again became silent for a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you gaping at?&rdquo; asked Foma, and again accompanied his question
+      with a violent oath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;s drunk!&rdquo; said Bobrov, with a shake of the head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why was he invited?&rdquo; whispered Reznikov, softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foma Ignatyevich!&rdquo; said Kononov, sedately, &ldquo;you mustn&rsquo;t create any
+      scandals. If your head is reeling&mdash;go, my dear boy, quietly and
+      peacefully into the cabin and lie down! Lie down, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Silence, you!&rdquo; roared Foma, and turned his eye at him. &ldquo;Do not dare to
+      speak to me! I am not drunk. I am soberer than any one of you here! Do you
+      understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But wait awhile, my boy. Who invited you here?&rdquo; asked Kononov, reddening
+      with offence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I brought him!&rdquo; rang out Mayakin&rsquo;s voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! Well, then, of course. Excuse me, Foma Ignatyevich. But as you
+      brought him, Yakov, you ought to subdue him. Otherwise it&rsquo;s no good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma maintained silence and smiled. And the merchants, too, were silent,
+      as they looked at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Fomka!&rdquo; began Mayakin. &ldquo;Again you disgrace my old age.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Godfather!&rdquo; said Foma, showing his teeth, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&mdash;speeches?&rdquo; said Reznikov. &ldquo;Why have any discourses? We have
+      come together to enjoy ourselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, you had better drop that, Foma Ignatyevich.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better drink something.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s have a drink! Ah, Foma, you&rsquo;re the son of a fine father!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma recoiled from the table, straightened himself and continuously
+      smiling, listened to the kind, admonitory words. Among all those sedate
+      people he was the youngest and the handsomest. His well-shaped figure, in
+      a tight-fitting frock coat, stood out, to his advantage, among the mass of
+      stout bodies with prominent paunches. His swarthy face with large eyes was
+      more regularly featured, more full of life than the shrivelled or red
+      faces of those who stood before him with astonishment and expectancy. He
+      threw his chest forward, set his teeth together, and flinging the skirts
+      of his frock coat apart, thrust his hands into his pockets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can&rsquo;t stop up my mouth now with flattery and caresses!&rdquo; said he,
+      firmly and threateningly, &ldquo;Whether you will listen or not, I am going to
+      speak all the same. You cannot drive me away from here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head, and, raising his shoulders, announced calmly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But if any one of you dare to touch me, even with a finger, I&rsquo;ll kill
+      him! I swear it by the Lord. I&rsquo;ll kill as many as I can!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd of people that stood opposite him swayed back, even as bushes
+      rocked by the wind. They began to talk in agitated whispers. Foma&rsquo;s face
+      grew darker, his eyes became round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it has been said here that you have built up life, and that you
+      have done the most genuine and proper things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma heaved a deep sigh, and with inexpressible aversion scrutinized his
+      listeners&rsquo; faces, which suddenly became strangely puffed up, as though
+      they were swollen. The merchants were silent, pressing closer and closer
+      to one another. Some one in the back rows muttered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is he talking about? Ah! From a paper, or by heart?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you rascals!&rdquo; exclaimed Gordyeeff, shaking his head. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does this mean?&rdquo; exclaimed Reznikov, clasping his hands in rage and
+      indignation. &ldquo;Ilya Yefimov, what&rsquo;s this? I can&rsquo;t bear to hear such words.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gordyeeff!&rdquo; cried Bobrov. &ldquo;Look out, you speak improper words.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For such words you&rsquo;ll get&mdash;oi, oi, oi!&rdquo; said Zubov, insinuatingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Silence!&rdquo; roared Foma, with blood-shot eyes. &ldquo;Now they&rsquo;re grunting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen!&rdquo; rang out Mayakin&rsquo;s calm, malicious voice, like the screech of
+      a smooth-file on iron. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t touch him! I entreat you earnestly, do not
+      hinder him. Let him snarl. Let him amuse himself. His words cannot harm
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, no, I humbly thank you!&rdquo; cried Yushkov. And close at Foma&rsquo;s side
+      stood Smolin and whispered in his ear:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop, my dear boy! What&rsquo;s the matter with you? Are you out of your wits?
