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 miseryabound, comes the Byron of the twentieth century, the poet of thevagabond and the proletariat, Maxim Gorky. Not like the beggar, humblyimploring for a crust in the name of the Lord, nor like the jewellerdisplaying his precious stones to dazzle and tempt the eye, he comes tothe world, --nay, in accents of Tyrtaeus this commoner of Nizhni Novgorodspurs on his troops of freedom-loving heroes to conquer, as it were, the placid, self-satisfied literatures of to-day, and bring new life topale, bloodless frames. 

Like Byron's impassioned utterances, "borne on the tones of a wild andquite artless melody, " is Gorky's mad, unbridled, powerful voice, as hesings of the "madness of the brave, " of the barefooted dreamers, who areproud of their idleness, who possess nothing and fear nothing, who aregay in their misery, though miserable in their joy. 

Gorky's voice is not the calm, cultivated, well-balanced voiceof Chekhov, the Russian De Maupassant, nor even the apostolic, well-meaning, but comparatively faint voice of Tolstoy, the preacher: itis the roaring of a lion, the crash of thunder. In its elementary poweris the heart rending cry of a sincere but suffering soul that saw thebrutality of life in all its horrors, and now flings its experiencesinto the face of the world with unequalled sympathy and the courage of agiant. 

For Gorky, above all, has courage; he dares to say that he finds thevagabond, the outcast of society, more sublime and significant thansociety itself. 

His Bosyak, the symbolic incarnation of the Over-man, is as naive andas bold as a child--or as a genius. In the vehement passions of themagnanimous, compassionate hero in tatters, in the aristocracy of hissoul, and in his constant thirst for Freedom, Gorky sees the rebelliousand irreconcilable spirit of man, of future man, --in these he seessomething beautiful, something powerful, something monumental, and iscarried away by their strange psychology. For the barefooted dreamer'slife is Gorky's life, his ideals are Gorky's ideals, his pleasures andpains, 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 andlike 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 theVolga with fairy-tale rapidity, Ignat Gordyeeff, a young fellow, wasworking as water-pumper on one of the barges of the wealthy merchantZayev. 

Built like a giant, handsome and not at all stupid, he was one of thosepeople whom luck always follows everywhere--not because they are giftedand industrious, but rather because, having an enormous stock of energyat their command, they cannot stop to think over the choice of meanswhen 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, butconscience is an unconquerable power to the faint-hearted only; thestrong master it quickly and make it a slave to their desires, forthey unconsciously feel that, given room and freedom, conscience wouldfracture life. They sacrifice days to it; and if it should happenthat conscience conquered their souls, they are never wrecked, even indefeat--they are just as healthy and strong under its sway as when theylived without conscience. 

At the age of forty Ignat Gordyeeff was himself the owner of threesteamers and ten barges. On the Volga he was respected as a rich andclever man, but was nicknamed "Frantic, " because his life did not flowalong a straight channel, like that of other people of his kind, butnow and again, boiling up turbulently, ran out of its rut, away fromgain--the prime aim of his existence. It looked as though there werethree Gordyeeffs in him, or as though there were three souls in Ignat'sbody. One of them, the mightiest, was only greedy, and when Ignat livedaccording to its commands, he was merely a man seized with untamablepassion for work. This passion burned in him by day and by night, hewas completely absorbed by it, and, grabbing everywhere hundreds andthousands of roubles, it seemed as if he could never have enough ofthe 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 grainin 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 histhirst for money, he rose to the heights of poetry. But, giving up somuch strength to this hunt after the rouble, he was not greedy inthe narrow sense, and sometimes he even betrayed an inconceivable butsincere indifference to his property. Once, when the ice was driftingdown the Volga, he stood on the shore, and, seeing that the ice wasbreaking his new barge, having crushed it against the bluff shore, heejaculated:

"That's it. Again. Crush it! Now, once more! Try!"

"Well, Ignat, " asked his friend Mayakin, coming up to him, "the ice iscrushing about ten thousand out of your purse, eh?"

"That's nothing! I'll make another hundred. But look how the Volga isworking! Eh? Fine? She can split the whole world, like curd, with aknife. 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, sittingin the tavern on the shore, drank vodka and looked out of the window, watching the fragments of the "Boyarinya" drifting down the rivertogether 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 Volgahas 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 wasreally sorry--I didn't see it. How beautiful it must have looked whensuch a woodpile was blazing on the water in the dark night! Eh? It wasan enormous steamer. "

"Weren't you sorry for that either?"

"For the steamer? It is true, I did feel sorry for the steamer. Butthen it is mere foolishness to feel sorry! What's the use? I might havecried; tears cannot extinguish fire. Let the steamers burn. And eventhough everything be burned down, I'd spit upon it! If the soul is butburning to work, everything will be erected anew. Isn't it so?"

"Yes, " said Mayakin, smiling. "These are strong words you say. Andwhoever speaks that way, even though he loses all, will nevertheless berich. "

Regarding losses of thousands of roubles so philosophically, Ignat knewthe value of every kopeika; he gave to the poor very seldom, and only tothose that were altogether unable to work. When a more or less healthyman asked him for alms, Ignat would say, sternly:

"Get away! You can work yet. Go to my dvornik and help him to remove thedung. I'll pay you for it. "

Whenever he had been carried away by his work he regarded peoplemorosely and piteously, nor did he give himself rest while hunting forroubles. And suddenly--it usually happened in spring, when everything onearth became so bewitchingly beautiful and something reproachfully wildwas breathed down into the soul from the clear sky--Ignat Gordyeeffwould feel that he was not the master of his business, but its lowslave. He would lose himself in thought and, inquisitively looking abouthimself from under his thick, knitted eyebrows, walk about for days, angry and morose, as though silently asking something, which he fearedto ask aloud. They awakened his other soul, the turbulent and lustfulsoul of a hungry beast. Insolent and cynical, he drank, led a depravedlife, and made drunkards of other people. He went into ecstasy, andsomething like a volcano of filth boiled within him. It looked as thoughhe 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 faceswollen from drunkenness and sleeplessness, his eyes wandering madly, and roaring in a hoarse voice, he tramped about the town from one tavernto another, threw away money without counting it, cried and dancedto the sad tunes of the folk songs, or fought, but found no restanywhere--in anything. 

It happened one day that a degraded priest, a short, stout littlebald-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 andnasty creature, he played the part of a buffoon: they smeared hisbald head with mustard, made him go upon all-fours, drink mixtures ofdifferent brandies and dance comical dances; he did all this in silence, an idiotic smile on his wrinkled face, and having done what he was toldto 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, sometimesgave him nothing, but it sometimes happened that they threw him aten-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, wassilent. 

"Who? Speak!" roared Ignat. 

"I am a man--to be abused, " answered the priest, and the company burstout 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 merchantwith timid steps and remained standing opposite him. 

"Sit down beside me!" said Ignat, taking the frightened priest by thehand and seating him next to himself. "You are a very near man to me. Iam also a rascal! You, because of need; I, because of wantonness. I am arascal 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 ofIgnat and shook his head negatively. The company's laughter was now likethe rattling of thunder. Ignat could not make the priest abuse him. Thenhe 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, andshook out of his dirty lips the following speech, which he spoke almostin 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 coverher nakedness. "

"Ah, " said Ignat, and let go the priest's collar. Then he sat for a longtime 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 onhis breast. 

"It is the truth!" said one of the company, confirming the priest'swords. 

"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 coldwater was being poured on him. 

"Two!" roared Ignat, with flashing eyes. 

"What's the matter with you? How is it?" muttered the priest, stretchingout both hands to Ignat. 

"Three!"

"Ignat Matveyich!" cried the priest, in a thin, ringing voice. "ForGod's sake! For Christ's sake! Enough! I'll sell her! For her own sakeI'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 intoxicatedcrowd only laughed at him foolishly. 

"Silence!" cried Ignat, sternly, straightening himself to his fulllength and flashing his eyes. 

"Don't you understand, devils, what's going on here? It's enough to makeone cry, while you giggle. "

He walked up to the priest, went down on his knees before him, and saidto 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 beforeIgnat, and like a huge turtle, crept around near his feet, kissed hisknees and muttered something, sobbing. Ignat bent over him, lifted himfrom 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, laughedagain 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 forhappiness, to hear that this man was begging him to do somethingdegrading to himself. 

Finally Ignat arose from the floor, kicked the priest, and, flinging athim a package of money, said morosely, with a smile:

"Rabble! Can a man repent before such people? Some are afraid to hearof repentance, others laugh at a sinner. I was about to unburden myselfcompletely; the heart trembled. Let me, I thought. No, I didn't think atall. Just so! Get out of here! And see that you never show yourself tome again. Do you hear?"

"Oh, a queer fellow!" said the crowd, somewhat moved. 

Legends were composed about his drinking bouts in town; everybodycensured him strictly, but no one ever declined his invitation to thosedrinking bouts. Thus he lived for weeks. 

And unexpectedly he used to come home, not yet altogether freed fromthe odour of the kabaks, but already crestfallen and quiet. With humblydowncast eyes, in which shame was burning now, he silently listened tohis wife's reproaches, and, humble and meek as a lamb, went away to hisroom and locked himself in. For many hours in succession he knelt beforethe 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. Hiswife used to come up to the door on tiptoe and listen. Deep sighs wereheard from behind the door--like the breathing of a tired and sicklyhorse. 

"God! You see, " whispered Ignat in a muffled voice, firmly pressing thepalms of his hands to his broad breast. 

During the days of repentance he drank nothing but water and ate onlyrye bread. 

In the morning his wife placed at the door of his room a big bottle ofwater, 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 hewas not disturbed in any way; everybody tried to avoid him. A few dayslater he again appeared on the exchange, jested, laughed, made contractsto furnish corn as sharp-sighted as a bird of prey, a rare expert atanything concerning his affairs. 

But in all the moods of Ignat's life there was one passionate desirethat never left him--the desire to have a son; and the older he grew thegreater was this desire. Very often such conversation as this took placebetween him and his wife. In the morning, at her tea, or at noon duringdinner 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 offood--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 youunderstand? A son, an heir! To whom shall I give my capital after mydeath? Who shall pray for my sins? Shall I give it to a cloister? I havegiven them enough! Or shall I leave it to you? What a fine pilgrim youare! Even in church you think only of fish pies. If I die, you'll marryagain, and my money will be turned over to some fool. Do you think thisis what I am working for?"

And he was seized with sardonic anguish, for he felt that his life wasaimless if he should have no son to follow him. 

During the nine years of their married life his wife had borne him fourdaughters, all of whom had passed away. While Ignat had awaited theirbirth tremblingly, he mourned their death but little--at any rate theywere unnecessary to him. He began to beat his wife during the secondyear of their married life; at first he did it while being intoxicatedand without animosity, but just according to the proverb: "Love yourwife like your soul and shake her like a pear-tree;" but after eachconfinement, deceived in his expectation, his hatred for his wife grewstronger, and he began to beat her with pleasure, in revenge for notbearing him a son. 

Once while on business in the province of Samarsk, he received atelegram from relatives at home, informing him of his wife's death. He made the sign of the cross, thought awhile and wrote to his friendMayakin:

"Bury her in my absence; look after my property. "

Then he went to the church to serve the mass for the dead, and, havingprayed for the repose of the late Aquilina's soul, he began to thinkthat it was necessary for him to marry as soon as possible. 

He was then forty-three years old, tall, broad-shouldered, with a heavybass voice, like an arch-deacon; his large eyes looked bold and wisefrom under his dark eyebrows; in his sunburnt face, overgrown with athick, black beard, and in all his mighty figure there was much trulyRussian, crude and healthy beauty; in his easy motions as well as inhis slow, proud walk, a consciousness of power was evident--a firmconfidence 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 thedaughter of an Ural Cossack. The father of the bride, notwithstandingthat Ignat was known even in Ural as a "pranky" man, gave him hisdaughter in marriage, and toward autumn Ignat Gordyeeff came home witha young Cossack-wife. Her name was Natalya. Tall, well-built, with largeblue eyes and with a long chestnut braid, she was a worthy match for thehandsome Ignat. He was happy and proud of his wife and loved her withthe passionate love of a healthy man, but he soon began to contemplateher thoughtfully, with a vigilant eye. 

Seldom did a smile cross the oval, demure face of his wife--she wasalways thinking of something foreign to life, and in her calm blue eyessomething dark and misanthropic was flashing at times. Whenever she wasfree from household duties she seated herself in the most spacious roomby the window, and sat there silently for two or three hours. Herface was turned toward the street, but the look of her eyes was soindifferent to everything that lived and moved there beyond the window, and at the same time it was so fixedly deep, as though she were lookinginto her very soul. And her walk, too, was queer. Natalya moved aboutthe spacious room slowly and carefully, as if something invisiblerestrained the freedom of her movements. Their house was filled withheavy and coarsely boastful luxury; everything there was resplendent, screaming of the proprietor's wealth, but the Cossack-wife walked pastthe costly furniture and the silverware in a shy and somewhat frightenedmanner, as though fearing lest they might seize and choke her. Evidently, the noisy life of the big commercial town did not interestthis silent woman, and whenever she went out driving with her husband, her eyes were fixed on the back of the driver. When her husband tookher visiting she went and behaved there just as queerly as at home; whenguests came to her house, she zealously served them refreshments, takingno interest whatever in what was said, and showing preference towardnone. Only Mayakin, a witty, droll man, at times called forth on herface 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 inextinguishablewood-pile, and every one of us blazes up sometimes. She, too, will takefire; 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 haveplenty 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 workout your salvation. You better sin while you are young. Shall we go outfor a drive?"

"I don't feel like going out. "

He used to sit down beside her and embrace her. She was cold, returninghis caresses but sparingly. Looking straight into her eyes, he used tosay:

"Natalya! Tell me--why are you so sad? Do you feel lonesome here withme?"

"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 italways seems to me that all this is not real. "

She waved her hand around her, pointing at the walls, the furniture andeverything. Ignat did not reflect on her words, and, laughing, said toher:

"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 thoughshe were sleeping all the time, caring for nothing, going nowhere, except to the church, and shunning everybody. And he used to consoleher:

"Just wait. You'll bear a son, and then an altogether different lifewill commence. You are so sad because you have so little anxiety, and hewill 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 asucculent 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, norwinking an eye. 

Ignat was accustomed to seeing people tremble before his wrath, and itwas 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 shechose to she wouldn't admit him to her, even though she were to lose herlife. 

"Oh, " he growled, and went away. 

But having retreated once, he would not do it again: he could not bearthat a woman, and his wife at that, should not bow before him--thiswould have degraded him. He then began to realise that henceforth hiswife would never yield to him in any matter, and that an obstinatestrife 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 desirewas already raging to start the strife, that he might enjoy his victorythe sooner. 

But about four days later, Natalya Fominichna announced to her husbandthat 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 youbear 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 youlike!"

"This is not within our power; it's the will of the Lord, " said she in alow voice. 

"Yes, the Lord's!" exclaimed Ignat with bitterness and drooped his headsadly. 

From that moment he began to look after his wife as though she were alittle child. 

"Why do you sit near the window? Look out. You'll catch cold in yourside; you may take sick, " he used to say to her, both sternly andmildly. "Why do you skip on the staircase? You may hurt yourself. Andyou had better eat more, eat for two, that he may have enough. "

And the pregnancy made Natalya more morose and silent, as though shewere looking still deeper into herself, absorbed in the throbbing of newlife within her. But the smile on her lips became clearer, and in hereyes flashed at times something new, weak and timid, like the first rayof the dawn. 

When, at last, the time of confinement came, it was early on an autumnmorning. At the first cry of pain she uttered, Ignat turned pale andstarted to say something, but only waved his hand and left the bedroom, where his wife was shrinking convulsively, and went down to the littleroom which had served his late mother as a chapel. He ordered vodka, seated himself by the table and began to drink sternly, listening to thealarm in the house and to the moans of his wife that came from above. Inthe corner of the room, the images of the ikons, indifferent and dark, stood out confusedly, dimly illumined by the glimmering light of theimage 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, therewas a clattering of dishes, people were bustling hurriedly, up and downthe staircase. Everything was being done in haste, yet time was creepingslowly. Ignat could hear a muffled voice from above, "As it seems, she cannot be delivered that way. We had better send tothe church to open the gates of the Lord. "

Vassushka, one of the hangers-on in his house, entered the room next toIgnat's and began to pray in a loud whisper:

"God, our Lord, descend from the skies in Thy benevolence, born ofthe Holy Virgin. Thou dost divine the helplessness of human creatures. Forgive Thy servant. "

And suddenly drowning all other sounds, a superhuman, soul-rending cryrang out, and a continuous moan floated softly over the room and diedout in the corners, which were filled now with the twilight. Ignat caststern 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 crossedhimself in silence, bowing before the ikons; then he went back to thetable, drank the vodka, which had not made him dizzy during these hours, dozed off, and thus passed the whole night and following morning untilnoon. 

And then, at last, the midwife came down hastily, crying to him in athin, 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 hisbreast, muttered in a trembling voice:

"Thank God! Evidently Thou didst not want that my stem should bechecked! My sins before Thee shall not remain without repentance. Ithank Thee, Oh Lord. Oh!" and, rising to his feet, he immediately beganto command noisily:

"Eh! Let someone go to St. Nicholas for a priest. Tell him that IgnatMatveyich asked him to come! Let him come to make a prayer for thewoman. "

The chambermaid appeared and said to him with alarm:

"Ignat Matveyich, Natalya Fominichna is calling you. She is feelingbad. "

"Why bad? It'll pass!" he roared, his eyes flashing cheerfully. "Tellher I'll be there immediately! Tell her she's a fine fellow! I'll justget a present for her and I'll come! Hold on! Prepare something to eatfor the priest. Send somebody after Mayakin!"

His enormous figure looked as though it had grown bigger, andintoxicated with joy, he stupidly tossed about the room; he was smiling, rubbing his hands and casting fervent glances at the images; he crossedhimself 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 themidwife was bathing in a tub. Noticing him, Ignat stood up on tiptoes, and, folding his hands behind his back, walked up to him, steppingcarefully and comically putting forth his lips. The little one waswhimpering and sprawling in the water, naked, impotent and pitiful. 

"Look out there! Handle him more carefully! He hasn't got any bonesyet, " said Ignat to the midwife, softly. 

She began to laugh, opening her toothless mouth, and cleverly throwingthe 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 ashadow 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 whitepillow, over which her dark locks were spread out like dead snakes. Yellow, lifeless, with black circles around her large, wide-openeyes--her face was strange to him. And the glance of those terribleeyes, motionlessly fixed somewhere in the distance through thewall--that, too, was unfamiliar to Ignat. His heart, compressed by apainful 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 hisface:

"I'll not survive this. "

Her lips were gray and cold, and when he touched them with his own heunderstood that death was already within her. 

"Oh, Lord!" he uttered, in an alarmed whisper, feeling that fright waschoking his throat and suppressing his breath. 

"Natasha? What will become of him? He must be nursed! What is the matterwith 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, buthe heard nothing--he could not turn his eyes away from the frightfulface of his wife. Her lips were moving, and he heard words spoken ina low voice, but could not understand them. Sitting on the edge of thebed, he spoke in a dull and timid voice: "Just think of it! He cannotdo without you; he's an infant! Gather strength! Drive this thought awayfrom you! Drive it away. "

He talked, yet he understood he was speaking useless words. Tears welledup within him, and in his breast there came a feeling heavy as stone andcold as ice. 

"Forgive me. Goodbye! Take care. Look out. Don't drink, " whisperedNatalya, 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 servantNatalya, who has just given birth to a child; and restore her from thebed on which she now lies, for in the words of David, 'We indulge inlawlessness and are wicked in Thine eyes. "'

The old man's voice was interrupted now and then, his thin face wasstern 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 fellon the bare hand of his wife. But the hand, evidently, did not feel thatthe tears were dropping upon it: it remained motionless, and the skindid not tremble from the fall of the tears. After the prayer Natalyabecame unconscious and a day later she died, without saying anotherword--she died just as quietly as she had lived. Having arrangeda pompous funeral, Ignat christened his son, named him Foma, andunwillingly gave his boy into the family of the godfather, his oldfriend Mayakin, whose wife, too, had given birth to a child not longbefore. The death of his wife had sown many gray hairs in Ignat's darkbeard, 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, wheresturdy, old spreading linden trees were growing magnificently. The rankbranches covered the windows with a dense, dark embroidery, and the sunin broken rays peeped into the small rooms, which were closely crowdedwith miscellaneous furniture and big trunks, wherefore a stern andmelancholy semi-darkness always reigned there supreme. The family wasdevout--the odour of wax, of rock-rose and of image-lamp oil filled thehouse, and penitent sighs and prayers soared about in the air. Religiousceremonials were performed infallibly, with pleasure, absorbing all thefree power of the souls of the dwellers of the house. Feminine figuresalmost noiselessly moved about the rooms in the half-dark, stifling, heavy atmosphere. They were dressed in black, wore soft slippers ontheir feet, and always had a penitent look on their faces. 

The family of Yakov Tarazovich Mayakin consisted of himself, his wife, adaughter and five kinswomen, the youngest of whom was thirty-four yearsold. These were alike devout and impersonal, and subordinate to AntoninaIvanovna, the mistress of the house. She was a tall, thin woman, witha dark face and with stern gray eyes, which had an imperious andintelligent expression. Mayakin also had a son Taras, but his namewas never mentioned in the house; acquaintances knew that since thenineteen-year-old Taras had gone to study in Moscow--he married therethree years later, against his father's will--Yakov disowned him. Tarasdisappeared without leaving any trace. It was rumoured that he had beensent to Siberia for something. 

Yakov Mayakin was very queerly built. Short, thin, lively, with a littlered beard, sly greenish eyes, he looked as though he said to each andevery one:

"Never mind, sir, don't be uneasy. Even though I know you for what youare, if you don't annoy me I will not give you away. "

His beard resembled an egg in shape and was monstrously big. His highforehead, covered with wrinkles, joined his bald crown, and it seemedas though he really had two faces--one an open, penetrating andintellectual face, with a long gristle nose, and above this face anotherone, eyeless and mouthless, covered with wrinkles, behind which Mayakinseemed to hide his eyes and his lips until a certain time; and when thattime had arrived, he would look at the world with different eyes andsmile a different smile. 

He was the owner of a rope-yard and kept a store in town near theharbour. In this store, filled up to the ceiling with rope, twine, hempand tow, he had a small room with a creaking glass door. In this roomstood a big, old, dilapidated table, and near it a deep armchair, covered with oilcloth, in which Mayakin sat all day long, sippingtea and always reading the same "Moskovskiya Vedomosty, " to which hesubscribed, year in and year out, all his life. Among merchants heenjoyed the respect and reputation of a "brainy" man, and he was veryfond 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 timehe 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 lookof his dark, almond-shaped eyes. Quiet, silent and persistent in hischildish desires, he spent all his days over his playthings, withMayakin'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 tothe children she spoke in a low voice, in words of monosyllables. Havingdevoted her time to learning prayers, she had no stories to tell Foma. 

Foma was on friendly terms with the little girl, but when she angeredor teased him he turned pale, his nostrils became distended, his eyesstared comically and he beat her audaciously. She cried, ran to hermother and complained to her, but Antonina loved Foma and she paid butlittle attention to her daughter's complaints, which strengthened thefriendship between the children still more. Foma's day was long anduniform. Getting out of bed and washing himself, he used to placehimself before the image, and under the whispering of the pock-markedBuzya he recited long prayers. Then they drank tea and ate manybiscuits, cakes and pies. After tea--during the summer--the childrenwent to the big palisade, which ran down to a ravine, whose bottomalways looked dark and damp, filling them with terror. The children werenot allowed to go even to the edge of the ravine, and this inspired inthem a fear of it. In winter, from tea time to dinner, they played inthe house when it was very cold outside, or went out in the yard toslide down the big ice hill. 

They had dinner at noon, "in Russian style, " as Mayakin said. At first abig 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 smallpieces; then they ate roast meat--pork, goose, veal or rennet, withgruel--then again a bowl of soup with vermicelli, and all this wasusually followed by dessert. They drank kvass made of red bilberries, juniper-berries, or of bread--Antonina Ivanovna always carried a stockof different kinds of kvass. They ate in silence, only now and thenuttering a sigh of fatigue; the children each ate out of a separatebowl, 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 wasfilled with snoring and with drowsy sighs. 

Awaking from sleep, they drank tea and talked about local news, thechoristers, the deacons, weddings, or the dishonourable conduct of thisor 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 anythingelse. Putting his heavy, silver-framed spectacles on his big, ravenousnose, he looked around at his listeners to see whether all were in theirplaces. 

They were all seated where he was accustomed to see them and on theirfaces 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 hisbald head with his hand. He sat and, listening, pictured to himselfthis man from the land of Uz. The man was tall and bare, his eyes wereenormously large, like those of the image of the Saviour, and his voicewas 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 hedgedin?"

Dread fell on Foma, and he trembled, slumber fled from his eyes, heheard the voice of his godfather, who said, with a light smile, now andthen 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 breakthe sky; he would not rend it asunder with his terrible arms. And thenFoma sees the man again--he sits on the ground, "his flesh is clothedwith worms and clods of dust, his skin is broken. " But now he is smalland 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 Jobare from Eliphaz the Temanite's reply--Translator's Note. ]

"He says this to God, " explained Mayakin, inspired. "How, says he, can Ibe 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 hislisteners. 

"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 dissatisfiedhe 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 arecheerless. "

"You disturb yourself rather too soon, " Mayakin smilingly replied. 

He, too, loved his godson, and when Ignat announced to him one day thathe 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'scrying. "

"He'll cease crying. I did not beget him for you. The air of theplace is disagreeable. It is as tedious here as in an old believer'shermitage. 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 forme 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 somebodyto 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 andwith a mouth devoid of teeth. Tall, stooping, dressed in gray, with grayhair, 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 herblack eyes, which beamed so tenderly on him, he at once pressed his headclose to her knees in confidence. 

"My sickly little orphan!" she said in a velvet-like voice that trembledfrom 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'seyes with curiosity and expectation on his face. This old woman led himinto a new world, hitherto unknown to him. The very first day, havingput him to bed, she seated herself by his side, and, bending over thechild, asked him:

"Shall I tell you a story, Fomushka?"

And after that Foma always fell asleep amid the velvet-like sounds ofthe old woman's voice, which painted before him a magic life. Giantsdefeating monsters, wise princesses, fools who turned out to bewise--troops of new and wonderful people were passing before the boy'sbewitched imagination, and his soul was nourished by the wholesomebeauty of the national creative power. Inexhaustible were the treasuresof the memory and the fantasy of this old woman, who oftentimes, in slumber, appeared to the boy--now like the witch of thefairy-tales--only a kind and amiable old witch--now like the beautiful, all-wise Vasilisa. His eyes wide open, holding his breath, the boylooked into the darkness that filled his chamber and watched it as itslowly trembled in the light of the little lamp that was burning beforethe image. And Foma filled this darkness with wonderful pictures offairy-tale life. Silent, yet living shadows, were creeping over thewalls and across the floor; it was both pleasant and terrible to him towatch their life; to deal out unto them forms and colours, and, havingendowed them with life, instantly to destroy them all with a singletwinkle of the eyelashes. Something new appeared in his dark eyes, something more childish and naive, less grave; the loneliness and thedarkness, awaking in him a painful feeling of expectation, stirred hiscuriosity, compelled him to go out to the dark corner and see whatwas hidden there beyond the thick veils of darkness. He went and foundnothing, but he lost no hope of finding it out. 

He feared his father and respected him. Ignat's enormous size, hisharsh, trumpet-like voice, his bearded face, his gray-haired head, hispowerful, long arms and his flashing eyes--all these gave to Ignat theresemblance of the fairy-tale robbers. 

Foma shuddered whenever he heard his voice or his heavy, firm steps; butwhen the father, smiling kind-heartedly, and talking playfully in a loudvoice, took him upon his knees or threw him high up in the air with hisbig hands the boy's fear vanished. 

Once, when the boy was about eight years old, he asked his father, whohad 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 eyesslyly, satisfied that he had already read the secret of his father'slife. 

"I am a merchant!" said Ignat, sternly, but after a moment's thought hesmiled kind-heartedly and added: "And you are a little fool! I deal incorn, I run a line of steamers. Have you seen the 'Yermak'? Well, thatis 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 againdrawled out regretfully: "But I thought you were a robber or a giant. "

"I tell you I am a merchant!" repeated Ignat, insinuatingly, and therewas something discontented and almost timorous in his glance at thedisenchanted face of his son. 

"Like Grandpa Fedor, the Kalatch baker?" asked Foma, having thoughtawhile. 

"Well, yes, like him. Only I am richer than he. I have more money thanFedor. "

"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 facetoward his father, began to tell him quickly: "Maksimka, the robber, came once to a certain town and filled up twelve barrels with moneybelonging to some rich man there. And he took different silverware androbbed a church. And cut up a man with his sword and threw him down thesteeple because he tried to sound an alarm. "

"Did your aunt tell you that?" asked Ignat admiring his son'senthusiasm. 

"Yes! Why?"

"Nothing!" said Ignat, laughing. "So you thought your father was arobber. "

"And perhaps you were a robber long ago?"

Foma again returned to his theme, and it was evident on his face that hewould 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 tobe a robber? They are all sinners, the robbers. They don't believe inGod--they rob churches. They are all cursed in the churches. Yes. Lookhere, my son, you'll have to start to study soon. It is time; you'llsoon be nine years old. Start with the help of God. You'll study duringthe 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 sitdown 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 notread these syllables without laughter. Foma succeeded easily in gainingknowledge, almost without any effort, and soon he was reading the firstpsalm of the first section of the psalter: "Blessed is the man thatwalketh not in the counsel of the ungodly. "

"That's it, my darling! So, Fomushka, that's right!" chimed in his auntwith emotion, enraptured by his progress. 

"You're a fine fellow, Foma!" Ignat would approvingly say when informedof 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 whenwith them, the old woman readily became one of them. 

They played at "hide and seek" and "blind man's buff;" the childrenwere pleased and amused at seeing Anfisa, her eyes covered with ahandkerchief, her arms outstretched, walking about the room carefully, and yet striking against chairs and tables, or looking for them in eachand 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 wasadorning, according to its strength and abilities, the life-path of twochildren. 

Ignat used to go to the Exchange early in the morning and sometimesstayed away until evening; in the evening he used to go to thetown council or visiting or elsewhere. Sometimes he returned homeintoxicated. At first Foma, on such occasions, ran from him and hidhimself, then he became accustomed to it, and learned that his fatherwas better when drunk than sober: he was kinder and plainer and wassomewhat comical. If it happened at night, the boy was usually awakenedby 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? Youare gray already?"

"Anfisa! May I see my son, with one eye?" Foma knew that Anfisa wouldnot let him in, and he again fell asleep in spite of the noise oftheir voices. But when Ignat came home intoxicated during the day heimmediately seized his son with his enormous paws and carried him aboutthe rooms, asking him with an intoxicated, happy laughter:

"Fomka! What do you wish? Speak! Presents? Playthings? Ask! Because youmust know there's nothing in this world that I wouldn't buy for you. Ihave a million! Ha, ha, ha! And I'll have still more! Understand? All'syours! Ha, ha!"

And suddenly his enthusiasm was extinguished like a candle put out bya 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 andfrightened 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 cornerof 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 youwant him to take sick?" interposed Anfisa, and that was sufficient forIgnat to rush off hastily, muttering:

"Well, well, well! I am going, I am going, but don't cry! Don't make anynoise. 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 hisson with stupid questions and advice; gloomy, sighing, and with fear inhis eyes, he walked about the house quite out of sorts. 

"Why do you vex the Lord?" said Anfisa. "Beware, your grumblings willreach Him, and He will punish you for your complaints against Hisgraces. "

"Eh, sister!" sighed Ignat. "And if it should happen? My entire life iscrumbling away! Wherefore have I lived? No one knows. "

Similar scenes and the striking transitions of his father from one moodto another frightened the child at first, but he soon became accustomedto 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 saidindifferently:

"Auntie, papa came home drunk again. "

. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 

Spring came, and, fulfilling his promise, Ignat took his son along onone of his steamers, and here a new life, abounding in impressions, wasopened before Foma's eyes. 

The beautiful and mighty "Yermak, " Gordyeeff's steam tow-boat, wasrapidly floating down the current, and on each side the shores of thepowerful and beautiful Volga were slowly moving past him--the left side, all bathed in sunshine, stretching itself to the very end of the skylike a pompous carpet of verdure; the right shore, its high banksovergrown with woods, swung skyward, sinking in stern repose. 

The broad-bosomed river stretched itself majestically between theshores; noiselessly, solemnly and slowly flowed its waters, conscious oftheir invincible power; the mountainous shore is reflected in the waterin a black shadow, while on the left side it is adorned with gold andwith verdant velvet by a border of sand and the wide meadows. Here andthere villages appear on mountain and on meadow, the sun shines brighton the window-panes of the huts and on the yellow roofs of straw, thechurch crosses sparkle amid the verdure of the trees, gray wind-millwings revolve lazily in the air, smoke from the factory chimney risesskyward in thick, black curling clouds. Crowds of children in blue, redor white shirts, standing on the banks, shouted loudly at the sight ofthe steamer, which had disturbed the quiet of the river, and from underthe steamer's wheels the cheerful waves are rushing toward the feetof 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 thereon the waves as in a cradle. Trees stood out above the water; sometimesmany of them are drowned in the overflow of the banks, and these standin 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 arein continual motion under the blows of the waves; the men on the raftsin blue shirts, staggering, look at the steamer and laugh and shoutsomething. The big, beautiful vessel goes sidewise on the river; theyellow scantlings with which it is loaded sparkle like gold and aredimly reflected in the muddy, vernal water. A passenger steamer comesfrom the opposite side and whistles--the resounding echo of the whistleloses itself in the woods, in the gorges of the mountainous bank, anddies away there. In the middle of the river the waves stirred up by thetwo vessels strike against one another and splash against the steamers'sides, and the vessels are rocked upon the water. On the slope of themountainous bank are verdant carpets of winter corn, brown strips offallow ground and black strips of ground tilled for spring corn. Birds, like little dots, soar over them, and are clearly seen in the bluecanopy of the sky; nearby a flock is grazing; in the distance they looklike children's toys; the small figure of the shepherd stands leaning ona staff, and looks at the river. 

The glare of the water--freedom and liberty are everywhere, the meadowsare cheerfully verdant and the blue sky is tenderly clear; a restrainedpower is felt in the quiet motion of the water; above it the generousMay sun is shining, the air is filled with the exquisite odour offir trees and of fresh foliage. And the banks keep on meeting them, caressing the eyes and the soul with their beauty, as new picturesconstantly 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 thatlaziness there is an odd gracefulness, and it seems as though beyond thelaziness a colossal power were concealed; an invincible power, but asyet deprived of consciousness, as yet without any definite desires andaims. And the absence of consciousness in this half-slumbering lifethrows shades of sadness over all the beautiful slope. Submissivepatience, silent hope for something new and more inspiriting are heardeven in the cry of the cuckoo, wafted to the river by the wind from theshore. The melancholy songs sound as though imploring someone for help. And at times there is in them a ring of despair. The river answers thesongs 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 ofthe banks, and it seemed to him he was moving along a broad silver pathin those wonderful kingdoms inhabited by the sorcerers and giants of hisfamiliar fairy-tales. At times he would load his father with questionsabout everything that passed before them. Ignat answered him willinglyand concisely, but the boy was not pleased with his answers; theycontained nothing interesting and intelligible to him, and he did nothear 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 onthe 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 examinedthem in company with his father, but was still unsatisfied and returnedto 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 livethere. "

"And are there no righteous cities on the sea?"

"No, " said Ignat, and, after a moment's silence, added: "The sea water isbitter 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 toPersia. Did you see the Persians selling pistachio-nuts and apricots inthe 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'tgo 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 itends. "

"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 intothe 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, playedwith him and rowed him about the anchoring place, when Ignat went totown 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 fatherwhat he heard about him. But one day, in Astrakhan, while the steamerwas taking in a cargo of fuel, Foma heard the voice of Petrovich, themachinist:

"He ordered such a lot of wood to be taken in. What an absurd man! Firsthe loads the steamer up to the very deck, and then he roars. 'Youbreak the machinery too often, ' he says. 'You pour oil, ' he says, 'atrandom. '"

The voice of the gray and stern pilot replied:

"It's all his exorbitant greediness. Fuel is cheaper here, so he istaking all he can. He is greedy, the devil!"

"Oh, how greedy!"

This word, repeated many times in succession, fixed itself in Foma'smemory, 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 conversationbetween the pilot and the machinist. Ignat's face became gloomy, and hiseyes 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 haveso 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 amtheir 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 thesteamer. 

"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 themen 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 ropeand 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 workagain. 

"And papa says to me: 'You, ' he says, 'you are master here--you candrive them all away if you wish. '"

"So, " said the sailor, gloomily looking at the boy, who was soenthusiastically boasting to him of his supreme power. From that dayon Foma noticed that the crew did not regard him as before. Some becamemore obliging and kind, others did not care to speak to him, andwhen they did speak to him, it was done angrily, and not at allentertainingly, as before. Foma liked to watch while the deck was beingwashed: their trousers rolled up to their knees, or sometimes taken offaltogether, the sailors, with swabs and brushes in their hands, cleverlyran about the deck, emptying pails of water on it, besprinkling oneanother, laughing, shouting, falling. Streams of water ran in everydirection, and the lively noise of the men intermingled with the graysplash of the water. Before, the boy never bothered the sailors in thisplayful and light work; nay, he took an active part, besprinkling themwith water and laughingly running away, when they threatened to pourwater over him. But after Yakov and Petrovich had been discharged, hefelt that he was in everybody's way, that no one cared to play with himand that no one regarded him kindly. Surprised and melancholy, he leftthe deck, walked up to the wheel, sat down there, and, offended, hethoughtfully began to stare at the distant green bank and the dentedstrip of woods upon it. And below, on the deck, the water was splashingplayfully, and the sailors were gaily laughing. He yearned to go down tothem, but something held him back. 

"Keep away from them as much as possible, " he recalled his father'swords; "you are their master. " Then he felt like shouting at thesailors--something harsh and authoritative, so his father would scoldthem. He thought a long time what to say, but could not think ofanything. Another two, three days passed, and it became perfectly clearto him that the crew no longer liked him. He began to feel lonesome onthe steamer, and amid the parti-coloured mist of new impressions, stillmore often there came up before Foma the image of his kind and gentleAunt Anfisa, with her stories, and smiles, and soft, ringing laughter, which filled the boy's soul with a joyous warmth. He still lived in theworld of fairy-tales, but the invisible and pitiless hand of realitywas already at work tearing the beautiful, fine web of the wonderful, through which the boy had looked at everything about him. The incidentwith the machinist and the pilot directed his attention to hissurroundings; Foma's eyes became more sharp-sighted. A conscioussearchfulness appeared in them and in his questions to his father rang ayearning to understand which threads and springs were managing the deedsof 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 deckof the ship with hand-barrows, said loudly and angrily:

"No, he has no conscience whatever! There was no agreement that I shouldcarry wood. A sailor--well, one's business is clear--but to carry woodinto the bargain--thank you! That means for me to take off the skin Ihave not sold. He is without conscience! He thinks it is clever to sapthe 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 woodon his stretcher than the others, and walked faster than the others. None of the sailors replied to Yefim's grumbling, and even the one whoworked with him was silent, only now and then protesting against theearnestness with which Yefim piled up the wood on the stretchers. 

"Enough!" he would say, morosely, "you are not loading a horse, areyou?"

"And you had better keep quiet. You were put to the cart--cart it anddon't kick--and should your blood be sucked--keep quiet again. What canyou say?"

Suddenly Ignat appeared, walked up to the sailor and, stopping in frontof him, asked sternly:

"What were you talking about?"

"I am talking--I know, " replied Yefim, hesitating. "There was noagreement--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 noway out of it, he let the log of wood fall from his hands, rubbed hispalms 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 thesailor fell heavily on the wood. He arose immediately and worked on insilence. Blood was trickling from his bruised face on to the white barkof the birch wood; he wiped the blood off his face with the sleeve ofhis shirt, looked at his sleeve and, heaving a sigh, maintained silence, and when he went past Foma with the hand-harrows, two big, turbidtears were trembling on his face, near the bridge of his nose, and Fomanoticed them. 

At dinner Foma was pensive and now and then glanced at his father withfear 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, loweringhis 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 lookedinterrogatively 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, " saidthe 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 hisbusiness; I may argue, because I am the master. It isn't simple to bemaster. A punch wouldn't kill him, but will make him wiser. That'sthe way. Eh, Foma! You are an infant, and you do not understand thesethings. I must teach you how to live. It may be that my days on earthare numbered. "

Ignat was silent for awhile, drank some more vodka and went oninstinctively:

"It is necessary to have pity on men. You are right in doing so. But youmust pity them sensibly. First look at a man, find out what good thereis in him, and what use may be made of him! And if you find him tobe strong and capable--pity and assist him. And if he is weak andnot inclined to work--spit upon him, pass him by. Just keep this inmind--the man who complains against everything, who sighs and moans allthe time--that man is worth nothing; he merits no compassion and youwill do him no good whatever, even if you help him. Pity for such peoplemakes them more morose, spoils them the more. In your godfather's houseyou saw various kinds of people--unfortunate travellers and hangers-on, and all sorts of rabble. Forget them. They are not men, they are justshells, and are good for nothing. They are like bugs, fleas and otherunclean things. Nor do they live for God's sake--they have no God. Theycall 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 donothing. And all they accomplish is the soul's decay. They are in yourway and you trip over them. A good man among them--like fresh applesamong bad ones--may soon be spoilt, and no one will profit by it. Youare young, that's the trouble. You cannot comprehend my words. Help himwho is firm in misery. He may not ask you for assistance, but think ofit yourself, and assist him without his request. And if he should happento be proud and thus feel offended at your aid, do not allow him to seethat you are lending him a helping hand. That's the way it should bedone, according to common sense! Here, for example, two boards, let ussay, fall into the mud--one of them is a rotten one, the other, a goodsound 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 notto soil your feet. As to the sound board, lift it up and place it in thesun; if it can be of no use to you, someone else may avail himself ofit. That's the way it is, my son! Listen to me and remember. There is noreason why Yefim should be pitied. He is a capable fellow, he knows hisvalue. You cannot knock his soul out with a box on the ear. I'll justwatch him for about a week, and then I'll put him at the helm. Andthere, I am quite sure, he'll be a good pilot. And if he should bepromoted to captain, he wouldn't lose courage--he would make a clevercaptain! That's the way people grow. I have gone through this schoolmyself, dear. I, too, received more than one box on the ear when I wasof his age. Life, my son, is not a dear mother to all of us. It is ourexacting 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; ofhow they live, and sometimes pretend to be unfortunate in order to liveon other people's money; and then he told him of himself, and of how herose from a plain working man to be proprietor of a large concern. Theboy listened to his words, looked at him and felt as though his fatherwere coming nearer and nearer to him. And though his father's storydid not contain the material of which Aunt Anfisa's fairy-tales werebrimful, there was something new in it, something clearer andmore comprehensible than in her fairy-tales, and something just asinteresting. Something powerful and warm began to throb within hislittle 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 Fomaembraced his neck, and, pressing his cheek to that of his father, wassilent and breathed rapidly. 

"My son, " whispered Ignat in a dull voice, "My darling! My joy! Learnwhile 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 hisson: the boy was used to him; he was tired of looking at his enormousfigure, and feared him slightly, but was at the same time aware that hisfather would do anything for him that he wanted. Sometimes Ignat wouldstay 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 hislove for Aunt Anfisa. When Ignat returned the boy was glad, but he couldhardly tell whether it was his father's arrival that gladdened him orthe playthings he brought with him. But now, at the sight of Ignat, theboy ran to meet him, grasped him by the hand, laughed, stared into hiseyes and felt weary if he did not see him for two or three hours: Hisfather became interesting to him, and, rousing his curiosity, he fairlydeveloped love and respect for himself. Every time that they weretogether 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 theVolga was somewhat ominously calm, they reached Kazan and anchored nearUslon at the end of an enormous fleet of vessels. The clinking of theanchor chains and the shouting of the crew awakened Foma; he lookedout of the window and saw, far in the distance, small lights glimmeringfantastically: the water about the boat black and thick, like oil--andnothing else could be seen. The boy's heart trembled painfully and hebegan to listen attentively. A scarcely audible, melancholy song reachedhis ears--mournful and monotonous as a chant on the caravan the watchmencalled to one another; the steamer hissed angrily getting up steam. And the black water of the river splashed sadly and quietly against thesides of the vessels. Staring fixedly into the darkness, until his eyeshurt, the boy discerned black piles and small lights dimly burning highabove them. He knew that those were barges, but this knowledge didnot 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 fromthe window. 

The queer sound came nearer and nearer and grew in strength, sobbed anddied 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 thedeck, a bustle was heard, and two boat-hooks slipped down past the boy'sface and almost noiselessly plunged into the water. 

"A gue-e-est!" Some began to sob near by, and a quiet, but very queersplash resounded. 

The boy trembled with fright at this mournful cry, but he could not tearhis 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 thewater was rocking calmly, that a ripple was passing over it, as thoughthe 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 settogether, appeared on the spot of light. It floated and rocked in thewater, 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 intothe 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, scratchingagainst it, produced a noise like the grinding of teeth. Foma couldnot close his eyes for watching them. The noise of feet stamping on thedeck, over his head, was gradually moving toward the stern. And thenagain that moaning cry for the dead was heard:

"A gue-e-est!"

"Papa!" cried Foma in a ringing voice. "Papa!" His father jumped to hisfeet 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 soonreturned, sooner than Foma, staggering and looking around him, had timeto reach his father's bed. 

"They frightened you? It's nothing!" said Ignat, taking him up in hisarms. "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 isfloating. That's nothing! Don't be afraid, he has already floated clearof us. "

"Why did they push him?" interrogated the boy, firmly pressing close tohis father, and shutting his eyes for fright. 

"It was necessary to do so. The water might have thrown him under thewheel. Under ours, for instance. Tomorrow the police would noticeit, there would be trouble, inquests, and we would be held here forexamination. That's why we shoved him along. What difference does itmake to him? He is dead; it doesn't pain him; it doesn't offend him. Andthe 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, butbefore his eyes the terrible sneering face was still rocking in theblack 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 falloverboard. God forbid! And--"

"Did he fall overboard?"

"Of course. Perhaps he was drunk, and that's his end! And maybe he threwhimself into the water. There are people who do that. They go and throwthemselves into the water and are drowned. Life, my dear, is so arrangedthat death is sometimes a holiday for one, sometimes it is a blessingfor all. "

"Papa. "

"Sleep, sleep, dear. "

CHAPTER III

DURING the very first day of his school life, stupefied by the livelyand hearty noise of provoking mischiefs and of wild, childish games, Foma picked out two boys from the crowd who at once seemed moreinteresting to him than the others. One had a seat in front of him. Foma, looking askance, saw a broad back; a full neck, covered withfreckles; big ears; and the back of the head closely cropped, coveredwith light-red hair which stood out like bristles. 

When the teacher, a bald-headed man, whose lower lip hung down, calledout: "Smolin, African!" the red-headed boy arose slowly, walked up tothe teacher, calmly stared into his face, and, having listened to theproblem, carefully began to make big round figures on the blackboardwith chalk. 

"Good enough!" said the teacher. "Yozhov, Nicolai. Proceed!"

One of Foma's neighbours, a fidgety little boy with black littlemouse-eyes, jumped up from his seat and passed through the aisle, striking against everything and turning his head on all sides. At theblackboard he seized the chalk, and, standing up on the toes of hisboots, noisily began to mark the board with the chalk, creaking andfilling with chalk dust, dashing off small, illegible marks. 

"Not so loud!" said the teacher, wrinkling his yellow face andcontracting his fatigued eyes. Yozhov spoke quickly and in a ringingvoice:

"Now we know that the first peddler made 17k. Profit. "

"Enough! Gordyeeff! Tell me what must we do in order to find out howmuch the second peddler gained?"

Watching the conduct of the boys, so unlike each other, Foma was thustaken 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 theproblem and again began to wipe his hands, while Yozhov, smiling andskipping along as he walked, returned to his seat. 

"Eh, you!" he whispered, seating himself beside Foma, incidentallystriking his side with his fist. "Why don't you know it? What was theprofit altogether? Thirty kopecks. And there were two peddlers. One ofthem got 17. Well, how much did the other one get?"

"I know, " replied Foma, in a whisper, feeling confused and examining theface of Smolin, who was sedately returning to his seat. He didn't likethat round, freckled face, with the blue eyes, which were loaded withfat. 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, theteacher reprimanded them all, but his words did not prevent Yozhov fromwhispering 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 lowvoice, without even turning his head to them. 

"All right, all right, " hissed Yozhov. 

Foma was silent, looking askance at his brisk neighbour, who at oncepleased him and roused in him a desire to get as far as possible awayfrom him. During recess he learned from Yozhov that Smolin, too, wasrich, being the son of a tan-yard proprietor, and that Yozhov himselfwas the son of a guard at the Court of Exchequer, and very poor. Thelast was clearly evident by the adroit boy's costume, made of grayfustian and adorned with patches on the knees and elbows; by his pale, hungry-looking face; and, by his small, angular and bony figure. Thisboy spoke in a metallic alto, elucidating his words with grimaces andgesticulations, and he often used words whose meaning was known but tohimself. 

"We'll be friends, " he announced to Foma. 

