MAXIM GORKY 
 
•FOMA GORDYEEFF 
 
 BY 
 
 MAXIM GORK'^ 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY 
 
 ISABEL F. HAPGOOD 
 
 
 J 'j ) ' > 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 1906 
 

 Copyright, 1901, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 
 TROW omecToirr 
 
 ramTIHQ AND SOOKBINOINa COMPANY 
 NIW rONK 
 

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PREFACE 
 
 Ettssia, like the United States, is a land of vast social con- 
 trasts, and of equally vast democratic equality, which is con- 
 stantly being illustrated with striking examples of the adage 
 that " extremes meet/' Not to revert at too great length 
 or remoteness to the past, the end of the seventeenth century 
 offers us the spectacle of the son of a poor, unlettered peasant, 
 himself unfavored with education or prospects in early youth, 
 becoming the Patriarch of Eussia, through his learning, 
 virtues and strength of character; and coming to wield such 
 great influence over the public mind as fairly to overshadow 
 that of the autocratic Tzar, Alexei Mikhailovitch. So in- 
 fluential was this great Patriarch Mkon, so powerful had he 
 rendered his office, that Alexei Mikhailovitch's son, Peter 
 the Great, abolished the Patriarchate in order to obviate a 
 recurrence of the conflicts of authority which his father's 
 reign had witnessed. Yet the great Emperor Peter himself 
 chose as his assistants in moulding the Eussian empire the 
 capable men, wherever he found them, which was frequently 
 among the humblest members of the population; witness 
 the pancake pedlar afterwards Prince Menshikoff, the states- 
 man whose power extended through several reigns. 
 
 More to our present purpose, however, is the case of 
 Lomonosoff, in the eighteenth century. Like the Patriarch 
 Nikon, an untutored lad, the son of an Archangel fisherman, 
 he became, through sheer ability, the "Father of Eussian 
 Literature," the first moulder of the modern Eussian Ian- 
 
Preface 
 
 guage, the chief scientific man in those days of universal 
 geniuses, and the founder of divers industries and learned 
 institutions for which Russia is famous at the present day. 
 
 In the purely literary world, we are now offered a similar 
 phenomenon. The best native judges have, for the last three 
 years, been proclaiming Maxim Gork^ as the most promis- 
 ing young writer in Russia — in which opinion foreigners are 
 now concurring: while "young Russia" has made him its 
 idol, and hails in him the successor to Count Lyeff Nikolae- 
 vitch Tolstoy. Lyeff Nikolaevitch's grand career is, proba- 
 bly, closed: age and increasing infirmities will militate 
 against his adding to his present record anything which will 
 materially alter or augment the world's verdict as to his im- 
 mense genius. 
 
 GOrk;^'s career is beginning with a power which makes 
 the reader feel that, if his genius is assiduously developed 
 in his own way, he may accomplish results in the field of 
 realism combined with lofty idealism and poetrv which will 
 be tremendous additions to the literature of the world, but 
 which cannot be predicted with accuracy because we have 
 no standard of comparison for such an evenly-balanced, 
 powerful writer in whom these great elements have been so 
 wonderfully united. 
 
 No greater contrast could be imagined than exists be- 
 tween the grand veteran who now leads the army of Russian 
 writers, and this new recruit to the world's literary host. — 
 Count Tolstoy, a man of high birth, position, wealth, who 
 has enjoyed the best educational and social opportunities; 
 Maxim Gorkf , a homeless member of the " Barefoot Bri- 
 gade," which he has chronicled in his short stories with power 
 unsurpflfi^qeH^ fllTyinst hrnffll^ » pnpjry and idealisTn as ^sfoTiish. 
 ing for its loftiness as are his feehng for Nature and his 
 g ift for depicting itr which no Rus sian writer — not even 
 
 ▼i 
 
Preface 
 
 Turg^neff, the most remarkable of all in this direction- 
 has ever excelled. 
 
 Turgeneff dealt with the gentry, the students, the rep- 
 resentatives of the "young Russia'' of his day, and with 
 the peasants in their normal life in the country; Tolstoy 
 has dealt with the aristocracy and the peasants under the 
 same conditions as those depicted by Turgeneff. Gork^ 
 deals, in his short stories, with the peasants who have become 
 toilers in the towns, and members of the great proletariat; 
 and in this, his first long novel, with the rich merchant class 
 of the present day. 
 
 Ostrovsky handled the wealthy, old-fashioned, conserva- 
 tive merchant-class of his time in such caustic and ludicrous 
 fashion, that the ire of the class portrayed was aroused — 
 Gorlrf makes one of his merchants in the present volume 
 allude to Ostr6vsky's famous comedies — and the delighted 
 applause of the Eussian public. Yet these plays are, in a 
 way, too strictly national to appeal to foreign nations. 
 Gorky, with no less fidelity and biting wit, in a more satis- 
 factory form, sketches the same class in their modified, yet 
 conservative, aspect, today; but his keen arraignment of 
 methods and morals has the broad touch which makes it 
 apply to all lands and times. In Foma, he shows the gilded 
 youth of all climes. With profound psychological insight 
 he shows Foma as actually ruining his life because of his 
 best, not his worst instincts, by truth and innate nobility, 
 not by vices and falsehood deliberately cultivated. Eebellion 
 against the established order of social and commercial morals 
 is, of course, the sonorous undertone; — and this is not sur- 
 prising; the author has seen more of the seamy side of life 
 than most men. 
 
 Maxim Gorky^s real name is: Alex^i Maximovitch Pyesh- 
 koff. He was born in Nizhni Novgorod on March 14, 1868 
 
 ▼ii 
 
Preface 
 
 or 1869 (he says), in the family of his grandfather, the 
 painter Vasily Vasilievitch Kashirin. His father, Maxim 
 Savatievitch Pyeshkoff, was an upholsterer from Perm, and 
 died when Alexei Maximovitch (Gorky) was five years of 
 age. After the death of his mother, a few years later, the 
 orphan boy was hired out to a shoemaker. With the aid of 
 a prayer-book, his grandfather had taught him to read. The 
 boy ran away from the shoemaker, became the apprentice of 
 a draughtsman; again ran away, and entered the workshop 
 of a manufacturer of ikoni, or holy pictures. Afterward, 
 he worked on a Volga steamer as cook's boy, then became 
 assistant to a gardener. In these occupations he spent his 
 time until his fifteenth year. At the same time, he was a 
 diligent reader of "the classical productions of unknown 
 writers " — '* Gruak ; or. The Invincible Faithfulness," 
 '^ Andrei the Dauntless,'' *'Japancha," "Yashka Smer- 
 tensky," and the like. 
 
 Gorky himself thus describes his adventures: — "While I 
 was on board the steamer as cook's boy/' he says, " the cook, 
 Smury, exercised a lasting influence over my education. 
 Under his guidance I read ^ The Lives of the Saints,' 
 ' Eckartshausen,' the works of Gogol, Uspensky, Dumas 
 Senior, and numerous little books of the freemasons. Pre- 
 vious to my acquaintance with the cook, I had a profound 
 antipathy toward any sort of printed paper, the ' Passport ' 
 not excepted! After my fifteenth year, I was seized by a 
 wild desire for knowledge, and therefore went to Kazan, 
 supposing that knowledge is distributed gratis to those who 
 thirst for it. However, this proved to be not customary, 
 and therefore I went as a common laborer into a bakery, 
 on a salary of three rubles (approximately, $1.50) a 
 month. Of all the work I ever attempted, this was the 
 hardest/' 
 
 viii 
 
Preface 
 
 In Kazan Gorky peddled apples, worked on the docks, 
 sawed wood and carried heavy burdens. How difficult it was 
 for him to make a bare living we may judge from the fact 
 that he attempted to commit suicide. 
 
 From Kazan Gorky went to Tzaritzyn, where he obtained 
 a position as watchman on a railway. Soon after, in answer 
 to the summons to military service, he returned to Nizhni 
 Novgorod, but never became a soldier, as such " tramps " 
 are not accepted. So he started a business in Bavarian kvas 
 — a sort of white beer; and, at length, the much-tried mem- 
 ber of the Painters^ Guild became the assistant secretary to 
 the well-known Counsellor at Law, A. J. Lanin. Lanin 
 took a hvely interest in him, but Gorky's vagabond ad- 
 ventures did not end here. His tramping brought him to 
 Tiflis, where he was employed in the workshop of a railway; 
 and in Tiflis he published his first story in the news- 
 paper "Kavkaz." Soon after, he returned to his native 
 shores of the Volga, and began to publish his sketches in 
 the local papers. In Nizhni Novgorod he became acquainted 
 with the well-known writer, Vladimir Korolenko, who ex- 
 ercised a lasting influence over his career as a writer. Within 
 a year after he began to publish, he won recognition from 
 the best Eussian critics as the leading writer of fiction. 
 
 Thus Gorky continues the time-honored Russian tradi- 
 tion: the poor, struggling member of the " Barefoot Bri- 
 gade '' writes because his genius, his passionate poetry and 
 deep feelings compel him, and he appears to be destined to 
 take his place in the temple of Fame beside Patriarch Nikon, 
 Lomonosoff and many other gifted peasants — and as the 
 successor of the aristocratic Count Tolstoy! 
 
 And, although he has now settled down in Nizhni Nov- 
 gorod, his experiences are not ended. He has been in prison 
 seven or eight times — on the last occasion in connection with 
 
 ix 
 
Preface 
 
 the troubles in the early spring of the present year. In 
 prison he received the letter of the Messrs. Scribner propos- 
 ing terms for the authorized publication of this volume; 
 from prison he despatched the cablegram of acceptance, — an 
 incident which is worth mentioning for the suggestion as 
 to methods of the Russian Government toward prisoners, 
 which differ from the popularly-received notions in that 
 regard. 
 
 Isabel F. Hapgood. 
 
 August 3, 1901. 
 
FOMA GORDYEEFF 
 
 Sixty years ago, when fortunes reaching into the 
 millions were being made with fabulous rapidity on the 
 Volga, — Ign at Gord yeeff, then a young lad, worked as water- 
 pumper on one of the barges belonging to the wealthy 
 merchant Zaeff. 
 
 Physically built after the pattern of the gigantic heroes 
 of ancient legends, handsome and far from stupid, he was 
 one of the men who are always and in everything successful 
 — not because they are talented and industrious, but rather . 
 because being possessed of a vast amount of energy, they 
 cannot understand, cannot even pause to consider, the choice 
 of means towards the attainment of their ends, and know 
 no^ law except their own will. , At times they speak with 
 terror of their consciences, at times they undergo genuine 
 torture in their struggle with it, — but conscience is an un- 
 conquerable power only for the weak-spirited; the strong 
 of spirit speedily overcome it and make it the slave of their 
 will, for they unconsciously feel that if they give it full 
 scope and liberty it will wreck their life. They offer it as a 
 sacrifice to their day; but if it happens that it conquers 
 their souls, though subjugated by it, they never are broken, 
 and live on as healthily and powerfully under its rule as 
 they lived without it. 
 