+      They&rsquo;ll do you&mdash;!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get away!&rdquo; said Foma, firmly, flashing his angry eyes at him. &ldquo;You go to
+      Mayakin and flatter him, perhaps something will come your way!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Smolin whistled through his teeth and stepped aside. And the merchants
+      began to disperse on the steamer, one by one. This irritated Foma still
+      more he wished he could chain them to the spot by his words, but he could
+      not find such powerful words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have built up life!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Who are you? Swindlers, robbers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A few men turned toward Foma, as if he had called them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kononov! are they soon going to try you for that little girl? They&rsquo;ll
+      convict you to the galleys. Goodbye, Ilya! You are building your steamers
+      in vain. They&rsquo;ll transport you to Siberia on a government vessel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Kononov sank into a chair; his blood leaped to his face, and he shook his
+      fist in silence. Foma said hoarsely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well. Good. I shall not forget it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma saw his distorted face with its trembling lips, and understood with
+      what weapons he could deal these men the most forcible blows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma spoke, interrupting his speech with loud, malevolent laughter, and
+      saw that his words were producing an impression on these people. Before,
+      when he had spoken to all of them they turned away from him, stepping
+      aside, forming groups, and looking at their accuser from afar with anger
+      and contempt. He saw smiles on their faces, he felt in their every
+      movement something scornful, and understood that while his words angered
+      them they did not sting as deep as he wished them to. All this had chilled
+      his wrath, and within him there was already arising the bitter
+      consciousness of the failure of his attack on them. But as soon as he
+      began to speak of each one separately, there was a swift and striking
+      change in the relation of his hearers toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Kononov sank heavily in the chair, as though he were unable to
+      withstand the weight of Foma&rsquo;s harsh words, Foma noticed that bitter and
+      malicious smiles crossed the faces of some of the merchants. He heard some
+      one&rsquo;s whisper of astonishment and approval:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s well aimed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This whisper gave strength to Foma, and he confidently and passionately
+      began to hurl reproaches, jeers and abuses at those who met his eyes. He
+      growled joyously, seeing that his words were taking effect. He was
+      listened to silently, attentively; several men moved closer toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Exclamations of protest were heard, but these were brief, not loud, and
+      each time Foma shouted some one&rsquo;s name, all became silent, listening,
+      casting furtive, malicious glances in the direction of their accused
+      comrade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bobrov laughed perplexedly, but his small eyes bored into Foma as gimlets.
+      And Lup Reznikov, waving his hands, hopped about awkwardly and, short of
+      breath, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be my witnesses. What&rsquo;s this! No-o! I will not forgive this! I&rsquo;ll go to
+      court. What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; and suddenly he screamed in a shrill voice,
+      out-stretching his hand toward Foma:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bind him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You cannot bind the truth, you can&rsquo;t do it! Even bound, truth will not
+      grow dumb!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go-o-od!&rdquo; drawled out Kononov in a dull, broken voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, gentlemen of the merchant class!&rdquo; rang out Mayakin&rsquo;s voice. &ldquo;I
+      ask! you to admire him, that&rsquo;s the kind of a fellow he is!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One after another the merchants moved toward Foma, and on their faces he
+      saw wrath, curiosity, a malicious feeling of satisfaction, fear. Some one
+      of those modest people among whom Foma was sitting, whispered to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give it to them. God bless you. Go ahead! That will be to your credit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Robustov!&rdquo; cried Foma. &ldquo;What are you laughing at? What makes you glad?
+      You will also go to the galleys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put him ashore!&rdquo; suddenly roared Robustov, springing to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Kononov shouted to the captain:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Back! To the town! To the Governor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And someone insinuatingly, in a voice trembling with feeling:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s a collusive agreement. That was done on purpose. He was
+      instigated, and made drunk to give him courage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it&rsquo;s a revolt!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bind him! Just bind him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma grasped a champagne bottle and swung it in the air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on now! No, it seems that you will have to listen to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With renewed fury, frantic with joy at seeing these people shrinking and
+      quailing under the blows of his words, Foma again started to shout names
+      and vulgar oaths, and the exasperated tumult was hushed once more. The
+      men, whom Foma did not know, gazed at him with eager curiosity, with
+      approval, while some looked at him even with joyous surprise. One of them,
+      a gray-haired little old man with rosy cheeks and small mouse eyes,
+      suddenly turned toward the merchants, who had been abused by Foma, and
+      said in a sweet voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These are words from the conscience! That&rsquo;s nothing! You must endure it.
+      That&rsquo;s a prophetic accusation. We are sinful. To tell the truth we are
+      very&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was hissed, and Zubov even jostled him on the shoulder. He made a low
+      bow and disappeared in the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Zubov!&rdquo; cried Foma. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zubov had not expected the attack, and he remained as petrified, with his
+      hand uplifted. But he immediately began to scream in a shrill voice, as he
+      jumped up quickly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! You turn against me also? Against me, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And suddenly he puffed up his cheeks and furiously began to shake his fist
+      at Foma, as he screamed in a shrill voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fool says in his heart there is no God! I&rsquo;ll go to the bishop!