"Why did you complain to the teacher about me?" Gordyeeff remindedYozhov, 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; hedoesn't like me, because I am impudent and because I never bring him anypresents. 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 classand then I'll leave. Already a student is preparing me for the secondclass. There I'll study so that they can't hold me back! How many horsesdo 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 becomerich. They become doctors, functionaries, officers. I shall be a'tinkler. ' A sword at my side, spur on my boots. Cling, cling! And whatare 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 slowway 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 myfather had been rich I would have had a hundred pigeons and chased themall day long. Smolin has pigeons, too, fine ones! Fourteen. He made mea 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 thepigeons. "

"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 toSmolin's. Smolin!"

A plump boy came up to them, and Yozhov accosted him, shaking his headreproachfully:

"Eh, you red-headed slanderer! It isn't worth while to be friends withyou, 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 akissel, 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 thesiskin, " declared Yozhov, pulling out of his pocket a paper package, wherein some live thing was struggling. And he disappeared from theschool-yard as mercury from the palm of a hand. 

"What a queer fellow he is!" said Foma, dumfounded by Yozhov'sadroitness and looking at Smolin interrogatively. 

"He is always like this. He's very clever, " the red-headed boyexplained. 

"And cheerful, too, " added Foma. 

"Cheerful, too, " Smolin assented. Then they became silent, looking ateach 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 hastilyrunning somewhere. 

Sitting in school, Foma began to feel somewhat freer, and compared hisfriends with the rest of the boys. He soon learned that they both werethe very best boys in school and that they were the first to attracteverybody's attention, even as the two figures 5 and 7, which had notyet been wiped off the blackboard. And Foma felt very much pleased thathis friends were better than any of the other boys. 

They all went home from school together, but Yozhov soon turned intosome narrow side street, while Smolin walked with Foma up to his veryhouse, 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 heavysilver spoon, with an ingenious monogram on it, and his aunt gave hima scarf knitted by herself. They were awaiting him for dinner, havingprepared his favourite dishes for him, and as soon as he took off hiscoat, seated him at the table and began to ply him with questions. 

"Well, how was it? How did you like the school?" asked Ignat, lookinglovingly 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 ownwith your friends. As soon as they offend you tell your teachers aboutit. "

"Go on. What else will you tell him?" Ignat smiled. "Never do that! Tryto get square with every offender yourself, punish him with your ownhand, not with somebody else's. Are there any good fellows there?"

"There are two, " Foma smiled, recalling Yozhov. "One of them is sobold--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 allright. But that other one--you know, Foma, you had better invite themto 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 athis father questioningly. 

"So. Well, you may go! That's all right, go. Observe what kind ofpeople there are in the world. You cannot pass your life alone, withoutfriendship. Your godfather and I, for instance, have been friends formore than twenty years, and I have profited a great deal by his commonsense. So you, too, try to be friendly with those that are better andwiser than you. Rub against a good man, like a copper coin againstsilver, 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 havesome common sense, no matter how little, but your own. Have you manylessons to do?"

"Many!" sighed the boy, and to his sigh, like an echo, his aunt answeredwith a heavy sigh. 

"Well, study. Don't be worse than others at school. Although, I'll tellyou, even if there were twenty-five classes in your school, they couldnever teach you there anything save reading, writing and arithmetic. Youmay also learn some naughty things, but God protect you! I shall giveyou a terrible spanking if you do. If you smoke tobacco I'll cut yourlips off. "

"Remember God, Fomushka, " said the aunt. "See that you don't forget ourLord. "

"That's true! Honour God and your father. But I wish to tell you thatschool books are but a trivial matter. You need these as a carpenterneeds an adze and a pointer. They are tools, but the tools cannot teachyou how to make use of them. Understand? Let us see: Suppose an adzewere handed to a carpenter for him to square a beam with it. It's notenough to have hands and an adze; it is also necessary for him to knowhow to strike the wood so as not to hit his foot instead. To you theknowledge of reading and writing is given, and you must regulate yourlife with it. Thus it follows that books alone are but a trifle in thismatter; it is necessary to be able to take advantage of them. And it isthis ability that is more cunning than any books, and yet nothing aboutit 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 wrongstep in life, or wrongly occupy a place in it, Life will start to bawlat you in a thousand voices; it will deal you a blow, felling you to theground. "

Foma, his elbows leaning on the table, attentively listened to hisfather, and under the sound of his powerful voice he pictured to himselfnow the carpenter squaring a beam, now himself, his hands outstretched, carefully and stealthily approaching some colossal and living thing, anddesiring to grasp that terrible something. 

"A man must preserve himself for his work and must be thoroughlyacquainted with the road to it. A man, dear, is like the pilot on aship. In youth, as at high tide, go straight! A way is open to youeverywhere. But you must know when it is time to steer. The watersrecede--here you see a sandbank, there, a rock; it is necessary to knowall this and to slip off in time, in order to reach the harbour safe andsound. "

"I will reach it!" said the boy, looking at his father proudly and withconfidence. 

"Eh? You speak courageously!" Ignat burst into laughter. And the auntalso began to laugh kindly. 

Since his trip with his father on the Volga, Foma became more lively andtalkative at home, with his father, with his aunt and with Mayakin. Buton the street, in a new place, or in the presence of strangers, he wasalways gloomy, always looking about him with suspicion, as though hefelt something hostile to him everywhere, something hidden from himspying on him. 

At nights he sometimes awoke of a sudden and listened for a long timeto the silence about him, fixedly staring into the dark with wide-openeyes. And then his father's stories were transformed before him intoimages and pictures. Without being aware of it, he mixed up thosestories with his aunt's fairy-tales, thus creating for himself a chaosof adventures wherein the bright colours of fantasy were whimsicallyintertwined with the stern shades of reality. This resulted in somethingcolossal, incomprehensible; the boy closed his eyes and drove it allaway from him and tried to check the play of his imagination, whichfrightened him. In vain he attempted to fall asleep, and the chamberbecame more and more crowded with dark images. Then he quietly rousedhis 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 youwon't be afraid. "

Foma lies with his eyes open and says the prayer. The silence of thenight pictures itself before him in the form of an endless expanseof perfectly calm, dark water, which has overflowed everything andcongealed; there is not a ripple on it, not a shadow of a motion, andneither is there anything within it, although it is bottomlessly deep. It is very terrible for one to look down from the dark at this deadwater. But now the sound of the night watchman's mallet is heard, andthe boy sees that the surface of the water is beginning to tremble, and, covering the surface with ripples, light little balls are dancing uponit. The sound of the bell on the steeple, with one mighty swing, bringsall 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 palerand dying out. Again there is weary and deathlike repose in this darkdesert. 

"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 oldwoman begins slowly in a voice grown heavy with sleep:

"Well, my dear sir, in a certain kingdom, in a certain empire, therelived a man and his wife, and they were very poor. They were sounfortunate that they had nothing to eat. They would go around begging, somebody would give them a crust of stale bread and that would keep themfor awhile. And it came to pass that the wife begot a child--a child wasborn--it was necessary to christen it, but, being poor, they could notentertain the godparents and the guests, so nobody came to christen thechild. They tried this and they tried that--yet nobody came. And theybegan to pray to the Lord, 'Oh Lord! Oh Lord!'"

Foma knew this awful story about God's godchild. He had heard it morethan once and was already picturing to himself this godchild riding ona white horse to his godfather and godmother; he was riding in thedarkness, over the desert, and he saw there all the unbearable miseriesto which sinners are condemned. And he heard their faint moans andrequests:

"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 thewhite horse, and that the moans and the implorings were addressed tohim. His heart contracts with some incomprehensible desire; sorrowcompressed his breast and tears gathered in his eyes, which he hadfirmly 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, interruptingher 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 hungrylittle Yozhov, who greedily subsisted on his rich friend's generosity. 

"Got anything to eat?" he accosted Foma, turning up his sharp-pointednose. "Let me have it, for I left the house without eating anything. Islept 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 akitten, stamped his left foot, beating time, and at the same time solvedthe problem, rattling off short phrases to Foma:

"See? Eight bucketfuls leaked out in one hour. And how many hours did itleak--six? Eh, what good things they eat in your house! Consequently, wemust multiply six by eight. Do you like cake with green onions? Oh, howI like it! So that in six hours forty-eight bucketfuls leaked out ofthe first gauge-cock. And altogether the tub contained ninety. Do youunderstand the rest?"

Foma liked Yozhov better than Smolin, but he was more friendly withSmolin. He wondered at the ability and the sprightliness of the littlefellow. He saw that Yozhov was more clever and better than himself; heenvied him, and felt offended on that account, and at the same time hepitied him with the condescending compassion of a satisfied man for ahungry one. Perhaps it was this very compassion that prevented him frompreferring this bright boy to the boring red-headed Smolin. Yozhov, fond of having a laugh at the expense of his well-fed friends, told themquite often: "Eh, you are little trunks full of cakes!"

Foma was angry with him for his sneers, and one day, touched to thequick, 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 likea log of wood!"

And they did not speak to each other for about three days, very much tothe regret of the teacher, who during these days had to give the lowestmarkings to the son of the esteemed Ignat Matveyich. 

Yozhov knew everything: he related at school how the procurator'schambermaid gave birth to a child, and that for this the procurator'swife poured hot coffee over her husband; he could tell where and when itwas 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 himselfin the garret of the armoury, and knew from which of the pupils' parentsthe teacher had received a present that day and precisely what sort of apresent it was. 

The sphere of Smolin's knowledge and interests was confined to themerchant's mode of life, and, above all, the red-headed boy was fond ofjudging whether this man was richer than that, valuing and pricing theirhouses, 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 moreas a friend and equal. Whenever Gordyeeff quarrelled with Yozhov, Smolinhastened to reconcile them, and he said to Foma one day, on their wayhome:

"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 helpsyou 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 andbuzz, 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 naturesand positions was entirely lost. On Sundays they all gathered atSmolin's, and, getting up on the roof of the wing, where they had anenormous pigeon-house, they let the pigeons loose. 

The beautiful, well-fed birds, ruffling their snow-white wings, dartedout of the pigeon-house one by one, and, seating themselves in a rowon the ridge of the roof, and, illumined by the sun, cooing, flauntedbefore 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 hurriedflapping of their wings. And now, outlining big circles, they easilysoar upwards, into the blue depths of the sky; they float higher andhigher, their silver and snow-white feathers flashing. Some of them arestriving to reach the dome of the skies with the light soaring of thefalcon, their wings outstretched wide and almost motionless; othersplay, turn over in the air, now dropping downward in a snowy lump, nowdarting up like an arrow. Now the entire flock seems as though hangingmotionless in the desert of the sky, and, growing smaller and smaller, seems to sink in it. With heads thrown back, the boys admire the birdsin silence, without taking their eyes from them--their tired eyes, soradiant with calm joy, not altogether free from envying these wingedcreatures, which so freely took flight from earth up into the pureand calm atmosphere full of the glitter of the sun. The small group ofscarcely visible dots, now mere specks in the azure of the sky, leadson the imagination of the children, and Yozhov expresses their commonfeeling 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, oftentimesassume 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 oftheir birds from the depths of the sky, the boys, pressing close to oneanother, drifted far away from the breath of life, even as their pigeonswere far from earth; at this moment they are merely children, knowingneither envy nor anger; free from everything, they are near to oneanother, they are mute, judging their feelings by the light in theireyes--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 theirflight, are easily driven into the pigeon-house. 

"Friends, let's go for apples?" suggests Yozhov, the instigator of allgames and adventures. 

His call drives out of the children's souls the peacefulness broughtinto them by the pigeons, and then, like plunderers, carefully listeningfor each and every sound, they steal quietly across the back yardstoward the neighbouring garden. The fear of being caught is balanced bythe hope of stealing with impunity. But stealing is work and dangerouswork at that, and everything that is earned by your own labour is sosweet! And the more effort required to gain it, the sweeter it is. Carefully the boys climb over the fence of the garden, and, bendingdown, crawl toward the apple trees and, full of fright, look aroundvigilantly. Their hearts tremble and their throbbing slackens at thefaintest rustle. They are alike afraid of being caught, and, if noticed, of being recognised, but in case they should only see them and yellat them, they would be satisfied. They would separate, each going in adifferent direction, and then, meeting again, their eyes aglow with joyand boldness, would laughingly tell one another how they felt when theyheard some one giving chase to them, and what happened to them when theyran so quickly through the garden, as though the ground were burningunder their feet. 

Such invasions were more to Foma's liking than all other adventuresand games, and his behaviour during these invasions was marked witha boldness that at once astounded and angered his companions. He wasintentionally careless in other people's gardens: he spoke loud, noisilybroke 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 beingcaught in the act did not frighten him; it rather encouraged him--hiseyes would turn darker, his teeth would clench, and his face wouldassume 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 maydo 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 thedevil! I am not your friend. They'll catch you and bring you to yourfather--he wouldn't do anything to you, while I would get such aspanking 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, whowas hiding away in his bosom the stolen apples, the old man seized himby 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 ofthe old man's hands. Yet he did not run from him, but, knitting his browand 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 sonare you?"

Foma did not expect this, and all his boldness and spitefulness suddenlyleft him. 

The trip to the police station seemed to him something which his fatherwould 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 throatimpressively. Then his shoulders sank and he said to the boy in afatherly tone:

"It's a shame! The son of such a well-known and respected man! It isunbecoming 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 havethe honour of presenting my respects. "

Foma watched the play of the old man's physiognomy and understood thathe was afraid of his father. Like a young wolf, he looked askance atChumakov; while the old man, with comical seriousness, twisted hisgray 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 hishouse. 

"And how about the police?" asked Foma, sternly, and was immediatelyfrightened at the possible answer. 

"I was but jesting, " smiled the old man. "I just wanted to frightenyou. "

"You are afraid of my father yourself, " said Foma, and, turning his backto the old man, walked off into the depth of the garden. 

"I am afraid? Ah! Very well!" exclaimed Chumakov after him, and Fomaknew by the sound of his voice that he had offended the old man. He feltsad 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 forawhile, 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'llgive it to him when he comes, or I'll make an end of your friendshipaltogether. "

"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 beable to explain to yourself and to others the reason for so doing. Comehere!"

Foma walked up to his father, who was sitting on a chair, and placedhimself 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 askedagain:

"Why should you do such a thing--stealing other people's apples?"

"I--I don't know, " said Foma, confusedly. "Perhaps because it is solonesome. I play and play the same thing day after day. I am growingtired of it! While this is dangerous. "

"Exciting?" asked the father, smiling. 

"Yes. "

"Mm, perhaps it is so. But, nevertheless, Foma, look out--drop this, orI 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 willbecome of you in the future, only God knows, but meanwhile--it is prettygood. It is not a trifle if a man is willing to pay for his deeds withhis 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. Youcommit the sin, but you also account for it. Didn't Chumakov strikeyou?" 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 hemakes a bow and presents his respects! Ha, ha! It is true it might havebeen worth no more than a kopeck, but a kopeck is to him what a roubleis to me. And it isn't the kopeck, but since it is mine, no one darestouch 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 theimpressions of that day. Ignat listened, fixedly watching the animatedface 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 achild. Eh! Eh!"

"We scared an owl in the ravine, " related the boy. "That was fun! Itbegan to fly about and struck against a tree--bang! It even began tosqueak so pitifully. And we scared it again; again it rose and flewabout here and there, and again it struck against something, so that itsfeathers were coming out. It flew about in the ravine and at last hiditself somewhere with difficulty. We did not try to look for it, we feltsorry 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 owlin daytime. Ever searching for his place, he strives and strives--onlyfeathers fly from him, but all to no purpose. He is bruised, sickened, stripped of everything, and then with all his might he thrusts himselfanywhere, 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 hispride--he desires much, but has but little strength. Another because ofhis 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 beenstanding in the doorway for quite a long while, and, folding her hands, lovingly admired the enormous figure of her brother, who bent over Fomawith such friendliness, and the pensive pose of the boy, who clung tohis 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'ssoul for an hour or for a day, sometimes stood out strikingly againstthe general background of this monotonous life, but these were soonobliterated. The boy's soul was as yet but a calm lake--a lake hiddenfrom the stormy winds of life, and all that touched the surface of thelake either sank to the bottom, stirring the placid water for a moment, or gliding over the smooth surface, swam apart in big circles anddisappeared. 

Having stayed at the district school for five years, Foma passed fourclasses tolerably well and came out a brave, dark-haired fellow, witha swarthy face, heavy eyebrows and dark down on the upper lip. Hisbig dark eyes had a naive and pensive look, and his lips were like achild's, half-open; but when meeting with opposition to his desiresor when irritated by something else, the pupils of his eyes would growwide, his lips press tight, and his whole face assume a stubborn andresolute expression. His godfather, smiling sceptically, would often sayto him:

"To women, Foma, you'll be sweeter than honey, but as yet not muchcommon 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 thenwe'll have him married. There's my Lubov. "

Lubov Mayakina was now studying in the fifth class of some boardingschool. Foma often met her on the street at which meeting she alwaysbowed condescendingly, her fair head in a fashionable cap. Foma likedher, but her rosy cheeks, her cheerful brown eyes and crimson lips couldnot smooth the impression of offence given to him by her condescendingbows. She was acquainted with some Gymnasium students, and althoughYozhov, his old friend, was among them, Foma felt no inclination to bewith them, and their company embarrassed him. It seemed to him thatthey were all boasting of their learning before him and that they weremocking his ignorance. Gathered together in Lubov's house they wouldread 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 inthe garden, and there, walking by his side, asked him with a grimace onher 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 talkabout everything. Take Yozhov, for instance. "

"I know Yozhov--a chatterbox. "

"You simply envy him. He is very clever--yes. He will soon graduate fromthe 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. "AndI'll have a laugh at all the learned people. Let the hungry study. Idon't need it. "

"Pshaw, how stupid you are, bad, disgusting!" said the girl withcontempt and went away, leaving him alone in the garden. Offended andgloomy, 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 sweetpoison of contemplation. Oftentimes, during summer evenings, wheneverything was coloured by the fiery tints of sunset, kindling theimagination, an uneasy longing for something incomprehensible penetratedhis breast. Sitting somewhere in a dark corner of the garden or lyingin bed, he conjured up before him the images of the fairy-taleprincesses--they appeared with the face of Luba and of other youngladies of his acquaintance, noiselessly floating before him in thetwilight and staring into his eyes with enigmatic looks. At times thesevisions awakened in him a mighty energy, as though intoxicating him--hewould rise and, straightening his shoulders, inhale the perfumed airwith a full chest; but sometimes these same visions brought to him afeeling of sadness--he felt like crying, but ashamed of shedding tears, he restrained himself and never wept in silence. Or suddenly his heartbegan to tremble with the desire to express his gratitude to God, tobow before Him; the words of the prayer flashed through his memory, andbeholding the sky, he whispered them for a long time, one by one, andhis heart grew lighter, breathing into prayer the excess of his power. 

The father patiently and carefully introduced him into commercialcircles, took him on the Exchange, told him about his contracts andenterprises, about his co-associates, described to him how they had madetheir 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, winkingto Ignat. 

And yet, even when Foma was nineteen years old, there was somethingchildish in him, something naive which distinguished him from the boysof his age. They were laughing at him, considering him stupid; he keptaway from them, offended by their relations toward him. As for hisfather and Mayakin, who were watching him vigilantly, this uncertaintyof Foma's character inspired them with serious apprehensions. 

"I cannot understand him!" Ignat would say with contrite heart. "He doesnot 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 apretty 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 kindof shroud were covering his eyes. His late mother groped on earth in thesame way. 

"Just look, there's Afrikanka Smolin, but two years older than myboy--what a man he has become! That is, it is difficult to tell whetherhe is his father's head or his father his. He wants to go to somefactory to study. He swears:

"'Eh, ' says he, 'papa, you have not taught me enough. ' Yes. While minedoes not express himself at all. Oh Lord!"

"Look here, " Mayakin advised him, "you had better push him head foremostinto some active business! I assure you! Gold is tested in fire. We'llsee what his inclinations are when at liberty. Send him out on theKama--alone. "

"To give him a trial?"

"Well, he'll do some mischief--you'll lose something--but then we'llknow 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 twobarges laden with corn. The barges were led by Gordyeeff's steamer"Philezhny, " under the command of Foma's old acquaintance, the formersailor Yefim--now, Yefim Ilyich, a squarely built man of about thirtywith lynx-like eyes--a sober-minded, steady and very strict captain. 

They sailed fast and cheerfully, because all were contented. At firstFoma was proud of the responsible commission with which he had beencharged. Yefim was pleased with the presence of the young master, whodid not rebuke or abuse him for each and every oversight; and the happyframe of mind of the two most important persons on the steamer reflectedin straight rays on the entire crew. Having left the place where theyhad taken in their cargo of corn in April, the steamer reached the placeof its destination in the beginning of May, and the barges were anchorednear the shore with the steamer at their side. Foma's duty was todeliver the corn as soon as possible, and receiving the payments, startoff for Perm, where a cargo of iron was awaiting him, which Ignat hadundertaken to deliver at the market. 

The barges stood opposite a large village, near a pine forest, about twoversts 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, theyscattered on the decks and in an instant work started expeditiously. Having descended into the holds, the women were filling the sacks withrye, the peasants, throwing the sacks upon their shoulders, ran over thegang-planks to the shore, and from the shore, carts, heavily laden withthe long-expected corn, went off slowly to the village. The women sangsongs; the peasants jested and gaily abused one another; the sailorsrepresenting the guardians of peace, scolded the working people now andthen; the gang-planks, bending under the feet of the carriers, splashedagainst the water heavily; while on the shore the horses neighed, andthe carts and the sand under the wheels were creaking. 

The sun had just risen, the air was fresh and invigorating and denselyfilled with the odour of pines; the calm water of the river, reflectingthe clear sky, was gently murmuring, breaking against the sides of thevessels and the chains of the anchors. The loud and cheerful noiseof toil, the youthful beauty of nature, gaily illumined by thesunbeams--all was full of a kind-hearted, somewhat crude, sound power, which pleasantly stirred Foma's soul, awakening in him new and perplexedsensations and desires. He was sitting by the table under the awning ofthe steamer and drinking tea, together with Yefim and the receiver ofthe corn, a provincial clerk--a redheaded, short-sighted gentleman inglasses. Nervously shrugging his shoulders the receiver was telling ina hoarse voice how the peasants were starving, but Foma paid littleattention to his words, looking now at the work below, now at the otherside of the river--a tall, yellow, sandy steep shore, whose edges werecovered with pine trees. It was unpeopled and quiet. 

"I'll have to go over there, " thought Foma. And as though from adistance the receiver's tiresome, unpleasant, harsh voice fell on hisears:

"You wouldn't believe it--at last it became horrible! Such an incidenttook place! A peasant came up to a certain intelligent man in Osa andbrought 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 aservant--but nobody would have her--take her at least as your mistress!'

"Do you understand? He offered his own daughter--just think of it! Adaughter--as a mistress! The devil knows what that is! Eh? The man, ofcourse, became indignant and began abusing the peasant. But the peasantspoke 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 necessaryto keep them up. Give me, ' says he, 'ten roubles for the girl, and thatwill 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 stonewalls. The stomach, you see, has its own laws. "

This story called forth in Foma a great incomprehensible interest in thefate 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 wouldhave 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 hisspectacles 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 gestureconfused Foma. He arose from his seat, walked off to the railingand looked down at the deck of the barge, which was covered with anindustriously working crowd of people. The noise intoxicated him, andthe uneasy something, which was rambling in his soul, was now definedinto a powerful desire to work, to have the strength of a giant, topossess enormous shoulders and put on them at one time a hundred bags ofrye, that every one looking at him might be astonished. 

"Come now, hurry up there!" he shouted down in a ringing voice. A fewheads were raised to him, some faces appeared before him, and one ofthem--the face of a dark-eyed woman--smiled at him a gentle and enticingsmile. Something flared up in his breast at this smile and began tospread over his veins in a hot wave. He drew back from the railing andwalked up to the table again, feeling that his cheeks were burning. 

"Listen!" said the receiver, addressing him, "wire to your father askinghim to allow some grain for waste! Just see how much is lost here. Andhere every pound is precious! You should have understood this! What afine father you have, " he concluded with a biting grimace. 

"How much shall I allow?" asked Foma, boldly and disdainfully. "Doyou want a hundred puds? [A pud is a weight of 40 Russian pounds. ] Twohundred?"

"I--I thank you!" exclaimed the receiver, overjoyed and confused, "ifyou have the right to do it. "

"I am the master!" said Foma, firmly. "And you must not speak that wayabout my father--nor make such faces. "

"Pardon me! I--I do not doubt that you have full power. I thank youheartily. And your father, too--in behalf of all these men--in behalf ofthe people!"

Yefim looked cautiously at the young master, spreading out and smackinghis lips, while the master with an air of pride on his face listenedto the quick-witted speech of the receiver, who was pressing his handfirmly. 

"Two hundred puds! That is Russian-like, young man! I shall directlynotify the peasants of your gift. You'll see how grateful they willbe--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 andmutely lowered them again, resuming their work. A few voices saidirresolutely 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 vodkainstead--that would be a just favour. For the grain is not for us--butfor the country Council. "

"Eh! They do not understand!" exclaimed the receiver, confused. "I'll godown and explain it to them. "

And he disappeared. But the peasants' regard for his gift did notinterest Foma. He saw that the black eyes of the rosy-cheeked woman werelooking at him so strangely and pleasingly. They seemed to thank himand caressingly beckoned him, and besides those eyes he saw nothing. Thewoman 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 offtoo much. Well, if it were only about fifty puds! But why so much? Lookout 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 Iwas told to keep an eye on you, I may get a rap on the snout for beingheedless. "

"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 soyoung and simple-minded. "

"Leave me alone, Yefim!"

Yefim heaved a sigh and became silent, while Foma stared at the womanand thought:

"I wish they would bring such a woman for sale to me. "

His heart beat rapidly. Though as yet physically pure, he already knewfrom conversations the mysteries of intimate relations between men andwomen. He knew by rude and shameful names, and these names kindled inhim an unpleasant, burning curiosity and shame; his imagination workedobstinately, for he could not picture it to himself in intelligibleimages. And in his soul he did not believe that those relations werereally so simple and rude, as he had been told. When they had laughedat him and assured him that they were such, and, indeed, could not beotherwise, he smiled stupidly and confusedly, but thought neverthelessthat the relations with women did not have to be in such a shameful formfor 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, Fomadistinctly felt just that rude inclination toward her, and he wasashamed and afraid of something. And Yefim, standing beside him, saidadmonitively:

"There you are staring at the woman, so that I cannot keep silence anylonger. You do not know her, but when she winks at you, you may, becauseof your youth--and with a nature like yours--you may do such a thingthat we'll have to go home on foot by the shore. And we'll have to thankGod 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 withwomen I may perfectly well be a teacher. You must deal with a woman veryplainly--give her a bottle of vodka, something to eat after it, then acouple of bottles of beer and after everything give her twenty kopecksin cash. For this price she will show you all her love in the best waypossible. "

"You are lying, " said Foma, softly. 

"I am lying? Why shall I lie to you since I have observed that samepolicy perhaps a hundred times? Just charge me to have dealings withher. Eh? I'll make you acquainted with her in a moment. "

"Very well, " said Foma, feeling that he could hardly breathe and thatsomething 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. Untilevening Foma walked about as though lost in mist, not noticing therespectful and beseeching glances with which the peasants greeted himat the receiver's instigation. Dread fell on him, he felt himself guiltybefore somebody, and to all those that addressed him he replied humblyand gently, as though excusing himself for something. Some of theworking people went home toward evening, others gathered on the shorenear a big, bright bonfire and began cooking their supper. Fragments oftheir conversation floated about in the stillness of the evening. Thereflection 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 cabinwhere Foma was sitting. He sat in the corner on a lounge, which wascovered with oilcloth--and waited. On the table before him were a fewbottles of vodka and beer, and plates with bread and dessert. Hecovered the windows and did not light the lamp; the faint light fromthe bonfire, penetrating through the curtains, fell on the table, onthe bottles and on the wall, and trembled, now growing brighter, nowfainter. It was quiet on the steamer and on the barges, only fromthe shore came indistinct sounds of conversation, and the river wassplashing, scarcely audible, against the sides of the steamer. It seemedto Foma that somebody was hiding in the dark near by, listening to himand spying upon him. Now somebody is walking over the gang-plank of thebarges with quick and heavy steps--the gang-plank strikes against thewater clangously and angrily. Foma hears the muffled laughter of thecaptain and his lowered voice. Yefim stands by the cabin door andspeaks softly, but somewhat reprimandingly, as though instructing. Fomasuddenly felt like crying out:

"It is not necessary!"

And he arose from the lounge--but at this moment the cabin door wasopened, 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 thelounge, he curled himself up in the corner. 

"It is good enough this way. When you get used to it you can seeeverything 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 theglitter of her eyes, he saw a smile on her full lips. It seemed tohim that this smile of hers was not at all like that other smilebefore--this smile seemed plaintive, sad. This smile encouraged him;he breathed with less difficulty at the sight of these eyes, which, onmeeting his own, suddenly glanced down on the floor. But he did not knowwhat to say to this woman and for about two minutes both were silent. Itwas 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, " utteredFoma, 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 unableto say a word. 

But she evidently understood with whom she had to deal, and she suddenlyasked 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 upto the table. "

He bustled about in the dark, pushed the table, took up one bottle, thenanother, and again returned them to their place, laughing guiltily andconfusedly 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 herbreast, saying in a soothing whisper:

"Never mind, don't be bashful, my young, handsome darling. How I pityyou!"

And he felt like crying because of her whisper, his heart was meltingin sweet fatigue; pressing his head close to her breast, he claspedher with his hands, mumbling to her some inarticulate words, which wereunknown to himself. 

"Be gone!" said Foma in a heavy voice, staring at the wall with his eyeswide open. 

Having kissed him on the cheek she walked out of the cabin, saying tohim:

"Well, good-bye. "

Foma felt intolerably ashamed in her presence; but no sooner did shedisappear behind the door than he jumped up and seated himself on thelounge. Then he arose, staggering, and at once he was seized with thefeeling of having lost something very valuable, something whose presencehe 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 ofhim. It drowned his shame, and, instead of the shame, pity for the womansprang up within him--for the half-clad woman, who went out alone intothe dark of the chilly May night. He hastily came out on the deck--itwas a starlit, but moonless night; the coolness and the darknessembraced him. On the shore the golden-red pile of coals was stillglimmering. Foma listened--an oppressive stillness filled the air, onlythe water was murmuring, breaking against the anchor chains. There wasnot 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 hisbroad chest, he stood on deck for a few minutes. Suddenly, from beyondthe roundhouse--from the prow--a moan reached his ears--a deep, loudmoan, 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 herhead against a heap of ropes, she wept. Foma saw that her bare whiteshoulders were trembling, he heard her pitiful moans, and began to feeldepressed. 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 hishand. "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 angryat you? You are not a seducer. You are a pure soul! Eh, my darling! Beseated here by my side. "

And taking Foma by the hand, she made him sit down, like a child, inher 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 onehand, while the other clasped the woman's neck. 

"I am crying about myself. Why have you sent me away?" she askedplaintively. 

"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?" sheasked with a smile, but her big, hot tears were still trickling down onFoma's breast. 

"Why should you speak like this?" exclaimed the youth, almostfrightened, and hotly began to mumble to her some words about herbeauty, about her kindness, telling her how sorry he was for her andhow bashful in her presence. And she listened and kept on kissing hischeeks, his neck, his head and his uncovered breast. 

He became silent--then she began to speak--softly and mournfully asthough speaking of the dead:

"And I thought it was something else. When you said, 'Be gone!' I gotup and went away. And your words made me feel sad, very sad. There wasa time, I remembered, when they caressed me and fondled me unceasingly, without growing tired; for a single kind smile they used to do for meanything I pleased. I recalled all this and began to cry! I felt sorryfor my youth, for I am now thirty years old, the last days for a woman!Eh, Foma Ignatyevich!" she exclaimed, lifting her voice louder, andreiterating the rhythm of her harmonious speech, whose accents rose andfell in unison with the melodious murmuring of the water. 

"Listen to me--preserve your youth! There is nothing in the world betterthan that. There is nothing more precious than youth. With youth, aswith gold, you can accomplish anything you please. Live so that youshall have in old age something to remind you of your youth. Here Irecalled myself, and though I cried, yet my heart blazed up at the veryrecollection of my past life. And again I was young, as though I drankof the water of life! My sweet child I'll have a good time with you, ifI please you, we'll enjoy ourselves as much as we can. Eh! I'll burn toashes, now that I have blazed up!"

And pressing the youth close to herself, she greedily began to kiss himon 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 thecast-iron board. 

The shrill, trembling sounds harshly broke the solemn quiet of thenight. 

A few days later, when the barges had discharged their cargo and thesteamer 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 atrunk and with some bundles, was in it. 

"Send a sailor to bring her things, " ordered Foma, nodding his headtoward the shore. 

With a reproachful shake of his head, Yefim carried out the orderangrily, 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 plentyof 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--andsuddenly there is a woman there! And if it were at least the right sortof a woman! But as it is, she merely bears the name of woman. "

Foma frowned insinuatingly and addressed the captain, imperiouslyemphasizing 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 onthe head with a log of wood!"

"How terrible!" said Yefim, incredulously, looking into the master'sface with curiosity. But he immediately made a step backward. Ignat'sson, 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 theother, thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket with a convulsivemotion and said in a firm and even voice:

"You! Captain! See here, say another word against me--and you go tothe 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 hiseyes, 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 soonas possible and, turning around quickly, he walked off. 

"Pshaw! How terrible! As it seems the apple did not fall too far fromthe tree, " he muttered sneeringly, walking on the deck. He was angry atFoma, and considered himself offended for nothing, but at the same timehe began to feel over himself the real, firm hand of a master. For yearsaccustomed to being subordinate, he rather liked this manifestation ofpower over him, and, entering the cabin of the old pilot, he relatedto him the scene between himself and his master, with a shade ofsatisfaction in his voice. 

"See?" he concluded his story. "A pup coming from a good breed is anexcellent dog at the very first chase. From his exterior he is so-so. Aman of rather heavy mind as yet. Well, never mind, let him have hisfun. It seems now as though nothing wrong will come out of this. With acharacter like his, no. How he bawled at me! A regular trumpet, I tellyou! And he appointed himself master at once. As though he had sippedpower and strictness out of a ladle. "

Yefim spoke the truth: during these few days Foma underwent a strikingtransformation. The passion now kindled in him made him master of thesoul and body of a woman; he eagerly absorbed the fiery sweetness ofthis power, and this burned out all that was awkward in him, all thatgave him the appearance of a somewhat stupid, gloomy fellow, and, destroying it, filled his heart with youthful pride, with theconsciousness of his human personality. Love for a woman is alwaysfruitful to the man, be the love whatever it may; even though it were tocause but sufferings there is always much that is rich in it. Workingas a powerful poison on those whose souls are afflicted, it is for thehealthy man as fire for iron, which is to be transformed into steel. 

Foma's passion for the thirty-year-old woman, who lamented in hisembraces her dead youth, did not tear him away from his affairs; he wasnever lost in the caresses, or in his affairs, bringing into both hiswhole self. The woman, like good wine, provoked in him alike a thirstfor labour and for love, and she, too, became younger from the kisses ofthe 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 todrink heavily, and that it was harmful to drink thus, for a man of hisage. The letter concluded with advice to hurry up matters in orderto return home the sooner. Foma felt alarmed over this advice, and itclouded the clear holiday of his heart. But this shadow soon melted inhis worries over his affairs, and in the caresses of Pelageya. His lifestreamed on with the swiftness of a river wave, and each day brought tohim new sensations, awakening in him new thoughts. Pelageya's relationswith him contained all the passion of a mistress, all that power offeeling which women of her age put into their passion when drinking thelast drops from the cup of life. But at times a different feeling awokein her, a feeling not less powerful, and by which Foma became still moreattached to her--something similar to a mother's yearning to guard herbeloved son from errors, to teach him the wisdom of life. Oftentimes atnight, sitting in his embraces on the deck, she spoke to him tenderlyand sadly:

"Mind me as an older sister of yours. I have lived, I know men. I haveseen a great deal in my life! Choose your companions with care, forthere are people just as contagious as a disease. At first you cannottell them even when you see them; he looks to be a man like everybodyelse, and, suddenly, without being aware of it yourself, you will startto imitate him in life. You look around--and you find that you havecontracted his scabs. I myself have lost everything on account of afriend. I had a husband and two children. We lived well. My husband wasa clerk at a volost. " She became silent and looked for a long time atthe water, which was stirred by the vessel. Then she heaved a sigh andspoke to him again:

"May the Holy Virgin guard you from women of my kind--be careful. Youare tender as yet, your heart has not become properly hardened. Andwomen are fond of such as you--strong, handsome, rich. And most of allbeware of the quiet women. They stick to a man like blood-suckers, andsuck 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 withthose that are bold, like myself. These live not for the sake of gain. "

And she was indeed disinterested. In Perm Foma purchased for herdifferent new things and what-not. She was delighted, but later, havingexamined them, she said sadly:

"Don't squander your money too freely. See that your father does not getangry. I love you anyway, without all this. "

She had already told him that she would go with him only as far asKazan, where she had a married sister. Foma could not believe that shewould leave him, and when, on the eve of their arrival at Kazan, sherepeated her words, he became gloomy and began to implore her not toforsake him. 

"Do not feel sorry in advance, " she said. "We have a whole night beforeus. You will have time to feel sorry when I bid you good-bye, if youwill 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 husbandis 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, manymistresses. Marry then, when you have overflowed, when you have had yourfill 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 marryearly. One woman will not be enough to satisfy him, and he'll go toother women. And for your own happiness, you should take a wife onlywhen you know that she alone will suffice for you. "

But the more she spoke, the more persistent Foma became in his desirenot to part with her. 

"Just listen to what I'll tell you, " said the woman, calmly. "A splinterof wood is burning in your hand, and you can see well even without itslight--you had better dip it into water, so that there will be no smellof 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 youany. And, therefore, I am going away. "

It is hard to say what might have been the result of this dispute if anaccident had not interfered with it. In Kazan Foma received a telegramfrom Mayakin, who wrote to his godson briefly: "Come immediately on thepassenger steamer. " Foma's heart contracted nervously, and a few hourslater, gloomy and pale, his teeth set together, he stood on the deckof the steamer, which was leaving the harbour, and clinging to the railwith his hands, he stared motionlessly into the face of his love, whowas floating far away from him together with the harbour and the shore. Pelageya waved her handkerchief and smiled, but he knew that she wascrying, shedding many painful tears. From her tears the entire frontof Foma's shirt was wet, and from her tears, his heart, full of gloomyalarm, was sad and cold. The figure of the woman was growing smallerand smaller, as though melting away, and Foma, without lifting his eyes, stared at her and felt that aside from fear for his father and sorrowfor the woman, some new, powerful and caustic sensation was awakening inhis soul. He could not name it, but it seemed to him as something like agrudge 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 beganto pace the deck gloomily. 

The passengers, conversing aloud, seated themselves to drink tea; theporters bustled about on the gallery, setting the tables; somewherebelow, on the stern, in the third class, a child was crying, a harmonicawas wailing, the cook was chopping something with knives, the disheswere jarring--producing a rather harsh noise. Cutting the waves andmaking foam, shuddering under the strain and sighing heavily, theenormous steamer moved rapidly against the current. Foma looked at thewide strip of broken, struggling, and enraged waves at the stern of thesteamer, and began to feel a wild desire to break or tear something;also to go, breast foremost, against the current and to mass itspressure 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 asan answer to his questions, and he had invested in this brief word aconception of a power, similar to the power of God. He glanced at thespeakers: 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 blackwedge-shaped beard. His big gristly nose and his yellow, sunken cheeksreminded Foma of his godfather. 

"Fate!" The old man repeated the exclamation of his interlocutor withconfidence, and began to smile. "Fate in life is like a fisherman on theriver: it throws a baited hook toward us into the tumult of our life andwe dart at it with greedy mouths. Then fate pulls up the rod--and theman is struggling, flopping on the ground, and then you see his heart isbroken. 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, wisesmile; the large-eyed man, unfriendly, askance. This confused Foma; heblushed and walked away, thinking of Fate and wondering why it had firsttreated him kindly by giving him a woman, and then took back the giftfrom him, so simply and abusively? And he now understood that the vague, caustic feeling which he carried within him was a grudge against Fatefor thus sporting with him. He had been too much spoiled by life, toregard more plainly the first drop of poison from the cup which wasjust 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 afeeling 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 heseated 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 somereason 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 hispocket 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 thathe took her as his sweetheart?" asked Foma, with astonishment, in a lowvoice. 

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 toyour senses! A sweetheart at the age of sixty-three! And at such a priceas 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 hisgoat-like beard began to tremble in an uncomely manner. It took Foma along time to obtain a categorical answer; the old man, contrary to hishabit, was restless and irritated; his speech, usually fluent, was nowinterrupted; he was swearing and expectorating as he spoke, and it waswith difficulty that Foma learned what the matter was. Sophya PavlovnaMedinskaya, the wealthy architect's wife, who was well known in the cityfor her tireless efforts in the line of arranging various charitableprojects, persuaded Ignat to endow seventy-five thousand roubles for theerection of a lodging-house in the city and of a public library witha reading-room. Ignat had given the money, and already the newspaperslauded him for his generosity. Foma had seen the woman more than onceon the streets; she was short; he knew that she was considered as one ofthe most beautiful women in the city, and that bad rumours were afoot asto 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 thoughtnothing, you beardless youngster!"

"Why do you abuse me?" Foma said. 

"Tell me, in your opinion, is seventy-five thousand roubles a big sum ornot?"

"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 withcontempt 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 oldfoolishness--brought to test a million times by life--says that you area 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 toopicturesque language. 

Mayakin always spoke to him more roughly than his father, but now theyouth 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 asmall child. "

"Come, come!" exclaimed Mayakin, mockingly lifting his eyebrows andsquinting. 

This roused Foma's indignation. He looked full into the old man's eyesand articulated with emphasis:

"And I am telling you that I don't want to hear any more of thatundeserved 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 carriageturned into a narrow street, and, noticing from afar the roof of hishouse, Foma involuntarily moved forward. At the same time Mayakin askedhim 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 whichMayakin now regarded him. 

"Pretty good. That's good, dear. That's very good! Your father and Iwere afraid lest you should be a laggard. Well, have you learned todrink 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 comesalong. You must consider it isn't always necessary to do that. Sometimesby keeping silent you both please people and commit no sins. Yes. Aman's tongue is very seldom sober. Here we are. See, your father doesnot know that you have arrived. Is he home yet, I wonder?"

He was at home: his loud, somewhat hoarse laughter was heard from theopen windows of the rooms. The noise of the carriage, which stopped atthe house, caused Ignat to look out of the window, and at the sight ofhis son he cried out with joy:

"Ah! You've come. "

After a while he pressed Foma to his breast with one hand, and, pressingthe palm of his other hand against his son's forehead, thus bendinghis head back, he looked into his face with beaming eyes and spokecontentedly:

"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 frombehind his father's shoulder and noticed that a slender woman withmagnificent fair hair was sitting in the front corner of the room, resting her elbows on the table; her dark eyes, her thin eyebrows andplump, red lips strikingly defined on her pale face. Behind her armchairstood a large philodendron-plant whose big, figured leaves were hangingdown in the air over her little golden head. 

"How do you do, Sophya Pavlovna, " said Mayakin, tenderly, approachingher with his hand outstretched. "What, are you still collectingcontributions from poor people like us?"

Foma bowed to her mutely, not hearing her answer to Mayakin, nor whathis father was saying to him. The lady stared at him steadfastly andsmiled to him affably and serenely. Her childlike figure, clothed insome kind of dark fabric, was almost blended with the crimson stuffof the armchair, while her wavy, golden hair and her pale face shoneagainst the dark background. Sitting there in the corner, beneath thegreen leaves, she looked at once like a flower, and like an ikon. 

"See, Sophya Pavlovna, how he is staring at you. An eagle, eh?" saidIgnat. 

Her eyes became narrower, a faint blush leaped to her cheeks, and sheburst into laughter. It sounded like the tinkling of a little silverbell. 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 almostblack. 

"The sly rogue glided away, " said Mayakin in a low voice, angrilylooking after her. 

"Well, tell us how was the trip? Have you squandered much money?" roaredIgnat, pushing his son into the same armchair where Medinskaya had beensitting awhile before. Foma looked at him askance and seated himself inanother chair. 

"Isn't she a beautiful young woman, eh?" said Mayakin, smiling, feelingFoma with his cunning eyes. "If you keep on gaping at her she will eataway 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. ButIgnat 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 bebrought to him. 

Mayakin, winking his eyes, looked at the Gordyeeffs, sighed, bid themgood-bye, and, after inviting them to have tea with him in his raspberrygarden in the evening, went away. 

"Where is Aunt Anfisa?" asked Foma, feeling that now, being alone withhis 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 heconcluded 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 expensivefor 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 stuffwe are made of. That's clear enough--for the father's honour--for thehonour of the firm. And there is no loss either, because that gives agood reputation. And that, my dear, is the very best signboard for abusiness. Well, what else?"

"And then, I somehow spent more. "

"Speak frankly. It's not the money that I am asking you about--I justwant to know how you lived there, " insisted Ignat, regarding his sonattentively and sternly. 

"I was eating, drinking. " Foma did not give in, bending his headmorosely 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 youare 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 answeredhim with a kindly smile:

"Eh, you. Devil! Drink, but look out--know your business. What canyou do? A drunkard will sleep himself sober, a fool--never. Let usunderstand this much at least, for our own consolation. And did you havea good time with girls, too? Be frank! Are you afraid that I will beatyou, 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 defiledrather too soon. "

"I am twenty years old. And you yourself told me that in your daysfellows 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 likevaccination, you cannot pass your life without her. As for myself, Icannot play the hypocrite. I began to go around with women when I wasyounger 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 diebefore long. I am old. Something oppresses my breast. I breathe withdifficulty. I'll die. Then all my affairs will fall on your shoulders. At first your godfather will assist you--mind him! You started quitewell; you attended to everything properly; you held the reins firmlyin your hands. And though you did squander a big sum of money, it isevident that you did not lose your head. God grant the same in thefuture. You should know this: business is a living, strong beast; youmust manage it ably; you must put a strong bridle on it or it willconquer you. Try to stand above your business. Place yourself so that itwill all be under your feet; that each little tack shall be visible toyou. "

Foma looked at his father's broad chest, heard his heavy voice andthought to himself:

"Oh, but you won't die so soon!"

This thought pleased him and awakened in him a kind, warm feeling forhis father. 

"Rely upon your godfather. He has enough common sense in his head tosupply the whole town with it. All he lacks is courage, or he would haverisen high. Yes, I tell you my days on earth are numbered. Indeed, itis high time to prepare myself for death; to cast everything aside; tofast, 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 musthave 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 ormine, it is all the same to him. There he is trembling now. He has anaim 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, heslightly 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 onlychild. "

"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 ofhim. There is a will, dear, which says: 'All my movable and real estatesshall go to my daughter, Lubov. ' And as to the fact that she is yourgodfather'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 herso 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 Gymnasiumstudents and with her books. She's become learned. She'll be laughing atmy expense, " said Foma, emotionally. 

"That is quite true. She is too bold. But that is a trifle. All sorts ofrust 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, sedentarylife; sitting in one place he gave a thought to everything. It isworthwhile listening to him, for he can see the wrong side of eachand every worldly affair. He is our aristocrat--descending from MotherYekaterina--ha, ha! He understands a great deal about himself. And ashis 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. Fomarose and went to meet her, with a gentle smile. 

Again his life streamed on slowly, calmly, monotonously. Again theExchange and his father's instructions. Retaining a kindly sarcastic andencouraging tone in his relation toward his son, Ignat began to treathim more strictly. He censured him for each and every trifle andconstantly reminded him that he brought him up freely; that he was neverin his way and that he never beat him. 

"Other fathers beat fellows like yourself with logs of wood. And I nevereven 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 ofthe 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 thattears will gush forth from your heels. You've grown up too soon, likea toad-stool, just sprung up from the ground. You have a bad smellalready. "

"Why are you so angry at me?" asked Foma, perplexed and offended, whenhis father chanced to be in a happy frame of mind. 

"Because you cannot tolerate it when your father grumbles at you. You'reready to quarrel immediately. "

"But it is offensive. I have not grown worse than I was before. Don't Isee how others live at my age?"

"Your head wouldn't fall off from my scolding you. And I scold youbecause 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 toyou. "

These words of Ignat made the son very thoughtful. Foma also feltsomething strange in himself, something which distinguished him from theyouth of his age, but he, too, could not understand what it was. And helooked at himself with suspicion. 

Foma liked to be on the Exchange amid the bustle and talk of the sedatepeople who were making deals amounting to thousands of roubles; therespect with which the less well-to-do tradesmen greeted and spoke tohim--to Foma, the son of the millionaire--flattered him greatly. Hefelt happy and proud whenever he successfully managed some part of hisfather's business, assuming all responsibility on his own shoulders, andreceived a smile of approval from his father for it. There was in hima great deal of ambition, yearning to appear as a grown-up man ofbusiness, 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 contacteveryday with the merchants' sons of his age. They had invited himmore than once to join them in their sprees, but he rather rudely anddisdainfully declined their invitations and even laughed at them. 