 At forty years of age, Ignat Gordyeeff himself was the 
 
 1 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 owner of three steamers and ten barges. He was respected 
 on the Volga as a rich and clever man, but the nickname 
 of " the Crazy Man/' was conferred upon him because his 
 life did not flow on in an even current, along a straight bed, 
 as with other men like himself, but rebelliously foaming up, 
 every little while, escaped from its bounds, in a direction 
 away from gain which was the chief object of this man's 
 existence. There existed, as it were, three Gordyeeffs or 
 there were, so to speak, three souls in Ignat's body. One 
 of them, the most powerful, was merely greedy, and when 
 Ignat lived subject to its influence, — he was simply a man 
 possessed with an indomitable passion for work. This 
 passion burned within him day and night, he was entirely 
 devoured by it, and as he seized hundreds and thousands 
 of rubles in all directions, it seemed as though he could 
 never slake his thirst for the rustle and chink of money. He 
 flew about, up the Volga and down the Volga, strengthen- 
 ing his nets and setting new ones to catch gold; he bought 
 grain in the villages, carried it to Eybinsk on his barges; 
 he robbed and cheated, sometimes without even noticing it, 
 though again at times he did recognize the fact, and openly 
 and triumphantly sneered at the men he had cheated, and in 
 the madness of his greed for money he rose to poetry. But 
 while he devoted so much strength to his pursuit of the 
 ruble, he was not greedy in the narrow sense of that word, 
 and occasionally even displayed an incomprehensible but 
 sincere indiflerence towards his property. Once, while the 
 ice was breaking up in the Volga, he stood on the shore 
 and perceiving that the ice was crushing his new barge, 
 forty-five fathoms long, pressing it against the ragged bank, 
 he screamed through his tightly closed lips: 
 
 " Give it to her . . . now again . . . squeeze — 
 crush! Come, once more now — rruif 
 
 2 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 *^ Why, Ignat," — asked his friend Mayakin, approaching 
 him, " isn^t the ice squeezing ten thousand rubles out of 
 your purse? " 
 
 " Never mind. 1^11 win a hundred thousand in place of 
 it. But just see how the Volga is working! It's robust? 
 Hey? Mother Volga can rend the whole earth apart, as 
 one cuts curds with a knife . . . look, look! There 
 goes my ^ Boyarinya! ' She only sailed one season. Well, 
 shall we commemorate her death? " 
 
 The barge was crushed to kindling-wood. Ignat and his 
 crony, as they sat in an eating-house on the bank, drank 
 vodka and through the window watched the fragments of 
 the " Boyarinya " floating down stream with the ice. 
 
 "Are you sorry for your vessel, Ignat? " asked Mayakin. 
 
 "Well, what's the use of being sorry? The Volga gave 
 and the Volga has taken away. It hasn't torn off my hand." 
 
 " Nevertheless . . ." 
 
 "What's that? It's a good thing that I saw it myself 
 how it all happened . . 'tis a lesson for the future. But 
 when my ^ Volgar ' was burned I was sorry — I didn't see 
 it. What a fine sight it must have been — such a huge bon- 
 fire blazing on the water of a dark night, don't you think 
 so ? It was a huge steamer . ." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you didn't^regret that either? " 
 
 " The steamer? I did regret the steamer, certainly . . . 
 Well, regret is nothing but silliness. What's the use? Cry, 
 if you like, but tears quench no fires. Let the steamers 
 burn — and if everything burns, I don't care a straw! My 
 spirit would blaze up to work — and I'd replace it all — isn't 
 that the idea? " . 
 
 " Ye — es — " said Mayakin laughing. " You utter stout 
 words. And anyone who talks like that will always be a 
 rich man, even if you strip him to the skin." 
 
 3 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 While bearing himself thus philosophically towards the 
 loss of thousands, Ignat knew the value of every kopek; 
 he rarely gave anything to beggars, even, and only to those 
 who were entirely incapacitated for work. But if a man 
 who had the least power of work in him asked alms, Ignat 
 said severely: 
 
 " Begone! You can work still, — go help my yard-porter 
 to clean up the manure, and I'll give you two kopeks in 
 silver/' 
 
 During the periods when he was carried away with ardor 
 for work, he treated people harshly and pitilessly, neither 
 did he give himself any rest in his pursuit of the ruble. 
 Then, all of a sudden — and this generally happened in the 
 spring, when everything on earth becomes so enchantingly 
 beautiful, and from the clear sky there descends upon the 
 soul a certain reproachful and withal gracious influence — 
 Ignat Gordyeeff seemed to feel that he was not the master 
 of his business but its abject slave. He became thoughtful, 
 and gazing curiously about him from beneath his thick, 
 frowning eyebrows, he went about for whole days at a 
 time surly and malicious, as though silently in search of 
 an answer to some query, yet afraid to put the question 
 aloud. Then there awoke in him another spirit — the 
 stormy, sensuaLs^ijit of a wild beast enraged by hunger. 
 Insolent and cynical with everyone he took to drink, de- 
 praved and intoxicated others, fell into delirium and in 
 that delirium gave vent to an eruption like a volcano of 
 mud. It seemed as though he were madly seeking to rend 
 the chains which he had forged for himself and wore, as 
 though he tore at them and was powerless to break them. 
 Dishevelled, dirty, his face swollen with intoxication and 
 sleepless nights, his eyes dull, he roved about the town 
 from one dive to another, huge, roaring with his hoarse voice, 
 
 4 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 flung his money about without counting it, shed tears 
 under the influence of the national peasant songs, and 
 danced and thrashed some one, no matter whom, but never 
 found relief anywhere or in anything. 
 
 Once upon a time it happened, that the company with 
 whom Ignat was carousing was joined — as a clod of mud 
 sticks to the boot — by a disfrocked deacon, a short, squat 
 man, in a ragged cassock, and with a bald head. This char- 
 acterless, disgusting and monstrous individual played the 
 part of a jester. They smeared his bald spot with mustard, 
 made him go on all fours, drink a mixture of brandies, 
 dance indecent dances; all this he did in silence, with an 
 idiotic smile on his wrinkled face, and when he had done 
 what he had been ordered to do, he invariably said, extend- 
 ing his hand, palm upwards: 
 
 " Please give me a ruble.'' 
 
 They laughed at him and sometimes gave him a twenty- 
 kopek piece, and sometimes nothing at all; but then again, 
 they sometimes flung ten rubles or more at him. 
 
 " You're an abomination! " shouted Ignat at him one 
 day, " Tell us who you are ? " 
 
 The deacon was frightened by the shout, and making a 
 low bow to Ignat, held his peace. 
 
 "Who? Speak up! " roared Ignat. 
 
 " I ^ am a man — for insult," replied the deacon, and the 
 company roared with laughter at his words. 
 
 " Are you a worthless scamp? " asked Ignat menacingly. 
 
 " I am a worthless scamp — through want and the weak- 
 ness of my soul." 
 
 " Come hither! " Ignat summoned him. " Come and sit 
 here beside me." 
 
 * The deacon's language is strongly tinged with ecclesiastical 
 Slavonic: e.g. az, instead of ya. — Translator. 
 
 5 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 With timid steps, quivering with terror, the deacon drew 
 near to the drunken merchant, and stood facing him. 
 
 " Sit down here heside me! '' said Ignat, seizing his hand 
 and forcing the frightened man to seat himself by his side. 
 
 " You come near to my heart. — I also — am a worthless 
 scamp! You — through want, I — through pure cussedness! 
 — I am a worthless scamp because I am bored with melan- 
 choly! Do you understand? " 
 
 " Yes," replied the deacon softly. 
 
 But the party laughed loudly. 
 
 " Do you know now who I am? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well then, say: * You are a worthless scamp, Ignat! ' '' 
 
 This the deacon could not do. He stared in alarm at 
 the huge form of Ignat, and shook his head in refusal. And 
 the company laughed so uproariously that it was like the 
 rumbling of thunder. Ignat could not order the deacon to 
 abuse him. Then he asked him: " Shall I give you 
 money? " 
 
 " Yes! " replied the deacon with a start. 
 
 " What do you want it for? " 
 
 The deacon would not answer. Then Ignat grasped him 
 by the collar, and shook out of his foul mouth this speech, 
 uttered with terror, and softly, almost in a whisper: 
 
 " I have a daughter — a little girl — of sixteen, in 'the 
 school for daughters of the clergy. I'm saving up for her 
 — for when she finishes school — ^there will be nothing where- 
 with even to cover her nakedness." 
 
 " Oh," said Ignat, and released his grasp on the deacon's 
 collar. Then he sat for a long time absorbed in gloomy 
 meditation, all the while casting glances at the deacan. 
 Then his eyes lighted up with a smile and he said: 
 
 " Of course you're lying, you drunkard? " 
 
 6 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 The deacon silently crossed himself and his head sank 
 upon his breast. 
 
 "It is true!" said one of the company, confirming the 
 deacon's statement. 
 
 "Is it? All right!" shouted Ignat, and banging the 
 table with his fist, he turned to the deacon: 
 
 " Hey there, you! Sell your daughter! How much will 
 you take ? " 
 
 The deacon shook his head, and shrank together. 
 
 "A thousand!" 
 
 The company howled with laughter at the sight of the 
 deacon shrinking as if he had received a douche of cold 
 water. 
 
 " Two! " shouted Ignat, with flashing eyes. 
 
 "What do you mean? How is it?" stammered the 
 deacon, stretching out both hands to Ignat. 
 
 "Three!" 
 
 " Ignat Matvyeevitch! " cried the deacon in a thin, pierc- 
 ing voice. "For the sake of the Lord God — for Christ's 
 sake! Enough of this — I will sell, certainly. For her sake 
 —I will sell her! " 
 
 In his painfully sharp cries resounded a threat towards 
 some one, and his eyes, which no one had previously no- 
 ticed, flamed like live coals. But the party of drunken 
 men laughed madly at him. 
 
 " Shut up ! " shouted Ignat menacingly, drawing himself 
 up to his full height, and knitting his brows. — " Don't you 
 understand the point, you devils? This is enough to make 
 
 one weep — and you yell with laughter " He stepped 
 
 up to the deacon, knelt down before him, and said in a 
 firm tone: 
 
 " Deacon! ISTow you have seen what a worthless scamp 
 I am. Now, spit in my face! " 
 
 7 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 What happened next was hoth repulsive and ridiculous. 
 The deacon flung himself at Ignat's feet, crawled around 
 them like a huge tortoise, kissed the knees, and muttered 
 something between his sobs. And Ignat, bending over him, 
 raised him from the floor and cried to him in a voice wherein 
 command and entreaty were mingled. 
 
 " Spit! Aim straight in my shameless eyes! " 
 
 Stunned for a moment by Ignat's threatening cry, the 
 company again burst out laughing so violently that the 
 panes shook in the windows of the eating-house. 
 
 " I'll give you a hundred rubles if you will spit." 
 
 But the deacon crawled along the floor, and sobbed either 
 with terror or with happiness at hearing this man entreat 
 him to insult him. 
 
 At last Ignat rose from the floor, pushed the deacon 
 aside with his foot, and flinging a roll of bankbills at him 
 said with a surly laugh: 
 
 " Eascal — Can a man make confession to such? Some 
 fear to receive confessions, others laugh at the sinner. I 
 came near going to pieces completely — my heart was all 
 in a quiver — I thought I would give — I thought nothing — 
 that's the fact! Get out with you! And don't let me ever 
 lay eyes on you again — do you hear? " 
 
 " Ah, what an eccentric fellow! " said the company much 
 touched. Legends were invented in the town about his 
 debauches, and everyone had condemned him severely, but 
 no one ever refused an invitation to his orgies. Thus 
 he lived for weeks together. 
 