+      Infidel! You&rsquo;ll get the galleys!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The tumult on the steamer grew, and at the sight of these enraged,
+      perplexed and insulted people, Foma felt himself a fairy-tale giant,
+      slaying monsters. They bustled about, waving their arms, talking to one
+      another&mdash;some red with anger, others pale, yet all equally powerless
+      to check the flow of his jeers at them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Send the sailors over here!&rdquo; cried Reznikov, tugging Kononov by the
+      shoulder. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with you, Ilya? Ah? Have you invited us to be
+      ridiculed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Against one puppy,&rdquo; screamed Zubov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A crowd had gathered around Yakov Tarasovitch Mayakin, and listened to his
+      quiet speech with anger, and nodded their heads affirmatively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Act, Yakov!&rdquo; said Robustov, loudly. &ldquo;We are all witnesses. Go ahead!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And above the general tumult of voices rang out Foma&rsquo;s loud, accusing
+      voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was not life that you have built&mdash;you have made a cesspool! You
+      have bred filth and putrefaction by your deeds! Have you a conscience? Do
+      you remember God? Money&mdash;that&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;ha, ha, ha!
+      they&rsquo;ll pour into it&mdash;ha, ha, ha! Honourable merchant class! Builders
+      of Life. Oh, you devils!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma burst into ringing laughter, and, holding his sides, staggered,
+      tossing his head up high.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment several men quickly exchanged glances, simultaneously
+      rushed on Foma and downed him with their weight. A racket ensued.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you&rsquo;re caught!&rdquo; ejaculated some one in a suffocating voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! Is that the way you&rsquo;re doing it?&rdquo; cried Foma, hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For about a half a minute a whole heap of black bodies bustled about on
+      one spot, heavily stamping their feet, and dull exclamations were heard:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Throw him to the ground!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold his hand, his hand! Oh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the beard?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get napkins, bind him with napkins.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll bite, will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So! Well, how&rsquo;s it? Aha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t strike! Don&rsquo;t dare to strike.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ready!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How strong he is!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s carry him over there toward the side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out in the fresh air, ha, ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They dragged Foma away to one side, and having placed him against the wall
+      of the captain&rsquo;s cabin, walked away from him, adjusting their costumes,
+      and mopping their sweat-covered brows. Fatigued by the struggle, and
+      exhausted by the disgrace of his defeat, Foma lay there in silence,
+      tattered, soiled with something, firmly bound, hand and foot, with napkins
+      and towels. With round, blood-shot eyes he gazed at the sky; they were
+      dull and lustreless, as those of an idiot, and his chest heaved unevenly
+      and with difficulty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now came their turn to mock him. Zubov began. He walked up to him, kicked
+      him in the side and asked in a soft voice, all trembling with the pleasure
+      of revenge:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, thunder-like prophet, how is it? Now you can taste the sweetness of
+      Babylonian captivity, he, he, he!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait,&rdquo; said Foma, hoarsely, without looking at him. &ldquo;Wait until I&rsquo;m
+      rested. You have not tied up my tongue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But saying this, Foma understood that he could no longer do anything, nor
+      say anything. And that not because they had bound him, but because
+      something had burned out within him, and his soul had become dark and
+      empty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zubov was soon joined by Reznikov. Then one after another the others began
+      to draw near. Bobrov, Kononov and several others preceded by Yakov Mayakin
+      went to the cabin, anxiously discussing something in low tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The steamer was sailing toward the town at full speed. The bottles on the
+      tables trembled and rattled from the vibration of the steamer, and Foma
+      heard this jarring, plaintive sound above everything else. Near him stood
+      a throng of people, saying malicious, offensive things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Foma saw them as though through a fog, and their words did not touch
+      him to the quick. A vast, bitter feeling was now springing up within him,
+      from the depth of his soul; he followed its growth and though he did not
+      yet understand it, he already experienced something melancholy and
+      degrading.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just think, you charlatan! What have you done to yourself?&rdquo; said
+      Reznikov. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have I done?&rdquo; Foma tried to understand. The merchants stood around
+      him in a dense, dark mass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Yashchurov, &ldquo;now, Fomka, your work is done.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait, we&rsquo;ll see,&rdquo; bellowed Zubov in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me free!&rdquo; said Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, no! we thank you humbly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Untie me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right! You can lie that way as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Call up my godfather.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Yakov Tarasovich came up at this moment. He came up, stopped near