"I am afraid. Your fathers may learn of your sprees, and as they'll giveyou a drubbing, I might also come in for a share. "

What he did not like in them was that they were leading a dissipated anddepraved life, without their fathers' knowledge, and that the moneythey were spending was either stolen from their parents or borrowed onlong-termed promissory notes, to be paid with exorbitant interest. They in turn did not like him for this very reserve and aversion, whichcontained the pride so offensive to them. He was timid about speaking topeople older than himself, fearing lest he should appear in their eyesstupid and thick-headed. 

He often recalled Pelageya, and at first he felt melancholy whenever herimage flashed before his imagination. But time went on, and little bylittle rubbed off the bright colours of this woman; and before hewas aware of it his thoughts were occupied by the slender, angel-likeMedinskaya. She used to come up to Ignat almost every Sunday withvarious requests, all of which generally had but one aim--to hasten thebuilding of the lodging-asylum. In her presence Foma felt awkward, huge, heavy; this pained him, and he blushed deeply under the endearing lookof Sophya Pavlovna's large eyes. He noticed that every time she lookedat him, her eyes would grow darker, while her upper lip would trembleand raise itself slightly, thus displaying very small white teeth. Thisalways frightened him. When his father noticed how steadfastly he wasstaring at Medinskaya he told him one day:

"Don't be staring so much at that face. Look out, she is like abirch ember: from the outside it is just as modest, smooth anddark--altogether cold to all appearances--but take it into your hand andit will burn you. "

Medinskaya did not kindle in the youth any sensual passion, for therewas nothing in her that resembled Pelageya, and altogether she was notat all like other women. He knew that shameful rumours about her werein the air, but he did not believe any of them. But his relations to herwere changed when he noticed her one day in a carriage beside a stoutman in a gray hat and with long hair falling over his shoulders. Hisface was like a bladder--red and bloated; he had neither moustache norbeard, and altogether he looked like a woman in disguise. Foma was toldthat this was her husband. Then dark and contradicting feelings sprangup within him: he felt like insulting the architect, and at the sametime he envied and respected him. Medinskaya now seemed to him lessbeautiful and more accessible; he began to feel sorry for her, and yethe thought malignantly:

"She must surely feel disgusted when he kisses her. "

And after all this he sometimes perceived in himself some bottomless andoppressive emptiness, which could not be filled up by anything--neitherby the impressions of the day just gone by nor by the recollectionof the past; and the Exchange, and his affairs, and his thoughts ofMedinskaya--all were swallowed up by this emptiness. It alarmed him: inthe dark depth of this emptiness he suspected some hidden existence ofa hostile power, as yet formless but already carefully and persistentlystriving to become incarnate. 

In the meantime Ignat, changing but little outwardly, was growing evermore 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 tornoff my skin, I would not have felt it. While now I toss about from sideto side, and I fall asleep only toward morning. And every now and thenI 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 thoughit would soon tear itself away and fall somewhere into the deep; intothe bosom. Oh Lord, have pity upon me through Thy great mercy. " Andheaving a penitent sigh, he would lift heavenward his stern eyes, growndim 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 theground. 

This happened in August, early in the morning. Foma was sound asleepwhen suddenly he felt somebody shaking him by the shoulder, and a hoarsevoice called at his ear:

"Get up. "

He opened his eyes and saw that his father was seated in a chair nearhis bed, monotonously repeating in a dull voice:

"Get up, get up. "

The sun had just risen, and its light, falling on Ignat's white linenshirt, 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, somewhatoffended: "It must be necessary, since I am waking you. "

When Foma looked closely at his father's face, he noticed that it wasgray 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 anylonger. I know it as well without him. "

"What?"

"Oh, I know it!" said the old man, mysteriously, casting a strangeglance around the room. Foma was dressing himself, and his father, withlowered head, spoke slowly:

"I am afraid to breathe. Something tells me that if I should now heave adeep sigh, my heart would burst. Today is Sunday! After the morning massis over, send for the priest. "

"What are you talking about, papa?" Foma smiled. 

"Nothing. Wash yourself and go into the garden. I ordered the samovarto be brought there. We'll drink our tea in the morning coolness. I feellike drinking now hot, strong tea. Be quicker. "

The old man rose with difficulty from the chair, and, bent andbarefooted, left the room in a staggering gait. Foma looked at hisfather, and a shooting chill of fear made his heart shrink. He washedhimself in haste, and hurried out into the garden. 

There, under an old, spreading apple-tree sat Ignat in a big oakenarmchair. The light of the sun fell in thin stripes through thebranches of the trees upon the white figure of the old man clad in hisnight-garments. There was such a profound silence in the garden thateven the rustle of a branch, accidentally touched by Foma's clothes, seemed to him like a loud sound and he shuddered. On the table, beforehis father, stood the samovar, purring like a well-fed tom-cat andexhaling a stream of steam into the air. Amid the silence and the freshverdure of the garden, which had been washed by abundant rains the daybefore, this bright spot of the boldly shining, loud brass seemed toFoma as something unnecessary, as something which suited neither thetime nor the place--nor the feeling that sprang up within him at thesight of the sickly, bent old man, who was dressed in white, and who satalone underneath the mute, motionless, dark-green foliage, wherein redapples were modestly peeping. 

"Be seated, " said Ignat. 

"We ought to send for a doctor. " Foma advised him irresolutely, seatinghimself opposite him. 

"It isn't necessary. It's a little better now in the open air. And nowI'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 wastrembling in his father's hand. 

"Drink. "

Silently moving up one glass for himself, Foma bent over it, blowing thefoam off the surface of the tea, and with pain in his heart, hearing theloud, heavy breathing of his father. Suddenly something struck againstthe table with such force that the dishes began to rattle. 

Foma shuddered, threw up his head and met the frightened, almostsenseless look of his father's eyes. Ignat stared at his son andwhispered hoarsely:

"An apple fell down (the devil take it!). It sounded like the firing ofa 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 theripe beauty of the garden was bathed in solemn silence. The fright wasstill in Ignat's eyes. 

"Oh Lord, Jesus Christ!" said he in a low voice, making the sign of thecross. "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 forMayakin. "

"I'd rather send for them now. "

"They'll soon toll for the mass--the priest isn't home--and then there'sno 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 muchafraid for you. Live honestly and firmly; do not covet what belongs toother people, take good care of your own. "

It was hard for him to speak, he stopped short and rubbed his chest withhis hand. 

"Do not rely upon others; expect but little from them. We all live inorder 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 silenceof the morning. Ignat and Foma crossed themselves three times. 

After the first sound of the bell-tone came another, then a third, andsoon the air was filled with sounds of the church-bells, coming from allsides--flowing, measured, calling aloud. 

"There, they are tolling for the mass, " said Ignat, listening to theecho 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 theNikola Church. It was presented by Peter Mitrich Vyagin--and this, thehoarse one--this is at the church of Praskeva Pyatnitza. "

The singing waves of the bell-tones agitated the air, which was filledwith them, and they died away in the clear blue of the sky. Fomastared thoughtfully at his father's face and saw that the alarm wasdisappearing from his eyes, and that they were now brighter. 

But suddenly the old man's face turned very red, his eyes distended androlled out of their orbits, his mouth opened with fright, and from itissued a strange, hissing sound:

"F-F-A-A-ch. "

Immediately after this Ignat's head fell back on his shoulder, and hisheavy body slowly slipped down from the chair to the ground as if theearth had dragged him imperiously unto itself. Foma was motionless andsilent for awhile, then he rushed up to Ignat, lifted his head from theground and looked into his face. The face was dark, motionless, and thewide-open eyes expressed nothing--neither pain, nor fear, nor joy. Foma looked around him. As before, nobody was in the garden, and theresounding chatter of the bells was still roaring in the air. Foma'shands began to tremble, he let go his father's head, and it struckheavily against the ground. Dark, thick blood began to gush in a narrowstream from his open mouth across his blue cheek. 

Foma struck his breast with both hands, and kneeling before the deadbody, he wildly cried aloud. He was trembling with fright, and with eyeslike those of a madman he was searching for someone in the verdure ofthe garden. 

CHAPTER IV

HIS father's death stupefied Foma and filled him with a strangesensation; 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 leavingany trace, in the bottomless depths of the death-like silence whichfilled his soul. He neither cried, nor grieved, nor thought of anything;pale and gloomy, with knitted brow, he was attentively listening to thisquiet, which had forced out all his feelings, benumbed his heart andtightly clutched his brains. He was conscious but of the purely physicalsensation of heaviness in all his frame and particularly in his breast, and then it also seemed to him that it was always twilight, and eventhough the sun was still high in the sky--everything on earth lookeddark and melancholy. 

The funeral was arranged by Mayakin. Hastily and briskly he was bustlingabout in the rooms, making much clatter with the heels of his boots;he cried at the household help imperiously, clapped his godson on theshoulder, consoling him:

"And why are you petrified? Roar and you will feel relieved. Your fatherwas old--old in body. Death is prepared for all of us, you cannot escapeit--consequently you must not be prematurely torpid. You cannot bringhim to life again with your sorrow, and your grief is unnecessaryto him, for it is said: 'When the body is robbed of the soul by theterrible angels, the soul forgets all relatives and acquaintances, 'which means that you are of no consequence to him now, whether you cryor 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 hisheart. He came to himself, however, on the day of the funeral, thanks tothe persistence of his godfather, who was assiduously and oddly tryingto rouse his sad soul. 

The day of the funeral was cloudy and dreary. Amid a heavy cloud of dustan enormous crowd of people, winding like a black ribbon, followedthe coffin of Ignat Gordyeeff. Here and there flashed the gold of thepriest's robes, and the dull noise of the slow movement of the crowdblended in harmony with the solemn music of the choir, composed of thebishop's choristers. Foma was pushed from behind and from the sides; hewalked, seeing nothing but the gray head of his father, and the mournfulsinging 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 toaccompany your father to the church, the mayor, and almost the entirecity council. And behind you--just turn around! There goes SophyaPavlovna. The town pays its respects to Ignat. "

At first Foma did not listen to his godfather's whisper, but when hementioned Medinskaya, he involuntarily looked back and noticed thegovernor. A little drop of something pleasant fell into his heart atthe sight of this important personage, with a bright ribbon acrosshis shoulder, with orders on his breast, pacing after the coffin, anexpression of sorrow on his stern countenance. 

"Blessed is the road where this soul goeth today, " Yakov Tarasovichhummed softly, moving his nose, and he again whispered in his godson'sear:

"Seventy-five thousand roubles is such a sum that you can demand so manyescorts for it. Have you heard that Sonka is making arrangements for thelaying of the corner-stone on the fifteenth? Just forty days after thedeath of your father. "

Foma again turned back, and his eyes met the eyes of Medinskaya. Heheaved a deep sigh at her caressing glance, and felt relieved at once, as if a warm ray of light penetrated his soul and something meltedthere. And then and there he considered that it was unbecoming him toturn his head from side to side. 

At church Foma's head began to ache, and it seemed to him thateverything around and underneath him was shaking. In the stifling air, filled with dust, with the breathing of the people and the smoke ofthe incense, the flames of the candles were timidly trembling. The meekimage of Christ looked down at him from the big ikon, and the flamesof the candles, reflected in the tarnished gold of the crown over theSaviour's brow, reminded him of drops of blood. 

Foma's awakened soul was greedily feeding itself on the solemn, gloomypoetry 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'schest, and the crowd in church was stirred to agitation by this outburstof grief. 

Having uttered the sob, Foma staggered. His godfather immediately caughthim by his arms and began to push him forward to the coffin, singingquite 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 fromthe 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 thanhis godfather's hands. 

"Ye that behold me mute and lifeless before you, weep for me, brethrenand friends, " begged Ignat through the mouth of the Church. But his sonwas 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 lamentfor its sinful son. He was surrounded by acquaintances, who were kindlyconsoling him; he listened to them and understood that they all feltsorry for him and that he became dear to them. And his godfatherwhispered 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, asthey caused him to answer at all events. 

At the cemetery, when they sang for Ignat's eternal memory, he criedagain bitterly and loud. His godfather immediately seized him by thearms 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? Ihave known his real value, while you were but his son. And yet, I donot cry. For more than thirty years we lived together in perfectharmony--how much had been spoken, how much thought--how much sorrowdrunk. You are young; it is not for you to grieve! Your life is beforeyou, 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 nolonger make a bosom friend!"

The old man's voice began to jar and squeak queerly. His face wasdistorted, his lips were stretched into a big grimace and werequivering, and from his small eyes frequent tears were running over thenow contracted wrinkles of his face. He looked so pitiful and so unlikehimself, that Foma stopped short, pressed him close to his body with thetenderness 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, hesuddenly turned again into a firm and clever old man. 

"You must not cry, " said he, mysteriously, seating himself in thecarriage beside his godson. "You are now the commander-in-chief in thewar and you must command your soldiers bravely. Your soldiers are theroubles, and you have a great army of these. Make war incessantly!"

Surprised at the quickness of his transformation, Foma listened to hiswords and for some reason or other they reminded him of those clods ofearth, 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 oldman 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 notlook far before him and he could not take my advice. He gained successin life not with his mind, but more with his head. Oh, what will becomeof you? You had better move into my house, for you will feel lonesome inyours. "

"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 oldwoman on the oven. Live fearlessly and do what you were appointed todo. Man is appointed for the organisation of life on earth. Man iscapital--like a rouble, he is made up of trashy copper groshes andcopecks. From the dust of the earth, as it is said; and even as hehas intercourse with the world, he absorbs grease and oil, sweat andtears--a soul and a mind form themselves in him. And from this he startsto grow upward and downward. Now, you see his price is a grosh, now afifteen copeck silver piece, now a hundred roubles, and sometimes he isabove any price. He is put into circulation and he must bring intereststo life. Life knows the value of each of us and will not check ourcourse before time. Nobody, dear, works to his own detriment, if he iswise. 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 forhimself that if it is a river, it must be flowing somewhere, and if itwere standing in one place, it would be a swamp. "

"You're simply mocking me at random, " said Foma, sternly. "The sea isnot flowing anywhere. "

"The sea receives all rivers into itself, and then, powerful storms ragein it at times. Then the sea of life also submits on agitation, stirredup by men, and death renovates the waters of the sea of life, that theymight not become spoiled. No matter how many people are dying, they arenevertheless 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 innumber?" 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 withthe fact that there are all sorts of stuff in the world? But you do notmind them--you wear them out and throw them away. "

Foma glanced at his godfather reproachfully, and noticing that the oldman 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 humblebitterness. "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 theperch has a weak soul since his fins do not stand on end. "

The old man's mocking words offended and angered Foma. He turned asideand 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? DoI?"

Foma was silent. 

"Eh, you. Know this--he loves who teaches. Remember this well. And as todeath, do not think of it. It is foolish, dear, for a live man to thinkof death. 'Ecclesiastes' reflected on death better than anybody elsereflected 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 Fomaappeared in the hall, he was seized by the arms and led away to thetable and there was urged to drink and eat something. A marketplacenoise smote the air; the hall was crowded and suffocating. Silently, Foma drank a glass of vodka, then another, and a third. Around him theywere munching and smacking their lips; the vodka poured out from thebottles was gurgling, the wine-glasses were tinkling. They were speakingof 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 mayoralso wished to make a speech, but did not venture to do so after thebishop had spoken, fearing lest he should not speak so well as thebishop. 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 sendit down immediately after a drink. "

"Let us follow his example, " roared a thick basso. Offended to thequick, Foma looked with a frown at the fat lips and at the jaws chewingthe tasty food, and he felt like crying out and driving away all thesepeople, whose sedateness had but lately inspired him with respect forthem. 

"You had better be more kind, more sociable, " said Mayakin in a lowvoice, 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 aroundwith a kind smile on his face. 

But it was too late; his smile was of no avail. Foma's words had beenoverheard, the noise and the talk was subsiding, some of the guestsbegan to bustle about hurriedly, others, offended, frowned, put downtheir forks and knives and walked away from the table, all looking atFoma 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 thecrowd of people like an ember amid ashes. "Be seated, pray! They're soonserving pancakes. "

Foma shrugged his shoulders and walked off toward the door, sayingaloud:

"I shall not eat. "

He heard a hostile rumbling behind him and his godfather's wheedlingvoice 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 hisfather had died. The feeling of loneliness and grief oppressed hisheart. He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt to make his breathingeasier, rested his elbows on the table, and with his head tightlypressed between his hands, he sat motionless. It was drizzling and theleaves of the apple-tree were rustling mournfully under the drops of therain. He sat there for a long time alone, motionless, watching how thesmall drops were falling from the apple-tree. His head was heavy fromthe vodka, and in his heart there was a growing grudge against men. Some indefinite, impersonal feelings and thoughts were springing up andvanishing within him; before him flashed the bald skull of his godfatherwith a little crown of silver hair and with a dark face, which resembledthe faces of the ancient ikons. This face with the toothless mouth andthe malicious smile, rousing in Foma hatred and fear, augmented inhim the consciousness of solitude. Then he recalled the kind eyes ofMedinskaya and her small, graceful figure; and beside her arose thetall, robust, and rosy-cheeked Lubov Mayakina with smiling eyes and witha big light golden-coloured braid. "Do not rely upon men, expect butlittle 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 werefluttering from the rain, and the air was full of mournful sounds. Thegray sky seemed as though weeping, and on the trees cold tears weretrembling. And Foma's soul was dry, dark; it was filled with a painfulfeeling 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 shiveringwith cold he arose and went into the house. 

Life was tugging him from all sides, giving him no chance to beconcentrated in thinking of and grieving for his father, and on thefortieth day after Ignat's death Foma, attired in holiday clothes, with a pleasant feeling in his heart, went to the ceremony of thecorner-stone laying of the lodging-asylum. Medinskaya notified him ina letter the day before, that he had been elected as a member of thebuilding committee and also as honorary member of the society of whichshe was president. This pleased him and he was greatly agitated by thepart he was to play today at the laying of the corner-stone. On his wayhe thought of how everything would be and how he should behave in ordernot 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 hecarried a huge umbrella in his hand. 

"Come on, take me up there, " said the old man, cleverly jumping into thecarriage like a monkey. "To tell the truth, I was waiting for you. I waslooking 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 theground. "

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 newspaperthis morning that you were elected as a member of the building committeeand 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 inthis charity business, and I may even say that it isn't a business atall, 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 comeup 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 thecorner-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 wasdonated 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 getcredit everywhere, and everywhere there is a way open to him. Then comeforward, 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 willhide yourself--nothing but foolishness will be the result. "

They arrived at their destination, where all the important people hadgathered already, and an enormous crowd of people surrounded the pilesof wood, bricks and earth. The bishop, the governor, the representativesof the city's aristocracy and the administration formed, together withthe splendidly dressed ladies, a big bright group and looked at theefforts of the two stonemasons, who were preparing the bricks and thelime. Mayakin and his godson wended their way toward this group. Hewhispered to Foma:

"Lose no courage, these people have robbed their bellies to coverthemselves with silk. "

And he greeted the governor before the bishop, in a respectfullycheerful 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 sametime 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 thecourt, with the prosecutor, with the mayor--in a word, with all thosepeople whom he considered it necessary to greet first; such as these, however, were few. He jested, smiled and at once attracted everybody'sattention to his little figure, and Foma with downcast head stoodbehind him, looking askance at these people wrapped in costly stuffs, embroidered with gold; he envied the old man's adroitness and lost hiscourage, and feeling that he was losing his courage--he grew stillmore timid. But now Mayakin seized him by the hand and drew him up tohimself. 

"There, your Excellency, this is my godson, Foma, the late Ignat's onlyson. "

"Ah!" said the governor in his basso, "I'm very pleased. I sympathisewith you in your misfortune, young man!" he said, shaking Foma's hand, and became silent; then he added resolutely and confidently: "To lose afather, that is a very painful misfortune. "

And, having waited about two seconds for Foma's answer, he turned awayfrom 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 thispublic club, they do not understand the real needs of the population. "

"And then, your Excellency, a small capital means that the city willhave to add its own money. "

"Perfectly true! Perfectly true!"

"Temperance, I say, is good! Would to God that all were sober! I don'tdrink, either, but what is the use of these performances, libraries andall that, since the people cannot even read?"

The governor replied approvingly. 

"Here, I say, you better use this money for a technical institution. Ifit 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'llgive it to us. Then the city wouldn't have to add of its own money, andthe whole affair would be more sensible. "

"Precisely! I fully agree with you! But how the liberals began to cry atyou! Eh? Ha, ha!"

"That has always been their business, to cry. "

The deep cough of the archdeacon of the cathedral announced thebeginning of the divine service. 

Sophya Pavlovna came up to Foma, greeted him and said in a sad, lowvoice:

"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 toyou 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 isnot 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 accessibleto everybody. But there are people to whom education is not onlyunnecessary, but who can also be harmed by it. Those that are pure ofheart, 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'seyes, Foma appeared ridiculous and stupid in his own eyes; heimmediately became angry at himself and said in a muffled voice:

"Yes, I am such. I always speak my mind. I cannot deceive. If I seesomething to laugh at, I laugh openly. I am stupid!"

"What makes you speak that way?" said the woman, reproachfully, andadjusting her dress, she accidentally stroked Foma's hand, in which heheld his hat. This made him look at his wrist and smile joyously andconfusedly. 

"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'tyou?"

"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 thebishop, who recited the prayer expressively, outstretching his hand overthe 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 tolive in it from all kinds of calumny. "

"How rich and beautiful our prayers are, are they not?" askedMedinskaya. 

"Yes, " said Foma, shortly, without understanding her words and feelingthat he was blushing again. 

"They will always be opponents of our commercial interests, " Mayakinwhispered loudly and convincingly, standing beside the city mayor, notfar from Foma. "What is it to them? All they want is somehow to deservethe approval of the newspaper. But they cannot reach the main point. They live for mere display, not for the organisation of life; theseare their only measures: the newspapers and Sweden! [Mayakin speaks ofSweden, meaning Switzerland. --Translator's note. ] The doctor scoffed atme 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 thingsthere. And then, we don't live for the sake of Sweden, and Sweden cannotput us to test. We have to make our lip according to our own last. Isn'tit 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 bythe sleeve, asked:

"Are you going to the dinner?"

And Medinskaya's velvet-like, warm little hand glided once more overFoma's hand. 

The dinner was to Foma a real torture. For the first time in hislife among these uniformed people, he saw that they were eating andspeaking--doing everything better than he, and he felt that between himand Medinskaya, who was seated just opposite him, was a high mountain, not a table. Beside him sat the secretary of the society of which Fomahad been made an honorary member; he was a young court officer, bearingthe odd name of Ookhtishchev. As if to make his name appear moreabsurd than it really was, he spoke in a loud, ringing tenor, andaltogether--plump, short, round-faced and a lively talker--he lookedlike a brand new bell. 

"The very best thing in our society is the patroness; the mostreasonable is what we are doing--courting the patroness; the mostdifficult is to tell the patroness such a compliment as would satisfyher; and the most sensible thing is to admire the patroness silently andhopelessly. So that in reality, you are a member not of 'the Societyof Solicitude, ' and so on, but of the Society of Tantaluses, which iscomposed of persons bent on pleasing Sophya Medinskaya. "

Foma listened to his chatter, now and then looking at the patroness, whowas absorbed in a conversation with the chief of the police; Foma roaredin reply to his interlocutor, pretending to be busy eating, and hewished that all this would end the sooner. He felt that he was wretched, stupid, ridiculous and he was certain that everybody was watching andcensuring him. This tied him with invisible shackles, thus checking hiswords and his thoughts. At last he went so far, that the line of variousphysiognomies, stretched out by the table opposite him, seemed to him along and wavy white strip besprinkled with laughing eyes, and all theseeyes 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 thewrinkles of his face. The mayor, a gray-headed, red-faced, short-neckedman, stared at him like a bull, with obstinate attention and at times herapped on the edge of the table with his big finger affirmatively. Theanimated talk and laughter drowned his godfather's bold speech, and Fomawas unable to hear a single word of it, much more so that the tenor ofthe secretary was unceasingly ringing in his ears:

"Look, there, the archdeacon arose; he is filling his lungs with air; hewill 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 thenoise in the hail; the eminent merchants fixed their eyes on the big, wide-open mouth, from which a deep sound was streaming forth, andavailing himself of this moment, Foma arose from his seat and left thehall. 

After awhile he breathed freely and, sitting in his cab, thought sadlythat there was no place for him amid these people. Inwardly, he calledthem polished. He did not like their brilliancy, their faces, theirsmiles or their words, but the freedom and the cleverness of theirmovements, their ability to speak much and on any subject, their prettycostumes--all this aroused in him a mixture of envy and respect forthem. He felt sad and oppressed at the consciousness of being unable totalk so much and so fluently as all these people, and here he recalledthat 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 hisfather of Mayakin's intention to marry him to Luba, the young Gordyeeffbegan to shun her. But after his father's death he was almost every dayat the Mayakins, and somehow Luba said to him one day:

"I am looking at you, and, do you know?--you do not resemble a merchantat all. "

"Nor do you look like a merchant's daughter, " said Foma, and looked ather suspiciously. He did not understand the meaning of her words; didshe mean to offend him, or did she say these words without any kindthoughts?

"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 myfather, 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. Yourfather was a better man. "

"Of course!" said Foma, proudly. 

After this conversation an attachment sprang up between them almostimmediately, and growing stronger from day to day, it soon developedinto friendship, though a somewhat odd friendship it was. 

Though Luba was not older than her god-brother, she nevertheless treatedhim as an older person would treat a little boy. She spoke to himcondescendingly, often jesting at his expense; her talk was always fullof words which were unfamiliar to Foma; and she pronounced thesewords with particular emphasis and with evident satisfaction. She wasespecially fond of speaking about her brother Taras, whom she had neverseen, but of whom she was telling such stories as would make him looklike Aunt Anfisa's brave and noble robbers. Often, when complaining ofher 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 attimes she was straightforward, simple-minded, and particularly kind andfriendly to him; then he would unburden his heart before her, and for along time they would share each other's thoughts and feelings. 

Both spoke a great deal and spoke sincerely, but neither one understoodthe other; it seemed to Foma that whatever Luba had to say was foreignto him and unnecessary to her, and at the same time he clearly saw thathis awkward words did not at all interest her, and that she did not careto understand them. No matter how long these conversations lasted, theygave both of them the sensation of discomfort and dissatisfaction. Asif an invisible wall of perplexity had suddenly arisen and stood betweenthem. They did not venture to touch this wall, or to tell each otherthat they felt it was there--they resumed their conversations, dimlyconscious that there was something in each of them that might bind andunite them. 

When Foma arrived at his godfather's house, he found Luba alone. Shecame out to meet him, and it was evident that she was either ill or outof humour; her eyes were flashing feverishly and were surrounded withblack circles. Feeling cold, she muffled herself in a warm shawl andsaid with a smile:

"It is good that you've come! For I was sitting here alone; it islonesome--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, " shesaid, not answering his question. 

He went into one of the small rooms of the house, whose two windowsoverlooked the garden. In the middle of the room stood an oval table, surrounded with old-fashioned, leather-covered chairs; on one partitionhung a clock in a long case with a glass door, in the corner was acupboard for dishes, and opposite the windows, by the walls, was anoaken 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. Theyall 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 gloomyface. 

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--andit seems to you that the gates of another kingdom are thrown openbefore you. And the people there are different, and their language isdifferent, 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 theyreally 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 canthere be in books?"

"Just as in fairy--tales, nothing is real. "

"You are wrong! You have read no books; how can you judge? Books areprecisely real. They teach you how to live. "

"Come, come!" Foma waved his hand. "Drop it; no good will come out ofyour books! There, take your father, for example, does he read books?And yet he is clever! I looked at him today and envied him. Hisrelations with everybody are so free, so clever, he has a word for eachand every one. You can see at once that whatever he should desire he issure to attain. "

"What is he striving for?" exclaimed Luba. "Nothing but money. But thereare people that want happiness for all on earth, and to gain this endthey work without sparing themselves; they suffer and perish! How can myfather be compared with these?"

"You need not compare them. They evidently like one thing, while yourfather 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 dowish for something?"

"They wish for happiness for all!" cried Luba, hotly. "I can'tunderstand this, " said Foma, nodding his head. "Who cares there for myhappiness? And then again, what happiness can they give me, since I, myself, do not know as yet what I want? No, you should have ratherlooked 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 thatthey know their place. A clever, easy-going lot. "

"Ah, Foma!" exclaimed Luba, vexed. "You understand nothing! Nothingagitates you! You are an idler. "

"Now, that's going too far! I've simply not had time enough to see whereI am. "

"You are simply an empty man, " said Luba, resolutely and firmly. 

"You were not within my soul, " replied Foma, calmly. "You cannot know mythoughts. "

"What is there that you should think of?" said Luba, shrugging hershoulders. 

"So? First of all, I am alone. Secondly, I must live. Don't I understandthat it is altogether impossible for me to live as I am now? I do notcare to be made the laughing-stock of others. I cannot even speakto people. No, nor can I think. " Foma concluded his words and smiledconfusedly. 

"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 ather, as though speaking to himself; "but I cannot tell what it is. I see, for instance, that whatever my godfather says is clever andreasonable. But that does not attract me. The other people are by farmore 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 ofMedinskaya. He was wishing to have a talk with her. 

"Yes, " said the girl, thoughtfully, "I am growing more and moreconvinced 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 allhis life, nothing but drink and play cards? A savage? I do not wantit! I want to be an individual. I am such, for I know how wrong theconstruction 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 soularound here. Since my mother died, my father drove everyone away. Somewent off to study. Lipa, too, left us. She writes me:

'Read. ' Ah, I am reading! I am reading!' she exclaimed, with despair inher voice, and after a moment's silence she went on sadly:

"Books do not contain what the heart needs most, and there's much Icannot understand in them. And then, I feel weary to be reading all thetime alone, alone! I want to speak to a man, but there is none to speakto! I feel disgusted. We live but once, and it is high time for me tolive, and yet there is not a soul! Wherefore shall I live? Lipa tellsme: 'Read and you will understand it. ' I want bread and she gives mea stone. I understand what one must do--one must stand up for what heloves 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. Thereare 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 notunderstand her. And when she became silent, depressed and sad, he foundnothing to tell her save a few words that were like a reproach:

"There, you yourself say that books are worthless to you, and yet youinstruct 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, thetorments that constantly oppress me. That your thoughts, like mine, would rob you of your sleep, that you, too, would be disgusted witheverything, and with yourself as well! I despise every one of you. Ihate you!"

All aflush, she looked at him so angrily and spoke with so muchspitefulness, that in his astonishment he did not even feel offended byher. 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 compelledFoma to listen attentively to her spiteful words; he felt there wascommon sense in them. He even came nearer to her, but she, enraged andexasperated, turned away from him and became silent. 

It was still light outside, and the reflection of the setting sun laystill on the branches of the linden-trees before the windows, but theroom was already filled with twilight, and the sideboard, the clock andthe cupboard seemed to have grown in size. The huge pendulum peepedout every moment from beneath the glass of the clock-case, and flashingdimly, was hiding with a weary sound now on the right side, now onthe left. Foma looked at the pendulum and he began to feel awkward andlonesome. Luba arose and lighted the lamp which was hanging over thetable. The girl's face was pale and stern. 

"You went for me, " said Foma, reservedly. "What for? I can'tunderstand. "

"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? Isthis the way how to live? What am I? I am a hanger-on in my father'shouse. They keep me here as a housekeeper. Then they'll marry me! Againhousekeeping. 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 bellbegan to ring somewhere, and she said in a low voice, leaning back inher 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 inthe 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 hisgodfather's words. 

"Aha! So-o-o. Well, then, I'll also speak about the dinner. I have beenwatching 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. Whenthe governor, for instance, speaks to you, you keep quiet. "

"What should I tell him? He says that it is a misfortune to lose afather. Well, I know it. What could I tell him?"

"But as the Lord willed it so, I do not grumble, your Excellency. That'swhat you should have said, or something in this spirit. Governors, mydear, 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 lookneither like a lamb, nor like a wolf, but just play off before him asthough saying: 'You are our father, we are your children, ' and he willimmediately 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 dancingattendance; I teach him the politics of life. You had better leave usalone! 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 thetable with his fingers and said:

"I shall instruct you, Foma. I shall teach you the most genuine, trueknowledge and philosophy, and if you understand them, your life will befaultless. "

Foma saw how the wrinkles on the old man's forehead were twitching, andthey seemed to him like lines of Slavonic letters. 

"First of all, Foma, since you live on this earth, it is your duty tothink over everything that takes place about you. Why? That you maynot suffer for your own senselessness, and may not harm others by yourfolly. Now, every act of man is double-faced, Foma. One is visible toall--this is the wrong side; the other is concealed--and that is thereal one. It is that one that you must be able to find in order tounderstand the sense of the thing. Take for example the lodging-asylums, the work-houses, the poor-houses and other similar institutions. Justconsider, what are they for?"

"What is there to consider here?" said Foma, wearily "Everybody knowswhat they are for--for the poor and feeble. "

"Eh, dear! Sometimes everybody knows that a certain man is a rascal anda scoundrel, and yet all call him Ivan or Peter, and instead of abusinghim 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 fateto remind us of Christ; he is a brother of Christ; he is the bell of theLord and he rings in life to rouse our conscience, to arouse the satietyof the flesh of man. He stands by the window and sings out: 'For thesake of Christ!' and by his singing he reminds us of Christ, of His holycommandment to help the neighbour. But men have so arranged their lifethat it is impossible for them to act according to the teachings ofChrist, and Jesus Christ has become altogether unnecessary to us. Notone time, but perhaps a hundred thousand times have we turned Himover 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 thusremind us of Him. And now we have arranged to lock up these beggarsin separate houses that they should not walk around on the streets andshould 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 havearranged to lock them up in all sorts of houses and that they might bekept there cheaply, we have compelled those old and feeble beggarsto work and we need give no alms now, and since our streets have beencleared of the various ragged beggars, we do not see their terribledistress and poverty, and we may, therefore, think that all men on earthare well-fed, shod and clothed. That's what all these different housesare for, for the concealment of the truth, for the banishment of Christfrom 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 wasstirring, and in his voice rang notes of irritability and emotion. 

"Now, let us look at this thing from the other side. Who contributesmost 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, thefunctionaries 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 fromthem--and they started out in service. Very well! But who are the mostpowerful 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 tofollow, and which was already sparkling in the eyes of his godfather. 

"Just mark this, " the old man went on distinctly and impressively. "Wemerchants had no hand in the arrangement of life, nor do we have a voiceor a hand in it today. Life was arranged by others, and it is they thatmultiplied 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 foryourself, 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 sinceit belongs to others? Were it not wiser for us to step aside and watchuntil a certain time how rottenness is multiplying and choking thosethat are strangers to us? They cannot conquer it, they have not themeans 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 usamong 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 andchaff. Then the Emperor will see with his clear eyes who are really hisfaithful servants, and how much wisdom they have saved up while theirhands were idle. Do you understand?"

"Of course, I do!" exclaimed Foma. 

When his godfather spoke of the functionaries, Foma reminded himselfof the people that were present at the dinner; he recalled the brisksecretary, and a thought flashed through his mind that this stout littleman has in all probability an income of no more than a thousand roublesa year, while he, Foma, has a million. But that man lives so easily andfreely, while he, Foma, does not know how to live, is indeed abashed tolive. This comparison and his godfather's speech roused in him a whirlof 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 moneyif it can give us no power?"

"Aha!" said Mayakin, winking his eyes. 

"Eh!" exclaimed Foma, offended. "How about my father? Have you spoken tohim?"

"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 ratherthick. His soul was open to all, while his mind was hidden away farwithin him. Yes, he made a blunder, and I am very sorry about themoney. "

"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. YakovTarasovich looked at her, moved his lips, and suddenly striking Foma'sknee 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 thanmy father. "

But another voice within him immediately replied:

"Cleverer, but worse. "

CHAPTER V

FOMA'S dual relation toward Mayakin grew stronger and stronger as timewent on; listening to his words attentively and with eager curiosity, hefelt that each meeting with his godfather was strengthening in him thefeeling of hostility toward the old man. Sometimes Yakov Tarasovichroused in his godson a feeling akin to fear, sometimes even physicalaversion. The latter usually came to Foma whenever the old man waspleased with something and laughed. From laughter the old man's wrinkleswould tremble, thus changing the expression of his face every nowand then; his dry, thin lips would stretch out and move nervously, displaying black broken teeth, and his red little beard was as thoughaflame. His laughter sounded like the squeaking of rusty hinges, andaltogether the old man looked like a lizard at play. Unable to concealhis feelings, Foma often expressed them to Mayakin rather rudely, bothin 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. Whollyabsorbed by the steamship affairs of the young Gordyeeff, he evenneglected his own little shop, and allowed Foma considerable leisuretime. Thanks to Mayakin's important position in town and to hisextensive acquaintance on the Volga, business was splendid, butMayakin's zealous interest in his affairs strengthened Foma's suspicionsthat his godfather was firmly resolved to marry him to Luba, and thismade the old man more repulsive to him. 

He liked Luba, but at the same time she seemed suspicious and dangerousfor him. She did not marry, and Mayakin never said a word about it; hegave no evening parties, invited none of the youths to his house and didnot allow Luba to leave the house. And all her girl friends were marriedalready. Foma admired her words and listened to her just as eagerly asto her father; but whenever she started to speak of Taras with love andanguish, it seemed to him that she was hiding another man under thatname, perhaps that same Yozhov, who according to her words, had to leavethe university for some reason or other, and go to Moscow. There was agreat deal of simplemindedness and kindness in her, which pleased Foma, and ofttimes her words awakened in him a feeling of pity for her; itseemed to him that she was not alive, that she was dreaming thoughawake. 

His conduct at the funeral feast for his father became known to all themerchants and gave him a bad reputation. On the Exchange, he noticed, everybody looked at him sneeringly, malevolently, and spoke to him insome peculiar way. One day he heard behind him a low exclamation, fullof contempt:

"Gordyeeff! Milksop!"

He felt that this was said of him, but he did not turn around to see whoit was that flung those words at him. The rich people, who had inspiredhim with timidity before, were now losing in his eyes the witchery oftheir wealth and wisdom. They had more than once snatched out of hishands this or that profitable contract; he clearly saw that they woulddo it again, and they all seemed to him alike--greedy for money, alwaysready to cheat one another. When he imparted to his godfather hisobservation, the old man said:

"How then? Business is just the same as war--a hazardous affair. Therethey 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 beshrewd! In business, dear, on approaching a man you must hold honey inyour left hand, and clutch a knife in your right. Everybody would liketo buy five copecks' worth for a half a copeck. "

"Well, this isn't too good, " said Foma, thoughtfully. "But it will begood 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 thegutter. "

The old man smiled, and the broken teeth in his mouth roused in Foma thekeen 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 wishesthe best for himself. And what is the best? To go in front of others, tostand above them. So that everybody is trying to attain the first placein life--one by this means, another by that means. But everyone ispositively anxious to be seen from afar, like a tower. And man wasindeed appointed to go upward. Even the Book of Job says: 'Man is bornunto trouble, as the sparks, to fly upward. ' Just see: even children atplay always wish to surpass one another. And each and every game has itsclimax, 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 gofar, and you must desire, and desire so that a big mountain should seemto you but a hillock, and the sea but a puddle. Eh! When I was of yourage I had an easy life, while you are only taking aim. But then, goodfruit does not ripen early. "

The old man's monotonous speeches soon accomplished what they wereintended to do. Foma listened to them and made clear to himself the aimof 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 rootwithin his heart, but did not fill it up, for Foma's relations towardMedinskaya assumed that character, which they were bound to assume. Helonged for her, he always yearned to see her; while in her presencehe became timid, awkward and stupid; he knew it and suffered on thisaccount. He frequently visited her, but it was hard to find her at homealone; perfumed dandies like flies over a piece of sugar--were alwaysflitting about her. They spoke to her in French, sang and laughed, whilehe looked at them in silence, tortured by anger and jealousy. Hislegs crossed, he sat somewhere in a corner of her richly furnisheddrawing-room, where it was extremely difficult to walk withoutoverturning or at least striking against something--Foma sat and watchedthem sternly. 

Over the soft rugs she was noiselessly passing hither and thither, casting to him kind glances and smiles, while her admirers were fawningupon her, and they all, like serpents, were cleverly gliding by thevarious little tables, chairs, screens, flower-stands--a storehousefull of beautiful and frail things, scattered about the room with acarelessness equally dangerous to them and to Foma. But when he walkedthere, the rugs did not drown his footsteps, and all these things caughtat his coat, trembled and fell. Beside the piano stood a sailor made ofbronze, whose hand was lifted, ready to throw the life-saving ring; onthis ring were ropes of wire, and these always pulled Foma by the hair. All this provoked laughter among Sophya Pavlovna and her admirers, andFoma suffered greatly, changing from heat to cold. 

But he felt no less uncomfortable even when alone with her. Greeting himwith a kindly smile, she would take a seat beside him in one of the cosycorners of her drawing-room and would usually start her conversation bycomplaining 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 somethingavidious would now flash up. 

"I love to speak to you, " she said, musically drawling her words. "I'vegrown tired of all the rest of them. They're all so boring, ordinaryand worn-out, while you are fresh, sincere. You don't like those peopleeither, 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 hereyes 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 hehotly, and immediately added sadly, lowering his voice: "But you don'tneed it!"

"There you have it!" sighed Medinskaya, satisfied, drawing back fromhim. "I am always extremely pleased to hear you say this, with so muchyouthfulness and originality. Would you like to kiss my hand?"

Without saying a word he seized her thin, white little hand andcarefully bending down to it, he passionately kissed it for a long time. Smiling and graceful, not in the least moved by his passion, she freedher hand from his. Pensively, she looked at him with that strangeglitter in her eyes, which always confused Foma; she examined him assomething rare and extremely curious, and said:

"How much strength and power and freshness of soul you possess! Do youknow? You merchants are an altogether new race, an entire race withoriginal 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 thesewords. This at once saddened and offended him. He was silent, lookingat her small maidenly figure, which was always somehow particularly welldressed, always sweet-scented like a flower. Sometimes he was seizedwith a wild, coarse desire to embrace and kiss her. But her beautyand the fragility of her thin, supple body awakened in him a fear ofbreaking and disfiguring her, and her calm, caressing voice and theclear, 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, admiringeverything in her--her beauty, her words, her dresses. And besidethis adoration there was in him a painfully keen consciousness of hisremoteness from her, of her supremacy over him. 

These relations were established between them within a short time; aftertwo or three meetings Medinskaya was in full possession of the youth andshe 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 inhim merely with her voice and glance, and confident of the power of hersuperiority, she found pleasure in thus playing with him. On leavingher, he was usually half-sick from excitement, bearing her a grudge, angry with himself, filled with many painful and intoxicatingsensations. And about two days later he would come to undergo the sametorture 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 anychildren or not?"

Foma blushed, and, bending his head, began to speak to her in a heavyvoice, as though he was lifting every word from the ground and as thougheach word weighed a few puds. 

"You see--a woman who--has given birth to children--such a woman hasaltogether 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, amiableboy. And so, my eyes are not shameless?"

"Yours are like an angel's!" announced Foma with enthusiasm, lookingat her with beaming eyes. And she glanced at him, as she had never donebefore; her look was that of a mother, a sad look of love mingled withfear for the beloved. 

"Go, dear one. I am tired; I need a rest, " she said to him, as she rosewithout looking at him. He went away submissively. 

For some time after this incident her attitude toward him was stricterand more sincere, as though she pitied him, but later their relationsassumed the old form of the cat-and-mouse play. 

Foma's relation toward Medinskaya could not escape his godfather'snotice, 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 loseit 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 doyou 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 doeseverybody know that she likes to rake up the fire with other people'shands. "

"She is clever!" announced Foma, firmly, frowning and hiding his handsin 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, theexpenses--one thousand nine hundred; the expenses really did not evenamount to a thousand roubles, for everybody does everything for her fornothing. Intelligent! She will educate you, and especially will thoseidlers 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 knownothing. What was I taught? While there they speak of everything--andeach 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 hailstriking against the roof! Very well, be like a man, but in order to belike a man it might be less dangerous for you to go to the tavern; thepeople there are after all better than Sophya's people. And you, youngman, you should have learned to discriminate one person from another. Take Sophya, for instance: What does she represent? An insect for theadornment of nature and nothing more!"

Intensely agitated, Foma set his teeth together and walked away fromMayakin, thrusting his hands still deeper into his pockets. But the oldman soon started again a conversation about Medinskaya. 

They were on their way back from the bay after an inspection ofthe steamers, and seated in a big and commodious sledge, they wereenthusiastically discussing business matters in a friendly way. It wasin March. The water under the sledge-runners was bubbling, the snow wasalready covered with a rather dirty fleece, and the sun shone warmly andmerrily 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 thenmerely so, for love's sake?"

Foma boiled up with anger and shame, turned abruptly toward the old manand said reproachfully:

"Eh! You are an old man, and yet you speak so that it is a shame tolisten to you! To say such a thing! Do you think she would come down tothis?"

Mayakin smacked his lips and sang out in a mournful voice:

"What a blockhead you are! What a fool!" and suddenly grown angry, hespat 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 untohimself of this dirty pot. Devil! You just go up to her and tell herplainly: 'I want to be your lover. I am a young man, don't charge memuch for it. '"

"Godfather!" said Foma, sternly, in a threatening voice, "I cannot bearto 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 tearsFoma had never before seen him in such a state, and looking at him, hewas 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 awrathful jar in his voice. 

Foma felt that the old man spoke the truth. He now began to breathe withdifficulty and he felt that his mouth had a dry, bitter taste. 

"Very well, father, enough, " he begged softly and sadly, turning asidefrom Mayakin. 

"Eh, you ought to get married as soon as possible!" exclaimed the oldman 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 lookeddrawn; he grew pale, and there was a great deal of painful, bitterstupor in his half-open lips and in his sad look. On the right and onthe left of the road a field stretched itself, covered here and therewith patches of winter-raiment. Rooks were hopping busily about overthe black spots, where the snow had melted. The water under thesledge-runners was splashing, the muddy snow was kicked up by the hoofsof 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 abeast--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 aremilk; women are near, girls are far. Consequently, go to Sonka, ifyou cannot do without it, and tell her plainly. That's how the matterstands. Fool! If she is a sinner, you can get her more easily. Why areyou 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 abuseher. His teeth firmly set together, his hands thrust deep into hispockets, he walked for a few hours in succession about the desertedrooms of his house, he sternly knitted his brow, and constantly threwhis chest forward. His breast was too narrow to hold his heart, whichwas filled with wrath. He stamped the floor with heavy and measuredsteps, as though he were forging his anger. 

"The vile wretch--disguised herself as an angel!" Pelageya vividly arosein 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 justas 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 powerof his words, and this thought perished. He set his teeth more firmlytogether and threw his chest still more forward. Evil thoughts likesplinters of wood stuck into his heart, and his heart was shattered bythe acute pain they caused. 

By disparaging Medinskaya, Mayakin made her more accessible to hisgodson, and Foma soon understood this. A few days passed, and Foma'sagitated feelings became calm, absorbed by the spring business cares. The sorrow for the loss of the individual deadened the spite he owedthe woman, and the thought of the woman's accessibility increased hispassion for her. And somehow, without perceiving it himself, he suddenlyunderstood and resolved that he ought to go up to Sophya Pavlovna andtell her plainly, openly, just what he wanted of her--that's all! Heeven felt a certain joy at this resolution, and he boldly started off toMedinskaya, thinking on the way only how to tell her best all that wasnecessary. 

The servants of Medinskaya were accustomed to his visits, and to hisquestion 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 statelyfigure neatly clad with a frock-coat, and his swarthy, serious face ina frame of a downy black beard, set with large dark eyes--he raised hisshoulders and confidently stepped forward through the parlour. Strangesounds of a string instrument were calmly floating to meet him;they seemed to burst into quiet, cheerless laughter, complaining ofsomething, tenderly stirring the heart, as though imploring it forattention and having no hopes of getting it. Foma did not like to hearmusic--it always filled him with sadness. Even when the "machine" in thetavern played some sad tune, his heart filled with melancholy anguish, and he would either ask them to stop the "machine" or would go away somelittle distance feeling that he could not listen calmly to thesetunes without words, but full of lamentation and tears. And now heinvoluntarily stopped short at the door of the drawing-room. 

A curtain of long strings of parti-coloured glass beads hung over thedoor. The beads had been strung so as to form a fantastic figure of somekind of plants; the strings were quietly shaking and it seemed that paleshadows of flowers were soaring in the air. This transparent curtain didnot hide the inside of the drawing-room from Foma's eyes. Seated on acouch in her favourite corner, Medinskaya played the mandolin. A largeJapanese umbrella, fastened up to the wall, shaded the little womanin black by its mixture of colours; the high bronze lamp under a redlamp-shade cast on her the light of sunset. The mild sounds of theslender strings were trembling sadly in the narrow room, which wasfilled with soft and fragrant twilight. Now the woman lowered themandolin 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 foreverchanging as though shadows were falling on it, falling and melting awayunder the flash of her eyes. 

Foma looked at her and saw that when alone she was not quite sogood-looking as in the presence of people--now her face lookedolder, more serious--her eyes had not the expression of kindness andgentleness, 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. Fomanoticed that the feeling which prompted him to come to her was nowchanging in his heart into some other feeling. He scraped with his footalong the floor and coughed. 

"Who is that?" asked the woman, starting with alarm. And the stringstrembled, 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 smallarmchair beside her, and her eyes were gaily smiling. 