 And then, all of a sudden, he would present himself at 
 home, thoroughly saturated still with the odor of intoxica- 
 tion, but already crushed and gentle. With submissively 
 downcast eyes, in which now burned the flame of shame, 
 he listened in silence to the reproaches of his wife, as peace- 
 
 8 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ably and dully as a sheep, and went off to his own room 
 where he locked himself up. For several hours at a time 
 he linelt before the holy pictures, his head drooping on his 
 breast; his arms hung down helplessly, his back was bowed, 
 and he remained silent, not daring, as it were, to pray. Hia 
 wife stole to the door on tiptoe and listened. Heavy sighs 
 resounded within — the sighs of a horse who is weary and ill. 
 
 " Oh Lord! Thou seest,^' — whispered Ignat dully, press- 
 ing the palms of his hands violently against his breast. 
 
 JDuring his days of penitence he drank nothing but water, 
 and ate only rye bread. In the morning his wife placed at 
 the door of his room a large carafe of water, a pound and 
 a half of bread and some salt. He opened the door, took in 
 this food, and locked himself up again. He was not dis- 
 turbed on any account during such periods, and they even 
 avoided crossing his path. After the lapse of a few days, he 
 made his appearance again on ^Change, jested, laughed, 
 accepted contracts for supplying grain, as eagle-eyed as a 
 bird of prey, a keen judge of everything connected with 
 business. 
 
 But in all three phases of his life Ignat was never free 
 from one passionate longing — the longing to have a son; 
 and the older he grew, the more intense did this longing 
 become. This sort of conversation frequently took place 
 between him and his wife. — As they drank their morning 
 tea, or dined at noon, he — glancing gloomily at his wife, a 
 fat, well-fed woman, with a red face and sleepy eyes, would 
 ask her: 
 
 " Well, do you feel anything? '' 
 
 She knew what he meant by the question, but invariably 
 replied: 
 
 " Why shouldn't I feel something? Your fists — are like 
 
 clock-weights. ^^ 
 
 9 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ^^ I was speaking of your body, you fool." 
 
 " Haven't I borne you children? " 
 
 " Girls, forsooth! " — said Ignat reproachfully. " I want 
 a son. Do you understand? A son, an heir! To whom 
 shall I leave my fortune when I die? Who will pray away 
 my sins? Must I leave everything to a monastery? I've 
 already given money there — they've had enough! Am I 
 to leave my fortune to you? A nice kind of person to pray, 
 you are — when you stand in church all you think of is fish- 
 pasties. And if I die — you'll marry again — and then all 
 my money will fall into the hands of some fool or other. 
 Am I working for that? Oh, you ! " 
 
 And vicious sadness seized upon him, for he felt that hi$ 
 life was aimless, if he had no son who could continue it. \ 
 
 In the course of nine years of married life his wife had 
 borne him four daughters, but all of them had died. 
 Though he had anxiously anticipated their birth, Ignat had 
 grieved but little over their death, — it did not matter, he 
 had not wanted them. He began to beat his wife in the 
 second year of their wedlock, beating her at first w^hen he 
 was intoxicated and without ill-will, and simply in accord- 
 ance with the popular saying: " Love your wife like your 
 soul, and shake her like a pear-tree! " ^ But after each 
 confinement, his wrath against his wife blazed up, disap- 
 pointed as he was in his hopes, and he began to take pleas- 
 ure in beating her, by way of revenging himself on her 
 for not giving him a son. 
 
 One day, when he was in the Government of Samara on 
 business he received from his relatives at home a telegram 
 announcing the death of his wife. He crossed himself, 
 thought a while, and then wrote to his crony Mayakin: 
 
 ' In Russian it rhymes : '' Lubi zhemi kak diishu, i tryasi yeyo kak 
 griishu. " — Translator. 
 
 10 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ''Bury her without waiting for me, and look after the 
 property." 
 
 Then he went to the church, had a requiem service 
 chanted for her, and when he had prayed for the repose 
 of the soul of the Akulina, newly appeared hefore God, he 
 began to reflect that it behooved him to marry as speedily 
 as possible. 
 
 At that time he was forty-three years of age; tall, broad- 
 shouldered; and he spoke in a heavy bass voice, like a 
 proto-deacon; his large eyes gazed out from beneath dark 
 brows, with a bold, intelligent expression; in his sunburnt 
 face, overgrown with a thick black beard, and in the whole 
 of his powerful frame there was much purely Eussian, 
 healthy and coarse-grained beauty; his easy movements and 
 proud, impatient gait breathed forth consciousness of 
 strength, and firm belief in himself. Women liked him, and 
 he did not avoid them. 
 
 Six raonths had not elapsed from the day of his wife's 
 death before he proposed for the daughter of one of his 
 business acquaintances, a kazak of the Ural, of the sect of 
 the Molokani (milk drinkers). The father of the girl, al- 
 though Ignat was known even in the Urals as " the crazy 
 man," gave him his daughter, and towards autumn Ignat 
 Gordyeeff arrived^at home with his young kazak bride. Her 
 name was Natalya. She was tall, slender, with immense 
 blue eyes, and long, dark auburn hair, and was a worthy 
 mate for the handsome Ignat. He exulted and took pride 
 in his young wife, and loved her with the passionate love 
 of the healthy male; but before long he began to stare 
 keenly and thoughtfully at her. 
 
 Earely did a smile appear on the oval, strictly regular 
 face of his wife — she seemed to always be thinking of some- 
 thing foreign to her life, and in her ever coldly-calm blue 
 
 11 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 eyes there was, at times, a gloomy and savage gleam. Dur- 
 ing the leisure which her housewifely cares allowed her, she 
 was wont to seat herself at the window of the largest room 
 in the house, and there she remained, silent and motionless, 
 for two or three hours at a time. Her face was turned tow- 
 ards the street; but her eyes stared indifferently at every- 
 thing that lived and moved there, beyond the window, and 
 at the same time her look was profoundly concentrated as 
 if she were gazing at her own inward self. Her walk was 
 strange, also: Natalya moved slowly and cautiously about 
 the spacious rooms of her home, as though some invisible 
 thing interfered with her freedom of action. The house 
 was furnished with heavy and coarsely-ostentatious luxury, 
 everything in it shone and cried aloud about the wealth of 
 the owner, but the kazak bride walked past the costly fur- 
 niture and the what-nots laden with silver, in a sort of fur- 
 tive and timid way, as if she feared that all these things 
 would seize upon her and stifle her. The noisy life of the 
 big trading town did not interest this taciturn woman, and 
 when she went out to drive with her husband, she kept her 
 eyes fixed on the coachman's back. If her husband asked 
 her out visiting, she went, and behaved herself as strangely 
 as at home; if guests came to them she was assiduous in 
 entertaining them with food and drink, but displayed no 
 interest whatever in what they said, and never distinguished 
 any one above another. Crony Mayakin alone, a droll and 
 clever fellow, at times evoked upon her face a smile as 
 uncertain as a shadow. He was accustomed to say of her: 
 
 " She's wood — not a woman! But life is like an un- 
 quenchable bonfire, and we all get kindled from it, and so 
 will this milk-drinker woman — just wait. Then we shall 
 see what sort of flowers she will put forth." 
 
 " Hey, you fantastic dreamer! " Ignat said jestingly to 
 
 12 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 his wife. — " What are you thinking about? Are you pining 
 for your kazak village? You must live more merrily! " 
 
 She looked calmly at him, but made no reply. 
 
 " You go altogether too often to the church . . . 
 you'd better wait! You'll have plenty of time to pray away 
 your sins — commit them first. You know — if you don't 
 sin you can't repent, and if you don't repent, you can't 
 save your soul. So do your sins while you are young. Shall 
 we go for a drive ? " 
 
 *^ I don't care about it.'^ 
 
 He seated himself beside her, embraced her, as she re- 
 ciprocated his caresses coldly and charily, and, gazing into 
 her eyes, he said: 
 
 "Natalya! Tell me, — why are you so far from merry? 
 Do you find life with me tiresome? " 
 
 " No," she replied briefly. 
 
 "Then what is it? Do you wish to go to your own 
 people ? " 
 
 " Why no — that is to say . . .'' 
 
 " Of what are you thinking? " 
 
 " I am not thinking." 
 
 " What is the matter then? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing." 
 
 One day he extracted from her a more extended answer: 
 
 "In my heart — there is a sort of uneasiness. And in 
 my eyes . . . And all the while it seems to me as 
 though this — were not real." 
 
 With a sweep of her arm she pointed to the walls, the 
 furniture, everything. Ignat did not reflect upon her 
 words, and said, with a laugh: 
 
 " What nonsense! Everything is as real as possible. All 
 these things are costly and substantial. If you don't like 
 them — I'll burn the whole lot, I'll sell them or give them 
 away and order new ones! Well, will you have it so? " 
 
 13 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " What's the use ? " she answered calmly. 
 
 At last he was struck with amazement that a young 
 healthy woman like her should live as though she slept, 
 that she desired nothing, never went anywhere except to 
 church, and shunned everybody. So he soothed her: 
 
 " Just wait — you will bear me a son, and then life will 
 be entirely different to you. You are melancholy now be- 
 cause you have very little to do, but the child will keep you 
 busy. You are going to bear me a son, of course, aren't 
 you?" 
 
 " That must be as God wills," she replied, with drooping 
 head. 
 
 Then her attitude began to irritate him. 
 
 " Come, my milk-drinker, what are you hanging your 
 head for? She walks as though she were treading on 
 glass, — she looks as though she had committed a murder! 
 Heigho! You're a robust woman, and you have no taste for 
 anything — you little fool! " 
 
 One day, when he came home intoxicated, he began to 
 worry her with caresses, and she repulsed them. Then he 
 waxed angry and shouted: 
 
 " Natalya! Look out — don't be foolish! " 
 
 She turned her face to him and calmly inquired: 
 
 " What will happen then? " 
 
 These words and her fearless glance made Ignat furious^ 
 
 " What ? " he roared, marching aggressively towards her. 
 
 *^ Do you wish to beat me ? " she asked, without stirring 
 from the spot, or moving an eyelash. 
 
 Ignat was accustomed to see people tremble before his 
 wrath, and the sight of her composure was strange and 
 offensive to him. 
 
 " Take that," he shouted, raising his hand. Without 
 haste, but in good season, she stepped out of reach, then 
 
 14 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 seized his hand, pushed him away from her, and without 
 raising her voice, she said: 
 
 " If you touch me, you shall never come near me again! 
 I will not permit you to approach me! " 
 
 Her great eyes narrowed, and their keen, piercing gleam 
 brought Ignat to his senses. He comprehended, from her 
 countenance, that she, also, was a powerful wild beast, and 
 if she took it into her head — she would have no further 
 relations with him, even if she were beaten to death. 
 
 " Oh — you fantastic dreamer! " he bellowed, and took 
 himself off. 
 
 But although he had given way to her once, he would 
 not have done so a second time; he could not endure that 
 a woman, and that woman his wife, should not bow down 
 before him: that would have humiliated him. He would 
 have felt that his wife would never, thenceforth, yield to 
 him in anything, and that between him and her an obstinate 
 struggle for the preeminence was bound to arise. 
 
 "All right! we'll see who is who," he said to himself on 
 the following day, as he watched his wife with surly curi- 
 osity, and in his soul was already kindled a stormy desire 
 to begin the battle, in order that he might the sooner enjoy 
 the victory. 
 