+      Foma, sternly surveyed with his eyes the outstretched figure of his
+      godson, and heaved a deep sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Foma,&rdquo; he began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Order them to unbind me,&rdquo; entreated Foma, softly, in a mournful voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you can be turbulent again? No, no, you&rsquo;d better lie this way,&rdquo; his
+      godfather replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t say another word. I swear it by God! Unbind me. I am ashamed! For
+      Christ&rsquo;s sake. You see I am not drunk. Well, you needn&rsquo;t untie my hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You swear that you&rsquo;ll not be troublesome?&rdquo; asked Mayakin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh Lord! I will not, I will not,&rdquo; moaned Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They untied his feet, but left his hands bound. When he rose, he looked at
+      them all, and said softly with a pitiful smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You won.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We always shall!&rdquo; replied his godfather, smiling sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma bent, with his hands tied behind his back, advanced toward the table
+      silently, without lifting his eyes to anyone. He seemed shorter in stature
+      and thinner. His dishevelled hair fell on his forehead and temples; the
+      torn and crumpled bosom of his shirt protruding from under his vest, and
+      the collar covered his lips. He turned his head to push the collar down
+      under his chin, and was unable to do it. Then the gray-headed little old
+      man walked up to him, adjusted what was necessary, looked into his eyes
+      with a smile and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must endure it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, in Mayakin&rsquo;s presence, those who had mocked Foma were silent, looking
+      at the old man questioningly, with curiosity and expectancy. He was calm
+      but his eyes gleamed in a way not at all becoming to the occasion,
+      contentedly and brightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me some vodka,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s lips. Foma drank
+      the vodka, and asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some more!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s enough!&rdquo; replied Mayakin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And immediately after this there fell a minute of perfect, painful
+      silence. People were coming up to the table noiselessly, on tiptoe, and
+      when they were near they stretched their necks to see Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Fomka, do you understand now what you have done?&rdquo; asked Mayakin. He
+      spoke softly, but all heard his question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma nodded his head and maintained silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s no forgiveness for you!&rdquo; Mayakin went on firmly, and raising his
+      voice. &ldquo;Though we are all Christians, yet you will receive no forgiveness
+      at our hands. Just know this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma lifted his head and said pensively:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have quite forgotten about you, godfather. You have not heard anything
+      from me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There you have it!&rdquo; exclaimed Mayakin, bitterly, pointing at his godson.
+      &ldquo;You see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A dull grumble of protest burst forth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s all the same!&rdquo; resumed Foma with a sigh. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all the same!
+      Nothing&mdash;no good came out of it anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And again he bent over the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you want?&rdquo; asked Mayakin, sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What I wanted?&rdquo; Foma raised his head, looked at the merchants and smiled.
+      &ldquo;I wanted&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drunkard! Nasty scamp!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not drunk!&rdquo; retorted Foma, morosely. &ldquo;I have drank only two glasses.
+      I was perfectly sober.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Consequently,&rdquo; said Bobrov, &ldquo;you are right, Yakov Tarasovich, he is
+      insane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I?&rdquo; exclaimed Foma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But they paid no attention to him. Reznikov, Zubov and Bobrov leaned over
+      to Mayakin and began to talk in low tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guardianship!&rdquo; Foma&rsquo;s ears caught this one word. &ldquo;I am in my right mind!&rdquo;
+       he said, leaning back in his chair and staring at the merchants with
+      troubled eyes. &ldquo;I understand what I wanted. I wanted to speak the truth. I
+      wanted to accuse you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was again seized with emotion, and he suddenly jerked his hands in an
+      effort to free them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh! Hold on!&rdquo; exclaimed Bobrov, seizing him by the shoulders. &ldquo;Hold him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, hold me!&rdquo; said Foma with sadness and bitterness. &ldquo;Hold me&mdash;what
+      do you need me for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit still!&rdquo; cried his godfather, sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma became silent. He now understood that what he had done was of no
+      avail, that his words had not staggered the merchants. Here they stood,
+      surrounding him in a dense throng, and he could not see anything for them.