"I was out on the bay inspecting my steamers, " said Foma, withexaggerated 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. Thereis water on the roads everywhere. "

He looked at her and smiled. Evidently Medinskaya noticed the ease ofhis behaviour and something new in his smile, for she adjusted her dressand drew farther away from him. Their eyes met--and Medinskaya loweredher head. 

"Melting!" said she, thoughtfully, examining the ring on her littlefinger. 

"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 thesounds of her words. 

"People will start to fall in love, " said Foma, with a smile, and forsome 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 lovefor all my life. "

She cast a glance at him, and started to play again, looking at thestrings and saying pensively:

"Spring. How good it is that you are but beginning to live. The heart isfull of power, and there is nothing dark in it. "

"Sophya Pavlovna!" exclaimed Foma, softly. She interrupted him with acaressing gesture. 

"Wait, dearest! Today I can tell you something good. Do you know, aperson who has lived long has such moments that when he looks into hisheart he unexpectedly finds there something long forgotten. For years itlay somewhere in the depth of his heart, but lost none of the fragranceof youth, and when memory touches it, then spring comes over thatperson, breathing upon him the vivifying freshness of the morning of hislife. This is good, though it is very sad. "

The strings trembled and wept under the touch of her fingers, and itseemed to Foma that their sounds and the soft voice of the woman weretouching his heart gently and caressingly. But, still firm in hisdecision, 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 listento 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 forit!" said Foma and smiled. "And then, what is there to think of? It issimple. You see how others live. Well, consequently, you must imitatethem. "

"Ah, don't do this! Spare yourself. You are so good! There is somethingpeculiar in you; what--I do not know. But it can be felt. And it seemsto me, it will be very hard for you to get along in life. I am sure, youwill not go along the usual way of the people of your circle. No! Youcannot be pleased with a life which is wholly devoted to gain, to huntsafter the rouble, to this business of yours. Oh, no! I know, you willhave 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 italready. "

Drawing up closer to him, she looked into his face and spokeconvincingly:

"Listen! Do not live like all other people! Arrange your life somehowdifferently. 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 wasbeginning to beat with anxiety. 

"Ah, but that is not the case! Here on earth it is worse for the goodpeople than for the bad ones!" said Medinskaya, sadly. 

And again the trembling notes of music began to dance at the touch ofher fingers. Foma felt that if he did not start to say at once what wasnecessary, 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 tellyou: 'Enough!' We must deal fairly, openly. At first you have attractedme to yourself, and now you are fencing away from me. I cannotunderstand what you say. My mind is dull, but I can feel that you wishto hide yourself. I can see it--do you understand now what brought mehere?"

His eyes began to flash and with each word his voice became warmer andlouder. 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, butafter a few seconds she again seated herself on the couch. Her face wasserious, her lips were tightly compressed, but her eyes were lowered, and Foma could not see their expression. He thought that when he toldher, "I know everything about you!" she would be frightened, she wouldfeel ashamed and confused, would ask his forgiveness for having madesport of him. Then he would embrace her and forgive her. But that wasnot the case; it was he who was confused by her calmness. He looked ather, searching for words to resume his speech, but found them not. 

"It is better, " she repeated firmly and drily. "So you have learnedeverything, 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 nervousgesture, clasped her head, and began to adjust her hair. 

Foma heaved a deep sigh. Her words had killed in him a certain hope--ahope, whose presence in his heart he only felt now that it was dead. Andshaking his head, he said, with bitter reproach:

"There was a time when I looked at you and thought, 'How beautiful sheis, 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 cannotunderstand all this!"

The youth looked at her, feeling himself disarmed by her caressing wordsand melancholy smile. That cold, harsh something, which he had in hisheart against her, was now melting before the warm light of her eyes. The woman now seemed to him small, defenseless, like a child. She wassaying something in a gentle voice as though imploring, and foreversmiling, but he paid no attention to her words. 

"I've come to you, " said he, interrupting her words, "without pity. Imeant to tell you everything. And yet I said nothing. I don't feel likedoing it. My heart sank. You are breathing upon me so strangely. Eh, Ishould not have seen you! What are you to me? It would be better for meto go away, it seems. "

"Wait, dearest, don't go away!" said the woman, hastily, holding out herhand to him. "Why so severe? Do not be angry at me! What am I toyou? You need a different friend, a woman just as simple-minded andsound-souled as you are. She must be gay, healthy. I--I am already anold woman. I am forever worrying. My life is so empty and so weary, soempty! 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 laughingat him. And as to men. Listen! Like a mother, I advise you, I beg andimplore you--obey no one except your own heart! Live in accordance withits promptings. Men know nothing, they cannot tell you anything that istrue. Do not heed them. "

Trying to speak as plainly and intelligibly as possible, she wasagitated, and her words came incoherently hurriedly one after another. A pitiful smile played on her lips all the time, and her face was notbeautiful. 

"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 yetquestionable whether they can do it! Oh, if you knew how hard it is tolive. Man goes so far that he begins to fear his own self. He is splitinto judge and criminal--he judges his own self and seeks justificationbefore himself. And he is willing to pass days and nights with thosethat despise him, and that are repulsive to him--just to avoid beingalone 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 oflife. It is impossible to live, she says. "

"Oh, she is yet young! And it is a great happiness that she alreadyspeaks of this. "

"Happiness!" Foma drawled out mockingly. "It must be a fine happinessthat makes people sigh and complain. "

"You'd better listen to complaints. There is always much wisdom in thesecomplaints of men. Oh! There is more wisdom in these complaints thananywhere else. You listen to these, --they will teach you to find yourway. "

Foma heard the woman's voice, which sounded convincing; and perplexed, looked about him. Everything had long been familiar to him, but today itlooked somewhat new to him. A mass of trifles filled the room, allthe walls were covered with pictures and shelves, bright and beautifulobjects were staring from every corner. The reddish light of the lampfilled one with melancholy. Twilight wrapped everything in the room, andonly here and there the gold of the frames, or the white spots of marbleflashed dimly. Heavy fabrics were motionlessly hanging before the doors. All this embarrassed and almost choked Foma; he felt as though he hadlost 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 yoursister. Never before did anybody awaken in me so warm and kindred afeeling as you have done. And you, you look at me in such an unfriendlyway. 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 yetI long to understand. I do not even understand myself. On my way to youI knew what to say, and here all is confused. You have put me up on therack, you have set me on edge. And then you tell me--'I am as a motherto 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 ashe went on speaking to her, his words became absurd. While he spoke, hekept on moving his shoulders as though tearing something that entangledhim. 

"Sorry? What for? I do not need it. Eh, I cannot speak well! It isbad to be dumb. But--I would have told you! You did not treat meproperly--indeed, why have you so enticed a man? Am I a plaything foryou?"

"I only wanted to see you by my side, " said the woman simply, in aguilty voice. 

He did not hear these words. 

"And when it came to the point, you were frightened and you shutyourself off from me. You began to repent. Ha, ha! Life is bad! And whyare you always complaining of some life? What life? Man is life, andexcept man there is no life. You have invented some other monster. Youhave done this to deceive the eye, to justify yourself. You do somemischief, you lose yourself in different inventions and foolishnessesand then you sigh! Ah, life! Oh, life! And have you not done ityourself? And covering yourself with complaints, you confuse others. Youhave lost your way, very well, but why do you want to lead me astray? Isit wickedness that speaks in you: 'I feel bad, ' you say, 'let him alsofeel 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 yourheart--where is it?"

Standing before her, he trembled in every limb, and examined her fromhead to foot with reproachful looks. Now his words came freely from hisheart, he spoke not loud, but with power and pleasure. Her head raised, the woman stared into his face, with wide-open eyes. Her lips weretrembling and deep wrinkles appeared at the corners of her mouth. 

"A beautiful person should lead a good life. While of you they saythings. " Foma's voice broke down; he raised his hand and concluded in adull voice:

"Goodbye!"

"Goodbye!" said Medinskaya, softly. 

He did not give her his hand, but, turning abruptly, he walked away fromher. But already at the door he felt that he was sorry for her, andhe glanced at her across his shoulder. There, in the corner, she stoodalone, her head bent, her hands hanging motionless. 

Understanding that he could not leave her thus, he became confused, andsaid softly, but without repenting:

"Perhaps I said something offensive--forgive me! For after all I loveyou, " 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 backnoisily and touched his cheeks. He shuddered at this cold touch and wentout, carrying away a heavy, perplexed feeling in his breast, with hisheart 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 coveredthe puddles with coatings of dull silver. Foma walked along thesidewalk, he broke these with his cane, and they cracked mournfully. Theshadows of the houses fell on the road in black squares, and the shadowsof the trees--in wonderful patterns. And some of them looked like thinhands, 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 forgether; she stood before him, provoking in him now intense pity, nowirritation and even anger. And her image was so clear, and the thoughtsof her were so painful, as though he was carrying this woman in hisbreast. A cab was coming from the opposite side, filling the silence ofthe night with the jarring of the wheels on the cobble-stones and withtheir creaking on the ice. When the cab was passing across a moonlitstrip, the noise was louder and more brisk, and in the shadows it washeavier and duller. The driver and the passenger in it were shakingand hopping about; for some reason or other they both bent forwardand together with the horse formed one big, black mass. The street wasspeckled with spots of light and shade, but in the distance the darknessseemed thick as though the street were fenced off by a wall, rising fromearth to the skies. Somehow it occurred to Foma that these people didnot know whither they were going. And he, too, did not know whither hewas going. His house rose before his imagination--six big rooms, wherehe lived alone. Aunt Anfisa had gone to the cloister, perhaps never toreturn--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, wasold. 

"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 himill at ease, and even ridiculous in his own eyes. It were but necessaryto ask his godfather tomorrow for a bride, --and before a month wouldpass, a woman would live with him in his house. And she would be nearhim day and night. He would say to her: "Let's go for a walk!" and shewould go. He would tell her: "Let's go to sleep!" and again she wouldgo. Should she desire to kiss him, she would kiss him, even though hedid 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 wouldshe tell him? He thought and pictured to himself young ladies of hisacquaintance, daughters of merchants. Some of them were very pretty, andhe knew that any one of them would marry him willingly. But he did notcare to have any of them as his wife. How awkward and shameful it mustbe when a girl becomes a wife. And what does the newly-married couplesay to each other after the wedding, in the bedroom? Foma tried tothink what he would say in such a case, and confused, he began to laugh, finding no appropriate words. Then he recalled Luba Mayakin. She wouldsurely be first to say something, uttering some unintelligible words, which were foreign to herself. Somehow it seemed to him that all herwords were foreign, and she did not speak as was proper for a girl ofher age, appearance and descent. 

And here his thoughts rested on Lubov's complaints. His gait becameslower; he was now astounded by the fact that all the people that werenear to him and with whom he talked a great deal, always spoke to him oflife. His father, his aunt, his godfather, Lubov, Sophya Pavlovna, allthese either taught him to understand life, or complained of it. Herecalled the words said by the old man on the steamer about Fate, andmany 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? Andman always speaks as if life were something else, something outsideof man, and that something hinders him from living. Perhaps it is thedevil?"

A painful feeling of fear fell on the youth; he shuddered and hastilylooked around. The street was deserted and quiet; the dark windows ofthe houses stared dimly into the dark of night, and along the walls andfences Foma's shadow followed him. 

"Driver!" he cried out aloud, quickening his steps. The shadow startedand crawled after him, frightened, black, silent. It seemed to Foma thatthere was a cold breath behind him, and that something huge, invisible, and terrible was overtaking him. Frightened, he almost ran to meetthe cab, which appeared noisily from the darkness, and when he seatedhimself 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 imagestood fixedly before Foma by night and by day, awakening in his hearta gnawing feeling of anxiety. He longed to go to her, and was so muchafflicted over her that even his bones were aching from the desire ofhis heart to be near her again. But he was sternly silent; he frownedand did not care to yield to this desire, industriously occupyinghimself with his affairs and provoking in himself a feeling of angeragainst the woman. He felt that if he went up to her, he would no longerfind her to be the same as he had left her; something must have changedwithin her after that conversation, and she would no longer receive himas cordially as before, would not smile at him the clear smile that usedto awaken in him strange thoughts and hopes. Fearing that all this waslost and that something else must have taken its place, he restrainedhimself and suffered. 

His work and his longing for the woman did not hinder him from thinkingof life. He did not philosophize about this enigma, which was alreadystirring a feeling of alarm in his heart; he was not able to argue, buthe began to listen attentively to everything that men said of life, andhe tried to remember their words. They did not make anything clear tohim; nay, they increased his perplexity and prompted him to regard themsuspiciously. They were clever, cunning and sensible--he saw it; indealings with them it was always necessary to be on one's guard; he knewalready that in important matters none of them spoke as they thought. And watching them carefully, he felt that their sighs and theircomplaints of life awakened in him distrust. Silently he looked ateverybody 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 towardevening, and see that you hold your tongue. Anany will try to loosen itin order to make you talk on business matters. He is cunning, theold devil; he is a holy fox; he'll lift his eyes toward heaven, andmeanwhile will put his paw into your pocket and grab your purse. Be onyour guard. "

"Do we owe him anything?" asked Foma. 

"Of course! We haven't paid yet for the barge, and then fiftyfive-fathom beams were taken from him not long ago. If he wantseverything at once--don't give. A rouble is a sticky thing; the longerit turns about in your hand, the more copecks will stick to it. Arouble is like a good pigeon--it goes up in the air, you turn around andsee--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 hadmore than once seen this tall, heavily-bearded, long-armed, white-hairedold man, who kept himself as erect as a pine-tree. His big, handsomefigure, his open face and his clear eyes called forth in Foma a feelingof respect for Shchurov, although he heard it rumoured that thislumber-dealer had gained his wealth not by honest toil and that hewas leading an evil life at home, in an obscure village of the forestdistrict; and Ignat had told Foma that when Shchurov was young and wasbut a poor peasant, he sheltered a convict in the bath-house, in hisgarden, and that there the convict made counterfeit money for him. Sincethat 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 fracturedskull. There was a rumour in the village that Shchurov himself hadkilled his workman--killed and then burned him. Such things had happenedmore than once with the good-looking old man; but similar rumours wereon foot with reference to many a rich man in town--they had all, itwas said, hoarded up their millions by way of robberies, murders and, mainly, by passing counterfeit money. Foma had heard such stories in hischildhood 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 diedduring the first night of the wedding, in Anany's embraces. Then he tookhis son's wife away from him, and his son took to drink for grief andwould have perished in drunkenness had he not come to himself in timeand gone off to save himself in a hermitage, in Irgiz. And when hismistress-daughter-in-law had passed away, Shchurov took into his housea dumb beggar-girl, who was living with him to this day, and who hadrecently borne him a dead child. On his way to the hotel, where Ananystayed, Foma involuntarily recalled all this, and felt that Shchurov hadbecome strangely interesting to him. 

When Foma opened the door and stopped respectfully on the thresholdof the small room, whose only window overlooked the rusty roof of theneighbouring house, he noticed that the old Shchurov had just risen fromsleep, and sitting on his bed, leaning his hands against it, he staredat the ground; and he was so bent that his long, white beard fell overhis knees. But even bent, he was large. 

"Who entered?" asked Anany in a hoarse and angry voice, without liftinghis head. 

"I. How do you do, Anany Savvich?"

The old man raised his head slowly and, winking his large eyes, lookedat Foma. 

"Ignat's son, is that right?"

"The same. "

"Well, come over here, sit down by the window. Let me see how you'vegrown 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 beardin his hand, he began to examine Foma in silence. Foma also looked athim stealthily. 

The old man's lofty forehead was all covered with wrinkles, and its skinwas dark. Gray, curly locks covered his temples and his sharp-pointedears; his calm blue eyes lent the upper part of his face a wise and goodexpression. But his cheeks and his lips were thick and red, and seemedout of place on his face. His thin, long nose was turned downward asthough it wished to hide itself in his white moustache; the old manmoved 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 hislips 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, andsighed. Then, after a moment's silence, he asked: "Do you remember yourfather? 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 hedied without repentance, taken unawares. He was a great sinner!"

"He was not more sinful than others, " replied Foma, angrily, offended inhis 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--andthat is that cursed heathen, your godfather Yashka, " ejaculated the oldman. 

"Are you sure of it?" inquired Foma, smiling. 

"I? Of course, I am!" said Shchurov, confidently, nodding his head, andhis eyes became somewhat darker. "I will also appear before the Lord, and that not sinless. I shall bring with me a heavy burden before Hisholy countenance. I have been pleasing the devil myself, only I trust toGod for His mercy, while Yashka believes in nothing, neither in dreams, nor in the singing of birds. Yashka does not believe in God, this Iknow! And for his non-belief he will yet receive his punishment onearth. "

"Are you sure of this, too?"

"Yes, I am. And don't you think I also know that you consider itludicrous to listen to me. What a sagacious fellow, indeed! But he whohas committed many sins is always wise. Sin is a teacher. That's whyYashka 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 shortsteps. 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 tobe more light-eyed people, because then the souls used to be brighter. Before, everything was simpler--both the people and the sins, and noweverything 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 fleetnear our village. At your age Ignat was as clear to me as glass. At asingle glance you could tell what sort of a man he was. While you--hereI am looking at you, but cannot see what you are. Who are you? Youdon't know it yourself, my lad, and that's why you'll suffer. Everybodynowadays must suffer, because they do not know themselves. Life isa mass of wind-fallen trees, and you must know how to find yourway through it. Where is it? All are going astray, and the devil isdelighted. Are you married?"

"Not yet, " said Foma. 

"There again, you are not married, and yet, I'm quite sure, you are notpure 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, shakinghis head, and his eyes were constantly twinkling, now turning dark, now brightening up again. "You have no labour now! In former yearsthe merchant travelled with horses on business. Even at night, insnowstorms, he used to go! Murderers used to wait for him on the roadand 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 eveninvented something that a man may speak in his office and you can hearhim five miles away. There the devil surely has a hand in it! A mansits, without motion, and commits sins merely because he feels lonesome, because he has nothing to do: the machine does all his work. He hasno work, and without toil man is ruined! He has provided himself withmachines and thinks it is good! While the machine is the devil's trapfor you. He thus catches you in it. While toiling, you find no time forsin, 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 oldAnany struck the table four times with his finger. His face beamedtriumphantly, his chest rose high, and over it the silver hair of hisbeard shook noiselessly. Dread fell on Foma as he looked at him andlistened 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 alreadyforgotten all he knew about the old man, all of which he had but a whileago believed to be true. 

"Whoever gives freedom to his body, kills his soul!" said Anany, lookingat Foma so strangely as if he saw behind him somebody, who was grievedand frightened by his words; and whose fear and pain delighted him. "Allyou people of today will perish through freedom. The devil has capturedyou--he has taken toil away from you, and slipped machines and telegramsinto 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 haveless strength because they have less work, and they have not the spiritof cheerfulness because they have no worries. Cheerfulness comes in timeof rest, while nowadays no one is getting tired. "

"Well, " said Foma, softly, "they were leading depraved lives anddrinking just as much in former days as now, I suppose. "

"Do you know it? You should keep silence!" cried Anany, flashing hiseyes sternly. "In former days man had more strength, and the sins wereaccording to his strength. While you, of today, have less strength, and more sins, and your sins are more disgusting. Then men were likeoak-trees. And God's judgment will also be in accordance with theirstrength. Their bodies will be weighed, and angels will measure theirblood, and the angels of God will see that the weight of the sins doesnot exceed the weight of the body and the blood. Do you understand? Godwill not condemn the wolf for devouring a sheep, but if a miserable ratshould 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 burntby Shchurov, and again he believed that it really was so. And thewomen--his wives and his mistresses--had surely been hastened towardtheir graves by this old man's caresses; he had crushed them with hisbony chest, drunk the sap of their life with these thick lips of hiswhich were scarlet yet from the clotted blood of the women, who died inthe embraces of his long sinewy arms. And now, awaiting death, whichwas already somewhere beside him, he counts his sins, judges others, andperhaps judges himself, and says:

"Who, but the Lord, is my judge?"

"Is he afraid or not?" Foma asked himself and became pensive, stealthilyscrutinising the old man. 

"Yes, my lad! Think, " spoke Shchurov, shaking his head, "think, how youare to live. The capital in your heart is small, and your habits aregreat, 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 housesbuilt out of them, and even the houses have grown old. While I have seenall this and am still alive, and when, at times, I recall my life, Ithink, 'Is it possible that one man could accomplish so much? Is itpossible that I have witnessed all this?'" The old man glanced at Fomasternly, shook his head and became silent. 

It became quiet. Outside the window something was softly rustling onthe roof of the house; the rattle of wheels and the muffled sounds ofconversation were heard from below, from the street. The samovar on thetable sang a sad tune. Shchurov was fixedly staring into his glass oftea, stroking his beard, and one could hear that something rattled inhis 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'llleave everything to you. "

"I don't need it. "

"To whom else should he leave it? He has but one daughter, and youought to marry that daughter, and that she is your godsister andfoster-sister--no matter! That can be arranged--and then you would bemarried. What good is there in the life you are now leading? I supposeyou are forever running about with the girls?"

"No. "

"You don't say! Eh, eh, eh! the merchant is passing away. A certainforester told me--I don't know whether he lied or not--that in formerdays the dogs were wolves, and then degenerated into dogs. It is thesame with our calling; we will soon also be dogs. We will take upscience, put stylish hats on our heads, we'll do everything that isnecessary in order to lose our features, and there will be nothing bywhich to distinguish us from other people. It has become a custom tomake Gymnasium students of all children. The merchants, the nobles, thecommoners--all are adjusted to match the same colour. They dress themin gray and teach them all the same subjects. They grow man even as theygrow a tree. Why do they do it? No one knows. Even a log could be toldfrom another by its knot at least, while here they want to plane thepeople over so that all of them should look alike. The coffin is alreadywaiting for us old people. Ye-es! It may be that about fifty yearshence, no one will believe that I lived in this world. I, Anany, the sonof Savva, by the surname of Shchurov. So! And that I, Anany, feared noone, save God. And that in my youth I was a peasant, that all the land Ipossessed then was two desyatins and a quarter; while toward my old ageI have hoarded up eleven thousand desyatins, all forests, and perhapstwo millions in cash. "

"There, they always speak of money!" said Foma, with dissatisfaction. "What joy does man derive from money?" "Mm, " bellowed Shchurov. "You willmake 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. Yashkaunderstands it. Money? That is a great deal, my lad! Just spread it outbefore you and think, 'What does it contain?' Then will you know thatall this is human strength, human mind. Thousands of people have puttheir life into your money and thousands more will do it. And you canthrow it all into the fire and see how the money is burning, and at thatmoment you will consider yourself master. "

"But nobody does this. "

"Because fools have no money. Money is invested in business. Businessgives bread to the masses. And you are master over all those masses. Wherefore did God create man? That man should pray to Him. He wasalone and He felt lonesome, so He began to desire power, and as man wascreated in the image of the Lord, man also desires power. And what, savemoney, can give power? That's the way. Well, and you--have you broughtme money?"

"No, " answered Foma. From the words of the old man Foma's head was heavyand troubled, and he was glad that the conversation had, at last, turnedto business matters. 

"That isn't right, " said Shchurov, sternly knitting his brow. "It isoverdue--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 likeyou, milksops, are an unreliable lot. In a month you may break up thewhole business. And I would be the loser for it. You give me all themoney tomorrow, or I'll protest the notes. It wouldn't take me long todo it!"

Foma looked at Shchurov, with astonishment. It was not at all that sameold man, who but a moment ago spoke so sagaciously about the devil. Thenhis face and his eyes seemed different, and now he looked fierce, hislips 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 byprotesting the notes. 

"Evidently business is poor?" grinned Shchurov. "Well, tell thetruth--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 nocontracts. 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, modestlylowering his eyes. 

"Mm. Shall I assist you out of my friendship for your father? Well, beit 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. Nowlisten: rewrite the notes for the amount of fifteen thousand, pay me theinterest on this sum in advance. And as security I'll take a mortgage onyour 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 atFoma'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 youmy 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 youconsider yourself quite clever, it is rather too soon. You've gainednothing, and already you began to boast! But you just win from me--thenyou 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. Shchurovpleased him and at the same time was repulsive to him. 

He recalled the old man's words about sin, thought of the power ofhis faith in the mercy of the Lord, and the old man aroused in Foma afeeling akin to respect. 

"He, too, speaks of life; he knows his sins; but does not weep overthem, does not complain of them. He has sinned--and he is willing tostand the consequences. Yes. And she?" He recalled Medinskaya, and hisheart 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 recallShchurov's attempts to swindle him. This called forth in him an aversionfor the old man He could not reconcile his feelings and, perplexed, hesmiled. 

"Well, I have just been at Shchurov's, " he said, coming to Mayakin andseating himself by the table. 

Mayakin, in a greasy morning-gown, a counting-board in his hand, beganto move about in his leather-covered arm-chair impatiently, and saidwith animation:

"Pour out some tea for him, Lubava! Tell me, Foma, I must be in the CityCouncil at nine o'clock; tell me all about it, make haste!"

Smiling, Foma related to him how Shchurov suggested to rewrite thenotes. 

"Eh!" exclaimed Yakov Tarasovich regretfully, with a shake of thehead. "You've spoilt the whole mass for me, dear! How could you be sostraightforward in your dealings with the man? Psha! The devil drove meto send you there! I should have gone myself. I would have turned himaround 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 fruitsare good for swine only. So it comes out that an oak is simply ablockhead. "

"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 asfast as you can to pay the money. What a merchant you are!"

Yakov Tarasovich was positively dissatisfied with his godson. He frownedand in an angry manner ordered his daughter, who was silently pouringout 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 movedlazily 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. Andhe is a manufacturer of sins. Both in the galleys and in hell they havelong 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 forgivenessfor the weak. '"

"Just think of it! What wisdom! Even the fleas know that. "

For some reason or another, the contempt with which Mayakin regardedShchurov, irritated Foma, and, looking into the old man's face, he saidwith a grin:

"But he doesn't like you. "

"Nobody likes me, my dear, " said Mayakin, proudly. "There is no reasonwhy they should like me. I am no girl. But they respect me. And theyrespect only those they fear. " And the old man winked at his godsonboastfully. 

"He speaks with weight, " repeated Foma. "He is complaining. 'The realmerchant, ' says he, 'is passing away. All people are taught the samething, ' 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 seethat all sorts of people are driven together in one place and are allinspired there with one and the same idea--then must we acknowledge thatit is wise. Because--what is a man in the empire? Nothing more thana simple brick, and all bricks must be of the same size. Do youunderstand? And those people that are of equal height and weight--I canplace 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 aremade of hard material, they cannot plane you. It is not everybody's phizthat you can rub off. But some people, when beaten with a hammer, turninto gold. And if the head happens to crack--what can you do? It merelyshows 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 amsurprised, what an appetite you have for all sorts of nonsense! Whatdoes 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 havethought--'what is the machine made of?' Of iron! Consequently, it neednot be pitied; it is wound up--and it forges roubles for you. Withoutany words, without trouble, you set it into motion and it revolves. While a man, he is uneasy and wretched; he is often very wretched. Hewails, grieves, weeps, begs. Sometimes he gets drunk. Ah, how much thereis 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, Iam going to dress. It is time. "

He rose and went away, loudly scraping with his slippers along thefloor. Foma glanced after him and said softly, with a frown:

"The devil himself could not see through all this. One says this, theother, 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 avague 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 wordto. "

"That's bad. "

She said nothing to this, but, lowering her head, she slowly began tofinger 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 Iam thinking of--it is necessary. That is, I'll have to get married. Buthow? Do you know, I feel now as though a mist stood between other peopleand 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. Nothingpleases me. Everything has become strange to me. Nothing is as it shouldbe. Everything is wrong. I see it. I understand it, yet I cannot saythat 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 soyoung and foolish. "

"At first it seemed to me, " said Lubov, not listening to him, "thateverything 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 differentideas there are in the world! O Lord! They're such ideas that set yourhead afire. According to a certain book everything that exists on earthis 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 along 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 isrational. "

"Really!"

"Well, and I say it is a lie!"

"Yes. " Yakov Tarasovich became thoughtful, he pinched his beard andwinked 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 withoutreflection--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 thewrong place, it cannot be said that everything on earth is rational. Andyet, 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 thedirection 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 lifeis, " 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 feelalike. "

They sat opposite each other; both were lost in thought, and neither onelooked at the other. It was getting dark outside, and in the room itwas quite dark already. The wind was shaking the linden-trees, and theirbranches seemed to clutch at the walls of the house, as though they feltcold 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 vilecreature; she is a coquette, even worse than that. Oh, what things Iknow about her!"

"She's not at all a vile creature, " said Foma, morosely. "And you don'tknow anything about her. You are all lying!"

"Oh, I beg your pardon!"

"No. See here, Luba, " said Foma, softly, in a beseeching tone, "don'tspeak 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 sheis! 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'squestion; 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 hershoulders. 

"Love such a woman? Of course! Why not?" exclaimed Foma. 

"I can't understand it. I think, you have become attached to her justbecause you have not met a better woman. "

"No, I have not met a better one!" Foma assented, and after a moment'ssilence 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 illof me, as of others. Sometimes I feel disgusted. I think--wouldn't itbe a great idea to go out on such a spree that all my veins would starttingling. And then I recall her and I do not venture. And so everythingelse, I think of her, 'What if she finds it out?' and I am afraid to doit. "

"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 hemight say. .. "

"And everything about her is so peculiar, " Foma related softly. "Shespeaks in a way all her own. And, God! How beautiful she is! And thenshe 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 voicefor some reason or other, and began to relate to her all that had takenplace between him and Medinskaya. He spoke, and as he recalled the wordshe said to Medinskaya, the sentiments that called forth the words werealso awakened in him. 

"I told her, 'Oh, you! why did you make sport of me?'" he said angrilyand with reproach. 

And Luba, her cheeks aflame with animation, spurred him on, nodding herhead approvingly:

"That's it! That's good! Well, and she?"

"She was silent!" said Foma, sadly, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Thatis, she said different things; but what's the use?"

He waved his hand and became silent. Luba, playing with her braid, wasalso silent. The samovar had already become cold. And the dimness in theroom was growing thicker and thicker, outside the window it was heavywith darkness, and the black branches of the linden-trees were shakingpensively. 

"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 yetaccustomed to life. "

"He who knows not what he is going to do tomorrow, is unhappy, " saidLuba, sadly. "I do not know it, neither do you. Whither go? Yet go wemust, Why is it that my heart is never at ease? Some kind of a longingis 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 myheart. 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 intohis 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 inone of them he noticed Luba's face. It was just as vague as everythingthat the girl told him, even as vague as her longings. Foma nodded hishead 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 frightenaway the thought of Medinskaya, and quickened his steps. 

Night was coming on, and the air was fresh. A cold, invigorating windwas violently raging in the street, driving the dust along the sidewalksand throwing it into the faces of the passers-by. It was dark, andpeople were hastily striding along in the darkness. Foma wrinkled hisface, for the dust filled his eyes, and thought:

"If it is a woman I meet now--then it will mean that Sophya Pavlovnawill receive me in a friendly way, as before. I am going to see hertomorrow. 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 suchan extent that he felt like striking him with his cane. 

In the refreshment-room of the club, Foma was met by the jovialOokhtishchev. 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 jollymood, 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 neitherdrinks, nor plays, nor likes any women. By the way, do you know, FomaIgnatyevich, that peerless patroness of ours is going abroad tomorrowfor the whole summer?"

"Sophya Pavlovna?" asked Foma, slowly. "Of course! The sun of my life issetting. 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 hisbreast, 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 amglad. "

"May I know why?" exclaimed Ookhtishchev. Foma smiled sheepishly andstared 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 hisbrow. 

"How do you know that she is a coquette?" asked Foma, sternly, comingcloser 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--" beganOokhtishchev in a convincing tone, but Foma interrupted him:

"Excuse me, just a moment! I wish to ask the gentleman, what is themeaning of the word he said?"

And as he articulated this firmly and calmly, Foma thrust his hands deepinto his trousers-pockets, threw his chest forward, which at once gavehis figure an attitude of defiance. The whiskered gentleman again eyedFoma with a sarcastic smile. 

"Gentlemen!" exclaimed Ookhtishchev, softly. 

"I said, co-cot-te, " pronounced the whiskered man, moving his lips as ifhe tasted the word. "And if you don't understand it, I can explain it toyou. "

"You had better explain it, " said Foma, with a deep sigh, not liftinghis eyes off the man. 

Ookhtishchev clasped his hands and rushed aside. 

"A cocotte, if you want to know it, is a prostitute, " said the whiskeredman 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 moveaway, he clutched with his right hand his curly, grayish hair. With aconvulsive movement of the hand, Foma began to shake the man's head andhis 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 hisface--straight in his eyes. "

He experienced a burning delight, seeing how comically the stout armswere swinging in the air, and how the legs of the man, whom he wasshaking, were bending under him, scraping against the floor. His goldwatch fell out of the pocket and dangled on the chain, over his roundpaunch. Intoxicated with his own strength and with the degradation ofthe sedate man, filled with the burning feeling of malignancy, tremblingwith the happiness of revenge, Foma dragged him along the floor and ina dull voice, growled wickedly, in wild joy. In these moments heexperienced a great feeling--the feeling of emancipation from thewearisome burden which had long oppressed his heart with grief andmorbidness. He felt that he was seized by the waist and shoulders frombehind, that someone seized his hand and bent it, trying to break it;that someone was crushing his toes; but he saw nothing, following withhis bloodshot eyes the dark, heavy mass moaning and wriggling in hishand. Finally, they tore him away and downed him, and, as through areddish mist, he noticed before him on the floor, at his feet, the manhe had thrashed. Dishevelled, he was moving his legs over the floor, attempting to rise; two dark men were holding him by the arms, his handswere dangling in the air like broken wings, and, in a voice that waschoking 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 wasdragged off. There was a buzzing in his ears, his heart beat fast, buthe felt relieved and well. At the entrance of the club he heaved a deepsigh 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 mebut that was the act of a savage! The devil take it. I never witnessedsuch a thing before!"

"My dear man!" said Foma, friendly, "did he not deserve the drubbing? Ishe 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 yougave him the drubbing?"

"That is, what do you mea, --not for her alone? For whom then?" askedFoma, amazed. 

"For whom? I don't know. Evidently you had old accounts to settle! OhLord! 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 isit really only for Sophya Pavlovna?"

"It is, by God!" avowed Foma. 

"So, the devil knows what the result may be!" He stopped short, shruggedhis shoulders perplexedly, waved his hand, and again began to pacethe sidewalk, looking at Foma askance. "You'll pay for this, FomaIgnatyevich. "

"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 tothis fact I must admit, that he deserves a drubbing. But taking intoconsideration 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 understandit 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 aregoing with me, do not touch her. I consider her good, therefore she isgood. "

There was great emotion in Foma's voice. Ookhtishchev looked at him andsaid thoughtfully:

"You are a queer man, I must confess. "

"I am a simple man--a savage. I have given him a thrashing and now Ifeel jolly, and as to the result, let come what will. '

"I am afraid that it will result in something bad. Do you know--to befrank, in return for your frankness--I also like you, although--Mm! Itis rather dangerous to be with you. Such a knightly temper may come overyou and one may get a thrashing at your hands. "

"How so? This was but the first time. I am not going to beat peopleevery 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 mustexcuse me, but it is abominable. Yet, I must tell you, in this case youmade a happy selection. You have thrashed a rake, a cynic, a parasite--aman who robbed his nephews with impunity. "

"Well, thank God for that!" said Foma with satisfaction. "Now I havepunished 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, thatKayazev, is a rascal! True! But you must not thrash even a rascal, forhe is a social being, under the paternal custody of the law. You cannottouch him until he transgresses the limits of the penal code. But eventhen, not you, but we, the judges, will give him his due. While you musthave 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 becaught, and to the end of his days he will live with you and me in thesame 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 herselfwhen 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 thematter with you?"

"And it all came about, " said Foma, slowly, in a dull voice, "becauseyou 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 thesidewalk with his cane. 

"Come, " said Ookhtishchev. 

Foma started, saying indifferently:

"Well, let her go. And I am alone. " Ookhtishchev, waving his cane, beganto whistle, looking at his companion. 

"Sha'n't I be able to get along without her?" asked Foma, lookingsomewhere in front of him and then, after a pause, he answered himselfsoftly 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, andthe lyrical is not becoming to you. It isn't your genre. "

"Speak to me more simply, sir, " said Foma, having listened attentivelyto his words. 

"More simply? Very well. I want to say, give up thinking of this littlelady. 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'lltell you, shouldn't we perhaps go and have supper?"

"Let's go, " Foma assented. And he suddenly roared obdurately, clinchinghis fists and waving them in the air: "Well, let us go, and I'll getwound 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'sthat? Am I worse than other people? Everybody lives, whirls, hustlesabout, has his own point. While I am weary. Everybody is satisfied withhimself. And as to their complaining, they lie, the rascals! They aresimply pretending for beauty's sake. I have no reason to pretend. I ama fool. I don't understand anything, my dear fellow. I simply wish tolive! I am unable to think. I feel disgusted; one says this, anotherthat! Pshaw! But she, eh! If you knew. My hope was in her. I expected ofher--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 peculiarwords, all her own. Her eyes, my dear boy, are so beautiful! Oh Lord! Iwas ashamed to look upon them, and as I am telling you, she would say afew words, and everything would become clear to me. For I did not cometo her with love alone--I came to her with all my soul! I sought--Ithought that since she was so beautiful, consequently, I might become aman by her side!"

Ookhtishchev listened to the painful, unconnected words that burst fromhis companion's lips. He saw how the muscles of his face contracted withthe effort to express his thoughts, and he felt that behind this bombastthere was a great, serious grief. There was something intensely patheticin the powerlessness of this strong and savage youth, who suddenlystarted to pace the sidewalk with big, uneven steps. Skipping alongafter him with his short legs, Ookhtishchev felt it his duty somehow tocalm Foma. Everything Foma had said and done that evening awakened inthe jolly secretary a feeling of lively curiosity toward Foma, andthen he felt flattered by the frankness of the young millionaire. Thisfrankness confused him with its dark power; he was disconcerted by itspressure, and though, in spite of his youth, he had a stock of wordsready for all occasions in life, it took him quite awhile to recallthem. 

"I feel that everything is dark and narrow about me, " said Gordyeeff. "Ifeel that a burden is falling on my shoulders, but what it is I cannotunderstand! It puts a restraint on me, and it checks the freedom of mymovements along the road of life. Listening to people, you hear thateach 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 arephilosophizing! No, that is not right! Life is given us to live! Whichmeans--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 theslightest trace of your philosophy would at once vanish from your soul!Oh, a remarkable woman! And how well she knows how to avail herselfof life! Do you know, there's also something epic about her? She isbeautiful; 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 withher! We must drive one nail out with another. "

"My conscience does not allow it, " said Foma, sadly and sternly. "Solong 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 wasessential for him to give his passion an outlet in a good spree, in thecompany of women. 

"This will be magnificent, and it is indispensable to you. You maybelieve me. And as to conscience, you must excuse me. You don't defineit quite properly. It is not conscience that interferes with you, buttimidity, I believe. You live outside of society. You are bashful, and awkward. Youare dimly conscious of all this, and it is thisconsciousness that you mistake for conscience. In this case there can beno question about conscience. What has conscience to do here, since itis natural for man to enjoy himself, since it is his necessity and hisright?"

Foma walked on, regulating his steps to those of his companion, andstaring along the road, which lay between two rows of buildings, resembled an enormous ditch, and was filled with darkness. It seemedthat there was no end to the road and that something dark, inexhaustibleand 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 weretenacious in their way; that they adhered to him, and that he wasinvoluntarily memorizing them. Notwithstanding that a man walked besidehim, he felt as though he were alone, straying in the dark. And thedarkness seized him and slowly drew him along, and he felt that he wasdrawn somewhere, and yet had no desire to stop. Some sort of fatiguehindered his thinking; there was no desire in him to resist theadmonitions of his companion--and why should he resist them?

"It isn't for everyone to philosophize, " said Ookhtishchev, swinginghis cane in the air, and somewhat carried away by his wisdom. "For ifeverybody 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 shakingup? Let's go immediately to a pleasure-house I know. Two sisters livethere. 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 himselfabout seven versts from the town, on the timber-wharf of the merchantZvantzev, in the company of the merchant's son of Ookhtishchev--asedate, bald-headed and red-nosed gentleman with side whiskers--and fourladies. The young Zvantzev wore eyeglasses, was thin and pale, and whenhe stood, the calves of his legs were forever trembling as though theywere disgusted at supporting the feeble body, clad in a long, checkedtop-coat with a cape, in whose folds a small head in a jockey cap wascomically shaking. The gentleman with the side whiskers called him Jeanand pronounced this name as though he was suffering from an inveteratecold. Jean's lady was a tall, stout woman with a showy bust. Herhead was compressed on the sides, her low forehead receded, her long, sharp-pointed nose gave her face an expression somewhat bird-like. Andthis 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 redhair. She had so much hair, that it seemed as though the woman had puton her head an enormous cap which was coming down over her ears, hercheeks and her high forehead, from under which her large blue eyeslooked forth calmly and lazily. 

The gentleman with the side whiskers sat beside a young, plump, buxomgirl, who constantly giggled in a ringing voice at something which hewhispered 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 highand looked at everything about her with such condescending haughtiness, that it was at once evident that she considered herself the mostimportant person there. 

The company were seated on the extreme link of the raft, extending farinto the smooth expanse of the river. Boards were spread out on theraft and in the centre stood a crudely constructed table; empty bottles, provision baskets, candy-wrappers and orange peels were scattered abouteverywhere. In the corner of the raft was a pile of earth, upon whicha bonfire was burning, and a peasant in a short fur coat, squatting, warmed his hands over the fire, and cast furtive glances at the peopleseated around the table. They had just finished eating their sturgeonsoup, and now wines and fruits were before them on the table. 

Fatigued with a two-days' spree and with the dinner that had just beenfinished, the company was in a weary frame of mind. They all gazedat the river, chatting, but their conversation was now and againinterrupted 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 thegigantically-wide, overflowing river, which was as calm as the sky andas vast as the sea. The distant, mountainous shore was tenderly bathedin bluish mist. Through it, there, on the mountain tops, the crossesof churches were flashing like big stars. The river was animated at themountainous shore; steamers were going hither and thither, and theirnoise came in deep moans toward the rafts and into the meadows, wherethe calm flow of the waves filled the air with soft and faint sounds. Gigantic barges stretched themselves one after another against thecurrent, like huge pigs, tearing asunder the smooth expanse of theriver. Black smoke came in ponderous puffs from the chimneys of thesteamers, slowly melting in the fresh air, which was full of brightsunshine. At times a whistle resounded--it was like the roar of somehuge, enraged animal, embittered by toil. And on the meadows near therafts, all was calm and silent. Solitary trees that had been drownedby the flood, were now already covered with light-green spangles offoliage. Covering their roots and reflecting their tops, the water gavethem the appearance of globes, and it seemed as though the slightestbreeze would send them floating, fantastically beautiful, down themirror-like bosom of the river. 

The red-haired woman, pensively gazing into the distance, began to singsoftly 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 intohis lady's face. He was pale some spark seemed to flash up in his eyesnow 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 towardthe lady with the birdlike face, she ordered:

"Vassa, sing with me!"

Vassa immediately broke off her conversation with Zvantzev, stroked herthroat a little with her hand and fixed her round eyes on the face ofher sister. Sasha rose to her feet, leaned her hand against the table, and her head lifted haughtily, began to declaim in a powerful, almostmasculine voice:

"Life on earth is bright to him, Who knows no cares or woe, And whoseheart is not consumed By passion's ardent glow!"

Her sister nodded her head and slowly, plaintively began to moan in adeep contralto:

"Ah me! Of me the maiden fair. "

Flashing her eyes at her sister, Sasha exclaimed in her low-pitchednotes:

"Like a blade of grass my heart has withered. "

The two voices mingled and floated over the water in melodious, fullsounds, which quivered from excess of power. One of them was complainingof the unbearable pain in the heart, and intoxicated by the poisonof 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 thefeeling of bloody mortification and of readiness to avenge. Pronouncingthe words distinctly, the voice came from her breast in a deep stream, and each word reeked with boiling blood, stirred up by outrage, poisonedby 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 thetempo of the song and striking a higher pitch, she began to sing, asslowly as her sister, voluptuous and exultant threats:

"Drier than the raging wind, Drier than the mown-down grass, Oi, themown and dried-up grass. "

Resting his elbows on the table, Foma bent his head, and with knittedbrow, gazed into the face of the woman, into her black, half-shut eyesStaring fixedly into the distance, her eyes flashed so brightly andmalignantly that, because of their light, the velvety voice, that burstfrom the woman's chest, seemed to him also black and flashing, like hereyes. He recalled her caresses and thought:

"How does she come to be such as she is? It is even fearful to be withher. "

Ookhtishchev, sitting close to his lady, an expression of happiness onhis face, listened to the song and was radiant with satisfaction. Thegentleman with the side whiskers and Zvantzev were drinking wine, softlywhispering something as they leaned toward each other. The red-headedwoman was thoughtfully examining the palm of Ookhtishchev's hand, holding it in her own, and the jolly girl became sad. She drooped herhead low and listened to the song, motionless, as though bewitchedby it. From the fire came the peasant. He stepped carefully over theboards, on tiptoe; his hands were clasped behind his back, and hisbroad, bearded face was now transformed into a smile of astonishment andof a naive delight. 

"Eh! but feel, my kind, brave man!"

entreated Vassa, plaintively, nodding her head. And her sister, herchest bent forward, her hand still higher, wound up the song in powerfultriumphant notes:

"The yearning and the pangs of love!"

When she finished singing, she looked haughtily about her, and seatingherself 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 fullof charming sounds, it quivered, but at the touch of her arm he feltawkward and ashamed before the other people. 

"Bravo-o! Bravo, Aleksandra Sarelyevna!" shouted Ookhtishchev, and theothers were clapping their hands. But she paid no attention to them, andembracing 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 Ilike--Oh, how I will love you!"

"For the present?" asked Foma, smiling suspiciously. "You ought to loveme 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 lieto you? I am telling you frankly. I love you for money, for presents. Because aside from money, men have nothing. They cannot give anythingmore than money. Nothing of worth. I know it well already. One can lovemerely so. Yes, wait a little--I'll know you better and then, perhaps, Imay love you free of charge. And meanwhile, you mustn't take me amiss. Ineed much money in my mode of life. "

Foma listened to her, smiled and now and then quivered from the nearnessof her sound, well-shaped body. Zvantzev's sour, cracked and boringvoice was falling on his ears. "I don't like it. I cannot understand thebeauty 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 sickdog--altogether something beastly. There's nothing cheerful, there's nochic to it; there are no live and vivifying sounds in it. No, you oughtto 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. Ithas not, you know, that brilliancy of culture, " said the man with theside whiskers wearily, as he sipped some wine out of his glass. 

"But nevertheless, there is always a warm heart in it, " put in thered-haired lady, as she peeled an orange. 

The sun was setting. Sinking somewhere far beyond the forest, on themeadow shore, it painted the entire forest with purple tints and castrosy and golden spots over the dark cold water. Foma gazed in thatdirection at this play of the sunbeams, watched how they quivered asthey were transposed over the placid and vast expanse of waters, andcatching fragments of conversation, he pictured to himself the words asa swarm of dark butterflies, busily fluttering in the air. Sasha, her head resting on his shoulder, was softly whispering into his earsomething at which he blushed and was confused, for he felt that shewas kindling in him the desire to embrace this woman and kiss herunceasingly. Aside from her, none of those assembled there interestedhim--while Zvantzev and the gentleman with the side whiskers wereactually repulsive to him. 

"What are you staring at? Eh?" he heard Ookhtishchev's jestingly-sternvoice. 

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, withadmiration in his eyes. 

"That's right!" exclaimed Ookhtishchev. 

"There is a great power of voice in that lady's breast, " said thepeasant, nodding his head. 

At his words, the ladies burst out laughing and the men made somedouble-meaning remarks about Sasha. 

After she had calmly listened to these and said nothing in reply, Sashaasked 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, angrilyflashing 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 abouttime you did it, and then, there's also plenty of water now, so that youwouldn't spoil it all with your rotten body. "

"Fie, how witty!" hissed the youth, turning away from her, and addedwith contempt: "In Russia even the prostitutes are rude. "

He addressed himself to his neighbour, but the latter gave him only anintoxicated smile in return. Ookhtishchev was also drunk. Staringinto the face of his companion, with his eyes grown dim, he mutteredsomething and heard nothing. The lady with the bird-like face waspecking candy, holding the box under her very nose. Pavlinka went awayto the edge of the raft and, standing there, threw orange peels into thewater. 

"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 andugly-looking man felt bored, and that Sasha had insulted him. Now andthen he cast at her a kind glance of approval. He was pleased with thefact that she was so frank with everybody and that she bore herselfproudly, like a real gentlewoman. 

The peasant seated himself on the boards at her feet, clasped his kneesin his hands, lifted his face to her and seriously listened to herwords. 

"You must raise your voice, when I lower mine, understand?"

"I understand; but, Madam, you ought to hand me some just to give mecourage!"

"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 herbrow:

"Begin!"