 But four days later, ISTatalya Fominishna announced to 
 her husband that she was with child. Ignat quivered with 
 joy, embraced her heartily, and said in a dull tone: 
 
 " That's my brave Natalya! Xatasha — if it is a son! If 
 you bear me a son — I'll cover you with gold! What do I 
 say! I tell you plainly — I will be your slave! I promise 
 it as in the presence of God! I'll lie down under your feet; 
 stamp on me, if you will! " 
 
 " That will be according to God's will, not ours," she 
 replied softly, and clearly. 
 
 15 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Yes — God's! " cried Ignat bitterly, and hung his head 
 with sadness. From that moment forth he began to watch 
 his wife as if she were a little child. 
 
 "Why did you sit down by the window? Look out — 
 there is a draught on your side, and you will fall ill/' he 
 said to her severely yet aiiectionately. " Why do you run 
 up and down stairs? You will shake yourself up to your 
 injury. And you must eat more — ^you must eat for two, 
 that he may have enough." 
 
 But pregnancy rendered Natalya still more concentrated 
 and taciturn, she seemed to have withdrawn still further 
 into herself, absorbed in the beating of the new life be- 
 neath her heart. But the smile on her lips grew clearer, 
 and in her eyes there flashed up, at times, something new, 
 weak and timid, like the first flush of the dawn. 
 
 When, at last, the time for her confinement arrived— 
 it was early of an autumn morning — with the first cry of 
 pain which broke from his wife, Ignat turned pale and 
 tried to say something to her, but ended by merely waving 
 his hand and leaving the chamber to go down stairs to the 
 little room which had served his dead mother as an oratory. 
 He ordered them to bring him vodka, seated himself at the 
 table, and began to drink gloomily, as he listened to the 
 bustle in the house, and to the groans of the sufferer which 
 resounded from above. In the corner of the room, dimly 
 illuminated by the flickering flame of the shrine-lamp, the 
 faces of the holy pictures, dark and impassive, were ob- 
 scurely outlined. There, above, over his head, feet stamped 
 and shuffled, something heavy was dragged across the floor, 
 dishes rattled, and people ran hastily up and down the stair- 
 case. Everything was done quickly and in haste, but time 
 passed slowly. Subdued voices reached Ignat's ear: 
 
 " If she cannot be delivered — we must send to the church 
 and have the doors of the sanctuary opened." 
 
 16 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Vasstishka, a hanger-on of the house, entered the room 
 adjoining that in which Ignat sat, and began to pray in a 
 loud whisper: 
 
 " Oh Lord our God, — ^Who didst vouchsafe to come down 
 from heaven and be born of the holy Birth-giver of God, — 
 who knowest the infirmities of the human race — pardon 
 Thy servant — ." 
 
 Ignat cast gloomy glances at the holy pictures, sighed 
 heavily and said: 
 
 "Is it possible that it will turn out to be a daughter 
 again? *' 
 
 From time to time he rose, stood stupidly in the middle 
 of the room, and crossed himself in silence, bowing low 
 before the holy pictures, then seated himself again at the 
 table, drank vodka, which did not intoxicate him — at such 
 times, dozed — and thus spent the evening, and the whole 
 night, and the next morning, until midday — and lo, at last, 
 the midwife ran hastily down from the chamber above, cry- 
 ing to him in a shrill, joyful voice: 
 
 " I congratulate you on a son, Ignat Matvyeevitch! '' 
 
 " Are you telling the truth? " he said dully. 
 
 "Well, what's the matter with you, good sir! " 
 
 "With a sigh which proceeded from the full force of 
 his broad chest, Ignat flung himself on his knees, and in a 
 trembling voice he murmured, as he pressed his hands 
 tightly to his breast: 
 
 " Glory to Thee, oh Lord! Thou hast not willed, it ap- 
 pears that my race should die out! My sins will not be 
 left without justification in Thy sight. I thank Thee, oh 
 Lord — okh! " And immediately rising to his feet, he began 
 to give orders in stentorian tones: 
 
 "Hey! Send someone to St. Nicholas' Church for the 
 priest! Say that Ignatiy Matvyeevitch desires his presence. 
 
 17 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Ask him to be so good as to come and read the prayers for 
 a woman who has given birth to a child." 
 
 A maid came to him, and said in troubled tones: 
 
 "Ignatiy Matvyeevitch! Natalya Fominishna is asking 
 for you. She feels badly — " 
 
 "Badly? how so? It will pass off!" he bellowed, his 
 eyes sparkling with joy. " Tell her I will come at once! 
 Tell her she's a fine fellow! Tell her she'll get her con- 
 finement-gift immediately! Wait! Prepare luncheon for 
 the priest — send for my friend Mayakin! " 
 
 His huge form seemed to have grown larger, and in- 
 toxicated with joy, he flung himself awkwardly about the 
 room; he smiled, rubbed his hands, cast glances of emotion 
 at the holy pictures, and crossed himself with a flourish. 
 
 At last he went to his wife. 
 
 Then, the first thing he noticed was a tiny red body, 
 which the midwife was washing in a tub. When he saw 
 that, Ignat rose on the tips of his boot-toes, and putting 
 his hands behind him, he drew near with cautious steps, and 
 with lips amusingly pufl'ed out. But it whimpered and 
 floundered in the water, naked, helpless, pitifully — touch- 
 ing— 
 
 " What are you about — grasp him more carefully — for 
 he hasn't any bones as yet," said Ignat to the midwife in a 
 low and entreating tone. She laughed, opening her tooth- 
 less mouth and, as it were, playing ball with the baby from 
 hand to hand. 
 
 " You go off to your wife . . ." 
 
 He moved obediently towards the bed, and as he went 
 inquired: 
 
 " Well, how goes it, Natalya? " 
 
 Then, as he reached the bed, he thrust aside the curtains 
 which cast a shadow on it. 
 
 18 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "I shall not survive it," said the gentle, hoarse voice. 
 Ignat said nothing, as he gazed at his wife's face buried in 
 the white pillow, over which, like dead serpents, were scat- 
 tered her long dark locks. Yellow, lifeless, with black 
 rings around the large, widely-opened eyes, — he did not 
 recognize it. And the gaze of those terrible eyes, fixed im- 
 movably upon something afar off, beyond the wall, — was 
 strange also to Ignat. His heart, seized with a heavy fore- 
 boding, ceased its jojrf-ul beating. 
 
 " Never mind, it's nothing, — it is always so," — he said 
 softly, bending over to kiss his wife. But she moaned 
 straight in his face : 
 
 " I shall not survive it — " 
 
 Her lips were gray, cold, and when he touched them 
 with his lips, he understood that death had already laid its 
 hand upon her. 
 
 ^' Oh Lord! " he ejaculated in a frightened whisper, con- 
 scious that terror was throttling him and preventing his 
 breathing. 
 
 " Natasha! What will he do? For he needs the mother's 
 breast? Why do you behave so? " 
 
 He almost shouted at his wife. The midwife bustled 
 about her; as she dandled the crying baby in the air, she 
 talked to him in a persuasive tone, but he heard nothing, 
 and could not tear his eyes away from his wife's dreadful 
 face. Her lips moved, and he heard gentle words, but did 
 not understand them. As he sat on the edge of the bed 
 he said in a dull, and timid voice: 
 
 " Consider — he cannot get on without you — for he is a 
 little baby! Take courage; drive away the thought! Drive 
 it away " 
 
 He spoke — ^but understood that his words were super- 
 fluous. Tears welled up within him, and something heavy 
 
 19 
 
Foma Gordy^efif 
 
 as a stone, cold as an iceberg came into being in his 
 breast. 
 
 "Forgive me — farewell! Be careful — see that you don't 
 drink . /' whispered Natalya almost inaudibly. 
 
 The priest came, and covering her face with something, 
 he began, with a sigh, to read over her words of gentle 
 entreaty: 
 
 " Oh Lord God Almighty, who healest every infirmity, 
 heal also this Thy servant Natalya, who this day hath 
 borne a child, — and raise her up from the bed whereon 
 she lieth — for as spake the Prophet David: for in sin were 
 we conceived, and we are all vile in Thy sight. . ." 
 
 The old man's voice gave way, his gaunt face was stern, 
 and his garments gave forth an odor of incense. 
 
 " — preserve the child which hath been bom of her from 
 all evil, from every cruel thing, from every storm . . from 
 evil spirits of the day and of the night. . .'' 
 
 Ignat listened to the prayer and wept in silence. His 
 tears, big and hot, fell upon his wife's bare arm; but her 
 arm must have been insensible to the fall of the tears: it 
 remained motionless, and the skin did not quiver from 
 the dropping tears. Having received the prayer, Natalya 
 became unconscious and died on the following day, without 
 having said another word to anyone — died as taciturn as 
 she had lived. After providing a magnificent funeral for 
 his wife, Ignat had his son baptized, and named him Foma, 
 and, repressing his feelings, transferred the baby to the 
 family of the godfather, his old friend Mayakin, whose wife 
 had also had a child a short time previously. The death of 
 his wife sowed many a gray hair in Ignat's thick, dark 
 beard, but a new expression — a softly-gracious expression — 
 made its appearance in the surly gleam of his eyes. 
 
II 
 
 Matakin lived in a vast, two-storey house, with a large 
 garden, in which huge ancient linden-trees grew widely and 
 luxuriantly. The thick branches covered the windows of 
 the house with a close, dark lace-work, and the sun pene- 
 trated with difficulty through this curtain into the small 
 rooms, closely set with varied furniture and large chests, 
 so that a dense and austere twilight always reigned in the 
 apartments. It was a devout family — and the odor of wax, 
 incense and ohve-oil for the shrine-lamps filled the house; 
 sighs of penitence, words of prayer hovered in the air. All 
 ceremonial observances were fulfilled accurately, with de- 
 light, and into them was injected the entire free force of 
 soul of the mansion^s inhabitants. Through the gloomy, 
 stifling and heavy atmosphere of the rooms, almost with- 
 out a rustle moved female forms clad in sombre gowns, 
 bearing always an expression of spiritual contrition on their 
 countenances, and wearing always soft slippers on their 
 feet. 
 
 The family of Yakoff Tarasovitch [Mayakin consisted of 
 himself, his wife, his daughter and five female relatives, 
 of whom the youngest was thirty-four years of age. They 
 were all equally pious, lacking in individuality, and equally 
 in subjection to Antonina Ivanovna, the mistress of the 
 house, a tall, gaunt woman, with a swarthy face and stern 
 gray eyes, whose gleam was authoritative and intelligent. 
 Mayakin had also, a son, Taras, but his name was never men- 
 tioned in the family, though the friends of the family knew 
 
 21 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 that from the time when the nineteen-year-old Taras had 
 gone to Moscow to pursue his studies and he had married 
 there three years later, against his father's will, and YakoS 
 had disowned him, Taras had disappeared and no one could 
 tell where he was. It was rumored that he had heen exiled 
 to Siberia for some deed or other. 
 
 Yakoff Mayakin presented a very strange figure. Short 
 of stature; thin and alert, with a small, fiery-red beard, the 
 glance of his greenish, crafty eyes seemed to say to men 
 collectively and individually: 
 
 " Never mind, sir! Do not feel uneasy! I understand 
 you, but if you let me alone I'll not betray you." 
 