+      They were calm, firm, treating him as a drunkard and a turbulent fellow,
+      and were plotting something against him. He felt himself pitiful,
+      insignificant, crushed by that dark mass of strong-souled, clever and
+      sedate people. It seemed to him that a long time had passed since he had
+      abused them, so long a time that he himself seemed as a stranger,
+      incapable of comprehending what he had done to these people, and why he
+      had done it. He even experienced in himself a certain feeling of offence,
+      which resembled shame at himself in his own eyes. There was a tickling
+      sensation in his throat, and he felt there was something foreign in his
+      breast, as though some dust or ashes were strewn upon his heart, and it
+      throbbed unevenly and with difficulty. Wishing to explain to himself his
+      act, he said slowly and thoughtfully, without looking at anyone:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wanted to speak the truth. Is this life?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fool!&rdquo; said Mayakin, contemptuously. &ldquo;What truth can you speak? What do
+      you understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;I felt
+      the truth!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is repenting!&rdquo; said Reznikov, with a sarcastic smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let him!&rdquo; replied Bobrov, with contempt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some one added:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is evident, from his words, that he is out of his wits.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To speak the truth, that&rsquo;s not given to everyone!&rdquo; said Yakov Tarasovich,
+      sternly and instructively, lifting his hand upward. &ldquo;It is not the heart
+      that grasps truth; it is the mind; do you understand that? And as to your
+      feeling, that&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      According to his wont, Mayakin was carried away by the exposition of his
+      practical philosophy, but he realised in time that a conquered man is not
+      to be taught how to fight, and he stopped short. Foma cast at him a dull
+      glance, and shook his head strangely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lamb!&rdquo; said Mayakin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave me alone!&rdquo; entreated Foma, plaintively. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all yours! Well, what
+      else do you want? Well, you crushed me, bruised me, that serves me right!
+      Who am I? O Lord!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All listened attentively to his words, and in that attention there was
+      something prejudiced, something malicious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have lived,&rdquo; said Foma in a heavy voice. &ldquo;I have observed. I have
+      thought; my heart has become wounded with thoughts! And here&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He talked monotonously, colourlessly, and his speech resembled that of one
+      in delirium.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have spoken it, and I have only emptied myself, that&rsquo;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&rsquo;s nothing more there.
+      What have I to hope for now? And everything remains as it was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yakov Tarasovich burst into bitter laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet,&rdquo; said Foma, suddenly, loudly, with assurance, and his eyes again
+      flared up, &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He moved about in his chair, attempting to free his hands, and cried out,
+      flashing his eyes with fury:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Unbind my hands!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They came closer to him; the faces of the merchants became more severe,
+      and Reznikov said to him impressively:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t make a noise, don&rsquo;t be bothersome! We&rsquo;ll soon be in town. Don&rsquo;t
+      disgrace yourself, and don&rsquo;t disgrace us either. We are not going to take
+      you direct from the wharf to the insane asylum.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So!&rdquo; exclaimed Foma. &ldquo;So you are going to put me into an insane asylum?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No one replied. He looked at their faces and hung his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Behave peacefully! We&rsquo;ll unbind you!&rdquo; said someone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not necessary!&rdquo; said Foma in a low voice. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all the same. I spit
+      on it! Nothing will happen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And his speech again assumed the nature of a delirium.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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: &lsquo;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.&rsquo; Hey I
+      unbind my hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His face turned pale, his eyes closed, his shoulders quivered. Tattered
+      and crumpled he rocked about in the chair, striking his chest against the
+      edge of the table, and began to whisper something.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The merchants exchanged significant glances. Some, nudging one another in
+      the sides, shook their heads at Foma in silence. Yakov Mayakin&rsquo;s face was
+      dark and immobile as though hewn out of stone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall we perhaps unbind him?&rdquo; whispered Bobrov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When we get a little nearer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it&rsquo;s not necessary,&rdquo; said Mayakin in an undertone-&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll leave him
+      here. Let someone send for a carriage. We&rsquo;ll take him straight to the
+      asylum.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And where am I to rest?&rdquo; Foma muttered again. &ldquo;Whither shall I fling
+      myself?&rdquo; And he remained as though petrified in a broken, uncomfortable
+      attitude, all distorted, with an expression of pain on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mayakin rose from his seat and went to the cabin, saying softly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep an eye on him, he might fling himself overboard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry for the fellow,&rdquo; said Bobrov, looking at Yakov Tarasovich as
+      he departed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one is to blame for his madness,&rdquo; replied Reznikov, morosely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And Yakov,&rdquo; whispered Zubov, nodding his head in the direction of
+      Mayakin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What about Yakov? He loses nothing through it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, now he&rsquo;ll, ha, ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;ll be his guardian, ha, ha, ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Their quiet laughter and whisper mingled with the groaning of the engine