The peasant made a wry mouth, lifted his eyes to her face, and startedin a high-pitched tenor:

"I cannot drink, I cannot eat. "

Trembling in every limb, the woman sobbed out tremulously, with strangesadness:

"Wine cannot gladden my soul. "

The peasant smiled sweetly, tossed his head to and fro, and closing hiseyes, 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 asing-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 silenceand freshness of the evening, everything about them seemed warmer andbetter; everything seemed to smile the sorrowful smile of sympathy onthe anguish of the man whom an obscure power is tearing away from hisnative soil into some foreign place, where hard labour and degradationare 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 surgedup--it seemed as though these tears moistened the air. Wild grief andpain from the sores of body and soul, which were wearied in the strugglewith stern life; intense sufferings from the wounds dealt to man by theiron hand of want--all this was invested in the simple, crude words andwas 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 afeeling akin to fright, and the song, in a huge wave, poured forthinto his breast, and the wild power of grief, with which it had beeninvested, clutched his heart painfully. He felt that tears would soongush from his breast, something was clogging his throat and his facewas quivering. He dimly saw Sasha's black eyes; immobile and flashinggloomily, they seemed to him enormous and still growing larger andlarger. And it seemed to him that it was not two persons who weresinging--that everything about him was singing and sobbing, quiveringand palpitating in torrents of sorrow, madly striving somewhere, shedding burning tears, and all--and all things living seemed clasped inone powerful embrace of despair. And it seemed to him that he, too, wassinging in unison with all of them--with the people, the river and thedistant shore, whence came plaintive moans that mingled with the song. 

Now the peasant went down on his knees, and gazing at Sasha, waved hishands, and she bent down toward him and shook her head, keeping timeto the motions of his hands. Both were now singing without words, withsounds only, and Foma still could not believe that only two voices werepouring into the air these moans and sobs with such mighty power. 

When they had finished singing, Foma, trembling with excitement, with atear-stained face, gazed at them and smiled sadly. 

"Well, did it move you?" asked Sasha. Pale with fatigue, she breathedquickly and heavily. 

Foma glanced at the peasant. The latter was wiping the sweat off hisbrow and looking around him with such a wandering look as though hecould 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 areyou?" he almost shouted. 

"I am--Stepan, " said the peasant, smiling confusedly, and also rose tohis feet. "I'm Stepan. Of course!"

"How you sing! Ah!" Foma exclaimed in astonishment, uneasily shiftingfrom 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 makesthe lady sing like this, only God knows. And she sings, with all herveins--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, almostcrying, irritated as he jumped up from the table. "I've come out herefor a good time. I want to enjoy myself, and here they perform a funeralservice for me! What an outrage! I can't stand this any longer. I'mgoing away!"

"Jean, I am also going. I'm weary, too, " announced the gentleman withthe side whiskers. 

"Vassa, " cried Zvantzev to his lady, "dress yourself!"

"Yes, it's time to go, " said the red-haired lady to Ookhtishchev. "It iscold, and it will soon be dark. "

"Stepan! Clear everything away!" commanded Vassa. 

All began to bustle about, all began to speak of something. Foma staredat them in suspense and shuddered. Staggering, the crowd walkedalong the rafts. Pale and fatigued, they said to one another stupid, disconnected things. Sasha jostled them unceremoniously, as she wasgetting her things together. 

"Stepan! Call for the horses!"

"And I'll drink some more cognac. Who wants some more cognac withme?" 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 ofher, frowning, dissatisfied, his lips curled capriciously, the calves ofhis legs shivering. Foma became disgusted as he looked at them, andhe went off to the other raft. He was astonished that all these peoplebehaved as though they had not heard the song at all. In his breastthe song was alive and there it called to life a restless desire to dosomething, to say something. But he had no one there to speak to. 

The sun had set and the distance was enveloped in blue mist. Fomaglanced thither and turned away. He did not feel like going to town withthese people, neither did he care to stay here with them. And they werestill pacing the raft with uneven steps, shaking from side to side andmuttering disconnected words. The women were not quite as drunk as themen, and only the red-haired one could not lift herself from the benchfor 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 thepeasant had chopped wood for the fire, he began to play with it, tossingit 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, exceptSasha, who awakened in him a certain uneasy feeling, which containedat once admiration for her and a fear lest she might do somethingunexpected and terrible. 

"Brute!" shouted Zvantzev in a shrill voice, and Foma noticed that hestruck the peasant on the chest, after which the peasant removed his caphumbly 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 suddenlya thought flashed vividly through his mind! He smiled maliciously andinquired 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 placewhere one link was well fastened to another link, struck a few timeswith 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 hastilymade the sign of the cross. And Foma gazed, laughing softly, andexperienced a painful sensation that keenly and sharply stung his heartwith a certain strange, pleasant and sweet fear. 

The people on the raft were still pacing to and fro, moving aboutslowly, jostling one another, assisting the ladies with their wraps, laughing and talking, and the raft was meanwhile turning slowly andirresolutely in the water. 

"If the current carries them against the fleet, " whispered thepeasant, "they'll strike against the bows--and they'll be smashed intosplinters. "

"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 withdelight, the peasant dashed in bounds across the rafts to the shore. AndFoma 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 floatoff farther, so that those drunken people would not be able to jumpacross to the moored links. He experienced a pleasant caressingsensation as he saw the raft softly rocking upon the water and floatingoff farther and farther from him every moment. The heavy and darkfeeling, with which his heart had been filled during this time, nowseemed to float away together with the people on the raft. Calmly heinhaled the fresh air and with it something sound that cleared hisbrain. At the very edge of the floating raft stood Sasha, with herback toward Foma; he looked at her beautiful figure and involuntarilyrecalled Medinskaya. The latter was smaller in size. The recollection ofher 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 crowdedtogether in one group, in the centre of the raft. But by this time aclear strip of water, about three yards wide, was flashing between themand Foma. 

There was a silence lasting for a few seconds. 

Then suddenly a hurricane of shrill, repulsively pitiful sounds, whichwere full of animal fright, was hurled at Foma, and louder than all andmore repulsive than all, Zvantzev's shrill, jarring cry pierced the ear:

"He-e-elp!"

Some one--in all probability, the sedate gentleman with the sidewhiskers--roared in his basso:

"Drowning! They're drowning people!"

"Are you people?" cried Foma, angrily, irritated by their screams whichseemed to bite him. And the people ran about on the raft in the madnessof fright; the raft rocked under their feet, floated faster on accountof this, and the agitated water was loudly splashing against and underit. The screams rent the air, the people jumped about, waving theirhands, and the stately figure of Sasha alone stood motionless andspeechless on the edge of the raft. 

"Give my regards to the crabs!" cried Foma. Foma felt more and morecheerful and relieved in proportion as the raft was floating away fromhim. 

"Foma Ignatyevich!" said Ookhtishchev in a faint, but sober voice, "lookout, 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 aringing splash of water was heard as though it groaned with fright orwith astonishment. Foma shuddered and became as though petrified. Then rang out the wild, deafening shrieks of the women, and theterror-stricken screams of men, and all the figures on the raft remainedpetrified in their places. And Foma, staring at the water, feltas 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 cheston the beams of the raft, and stretched out his hands, his head hangingdown over the water. Several incredibly long seconds passed. Cold, wet arms clasped his neck and dark eyes flashed before him. Then heunderstood that it was Sasha. 

The dull horror, which had suddenly seized him, vanished, replaced nowby wild, rebellious joy. Having dragged the woman out of the water, hegrasped her by the waist, clasped her to his breast, and, not knowingwhat to say to her, he stared into her eyes with astonishment. Shesmiled 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 armsand quickly, almost running, dashed across the rafts to the shore. Shewas wet and cold, but her breathing was hot, it burned Foma's cheek andfilled his breast with wild joy. 

"You wanted to drown me?" said she, firmly, pressing close to him. "Itwas 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, thoughyou 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 bythis. 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 theplacid water, floated in the twilight a small island, withdrawing fromthe shore toward the stream of the main current of the river, and onthat 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 hisgarden 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 ofverdant cherry-trees, waved his hands in the air, wiped the perspirationoff his face, and incessantly poured forth into the air his briskspeech. 

"The man who permits his belly to have the upper hand over him is afool and a rogue! Is there nothing better in the world than eating anddrinking? Upon what will you pride yourself before people, if you arelike a hog?"

The old man's eyes sparkled irritably and angrily, his lips twisted withcontempt, 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'swords, now and then casting a close and searching look in his agitated, quivering face. Growing older, she changed, without noticing it, hersuspicious and cold relation toward the old man. In his words she nowbegan to find the same ideas that were in her books, and this won herover on her father's side, involuntarily causing the girl to preferhis live words to the cold letters of the book. Always overwhelmed withbusiness affairs, always alert and clever, he went his own way alone, and she perceived his solitude, knew how painful it was, and herrelations toward her father grew in warmth. At times she even enteredinto arguments with the old man; he always regarded her remarkscontemptuously and sarcastically; but more tenderly and attentively fromtime to time. 

"If the deceased Ignat could read in the newspapers of the indecent lifehis son is leading, he would have killed Foma!" said Mayakin, strikingthe table with his fists. "How they have written it up! It's adisgrace!"

"He deserves it, " said Lubov. 

"I don't say it was done at random! They've barked at him, as wasnecessary. 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'sbehaviour. Evidently he must have been with him and witnessed all theindecency 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 humorousbitterness. "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 wasgrowing 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, thesewriters, are not a foolish lot and are therefore a power--a power, thedevils! And I am not the governor, and even he cannot put one's hand outof 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 usedto 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 thatsomething wrong would come out of him. Even then he stood in the way ofother 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. Thenhe raised his head, winked his eyes and said impressively and irritably:

"They are not men, they are sores! The blood of the Russian people hasbecome mixed, it has become mixed and spoiled, and from the badblood have come all these book and newspaper-writers, these terriblePharisees. They have broken out everywhere, and they are still breakingout, more and more. Whence comes this spoiling of the blood? Fromslowness of motion. Whence the mosquitoes, for instance? From the swamp. All sorts of uncleanliness multiply in stagnant waters. The same is trueof 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'renot mosquitoes. "

Lubov grew excited as she lauded her beloved people; her face wasflushed, and her eyes looked at her father with so much feeling, asthough imploring him to believe her, being unable to convince him. 

"Eh, you!" said the old man, with a sigh, interrupting her. "You've readtoo 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, yousay? What modest people they are! And suppose truth is the very dearestthing there is? Perhaps everybody is seeking it in silence? Believeme--man cannot be unselfish. Man will not fight for what belongs not tohim, and if he does fight--his name is 'fool, ' and he is of no use toanybody. A man must be able to stand up for himself, for his own, thenwill he attain something! Here you have it! Truth! Here I have beenreading the same newspaper for almost forty years, and I can seewell--here is my face before you, and before me, there on the samovar isagain my face, but it is another face. You see, these newspapers givea samovar face to everything, and do not see the real one. And yet youbelieve them. But I know that my face on the samovar is distorted. Noone can tell the real truth; man's throat is too delicate for this. Andthen, the real truth is known to nobody. "

"Papa!" exclaimed Lubov, sadly, "But in books and in newspapers theydefend the general interests of all the people. "

"And in what paper is it written that you are weary of life, and thatit was time for you to get married? So, there your interest is notdefended! 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, butI feel that this isn't right!" said Lubov almost with despair. 

"It is right!" said the old man, firmly. "Russia is confused, and thereis nothing steadfast in it; everything is staggering! Everybody livesawry, everybody walks on one side, there's no harmony in life. All areyelling out of tune, in different voices. And not one understands whatthe other is in need of! There is a mist over everything--everybodyinhales that mist, and that's why the blood of the people has becomespoiled--hence the sores. Man is given great liberty to reason, but isnot permitted to do anything--that's why man does not live; but rots andstinks. "

"What ought one to do, then?" asked Lubov, resting her elbows on thetable 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 mustbe given to man--complete freedom! Since there has come a time, wheneveryraw youth believes that he knows everything and was created for thecomplete 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 hisears, and like a feather will fly hither and thither. He'll believehimself to be a miracle worker, and then he'll start to show hisspirit. "

The old man paused awhile and, lowering his voice, went on, with amalicious smile:

"But there is very little of that creative spirit in him! He'll bristleup for a day or two, stretch himself on all sides--and the poor fellowwill 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 thosereal people who are competent to be the actual civil masters, who willmanage life not with a rod nor with a pen, but with a finger and withbrains. 

"What, they will say. Have you grown tired, gentlemen? What, they willsay, your spleens cannot stand a real fire, can they? So--" and, raisinghis voice, the old man concluded his speech in an authoritative tone:

"Well, then, now, you rabble, hold your tongues, and don't squeak! Orwe'll shake you off the earth, like worms from a tree! Silence, dearfellows! 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 awayby his words, he trembled, closed his eyes now and then, and smacked hislips as though tasting his own wisdom. 

"And then those who will take the upper hand in the confusion willarrange life wisely, after their own fashion. Then things won't go atrandom, but as if by rote. It's a pity that we shall not live to seeit!"

The old man's words fell one after another upon Lubov like meshes of abig strong net--they fell and enmeshed her, and the girl, unable to freeherself from them, maintained silence, dizzied by her father's words. Staring into his face with an intense look, she sought support forherself in his words and heard in them something similar to what shehad read in books, and which seemed to her the real truth. But themalignant, triumphant laughter of her father stung her heart, and thewrinkles, which seemed to creep about on his face like so many darklittle snakes, inspired her with a certain fear for herself in hispresence. She felt that he was turning her aside from what had seemed sosimple and so easy in her dreams. 

"Papa!" she suddenly asked the old man, in obedience to a thought and adesire that unexpectedly flashed through her mind. "Papa! and what sortof a man--what in your opinion is Taras?"

Mayakin shuddered. His eyebrows began to move angrily, he fixed hiskeen, 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 witha gloomy frown. But when he said that he did not want to speak of hisson, he evidently did not understand himself correctly, for after aminute's silence he said sternly and angrily:

"Taraska, too, is a sore. Life is breathing upon you, milksops, and youcannot discriminate its genuine scents, and you swallow all sorts offilth, wherefore there is trouble in your heads. That's why you arenot competent to do anything, and you are unhappy because of thisincompetence. Taraska. Yes. He must be about forty now. He is lost tome! A galley-slave--is that my son? A blunt-snouted young pig. He wouldnot 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 hebecame sensible, and he must have become a sensible man; he's the son ofa father who's not stupid, and then he must have suffered not a little. They coddle them, the nihilists! They should have turned them overto me. I'd show them what to do. Into the desert! Into the isolatedplaces--march! Come, now, my wise fellows, arrange life there accordingto your own will! Go ahead! And as authorities over them I'd station therobust peasants. Well, now, honourable gentlemen, you were given to eatand to drink, you were given an education--what have you learned? Payyour debts, pray. Yes, I would not spend a broken grosh on them. I wouldsqueeze all the price out of them--give it up! You must not set a man atnaught. It is not enough to imprison him! You transgressed the law, andare a gentleman? Never mind, you must work. Out of a single seed comesan ear of corn, and a man ought not be permitted to perish without beingof use! An economical carpenter finds a place for each and every chip ofwood--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 manis never trash. Eh! it is bad when power lives without reason, nor isit good when reason lives without power. Take Foma now. Who is comingthere--give a look. "

Turning around, Lubov noticed the captain of the "Yermak, " Yefim, comingalong the garden path. He had respectfully removed his cap and bowed toher. There was a hopelessly guilty expression on his face and he seemedabashed. 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 alow bow. 

"Well, I see, you've come to me. What's the matter? Where's thesteamer?"

"The steamer is there!" Yefim thrust his hand somewhere into the air andheavily shifted from one foot to the other. 

"Where is it, devil? Speak coherently--what has happened?" cried the oldman, 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 isaltogether missing, so that he must have drowned. About five more wereinjured, but not so very badly, though some were disabled. "

"So-o!" drawled out Mayakin, measuring the captain with an ill-omenedlook. 

"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 heshouted: "'Get away! I'll take command myself!' I said 'I can't! I amthe captain. ' 'Bind him!' said he. And when they had bound me, theylowered me into the hatchway, with the sailors. And as the master wasdrunk, he wanted to have some fun. A fleet of boats was coming towardus. Six empty barges towed by 'Cheruigorez. ' So Foma Ignatyich blockedtheir way. They whistled. More than once. I must tell the truth--theywhistled!"

"Well?"

"Well, and they couldn't manage it--the two barges in front crashed intous. 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 veryviolent character. When he is sober he is silent most of the time, andwalks around thoughtfully, but when he wets his springs withwine--then he breaks loose. Then he is not master of himself and of hisbusiness--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 livewithout a master!"

"Keep quiet!" said Mayakin, sternly. "Where's Foma?"

"There; at the same place. Immediately after the accident, he came tohimself and at once sent for workmen. They'll lift the barge. They mayhave 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, witha sigh. "She's forever singing. She sings very well. It's verycaptivating. "

"I am not asking you about her!" cried Mayakin, angrily. The wrinklesof his face were painfully quivering, and it seemed to Lubov that herfather was about to weep. 

"Calm yourself, papa!" she entreated caressingly. "Maybe the loss isn'tso great. "

"Not great?" cried Yakov Tarasovich in a ringing voice. "What do youunderstand, you fool? Is it only that the barge was smashed? Eh, you! Aman 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 withbrisk steps walked off along the garden path leading toward the house. 

And Foma was at this time about four hundred versts away from hisgodfather, in a village hut, on the shore of the Volga. He had justawakened from sleep, and lying on the floor, on a bed of fresh hay, inthe 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 andweary, one overtaking another, they were passing across the sky in anenormous flock. Now forming a solid mass, now breaking into fragments, now falling low over the earth, in silent confusion, now again risingupward, one swallowed by another. 

Without moving his head, which was heavy from intoxication, Foma lookedlong at the clouds and finally began to feel as though silent cloudswere also passing through his breast, --passing, breathing a dampcoldness upon his heart and oppressing him. There was something impotentin the motion of the clouds across the sky. And he felt the same withinhim. Without thinking, he pictured to himself all he had gone throughduring the past months. It seemed to him as though he had fallen into aturbid, boiling stream, and now he had been seized by dark waves, thatresembled these clouds in the sky; had been seized and carried awaysomewhere, even as the clouds were carried by the wind. In the darknessand the tumult which surrounded him, he saw as though through a mistthat certain other people were hastening together with him--to-day notthose of yesterday, new ones each day, yet all looking alike--equallypitiful and repulsive. Intoxicated, noisy, greedy, they flew abouthim as in a whirlwind, caroused at his expense, abused him, fought, screamed, and even wept more than once. And he beat them. He rememberedthat one day he had struck somebody on the face, torn someone's coat offand thrown it into the water and that some one had kissed his hands withwet, cold lips as disgusting as frogs. Had kissed and wept, imploringhim not to kill. Certain faces flashed through his memory, certainsounds and words rang in it. A woman in a yellow silk waist, unfastenedat 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 bythe same dark wave and carried away like rubbish. All these people, like himself, must have been afraid to look forward to see whither thispowerful, wild wave was carrying them. And drowning their fear in wine, they were rushing forward down the current struggling, shouting, doingsomething absurd, playing the fool, clamouring, clamouring, without everbeing cheerful. He was doing the same, whirling in their midst. And nowit seemed to him, that he was doing all this for fear of himself, inorder to pass the sooner this strip of life, or in order not to think ofwhat would be afterward. 

Amid the burning turmoil of carouses, in the crowd of people, seized bydebauchery, perplexed by violent passions, half-crazy in their longingto forget themselves--only Sasha was calm and contained. She never drankto intoxication, always addressed people in a firm, authoritative voice, and all her movements were equally confident, as though this stream hadnot taken possession of her, but she was herself mastering its violentcourse. She seemed to Foma the cleverest person of all those thatsurrounded him, and the most eager for noise and carouse; she held themall in her sway, forever inventing something new and speaking in one andthe same manner to everybody; for the driver, the lackey and the sailorshe had the same tone and the same words as for her friends and forFoma. She was younger and prettier than Pelageya, but her caresses weresilent, cold. Foma imagined that deep in her heart she was concealingfrom everybody something terrible, that she would never love anyone, never reveal herself entire. This secrecy in the woman attracted himtoward her with a feeling of timorous curiosity, of a great, strainedinterest 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 sosimply. 

"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 wasa harpist. Well, shall I taste sweeter to you, now that you know who Iam?"

"Do I know it?" asked Foma, laughing. 

"Isn't that enough for you? I shall tell you nothing more about it. Whatfor? We all come from the same place, both people and beasts. And whatis there that I can tell you about myself? And what for? All this talkis nonsense. Let's rather think a little as to how we shall pass theday. "

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 sanga peculiar, wonderfully sad song, and Foma, moved by her singing, weptlike a child. Then he danced with her the "Russian dance, " and finally, perspiring and fatigued, threw himself overboard in his clothes and wasnearly drowned. 

Now, recalling all this and a great deal more, he felt ashamed ofhimself and dissatisfied with Sasha. He looked at her well-shapedfigure, heard her even breathing and felt that he did not love thiswoman, and that she was unnecessary to him. Certain gray, oppressivethoughts were slowly springing up in his heavy, aching head. It seemedto him as though everything he had lived through during this time wastwisted within him into a heavy and moist ball, and that now this ballwas rolling about in his breast, unwinding itself slowly, and the thingray cords were binding him. 

"What is going on in me?" he thought. "I've begun to carouse. Why? Idon't know how to live. I don't understand myself. Who am I?"

He was astonished by this question, and he paused over it, attemptingto make it clear to himself--why he was unable to live as firmly andconfidently as other people do. He was now still more tortured. Byconscience. More uneasy at this thought, he tossed about on the hay andirritated, 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 wassinging a solo, and opposite me stood a big, dirty dog, snarling andwaiting for me to finish the song. And I was afraid of the dog. And Iknew that it would devour me, as soon as I stopped singing. So I keptsinging, singing. And suddenly it seemed my voice failed me. Horrible!And the dog is gnashing his teeth. Oh Lord, have mercy on me! What doesit mean?"

"Stop your idle talk!" Foma interrupted her sternly. "You better tell mewhat you know about me. "

"I know, for instance, that you are awake now, " she answered, withoutturning 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! Tellme conscientiously, what do you think of me?"

"I don't think anything!" she said drily. "Why are you bothering me withnonsense?"

"Is this nonsense?" said Foma, sadly. "Eh, you devils! This is theprincipal thing. The most essential thing to me. "

He heaved a deep sigh and became silent. After a minute's silence, Sashabegan to speak in her usual, indifferent voice:

"Tell him who he is, and why he is such as he is? Did you ever see! Isit proper to ask such questions of our kind of women? And on what groundshould I think about each and every man? I have not even time to thinkabout 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 faceand 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 sayanything true about a man. Who can understand him? Man does not knowhimself. Well, here, I'll tell you--you are better than others. But whatof it?"

"And in what way am I better?" asked Foma, thoughtfully. 

"So! When one sings a good song--you weep. When one does some meanthing--you beat him. With women you are simple, you are not impudent tothem. 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'tknow what you want. But see here, what are we going to do after theyhave 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 wearisomecharacter. "

"But nevertheless I won't get drunk any more!" said Foma, firmly andconfidently. 

"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'relike trees. They also live, but how? No one understands. They arecrawling somewhere. And can give no account either to themselves or toothers. When the cockroach crawls, he knows whither and wherefore hewants to go? And you? Whither are you going?"

"Hold on!" Sasha interrupted him, and asked him calmly: "What have youto do with me? You may take from me all that you want, but don't youcreep 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 werescattered everywhere. Foma watched her and was displeased because shedid not get angry at him for his words about her soul. Her face lookedcalm and indifferent, as usual, but he wished to see her angry oroffended; he wished for something human from the woman. 

"The soul!" he exclaimed, persisting in his aim. "Can one who has a soullive as you live? A soul has fire burning in it, there is a sense ofshame in it. "

By this time she was sitting on a bench, putting on her stockings, butat his words she raised her head and sternly fixed her eyes upon hisface. 

"What are you staring at?" asked Foma. 

"Why do you speak that way?" said she, without lifting her eyes fromhim. 

"Because I must. "

"Look out--must you really?"

There was something threatening in her question. Foma felt intimidatedand 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 knowwhat I have observed among people?"

"Well?"

"If a man cannot answer for himself, it means that he is afraid ofhimself, 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 thecentre of the room, stretched out her hand toward Foma, who lay at herfeet, and said to him in a low, dull voice:

"You have no right to speak about my soul. You have nothing to do withit! And therefore hold your tongue! I may speak! If I please, I couldtell something to all of you. Eh, how I could tell it! Only, --who willdare to listen to me, if I should speak at the top of my voice? And Ihave some words about you, --they're like hammers! And I could knock youall on your heads so that you would lose your wits. And although you areall rascals--you cannot be cured by words. You should be burned in thefire--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 overher shoulders in heavy, black locks--the woman shook her head haughtilyand said, with contempt:

"Never mind that I am leading a loose life! It often happens, that theman who lives in filth is purer than he who goes about in silks. If youonly 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 singit 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 therewas something akin to his frame of mind. Laughing, he said to her, withsatisfaction on his face and in his voice:

"And I also feel that something is growing within my soul. Eh, I tooshall have my say, when the time comes. "

"Against whom?" asked Sasha, carelessly. 

"I--against everybody!" exclaimed Foma, jumping to his feet. "Againstfalsehood. 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 itsbosom, and covered with troubled dark waves, the river was spasmodicallyrushing toward the wind with a noisy splash, and all in the froth ofwrath. The willow bushes on the shore bent low to the ground--trembling, they now were about to lie down on the ground, now, frightened, theythrust themselves away from it, driven by the blows of the wind. In theair rang a whistling, a howling, and a deep groaning sound, that burstfrom dozens of human breasts:

"It goes--it goes--it goes!"

This exclamation, abrupt as a blow, and heavy as the breath from anenormous breast, which is suffocating from exertion, was soaring overthe river, falling upon the waves, as if encouraging their mad play withthe wind, and they struck the shores with might. 

Two empty barges lay anchored by the mountainous shore, and their tallmasts, rising skyward, rocked in commotion from side to side, as thoughdescribing some invisible pattern in the air. The decks of both bargeswere encumbered with scaffolds, built of thick brown beams; huge sheaveswere hanging everywhere; chains and ropes were fastened to them, androcking in the air; the links of the chains were faintly clanging. Athrong of peasants in blue and in red blouses pulled a large beam acrossthe 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 lumpsof blue and red; the wind, blowing their blouses and their trousers, gave the men odd forms, making them appear now hump-backed, now roundand puffed up like bladders. The people on the scaffolds and on thedecks of the barges were making fast, hewing, sawing, driving in nails;and big arms, with shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows were seeneverywhere. The wind scattered splinters of wood, and a varied, lively, brisk noise in the air; the saw gnawed the wood, choking with wickedjoy; the beams, wounded by the axes, moaned and groaned drily; theboards cracked sickly as they split from the blows they received; thejointer squeaked maliciously. The iron clinking of the chains and thegroaning creaking of the sheaves joined the wrathful roaring of thewaves, and the wind howled loudly, scattering over the river the noiseof toil and drove the clouds across the sky. 

"Mishka-a! The deuce take you!" cried someone from the top of thescaffolding. And from the deck, a large-formed peasant, with his headthrown upward, answered:

"Wh-a-at?" And the wind, playing with his long, flaxen beard, flung itinto 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, beseechingvoice. 

Handsome and stately, in a short cloth jacket and high boots, Fomastood, leaning his back against a mast, and stroking his beard with histrembling hand, admired the daring work of the peasants. The noise abouthim called forth in him a persistent desire to shout, to work togetherwith the peasants, to hew wood, to carry burdens, to command--to compeleverybody to pay attention to him, and to show them his strength, hisskill, and the live soul within him. But he restrained himself. And standing speechless, motionless, he felt ashamed and afraid ofsomething. He was embarrassed by the fact that he was master overeverybody there, and that if he were to start to work himself, no onewould believe that he was working merely to satisfy his desire, and notto spur them on in their work; to set them an example. And then, thepeasants might laugh at him, in all probability. 

A fair and curly-headed fellow, with his shirt collar unbuttoned, wasnow 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 wascleverly and quickly running across the deck, which was obstructed withtimber and shavings. Foma watched him closely, and envied this merryfellow, who was radiant with something healthy and inspiring. 

"Evidently he is happy, " thought Foma, and this thought provoked in hima keen, piercing desire to insult him somehow, to embarrass him. Allthose about him were seized with the zest of pressing work, all wereunanimously and hastily fastening the scaffoldings, arranging thepulleys, preparing to raise the sunken barge from the bottom of theriver; 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 feelthat 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 thoughtthat 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 bargesrocked from the shocks of the waves, but to Foma it seemed that he wasrocking not because the barge was rocking under his feet, but ratherbecause he was not able to stand firmly anywhere, he was not destined todo 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 himand said, not loud, but pronouncing his words with a certain tone fromthe bottom of the river. He wished that they might not succeed, thatthey might feel embarrassed in his presence, and a wicked thoughtflashed through his mind:

"Perhaps the chains will break. "

"Boys! Attention!" shouted the contractor. "Start all together. Godbless us!" And suddenly, clasping his hands in the air, he cried in ashrill voice:

"Let--her--go-o-o!"

The labourers took up his shout, and all cried out in one voice, withexcitement and exertion:

"Let her go! She moves. "

The pulleys squeaked and creaked, the chains clanked, strained under theheavy weight that suddenly fell upon them; and the labourers, bracingtheir chests against the handle of the windlasses, roared and trampedheavily. The waves splashed noisily between the barges as thoughunwilling to give up their prize to the men. Everywhere about Foma, chains and ropes were stretched and they quivered from the strain--theywere creeping somewhere across the deck, past his feet, like huge grayworms; they were lifted upward, link after link, falling back witha rattling noise, and all these sounds were drowned by the deafeningroaring 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 theirvoices, 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 tomingle with this excited roaring of the labourers, which was as broadand 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, andsuddenly pale from agitation, he tore himself away from the mast, andrushed toward the windlasses with big strides. 

"All at once! At once!" he cried in a fierce voice. When he reachedthe lever of the windlass, he dashed his chest against it with all hismight, and not feeling the pain, he began to go around the windlass, roaring, and firmly stamping his feet against the deck. Somethingpowerful and burning rushed into his breast, replacing the effortswhich he spent while turning the windlass-lever! Inexpressible joy ragedwithin him and forced itself outside in an agitated cry. It seemed tohim that he alone, that only his strength was turning the lever, thusraising the weight, and that his strength was growing and growing. Stooping, and lowering his head, like a bull he massed the power of theweight, which threw him back, but yielded to him, nevertheless. Eachstep forward excited him the more, each expended effort was immediatelyreplaced in him by a flood of burning and vehement pride. His headreeled, his eyes were blood-shot, he saw nothing, he only felt thatthey were yielding to him, that he would soon conquer, that he wouldoverthrow with his strength something huge which obstructed hisway--would overthrow, conquer and then breathe easily and freely, fullof proud delight. For the first time in his life he experienced sucha powerful, spiritualizing sensation, and he drank it with all thestrength of a hungry, thirsty soul; he was intoxicated by it and he gavevent 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!" thecontractor congratulated him and the wrinkles quivered on his face incheerful beams. 

"Thank God! You must be quite tired now?"

Cold wind blew in Foma's face. A contented, boastful bustle was in theair about him; swearing at one another in a friendly way, merry, withsmiles on their perspiring brows, the peasants approached him andsurrounded him closely. He smiled in embarrassment: the excitementwithin him had not yet calmed down and this hindered him fromunderstanding what had happened and why all those who surrounded himwere so merry and contented. 

"We've raised a hundred and seventy thousand puds as if we plucked aradish 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 workersand saw; between the barges, side by side with them, stood a thirdbarge, black, slippery, damaged, wrapped in chains. It was warped allover, it seemed as though it swelled from some terrible disease and, impotent, clumsy, it was suspended between its companions, leaningagainst 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 heapsof 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 forthe sake of raising this dirty, bruised monster from the water, his soulhad 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 abouttwenty 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'tyou 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 therespectful exclamations of the peasants, as they surrounded him moreclosely. 

"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 sayingsomething offensive to them. But somehow everything became confusedin his brain, he found no thoughts in it and, finally, without givinghimself an account of his words, said angrily:

"All you want is to drink all the time! It makes no difference to youwhat you do! You should have thought--why? to what purpose? Eh, you!"

There was an expression of perplexity on the faces of those thatsurrounded him, blue and red, bearded figures began to sigh, scratchthemselves, shift themselves from one foot to another. Others cast ahopeless glance at Foma and turned away. 

"Yes, yes!" said the contractor, with a sigh. "That wouldn't harm! Thatis--to think--why and how. These are words of wisdom. "

The light-haired fellow had a different opinion on the matter; smilingkind-heartedly, he waved his hand and said:

"We don't have to think over our work! If we have it--we do it! Ourbusiness is simple! When a rouble is earned--thank God! we can doeverything. "

"And do you know what's necessary to do?" questioned Foma, irritated bythe 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--whenyou have earned for bread and taxes--live! And when there's something todrink, into the bargain. "

"Eh, you!" exclaimed Foma, with contempt. "You're also talking! What doyou understand?"

"Is it our business to understand?" said the light-haired fellow, with anod of the head. It now bored him to speak to Foma. He suspected that hewas unwilling to treat them to vodka and he was somewhat angry. 

"That's it!" said Foma, instructively, pleased that the fellow yieldedto him, and not noticing the cross, sarcastic glances. "And he whounderstands feels that it is necessary to do everlasting work!"

"That is, for God!" explained the contractor, eyeing the peasants, andadded, with a devout sigh:

"That's true. Oh, how true that is!"

And Foma was inspired with the desire to say something correct andimportant, after which these people might regard him in a differentlight, for he was displeased with the fact that all, save thelight-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. "Suchwork that people may say a thousand years hence: 'This was done by thepeasants 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, noddinghis head, announced: "We can't do that--we should all burst. "

Foma became confused at his words and looked about him; the peasantswere smiling morosely, disdainfully, sarcastically. And these smilesstung him like needles. A serious-looking peasant, with a big graybeard, who had not yet opened his mouth up to that time, suddenly openedit 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. Everythingwill be forgotten. Life is long. It is not for us to do such deedsas would stand out above everything else. But we can put upscaffoldings--that we can!"

He spoke and sceptically spitting at his feet, indifferently walked offfrom Foma, and slipped into the crowd, as a wedge into a tree. Hiswords crushed Foma completely; he felt, that the peasants considered himstupid and ridiculous. And in order to save his importance as master intheir eyes, to attract again the now exhausted attention of the peasantsto himself, he bristled up, comically puffed up his cheeks and blurtedout 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 toproduce a strong impression. The peasants respectfully made way forFoma, 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 thathad just been aroused in him would not last long. A worm was gnawing hisheart, and he was weary. 

"I feel disgusted!" he said, entering the hut where Sasha, in asmart, pink gown, was bustling about the table, arranging wines andrefreshments. "I feel disgusted, Aleksandra! If you could only dosomething 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 ityou 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 awayfrom him. "Your head is superfluous to you. "

Foma neither caught her tone nor noticed her movement. Leaning his handsagainst the bench, he bent forward, looked at the floor, and, swayinghis body to and fro, said:

"Sometimes I think and think--and the whole soul is stuck round withthoughts as with tar. And suddenly everything disappears, withoutleaving 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--Ifeel then as though I were not a man, but a bottomless ravine. You askme 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 understandthem--why do they keep on living? And when they speak the truth--to whomare we to listen? One says this, another that. While I--I cannot sayanything. "

 "Eh, without thee, dear, my life is weary, "

sang Sasha, staring at the wall before her. And Foma kept on rocking andsaid:

"There are times when I feel guilty before men. Everybody lives, makesnoise, while I am frightened, staggered--as if I did not feel the earthunder me. Was it, perhaps, my mother that endowed me with apathy?My godfather says that she was as cold as ice--that she was foreveryearning towards something. I am also yearning. Toward men I amyearning. 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 lookingabout, I see there's no one to speak to. No one wants it--they are allrascals! 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 windwas raging outside the window, hurling dust against the window-panes. Cockroaches were rustling on the oven as they crawled over a bunch ofpine 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 headshe jestingly pushed it on the side. 

"What are people like yourself good for? That's what you ought tothink of. What are you groaning about? You are disgusted with beingidle--occupy yourself, then, with business. "

"Oh Lord!" Foma nodded his head. "It is hard for one to make himselfunderstood. Yes, it is hard!" And irritated, he almost cried out: "Whatbusiness? I have no yearning toward business! What is business? Businessis merely a name--and if you should look into the depth, into the rootof it--you'll find it is nothing but absurdity! Do I not understand it?I understand everything, I see everything, I feel everything! Only mytongue is dumb. What aim is there in business? Money? I have plentyof it! I could choke you to death with it, cover you with it. All thisbusiness is nothing but fraud. I meet business people--well, and whatabout them? Their greediness is immense, and yet they purposelywhirl about in business that they might not see themselves. They hidethemselves, the devils. Try to free them from this bustle--what willhappen? Like blind men they will grope about hither and thither; they'lllose their mind--they'll go mad! I know it! Do you think that businessbrings happiness into man? No, that's not so--something else is missinghere. This is not everything yet! The river flows that men may sail onit; the tree grows--to be useful; the dog--to guard the house. There isjustification for everything in the world! And men, like cockroaches, are altogether superfluous on earth. Everything is for them, andthey--what are they for? Aha! Wherein is their justification? Ha, ha, ha!"

Foma was triumphant. It seemed to him that he had found something goodfor himself, something severe against men. And feeling that, because ofthis, there was great joy in him, he laughed loudly. 

"Does not your head ache?" inquired Sasha, anxiously, scrutinizing hisface. 

"My soul aches!" exclaimed Foma, passionately. "And it aches because itis 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! Hesays--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. Ishall ask these, too. And how can we create life? You must keep it inyour hands to do this, you must be master over it. You cannot make evena 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 samekind as you. No, but that one did it for love's sake. She had taken aliking to me--and consented; she was good--but, otherwise, she was inevery way the same as you--though you are prettier than she. But I tooka liking to a certain lady--a lady of noble birth! They said she led aloose 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 realthing! I did not get her--and, it may be, if I had succeeded, all wouldhave taken a different turn. I yearned toward her. I thought--I couldnot tear myself away. While now that I have given myself to drink, I'vedrowned 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 thebench and paced the hut to and fro, biting her lips. Then she stoppedshort 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. Youmake 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 wouldunderstand what you say and why you say it--for I am also of thatsort--when the time comes, I shall also think of all this. And then Ishall 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, alreadyfatigued by his words. 

"Of course!" replied Sasha, calmly and confidently. "All such peopleare lost. He, whose character is inflexible, and who has no brains--whatsort of a life is his? We are like this. "

"I have no character at all, " said Foma, stretching himself. Then aftera 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 farewellsong. "

"Very well, " assented Foma. "It's quite proper at leave taking. Eh, youdevil! That's a merry life! Listen, Sasha. They say that women of yourkind 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 notgreedy. It's advantageous to you to be with me. I am rich, and yet youare going away; that shows you're not greedy. "

"I?" Sasha thought awhile and said with a wave of the hand: "PerhapsI am not greedy--what of it? I am not of the very lowest of the streetwomen. And against whom shall I feel a grudge? Let them say whateverthey please. It will be only human talk, not the bellowing of bulls. Andhuman holiness and honesty are quite familiar to me! Eh, how well I knowthem! If I were chosen as a judge, I would acquit the dead only l" andbursting into malicious laughter, Sasha said: "Well, that will do, we'vespoken enough nonsense. Sit down at the table!"

On the morning of the next day Foma and Sasha stood side by side onthe gangway of a steamer which was approaching a harbour on the Ustye. Sasha's big black hat attracted everybody's attention by its deftlybent brim, and its white feathers, and Foma was ill at ease as he stoodbeside her, and felt as though inquisitive glances crawled over hisperplexed face. The steamer hissed and quivered as it neared thelanding-bridge, which was sprinkled by a waiting crowd of people attiredin bright summer clothes, and it seemed to Foma that he noticed amongthe crowd of various faces and figures a person he knew, who now seemedto be hiding behind other people's backs, and yet lifted not his eyefrom him. 

"Let's go into the cabin!" said he to his companion uneasily. 

"Don't acquire the habit of hiding your sins from people, " repliedSasha, 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 heraskance. "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 closelook at the crowd in the harbour his face suddenly assumed anotherexpression, and he added softly:

"Oh, it's my godfather. "

At the very edge of the landing-stage stood Yakov Tarasovich, squeezedbetween two stout women, with his iron-like face lifted upward, and hewaved his cap in the air with malicious politeness. His beard shook, hisbald crown flashed, and his small eye pierced Foma like borers. 

"What a vulture!" muttered Foma, raising his cap and nodding his head tohis godfather. 

His bow evidently afforded great pleasure to Mayakin. The old mansomehow coiled himself up, stamped his feet, and his face seemed beamingwith 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 afire in Foma's breast. 

"We shall see what is going to happen, " hissed Foma, and suddenly hebecame as petrified in malicious calm. The steamer made fast, and thepeople rushed in a wave to the landing-place. Pressed by the crowd, Mayakin disappeared for awhile from the sight of his godson and appearedagain 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 oldman, 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 hisgodfather. 

"That's praiseworthy, my dear sir!" said Yakov Tarasovich, all beamingwith a smile. "The lady with the feathers--what is she to you, may Iask?"

"She's my mistress, " said Foma, loud, without lowering his eyes at thekeen look of his godfather. 

Sasha stood behind him calmly examining over his shoulder the littleold man, whose head hardly reached Foma's chin. Attracted by Foma's loudwords, the public looked at them, scenting a scandal. And Mayakin, too, perceived immediately the possibility of a scandal and instantlyestimated correctly the quarrelsome mood of his godson. He contractedhis wrinkles, bit his lips, and said to Foma, peaceably:

"I have something to speak to you about. Will you come with me to thehotel?"

"Yes; for a little while. "

"You have no time, then? It's a plain thing, you must be making hasteto wreck another barge, eh?" said the old man, unable to contain himselfany 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 announcedboldly:

"I am ready! Let us go!"

Neither of them spoke on their way to the hotel. Foma, seeing that hisgodfather had to skip as he went in order to keep up with him, purposelytook longer strides, and the fact that the old man could not keep stepwith him supported and strengthened in him the turbulent feeling ofprotest 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 moorberrykvass. "

"And I want some cognac, " ordered Foma. 

"So-o! When you have poor cards you had better always play the lowesttrump 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 brokenin half, " said Foma, hotly, and struck the table with his fist. 

"Haven't you recovered from your drunkenness yet?" asked Mayakin with asmile. 

Foma seated himself more firmly in his chair, and, his face distortedwith wrathful agitation, he said:

"Godfather, you are a sensible man. I respect you for your commonsense. "

"Thank you, my son!" and Mayakin bowed, rising slightly, and leaning hishands against the table. 

"Don't mention it. I want to tell you that I am no longer twenty. I amnot a child any longer. "

"Of course not!" assented Mayakin. "You've lived a good while, that goeswithout saying! If a mosquito had lived as long it might have grown asbig as a hen. "

"Stop your joking!" Foma warned him, and he did it so calmly thatMayakin 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 whetherthere'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 tellyou? Either give me full freedom, or take all my business into your ownhands. Take everything! Everything--to the last rouble!"

This proposition burst forth from Foma altogether unexpectedly tohimself; he had never before thought of anything like it. But now thathe uttered such words to his godfather it suddenly became clear to himthat if his godfather were to take from him all his property he wouldbecome a perfectly free man, he could go wherever he pleased, dowhatever he pleased. Until this moment he had been bound and enmeshedwith something, but he knew not his fetters and was unable to breakthem, while now they were falling off of themselves so simply, soeasily. Both an alarming and a joyous hope blazed up within his breast, as though he noticed that suddenly light had begun to flash upon histurbid life, that a wide, spacious road lay open now before him. Certainimages sprang up in his mind, and, watching their shiftings, he mutteredincoherently:

"Here, this is better than anything! Take everything, and be done withit! And--as for me--I shall be free to go anywhere in the wide world! Icannot live like this. I feel as though weights were hanging on me, asthough I were all bound. There--I must not go, this I must not do. Iwant to live in freedom, that I may know everything myself. I shallsearch life for myself. For, otherwise, what am I? A prisoner! Be kind, take everything. The devil take it all! Give me freedom, pray! Whatkind of a merchant am I? I do not like anything. And so--I would forsakemen--everything. I would find a place for myself, I would find some kindof work, and would work. By God! Father! set me at liberty! For now, yousee, I am drinking. I'm entangled with that woman. "

Mayakin looked at him, listened attentively to his words, and his facewas stern, immobile as though petrified. A dull, tavern noise smotethe air, some people went past them, they greeted Mayakin, but he sawnothing, staring fixedly at the agitated face of his godson, who smileddistractedly, both joyously and pitifully. 

"Eh, my sour blackberry!" said Mayakin, with a sigh, interrupting Foma'sspeech. "I see you've lost your way. And you're prating nonsense. Iwould like to know whether the cognac is to blame for it, or is it yourfoolishness?"

"Papa!" exclaimed Foma, "this can surely be done. There were cases wherepeople 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--youknow how to play at draughts, don't you? Move from one place to anotheruntil 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 talkingto 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! Ifyou are a fireman, stand on the watch-tower! And each and every sort ofmen must have its own mode of life. Calves cannot roar like bears! Ifyou 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 yourpattern. " And from the dark lips of the old man gushed forth in atrembling, glittering stream the jarring, but confident and bold wordsso familiar to Foma. Seized with the thought of freedom, which seemed tohim so easily possible, Foma did not listen to his words. This idea hadeaten into his brains, and in his heart the desire grew stronger andstronger to sever all his connections with this empty and wearisomelife, with his godfather, with the steamers, the barges and thecarouses, with everything amidst which it was narrow and stifling forhim to live. 

The old man's words seemed to fall on him from afar; they were blendedwith the clatter of the dishes, with the scraping of the lackey's feetalong the floor, with some one's drunken shouting. Not far from them satfour 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 towsbriskly. "

"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 thetable. "Your boldness is stupidity; all these words of yours arenonsense. Would you perhaps go to the cloister? or have you perhaps alonging to go on the highways?"

Foma listened in silence. The buzzing noise about him now seemed to movefarther away from him. He pictured himself amid a vast restless crowdof people; without knowing why they bustled about hither and thither, jumped on one another; their eyes were greedily opened wide; they wereshouting, cursing, falling, crushing one another, and they were alljostling about on one place. He felt bad among them because he did notunderstand what they wanted, because he had no faith in their words, and he felt that they had no faith in themselves, that they understoodnothing. And if one were to tear himself away from their midst tofreedom, to the edge of life, and thence behold them--then all wouldbecome clear to him. Then he would also understand what they wanted, andwould find his own place among them. 

"Don't I understand, " said Mayakin, more gently, seeing Foma lost inthought, and assuming that he was reflecting on his words--"I understandthat you want happiness for yourself. Well, my friend, it is not to beeasily seized. You must seek happiness even as they search for mushroomsin 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, andMayakin turned his eyes away from his fiery look. 

"Father! at least for a short time! Let me breathe, let me step asidefrom 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 nothingmore for us to speak of. Goodbye! I'll set out to work, you'll see! Itwill afford you joy. Everything will go up in smoke!" Foma was calm, hespoke with confidence; it seemed to him that since he had thus decided, his godfather could not hinder him. But Mayakin straightened himself inhis 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 Ilike the following: I'll return to town and will see to it that you aredeclared insane, and put into a lunatic asylum. "

"Can this be done?" asked Foma, distrustfully, but with a tone of frightin his voice. 

"We can do everything, my dear. "

Foma lowered his head, and casting a furtive glance at his godfather'sface, 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 youcannot 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 thatcome from excessive drinking. But if you do not give that up, ifyou keep on behaving indecently, if you ruin, out of wantonness, theproperty accumulated by your father, I'll cover you all up. I'll have abell forged over you. It is very inconvenient to fool with me. "

Mayakin spoke gently. The wrinkles of his cheeks all rose upward, andhis small eyes in their dark sockets were smiling sarcastically, coldly. And the wrinkles on his forehead formed an odd pattern, rising up to hisbald crown. His face was stern and merciless, and breathed melancholyand coldness upon Foma's soul. 

"So there's no way out for me?" asked Foma, gloomily. "You are blockingall my ways?"

"There is a way. Go there! I shall guide you. Don't worry, it will beright! You will come just to your proper place. "

This self-confidence, this unshakable boastfulness aroused Foma'sindignation. Thrusting his hands into his pockets in order not to strikethe old man, he straightened himself in his chair and clinching histeeth, said, facing Mayakin closely:

"Why are you boasting? What are you boasting of? Your own son, where ishe? Your daughter, what is she? Eh, you--you life-builder! Well, you areclever. You know everything. Tell me, what for do you live? What forare 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 conqueredme. 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 youdone?"

Mayakin's wrinkles quivered and sank downward, wherefore his faceassumed a sickly, weeping expression. 

"How will you justify yourself?" asked Foma, softly, without lifting hiseyes from him. 

"Hold your tongue, you puppy!" said the old man in a low voice, castinga 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 theold man with abhorrence. 

"You may go; but I'll--I'll catch you! It will come out as I say!" saidYakov 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. Ilove 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 rightthing!" said Foma, as he turned his back on the old man and left thehall. 

Yakov Tarasovich Mayakin remained in the tavern alone. He sat by thetable, and, bending over it, made drawings of patterns on the tray, dipping his trembling finger in the spilt kvass, and his sharp-pointedhead was sinking lower and lower over the table, as though he did notdecipher, and could not make out what his bony finger was drawing on thetray. 

Beads of perspiration glistened on his bald crown, and as usual thewrinkles on his cheeks quivered with frequent, irritable starts. 