 His head resembled an egg in shape, and was large to 
 deformity. His lofty forehead, furrowed with wrinkles, 
 joined a bald spot, and it seemed as if this man had two 
 faces, — a penetrating and intelligent face, with a long, car- 
 tilaginous nose, visible to all men, — and a second face, de- 
 void of eyes and mouth, with nothing but wrinkles, behind 
 which Mayakin appeared to be hiding both eyes and lips 
 until the right time should arrive — and when it did arrive 
 he would gaze upon the w^orld with quite different eyes, and 
 smile upon it with an entirely different smile. 
 
 He was the owner of a rope-walk, and had a small shop 
 in town, near the wharves. In this shop, crammed to the 
 very ceiling with ropes, cords, hemp and tow, he had a 
 tiny den, with a squeaking glazed door. In this room stood 
 a huge, ugly, old table, and before it a deep arm-chair 
 covered with oil-cloth, in which Mayakin sat for days at a 
 time, drinking tea and reading, over and over again, the 
 same numbers of the " Moscow News," to which he had 
 subscribed year after year, all his life. He enjoyed the 
 respect of the merchant class, and the fame of a " brainy " 
 man, and he was very fond of thrusting into evidence the 
 antiquity of his family, sa3dng in his hoarse voice: 
 
 22 
 
Foma Gordyeeflf 
 
 **We Maj^akins were merchants under Mother Kath- 
 arine ^ — so I am a man of good blood." 
 
 In this family Ignat Gordyeeff^s son spent six years. In 
 his seventh year, Foma was a big-headed, broadshoiildered 
 lad, who appeared older than his years, both in stature and 
 in the gaze of his dark, almond-shaped eyes. Gentle, taciturn 
 and persistent in his childish desires, he amused himself 
 for days together with his playthings, in company with 
 Mayakin's daughter Liuba, under the silent superintendence 
 of one of the female relatives, a fat, pock-marked old spin- 
 ster who, for some reason or other, was called " Lumpy." 
 She was a thoroughly stupid creature, and appeared to be 
 afraid of something; even with the children she spoke in a 
 very low tone, using monosyllabic words. She knew a 
 multitude of prayers, but never related a single fairy-tale to 
 Foma. 
 
 Foma lived on friendly terms with the little girl, but 
 when she angered him in any way, or teased him, he turned 
 pale, his nostrils dilated, he opened his eyes ridiculously 
 wide, and administered a violent beating to her. She wept, 
 ran to her mother and complained to her, but Antonina 
 loved Foma, and paid very little heed to her daughter's 
 complaints; which served to strengthen still more the 
 children's friendship. 
 
 Foma's day was long and monotonous. As soon as he 
 had risen from bed and washed himself, he took up his 
 stand before the holy images, and prompted in a whisper 
 by pockmarked " Lumpy," he recited long prayers. Then 
 they drank tea, and with it ate a great many white rolls 
 made with milk, eggs and butter, flat cakes and patties. 
 
 ' The Empress Katherine II. Matushka, " mother," or " dear little 
 mother," is a term of affectionate respect to superiors or equals. — 
 Translator. 
 
 23 
 
Fom& Gordyeeff 
 
 After tea — ^in summer — the children betook themselves to 
 the huge, overgrown garden, which sloped down to a ravine, 
 whose bottom Was always dark. The ravine exhaled damp- 
 ness and something which inspired dread. The children 
 were not allowed to approach even the brink of the ravine, 
 and this fact inspired them with terror of it. In winter, 
 from the hour of morning tea until dinner, they played in 
 the house, if it was very cold out of doors, or went out and 
 coasted down huge ice-hills. They dined at midday — 
 " Eussian fashion,*^ as Mayakin said. First a huge tureen 
 of greasy cabbage-soup with slices of rye bread which had 
 been dried in the oven floating in it, was placed on the 
 table; but there was no meat in it. Next they ate the same 
 soup with meat cut up in small bits; then came the roast — 
 a pig, a goose, veal or pig-belly stuffed with buckwheat 
 groats; then came another tureen of " pluck " or vermicelli 
 soup: and all this wound up with some sort of sweet dish, 
 or one made of butter, eggs and milk. They drank kvas,^ 
 either cranberry, juniper or rye, — Antonina Ivanovna al- 
 ways had several sorts on hand. They ate in silence, merely 
 sighing now and then with weariness; a separate bowl of 
 soup for two was provided for the children, while all the 
 elder people ate from the other. Stupefied by this meal, 
 they lay down for a nap, and for the next two or three hours 
 nothing was to be heard in Mayakin's house but snores and 
 somnolent sighs. 
 
 When they woke up, they drank tea, and after tea they 
 discussed the news of the town, the church choristers, the 
 deacons, the weddings, the disgraceful conduct of one mer- 
 chant or another of their acquaintance. — After tea Mayakin 
 would say to his wife: 
 
 * A non-intoxicating beverage generally made of rye meal, or some 
 rye bread with water and fermented. — Translator. 
 
 24 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Well, now, mother, fetch hither the Bible." 
 
 Most frequently of all Yakoff Tarasovitch read the Book 
 of Job. After he had placed on his huge nose, in shape 
 like the beak of a bird of prey, a pair of spectacles with 
 heavy silver rims, he stared at all present in turn to see 
 whether they were all in their places. 
 
 There they all sat, where he was accustomed to see them, 
 and their faces bore th-e dull and timorous expression of 
 piety which he knew so well. 
 
 " There was a man in the Land of Uz," began Mayakin 
 in his hoarse voice, and Foma, who sat beside Liiiba on 
 the divan in the corner of the room, knew that his god- 
 father would immediately pause and stroke his bald spot. 
 As he sat and listened, he pictured to himself that man 
 from the land of Uz. The man was tall and naked, his 
 eyes were immense, like those of the holy image of the 
 Saviour-not-made-with-hands, and his voice was like a 
 huge brass trumpet, like those which soldiers play upon in 
 camp. The man grew bigger every minute; he shot up 
 to the very sky, and plunged his hands into the clouds, and 
 rending them apart, shouted in a terrible voice: 
 
 " Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and 
 whom God hath hedged in with darkness? " 
 
 Foma was frightened and began to tremble: his drowsi- 
 ness fled, he heard the voice of his god-father, who re- 
 marked with fine sarcasm, as he plucked at his beard: 
 
 " Well, he was very daring." 
 
 Foma knew that his god-father was saying this concern- 
 ing the man from the land of Uz, and his god-father's 
 smile calmed the boy. That man would not break down 
 the sky or tear it in pieces with his terrible hands. And 
 again Foma saw the man; — he was sitting on the ground, 
 " his body was clothed with worms, and clods of dust; his 
 
 25 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 skin was broken and become loathsome." But now he was 
 small and pitiful, he was just like the poor beggars on the 
 church steps. 
 
 Now he speaks: 
 
 " What is man that thou shouldest magnify him, and 
 that thou shouldest set thine heart upon him? " 
 
 " He was deemed worthy — the righteous man," said the 
 female auditors with a sigh. Yakoff Mayakin stared at 
 them, grinning, and said: 
 
 " Fools . . . Take those children away to bed." 
 
 Ignat came to Mayakin's house every day, brought his 
 son playthings, seized him in his arms and squeezed him, 
 but now and then, he said to him with displeasure, and with 
 badly-dissimulated uneasiness: 
 
 " Why are you such a shy fellow? Phe — e — ewl Why 
 don't you laugh more? " 
 
 And he complained to his crony: 
 
 " I'm afraid Foma takes after his mother. His eyes are 
 not merry. Any more than hers were." 
 
 " It's very early for you to feel uneasy," laughed 
 Mayakin. 
 
 He also loved his godson, and when, one day, Ignat 
 announced to him that he was going to take Foma home 
 with him, Mayakin was genuinely distressed. 
 
 " Leave him here," he entreated. " You see — ^the little 
 lad has become used to our ways: he'll cry there — " 
 
 " He'll stop that after a while, — I didn't beget a son for 
 your benefit. The atmosphere in your house is heavy, — 
 tedious, exactly as in a forest-monastery of Old Believers. 
 It is injurious to the child. And it is not cheerful for me 
 without him. When I come home, — the house is empty. 
 I don't want to look at anything. I can't move over to 
 your house for his sake — I'm not bound to order my life 
 
 26 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 to suit him, but he is bound to conform to my ideas. That's 
 the state of the case. Moreover, my sister Anfisa has come 
 to live with me now — there will be some one to look after 
 him." 
 
 So the little boy was taken to his father's house. 
 
 There he was received by a ridiculous old woman, with 
 a long, hooked nose, and a huge, toothless mouth. She was 
 tall, round-shouldered, clad in a gray gown, her gray hair 
 covered with a black silk cap, and at first the boy did not 
 like her — was even afraid of her. But when he saw her 
 black eyes smiling at him out of her wrinkled visage, — 
 he immediately thrust his head confidingly on her knees. 
 
 " My poor little orphan! " she said in a velvety voice, 
 which quivered from fulness of resonance, and passed her 
 hand gently over his face. "Why, how he clings — my 
 dear child! " 
 
 There was something peculiarly sweet and soft in her 
 caress, something entirely new to Foma, and he gazed into 
 the old woman's eyes with curiosity and expectation de- 
 picted on his little face. The old woman introduced him 
 into a world which was new and hitherto unknown to him. 
 The first day, when she put him to bed, she sat down be- 
 side him, bent over the child and asked him: 
 
 " Shall I tell you a fairy-story, Fomushka? " 
 
 And from that time forth Foma always fell asleep to 
 the velvety sounds of the old woman's voice, conjuring up 
 before him the life of enchantment. Epic heroes who con- 
 quered monsters, wise daughters of Kings, fools who proved 
 themselves wiser still — whole throngs of new and wondrous 
 personages passed in review before the fascinated imagina- 
 tion of the boy, and eagerly nourished his soul with the 
 healthy beauty of popular creative power. Inexhaustible 
 were the treasures of memory and fancy in this old woman, 
 
 27 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 who often through his dreamy dozing, appeared to the boy 
 to resemble now the Witch- Woman of the legends — only 
 a good and kind Witch- Woman; or again the beautiful 
 Vasilisa Most- Wise. With eyes very wide open, and hold- 
 ing his breath, the boy stared through the nocturnal gloom 
 which filled the chamber, and beheld it quiver gently from 
 the spark-like flame of the shrine-lamp, which burned in 
 front of the holy picture. — And Foma peopled it with won- 
 derful pictures of the life of fairyland. Speechless but 
 living shadows crept along the walls and across the floor, 
 and the boy watched their life with fear and delight, and 
 endowed them with forms, with colors — and after having 
 created life from them — with one movement of his eye- 
 lashes, he destroyed it, in the twinkling of an eye. Some 
 new element made its appearance in his dark eyes — some- 
 thing more childlike and ingenuous, less serious; solitude 
 and darkness, by awakening in him a painful feeling of 
 expectancy of something or other, troubled, and excited his 
 curiosity, made him retreat to a dark corner, and peer into 
 it to discover what was hidden there, under the thick mantle 
 of gloom? He went, found nothing, but never abandoned 
 the hope that he might find something . . 
 
 As for his father, — he feared and respected him. Ignat's 
 huge size, his trumpet-like, bubbling voice, his bearded 
 face, his head in its thick cap of gray hair, his long, sturdy 
 arms, and flashing eyes — all these imparted to Ignat a like- 
 ness to the robbers of the fairy-tales. 
 