+      did not seem to reach Foma&rsquo;s ear. Motionlessly he stared into the distance
+      before him with a dim look, and only his lips were slightly quivering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His son has returned,&rdquo; whispered Bobrov.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know his son,&rdquo; said Yashchurov. &ldquo;I met him in Perm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What sort of a man is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A business-like, clever fellow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He manages a big business in Oosolye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Consequently Yakov does not need this one. Yes. So that&rsquo;s it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look, he&rsquo;s weeping!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Foma was sitting leaning against the back of the chair, and drooping his
+      head on the shoulder. His eyes were shut, and from under his eyelids tears
+      were trickling one after another. They coursed down his cheeks into his
+      moustache. Foma&rsquo;s lips quivered convulsively, and the tears fell from his
+      moustache upon his breast. He was silent and motionless, only his chest
+      heaved unevenly, and with difficulty. The merchants looked at his pale,
+      tear-stained face, grown lean with suffering, with the corners of his lips
+      lowered downward, and walked away from him quietly and mutely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then Foma remained alone, with his hands tied behind his back, sitting
+      at the table which was covered with dirty dishes and different remains of
+      the feast. At times he slowly opened his heavy, swollen eyelids, and his
+      eyes, through tears, looked dimly and mournfully at the table where
+      everything was dirty, upset, ruined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three years have passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      About a year ago Yakov Tarasovich Mayakin died. He died in full
+      consciousness, and remained true to himself; a few hours before his death
+      he said to his son, daughter and son-in-law:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, children, live in richness! Yakov has tasted everything, so now it
+      is time for Yakov to go. You see, I am dying, yet I am not despondent; and
+      the Lord will set that down to my credit. I have bothered Him, the Most
+      Gracious One, with jests only, but never with moans and complaints! Oh
+      Lord! I am glad that I have lived with understanding through Thy mercy!
+      Farewell, my children. Live in harmony, and don&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He died after a short but very painful agony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yozhov was for some reason or other banished from the town soon after the
+      occurrence on the steamer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A great commercial house sprang up in the town under the firm-name of
+      &ldquo;Taras Mayakin &amp; African Smolin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Nothing had been heard of Foma during these three years. It was rumoured
+      that upon his discharge from the asylum Mayakin had sent him away to some
+      relatives of his mother in the Ural.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not long ago Foma appeared in the streets of the town. He is worn out,
+      shabby and half-witted. Almost always intoxicated, he appears now gloomy,
+      with knitted brow, and with head bent down on his breast, now smiling the
+      pitiful and melancholy smile of a silly fanatic. Sometimes he is
+      turbulent, but that happens rarely. He lives with his foster-sister in a
+      little wing in the yard. His acquaintances among the merchants and
+      citizens often ridicule him. As Foma walks along the street, suddenly
+      someone shouts to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, you prophet, come here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet he rarely goes to those who call him; he shuns people and does not
+      care to speak with them. But when he does approach them they say to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, tell us something about doomsday, won&rsquo;t you? Ha, ha, ha! Prophet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
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+</pre>
+  </body>
+</html>
diff --git a/2709.txt b/2709.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e07ac02
--- /dev/null
+++ b/2709.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,15679 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Foma Gordyeff, by Maxim Gorky
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Foma Gordyeff
+       (The Man Who Was Afraid)
+
+Author: Maxim Gorky
+
+Translator: Herman Bernstein
+
+Posting Date: December 13, 2008 [EBook #2709]
+Release Date: July, 2001
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOMA GORDYEFF ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Martin Adamson
+
+
+
+
+
+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:
+
+"Oh God, Almighty Lord, who cureth every disease, cure also Thy servant
+Natalya, who has just given birth to a child; and restore her from the
+bed on which she now lies, for in the words of David, 'We indulge in
+lawlessness and are wicked in Thine eyes."'
+
+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: 'Oh 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, 'Oh Lord! Oh 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. Oh 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 sitting. He sat in the corner on a lounge, which was
+covered with oilcloth--and waited. On the table before him were a few
+bottles of vodka and beer, and plates with bread and dessert. He
+covered the windows and did not light the lamp; the faint light from
+the bonfire, penetrating through the curtains, fell on the table, on
+the bottles and on the wall, and trembled, now growing brighter, now
+fainter. It was quiet on the steamer and on the barges, only from
+the shore came indistinct sounds of conversation, and the river was
+splashing, scarcely audible, against the sides of the steamer. It seemed
+to Foma that somebody was hiding in the dark near by, listening to him
+and spying upon him. Now somebody is walking over the gang-plank of the
+barges with quick and heavy steps--the gang-plank strikes against the
+water clangously and angrily. Foma hears the muffled laughter of the
+captain and his lowered voice. Yefim stands by the cabin door and
+speaks softly, but somewhat reprimandingly, as though instructing. Foma
+suddenly felt like crying out:
+
+"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:
+
+"Oh 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? Oh 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. Oh Lord, have pity upon me through Thy great mercy." And
+heaving a penitent sigh, he would lift heavenward his stern eyes, grown
+dim now, devoid of their bright, sparkling glitter.