In the tavern a resounding tumult smote the air so that the window-paneswere rattling. From the Volga were wafted the whistlings of steamers, the dull beating of the wheels upon the water, the shouting of theloaders--life was moving onward unceasingly and unquestionably. 

Summoning the waiter with a nod Yakov Tarasovich asked him with peculiarintensity and impressiveness, "How much do I owe for all this?"

CHAPTER X

PREVIOUS to his quarrel with Mayakin, Foma had caroused because of theweariness of life, out of curiosity, and half indifferently; now he leda dissipated life out of spite, almost in despair; now he was filledwith a feeling of vengeance and with a certain insolence toward men, aninsolence which astonished even himself at times. He saw that the peopleabout him, like himself, lacked support and reason, only they did notunderstand this, or purposely would not understand it, so as not tohinder themselves from living blindly, and from giving themselvescompletely, without a thought, to their dissolute life. He foundnothing firm in them, nothing steadfast; when sober, they seemed to himmiserable and stupid; when intoxicated, they were repulsive to him, andstill more stupid. None of them inspired him with respect, with deep, hearty interest; he did not even ask them what their names were; heforgot where and when he made their acquaintance, and regarding themwith contemptuous curiosity, always longed to say and do something thatwould offend them. He passed days and nights with them in differentplaces of amusement, and his acquaintances always depended just uponthe category of each of these places. In the expensive and elegantrestaurants certain sharpers of the better class of society surroundedhim--gamblers, couplet singers, jugglers, actors, and property-holderswho were ruined by leading depraved lives. At first these people treatedhim with a patronizing air, and boasted before him of their refinedtastes, of their knowledge of the merits of wine and food, and then theycourted favours of him, fawned upon him, borrowed of him money which hescattered about without counting, drawing it from the banks, and alreadyborrowing it on promissory notes. In the cheap taverns hair-dressers, markers, clerks, functionaries and choristers surrounded him likevultures; and among these people he always felt better--freer. In thesehe 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, andshamelessly fleeced him, and he saw it and rudely mocked them. 

To be sure, there were women. Physically healthy, but not sensual, Fomabought them, the dear ones and the cheap ones, the beautiful and theugly, gave them large sums of money, changed them almost every week, and in general, he treated the women better than the men. He laughed atthem, said to them disgraceful and offensive words, but he could never, even when half-drunk, rid himself of a certain bashfulness in theirpresence. They all, even the most brazen-faced, the strongest and themost shameless, seemed to him weak and defenseless, like small children. Always ready to thrash any man, he never laid a hand on women, althoughwhen irritated by something he sometimes abused them indecently. He feltthat he was immeasurably stronger than any woman, and every woman seemedto him immeasurably more miserable than he was. Those of the women wholed their dissolute lives audaciously, boasting of their depravity, called forth in Foma a feeling of bashfulness, which made him timidand 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 whichtrembled with indignation:

"You carrion, get out. Begone! Someone else would have broken your headfor this. And you know that I am forbearing with you, and that my arm isnever 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 acertain vodka-distiller's son, who was carousing together with Foma. Going away with her new master to some place on the Kama, she said toFoma:

"Goodbye, dear man! Perhaps we may meet again. We're both going the sameway! But I advise you not to give your heart free rein. Enjoy yourselfwithout 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 lookedstill darker. 

Foma was glad that she was leaving him, he had grown tired of her andher cold indifference frightened him. But now something trembled withinhim, 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 hoarselaughter, which was uncommon with her. 

Thus lived Foma, day in and day out, always turning around on oneand the same place, amid people who were always alike, and who neverinspired him with any noble feelings. And then he considered himselfsuperior to them, because the thoughts of the possibility of freeinghimself 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 driftingaway to the border of life, away from this tumult and confusion. Morethan once, by night, remaining all by himself, he would firmly close hiseyes and picture to himself a dark throng of people, innumerably greatand even terrible in its immenseness. Crowded together somewhere in adeep valley, which was surrounded by hillocks, and filled with adusty mist, this throng jostled one another on the same place in noisyconfusion, and looked like grain in a hopper. It was as though aninvisible millstone, hidden beneath the feet of the crowd, were grindingit, and people moved about it like waves--now rushing downward to beground the sooner and disappear, now bursting upward in the effort toescape the merciless millstone. There were also people who resembledcrabs just caught and thrown into a huge basket--clutching at oneanother, they twined about heavily, crawled somewhere and interferedwith one another, and could do nothing to free themselves fromcaptivity. 

Foma saw familiar faces amid the crowd: there his father is walkingboldly, sturdily pushing aside and overthrowing everybody on his way;he is working with his long paws, massing everything with his chest, andlaughing in thundering tones. And then he disappears, sinking somewherein the depth, beneath the feet of the people. There, wriggling likea snake, now jumping on people's shoulders, now gliding between theirfeet, his godfather is working with his lean, but supple and sinewybody. Here Lubov is crying and struggling, following her father, withabrupt but faint movements, now remaining behind him, now nearing himagain. Striding softly with a kind smile on her face, stepping asidefrom everybody, and making way for everyone, Aunt Anfisa is slowlymoving along. Her image quivers in the darkness before Foma, like themodest flame of a wax candle. And it dies out and disappears in thedarkness. Pelagaya is quickly going somewhere along a straight road. There Sophya Pavlovna Medinskaya is standing, her hands hangingimpotently, 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 isstoutly going straight into the very dregs of life, singing her songsat the top of her voice, her dark eyes fixed in the distance before her. Foma hears tumult, howls, laughter, drunken shouts, irritable disputesabout copecks--songs and sobs hover over this enormous restless heap ofliving human bodies crowded into a pit. They jump, fall, crawl, crushone another, leap on one another's shoulders, grope everywhere likeblind people, stumbling everywhere over others like themselves, struggle, and, falling, disappear from sight. Money rustles, soaringlike bats over the heads of the people, and the people greedily stretchout 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 togrow!"

This wild picture fastened itself firmly in Foma's mind, and growingclearer, larger and more vivid with each time it arose before him, rousing in his breast something chaotic, one great indefinite feelinginto which fell, like streams into a river, fear and revolt andcompassion and wrath and many another thing. All this boiled up withinhis breast into strained desire, which was thrusting it asunder into adesire 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 oftheir 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 fromanother, to thrash some, to fondle others, to reproach them all, toillumine 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 offulfillment. He pictured himself above life outside of the deep valley, wherein people were bustling about; he saw himself standing firmly onhis 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 hisvoice:

"And how ought we to live?"

It was perfectly clear to him that after such a question he would haveto fly down head foremost from the heights there, beneath the feet ofthe throng, upon the millstone. And laughter would accompany him to hisdestruction. 

Sometimes he was delirious under the pressure of this nightmare. Certainmeaningless and unconnected words burst from his lips; he even perspiredfrom this painful struggle within him. At times it occurred to him thathe was going mad from intoxication, and that that was the reason whythis terrible and gloomy picture was forcing itself into his mind. Witha 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 byhis delirium and again grew faint under its weight. And his thirst forfreedom 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 theburden of the obligations which rested upon him. People wereconstantly applying to him for payments, proposing to him terms for thetransportation of freight. His employees overwhelmed him in person andby letter with trifles with which he had never before concerned himself, as they used to settle these trifles at their own risk. They looked forhim and found him in the taverns, questioned him as to what and howit should be done; he would tell them sometimes without at allunderstanding in what way this or that should be done. He noticed theirconcealed contempt for him, and almost always saw that they did not dothe work as he had ordered, but did it in a different and better way. Inthis he felt the clever hand of his godfather, and understood that theold man was thus pressing him in order to turn him to his way. And atthe 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. Thisirritated him and moved him farther away from the old man, it augumentedhis longing to tear himself away from his business, even at the cost ofhis own ruin. Infuriated, he flung money about the taverns and dives, but this did not last long. Yakov Tarasovich closed his accounts in thebanks, withdrawing all deposits. Soon Foma began to feel that even onpromissory notes, they now gave him the money not quite as willingly asbefore. This stung his vanity; and his indignation was roused, andhe was frightened when he learned that his godfather had circulated arumour in the business world that he, Foma, was out of his mind, andthat, perhaps, it might become necessary to appoint a guardian forhim. Foma did not know the limits of his godfather's power, and did notventure to take anyone's counsel in this matter. He was convinced thatin the business world the old man was a power, and that he could doanything he pleased. At first it was painful for him to feel Mayakin'shand over him, but later he became reconciled to this, renouncedeverything, and resumed his restless, drunken life, wherein there wasonly one consolation--the people. With each succeeding day he becamemore and more convinced that they were more irrational and altogetherworse 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 itswill, while they succumbed to it unfeelingly and resignedly, and noneof them but he desired freedom. But he wanted it, and therefore proudlyelevated himself above his drinking companions, not desiring to see inthem anything but wrong. 

One day in a tavern a certain half-intoxicated man complained to him ofhis life. This was a small-sized, meagre man, with dim, frightened eyes, unshaven, in a short frock coat, and with a bright necktie. He blinkedpitifully, his ears quivered spasmodically, and his soft little voicealso 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 underfoot, gave me no chance. All my patience gave way. Eh! and so I've takento drink. I feel that I'll be ruined. Well, that's the only way open tome!"

"Fool!" said Foma with contempt. "Why did you want to make your wayamong men? You should have kept away from them, to the right. Standingaside, you might have seen where your place was among them, and thengone 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 whomGod decreed--"

"Not God, but man arranges life!" Foma blurted out, and was even himselfastonished at the audacity of his words. And the little man glancing athim askance also shrank timidly. 

"Has God given you reason?" asked Foma, recovering from hisembarrassment. 

"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! Makeyour own life by your own reason. And God will judge you. We are all inHis service. And in His eyes we are all of equal value. Understand?"

It happened very often that Foma would suddenly say something whichseemed audacious even to himself, and which, at the same time, elevatedhim in his own eyes. There were certain unexpected, daring thoughtsand words, which suddenly flashed like sparks, as though an impressionproduced them from Foma's brains. And he noticed more than once thatwhatever he had carefully thought out beforehand was expressed by himnot quite so well, and more obscure, than that which suddenly flashed upin his heart. 

Foma lived as though walking in a swamp, in danger of sinking at eachstep in the mire and slime, while his godfather, like a river loach, wriggled himself on a dry, firm little spot, vigilantly watching thelife of his godson from afar. 

After his quarrel with Foma, Yakov Tarasovich returned home, gloomyand pensive. His eyes flashed drily, and he straightened himself like atightly-stretched string. His wrinkles shrank painfully, his face seemedto have become smaller and darker, and when Lubov saw him in this stateit appeared to her that he was seriously ill, but that he was forcingand restraining himself. Mutely and nervously the old man flung himselfabout the room, casting in reply to his daughter's questions, dry curtwords, 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 melancholyexpression of his keen, green eyes; she made it her duty to questionhim as to what had happened to him, and when he seated himself atthe dinner-table she suddenly approached him, placed her hands onhis shoulders, and looking down into his face, asked him tenderly andanxiously:

"Papa, are you ill? tell me!"

Her caresses were extremely rare; they always softened the lonely oldman, and though he did not respond to them for some reason or other henevertheless could not help appreciating them. And now he shrugged hisshoulders, thus throwing off her hands and said:

"Go, go to your place. How the itching curiosity of Eve gives you norest. "

But Lubov did not go away; persistingly looking into his eyes, sheasked, with an offended tone in her voice:

"Papa, why do you always speak to me in such a way as though I were asmall child, or very stupid?"

"Because you are grown up and yet not very clever. Yes! That's the wholestory! 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 ateslowly, 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! Youunderstand how difficult my life is, and you never say a single kindword to me. You never say anything to me! And you are also lonely; lifeis 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? Youknow that, save you, I have no one. "

Tears leaped to her eyes; her father noticed them, and his facequivered. 

"If you were not a girl!" he exclaimed. "If you had as much brains asMarfa 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 mefreedom!' He wants to save his soul in the kabak. That's what enteredFoma's head. "

"Well, what is this?" asked Lubov, irresolutely. She wanted to say thatFoma'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 gazedat him questioningly. 

"What is it?" said Mayakin, excitedly, trembling. "That either comes tohim from excessive drinking, or else--Heaven forbid--from his mother, the orthodox spirit. And if this heathenish leaven is going to rise inhim I'll have to struggle hard with him! There will be a great conflictbetween us. He has come out, breast foremost, against me; he has at oncedisplayed great audacity. He's young--there's not much cunning in himas yet. He says: 'I'll drink away everything, everything will go up insmoke! 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? Yourfather. Forty years of labour were put into it, and you wish to destroyit? We must all go to our places here all together as one man, therecautiously, one by one. We merchants, tradesmen, have for centuriescarried Russia on our shoulders, and we are still carrying it. Peter theGreat was a Czar of divine wisdom, he knew our value. How he supportedus! He had printed books for the express purpose of teaching usbusiness. There I have a book which was printed at his order by PolidorVirgily Oorbansky, about inventory, printed in 1720. Yes, one mustunderstand this. He understood it, and cleared the way for us. And nowwe 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 laidourselves in the earth. Now we must build the stories. Give us freedomof action! That's where we must hold our course. That's where theproblem lies; but Foma does not comprehend this. But he must understandit, must resume the work. He has his father's means. When I die minewill be added to his. Work, you puppy! And he is raving. No, wait! I'lllift you up to the proper point!"

The old man was choking with agitation and with flashing eyes looked athis daughter so furiously as though Foma were sitting in her place. Hisagitation frightened Lubov, but she lacked the courage to interrupt herfather, 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 haveworked for fifty years to what purpose? That my children may resume itafter I am gone. My children! Where are my children?"

The old man drooped his head mournfully, his voice broke down, and hesaid sadly, as if he were speaking unto himself:

"One is a convict, utterly ruined; the other, a drunkard. I have littlehope in him. My daughter, to whom, then, shall I leave my labour beforemy death? If I had but a son-in-law. I thought Foma would become a manand would be sharpened up, then I would give you unto him, and with youall I have--there! But Foma is good for nothing, and I see no one elsein his stead. What sort of people we have now! In former days thepeople were as of iron, while now they are of india-rubber. They are allbending now. And nothing--they have no firmness in them. What is it? Whyis 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 itproper to live? What do you want? You have studied, read, tell me whatis it that you need?"

The questions fell on Lubov's head quite unexpectedly to her, and shewas embarrassed. She was pleased that her father asked her about thismatter, and was at the same time afraid to reply, lest she shouldbe lowered in his estimation. And then, gathering courage, as thoughpreparing to jump across the table, she said irresolutely and in atrembling voice:

"That all the people should be happy and contented; that all the peopleshould be equal, all the people have an equal right to life, to thebliss of life, all must have freedom, even as they have air. Andequality in everything!"

At the beginning of her agitated speech her father looked at her facewith anxious curiosity in his eyes, but as she went on hastily hurlingher 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 beabove the other? Even the beggar has his pride and always boasts ofsomething or other before other people. A small child, even he wants tobe 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 canbe planed down to the same size. Eh, you! You've read much trash, andyou've devoured it!"

Bitter reproach and biting contempt were expressed on the old man'sface. He noisily pushed his chair away from the table, jumped up, andfolding his hands behind his back, began to dart about in the room withshort steps, shaking his head and saying something to himself in anangry, hissing whisper. Lubov, pale with emotion and anger, feelingherself stupid and powerless before him, listening to his whisper, andher 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. Whatdoes it love? Whom does it fondle? It beats the good, and suffers notthe bad to go unpunished, and no one understands life's justice. "

The girl began to feel painfully sorry for the old man; she was seizedwith 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 slowlylifted his head. 

"The tree that grew crooked in its youth and could not hold out willcertainly break when it's old. But nevertheless, even Taras is a strawto me now. Though I doubt whether he is better than Foma. Gordyeeff hasa character, he has his father's daring. He can take a great deal onhimself. But Taraska, you recalled him just in time. Yes!"

And the old man, who a moment ago had lost his courage to the point ofcomplaining, and, grief-stricken had run about the room like a mousein a trap, now calmly and firmly walked up with a careworn face to thetable, carefully adjusted his chair, and seated himself, saying:

"We'll have to sound Taraska. He lives in Usolye at some factory. I wastold by some merchants--they're making soda there, I believe. I'll findout 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 becamesilent, thought awhile and said:

"That's all right. That's even better! Write to him. Ask him whether heisn't married, how he lives, what he thinks. But then I'll tell you whatto 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 ona certain red-haired fellow. He doesn't seem to be stupid. He's beenpolished 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 abusiness-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 forFoma 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 goneastray! Whenever I used to see you together, I thought: 'My girl willattract the fellow to herself! That will be a fine affair!' But I waswrong. I thought that you would know what is to your advantagewithout being told of it. That's the way, my girl!" said the father, instructively. 

She became thoughtful as she listened to his impressive speech. Robustand strong, Lubov was thinking of marriage more and more frequentlyof late, for she saw no other way out of her loneliness. The desire toforsake her father and go away somewhere in order to study something, to do something. This desire she had long since overcome, even as sheconquered in herself many another longing just as keen, but shallowand indefinite. From the various books she had read a thick sedimentremained within her, and though it was something live it had the lifeof a protoplasm. This sediment developed in the girl a feeling ofdis-satisfaction with her life, a yearning toward personal independence, a longing to be freed from the heavy guardianship of her father, but shehad neither the power to realize these desires, nor the clear conceptionof their realization. But nature had its influence on her, and at thesight of young mothers with children in their arms Lubov often felt asad and mournful languor within her. At times stopping before the mirrorshe sadly scrutinized in it her plump, fresh face with dark circlesaround her eyes, and she felt sorry for herself. She felt that life wasgoing past her, forgetting her somewhere on the side. Now listening toher father's words she pictured to herself what sort of man Smolin mightbe. She had met him when he was yet a Gymnasium student, his face wascovered with freckles, he was snub-nosed, always clean, sedate andtiresome. He danced heavily, awkwardly, he talked uninterestingly. A long time had passed since then, he had been abroad, had studiedsomething there, how was he now? From Smolin her thoughts darted toher brother, and with a sinking heart she thought: what would he say inreply to her letter? What sort of a man was he? The image of her brotheras she had pictured it to herself prevented her from seeing both herfather and Smolin, and she had already made up her mind not to consentto 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 aspring. And steel is stubborn. Taras, we'll see what he is! Man is tobe appreciated by his resistance to the power of life; if it isn't lifethat wrings him, but he that wrings life to suit himself, my respects tothat 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 eachsucceeding year there is more and more interest in it, more and morerelish to it! I wish I could live forever, I wish I could act all thetime!" The old man smacked his lips, rubbed his hands, and his smalleyes gleamed greedily. 

"But you are a thin-blooded lot! Ere you have grown up you are alreadyovergrown and withered. You live like an old radish. And the fact thatlife is growing fairer and fairer is incomprehensible to you. I havelived sixty-seven years on this earth, and though I am now standingclose 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 asbeautiful as they are now. Everything is growing more beautiful! Whatbuildings we have now! What different trade implements. What hugesteamers! A world of brains has been put into everything! You look andthink; what clever fellows you are--Oh people! You merit reward andrespect! You've arranged life cleverly. Everything is good, everythingis pleasant. Only you, our successors, you are devoid of all livefeelings! Any little charlatan from among the commoners is cleverer thanyou! Take that Yozhov, for instance, what is he? And yet he representshimself as judge over us, and even over life itself--he has courage. Butyou, pshaw! You live like beggars! In your joy you are beasts, in yourmisfortune vermin! You are rotten! They ought to inject fire into yourveins, they ought to take your skin off and strew salt upon your rawflesh, then you would have jumped!"

Yakov Tarasovich, small-sized, wrinkled and bony, with black, brokenteeth in his mouth, bald-headed and dark, as though burned by the heatof life and smoked in it, trembled in vehement agitation, showeringjarring words of contempt upon his daughter, who was young, well-grownand plump. She looked at him with a guilty expression in her eyes, smiled confusedly, and in her heart grew a greater and greater respectfor the live old man who was so steadfast in his desires. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

And Foma went on straying and raving, passing his days and nightsin taverns and dens, and mastering more and more firmly hiscontemptuously-hateful bearing toward the people that surrounded him. Attimes they awakened in him a sad yearning to find among them some sortof resistance to his wicked feeling, to meet a worthy and courageous manwho would cause him to blush with shame by his burning reproach. Thisyearning became clearer--each time it sprang up in him it was a longingfor assistance on the part of a man who felt that he had lost his wayand 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 theirmouths 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 thanto me. Why? Am I not a drunkard and a rascal as well? And yet I am astranger to you! I can see I am a stranger. You drink out of me andsecretly 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 hissoul perhaps not one of them considered himself lower than Foma, but hewas rich, and this hindered them from treating him more as a companion, and then he always spoke certain comically wrathful, conscience-rendingwords, and this embarrassed them. Moreover, he was strong and ready tofight, and they dared not say a word against him. And that was just whathe wanted. He wished more and more intensely that one of these peoplehe despised would stand up against him, face to face, and would tellhim something strong, which, like a lever, would turn him aside from thesloping road, whose danger he felt, and whose filth he saw, being filledwith helpless aversion for it. 

And Foma found what he needed. 

One day, irritated by the lack of attention for him, he cried to hisdrinking-companions:

"You boys, keep quiet, every one of you! Who gives you to drink and toeat? Have you forgotten it? I'll bring you in order! I'll show you howto respect me! Convicts! When I speak you must all keep quiet!"

And, indeed, all became silent; either for fear lest they might lose hisgood will, or, perhaps, afraid that he, that healthy and strong beast, might beat them. They sat in silence about a minute, concealing theiranger at him, bending over the plates and attempting to hide from himtheir fright and embarrassment. Foma measured them with a self-satisfiedlook, 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 thetable; he was tall, in a long frock-coat, with a heap of grayish hairon his large head. His hair was stiff, standing out in all directions inthick locks, his face was yellow, unshaven, with a long, crooked nose. To Foma it seemed that he resembled a swab with which the steamer decksare washed, and this amused the half-intoxicated fellow. 

"How fine!" said he, sarcastically. "What are you snarling at, eh? Doyou know who I am?"

With the gesture of a tragic actor the man stretched out to Foma hishand, with its long, pliant fingers like those of a juggler, and he saidin a deep hoarse basso:

"You are the rotten disease of your father, who, though he was aplunderer, was nevertheless a worthy man in comparison with you. "

Because of the unexpectedness of this, and because of his wrath, Foma'sheart shrank. He fiercely opened his eyes wide and kept silent, findingno words to reply to this insolence. And the man, standing before him, went on hoarsely, with animation, beastlike rolling his large, but dimand 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. Yousavage! You ought to be proud that I, a renowned artist, a disinterestedand faithful worshipper at the shrine of art, drink from the samebottle with you! This bottle contains sandal and molasses, infused withsnuff-tobacco, while you think it is port wine. It is your license forthe name of savage and ass. "

"Eh, you jailbird!" roared Foma, rushing toward the artist. But he wasseized and held back. Struggling in the arms of those that seized him, he was compelled to listen without replying, to the thundering, deep andheavy bass of the man who resembled a swab. 

"You have thrown to men a few copecks out of the stolen roubles, andyou consider yourself a hero! You are twice a thief. You have stolen theroubles and now you are stealing gratitude for your few copecks! ButI shall not give it to you! I, who have devoted all my life to thecondemnation of vice, I stand before you and say openly: 'You are a fooland a beggar because you are too rich! Here lies the wisdom: all therich are beggars. ' That's how the famous coupletist, Rimsky-Kannibalsky, serves Truth!"

Foma was now standing meekly among the people that had closelysurrounded him, and he eagerly listened to the coupletist's thunderingwords, which now aroused in him a sensation as though somebody wasscratching a sore spot, and thus soothing the acute itching of the pain. The people were excited; some attempted to check the coupletist's flowof eloquence, others wanted to lead Foma away somewhere. Without sayinga word he pushed them aside and listened, more and more absorbed by theintense pleasure of humiliation which he felt in the presence of thesepeople. The pain irritated by the words of the coupletist, caressedFoma's soul more and more passionately, and the coupletist went onthundering, intoxicated with the impurity of his accusation:

"You think that you are the master of life? You are the low slave of therouble. "

Someone in the crowd hiccoughed, and, evidently displeased with himselffor 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 drawledout plaintively:

"Gentlemen, drop that! It isn't good! For we are all sinners! Decidedlyall, believe me!"

"Well, speak on!" muttered Foma. "Say everything! I won't touch you. "

The mirrors on the walls reflected this drunken confusion, and thepeople, as reflected in the mirrors, seemed more disgusting and hideousthan they were in reality. 

"I do not want to speak!" exclaimed the coupletist, "I do not want tocast the pearls of truth and of my wrath before you. "

He rushed forward, and raising his head majestically, turned toward thedoor with tragic footsteps. 

"You lie!" said Foma, attempting to follow him. "Hold on! you have mademe agitated, now calm me. "

They seized him, surrounded him and shouted something to him whilehe was rushing forward, overturning everybody. When he met tactileobstacles on his way the struggle with them gave him ease, uniting allhis riotous feelings into one yearning to overthrow that which hinderedhim. And now, after he had jostled them all aside and rushed out intothe street, he was already less agitated. Standing on the sidewalk helooked about the street and thought with shame:

"How could I permit that swab to mock me and abuse my father as athief?"

It was dark and quiet about him, the moon was shining brightly, anda light refreshing breeze was blowing. Foma held his face to the coolbreeze as he walked against the wind with rapid strides, timidly lookingabout on all sides, and wishing that none of the company from the tavernwould follow him. He understood that he had lowered himself in the eyesof all these people. As he walked he thought of what he had come to: asharper had publicly abused him in disgraceful terms, while he, theson of a well-known merchant, had not been able to repay him for hismocking. 

"It serves me right!" thought Foma, sadly and bitterly. "That servesme right! Don't lose your head, understand. And then again, I wantedit myself. I interfered with everybody, so now, take your share!" Thesethoughts made him feel painfully sorry for himself. Seized and soberedby them he kept on strolling along the streets, and searching forsomething strong and firm in himself. But everything within him wasconfused; it merely oppressed his heart, without assuming any definiteforms. As in a painful dream he reached the river, seated himself on thebeams by the shore, and began to look at the calm dark water, which wascovered with tiny ripples. Calmly and almost noiselessly flowed on thebroad, mighty river, carrying enormous weights upon its bosom. The riverwas all covered with black vessels, the signal lights and the stars werereflected in its water; the tiny ripples, murmuring softly, weregently breaking against the shore at the very feet of Foma. Sadness wasbreathed down from the sky, the feeling of loneliness oppressed Foma. 

"Oh Lord Jesus Christ!" thought he, sadly gazing at the sky. "What afailure I am. There is nothing in me. God has put nothing into me. Ofwhat use am I? Oh Lord Jesus!"

At the recollection of Christ Foma felt somewhat better--his lonelinessseemed alleviated, and heaving a deep sigh, he began to address God insilence:

"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 forthem to live. While I--I have no justification. Here it is night, and Iam 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 butpunished him somehow! He thinks there is none cleverer and better onearth than himself. While Thou sufferest it. And the same with me. Ifsome misfortune were but sent to me. If some illness were to overtakeme. 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 soulaches. Oh Lord! To what purpose is such a life?"

Vague thoughts of protest flashed one after another through the mindof the lonely, straying man, while the silence about him was growingdeeper, and night ever darker and darker. Not far from the shore lay aboat at anchor; it rocked from side to side, and something was creakingin 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 upentire to his work for a rouble, while another takes a thousand with onefinger. "

He was pleasantly roused by this thought. It seemed to him that hediscovered another falsehood in the life of man, another fraud whichthey 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 onthe bow of the steamer, and when Foma asked him why he was thus ruininghimself, Ilya replied roughly and sternly:

"Because every copeck is more necessary to me than a hundred roubles toyou. That's why!"

And, saying this, the old man turned his body, which was burning withpain, 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? Theyconstantly do but their dirty, hard work, they eat poorly, are poorlyclad, they drink. One man is sixty years old, and yet he keeps ontoiling side by side with the young fellows. And they all appeared toFoma as a huge pile of worms, which battled about on earth just toget something to eat. In his memory sprang up his meetings with thesepeople, one after another--their remarks about life--now sarcastic andmournful, now hopelessly gloomy remarks--their wailing songs. And now healso recalled how one day in the office Yefim had said to the clerk whohired the sailors:

"Some Lopukhin peasants have come here to hire themselves out, so don'tgive them more than ten roubles a month. Their place was burned down toashes last summer, and they are now in dire need--they'll work for tenroubles. "

Sitting on the beams, Foma rocked his whole body to and fro, and out ofthe darkness, from the river, various human figures appeared silentlybefore him--sailors, stokers, clerks, waiters, half-intoxicated paintedwomen, and tavern-loungers. They floated in the air like shadows;something damp and brackish came from them, and the dark, dense throngmoved on slowly, noiselessly and swiftly, like clouds in an autumn sky. The soft splashing of the waves poured into his soul like sadly sighingmusic. Far away, somewhere on the other bank of the river, burned awood-pile; embraced by the darkness on all sides, it was at times almostabsorbed by it, and in the darkness it trembled, a reddish spot scarcelyvisible to the eye. But now the fire flamed up again, the darknessreceded, and it was evident that the flame was striving upward. And thenit sank again. 

"Oh Lord, Oh Lord!" thought Foma, painfully and bitterly, feeling thatgrief was oppressing his heart with ever greater power. "Here I am, alone, even as that fire. Only no light comes from me, nothing but fumesand smoke. If I could only meet a wise man! Someone to speak to. It isutterly impossible for me to live alone. I cannot do anything. I wish Imight meet a man. "

Far away, on the river, two large purple fires appeared, and high abovethem was a third. A dull noise resounded in the distance, somethingblack was moving toward Foma. 

"A steamer going up stream, " he thought. "There may be more than ahundred people aboard, and none of them give a single thought to me. They all know whither they are sailing. Every one of them has somethingthat is his own. Every one, I believe, understands what he wants. Butwhat 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 init; the illumined water rushed away from it with a dull murmur, and thesteamer looked like a huge black fish with fins of fire. 

A few days elapsed after this painful night, and Foma caroused again. Itcame about by accident and against his will. He had made up his mind torestrain himself from drinking, and so went to dinner in one of themost expensive hotels in town, hoping to find there none of hisfamiliar drinking-companions, who always selected the cheaper and lessrespectable places for their drinking bouts. But his calculation provedto be wrong; he at once came into the friendly joyous embrace of thebrandy-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 amwearied by this terrible lonesomeness. There is not a decent man in thewhole town, so I have had to strike up an acquaintance with newspapermen. They're a gay lot, although at first they played the aristocrat andkept sneering at me. After awhile we all got dead drunk. They'll be hereagain today--I swear by the fortune of my father! I'll introduce you tothem. There is one writer of feuilletons here; you know, that some onewho always lauded you, what's his name? An amusing fellow, the deviltake him! Do you know it would be a good thing to hire one like that forpersonal 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 ratherentertaining 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 yousplit your sides with laughter. It's a pity, he ran off somewhere. Haveyou had dinner?"

"Not yet. And how's Aleksandra?" asked Foma, somewhat deafened by theloud speech of this tall, frank, red-faced fellow clad in a motleycostume. 

"Well, do you know, " said the latter with a frown, "that Aleksandra ofyours 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 sendher away. "

"Cold--that's true, " said Foma and became pensive. "Every person mustdo his work in a first class manner, " said the distiller's son, instructively. "And if you become some one's s mistress you must performyour 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 noisycompany gathered in the hotel toward evening. And Foma, intoxicated, butsad 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 theirdestined lot. They are necessary But I and you--all of you--are to nopurpose. We live so that we cannot be compared to anything--withoutjustification, merely at random. And we are utterly unnecessary. Buteven these here, and everybody else, to what purpose are they? You mustunderstand that. Brethren! We shall all burst! By God! And why shallwe burst? Because there is always something superfluous in us, thereis something superfluous in our souls. And all our life is superfluous!Comrades! I weep. To what purpose am I? I am unnecessary! Kill me, thatI 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 themammoths of the disorder of life speak! The raw Russian consciencespeaks holy words! Roar on, Gordyeeff! Roar at everything!" And againhe clutched at Foma's shoulders, flung himself on his breast, raisingto Foma's face his round, black, closely-cropped head, which wasceaselessly turning about on his shoulders on all sides, so that Fomawas unable to see his face, and he was angry at him for this, and kepton pushing him aside, crying excitedly:

"Get away! Where is your face? Go on!"

A deafening, drunken laughter smote the air about them, and choking withlaughter, the son of the brandy-distiller roared to someone hoarsely:

"Come to me! A hundred roubles a month with board and lodging! Throw thepaper 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 tohim, the ceiling descended, the floor rose, and it seemed to Foma thathe would soon be flattened and crushed. Then he began to feel that hewas 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, andthe first thing his eyes fell upon was a withered tree. It stood nearthe window; its thick trunk, barkless, with a rotten heart, preventedthe light from entering the room; the bent, black branches, devoid ofleaves, stretched themselves mournfully and helplessly in the air, and shaking to and fro, they creaked softly, plaintively. A rain wasfalling; streams of water were beating against the window-panes, andone 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 acertain 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 hastilyscratching with his pen over the paper, shaking his round headapprovingly, wagging it from side to side, shrugging his shoulders, and, with all his small body clothed in night garments only, constantlymoving about in his chair, as though he were sitting on fire, and couldnot get up for some reason or other. His left hand, lean and thin, wasnow firmly rubbing his forehead, now making certain incomprehensiblesigns in the air; his bare feet scraped along the floor, a certain veinquivered on his neck, and even his ears were moving. When he turnedtoward Foma, Foma saw his thin lips whispering something, hissharp-pointed nose turned down to his thin moustache, which twitchedupward each time the little man smiled. His face was yellow, bloated, wrinkled, and his black, vivacious small sparkling eyes did not seem tobelong to him. 

Having grown tired of looking at him, Foma slowly began to examine theroom with his eyes. On the large nails, driven into the walls, hungpiles of newspapers, which made the walls look as though covered withswellings. The ceiling was pasted with paper which had been white onceupon a time; now it was puffed up like bladders, torn here and there, peeled off and hanging in dirty scraps; clothing, boots, books, tornpieces of paper lay scattered on the floor. Altogether the room gave onethe impression that it had been scalded with boiling water. 

The little man dropped the pen, bent over the table, drummed briskly onits 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 thesense 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, appearedat 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 whichwas outstretched to him, and staring fixedly into the face of the littleman. 

"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 thelounge. "Is it possible that it is you?"

"There are times, dear, when I don't believe it myself, but a real factis something from which doubt jumps back as a rubber ball from iron. "

Yozhov's face was comically distorted, and for some reason or other hishands began to feel his breast. 

"Well, well!" drawled out Foma. "But how old you have grown! Ah-ah! Howold are you?"

"Thirty. "

"And you look as though you were fifty, lean, yellow. Life isn't sweetto 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. Helooked at him, winked his eyes mournfully and saw that Yozhov's facewas for ever twitching, and his small eyes were burning with irritation. Yozhov was trying to uncork the bottle of water, and thus occupied, wassilent; he pressed the bottle between his knees and made vain efforts totake out the cork. And his impotence moved Foma. 

"Yes; life has sucked you dry. And you have studied. Even science seemsto help man but little, " said Gordyeeff plaintively. 

"Drink!" said Yozhov, turning pale with fatigue, and handing him theglass. Then he wiped his forehead, seated himself on the lounge besideFoma, and said:

"Leave science alone! Science is a drink of the gods; but it has not yetfermented sufficiently, and, therefore is not fit for use, like vodkawhich has not yet been purified from empyreumatic oil. Science is notready for man's happiness, my friend. And those living people that useit get nothing but headaches. Like those you and I have at present. Whydo you drink so rashly?"

"I? What else am I to do?" asked Foma, laughing. Yozhov looked at Fomasearchingly with his eyes half closed, and he said:

"Connecting your question with everything you jabbered last night, Ifeel within my troubled soul that you, too, my friend, do not amuseyourself 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 yetthere is something I long for. I yearn to spit on all and then disappearsomewhere! I would like to run away from everything. I am so weary!"

"That's interesting!" said Yozhov, rubbing his hands and turning aboutin all directions. "This is interesting, if it is true and deep, forit shows that the holy spirit of dissatisfaction with life has alreadypenetrated into the bed chambers of the merchants, into the deathchambers of souls drowned in fat cabbage soup, in lakes of tea and otherliquids. Give me a circumstantial account of it. Then, my dear, I shallwrite a novel. "

"I have been told that you have already written something about me?"inquired Foma, with curiosity, and once more attentively scrutinized hisold 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, andthat Yozhov was offended by such regard for his writings. "Indeed, it isinteresting since it is about myself, " he added, smiling kindheartedlyat his comrade. 

In saying this he was not at all interested, and he said it merely outof pity for Yozhov. There was quite another feeling in him; he wished toknow what sort of a man Yozhov was, and why he had become so wornout. This meeting with Yozhov gave rise in him to a tranquil and kindfeeling; it called forth recollections of his childhood, and theseflashed now in his memory, --flashed like modest little lights, timidlyshining at him from the distance of the past. Yozhov walked up to thetable on which stood a boiling samovar, silently poured out two glassesof 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 isan empty life! You had better tell me about yourself. I am sure you knowmore than I do, at any rate. "

Yozhov became thoughtful, not ceasing to turn his whole body and towaggle his head. In thoughtfulness his face became motionless, all itswrinkles 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, " hebegan, with a shake of the head. "And perhaps I know even more than itis necessary for me to know, and to know more than it is necessary isjust as harmful to man as it is to be ignorant of what it is essentialto know. Shall I tell you how I have lived? Very well; that is, I'lltry. I have never told any one about myself, because I have neveraroused interest in anyone. It is most offensive to live on earthwithout arousing people's interest in you!"

"I can see by your face and by everything else that your life has notbeen a smooth one!" said Foma, feeling pleased with the fact that, toall appearances, life was not sweet to his comrade as well. Yozhov drankhis tea at one draught, thrust the glass on the saucer, placed his feeton the edge of the chair, and clasping his knees in his hands, restedhis chin upon them. In this pose, small sized and flexible as rubber, hebegan:

"The student Sachkov, my former teacher, who is now a doctor ofmedicine, a whist-player and a mean fellow all around, used to tell mewhenever I knew my lesson well: 'You're a fine fellow, Kolya! You arean able boy. We proletariats, plain and poor people, coming from thebackyard of life, we must study and study, in order to come to thefront, 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 memberof society. On us commoners rest the best hopes of the country. We aredestined to bring into it light, truth, ' and so on. I believed him, thebrute. And since then about twenty years have elapsed. We proletariatshave grown up, but have neither appropriated any wisdom, nor broughtlight into life. As before, Russia is still suffering from its chronicdisease--a superabundance of rascals; while we, the proletariats, takepleasure in filling their dense throngs. My teacher, I repeat, is alackey, a characterless and dumb creature, who must obey the orders ofthe mayor. While I am a clown in the employ of society. Fame pursues mehere in town, dear. I walk along the street and I hear one driver say toanother: '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, Isay!"

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 absolutelyunnecessary to me now. I have wasted the whole of myself in order topreserve something within myself. Oh devil! I myself and many otherswith me, we have all robbed ourselves for the sake of saving upsomething for life. Just think of it: desiring to make of myself avaluable man, I have underrated my individuality in every way possible. In order to study, and not die of starvation, I have for six years insuccession taught blockheads how to read and write, and had to beara mass of abominations at the hands of various papas and mammas, whohumiliated me without any constraint. Earning my bread and tea, Icould not, I had not the time to earn my shoes, and I had to turn tocharitable institutions with humble petitions for loans on the strengthof my poverty. If the philanthropists could only reckon up how much ofthe spirit they kill in man while supporting the life of his body! Ifthey only knew that each rouble they give for bread contains ninety-ninecopecks' worth of poison for the soul! If they could only burst fromexcess of their kindness and pride, which they draw from their holyactivity! There is none on earth more disgusting and repulsive than hewho gives alms, even as there is none more miserable than he who acceptsit!"

Yozhov staggered about in the room like a drunken man, seized withmadness, and the paper under his feet was rustling, tearing, flying inscraps. He gnashed his teeth, shook his head, his hands waved in the airlike broken wings of a bird, and altogether it seemed as though hewere being boiled in a kettle of hot water. Foma looked at him with astrange, mixed sensation; he pitied Yozhov, and at the same time he waspleased 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 creakedlike an unoiled hinge. 

"Poisoned by the kindness of men, I was ruined through the fatalcapacity of every poor fellow during the making of his career, throughthe capacity of being reconciled with little in the expectation ofmuch. Oh! Do you know, more people perish through lack of properself-appreciation than from consumption, and perhaps that is why theleaders of the masses serve as district inspectors!"

"The devil take the district inspectors!" said Foma, with a wave of thehand. "Tell me about yourself. "

"About myself! I am here entire!" exclaimed Yozhov, stopping short inthe middle of the room, and striking his chest with his hands. "I havealready accomplished all I could accomplish. I have attained the rank ofthe public's entertainer--and that is all I can do! To know what shouldbe done, and not to be able to do it, not to have the strength for yourwork--that is torture!"

"That's it! Wait awhile!" said Foma, enthusiastically. "Now tell me whatone should do in order to live calmly; that is, in order to be satisfiedwith one's self. "

To Foma these words sounded loud, but empty, and their sounds died awaywithout stirring any emotion in his heart, without giving rise to asingle thought in his mind. 

"You must always be in love with something unattainable to you. A mangrows in height by stretching himself upwards. "

Now that he had ceased speaking of himself, Yozhov began to talk morecalmly, in a different voice. His voice was firm and resolute, and hisface assumed an expression of importance and sternness. He stood in thecentre of the room, his hand with outstretched fingers uplifted, andspoke as though he were reading:

"Men are base because they strive for satiety. The well-fed man is ananimal because satiety is the self-contentedness of the body. And theself-contentedness of the spirit also turns man into animal. "

Again he started as though all his veins and muscles were suddenlystrained, and again he began to run about the room in seethingagitation. 

"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 gnawedmorsels of musty wisdom, and he exists like a storeroom where a stingyhousewife keeps all sorts of rubbish which is absolutely unnecessary toher, and worthless. If you touch such a man, if you open the door intohim, the stench of decay will be breathed upon you, and a stream of somemusty trash will be poured into the air you breathe. These unfortunatepeople call themselves men of firm character, men of principles andconvictions. And no one cares to see that convictions are to them butthe clothes with which they cover the beggarly nakedness of their souls. On the narrow brows of such people there always shines the inscriptionso familiar to all: calmness and confidence. What a false inscription!Just rub their foreheads with firm hand and then you will see the realsign-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 beenterribly wounded. "

"How many such people have I seen!" exclaimed Yozhov, with wrath andterror. "How these little retail shops have multiplied in life! Inthem you will find calico for shrouds, and tar, candy and borax for theextermination 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 theyoffer to you some worm cud, ruminated book-thoughts, grown sour withage. And these dry, stale thoughts are always so poor that, in orderto give them expression, it is necessary to use a vast number ofhigh-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 miserablewretch is content with her fate. '"

"They are superfluous people, then, " said Foma. Yozhov stopped short infront of him and said with a biting smile on his lips:

"No, they are not superfluous, oh no! They exist as an example, to showwhat man ought not to be. Speaking frankly, their proper place isthe anatomical museums, where they preserve all sorts of monsters andvarious sickly deviations from the normal. In life there is nothing thatis superfluous, dear. Even I am necessary! Only those people, in whosesouls dwells a slavish cowardice before life, in whose bosoms there areenormous ulcers of the most abominable self-adoration, taking the placesof their dead hearts--only those people are superfluous; but even theyare necessary, if only for the sake of enabling me to pour my hatredupon them. "

All day long, until evening, Yozhov was excited, venting his blasphemyon men he hated, and his words, though their contents were obscure toFoma, infected him with their evil heat, and infecting called forth inhim an eager desire for combat. At times there sprang up in him distrustof 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 thenewspaper. I'll read some to you if you like. "

Without waiting for Foma's reply, he tore down from the wall a fewsheets of paper, and still continuing to run about the room, began toread to him. He roared, squeaked, laughed, showed his teeth and lookedlike an angry dog trying to break the chain in powerless rage. Notgrasping the ideals in his friend's creations, Foma felt their daringaudacity, their biting sarcasm, their passionate malice, and he was aswell pleased with them as though he had been scourged with besoms in ahot bath. 

"Clever!" he exclaimed, catching some separate phrase. "That's cleverlyaimed!"

Every now and again there flashed before him the familiar names ofmerchants and well-known citizens, whom Yozhov had stung, now stoutlyand sharply, now respectfully and with a fine needle-like sting. 

Foma's approbation, his eyes burning with satisfaction, and his excitedface gave Yozhov still more inspiration, and he cried and roared everlouder and louder, now falling on the lounge from exhaustion, nowjumping up again and rushing toward Foma. 

"Come, now, read about me!" exclaimed Foma, longing to hear it. Yozhovrummaged among a pile of papers, tore out one sheet, and holding itin both hands, stopped in front of Foma, with his legs straddled wideapart, while Foma leaned back in the broken-seated armchair and listenedwith a smile. 

The notice about Foma started with a description of the spree on therafts, and during the reading of the notice Foma felt that certainparticular words stung him like mosquitoes. His face became moreserious, and he bent his head in gloomy silence. And the mosquitoes wenton 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 todisgrace a man. "

"Keep quiet! Wait awhile!" said Yozhov, curtly, and went on reading. 

Having established in his article that the merchant rises beyond doubtabove the representatives of other classes of society in the matterof nuisance and scandal-making, Yozhov asked: "Why is this so?" andreplied:

"It seems to me that this predilection for wild pranks comes from thelack of culture in so far as it is dependent upon the excess of energyand upon idleness. There cannot be any doubt that our merchant class, with but few exceptions, is the healthiest and, at the same time, mostinactive class. "

"That's true!" exclaimed Foma, striking the table with his fist. "That'strue! 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 iton the Exchange, so he squanders the excess of his muscular capital indrinking-bouts in kabaky; for he has no conception of other applicationsof his strength, which are more productive, more valuable to life. He isstill a beast, and life has already become to him a cage, and it istoo narrow for him with his splendid health and predilection forlicentiousness. Hampered by culture he at once starts to lead adissolute life. The debauch of a merchant is always the revolt of acaptive beast. Of course this is bad. But, ah! it will be worse yet, when this beast, in addition to his strength, shall have gathered somesense and shall have disciplined it. Believe me, even then he will notcease to create scandals, but they will be historical events. Heavendeliver us from such events! For they will emanate from the merchant'sthirst for power; their aim will be the omnipotence of one class, and the merchant will not be particular about the means toward theattainment of this aim. 

"Well, what do you say, is it true?" asked Yozhov, when he had finishedreading the newspaper, and thrown it aside. 

"I don't understand the end, " replied Foma. "And as to strength, that istrue! Where am I to make use of my strength since there is no demand forit! I ought to fight with robbers, or turn a robber myself. In generalI ought to do something big. And that should be done not with thehead, but with the arms and the breast. While here we have to go to theExchange 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 narrowfor him? Life ought to be according to the taste of man. If it is narrowfor me, I must move it asunder that I may have more room. I must breakit and reconstruct it. But nod? That's where the trouble lies! Whatought to be done that life may be freer? That I do not understand, andthat's all there is to it. "

"Yes!" drawled out Yozhov. "So that's where you've gone! That, dear, isa 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 readthem. I know one--a certain girl--it's worse than drinking with her! Andwhat 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 froma 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 noapostles. Only the Judases remained, and miserable ones at that. "

Foma felt very well, for he saw that Yozhov was attentively listeningto 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, Fomaunburdened himself boldly and freely before his friend, caring nothingfor the choice of words, and feeling that he would be understood becauseYozhov wanted to understand him. 

"You are a curious fellow!" said Yozhov, about two days after theirmeeting. "And though you speak with difficulty, one feels that there isa great deal in you--great daring of heart! If you only knew a littleabout 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 freeyourself, " remarked Foma, with a sigh. "You have said something aboutpeople who pretend that they know everything, and can do everything. Ialso know such people. My godfather, for instance. It would be agood thing to set out against them, to convict them; they're a prettydangerous set!"

"I cannot imagine, Foma, how you will get along in life if you preservewithin you that which you now have, " said Yozhov, thoughtfully. 

"It's very hard. I lack steadfastness. Of a sudden I could perhaps dosomething. I understand very well that life is difficult and narrow forevery one of us. I know that my godfather sees that, too! But he profitsby this narrowness. He feels well in it; he is sharp as a needle, andhe'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 freemyself from everything with a single effort: just to move my body withall 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 hishand. "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. Hisday began thus: in the morning at his tea he looked over the localnewspapers and drew from the news notices material for his feuilleton, which he wrote right then and there on the corner of the table. Then heran to the editorial office, where he made up "Provincial Pictures"out of clippings from country newspapers. On Friday he had to writehis Sunday feuilleton. For all they paid him a hundred and twenty-fiveroubles a month; he worked fast, and devoted all his leisure time tothe "survey and study of charitable institutions. " Together with Foma hestrolled about the clubs, hotels and taverns till late at night, drawingmaterial everywhere for his articles, which he called "brushes forthe cleansing of the conscience of society. " The censor he styled as"superintendent of the diffusion of truth and righteousness in life, " thenewspaper he called "the go-between, engaged in introducing the readerto 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 inearnest. He spoke of everything enthusiastically and passionately, hecondemned everything harshly, and Foma liked it. But often, beginning toargue enthusiastically, he refuted and contradicted himself with equalenthusiasm or wound up his speech with some ridiculous turn. Then itappeared to Foma that that man loved nothing, that nothing was firmlyrooted within him, that nothing guided him. Only when speaking ofhimself he talked in a rather peculiar voice, and the more impassionedhe was in speaking of himself, the more merciless and enraged was hein reviling everything and everybody. And his relation toward Foma wasdual; sometimes he gave him courage and spoke to him hotly, quivering inevery limb. 