 Foma quivered when he heard his voice, or his firm, 
 heavy footsteps; but when his father, smiling amiably and 
 shouting something tender until the walls rang again, took 
 him upon his knees, or tossed him high in the air with his 
 broad palms — ^the little boy's fear vanished. 
 
 One day, when he was already in his eighth year, he 
 
 38 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 asked his father, who had just returned from a prolonged 
 journey in some direction: 
 
 " Daddy! Where have you been? ^' 
 
 " Travelling on the Volga." 
 
 '* Eobbing — as a pirate? " asked Foma quietly. 
 
 " Wha — at?" said Ignat slowly, and his brows quivered. 
 
 *'But you are a pirate, aren't you, daddy? You see, I 
 know " — said Foma with a sly wink, delighted to have so 
 easily guessed his father's life which was a secret to him. 
 
 " I am — a merchant! " said Ignat sternly; but after 
 thinking the matter over, he smiled good-naturedly, and 
 added: **and you are a little fool! I deal in grain, I run 
 steamers . . . you have seen the 'Yermak?' Well 
 then, that steamer belongs to me — and to you." 
 
 " It's awfully big," remarked Foma, with a sigh. 
 
 " Well, I'll buy you a little one, as long as you are little 
 yourself . . . Shall I?" 
 
 "All right!" assented Foma, but after a thoughtful si- 
 lence he began again, slowly, with regret: 
 
 *' But I thought you were a pirate al-so, like a hero . ." 
 
 " I tell you that I am a merchant! " repeated Ignat im- 
 pressively, and the look which he bent on the disappointed 
 face of his son was rather displeased and almost timid. 
 
 " Like old Feodor, who peddles rolls? " asked Fomd, after 
 he had thought it over. 
 
 " Well, yes, like him — only I am richer, I have a great 
 deal more money than Feodor has." 
 
 " A great deal of money? " 
 
 " Well — some people have more." 
 
 " How many casks have you? " 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 " Of money? " 
 
 " You little fool! Is money measured by casks? " 
 
 29 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "How else?" exclaimed Foma vivaciously, and turning 
 his face towards his father, he began hastily to tell him: 
 " Why the brigand Maksimka entered one town, and filled 
 twelve casks with money at the house of a rich man there 
 — and got a lot of silver, and robbed the church . . . and 
 chopped up one man with his sword, and flung him down 
 from the belfry, — because the man was beginning to ring 
 an alarm-peal . . ." 
 
 "Did your aunt tell you all that?" inquired Ignat, ad- 
 miring his son's animation. 
 
 "Yes, what of it?" 
 
 "Nothing!" replied Ignat, with a laugh. "So you 
 actually have promoted your father to a pirate " 
 
 " But perhaps you were one sometime, long ago? " Foma 
 reverted to his first idea, and from his face it was plain 
 that he very strongly desired to receive an afl^rmative 
 answer. 
 
 " I never was — drop that." 
 
 " You never were? " 
 
 "Don't I tell you that I never was! What a boy you 
 are! Is it nice to be a pirate? Pirates are all sinners. 
 They don't believe in God — they rob churches — they are 
 all anathematized in the churches. Well — now — I'll tell 
 you what, my son, you must go to school! It's high time, 
 my boy, you are nearly nine years old. So begin, and God 
 be with you. You shall study all winter, and in the spring 
 I will take you for a voyage on the Volga with me." 
 
 " Am I to go to school? " asked Foma timidly. 
 
 " You shall study at home first, with your aunt." 
 
 And soon the boy sat down in the morning at his table, 
 and drawing his finger over the Slavonic alphabet, began 
 to repeat after his aunt: 
 
 " Az (a) . . buki (b) . . vyedi (v) '' 
 
 30 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 When they reached hra, vra, gra, dra, the boy was un- 
 able, for a long time, to read these syllables without laugh- 
 ing. Foma mastered all this wisdom easily, almost without 
 an effort, and soon he began to read the first psalm of the 
 first selection from the Psalter: 
 
 '* Bles-sed is the man, who hath not wal-ked 
 
 in the coun-sel of the un-god-ly . . ." 
 
 " That^s it, my darling, that's it! That's exactly right, 
 Fomushka ! " his aunt kept repeating to him with loving 
 delight at his progress. 
 
 " You're a smart fellow, Foma! " said Ignat approvingly 
 and seriously, when he was informed of his son's progress. 
 " In the spring we will go to Astrakhan, for fish, and in the 
 autumn you shall go to school ! " 
 
 The boy's life ran on as smoothly as a ball rolls down 
 hill. His aunt was not only his teacher but his comrade in 
 his play. Litiba Mayakin came; and in their society the 
 old woman was transformed into just such another merry 
 child as they. They played at hide and seek, and blind 
 man's buff: it pleased and amused the children to see 
 Anfisa, her eyes blinded with a kerchief, and her arms 
 widely extended, stalking cautiously about the room, yet 
 stumbling against the tables and chairs; or creeping into 
 divers commodious corners in search of them, and saying: 
 
 " Oh the rogues, oh the brigands! where have they hid- 
 den themselves ? Hey?" I 
 
 And the sun shone gaily and amiably upon that aged, 
 wom-oat body, which had preserved its youthful spirit, 
 upon the old life which was embellishing, to the best of its 
 powers and understanding, the life-path of two children. 
 
 Ignat went off early to the Exchange, sometimes did not 
 make his appearance until it was almost evening, and in 
 the evening went to the city council, to the houses of his 
 
 31 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 friends or to some other place. Sometimes he arrived at 
 home in a state of intoxication. At first, Foma ran away 
 and hid from him on such occasions; afterwards he grew 
 accustomed to it, and liked his father that way even better^ 
 than when he was sober: he was kinder, simpler and rather 
 absurd. If this happened at night the boy was always 
 awakened by his father's trumpet-like voice: 
 
 "Anfisa — a! My own sister! Let me go to my son — 
 to my heir — let me in! '' 
 
 " Go away, go away, — get to sleep, you impious fiend! 
 Have you been getting drunk again, hey? Why, your hair 
 is gray . . ." 
 
 *'Anfisa? Can't I see my son? Just a peep, with one 
 eye?" 
 
 " May both your eyes burst with your drunkenness! " 
 
 Foma knew that his aunt would not admit his father, 
 and fell asleep again, lulled by their voices. But when 
 Ignat made his appearance in a state of intoxication by 
 day, — his huge paws immediately seized upon his son, and 
 with a drunken, happy smile the father carried Foma about 
 the house, and asked him: 
 
 "Fomka! What do you want? Speak! Presents? 
 Toys? Come, ask me! For you know — there's nothing in 
 the world that I will not buy for you. I have a million! 
 Ha, ha, ha! And there will be still more! Do you under- 
 stand? All is yours. Ha, ha!" 
 
 And all of a sudden his ecstasy was extinguished, as a 
 candle is extinguished by a strong gust of wind. His 
 drunken face quivered, his reddened eyes, filled with tears, 
 and his lips expanded in a timid, depressed smile. 
 
 "Anfisa! What if he were to die — what should I do 
 then? " 
 
 And, after these words, rage overpowered him. 
 
 82 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Fll bum up everything!" he roared, fixing his eyes 
 wildly on some spot in a dark corner of the room. — "Fll 
 destroy everything! I'll blow it up with powder! " 
 
 " Stop that, you ugly phiz! Do you wish to scare the 
 child? Do you wish to make him fall ill? " exhorted Anfisa: 
 and this was enough to make Ignat disappear in a trice, 
 muttering: 
 
 " Well — ^well — well! I'm going, I'm going — only don't 
 scream at me! Don't make such a row — don't frighten 
 him . ." 
 
 And if Foma did not feel well, his father, abandoning all 
 his business, never left the house, and worried his sister 
 and his son with stupid questions and advice, strode about 
 the house with terror depicted in his eyes, quite unlike 
 himself, and groaned. 
 
 "Why do you anger God?" said Anfisa. "Look out, 
 or your grumbling will reach the Lord's ear and He will 
 chastize you for your complaints about His mercies towards 
 you." 
 
 " Eh, sister! " sighed Ignat. " Just imagine ^if any- 
 thing were to happen to him — my whole life would be 
 ruined! What have I lived for? I don't know . . ." 
 
 Similar scenes and abrupt transitions in his father from 
 one mood to another frightened the boy at first, but he 
 soon became accustomed to them, and when, from the win- 
 dow, he beheld his father alighting from his sledge, he 
 would remark indifferently: 
 
 " Aunty! Daddy has come home drunk again! " 
 
 Spring came, and Ignat, in fulfilment of his promise, 
 took his son with him on the steamer, and a new life, rich 
 in impressions, unrolled itself before Foma's vision. 
 
 Swiftly down stream floated the handsome and powerful 
 
 33 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Yermak/' merchant Gordyeeff's steam-tug, and on both 
 sides of it the shores of that mighty beauty, the Volga, 
 moved to meet it, — the left shore all bathed in sunshine, 
 extended to the very horizon, like a splendid green carpet, 
 while the right thrust its cliffs, overgrown with forest, up 
 into the sky, and sank into surly repose. 
 
 Between them, in a magnificent sweep, flowed the broad- 
 breasted Volga; triumphantly, without haste flow her 
 waters, conscious of their unconquerable power; the hill- 
 shore was reflected in them like a dark shadow, but on the 
 left side she w^as adorned with gold and emerald velvet by 
 the sandy borders of the reefs, and the broad meadows. 
 Now here, now there, on the hills, and in the meadows, ap- 
 peared villages, the sun sparkled in the window-panes of 
 the cottages, and upon the roofs of yellow straw; the 
 crosses of the churches gleamed through the foliage of the 
 trees, the gray wings of the mills rotated lazily through the 
 air, the smoke from the chimneys of a factory curled sky- 
 ward in thick black wreaths. Throngs of children in blue, 
 red and white blouses, stood upon the bank, greeting the 
 steamer with loud shouts which awakened the river from 
 its quietude; and from under the steamer's wheels, merry 
 waves flowed swiftly to the feet of the children and plashed 
 upon the shore. Here a whole covey of children had seated 
 themselves in a boat, and rowed hastily into midstream, in 
 order that they mi^t rock upon the waves as upon the 
 surge of the sea. Above the surface of the water peeped 
 forth the crests of trees, sometimes whole clumps of them, 
 drowned in the spring flood, and stood up amid the water 
 like islands. From some spot on the bank, with a heavy 
 sigh, rang out the mournful song: 
 
 " — eh — — — — heave-ho — once more! " 
 The steamer passed rafts, splashing them with water. 
 
 34 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 The logs moved steadily and continuously onward pro- 
 pelled by the surge of the recurring waves; the raftsmen 
 in their blue blouses, as they tottered with the shock, gazed 
 at the steamer and laughed and shouted inaudible remarks. 
 A handsome, big-bodied, fiat-bottomed barge, put together 
 with wooden pegs, floated sideways down the river: the 
 yellow planks with which it was laden shone like gold, and 
 were dimly reflected in the turbid water of the spring flood. 
 A passenger-steamer coming to meet them whistled, and 
 the dull echo of the whistle lost itself in the forest, in the 
 clefts of the hill-shore, and died away there. In the middle 
 of the stream, the waves from the two steamers came to- 
 gether and beat against their sides, and the vessels rocked 
 on the water. On the slopes of the hill-shore stretched 
 green carpets of winter-sown grain, brown strips of fallow 
 land, and black strips ploughed for spring grain. Birds, 
 like little specks in air, hovered over them, and were plainly 
 visible against the blue expanse of sky; a flock was graz- 
 ing near at hand, — from a distance it appeared like a toy 
 flock, and the tiny figure of the shepherd stood supported 
 on his staff gazing at the river. 
 