+
+"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.
+
+"Oh Lord, Jesus Christ!" said he in a low voice, making the sign of the
+cross. "Yes. There it is--the last hour of my life."
+
+"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. Oh 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.
+Oh 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! Oh 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, O--O--O! 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! Oh
+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. Oh 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! Oh Lord! I
+was ashamed to look upon them, and as I am telling you, she would say a
+few words, and everything would become clear to me. For I did not come
+to her with love alone--I came to her with all my soul! I sought--I
+thought that since she was so beautiful, consequently, I might become a
+man by her side!"
+
+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.
+
+"Oh 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: "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 can
+     And 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. Oh 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."
+
+"I 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 tone from
+the bottom of the river. He wished that they might not succeed, that
+they might feel embarrassed in his presence, and a wicked thought
+flashed through his mind:
+
+"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,"
+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."
+
+"Oh Lord!" Foma nodded his head. "It is hard for one to make himself
+understood. Yes, it is hard!" And irritated, he almost cried out: "What
+business? I have no yearning toward business! What is business? Business
+is merely a name--and if you should look into the depth, into the root
+of it--you'll find it is nothing but absurdity! Do I not understand it?
+I understand everything, I see everything, I feel everything! Only my
+tongue is dumb. What aim is there in business? Money? I have plenty
+of it! I could choke you to death with it, cover you with it. All this
+business is nothing but fraud. I meet business people--well, and what
+about them? Their greediness is immense, and yet they purposely
+whirl about in business that they might not see themselves. They hide
+themselves, the devils. Try to free them from this bustle--what will
+happen? Like blind men they will grope about hither and thither; they'll
+lose their mind--they'll go mad! I know it! Do you think that business
+brings happiness into man? No, that's not so--something else is missing
+here. This is not everything yet! The river flows that men may sail on
+it; the tree grows--to be useful; the dog--to guard the house. There is
+justification for everything in the world! And men, like cockroaches,
+are altogether superfluous on earth. Everything is for them, and
+they--what are they for? Aha! Wherein is their justification? Ha, ha,
+ha!"
+
+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. O 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 in everything!"
+
+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. Oh Lord! What shall I do? Oh, alone!
+Am I not wise? Am I not clever? But life has outwitted me also. What
+does it love? Whom does it fondle? It beats the good, and suffers not
+the bad to go unpunished, and no one understands life's justice."
+
+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--Oh people! You merit reward and
+respect! You've arranged life cleverly. Everything is good, everything
+is pleasant. Only you, our successors, you are devoid of all live
+feelings! Any little charlatan from among the commoners is cleverer than
+you! Take that Yozhov, for instance, what is he? And yet he represents
+himself as judge over us, and even over life itself--he has courage. But
+you, pshaw! You live like beggars! In your joy you are beasts, in your
+misfortune vermin! You are rotten! They ought to inject fire into your
+veins, they ought to take your skin off and strew salt upon your raw
+flesh, then you would have jumped!"
+
+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:
+
+"Oh 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.
+
+"Oh Lord Jesus Christ!" thought he, sadly gazing at the sky. "What a
+failure I am. There is nothing in me. God has put nothing into me. Of
+what use am I? Oh Lord Jesus!"
+
+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:
+
+"Oh Lord Jesus Christ! Other people do not understand anything either,
+but they think that all is known to them, and therefore it is easier for
+them to live. While I--I have no justification. Here it is night, and I
+am alone, I have no place to go, I am unable to say anything to anybody.
+I love no one--only my godfather, and he is soulless. If Thou hadst but
+punished him somehow! He thinks there is none cleverer and better on
+earth than himself. While Thou sufferest it. And the same with me. If
+some misfortune were but sent to me. If some illness were to overtake
+me. But here I am as strong as iron. I am drinking, leading a gay life.
+I live in filth, but the body does not even rust, and only my soul
+aches. Oh Lord! To what purpose is such a life?"
+
+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.
+
+"Oh Lord, Oh Lord!" thought Foma, painfully and bitterly, feeling that
+grief was oppressing his heart with ever greater power. "Here I am,
+alone, even as that fire. Only no light comes from me, nothing but fumes
+and smoke. If I could only meet a wise man! Someone to speak to. It is
+utterly impossible for me to live alone. I cannot do anything. I wish I
+might meet a man."
+
+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."
+
+"Oh 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 I am a clown in the employ of society. Fame pursues me
+here in town, dear. I walk along the street and I hear one driver say to
+another: 'There goes Yozhov! How cleverly he barks, the deuce take him!'