"Go ahead! Refute and overthrow everything you can! Push forward withall your might. There is nothing more valuable than man, know this! Cryat the top of your voice: 'Freedom! Freedom!"

But when Foma, warmed up by the glowing sparks of these words, began todream of how he should start to refute and overthrow people who, for thesake of personal profit, do not want to broaden life, Yozhov would oftencut him short:

"Drop it! You cannot do anything! People like you are not needed. Yourtime, the time of the strong but not clever, is past, my dear! You aretoo 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 ashrug of the shoulder. "Is there anything in that? Why, I am anyway halfdead already from my wounds. "

And suddenly inflamed with melancholy malice, he stretched himself andsaid:

"My fate has wronged me. Why have I lowered myself, accepting the sopsof the public? Why have I worked like a machine for twelve years insuccession in order to study? Why have I swallowed for twelve long yearsin the Gymnasium and the University the dry and tedious trash and thecontradictory nonsense which is absolutely useless to me? In orderto become feuilleton-writer, to play the clown from day to day, entertaining the public and convincing myself that that is necessary anduseful to them. Where is the powder of my youth? I have fired offall the charge of my soul at three copecks a shot. What faith have Iacquired for myself? Only faith in the fact that everything in this lifeis 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 histhin, feeble hands. 

But sometimes he was seized with a flow of courage, and then he spoke ina different spirit:

"I? Oh, no, my song is not yet sung to the end! My breast has imbibedsomething, 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 willentitle 'The Passing of the Soul'; there is a prayer by that name, itis read for the dying. And before its death this society, cursed by theanathema of inward impotence, will receive my book like incense. "

Listening to each and every word of his, watching him and comparing hisremarks, 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 speechesenriched Foma's vocabulary, and sometimes he noticed with joyous delighthow cleverly and forcibly he had himself expressed this or that idea. Heoften met in Yozhov's house certain peculiar people, who, it seemed tohim, 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 wasembarrassed and repelled by their condescending and haughty bearingtoward him. And then he clearly saw that in Yozhov's room they were allcleverer and better than they were in the street and in the hotels. Theyheld peculiar conversations, words and gestures for use in the room, and all this was changed outside the room, into the most commonplace andhuman. Sometimes, in the room, they all blazed up like a huge woodpile, and Yozhov was the brightest firebrand among them; but the light of thisbonfire 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 theyare going to take all the work from the publisher on a contract. Therewill be some drinking on this account, and I am invited. It was I whoadvised 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 passedthe time, which was a burden to him. 

In the evening of that day Foma and Yozhov sat in the company ofrough-faced people, on the outskirts of a grove, outside the town. There were twelve compositors there, neatly dressed; they treated Yozhovsimply, as a comrade, and this somewhat surprised and embarrassed Foma, in whose eyes Yozhov was after all something of a master or superiorto them, while they were really only his servants. They did not seem tonotice Gordyeeff, although, when Yozhov introduced Foma to them, theyshook hands with him and said that they were glad to see him. Helay down under a hazel-bush, and watched them all, feeling himself astranger in this company, and noticing that even Yozhov seemed to havegot away from him deliberately, and was paying but little attentionto him. He perceived something strange about Yozhov; the littlefeuilleton-writer seemed to imitate the tone and the speech of thecompositors. He bustled about with them at the woodpile, uncorkedbottles of beer, cursed, laughed loudly and tried his best to resemblethem. 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 makewhose son a man is? A man is not respected on account of his father, butfor his brains. "

The sun was setting like a huge bonfire in the sky, tinting the cloudswith hues of gold and of blood. Dampness and silence were breathed fromthe forest, while at its outskirts dark human figures bustled aboutnoisily. One of them, short and lean, in a broad-brimmed straw hat, played the accordion; another one, with dark moustache and with his capon the back of his head, sang an accompaniment softly. Two others tuggedat a stick, testing their strength. Several busied themselves with thebasket containing beer and provisions; a tall man with a grayish beardthrew branches on the fire, which was enveloped in thick, whitishsmoke. The damp branches, falling on the fire, crackled and rustledplaintively, and the accordion teasingly played a lively tune, while thefalsetto of the singer reinforced and completed its loud tones. 

Apart from them all, on the brink of a small ravine, lay three youngfellows, and before them stood Yozhov, who spoke in a ringing voice:

"You bear the sacred banner of labour. And I, like yourselves, am aprivate 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 interruptedhim. "And we want to ask you to use your influence with the publisher!Use your influence with him! Illness and drunkenness cannot be treatedas one and the same thing. And, according to his system, it comes outthus; if one of us gets drunk he is fined to the amount of his day'searnings; if he takes sick the same is done. We ought to be permittedto present the doctor's certificate, in case of sickness, to make itcertain; and he, to be just, ought to pay the substitute at least halfthe wages of the sick man. Otherwise, it is hard for us. What if threeof 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 wasdiverted by the conversation of others. Two men were talking; one wasa tall consumptive, poorly dressed and angry-looking man; the other afair-haired and fair-bearded young man. 

"In my opinion, " said the tall man sternly, and coughing, "it isfoolish! How can men like us marry? There will be children. Do we haveenough to support them? The wife must be clothed--and then you can'ttell what sort of a woman you may strike. "

"She's a fine girl, " said the fair-haired man, softly. "Well, it's nowthat 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 begood. But then you'll be short of means. You will kill yourself withwork, and you will ruin her, too. Marriage is an impossible thing forus. 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 hehad 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 inhim at the same time a feeling of respect for these men with dark facesimpregnated with lead-dust. Almost all of them were engaged in practicalserious conversation, and their remarks were studded with certainpeculiar words. None of them fawned upon him, none bothered him withlove, with his back to the fire, and he saw before him a row of brightlyilluminated, cheerful and simple faces. They were all excited fromdrinking, but were not yet intoxicated; they laughed, jested, tried tosing, drank, and ate cucumbers, white bread and sausages. All this hadfor Foma a particularly pleasant flavour; he grew bolder, seized bythe general good feeling, and he longed to say something good to thesepeople, to please them all in some way or other. Yozhov, sitting byhis 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. Hestaggered, and leaned his other hand against Foma's head. The startedsong was broken off, and all turned their heads toward him. 

"Working men! Permit me to say a few words, words from the heart. I amhappy in your company! I feel well in your midst. That is because youare men of toil, men whose right to happiness is not subject to doubt, although it is not recognised. In your ennobling midst, Oh honestpeople, the lonely man, who is poisoned by life, breathes so easily, sofreely. "

Yozhov's voice quivered and quaked, and his head began to shake. Fomafelt that something warm trickled down on his hand, and he looked up atthe wrinkled face of Yozhov, who went on speaking, trembling in everylimb:

"I am not the only one. There are many like myself, intimidated by fate, broken and suffering. We are more unfortunate than you are, becausewe are weaker both in body and in soul, but we are stronger than youbecause we are armed with knowledge, which we have no opportunity toapply. We are gladly ready to come to you and resign ourselves to youand help you to live. There is nothing else for us to do! Without youwe 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 wordswith perplexity. And examining the faces of the compositors he saw thatthey also looked at the orator inquiringly, perplexedly, wearily. 

"The future is yours, my friends!" said Yozhov, faintly, shaking hishead mournfully as though feeling sorry for the future, and yieldingto these people against his will the predominance over it. "The futurebelongs to the men of honest toil. You have a great task before you! Youhave to create a new culture, everything free, vital and bright! I, whoam one of you in flesh and in spirit; who am the son of a soldier; Ipropose a toast to your future! Hurrah!"

Yozhov emptied his glass and sank heavily to the ground. The compositorsunanimously took up his broken exclamation, and a powerful, thunderingshout rolled through the air, causing the leaves on the trees totremble. 

"Let's start a song now, " proposed the stout fellow again. 

"Come on!" chimed in two or three voices. A noisy dispute ensued as towhat to sing. Yozhov listened to the noise, and, turning his head fromone side to another, scrutinized them all. 

"Brethren, " Yozhov suddenly cried again, "answer me. Say a few words inreply to my address of welcome. "

Again--though not at once--all became silent, some looking at him withcuriosity, others concealing a grin, still others with an expression ofdissatisfaction plainly written on their faces. And he again rose fromthe ground and said, hotly:

"Two of us here are cast away by life--I and that other one. We bothdesire the same regard for man and the happiness of feeling ourselvesuseful unto others. Comrades! And that big, stupid man--"

"Nikolay Matveyich, you had better not insult our guest!" said someonein a deep, displeased voice. 

"Yes, that's unnecessary, " affirmed the stout fellow, who had invitedFoma 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 beganto talk, paying no further attention to him. Foma felt so sorry for hisfriend that he did not even take offence. He saw that these peoplewho defended him from Yozhov's attacks were now purposely ignoring thefeuilleton-writer, and he understood that this would pain Yozhov if hewere to notice it. And in order to take his friend away from possibleunpleasantness, he nudged him in the side and said, with a kind-heartedlaugh:

"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?" askedYozhov, and shouted again: "Comrades!"

Unanswered, his shout was drowned in the general murmur. Then he droopedhis head and said to Foma:

"Let's go from here. "

"Let's go. Though I don't mind sitting a little longer. It'sinteresting. 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 amgoing to escort him. I wish you a jolly feast!"

"Eh, you ought to wait a little!" exclaimed the stout fellow, and thenwhispered:

"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 caband--there you are!"

Foma felt like staying there, and at the same time was afraid ofsomething. While Yozhov rose to his feet, and, clutching at the sleevesof his overcoat, muttered:

"Come, the devil take them!"

"Till we meet again, gentlemen! I'm going!" said Foma and departed amidexclamations of polite regret. 

"Ha, ha, ha!" Yozhov burst out laughing when he had got about twentysteps away from the fire. "They see us off with sorrow, but they areglad 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 suchspeeches? People have come out to enjoy themselves, and you obtrudeyourself 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 issober, it is always sober; it feels everything. Oh, how much meannessthere is in the world, how much stupidity and wretchedness! Andmen--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 reasoncorrectly, too, and all that sort of thing. They have common sense. Yetthey 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 desertedfield. 

"My God!" said Yozhov, sadly and softly, heaving a sigh. "Whereby arewe to live? Whereon fasten our soul? Who shall quench its thirsts forfriendship brotherhood, love, for pure and sacred toil?"

"These simple people, " said Foma, slowly and pensively, withoutlistening to his companion s words, absorbed as he was in his ownthoughts, "if one looks into these people, they're not so bad! It's evenvery--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 thissubmissiveness 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 acentury. Evidently they feel. Yes, it is interesting to be with them. "

Staggering, Yozhov walked in silence for a long time, and suddenly hewaved 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 andnodding his head mournfully. "How do they run? I've forgotten. There issomething there about dreams, about sacred and pure longings, which aresmothered 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 theyare singing. "

"I don't want to listen to other people's songs, " said Yozhov, witha shake of the head. "I have my own, it is the song of a soul rent inpieces by life. "

And he began to wail in a wild voice:

"The buried dreams within my breast Will never rise again. .. How greattheir number is!"

"There was a whole flower garden of bright, living dreams and hopes. They perished, withered and perished. Death is within my heart. Thecorpses of my dreams are rotting there. Oh! oh!"

Yozhov burst into tears, sobbing like a woman. Foma pitied him, and feltuncomfortable with him. He jerked at his shoulder impatiently, and said:

"Stop crying! Come, how weak you are, brother!" Clasping his head inhis hand Yozhov straightened up his stooping frame, made an effort andstarted again mournfully and wildly:

"How great their number is! Their sepulchre how narrow! I clothed themall in shrouds of rhyme And many sad and solemn songs O'er them I sangfrom time to time!"

"Oh, Lord!" sighed Foma in despair. "Stop that, for Christ's sake! ByGod, how sad!"

In the distance the loud choral song was rolling through the darknessand the silence. Some one was whistling, keeping time to the refrain, and this shrill sound, which pierced the ear, ran ahead of the billow ofpowerful voices. Foma looked in that direction and saw the tall, blackwall of forest, the bright fiery spot of the bonfire shining upon it, and the misty figures surrounding the fire. The wall of forest was likea breast, and the fire like a bloody wound in it. It seemed as thoughthe breast was trembling, as the blood coursed down in burning streams. Embraced in dense gloom from all sides the people seemed on thebackground of the forest, like little children; they, too, seemed toburn, illuminated by the blaze of the bonfire. They waved their handsand sang their songs loudly, powerfully. 

And Yozhov, standing beside Foma, spoke excitedly:

"You hard-hearted blockhead! Why do you repulse me? You ought tolisten to the song of the dying soul, and weep over it, for, why was itwounded, 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 inthe darkness, Foma made a few steps aside from Yozhov and said to him ina 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 secondsagain 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 hurriedafter Yozhov; but before he overtook him the little feuilleton-writeruttered a hysterical shriek, threw himself chest down upon the groundand burst out sobbing plaintively and softly, even as sickly childrencry. 

"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 fishjust taken from the water, and when Foma had lifted him to his feet, hepressed 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 thenarrowness of life, filled with wrath on his account, he turned his facetoward the gloom where the lights of the town were glimmering, and, inan 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 abridegroom! Prepare a nice hearty little lunch for us. Put out on thetable as much of our old silverware as possible, also bring out thefruit-vases, so that he is impressed by our table! Let him see that eachand everything we have is a rarity!"

Lubov was sitting by the window darning her father's socks, and her headwas 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 isnot a horse; you can't dispose of her without the harness. "

All aflush with offence, Lubov tossed her head nervously, and flingingher work aside, cast a glance at her father; and, taking up the socksagain, she bent her head still lower over them. The old man paced theroom to and fro, plucking at his fiery beard with anxiety; his eyesstared somewhere into the distance, and it was evident that he was allabsorbed in some great complicated thought. The girl understood that hewould not listen to her and would not care to comprehend how degradinghis words were for her. Her romantic dreams of a husband-friend, aneducated man, who would read with her wise books and help her to findherself in her confused desires, these dreams were stifled by herfather's inflexible resolution to marry her to Smolin. They had beenkilled and had become decomposed, settling down as a bitter sediment inher soul. She had been accustomed to looking upon herself as better andhigher than the average girl of the merchant class, than the empty andstupid girl who thinks of nothing but dresses, and who marries almostalways according to the calculation of her parents, and but seldom inaccordance with the free will of her heart. And now she herself is aboutto marry merely because it was time, and also because her father neededa son-in-law to succeed him in his business. And her father evidentlythought that she, by herself, was hardly capable of attracting theattention of a man, and therefore adorned her with silver. Agitated, she worked nervously, pricked her fingers, broke needles, but maintainedsilence, being aware that whatever she should say would not reach herfather's heart. 

And the old man kept on pacing the room to and fro, now humming psalmssoftly, now impressively instructing his daughter how to behave with thebridegroom. And then he also counted something on his fingers, frownedand smiled. 

"Mm! So! Try me, Oh Lord, and judge me. From the unjust and the falseman, 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 eyesand playing with his fingers in front of his face. 

"That makes thirty-five percent. Mm! The fellow's a rogue. Send down thylight 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 againstthe back of her chair, closing her eyes tightly. Her hands firmlyclasped together lay on her knees, and their fingers twitched. Filledwith the bitterness of offended vanity, she felt an alarming fear of thefuture, and prayed in silence:

"My God! Oh Lord! If he were only a kind man! Make him kind, sincere. OhLord! A strange man comes, examines you, and takes you unto himselffor years, if you please him! How disgraceful that is, how terrible. OhLord, my God! If I could only run away! If I only had someone to adviseme what to do! Who is he? How can I learn to know him? I cannot doanything! 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 tolive otherwise, so as I cannot live? And it may be that were it not forthe books my life would be easier, simpler. How painful all this is!What a wretched, unfortunate being I am! Alone. If Taras at least werehere. "

At the recollection of her brother she felt still more grieved, stillmore sorry for herself. She had written to Taras a long, exultantletter, 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, shehad pictured to him plans of arranging to live together, assuring Tarasthat their father was extremely clever and understood everything; shetold about his loneliness, had gone into ecstasy over his aptitude forlife and had, at the same time, complained of his attitude toward her. 

For two weeks she impatiently expected a reply, and when she hadreceived 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 hewould be on the Volga on business and would not fail to call on hisfather, if the old man really had no objection to it. The letter wascold, like a block of ice; with tears in her eyes she perused it overand over again, rumpled it, creased it, but it did not turn warmer onthis account, it only became wet. From the sheet of stiff note paperwhich was covered with writing in a large, firm hand, a wrinkled andsuspiciously 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 andhastily 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 menwrite. 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 roomto and fro, with an expression of amazement on his countenance. Thenhe read the letter once more, thoughtfully tapped the table with hisfingers 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 issevere 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 issaid: 'When Thou hast returned my enemy'--I've forgotten how it readsfurther. 'My enemy's weapons have weakened in the end, and his memoryhath perished amid noise. Well, we'll talk it over with him withoutnoise. "

The old man tried to speak calmly and with a contemptuous smile, but thesmile did not come; his wrinkles quivered irritably, and his small eyeshad a particularly clear brilliancy. 

"Write to him again, Lubovka. 'Come along!' write him, 'don't be afraidto come!'"

Lubov wrote Taras another letter, but this time it was shorter and morereserved, and now she awaited a reply from day to day, attempting topicture to herself what sort of man he must be, this mysterious brotherof hers. Before she used to think of him with sinking heart, with thatsolemn respect with which believers think of martyrs, men of uprightlife; now she feared him, for he had acquired the right to be judgeover men and life at the price of painful sufferings, at the cost of hisyouth, 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? Andwhy does she marry? Can it really be possible that this is all she cando in order to change her life?

Gloomy thoughts sprang up one after another in the head of the girl andconfused and tortured her, impotent as she was to set up against themsome definite, all-conquering desire. Though she was in an anxious andcompressing her lips. Smolin rose from his chair, made a step toward herand bowed respectfully. She was rather pleased with this low and politebow, also with the costly frock coat, which fitted Smolin's supplefigure splendidly. He had changed but slightly--he was the samered-headed, closely-cropped, freckled youth; only his moustache hadbecome long, and his eyes seemed to have grown larger. 

"Now he's changed, eh?" exclaimed Mayakin to his daughter, pointing atthe bridegroom. And Smolin shook hands with her, and smiling, said in aringing 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, scanninghis daughter with his eyes. 

"Lubova, you can make your arrangements here, while we finish our littleconversation. 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 thetable to the sideboard, she began to listen attentively to Smolin'swords. He spoke softly, confidently, with a simplicity, in which wasfelt condescendence toward the interlocutor. "Well then, for four yearsI have carefully studied the condition of Russian leather in foreignmarkets. It's a sad and horrid condition! About thirty years ago ourleather was considered there as the standard, while now the demand forit is constantly falling off, and, of course, the price goes hand inhand with it. And that is perfectly natural. Lacking the capital andknowledge all these small leather producers are not able to raise theirproduct to the proper standard, and, at the same time, to reduce theprice. Their goods are extremely bad and dear. And they are all toblame for having spoiled Russia's reputation as manufacturer of the bestleather. In general, the petty producer, lacking the technical knowledgeand capital, is consequently placed in a position where he is unable toimprove his products in proportion to the development of the technicalside. Such a producer is a misfortune for the country, the parasite ofher commerce. "

"Hm!" bellowed the old man, looking at his guest with one eye, andwatching his daughter with the other. "So that now your intention is tobuild 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 easywave of the hand. "Why wrong others? What right have I to do so? My aimis to raise the importance and price of Russian leather abroad, and soequipped with the knowledge as to the manufacture, I am building a modelfactory, and fill the markets with model goods. The commercial honour ofthe 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 possibleunder conditions in Russia, " said Smolin, impressively. "Themanufacturer should be as strictly practical as the mechanic who iscreating a machine. The friction of the tiniest screw must be taken intoconsideration, if you wish to do a serious thing seriously. I can letyou read a little note which I have drawn up, based upon my personalstudy 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. Andnow, let's eat something, after the Russian fashion. "

"How are you passing the time, Lubov Yakovlevna?" asked Smolin, arminghimself 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 notime to amuse herself. "

"And no place, I must add, " said Lubov. "I am not fond of the balls andentertainments 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 becomethe fashion then to represent the merchant as a savage idiot? It is veryamusing, 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 ownerof that same theatre? You look at the merchant on the stage andyou see--he isn't life-life! Of course, when they present somethinghistorical, such as: 'Life for the Czar, ' with song and dance, or'Hamlet, ' 'The Sorceress, ' or 'Vasilisa, ' truthful reproduction is notrequired, 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, butwhen you represent modern times, then don't lie! And show the man as hereally is. "

Smolin listened to the old man's words with a covetous smile on hislips, and cast at Lubov glances which seemed to invite her to refute herfather. Somewhat embarrassed, she said:

"And yet, papa, the majority of the merchant class is uneducated andsavage. "

"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 booksin your hands. "

"And do you not take interest in any of the societies?" Smolin askedLubov. "You have so many different societies here. "

"Yes, " said Lubov with a sigh, "but I live rather apart fromeverything. "

"Housekeeping!" interposed the father. "We have here such a storeof different things, everything has to be kept clean, in order, andcomplete as to number. "

With a self-satisfied air he nodded first at the table, which was setwith brilliant crystal and silverware, and then at the sideboard, whoseshelves were fairly breaking under the weight of the articles, and whichreminded one of the display in a store window. Smolin noted all theseand an ironical smile began to play upon his lips. Then he glanced atLubov's face: in his look she caught something friendly, sympatheticto her. A faint flush covered her cheeks, and she said to herself withtimid joy:

"Thank God!"

The light of the heavy bronze lamp now seemed to flash more brilliantlyon 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 akindly smile, "it is so beautiful, so vigorous; there is cheerfulnessabout it that inspires one to work. Its very picturesqueness is somewhatstimulating. In it one feels like leading a dashing life. One feels likeworking much and seriously. And then, it is an intelligent town. Justsee what a practical newspaper is published here. By the way, we intendto purchase it. "

"Whom do you mean by You?" asked Mayakin. 

"I, Urvantzov, Shchukin--"

"That's praiseworthy!" said the old man, rapping the table with hishand. "That's very practical! It is time to stop their mouths, it washigh time long ago! Particularly that Yozhov; he's like a sharp-toothedsaw. Just put the thumb-screw on him! And do it well!"

Smolin again cast at Lubov a smiling glance, and her heart trembledwith joy once more. With flushing face she said to her father, inwardlyaddressing herself to the bridegroom:

"As far as I can understand, African Dmitreivich, he wishes to buy thenewspaper 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 hisshoulders. "There's nothing in it but empty talk and agitation. Ofcourse, if the practical people, the merchants themselves, take towriting for it--"

"The publication of a newspaper, " began Smolin, instructively, interrupting the old man, "looked at merely from the commercial pointof view, may be a very profitable enterprise. But aside from this, anewspaper has another more important aim--that is, to protect the rightof the individual and the interests of industry and commerce. "

"That's just what I say, if the merchant himself will manage thenewspaper, then it will be useful. "

"Excuse me, papa, " said Lubov. 

She began to feel the need of expressing herself before Smolin; shewanted to assure him that she understood the meaning of his words, thatshe was not an ordinary merchant-daughter, interested in dresses andballs only. Smolin pleased her. This was the first time she had seena merchant who had lived abroad for a long time, who reasoned soimpressively, who bore himself so properly, who was so well dressed, and who spoke to her father, the cleverest man in town, with thecondescending 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 aboutto say to her father. Blushing deeply, she was silent for a few seconds, seized with fear lest Smolin might interpret this silence in a wayunflattering to her. 

"On account of your conversation, you have forgotten to offer some wineto 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. "Ihardly drink at all. "

"Really?" asked Mayakin. 

"I assure you! Sometimes I drink a wine glass or two in case of fatigueor illness. But to drink wine for pleasure's sake is incomprehensible tome. 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 hisface. With apologetic eyes he glanced at Lubov, and said to her fatherdrily:

"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 andsuddenly blurted out:

"Eh, life is going onward! Formerly the dog used to relish a crust, nowthe pug dog finds the cream too thin; pardon me for my sour remark, butit is very much to the point. It does not exactly refer to yourself, butin general. "

Lubov turned pale and looked at Smolin with fright. He was calm, scrutinising an ancient salt box, decorated with enamel; he twisted hismoustache and looked as though he had not heard the old man's words. Buthis eyes grew darker, and his lips were compressed very tightly, and hisclean-shaven chin obstinately projected forward. 

"And so, my future leading manufacturer, " said Mayakin, as thoughnothing had happened, "three hundred thousand roubles, and your businesswill 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 unshakableconfidence, 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 itseems rather late for me to start a new business, doesn't it? I presumethe 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 coldlaughter, 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 wordsall three maintained silence for about a minute. 

"Yes, " said Mayakin, without lifting his head, which was bent low. "Itis necessary to think of that. I must think of it. " Then, raising hishead, he closely scrutinised his daughter and the bridegroom, and, rising from his chair, he said sternly and brusquely: "I am going awayfor awhile to my little cabinet. You surely won't feel lonesome withoutme. "

And he went out with bent back and drooping head, heavily scraping withhis feet. 

The young people, thus left alone, exchanged a few empty phrases, and, evidently conscious that these only helped to remove them further fromeach 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 hecarefully stroked with his left hand, toyed with a knife and suddenlyasked the girl in a lowered voice:

"Pardon me for my indiscretion. It is evidently really difficultfor you, Lubov Yakovlevna, to live with your father. He's a man withold-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 goodqualities. "

"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, abreath of soul-cheering warmth filled the room. And in the heart of thegirl there blazed up more and more brightly the timid hope of findinghappiness, of being freed from the close captivity of solitude. 

CHAPTER XII

A DENSE, grayish fog lay over the river, and a steamer, now and thenuttering a dull whistle, was slowly forging up against the current. Dampand cold clouds, of a monotone pallor, enveloped the steamer fromall sides and drowned all sounds, dissolving them in their troubleddampness. The brazen roaring of the signals came out in a muffled, melancholy drone, and was oddly brief as it burst forth from thewhistle. The sound seemed to find no place for itself in the air, whichwas soaked with heavy dampness, and fell downward, wet and choked. Andthe splashing of the steamer's wheels sounded so fantastically dull thatit seemed as though it were not begotten near by, at the sides of thevessel, but somewhere in the depth, on the dark bottom of the river. From the steamer one could see neither the water, nor the shore, northe sky; a leaden-gray gloominess enwrapped it on all sides; devoidof shadings, painfully monotonous, the gloominess was motionless, itoppressed the steamer with immeasurable weight, slackened its movementsand seemed as though preparing itself to swallow it even as it wasswallowing the sounds. In spite of the dull blows of the paddles uponthe water and the measured shaking of the body of the vessel, it seemedthat the steamer was painfully struggling on one spot, suffocating inagony, hissing like a fairy tale monster breathing his last, howling inthe pangs of death, howling with pain, and in the fear of death. 

Lifeless were the steamer lights. About the lantern on the mast a yellowmotionless spot had formed; devoid of lustre, it hung in the fog overthe steamer, illuminating nothing save the gray mist. The red starboardlight looked like a huge eye crushed out by some one's cruel fist, blinded, overflowing with blood. Pale rays of light fell from thesteamer's windows into the fog, and only tinted its cold, cheerlessdominion over the vessel, which was pressed on all sides by themotionless mass of stifling dampness. 

The smoke from the funnel fell downwards, and, together with fragmentsof the fog, penetrated into all the cracks of the deck, where thethird-class passengers were silently muffling themselves in their rags, and forming groups, like sheep. From near the machinery were wafteddeep, strained groans, the jingling of bells, the dull sounds of ordersand 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 groupof people was assembled, illuminated by a small electric lamp. Thosewere sedate, neatly and warmly clad peasants. One of them lay on abench, face down; another sat at his feet, still another stood, leaninghis back against a barrel, while two others seated themselves flaton the deck. Their faces, pensive and attentive, were turned toward around-shouldered man in a short cassock, turned yellow, and a torn furcap. That man sat on some boxes with his back bent, and staring at hisfeet, spoke in a low, confident voice:

"There will come an end to the long forbearance of the Lord, and thenHis wrath will burst forth upon men. We are like worms before Him, andhow are we then to ward off His wrath, with what wailing shall we appealto His mercy?"

Oppressed by his gloominess, Foma had come down on the deck from hiscabin, and, for some time, had been standing in the shadow of some warescovered with tarpaulin, and listened to the admonitive and gentle voiceof the preacher. Pacing the deck he had chanced upon this group, andattracted by the figure of the pilgrim, had paused near it. There wassomething familiar to him in that large, strong body, in that stern, dark face, in those large, calm eyes. The curly, grayish hair, fallingfrom under the skull-cap, the unkempt bushy beard, which fell apart inthick locks, the long, hooked nose, the sharp-pointed ears, the thicklips--Foma had seen all these before, but could not recall when andwhere. 

"Yes, we are very much in arrears before the Lord!" remarked one of thepeasants, heaving a deep sigh. 

"We must pray, " whispered the peasant who lay on the bench, in ascarcely audible voice. 

"Can you scrape your sinful wretchedness off your soul with words ofprayer?" exclaimed someone loudly, almost with despair in his voice. 

No one of those that formed the group around the pilgrim turned at thisvoice, only their heads sank lower on their breasts, and for a long timethese people sat motionless and speechless:

The pilgrim measured his audience with a serious and meditative glanceof his blue eyes, and said softly:

"Ephraim the Syrian said: 'Make thy soul the central point of thythoughts 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 aman 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 exclamationrang 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 likecold, gray smoke. 

"Here, kind people, give ear unto the words of King David, " said thepilgrim, and shaking his head, began to read distinctly: "'Lead me, Oh Lord, in thy righteousness because of mine enemies; make thy waystraight 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 fallby 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 ofthe hissing of the steam deafened the pilgrim's words, and Foma saw onlythe 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 turnedtheir heads toward the direction where the row was going on, and thepilgrim heaved a sigh and became silent. Near the machine a loud andlively dispute blazed up as though dry branches, thrown upon a dyingbonfire, 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 againstthe tarpaulin, and attentively listened to each and every sound abouthim. And everything was blended into one picture, which was familiarto him. Through fog and uncertainty, surrounded on all sides by gloomimpenetrable to the eye, life of man is moving somewhere slowly andheavily. And men are grieved over their sins, they sigh heavily, andthen fight for a warm place, and asking each other for the sake ofpossessing the place, they also receive blows from those who strive fororder 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 prayerof the pilgrim is deafened by the tumult of life. And there is no relieffrom sorrow, there is no joy for him who reflects on his fate. "

Foma felt like speaking to this pilgrim, in whose softly uttered wordsthere rang sincere fear of God, and all manner of fear for men beforeHis countenance. The kind, admonitive voice of the pilgrim possessed apeculiar power, which compelled Foma to listen to its deep tones. 

"I'd like to ask him where he lives, " thought Foma, fixedly scrutinizingthe huge stooping figure. "And where have I seen him before? Or does heresemble some acquaintance of mine?"

Suddenly it somehow struck Foma with particular vividness that thehumble preacher before him was no other than the son of old AnanyShchurov. Stunned by this conjecture, he walked up to the pilgrim andseating himself by his side, inquired freely:

"Are you from Irgiz, father?"

The pilgrim raised his head, turned his face toward Foma slowly andheavily, 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 pilgrimwhether 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 richlydressed, he aroused the curiosity of the bystanders by his suddenappearance among them; he was conscious of this curiosity, he understoodthat they were all waiting for his words, that they wanted to understandwhy 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 atlength. 

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 hewas 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, andcovered with patches, surveyed the cabin with a squeamish look, and whenhe seated himself on the plush-covered lounge, he turned the skirt ofthe cassock as though afraid to soil it by the plush. 

"What is your name, father?" asked Foma, noticing the expression ofsqueamishness 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 alsowent off to the Irgiz. And his name was Mikhail. "

Foma spoke and fixedly looked at Father Miron; but the latter was ascalm 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 towardthe door. 

"But wait awhile, sit down, let's talk a little!" exclaimed Foma, rushing at him uneasily. The pilgrim looked at him searchingly and sankdown on the lounge. From the distance came a dull sound, like a deepgroan, and immediately after it the signal whistle of the steamerdrawled 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 overheadagain gave out abrupt, timorous sounds. Foma opened the window. Throughthe fog, not far from their steamer, something was moving along withdeep noise; specks of fantastic lights floated by, the fog was agitatedand 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 isneither 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 shallsee everything, " said the pilgrim, sternly and instructively. 

Foma was displeased with these cold words and looked at the pilgrimaskance. The latter sat with drooping head, motionless, as thoughpetrified in thought and prayer. The beads of his rosary were softlyrustling in his hands. 

The pilgrim's attitude gave birth to easy courage in Foma's breast, andhe said:

"Tell me, Father Miron, is it good to live, having full freedom, withoutwork, without relatives, a wanderer, like yourself?"

Father Miron raised his head and softly burst into the caressinglaughter of a child. All his face, tanned from wind and sunburn, brightened up with inward joy, was radiant with tranquil joy; he touchedFoma's knee with his hand and said in a sincere tone:

"Cast aside from you all that is worldly, for there is no sweetnessin it. I am telling you the right word--turn away from evil. Do youremember 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 withsolitude and fill yourself with the thought of God. For only by thethought of Him can man save his soul from profanation. "

"That isn't the thing!" said Foma. "I have no need of working out mysalvation. Have I sinned so much? Look at others. What I would like isto comprehend things. "

"And you will comprehend if you turn away from the world. Go forth uponthe free road, on the fields, on the steppes, on the plains, on themountains. 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 seebetter from the side!"

And Miron, paying no attention to his words, spoke softly, as though ofsome great mystery, known only to him, the pilgrim:

"The thick slumbering forests around you will start to rustle in sweetvoices about the wisdom of the Lord; God's little birds will sing beforeyou of His holy glory, and the grasses of the steppe will burn incenseto the Holy Virgin. "

The pilgrim's voice now rose and quivered from excess of emotion, nowsank to a mysterious whisper. He seemed as though grown younger; hiseyes beamed so confidently and clearly, and all his face was radiantwith the happy smile of a man who has found expression for his joy andwas delighted while he poured it forth. 

"The heart of God throbs in each and every blade of grass; each andevery 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 thereare like those of paradise. "

Foma listened, and his imagination, captivated by the quiet, charmingnarrative, pictured to him those wide fields and dense forests, full ofbeauty and soul-pacifying silence. 

"You look at the sky, as you rest somewhere under a little bush, andthe sky seems to descend upon you as though longing to embrace you. Yoursoul is warm, filled with tranquil joy, you desire nothing, you envynothing. And it actually seems to you that there is no one on earth saveyou and God. "

The pilgrim spoke, and his voice and sing-song speech reminded Foma ofthe wonderful fairy-tales of Aunt Anfisa. He felt as though, after along journey on a hot day, he drank the clear, cold water of a forestbrook, water that had the fragrance of the grasses and the flowers ithas bathed. Even wider and wider grew the pictures as they unfoldedupon him; here is a path through the thick, slumbering forest; the finesunbeams penetrate through the branches of the trees, and quiver inthe air and under the feet of the wanderer. There is a savoury odour offungi and decaying foliage; the honeyed fragrance of the flowers, theintense odour of the pine-tree invisibly rise in the air and penetratethe breast in a warm, rich stream. All is silence: only the birds aresinging, and the silence is so wonderful that it seems as though eventhe birds were singing in your breast. You go, without haste, and yourlife goes on like a dream. While here everything is enveloped in a gray, dead fog, and we are foolishly struggling about in it, yearning forfreedom and light. There below they have started to sing something inscarcely audible voices; it was half song, half prayer. Again someone isshouting, scolding. And still they seek the way:

"Seven and a half. Seven!"

"And you have no care, " spoke the pilgrim, and his voice murmured likea brook. "Anybody will give you a crust of bread; and what else doyou need in your freedom? In the world, cares fall upon the soul likefetters. "

"You speak well, " said Foma with a sigh. 

"My dear brother!" exclaimed the pilgrim, softly, moving still closertoward him. "Since the soul has awakened, since it yearns towardfreedom, do not lull it to sleep by force; hearken to its voice. Theworld with its charms has no beauty and holiness whatever, wherefore, then, obey its laws? In John Chrysostom it is said: 'The real shechinahis 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 beoff! Well, goodbye, brother! May God give you strength and firmness toact according to the will of your soul! Goodbye, my dear boy!"

He made a low bow to Foma. There was something feminine, caressing andsoft in his farewell words and bow. Foma also bowed low to him, bowedand remained as though petrified, standing with drooping head, his handleaning against the table. 

"Come to see me when you are in town, " he asked the pilgrim, who washastily 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 deckand began to look downward into the fog. From the steamer people werewalking down the gang-planks, but Foma could not discern the pilgrimamong those dark figures enveloped in the dense gloom. All thosethat left the steamer looked equally indistinct, and they all quicklydisappeared from sight, as though they had melted in the gray dampness. One could see neither the shore nor anything else solid; the landingbridge rocked from the commotion caused by the steamer; above it theyellow spot of the lantern was swaying; the noise of the footsteps andthe 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 disappearedlike a dream, and again there remained only the dense gloom and thesteamer heavily turning about in it. Foma stared before him into thedead sea of fog and thought of the blue, cloudless and caressingly warmsky--where was it?

On the next day, about noon, he sat In Yozhov's small room and listenedto the local news from the mouth of his friend. Yozhov had climbed onthe table, which was piled with newspapers, and, swinging his feet, narrated:

"The election campaign has begun. The merchants are putting yourgodfather 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 cleverscoundrels decent men, because there are no men. Now Africashka playsthe enlightened man; he has already managed to get into intelligentsociety, donated something to some enterprise or another and thus atonce came to the front. Judging from his face, he is a sharper of thehighest degree, but he will play a prominent part, for he knows howto adapt himself. Yes, friend, Africashka is a liberal. And a liberalmerchant 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 ondrinking?"

"I do! Why shouldn't I drink?"

Half-clad and dishevelled, Yozhov looked like a plucked bird, which hadjust had a fight and had not yet recovered from the excitement of theconflict. 

"I drink because, from time to time, I must quench the fire of mywounded heart. And you, you damp stump, you are smouldering little bylittle?"

"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, "asthough 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 thesea-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 toyou all at once: Our life is not worth a single copeck, even as thisstormy 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 withyou. 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 heslowly came out on the street. 

At the Mayakins he was met by Luba. Agitated and animated, she suddenlyappeared before him, speaking quickly:

"You? My God! How pale you are! How thin you've grown! It seems you havebeen leading a fine life. "

Then her face became distorted with alarm and she exclaimed almost in awhisper:

"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 rustleof her silk gown, and the astonished Foma, who had not even had a chanceto ask her where her father was. Yakov Tarasovich was at home. Attiredin his holiday clothes, in a long frock coat with medals on his breast, he stood on the threshold with his hands outstretched, clutching at thedoor posts. His green little eyes examined Foma, and, feeling their lookupon him, Foma raised his head and met them. 

"How do you do, my fine gentleman?" said the old man, shaking his headreproachfully. "Where has it pleased you to come from, may I ask? Whohas sucked off that fat of yours? Or is it true that a pig looks for apuddle, and Foma for a place which is worse?"

"Have you no other words for me?" asked Foma, sternly, looking straightinto the old man's face. And suddenly he noticed that his godfathershuddered, his legs trembled, his eyes began to blink repeatedly, andhis hands clutched the door posts with an effort. Foma advanced towardhim, presuming that the old man was feeling ill, but Yakov Tarasovichsaid 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 offather and son. 

The father, standing in the doorway, swayed his feeble body, leaning hishands against the door posts, and, with his head bent on one side andeyes half shut, stared at his son in silence. The son stood about threesteps away from him; his head already gray, was lifted high; he knittedhis brow and gazed at his father with large dark eyes. His small, black, pointed beard and his small moustache quivered on his meagre face, withits gristly nose, like that of his father. And the hat, also, quiveredin his hand. From behind his shoulder Foma saw the pale, frightened andjoyous face of Luba--she looked at her father with beseeching eyes andit seemed she was on the point of crying out. For a few moments all weresilent and motionless, crushed as they were by the immensity of theiremotions. The silence was broken by the low, but dull and quiveringvoice 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 hisson and suddenly stopped short with a frown. Then Taras Mayakin, withone 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, exchangedwarm kisses and then stepped apart. The wrinkles of the older manquivered, the lean face of the younger was immobile, almost stern. Thekisses had changed nothing in the external side of this scene, onlyLubov burst into a sob of joy, and Foma awkwardly moved about in hisseat, 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 evidentlyinvested a great deal in these words, for immediately after he hadpronounced 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 somethingfor us--tea and so forth. We'll entertain the prodigal son. You musthave forgotten, my little old man, what sort of a man your father is?"

Taras Mayakin scrutinized his parent with a meditative look of his largeeyes and he smiled, speechless, clad in black, wherefore the gray hairon his head and in his beard told more strikingly. 

"Well, be seated. Tell me--how have you lived, what have you done? Whatare 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 ratheraristocratic to smoke cigars. "

"And why should we consider ourselves lower than the aristocrats?" saidTaras, laughing. 

"Do, I consider ourselves lower?" exclaimed the old man. "I merely saidit because it looked ridiculous to me, such a sedate old fellow, withbeard trimmed in foreign fashion, cigar in his mouth. Who is he? Myson--he-he-he!" the old man tapped Taras on the shoulder and sprang awayfrom him, as though frightened lest he were rejoicing too soon, lestthat might not be the proper way to treat that half gray man. And helooked searchingly and suspiciously into his son's large eyes, whichwere surrounded by yellowish swellings. 

Taras smiled in his father's face an affable and warm smile, and said tohim thoughtfully:

"That's the way I remember you--cheerful and lively. It looks as thoughyou had not changed a bit during all these years. "

The old man straightened himself proudly, and, striking his breast withhis fist, said:

"I shall never change, because life has no power over him who knows hisown value. Isn't that so?"

"Oh! How proud you are!"

"I must have taken after my son, " said the old man with a cunninggrimace. "Do you know, dear, my son was silent for seventeen years outof 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 isto blame. He, the upright one, He'll tell it to you--wait! I shall keepsilence. This is not the time for us to discuss that matter. You bettertell me--what have you been doing all these years? How did you come tothat soda factory? How have you made your way?"

"That's a long story, " said Taras with a sigh; and emitting from hismouth a great puff of smoke, he began slowly: "When I acquiredthe possibility to live at liberty, I entered the office of thesuperintendent of the gold mines of the Remezovs. "

"I know; they're very rich. Three brothers. I know them all. One is acripple, 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 becamethoughtful and was silent awhile. The old man looked at his sad face andunderstood his son. 

"And so you lived with your wife happily, " he said. "Well, what can youdo? To the dead belongs paradise, and the living must live on. You arenot 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 quicklychanged 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 andimpressively, clapping his hand on his knee, "I'll tell you right nowhow it all happened. I was banished to Siberia to settle there forsix years, and, during all the time of my exile, I lived in the miningregion 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 confusionand 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 wasruined 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 conversationbetween the Mayakins, and, blinking perplexedly, he fixedly examined thenewcomer. Recalling Lubov's bearing toward her brother, and influenced, to a certain degree, by her stories about Taras, he expected to seein him something unusual, something unlike the ordinary people. He hadthought that Taras would speak in some peculiar way, would dress ina manner peculiar to himself; and in general he would be unlike otherpeople. While before him sat a sedate, stout man, faultlessly dressed, with stern eyes, very much like his father in face, and the onlydifference between them was that the son had a cigar in his mouth anda black beard. He spoke briefly in a business-like way of everydaythings--where was, then, that peculiar something about him? Now he beganto tell his father of the profits in the manufacture of soda. He had notbeen a galley slave--Lubov had lied! And Foma was very much pleased whenhe pictured to himself how he would speak to Lubov about her brother. 

Now and then she appeared in the doorway during the conversation betweenher father and her brother. Her face was radiant with happiness, and hereyes beamed with joy as she looked at the black figure of Taras, clad insuch a peculiarly thick frock coat, with pockets on the sides and withbig buttons. She walked on tiptoe, and somehow always stretched her necktoward her brother. Foma looked at her questioningly, but she did notnotice him, constantly running back and forth past the door, with platesand bottles in her hands. 

It so happened that she glanced into the room just when her brother wastelling her father about the galleys. She stopped as though petrified, holding a tray in her outstretched hands and listened to everything herbrother said about the punishment inflicted upon him. She listened, andslowly walked away, without catching Foma's astonished and sarcasticglance. Absorbed in his reflections on Taras, slightly offended by thelack of attention shown him, and by the fact that since the handshakeat the introduction Taras had not given him a single glance, Foma ceasedfor awhile to follow the conversation of the Mayakins, and suddenly hefelt that someone seized him by the shoulder. He trembled and sprangto his feet, almost felling his godfather, who stood before him withexcited face:

"There--look! That is a man! That's what a Mayakin is! They have seventimes boiled him in lye; they have squeezed oil out of him, and yet helives! Understand? Without any aid--alone--he made his way and found hisplace and--he is proud! That means Mayakin! A Mayakin means a man whoholds his fate in his own hands. Do you understand? Take a lesson fromhim! Look at him! You cannot find another like him in a hundred; you'dhave to look for one in a thousand. What? Just bear this in mind: Youcannot forge a Mayakin from man into either devil or angel. "

Stupefied by this tempestuous shock, Foma became confused and did notknow what to say in reply to the old man's noisy song of praise. He sawthat Taras, calmly smoking his cigar, was looking at his father, andthat the corners of his lips were quivering with a smile. Hisface looked condescendingly contented, and all his figure somewhataristocratic 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. Itmay be that such a difference had grown up between us that not onlyan eagle, but the devil himself cannot cross it. Perhaps his blood hasoverboiled; that there is not even the scent of the father's blood init. 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 fairlyhopped as he stood before Foma. 

"Calm yourself, father!" said Taras, slowly rising from his chair andwalking up to his father. "Why confuse the young man? Come, let us sitdown. "

He gave Foma a fleeting smile, and, taking his father by the arm, ledhim toward the table. 

"I believe in blood, " said Yakov Tarasovich; "in hereditary blood. Therein lies all power! My father, I remember, told me: 'Yashka, youare my genuine blood!' There. The blood of the Mayakins is thick--it istransferred from father to father and no woman can ever weaken it. Letus drink some champagne! Shall we? Very well, then! Tell me more--tellme about yourself. How is it there in Siberia?"

And again, as though frightened and sobered by some thought, the oldman fixed his searching eyes upon the face of his son. And a few minuteslater the circumstantial but brief replies of his son again aroused inhim a noisy joy. Foma kept on listening and watching, as he sat quietlyin his corner. 

"Gold mining, of course, is a solid business, " said Taras, calmly, withimportance, "but it is a rather risky operation and one requiring alarge capital. The earth says not a word about what it contains withinit. It is very profitable to deal with foreigners. Dealings withthem, under any circumstances, yield an enormous percentage. That is aperfectly infallible enterprise. But a weary one, it must be admitted. It does not require much brains; there is no room in it for anextraordinary man; a man with great enterprising power cannot develop init. "

Lubov entered and invited them all into the dining-room. When theMayakins stepped out Foma imperceptibly tugged Lubov by the sleeve, andshe remained with him alone, inquiring hastily:

"What is it?"

"Nothing, " said Foma, with a smile. "I want to ask you whether you areglad?"

"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 yousee?"

"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 tobring forth raspberries? And you lied to me. Taras is this, Taras isthat. What is in him? A merchant, like the other merchants, and hispaunch is also that of the real merchant. He-he!" He was satisfied, seeing that the girl, confused by his words, was biting her lips, nowflushing, now turning pale. 

"You--you, Foma, " she began, in a choking voice, and suddenly stampingher 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, wherethree happy people were engaged in a lively conversation. He heard theirmerry voices, their contented laughter, the rattle of the dishes, and heunderstood that, with that burden on his heart, there was no place forhim beside them. Nor was there a place for him anywhere. If all peopleonly hated him, even as Lubov hated him now, he would feel more at easein 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 understandwhether 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 unconsciouslyresolved to leave this house where people were rejoicing and where hewas superfluous. On reaching the street, he felt himself offended by theMayakins. After all, they were the only people near to him in the world. Before him arose his godfather's face, on which the wrinkles quiveredwith 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 besideit the figure of Lubov bowing herself hastily toward him. That arousedin 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 thelanding-places, aroused by the bustle of toil. All sorts of articlesand wares were carried and carted in every direction; people moved abouthastily, care-worn, spurring on their horses excitedly, shouting at oneanother, filling the street with unintelligible bustle and deafeningnoise of hurried work. They busied themselves on a narrow strip ofground, paved with stone, built up on one side with tall houses, and theother side cut off by a steep ravine at the river, and their seethingbustle made upon Foma an impression as though they had all preparedthemselves to flee from this toil amid filth and narrowness andtumult--prepared themselves to flee and were now hastening to completethe sooner the unfinished work which would not release them. Hugesteamers, standing by the shore and emitting columns of smoke from theirfunnels, were already awaiting them. The troubled water of the river, closely obstructed with vessels, was softly and plaintively splashingagainst the shore, as though imploring for a minute of rest and repose. 