 On all sides was the gleaming water, on all sides were 
 space and freedom, cheerfully-green meadows, and gra- 
 ciously-clear blue sky; in the quiet motion of the water, 
 restrained power could be felt; in the heaven above it shone 
 the beautiful sun, the air was saturated with the fragrance 
 of evergreen trees, and the fresh scent of foliage. The 
 shores advanced in greeting, soothing the eye and the soul 
 with their beauty, and new pictures were constantly un- 
 folded upon them. 
 
 Oq ever ything round about rested the stamp of a cer- 
 tain slu ggishne s s: everything — ^nature and people — -lived 
 awkw ardly, lazily; — ^but in this laziness there was a certain 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 peculiar grace and, it would seem that behind the laziness 
 was concealed a huge forc e, an unconcm erable force, as 
 y €ni5lionH(ilo u» of 'itsfelflT not having, as^yet, created ^or 
 itself clear desires and aims. . . . And the absence of 
 consciousness in this half-somnolent existence cast upon 
 its whole beautiful expanse a shade of melanc holy. Sub- 
 missive patience, the silent expectation of something new 
 and more active was audible even in the call of the cuckoo, 
 as it flew with the wind from the shore, over the river. The 
 mournful songs, also, seemed to entreat aid from some one. 
 And, at times, the audacity of despair rang through them. 
 The river made answer to the songs with sighs. And the 
 crests of the trees rocked pensively . . . Silence. — 
 
 Foma passed entire days on the captain's bridge with his 
 father. Silently, with eyes very wide open, he gazed at 
 the endless panorama of the shores, and it seemed to him 
 that he was moving along a broad silver pathway towards 
 those wondrous kingdoms where dwelt the enchanters and 
 epic heroes of the familiar fairy-tales. At times he at- 
 tempted to interrogate his father about what he saw. Ignat 
 answered him willingly and in detail, but his answers did 
 not please the boy: they contained nothing interesting or 
 comprehensible to him, and he heard nothing concern- 
 ing what he would have liked to hear. One day he an- 
 nounced to his father, with a sigh: 
 
 ^' Aunty Anf isa knows better than you do." 
 
 " What does she know? " inquired Ignat, laughing. 
 
 " Everything," replied the boy with conviction. 
 
 The wondrous kingdoms did not make their appearance. 
 But towns frequently appeared on the banks of the stream, 
 towns precisely like the one in which Foma lived. Some 
 of them were larger, some smaller; but ^he people, the 
 houses, the churches — everything in them was exactly the 
 
 36 
 
Foma Gordy6eff 
 
 same as in his native town. Foma inspected them in his 
 father's company, was dissatisfied with them, and returned 
 to the steamer cross and tired. 
 
 " Tomorrow we shall reach Astrakhan," said Ignat one 
 day. 
 
 " And it— is it like all the others? " 
 
 " Well, yes, of course . . . but what of that ? '^ 
 
 " And beyond it — what is there ? " 
 
 " The sea — the Caspian Sea it is called." 
 
 " And what is there in it? " 
 
 "Fish, you queer creature! What can there be in the 
 water? " 
 
 " The city of Kitezh stands in the water." 
 
 " That — that's quite a different thing 1 In Kitezh dwelt 
 only upright people." 
 
 " And there are no upright towns in the water? " 
 
 "No," said Ignat, and added after a pause: "it is sea 
 water — it is bitter, and cannot be drunk." 
 
 "And beyond the sea — are there more countries?" 
 
 " Of course; don't you suppose the sea must have limits? 
 It is like a bowl." 
 
 "And are there more towns there?" 
 
 " Yes — but what of that ? Only, it's no longer our coun- 
 try there, but Persia. You have seen the Persians at the 
 Fair,^ dealing in dried peaches and apricots and pistachio 
 nuts?" 
 
 " Yes, I have seen them," replied Foma, and became pen- 
 sive. 
 
 One day he asked his father: 
 
 " Is there much more land? " 
 
 ' The Fair of Nighny Novgorod, -where the scene is chiefly laid we 
 may assume ; although the name of the town is never mentioned in the 
 story. — Translator. 
 
 37 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "A great deal more, my dear boy! If you were to 
 traverse all of it afoot, — ^why, you couldn't walk round it 
 all in ten years." Ignat talked a long time to his son about 
 the magnitude of the earth, and wound up by saying: 
 
 "And still no one knows how much there is of it, or 
 where it ends." 
 
 " And is everything alike all over it? " 
 
 " What do you mean by that? " 
 
 " Towns and all that—" 
 
 " Well, of course there are towns and towns . . Houses, 
 streets, — and everything as it should be." 
 
 After a number of these conversations the boy began 
 to stare less frequently and intently into the distance with 
 an inquiring gaze in his black eyes. 
 
 The crew of the steamer loved him, and he loved all 
 those fine fellows, browned with sun and wind, who jested 
 merrily with him. They rigged up for him divers fishing 
 apparatus, made boats of bark, amused him, rowed him 
 about on the river during their halts, while Ignat went off 
 to the town on business. The boy often heard them scold- 
 ing about his father, but he paid no particular attention to 
 this, and never repeated to his father what he had heard 
 about him. But one day, in Astrakhan, when the steamer 
 was taking on wood for fuel, Foma heard the voice of Petro- 
 vitch, the engineer: 
 
 " He ordered us to take on as much wood — phew; he's 
 a ridiculous man! He loads the steamer to the very deck 
 and then storms ... * You're ruining the machinery,' 
 he says, ^ you pour on too much oil altogether — ' " 
 
 The voice of the gray haired, surly pilot replied: 
 
 " And his greed is boundless — fuel is cheap here, so he's 
 trying . . . He's a greedy devil! " 
 
 " Oh, a regular curmudgeon! " 
 
 88 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 This word, repeated several times in succession, fixed it- 
 self in Foma's memory, and in the evening, as he was eat- 
 ing supper with his father, he suddenly said to him: 
 
 "Daddy!" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Are you greedy? " 
 
 In reply to his father's questions he repeated to him the 
 conversation between the pilot and the engineer. Ignat's 
 face clouded over, and his eyes flashed with anger. 
 
 " So that's what they say! " he ejaculated, shaking his 
 head. " Well, never you mind — don't listen to them. 
 They're not fit companions for you, — keep away from them. 
 You are their master, they are your servants, if you must 
 know it. If you and I take a fancy, we can fling every 
 man Jack of them ashore — they come cheap, and they are 
 as plentiful everywhere as dogs with undipped tails. Do 
 you understand? They may say a lot of evil about me. 
 But what they'll say later on is — that I'm completely their 
 master. This whole business arises from the fact that I am 
 lucky and rich, and everyone envies rich men. The fortu- 
 nate man is regarded as everyone's enemy." 
 
 A couple of days later a new pilot and a new engineer 
 made their appearance on the steamer. 
 
 " Where is Yakoff ? " asked the boy. 
 
 " I have paid him off — dismissed him.'' 
 
 " What for? " asked Foma wonderingly. 
 
 " For that same affair." 
 
 "AndPetrovitch?" 
 
 " Has gone the same road." 
 
 Foma was delighted that his father was able so promptly 
 
 to change the men on the steamer. He smiled at his 
 
 father, and going to the lower deck, he approached a sailor 
 
 who was sitting on a log, and ravelling out a bit of rope 
 
 to make a swab.- 
 
 39 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " We've got a new pilot/' announced Foma. 
 
 "I know it. I hope you're well, Foma Ignatieviteh! 
 How did you sleep, and did you rest well? " 
 
 " And a new engineer . ." 
 
 " Yes . . Are you sorry for Petrovitch? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " No ? But he was very kind to you." 
 
 " But why did he abuse my daddy? " 
 
 "Oh? Did he abuse him?" 
 
 " Yes, for I heard him." 
 
 " Hum-m! And your father heard him also, of course? " 
 
 " No, I told him about it." 
 
 " You . . Well! " drawled the sailor, stopped short, 
 and fell to work again. 
 
 "And my daddy says: 'You're the master here . . 
 you can discharge them all, if you wish,' he says." 
 
 "Just so," remarked the sailor, staring gloomily at the 
 boy, who was so vivaciously bragging to him about his 
 power. From that day forth Foma observed that the crew 
 assumed a different attitude towards him, somehow, from 
 the one they had held previously: some became more 
 obliging and amiable, others would not speak to him, or 
 if they spoke it was angrily and not at all in an amusing 
 way as it had been before. Foma liked to watch them 
 scrub the deck; with their trousers rolled up to their knees 
 — when they were not discarded altogether — the sailors, 
 armed with swabs and brushes, ran skilfully about the deck, 
 flung water on it from buckets, splashed each other, 
 laughed, shouted, tumbled down — streams of water flowed 
 in every direction, and the lively uproar of the men mingled 
 with their cheerful plashing. Before this the boy not 
 only had never been in the sailors' way during this play- 
 ful and easy work, but he had taken an active share, pour- 
 
 40 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ing water over them, and laughingly, fleeing hefore their 
 threats to duck him. But after Yakoff and Petrovitch's 
 dismissal, he felt that he was now in everybody's way, no 
 one wished to play with him, and everyone looked un- 
 graciously at him. Surprised and saddened, he left the 
 deck and went up to the pilot house, sat down there and 
 began to gaze pensively and with a sense of affront, at the 
 distant blue shore, and the jagged strip of forest upon it. 
 Meanwhile, down on the deck below, the water splashed 
 playfully and the sailors laughed merrily. He wanted very 
 much to go to them, but something kept him from doing so. 
 
 " Keep away from them," — he recalled his father's 
 words: " You are their master." 
 
 Then he felt hke shouting something at the sailors — 
 something threatening and masterful, such as his father 
 was in the habit of shouting at them. For a long time 
 he meditated on what it should be. And he could think 
 of nothing. Two days — three days more passed, and by 
 that time he clearly understood that the crew did not like 
 him. After this he found life on the steamer very tire- 
 some, and more and more frequently, from out of the mot- 
 ley-hued mist of his new impressions, stood forth before 
 Foma the image which had been overshadowed by them, 
 of his kind and loving aunt Anfisa, with her stories, 
 her smiles and her soft, resonant laughter, that breathed 
 into the boy's soul a cheering warmth. He still lived 
 in the world of fairy-tales, but the invisible and piti- 
 less hand of reality was already zealously tearing away the 
 beautiful and delicate web of the marvellous, through which 
 the boy gazed on everything around him; Foma's eyes 
 grew more keen: a conscious desire to investigate made its 
 appearance in them, and the thirst to understand began to 
 resound in the questions he put to his father — to under- 
 
 41 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 \jlstand^_what threads and springs regulate the actions of 
 1 men? 
 