+Yes! Even this cannot be so easily attained."
+
+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. Oh devil! I myself and many others
+with me, we have all robbed ourselves for the sake of saving up
+something for life. Just think of it: desiring to make of myself a
+valuable man, I have underrated my individuality in every way possible.
+In order to study, and not die of starvation, I have for six years in
+succession taught blockheads how to read and write, and had to bear
+a mass of abominations at the hands of various papas and mammas, who
+humiliated me without any constraint. Earning my bread and tea, I
+could not, I had not the time to earn my shoes, and I had to turn to
+charitable institutions with humble petitions for loans on the strength
+of my poverty. If the philanthropists could only reckon up how much of
+the spirit they kill in man while supporting the life of his body! If
+they only knew that each rouble they give for bread contains ninety-nine
+copecks' worth of poison for the soul! If they could only burst from
+excess of their kindness and pride, which they draw from their holy
+activity! There is none on earth more disgusting and repulsive than he
+who gives alms, even as there is none more miserable than he who accepts
+it!"
+
+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
+love, with his back to the fire, and he saw before him a row of brightly
+illuminated, cheerful and simple faces. They were all excited from
+drinking, but were not yet intoxicated; they laughed, jested, tried to
+sing, drank, and ate cucumbers, white bread and sausages. All this had
+for Foma a particularly pleasant flavour; he grew bolder, seized by
+the general good feeling, and he longed to say something good to these
+people, to please them all in some way or other. Yozhov, sitting by
+his side, moved about on the ground, jostled him with his shoulder and,
+shaking his head, muttered something indistinctly.
+
+"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, Oh 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!"
+
+"Oh, 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, Oh 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? Oh 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, Oh 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! Oh Lord! If he were only a kind man! Make him kind, sincere. Oh
+Lord! A strange man comes, examines you, and takes you unto himself
+for years, if you please him! How disgraceful that is, how terrible. Oh
+Lord, my God! If I could only run away! If I only had someone to advise
+me what to do! Who is he? How can I learn to know him? I cannot do
+anything! And I have thought, ah, how much I have thought! I have read.
+To what purpose have I read? Why should I know that it is possible to
+live otherwise, so as I cannot live? And it may be that were it not for
+the books my life would be easier, simpler. How painful all this is!
+What a wretched, unfortunate being I am! Alone. If Taras at least were
+here."
+
+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.
+
+"Oh!" 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.
+
+"Oh, 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."
+
+"Oh Lord! Oh 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, Oh 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, Oh 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. O, you nits! How dearly your country
+has paid for you! What are you doing for its sake in return? Have you
+transformed the tears of the past into pearls? What have you contributed
+toward life? What have you accomplished? You have permitted yourselves
+to be conquered? What are you doing? You permit yourselves to be
+mocked.'"
+
+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, Oh, I am not a
+nightingale! Compared with them I am an ignorant man, I am only a
+feuilleton-writer, a man to amuse the public. Let them cry and silence
+me, let them do it! A blow will fall on my cheek, but the heart will
+nevertheless keep on throbbing! And I will say to them:
+
+"'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 a hissing 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.
+
+"Oh 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, Oh 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:
+
+"Oh 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.
+
+"Oh Lord, God of our fathers, who hadst commanded Noah, Thy servant, to
+build an ark for the preservation of the world," said the priest in his
+deep bass voice, lifting his eyes and outstretching his hands skyward,
+"protect also this vessel and give unto it a guarding angel of good and
+peace. Guard those that will sail upon it."
+
+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.
+
+"Oh 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? O 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! Oh Lord! I am glad that I have lived with
+understanding through Thy mercy! Farewell, my children. Live in harmony,
+and don't philosophize too much. Know this, not he is holy who hides
+himself from sin and lies calm. With cowardice you cannot defend
+yourself against sin, thus also says the parable of the talents. But he
+who wants to attain his goal in life fears not sin. God will pardon
+him an error. God has appointed man as the builder of life, but has not
+endowed him with too much wisdom. Consequently, He will not call in his
+outstanding debts severely. For He is holy and most merciful."
+
+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!"
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Foma Gordyeff, by Maxim Gorky
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+Project Gutenberg Etext of Foma Gordeev/Gordyeeff, by Maxim Gorky
+#3 in our series by Maxim Gorky
+
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+Title:  Foma Gordyeff
+Title:  (The Man Who Was Afraid)
+
+Author:  Maxim Gorky
+
+Translator:  Herman Bernstein
+
+July, 2001  [Etext #2709]
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+Project Gutenberg Etext of Foma Gordeev/Gordyeeff, by Maxim Gorky
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+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
+
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