"Your Honour!" a hoarse cry rang out near Foma's ears, "contribute somebrandy in honour of the building!"

Foma glanced at the petitioner indifferently; he was a huge, beardedfellow, 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 mefor one glass of brandy, or are you too lazy to put your hand into yourpocket?"

Foma again looked at the petitioner; the latter stood beforehim, covered more with mud than with clothes, and, trembling withintoxication, 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 aten-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'llcrawl on all fours right up to that tavern. Do you want me to?" proposedthe 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, " saidthe 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 thoughdemanding 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 shouldregret? What does he fear? And what do I fear? What is there that Ishould regret?"

These two questions seemed to strike Foma's heart and called forth inhim a dull perplexity. He looked at the movement of the working peopleand 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 andoffended by all. If they would only jostle me aside; if they would onlyhate me, then--then--I would go out into the wide world! Whether I likedor 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. ] hadalready been smiting the air for a long time. The carriers were doing acertain work, which required brisk movements, and were adapting the songand 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 thewharf. There he noticed that the carriers, formed in two rows, wererolling out of the steamer's hold huge barrels of salted fish. Dirty, clad in red blouses, unfastened at the collar, with mittens on theirhands, 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 thehigh, 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 inunison:

 "Oh, dubinushka, heave-ho!"

Foma felt pleased and envious as he looked at this work, which was asharmonious as music. The slovenly faces of the carriers beamed withsmiles, the work was easy, it went on smoothly, and the leader of thechorus was in his best vein. Foma thought that it would be fine to workthus in unison, with good comrades, to the tune of a cheerful song, toget 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 theboards of the landing bridge with his cane, as he looked at the carrierswith his small eyes and said:

"Bawl less and work faster. "

His face and neck were covered with perspiration; he wiped it off everynow and then with his left hand and breathed heavily, as though he weregoing 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 mindthe painful thought of his unfitness for life. Everything that attractedhis attention contained something offensive to him, and this somethingfell like a brick upon his breast. At one side of him, by the freightscales, stood two sailors, and one of them, a square-built, red-facedfellow, was telling the other:

"As they rushed on me it began for fair, my dear chap! There were fourof them--I was alone! But I didn't give in to them, because I saw thatthey would beat me to death! Even a ram will kick out if you fleeceit alive. How I tore myself away from them! They all rolled away indifferent directions. "

"But you came in for a sound drubbing all the same?" inquired the othersailor. 

"Of course! I caught it. I swallowed about five blows. But what's thedifference? They didn't kill me. Well, thank God for it!"

"Certainly. "

"To the stern, devils, to the stern, I'm telling you!" roared theperspiring man in a ferocious voice at two carriers who were rolling abarrel of fish along the deck. 

"What are you yelling for?" Foma turned to him sternly, as he hadstarted at the shout. 

"Is that any of your business?" asked the perspiring man, casting aglance 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, movingcloser toward him. 

"You--you had better keep your temper. "

The perspiring man suddenly rushed away from his place and went into hisoffice. Foma looked after him and also went away from the wharf; filledwith a desire to abuse some one, to do something, just to divert histhoughts from himself at least for a short while. But his thoughts tooka 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 athome, 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 aserious, searching look. An expression of agitation was clearly depictedon Lubov's face, and she said with dissatisfaction and at the same timeapologetically:

"Ah! So it's you?"

"They've been speaking of me, " thought Foma, as he seated himself atthe table. Taras turned his eyes away from him and sank deeper in thearmchair. There was an awkward silence lasting for about a minute, andthis pleased Foma. 

"Are you going to the banquet?"

"What banquet?"

"Don't you know? Kononov is going to consecrate his new steamer. A masswill 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 whowishes to honour me is welcome!

"I don't care for it. "

"Yes? But there will be a grand drinking bout, " said Lubov, looking athim 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 andlooking 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 brotherand the sister. Having dropped the spoon, Taras slowly drank his tea inbig sips, and silently moving the glass over to his sister, smiled toher. She, too, smiled joyously and happily, seized the glass and beganto rinse it assiduously. Then her face assumed a strained expression;she seemed to prepare herself for something and asked her brother in alow 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: 'Ifall this is, as you say, Utopia, if it is impossible, dreams, then whatis he to do who is not satisfied with life as it is?'"

The girl leaned her whole body toward her brother, and her eyes, withstrained expectation, stopped on the calm face of her brother. Heglanced at her in a weary way, moved about in his seat, and, loweringhis head, said calmly and impressively:

"We must consider from what source springs that dissatisfaction withlife. It seems to me that, first of all, it comes from the inabilityto work; from the lack of respect for work. And, secondly, from a wrongconception of one's own powers. The misfortune of most of the peopleis that they consider themselves capable of doing more than they reallycan. And yet only little is required of man: he must select for himselfan 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 thenlabour, be it ever so rough, rises to the height of creativeness. Achair, 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 isa very sensible book. It is a sound book. Read Lubbock. In general, remember that the English people constitute the nation most qualifiedfor labour, which fact explains their astonishing success in the domainof industry and commerce. With them labour is almost a cult. The heightof culture stands always directly dependent upon the love of labour. Andthe higher the culture the more satisfied are the requirements of man, the fewer the obstacles on the road toward the further developmentof man's requirements. Happiness is possible--it is the completesatisfaction of requirements. There it is. And, as you see, man'shappiness is dependent upon his relation toward his work. "

Taras Mayakin spoke slowly and laboriously, as though it were unpleasantand tedious for him to speak. And Lubov, with knitted brow, leaningtoward 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 abull, went on to explain himself:

"Nothing pleases him--business, work, all people and deeds. Suppose Isee that all is deceit, that business is not business, but merely aplug 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 isit so? Eh?"

"I cannot grasp your idea, " announced Taras, when Foma paused, feelingon 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 underit there is always a depth all the same. The boat is sound, but if theman feels beneath him this dark depth, no boat can save him. "

Taras looked at Foma indifferently and calmly. He looked in silence, andsoftly tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. Lubov was uneasilymoving about in her chair. The pendulum of the clock told the secondswith a dull, sighing sound. And Foma's heart throbbed slowly andpainfully, as though conscious that here no one would respond with awarm word to its painful perplexity. 

"Work is not exactly everything for a man, " said he, more to himselfthan to these people who had no faith in the sincerity of his words. "Itis not true that in work lies justification. There are people who do notwork at all during all their lives long, and yet they live betterthan those that do work. How is that? And the toilers--they are merelyunfortunate--horses! Others ride on them, they suffer and that's all. But they have their justification before God. They will be asked: 'Towhat purpose did you live?' Then they will say: 'We had no time to thinkof that. We worked all our lives. ' And I--what justification have I? Andall those people who give orders--how will they justify themselves? Towhat purpose have they lived? It is my idea that everybody necessarilyought 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 ahouse, 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 necessaryfor all of us to consider what we are living for. There is no sense inour life. No sense whatever! Then things are not equal, that can be seenat once. Some are rich--they have money enough for a thousand people, and they live in idleness. Others bend their backs over their work alltheir lives, and yet they have not even a grosh. And the differencein people is very insignificant. There are some that have not even anytrousers and yet they reason as though they were attired in silks. "

Carried away by his thoughts, Foma would have continued to give themutterance, but Taras moved his armchair away from the table, rose andsaid softly, with a sigh:

"No, thank you! I don't want any more. "

Foma broke off his speech abruptly, shrugged his shoulders and looked atLubov with a smile. 

"Where have you picked up such philosophy?" she asked, suspiciously anddrily. 

"That is not philosophy. That is simply torture!" said Foma in anundertone. "Open your eyes and look at everything. Then you will thinkso 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. Thatwhich they call pessimism in Swift and in Byron is only a burning, sharpprotest against the imperfection of life and man. But you cannot findamong them the cold, well weighed and passive pessimism. "

Then, as though suddenly recalling Foma, he turned to him, clasping hishands behind his back, and, wriggling his thigh, said:

"You raise very important questions, and if you are seriously interestedin them you must read books. In them will you find many very valuableopinions 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 donothing for me, " ejaculated Foma, morosely. 

He began to feel awkward and weary with this indifferent man. He feltlike going away, but at the same time he wished to tell Lubov somethinginsulting about her brother, and he waited till Taras would leave theroom. Lubov washed the dishes; her face was concentrated and thoughtful;her hands moved lazily. Taras was pacing the room, now and thenhe stopped short before the sideboard on which was the silverware, whistled, tapped his fingers against the window-panes and examined thearticles with his eyes half shut. The pendulum of the clock flashedbeneath the glass door of the case like some broad, grinning face, andmonotonously told the seconds. When Foma noticed that Lubov glancedat him a few times questioningly, with expectant and hostile looks, heunderstood that he was in her way and that she was impatiently expectinghim to leave. 

"I am going to stay here over night, " said he, with a smile. "I mustspeak with my godfather. And then it is rather lonesome in my housealone. "

"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 Tarasasked his sister about something in a low voice. 

"About me!" he thought. Suddenly this wicked thought flashed throughhis mind: "It were but right to listen and hear what wise people have tosay. "

He laughed softly, and, stepping on tiptoe, went noiselessly into theother room, also adjoining the dining-room. There was no light there, and only a thin band of light from the dining-room, passing through theunclosed door, lay on the dark floor. Softly, with sinking heart andmalicious 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 allstarted somehow of a sudden. The first thing he did was to thrashthe son-in-law of the Vice-Governor at the Club. Papa had to take thegreatest pains to hush up the scandal, and it was a good thing thatthe Vice-Governor's son-in-law is a man of very bad reputation. He is acard-sharper and in general a shady personality, yet it cost father morethan two thousand roubles. And while papa was busying himself about thatscandal Foma came near drowning a whole company on the Volga. "

"Ha-ha! How monstrous! And that same man busies himself withinvestigating as to the meaning of life. "

"On another occasion he was carousing on a steamer with a company ofpeople like himself. Suddenly he said to them: 'Pray to God! I'll flingevery 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 ofbase people. '"

"Really? That's clever!"

"He's a terrible man! How many wild pranks he has perpetrated duringthese years! How much money he has squandered!"

"And, tell me, on what conditions does father manage his affairs forhim? 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 purelyRussian fashion; in other words, it is conducted abominably. But it is asplendid business, nevertheless. If it were managed properly it would bea 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 ofmind--that these words of his are sincere, and that he can be verydecent. But I cannot reconcile his scandalous life with his words andarguments. I cannot do it under any circumstances!"

"It isn't even worthwhile to bother about it. The stripling and lazybones seeks to justify his laziness. "

"No. You see, at times he is like a child. He was particularly sobefore. "

"Well, that's what I have said: he's a stripling. Is it worth whiletalking about an ignoramus and a savage, who wishes to remain anignoramus and a savage, and does not conceal the fact? You see: hereasons as the bear in the fable bent the shafts. "

"You are very harsh. "

"Yes, I am harsh! People require that. We Russians are all desperatelyloose. Happily, life is so arranged that, whether we will it or not, wegradually brace up. Dreams are for the lads and maidens, but for seriouspeople 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 willbecome of him--neither good nor bad. The insipid fellow will squanderhis 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 powerof 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 thethreshold. 

Pale, with knitted brow and quivering lips, he stared straight intoTaras's face and said in a dull voice: "True! I will go to ruinand--amen! The sooner the better!"

Lubov sprang up from the chair with frightened face, and ran up toTaras, who stood calmly in the middle of the room, with his hands thrustin his pockets. 

"Foma! Oh! Shame! You have been eavesdropping. Oh, Foma!" said she inconfusion. 

"Keep quiet, you lamb!" said Foma to her. 

"Yes, eavesdropping is wrong!" ejaculated Taras, slowly, without liftingfrom Foma his look of contempt. 

"Let it be wrong!" said Foma, with a wave of the hand. "Is it my faultthat 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 youwho--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 hugeempty house, where each step of his awakened a ringing echo, he strolledalong the street, which was enveloped in the melancholy gray twilight oflate 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 asaint. 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 inhim no feelings--neither hatred toward Taras nor sympathy for Lubov. He carried with him something painful and uncomfortable, somethingincomprehensible to him, that kept growing within his breast, and itseemed to him that his heart was swollen and was gnawing as though froman abscess. He hearkened to that unceasing and indomitable pain, noticedthat it was growing more and more acute from hour to hour, and, notknowing how to allay it, waited for the results. 

Then his godfather's trotter passed him. Foma saw in the carriage thesmall figure of Yakov Mayakin, but even that aroused no feeling in him. A lamplighter ran past Foma, overtook him, placed his ladder against thelamp post and went up. The ladder suddenly slipped under his weight, andhe, clasping the lamp post, cursed loudly and angrily. A girl jostledFoma in the side with her bundle and said:

"Excuse me. "

He glanced at her and said nothing. Then a drizzling rain began to fallfrom the sky--tiny, scarcely visible drops of moisture overcast thelights of the lanterns and the shop windows with grayish dust. This dustmade 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 desireeither 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 ablouse and gray pantaloons. His face was swarthy, as though smoked, hiseyes were large, immobile and angry, his thick upper lip was coveredwith a bristle-like, soldier moustache. He was sitting on the lounge, with his feet clasped in his huge arms and his chin resting on hisknees. Yozhov sat sideways in a chair, with his legs thrown across thearm of the chair. Among books and newspapers on the table stood a bottleof 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. Masaniellowas a fool, but what had to be performed was done in the best waypossible. And that Winkelried was certainly a fool also, and yet had henot thrust the imperial spears into himself the Swiss would have beenthrashed. Have there not been many fools like that? Yet they are theheroes. And the clever people are the cowards. Where they ought to dealthe obstacle a blow with all their might they stop to reflect: 'Whatwill come of it? Perhaps we may perish in vain?' And they stand therelike posts--until they breathe their last. And the fool is brave! Herushes headforemost against the wall--bang! If his skull breaks--what ofit? Calves' heads are not dear. And if he makes a crack in the wallthe clever people will pick it open into gates, will pass and creditthemselves with the honour. No, Nikolay Matveyich, bravery is a goodthing even though it be without reason. "

"Vasily, you are talking nonsense!" said Yozhov, stretching his handtoward him. 

"Ah, of course!" assented Vasily. "How am I to sip cabbage soup with abast 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 andreflect 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 intomorrow--may I?"

"Come! I'll give a roasting!"

"That's exactly your business. "

Vasily adjusted himself slowly, rose from the lounge, took Yozhov'syellow, 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 fromhim: At the age of fifteen he began to study, to read and write, and attwenty-eight he has read the devil knows how many good books, and hasmastered 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--whatfor?"

"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 forwardand overturn. "

"There, he's broken loose!" exclaimed Yozhov. "You better tell mewhether 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 socold. "

"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 hisfather-in-law in Yekateringburg so cleverly. "

"Let him fleece me too, if he likes. I shall not say a word to himexcept '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'tyou 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 onlyfree myself from the necessity of drinking vodka and eating bread!"

Yozhov jumped to his feet, and, stopping in front of Foma, began tospeak in a loud voice, as though declaiming:

"I would gather together the remains of my wounded soul, and togetherwith the blood of my heart I would spit them into the face of ourintelligent society, the devil take it! I would say to them:

'You insects, you are the best sap of my country! The fact of yourexistence has been repaid by the blood and the tears of scores ofgenerations of Russian people. O, you nits! How dearly your countryhas paid for you! What are you doing for its sake in return? Have youtransformed the tears of the past into pearls? What have you contributedtoward life? What have you accomplished? You have permitted yourselvesto be conquered? What are you doing? You permit yourselves to bemocked. '"

He stamped his feet with rage, and setting his teeth together stared atFoma with burning, angry looks, and resembled an infuriated wild beast. 

"I would say to them: 'You! You reason too much, but you are not verywise, and you are utterly powerless, and you are all cowards! Yourhearts are filled up with morality and noble intentions, but they are assoft and warm as feather beds; the spirit of creativeness sleeps withinthem a profound and calm sleep, and your hearts do not throb, theymerely rock slowly, like cradles. ' Dipping my finger in the blood of myheart, I would smear upon their brows the brands of my reproaches, andthey, paupers in spirit, miserable in their self-contentment, they wouldsuffer. 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 nowthey do not suffer, for they speak of their sufferings too much, toooften, and too loud! They lie! Genuine suffering is mute, and genuinepassion knows no bounds! Passions, passions! When will they spring up inthe hearts of men? We are all miserable because of apathy. "

Short of breath he burst into a fit of coughing, he coughed for a longtime, 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-shoteyes. He breathed heavily, his lips trembled now and then, displayinghis small, sharp teeth. Dishevelled, with his head covered with shortheir, he looked like a perch just thrown out of the water. This wasnot the first time Foma saw him in such a state, and, as always, he wasinfected by his agitation. He listened to the fiery words of the smallman, silently, without attempting to understand their meaning, havingno desire to know against whom they were directed, absorbing their forceonly. 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 abouton the lounge. "You're a hero, Nikolay! Oh! Go ahead! Throw it rightinto their faces!"

But Yozhov was not in need of encouragement, it seemed even as though hehad 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: 'Holdyour 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 heightof their majesty. I know I am only a small bird, Oh, I am not anightingale! Compared with them I am an ignorant man, I am only afeuilleton-writer, a man to amuse the public. Let them cry and silenceme, let them do it! A blow will fall on my cheek, but the heart willnevertheless keep on throbbing! And I will say to them:

"'Yes, I am an ignorant man! And my first advantage over you is thatI do not know a single book-truth dearer to me than a man! Man is theuniverse, and may he live forever who carries the whole world withinhim! And you, 'I will say, 'for the sake of a word which, perhaps, doesnot always contain a meaning comprehensible to you, for the sake of aword you often inflict sores and wounds on one another, for the sake ofa 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 breakloose, and it will whisk and wash you off the earth, as wind and rainwhisk and wash the dust off a tree I There is in human language only oneword whose meaning is clear and dear to everybody, and when that word ispronounced, it sounds thus: 'Freedom!'"

"Crush on!" roared Foma, jumping up from the lounge and grasping Yozhovby 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 sorrythan words can tell!"

"What's this? What's the matter with you?" cried Yozhov, pushing himaway, amazed and shifted from his position by Foma's unexpected outburstand 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 tospeak to! Who will listen to you? Only I!"

"Go to the devil!" shouted Yozhov, angrily, jumping away from him asthough 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! Myopportunity will come. "

"Go away!" screamed Yozhov, hysterically, squeezing his back to thewall, under Foma's pressure. Perplexed, crushed, and infuriated he stoodand waved off Foma's arms outstretched toward him. And at this time thedoor of the room opened, and on the threshold appeared a woman all inblack. Her face was angry-looking and excited, her cheek was tied upwith a kerchief. She tossed her head back, stretched out her hand towardYozhov and said, in a hissing and shrill voice:

"Nikolay Matveyich! Excuse me, but this is impossible! Such beast-likehowling and roaring. Guests everyday. The police are coming. No, I can'tbear 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. Andan educated man at that! A writer! All people require rest. I have atoothache. I request you to move tomorrow. I'll paste up a notice, I'llnotify the police. "

She spoke rapidly, and the majority of her words were lost in thehissing and whistling of her voice; only those words were distinct, which she shrieked out in a shrill, irritated tone. The corners of herkerchief protruded on her head like small horns, and shook from themovement of her jaws. At the sight of her agitated and comical figureFoma gradually retreated toward the lounge, while Yozhov stood, andwiping 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 halfa tea-glass full of vodka, emptied it and sat down by the table, bowinghis 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 atFoma angrily and wildly. "Keep quiet! You, the devil take you. Lie downand sleep! You monster. Nightmare. Oh!"

And he threatened Foma with his fist. Then he filled the glass with morebrandy, and emptied it again. 

A few minutes later Foma lay undressed on the lounge, and, withhalf-shut eyes, followed Yozhov who sat by the table in an awkwardpose. He stared at the floor, and his lips were quietly moving. Foma wasastonished, 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 hehimself who had been shouting. 

"Oh devil!" whispered Yozhov, and gnashed his teeth. 

Foma quietly lifted his head from the pillow. Yozhov deeply and noisilysighing, again stretched out his hand toward the bottle. Then Foma saidto 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 tolaugh 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, Yozhovshouted with anger and impatience:

"Well, be quicker! You personification of stupidity. You symbolicalcart-shaft. "

"Don't curse!" said Foma, with a peaceable smile. "Is it worthwhile tobe 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 ofhis 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 tothe captain, who was already standing on the bridge, beside thespeaking-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 andattentively, and, emulating his example, they also began to crossthemselves, at which performance their caps and high hats flashedthrough 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 "IlyaMurometz, " heaving a mighty sigh, emitted a thick column of white steamtoward the side of the landing-bridge, and started upstream easily, likea swan. 

"How it started off, " enthusiastically exclaimed commercial counsellorLup Grigoryev Reznikov, a tall, thin, good-looking man. "Without aquiver! Like a lady in the dance!"

"Half speed!"

"It's not a ship, it's a Leviathan!" remarked with a devout sigh thepock-marked and stooping Trofim Zubov, cathedral-warden and principalusurer in town. 

It was a gray day. The sky, overcast with autumn clouds, was reflectedin the water of the river, thus giving it a cold leaden colouring. Flashing in the freshness of its paint the steamer sailed along themonotonous background of the river like a huge bright spot, and theblack 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 cutthrough the cold water with its bow and drove it apart toward theshores, and the round window-panes on the sides of the steamer andthe cabin glittered brilliantly, as though smiling a self-satisfied, triumphant smile. 

"Gentlemen of this honourable company!" exclaimed Kononov, removing hishat, and making a low bow to the guests. "As we have now rendered untoGod, so to say, what is due to God, would you permit that the musiciansrender now unto the Emperor what is due to the Emperor?"

And, without waiting for an answer from his guests, he placed his fistto 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 hisenormous 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 densegroup of guests. 

There were about thirty of them, all sedate men, the cream of thelocal merchants. The older men among them, bald-headed and gray, woreold-fashioned frock-coats, caps and tall boots. But there were only fewof 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 withsailcloth, where stood tables spread with lunch. Lup Reznikov walkedarm in arm with Yakov Mayakin, and, bending over to his ear, whisperedsomething to him, while the latter listened and smiled. Foma, who hadbeen brought to the festival by his godfather, after long admonitions, found no companion for himself among these people who were repulsive tohim, and, pale and gloomy, held himself apart from them. During thepast two days he had been drinking heavily with Yozhov, and now he hada terrible headache. He felt ill at ease in the sedate and yet jollycompany; the humming of the voices, the thundering of the music and theclamour of the steamer, all these irritated him. 

He felt a pressing need to doze off, and he could find no rest from thethought as to why his godfather was so kind to him today, and why hebrought him hither into the company of the foremost merchants of thetown. Why had he urged so persuasively, and even entreated him to attendKononov'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 anequal footing with the others. Come!"

"But when are you going to speak seriously with me, papa?" Foma hadasked, watching the play of his godfather's face and green eyes. 

"You mean about setting you free from the business? Ha, ha! We'll talkit 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 alongwith me! Get ready quickly. Rub your phiz with something wet, for it isvery much swollen. Sprinkle yourself with cologne, get it from Lubov, todrive away the smell of the kabak. Go ahead!"

Arriving on the steamer while the mass was in progress, Foma took up aplace on the side and watched the merchants during the whole service. 

They stood in solemn silence; their faces had an expression of devoutconcentration; they prayed with fervour, deeply sighing, bowing low, devoutly lifting their eyes heavenward. And Foma looked now at one, nowat another, and recalled what he knew about them. 

There was Lup Reznikov; he had begun his career as a brothel-keeper, andhad become rich all of a sudden. They said he had strangled one ofhis guests, a rich Siberian. Zubov's business in his youth had been topurchase thread from the peasants. He had failed twice. Kononov had beentried twenty years ago for arson, and even now he was indicted for theseduction 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 blueeyes. Among these people there was hardly one about whom Foma did notknow 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 toyear. Many of those people were at daggers' points with one another, none of them would show mercy to the others in the battlefield ofbusiness, and all knew wicked and dishonest things about one another. But now, when they gathered around Kononov, who was triumphant andhappy, they blended in one dense, dark mass, and stood and breathed asone man, concentrated and silent, surrounded by something invisible yetfirm, by something which repulsed Foma from them, and which inspired himwith 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, likebig, black rocks. 

"They are pretending!" Foma exclaimed to himself. Beside him stood thehump-backed, one-eyed Pavlin Gushchin--he who, not long before, hadturned the children of his half-witted brother into the street asbeggars--he stood there and whispered penetratingly as he looked at thegloomy sky with his single eye:

"Oh Lord! Do not convict me in Thy wrath, nor chastise me in Thyindignation. "

And Foma felt that that man was addressing the Lord with the mostprofound and firm faith in His mercy. 

"Oh Lord, God of our fathers, who hadst commanded Noah, Thy servant, tobuild an ark for the preservation of the world, " said the priest in hisdeep bass voice, lifting his eyes and outstretching his hands skyward, "protect also this vessel and give unto it a guarding angel of good andpeace. Guard those that will sail upon it. "

The merchants in unison made the sign of the cross, with wide swingsof their arms, and all their faces bore the expression of onesentiment--faith in the power of prayer. All these pictures took rootin 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 theirfraud, to convince himself of their falsehood. 

Their grave firmness angered him, their unanimous self-confidence, theirtriumphant faces, their loud voices, their laughter. They were alreadyseated by the tables, covered with luncheon, and were hungrily admiringthe huge sturgeon, almost three yards in length, nicely sprinkled overwith greens and large crabs. Trofim Zubov, tying a napkin around hisneck, looked at the monster fish with happy, sweetly half-shut eyes, andsaid to his neighbour, the flour merchant, Yona Yushkov:

"Yona Nikiforich! Look, it's a regular whale! It's big enough to serveas a casket for your person, eh? Ha, ha! You could creep into it as afoot into a boot, eh? Ha, ha!"

The small-bodied and plump Yona carefully stretched out his short littlehand toward the silver pail filled with fresh caviar, smacked his lipsgreedily, and squinted at the bottles before him, fearing lest he mightoverturn 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 acertain particoloured cake, in the shape of a tower, stood out above allthe viands. 

"Gentlemen! I entreat you! Help yourselves to whatever you please!"cried Kononov. "I have here everything at once to suit the taste ofeveryone. There is our own, Russian stuff, and there is foreign, allat once! That's the best way! Who wishes anything? Does anybody wantsnails, 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-tugsand river steamers, that is, not that it is not suitable, it isn'tenough alone. A river steamer is a place of permanent residence for thecrew, and therefore it ought to be considered as a house. Consequentlyit is necessary to make the prayer 'At the Building of a House, ' inaddition to that for the vessel. But what will you drink?"

"I am not much of a wine fiend. Pour me out some cumin vodka, " repliedYakov Tarasovich. 

Foma, seated at the end of the table among some timid and modest men whowere unfamiliar to him, now and again felt on himself the sharp glancesof the old man. 

"He's afraid I'll make a scandal, " thought Foma. "Brethren!" roared themonstrously stout ship builder Yashchurov, in a hoarse voice, "I can'tdo without herring! I must necessarily begin with herring, that's mynature. "

"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 somethingwhich sounded like the wild song of a snow-storm. The whistle of theflute, the shrill singing of the clarionets, the heavy roaring of thebasses, the ruffling of the little drum and the drones of the blowson the big one, all this fell on the monotonous and dull sounds of thewheels, as they cut the water apart, smote the air rebelliously, drownedthe noise of the human voices and hovered after the steamer, like ahurricane, causing the people to shout at the top of their voices. Attimes an angry hissing of steam rang out within the engine, and therewas something irritable and contemptuous in this sound as it burstunexpectedly upon the chaos of the drones and roars and shouts. 

"I shall never forget, even unto my grave, that you refused to discountthe 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, indignantwhisper 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 YakovTarasovich Mayakin, rising to his feet, cleared his throat, and, stroking his bald crown, surveyed the merchants with a serious lookexpecting attention. 

"Well, brethren, open your ears!" shouted Kononov, with satisfaction. 

"Gentlemen of the merchant class!" began Mayakin with a smile. "Thereis a certain foreign word in the language of intelligent and learnedpeople, and that word is 'culture. ' So now I am going to talk to youabout that word in all the simplicity of my soul. "

"So, that's where he is aiming to!" some ones satisfied exclamation washeard. 

"Sh! Silence!"

"Dear gentlemen!" said Mayakin, raising his voice, "in the newspapersthey keep writing about us merchants, that we are not acquainted withthis 'culture, ' that we do not want it, and do not understand it. Andthey 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 businessto look up that word, to see what it really contains. " Mayakin becamesilent, surveyed the audience with his eyes, and went on distinctly, with a triumphant smile:

"It proved, upon my researches, that this word means worship, thatis, love, great love for business and order in life. 'That's right!' Ithought, 'that's right!' That means that he is a cultured man who lovesbusiness and order, who, in general, loves to arrange life, loves tolive, knows the value of himself and of life. Good!" Yakov Tarasovichtrembled, his wrinkles spread over his face like beams, from his smilingeyes to his lips, and his bald head looked like some dark star. 

The merchants stared silently and attentively at his mouth, and allfaces bespoke intense attention. The people seemed petrified in theattitudes in which Mayakin's speech had overtaken them. 

"But if that word is to be interpreted precisely thus, and nototherwise, if such is the case--then the people who call us unculturedand savage, slander and blaspheme us! For they love only the word, butnot its meaning; while we love the very root of the word, we love itsreal essence, we love activity. We have within us the real cult towardlife, that is, the worship of life; we, not they! They love reasoning'we love action. And here, gentlemen of the merchant class, here is anexample of our culture, of our love for action. Take the Volga! Here sheis, our dear own mother! With each and every drop of her water she cancorroborate our honour and refute the empty blasphemy spattered on us. Only one hundred years have elapsed, my dear sirs, since Emperor Peterthe Great launched decked barks on this river, and now thousands ofsteamships sail up and down the river. Who has built them? The Russianpeasant, an utterly unlettered man! All these enormous steamers, barges--whose are they? Ours! Who has invented them? We! Everythinghere is ours, everything here is the fruit of our minds, of our Russianshrewdness, and our great love for action! Nobody has assisted us inanything! We ourselves exterminated piracy on the Volga; at our ownexpense we hired troops; we exterminated piracy and sent out on theVolga thousands of steamers and various vessels over all the thousandsof miles of her course. Which is the best town on the Volga? The onethat has the most merchants. Whose are the best houses in town? Themerchants! Who takes the most care of the poor? The merchant! Hecollects groshes and copecks, and donates hundreds of thousands ofroubles. Who has erected the churches? We! Who contributes the mostmoney to the government? The merchants! Gentlemen! to us alone is thework dear for its own sake, for the sake of our love for the arrangementof life, and we alone love order and life! And he who talks about usmerely talks, and that's all! Let him talk! When the wind blows thewillow rustles; when the wind subsides the willow is silent; and neithera cart-shaft, nor a broom can be made out of the willow; it is a uselesstree! And from this uselessness comes the noise. What have they, ourjudges, 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 yourlabours, seeing in you the men who can accomplish and have accomplishedeverything, I now heartily, with respect and love for you, lift mybrimming goblet, to the glorious, strong-souled, industrious Russianmerchant class. Long may you live! May you succeed for the glory ofMother 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 fromtheir chests such a unanimous, massive shout that everything around themseemed to tremble and to quake. 

"Yakov! you are the trumpet of the Lord!" cried Zubov, holding out hisgoblet toward Mayakin. 

Overturning the chairs, jostling the tables, thus causing the dishes andthe bottles to rattle and fall, the merchants, agitated, delighted, somewith tears in their eyes, rushed toward Mayakin with goblets in theirhands. 

"Ah! Do you understand what has been said here?" asked Kononov, graspingRobustov by the shoulder and shaking him. "Understand it! That was agreat 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 sorrywe 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 everylimb. "And, furthermore, we are the foremost men in life and the realmasters 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 istruly Russian! Consequently it is the most genuine, the most useful andobligatory. "

"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 athim with their oily eyes, and were so agitated that they could no longerlisten 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 thewheels upon the water, it formed a whirlwind of sounds which drownedthe jarring voice of the old man. The excitement of the merchants wasgrowing more and more intense; all faces were radiant with triumph;hands holding out goblets were outstretched toward Mayakin; themerchants clapped him on the shoulder, jostled him, kissed him, gazedwith emotion into his face. And some screamed ecstatically:

"The kamarinsky. The national dance!"

"We have accomplished all that!" cried Yakov Tarasovich, pointing at theriver. "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 theireyes the man who had abused them. At this moment nothing was heard savethe 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 contritesigh. 

"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. OnlyYakov Tarasovich alone was calm and seemed even satisfied with whathad occurred. Rising on tiptoe, with his neck outstretched, he staredsomewhere 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 Tarasovichwas staring. 

There, with his hands resting on the table, stood Foma. His facedistorted with wrath, his teeth firmly set together, he silentlysurveyed the merchants with his burning, wide-open eyes. His lower jawwas trembling, his shoulders were quivering, and the fingers of hishands, firmly clutching the edge of the table, were nervously scratchingthe tablecloth. At the sight of his wolf-like, angry face and hiswrathful pose, the merchants again became silent for a moment. 

"What are you gaping at?" asked Foma, and again accompanied his questionwith 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 createany scandals. If your head is reeling--go, my dear boy, quietly andpeacefully into the cabin and lie down! Lie down, and--"

"Silence, you!" roared Foma, and turned his eye at him. "Do not dare tospeak to me! I am not drunk. I am soberer than any one of you here! Doyou 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 youbrought 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 asyet, so it is rather early to read me a lecture. I am not drunk, I havedrunk nothing, but I have heard everything. Gentlemen merchants! Permitme 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 cometogether 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 continuouslysmiling, listened to the kind, admonitory words. Among all those sedatepeople he was the youngest and the handsomest. His well-shaped figure, in a tight-fitting frock coat, stood out, to his advantage, among themass of stout bodies with prominent paunches. His swarthy face withlarge eyes was more regularly featured, more full of life than theshrivelled or red faces of those who stood before him with astonishmentand expectancy. He threw his chest forward, set his teeth together, andflinging the skirts of his frock coat apart, thrust his hands into hispockets. 

"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 tospeak 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 killhim! 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 bushesrocked by the wind. They began to talk in agitated whispers. Foma's facegrew darker, his eyes became round. 

"Well, it has been said here that you have built up life, and that youhave done the most genuine and proper things. "

Foma heaved a deep sigh, and with inexpressible aversion scrutinized hislisteners' faces, which suddenly became strangely puffed up, as thoughthey were swollen. The merchants were silent, pressing closer and closerto 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 youmade? It is not life that you have made, but a prison. It is notorder that you have established, you have forged fetters on man. It issuffocating, it is narrow, there is no room for a living soul to turn. Man is perishing! You are murderers! Do you understand that you existtoday only through the patience of mankind?"

"What does this mean?" exclaimed Reznikov, clasping his hands in rageand indignation. "Ilya Yefimov, what's this? I can't bear to hear suchwords. "

"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 screechof a smooth-file on iron. "Don't touch him! I entreat you earnestly, donot hinder him. Let him snarl. Let him amuse himself. His words cannotharm you. "

"Well, no, I humbly thank you!" cried Yushkov. And close at Foma's sidestood Smolin and whispered in his ear:

"Stop, my dear boy! What's the matter with you? Are you out of yourwits? They'll do you--!"

"Get away!" said Foma, firmly, flashing his angry eyes at him. "You goto Mayakin and flatter him, perhaps something will come your way!"

Smolin whistled through his teeth and stepped aside. And the merchantsbegan to disperse on the steamer, one by one. This irritated Foma stillmore he wished he could chain them to the spot by his words, but hecould 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'llconvict you to the galleys. Goodbye, Ilya! You are building yoursteamers in vain. They'll transport you to Siberia on a governmentvessel. "

Kononov sank into a chair; his blood leaped to his face, and he shookhis 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 withwhat weapons he could deal these men the most forcible blows. 

"Ha, ha, ha! Builders of life! Gushchin, do you give alms to your littlenephews and nieces? Give them at least a copeck a day. You have stolensixty-seven thousand roubles from them. Bobrov! why did you lie aboutthat mistress of yours, saying that she had robbed you, and then sendher to prison? If you had grown tired of her, you might have given herover to your son. Anyway he has started an intrigue with that othermistress 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. Andthen the devil will fleece you, ha, ha! It is good to be a rascal with apious face like yours! Whom did you kill then, Lup?"

Foma spoke, interrupting his speech with loud, malevolent laughter, andsaw that his words were producing an impression on these people. Before, when he had spoken to all of them they turned away from him, steppingaside, forming groups, and looking at their accuser from afar withanger and contempt. He saw smiles on their faces, he felt in their everymovement something scornful, and understood that while his words angeredthem they did not sting as deep as he wished them to. All this hadchilled his wrath, and within him there was already arising the bitterconsciousness of the failure of his attack on them. But as soon as hebegan to speak of each one separately, there was a swift and strikingchange in the relation of his hearers toward him. 

When Kononov sank heavily in the chair, as though he were unable towithstand the weight of Foma's harsh words, Foma noticed that bitter andmalicious smiles crossed the faces of some of the merchants. He heardsome one's whisper of astonishment and approval:

"That's well aimed!"

This whisper gave strength to Foma, and he confidently and passionatelybegan to hurl reproaches, jeers and abuses at those who met his eyes. He growled joyously, seeing that his words were taking effect. He waslistened to silently, attentively; several men moved closer toward him. 

Exclamations of protest were heard, but these were brief, not loud, andeach time Foma shouted some one's name, all became silent, listening, casting furtive, malicious glances in the direction of their accusedcomrade. 

Bobrov laughed perplexedly, but his small eyes bored into Foma asgimlets. 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 goto 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 notgrow 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 faceshe saw wrath, curiosity, a malicious feeling of satisfaction, fear. Someone of those modest people among whom Foma was sitting, whispered tohim:

"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 wasinstigated, 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 andquailing under the blows of his words, Foma again started to shout namesand vulgar oaths, and the exasperated tumult was hushed once more. Themen, whom Foma did not know, gazed at him with eager curiosity, withapproval, while some looked at him even with joyous surprise. One ofthem, a gray-haired little old man with rosy cheeks and small mouseeyes, 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 endureit. That's a prophetic accusation. We are sinful. To tell the truth weare very--"

He was hissed, and Zubov even jostled him on the shoulder. He made a lowbow and disappeared in the crowd. 

"Zubov!" cried Foma. "How many people have you fleeced and turned tobeggars? Do you ever dream of Ivan Petrov Myakinnikov, who strangledhimself because of you? Is it true that you steal at every mass tenroubles out of the church box?"

Zubov had not expected the attack, and he remained as petrified, withhis 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 hisfist 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 oneanother--some red with anger, others pale, yet all equally powerless tocheck the flow of his jeers at them. 

"Send the sailors over here!" cried Reznikov, tugging Kononov by theshoulder. "What's the matter with you, Ilya? Ah? Have you invited us tobe ridiculed?"

"Against one puppy, " screamed Zubov. 

A crowd had gathered around Yakov Tarasovitch Mayakin, and listened tohis 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, accusingvoice:

"It was not life that you have built--you have made a cesspool! You havebred filth and putrefaction by your deeds! Have you a conscience? Doyou remember God? Money--that's your God! And your conscience you havedriven away. Whither have you driven it away? Blood-suckers! You liveon the strength of others. You work with other people's hands! You shallpay for all this! When you perish, you will be called to account foreverything! For everything, even to a teardrop. How many people havewept 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 inboiling mud you shall be scorched. Your sufferings shall last forcenturies. The devils will hurl you into a boiler and will pour intoit--ha, ha, ha! they'll pour into it--ha, ha, ha! Honourable merchantclass! 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, simultaneouslyrushed 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 onone 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 thewall of the captain's cabin, walked away from him, adjusting theircostumes, and mopping their sweat-covered brows. Fatigued by thestruggle, and exhausted by the disgrace of his defeat, Foma lay there insilence, tattered, soiled with something, firmly bound, hand and foot, with napkins and towels. With round, blood-shot eyes he gazed at thesky; they were dull and lustreless, as those of an idiot, and his chestheaved 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 thepleasure of revenge:

"Well, thunder-like prophet, how is it? Now you can taste the sweetnessof Babylonian captivity, he, he, he!"

"Wait, " said Foma, hoarsely, without looking at him. "Wait until I'mrested. 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 becausesomething had burned out within him, and his soul had become dark andempty. 

Zubov was soon joined by Reznikov. Then one after another the othersbegan to draw near. Bobrov, Kononov and several others preceded by YakovMayakin went to the cabin, anxiously discussing something in low tones. 

The steamer was sailing toward the town at full speed. The bottles onthe tables trembled and rattled from the vibration of the steamer, andFoma heard this jarring, plaintive sound above everything else. Near himstood a throng of people, saying malicious, offensive things. 

But Foma saw them as though through a fog, and their words did not touchhim to the quick. A vast, bitter feeling was now springing up withinhim, from the depth of his soul; he followed its growth and though hedid not yet understand it, he already experienced something melancholyand degrading. 

"Just think, you charlatan! What have you done to yourself?" saidReznikov. "What sort of a life is now possible to you? Do you know thatnow 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 aroundhim 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 nearFoma, sternly surveyed with his eyes the outstretched figure of hisgodson, 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, " hisgodfather 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 myhands. "

"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 lookedat 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 thetable silently, without lifting his eyes to anyone. He seemed shorterin stature and thinner. His dishevelled hair fell on his forehead andtemples; the torn and crumpled bosom of his shirt protruding from underhis vest, and the collar covered his lips. He turned his head to pushthe collar down under his chin, and was unable to do it. Then thegray-headed little old man walked up to him, adjusted what wasnecessary, 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 theoccasion, contentedly and brightly. 

"Give me some vodka, " begged Foma, seating himself at the table, andleaning his chest against its edge. His bent figure look piteous andhelpless. Around they were talking in whispers, passing this way andthat cautiously. And everyone looked now at him, now at Mayakin, who hadseated himself opposite him. The old man did not give Foma the vodka atonce. First he surveyed him fixedly, then he slowly poured out a wineglassful, 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, painfulsilence. People were coming up to the table noiselessly, on tiptoe, andwhen 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 raisinghis voice. "Though we are all Christians, yet you will receive noforgiveness at our hands. Just know this. "

Foma lifted his head and said pensively:

"I have quite forgotten about you, godfather. You have not heardanything from me. "

"There you have it!" exclaimed Mayakin, bitterly, pointing at hisgodson. "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 andsmiled. "I wanted--"

"Drunkard! Nasty scamp!"

"I am not drunk!" retorted Foma, morosely. "I have drank only twoglasses. I was perfectly sober. "

"Consequently, " said Bobrov, "you are right, Yakov Tarasovich, he isinsane. "

"I?" exclaimed Foma. 

But they paid no attention to him. Reznikov, Zubov and Bobrov leanedover to Mayakin and began to talk in low tones. 

"Guardianship!" Foma's ears caught this one word. "I am in my rightmind!" he said, leaning back in his chair and staring at the merchantswith troubled eyes. "I understand what I wanted. I wanted to speak thetruth. I wanted to accuse you. "

He was again seized with emotion, and he suddenly jerked his hands in aneffort to free them. 

"Eh! Hold on!" exclaimed Bobrov, seizing him by the shoulders. "Holdhim. "

"Well, hold me!" said Foma with sadness and bitterness. "Hold me--whatdo you need me for?"

"Sit still!" cried his godfather, sternly. 

Foma became silent. He now understood that what he had done was of noavail, that his words had not staggered the merchants. Here they stood, surrounding him in a dense throng, and he could not see anything forthem. They were calm, firm, treating him as a drunkard and a turbulentfellow, and were plotting something against him. He felt himselfpitiful, insignificant, crushed by that dark mass of strong-souled, clever and sedate people. It seemed to him that a long time had passedsince he had abused them, so long a time that he himself seemed as astranger, incapable of comprehending what he had done to these people, and why he had done it. He even experienced in himself a certain feelingof offence, which resembled shame at himself in his own eyes. Therewas a tickling sensation in his throat, and he felt there was somethingforeign in his breast, as though some dust or ashes were strewn upon hisheart, and it throbbed unevenly and with difficulty. Wishing to explainto himself his act, he said slowly and thoughtfully, without looking atanyone:

"I wanted to speak the truth. Is this life?"

"Fool!" said Mayakin, contemptuously. "What truth can you speak? What doyou understand?"

"My heart is wounded, that I understand! What justification have you allin the eyes of God? To what purpose do you live? Yes, I feel--I felt thetruth!"

"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 YakovTarasovich, sternly and instructively, lifting his hand upward. "It isnot 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 theytwist her tail. But you must understand, understand everything!Understand also your enemy. Guess what he thinks even in his dreams, andthen go ahead!"

According to his wont, Mayakin was carried away by the exposition of hispractical philosophy, but he realised in time that a conquered man isnot to be taught how to fight, and he stopped short. Foma cast at him adull 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 meright! Who am I? O Lord!"

All listened attentively to his words, and in that attention there wassomething prejudiced, something malicious. 

"I have lived, " said Foma in a heavy voice. "I have observed. I havethought; my heart has become wounded with thoughts! And here--theabscess burst. Now I am utterly powerless! As though all my blood hadgushed out. I have lived until this day, and still thought that now Iwill speak the truth. Well, I have spoken it. "

He talked monotonously, colourlessly, and his speech resembled that ofone in delirium. 

"I have spoken it, and I have only emptied myself, that's all. Nota trace have my words left behind them. Everything is uninjured. Andwithin me something blazed up; it has burned out, and there's nothingmore there. What have I to hope for now? And everything remains as itwas. "

Yakov Tarasovich burst into bitter laughter. 

"What then, did you think to lick away a mountain with your tongue? Youarmed yourself with malice enough to fight a bedbug, and you started outafter 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 eyesagain flared up, "and yet it is all your fault! You have spoiled life!You have made everything narrow. We are suffocating because of you! Andthough my truth against you is weak, it is truth, nevertheless! You aregodless wretches! May you all be cursed!"

He moved about in his chair, attempting to free his hands, and criedout, 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'tdisgrace yourself, and don't disgrace us either. We are not going totake you direct from the wharf to the insane asylum. "

"So!" exclaimed Foma. "So you are going to put me into an insaneasylum?"

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. Ispit 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 ratherbecause of my weakness. Yes! You, too, are only worms in the eyes ofGod. And, wait! You shall choke. I am lost through blindness. I saw muchand I became blind, like an owl. As a boy, I remember, I chased an owlin a ravine; it flew about and struck against something. The sun blindedit. It was all bruised and it disappeared, and my father said to methen: '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. Tatteredand crumpled he rocked about in the chair, striking his chest againstthe edge of the table, and began to whisper something. 

The merchants exchanged significant glances. Some, nudging one anotherin the sides, shook their heads at Foma in silence. Yakov Mayakin's facewas 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 himhere. Let someone send for a carriage. We'll take him straight to theasylum. "

"And where am I to rest?" Foma muttered again. "Whither shall I flingmyself?" And he remained as though petrified in a broken, uncomfortableattitude, 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 ashe departed. 

"No one is to blame for his madness, " replied Reznikov, morosely. 

"And Yakov, " whispered Zubov, nodding his head in the direction ofMayakin. 

"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 theengine did not seem to reach Foma's ear. Motionlessly he stared intothe distance before him with a dim look, and only his lips were slightlyquivering. 

"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 droopinghis head on the shoulder. His eyes were shut, and from under his eyelidstears were trickling one after another. They coursed down his cheeksinto his moustache. Foma's lips quivered convulsively, and the tearsfell from his moustache upon his breast. He was silent and motionless, only his chest heaved unevenly, and with difficulty. The merchantslooked at his pale, tear-stained face, grown lean with suffering, withthe corners of his lips lowered downward, and walked away from himquietly 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 differentremains of the feast. At times he slowly opened his heavy, swolleneyelids, and his eyes, through tears, looked dimly and mournfully at thetable where everything was dirty, upset, ruined. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Three years have passed. 

About a year ago Yakov Tarasovich Mayakin died. He died in fullconsciousness, and remained true to himself; a few hours before hisdeath he said to his son, daughter and son-in-law:

"Well, children, live in richness! Yakov has tasted everything, sonow it is time for Yakov to go. You see, I am dying, yet I am notdespondent; and the Lord will set that down to my credit. I havebothered Him, the Most Gracious One, with jests only, but neverwith moans and complaints! Oh Lord! I am glad that I have lived withunderstanding through Thy mercy! Farewell, my children. Live in harmony, and don't philosophize too much. Know this, not he is holy who hideshimself from sin and lies calm. With cowardice you cannot defendyourself against sin, thus also says the parable of the talents. But hewho wants to attain his goal in life fears not sin. God will pardonhim an error. God has appointed man as the builder of life, but has notendowed him with too much wisdom. Consequently, He will not call in hisoutstanding 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 afterthe 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 rumouredthat upon his discharge from the asylum Mayakin had sent him away tosome relatives of his mother in the Ural. 

Not long ago Foma appeared in the streets of the town. He is wornout, shabby and half-witted. Almost always intoxicated, he appears nowgloomy, with knitted brow, and with head bent down on his breast, nowsmiling the pitiful and melancholy smile of a silly fanatic. Sometimes he is turbulent, but that happens rarely. He lives with hisfoster-sister in a little wing in the yard. His acquaintances amongthe merchants and citizens often ridicule him. As Foma walks along thestreet, suddenly someone shouts to him:

"Eh, you prophet, come here!"

Yet he rarely goes to those who call him; he shuns people and does notcare 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!"