 One day this scene was enacted in his presence: the 
 sailors were carrying wood and one of them, young, curly- 
 headed and jolly Efim, as he traversed the deck with the 
 pole-barrow, said in a loud and angry tone: 
 
 " No, this is downright remorseless! I made no contract 
 to haul wood. A sailor — that's all right, your work is plain 
 enough, — but haul wood to boot — not much! It's the same 
 as flaying me of the skin which I didn't sell: — it's out- 
 rageous! A nice sort of master he is, to suck the very mar- 
 row out of folks! " 
 
 The boy heard this grumbling and knew that it referred 
 to his father. He saw too, that although Efim grumbled, 
 he had more wood on his poles than the others, and walked 
 faster. None of the sailors made any reply to Efim's 
 grumbling, and even the one who was his partner with 
 the poles remained silent, merely protesting now and then 
 at the zeal with which Efim loaded the wood on the poles. 
 
 "Enough!" he said surlily: "You're not loading a 
 horse! " 
 
 " And do you hold your tongue. You're yoked, so don't 
 y kick over the traces. — And if he does suck the blood out of 
 you — still, hold your tongue — ^what can you say? " 
 
 All at once Ignat made his appearance, no one knew 
 whence, stepped up to the sailor and taking up his stand in 
 front of him, inquired gruffly: 
 
 " What are you talking about? " 
 
 " I'm talking, — evidently, — as best I can," replied Efim 
 stammering. " There was no bargain that I should remain 
 dumb. . ." 
 
 "And who is it that's going to suck that blood?" in- 
 quired Ignat, stroking his beard. 
 
 42 
 
Foma Gordyeeff __ 
 
 The sailor, perceiving that he had put his foot in it, and 
 that there was no way of wriggling out of the scrape, flung 
 down the piece of wood, wiped his hands on his trousers 
 and looking Ignat straight in the face, said boldly: 
 
 " And ain't I right? Aren't you going to suck it . ." 
 
 "I?" 
 
 "Yes, you." 
 
 Foma saw his father raise his hand, — a sort of piercing 
 shriek rang out, and the sailor fell heavily on the fire-wood. 
 He rose to his feet again immediately, and went on with his 
 work in silence. Blood dripped from his wounded face 
 upon the white bark of the birch logs; he wiped it off with 
 the sleeve of his blouse, looked at the sleeve, and sighed, 
 but held his peace. And when he passed Foma with the 
 poles laden with wood, two large, turbid tears quivered on 
 his face, and on the bridge of his nose, and the boy saw 
 them. 
 
 As he ate his dinner with his father, he was thoughtful, 
 and scrutinized Ignat with fear in his eyes. 
 
 " Why do you frown? " asked his father affectionately. 
 
 " Because " 
 
 " Perhaps you feel ill? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Good. If's there's anything the matter with you, speak 
 out." 
 
 "You are very strong," said the boy all at once, in a 
 thoughtful manner. 
 
 "I? Oh fairly — God has not been unkind to me on that 
 score." 
 
 " Wha-at a crack you hit him a while ago! " exclaimed 
 the boy softly, hanging his head. 
 
 Ignat was carrying to his mouth a piece of bread smear* 
 with caviar, but his hand paused, stopped short by his sc 
 
 43 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 exclamation; he looked inquiringly at his boy's bowed head, 
 and inquired: 
 
 "Youmean— Efimka?" 
 
 "Yes — you brought blood — and he wept as he walked 
 afterwards," went on the boy in a low tone. 
 
 " Mm-m/' growled Ignat, as he chewed his mouthful. 
 " Well — are you sorry for him? " 
 
 " Sorry! " said Foma, with tears in his voice. 
 
 " Well — ^you see — " said Ignat. Then, after a pause, he 
 poured out a glass of brandy, drank it, and began sternly 
 and impressively: 
 
 " There's no occasion for pitying him. He was bawling 
 without cause, and he got what he deserved. I know him: 
 he's a good lad, zealous, robust, and — no fool. But it's not 
 his place to pass judgment: I can do that, for I'm the 
 master. 'Tis no easy thing to be the master. He'll not 
 die of that whack, but he'll be the wiser for it. That's the 
 state of the case. Eh, Foma! You're a child — and you 
 do not understand at all — and I must teach you how to 
 live. Perhaps I have not much longer to live on earth." 
 
 Ignat paused, drank some more liquor, and began again 
 argumentatively : 
 
 " You do well to pity people. Only, you must use judg- 
 ment with your pity. First consider the man, find out what 
 he is like, what use can be made of him. And if you see 
 that he is a strong and capable man, help him if you like. 
 But if a man is weak, not inclined to work — spit on him 
 and go your way. And you must know that when a man 
 complains about everything, and cries out and groans, — he's 
 not worth more than two kopeks, he's not worthy of pity, 
 and will be of no use to you if you do help him! . . . and 
 ^e others will only get soured and will be spoiled by your 
 
 y for him. When you lived with your god-father, you 
 
 44 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 had a chance to see all sorts of riff-raff: those pilgrims, 
 female parasites, unfortunate folks . . . and various sorts ^ 
 of rabble. Forget them — they are not people, and they are 
 good for nothing like nut-shells in the world. They^re a 
 sort of fleas, bugs and other filth. And they do not live for 
 God — they have no God, and in vain do they call upon His 
 name, to move fools to pity, that they may fill their bellies 
 through people's compassion. They live for their bellies, 
 and they do not know how to do anything except to drink, 
 and gobble, and eat, and snore — and all you get from them 
 is the ruin of your soul. They'll be a stumbling-block for 
 you, that's all. And a good man among them is like a 
 sound apple among rotten ones — he is likely to be speedily 
 spoiled, and no one will be the gainer by it. But you are 
 very young — you cannot understand my words. . . Do 
 you aid the man who in misfortune is a stoic — perhaps he 
 will not ask your aid, so do you guess his need of it your- v^ 
 self, and help him without his having asked; but if anyone 
 is proud, and is likely to take offense at your aid — do not 
 let him know that you are helping him. That's the way to 
 behave sensibly! 
 
 " For instance, take an affair like this. Two planks lie 
 in the mud, — one rotten, the other a fine, sound block. In 
 such a case, what ought you to do ? Of what use is a rotten ^ 
 plank? Let it alone, leave it lying in the mud, you can 
 walk on it to keep your feet from getting dirty. But if 
 the board is sound — pick it up, and lay it in the sun; it 
 will be of use to some one else if not to you. That's the 
 way, my little son! Hearken to me and remember. Well, 
 now — there's no occasion for pitying Efimka — he's a prac- 
 tical fellow, he understands his own value, — you won't 
 knock the soul out of him with one box on the ear. Now 
 I'm going to keep my eyes on him for a week, and then 
 
 45 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 I'll promote him to be steersman, and before you know it, 
 he'll be pilot — and if he's made captain it won't daunt him 
 — he'll make a clever captain. That's the way men grow 
 up. I've been through that school myself, my dear fellow, 
 and swallowed a good lot of thumps myself, when I was 
 of his age. Life is not an affectionate mother to us all, 
 my dear son, but she is our stern mistress." 
 I Ignat talked for a couple of hours with his son, told him 
 about his youth, his labors, men and their terrible power 
 and weakness, how they love and delight to pretend that 
 they are unfortunate, in order that they may live at the 
 expense of others; then again about himself, how from a 
 common laborer he had risen to be the head of a great 
 business. 
 
 The boy listened to him, stared at him, and felt that 
 / somehow, his father was coming nearer to him every mo- 
 ment. And although his father's narratives contained none 
 of the elements in which Anfisa's stories abounded, on the 
 other hand, they had in them something new, — something 
 clearer and more comprehensible than the stories had, and 
 no less interesting than they. A warm, strong feeling be- 
 gan to beat in his little heart, and drew him to his father. 
 Ignat must have divined this sentiment from his son's 
 eyes: he rose abruptly from his seat, seized him in his 
 arms, and pressed him close to his breast. And Foma threw 
 his arms around his father's neck, and pressing his cheek 
 to his cheek, remained silent, breathing more quickly than 
 before. 
 
 " My dear little son," whispered Ignat softly. " My 
 darling — my joy — learn well while I am alive — Ekh — life 
 is hard! " 
 
 The child's heart quivered at that whisper, set his teeth, 
 and hot tears gushed from his eyes. 
 
 46 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 Up to that day Igndt had never awakened in his son any 
 particular feelings. The boy had grown used to him, had 
 surveyed his huge form, had been rather afraid of him and, 
 at the same time, had known that his father would do any- 
 thing in the world for him that he might ask. It had 
 sometimes happened that Ignat had been absent from home 
 one day, two days, a week, or the whole summer — Foma 
 never had seemed to notice his absence, engrossed as he was 
 in love for his aunt. When Ignat made his appearance the 
 boy rejoiced, but he could hardly have told why — whether 
 at his father's coming, or at the playthings which the latter 
 brought. But now, at the sight of Ignat, Foma ran to 
 meet him, grasped his hand, gazed laughingly in his face, 
 and found himself very dull if he did not see his father 
 for two or three hours. His father had become interesting 
 to him, and by rousing his curiosity, had simultaneously 
 developed love and respect for himself. Every time that 
 they found themselves together Foma asked his father: 
 
 " Daddy! Tell me about yourself." 
 
 The steamer was on its way up the Volga. On one stifling 
 July night, when the sky was covered with thick black 
 clouds, and everything about the Volga seemed ominously 
 quiet, they arrived at Kazan, and anchored near Uslon, at 
 the tail end of a huge caravan of vessels. The screech of the 
 anchor-chains and the shouts of the crew wakened Foma; 
 he looked out of the window, and saw far away, in the 
 gloom, tiny lights gleaming and twinkling; the water was 
 black and thick as oil, — and that was all that he could see. 
 The boy^s heart contracted painfully, and he began to listen 
 attentively. A barely audible, mournful song, monotonous 
 and depressing as a dirge, floated to his ear from some 
 indefinite spot; the watchmen on the caravan exchanged 
 shouts; the steamer hissed angrily, as it let off steam — and 
 
 47 
 
 ^ 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 the black water of the river splashed sadly and softly 
 against the sides of the vessels. By staring intently into 
 the darkness, until his eyes ached, the boy was able to 
 make out black masses and small lights, dimly flickering 
 high above them. He knew that these were barges, but 
 this knowledge did not calm him, and his heart beat un- 
 evenly, and dark, alarming images surged up in his im- 
 agination. 
 
 « 0—0—0." 
 
 The long-drawn cry rang out from afar, and ended in a 
 sort of moan. Now some one walked across the deck, to 
 the side of the steamer. 
 
 « 0—0—0." 
 
 Again it rang out, but it was nearer now. 
 
 " Yafim! " they said in a low tone on deck: " Ya- 
 fimka! " 
 
 « We-ell! " 
 
 "The devil! Get up! Take the boat hook." 
 
 " — — 0—0 " groaned the sound close at hand, and 
 Foma, with a shudder, staggered away from the window. 
 
 The strange sound floated nearer and nearer, and in- 
 creased in strength, sobbing and melting away in the dense 
 darkness. And on deck they whispered anxiously: 
 
 " Yafimka! Do get up! — a visitor is coming! " 
 
 " Where? " rang out the hurried question — then bare feet 
 shuffled across the deck, a bustle became audible, and past 
 the boy's face two boat hooks glided from above and almost 
 noiselessly plunged into the thick water. 
 
 " A vi-i-si-tor! " came a moaning cry near at hand, and 
 then came a soft but very strange plashing of water. 
 
 The boy quivered with terror at this mournful cry, but 
 could not tear his hands from the window, and his eyes 
 from the water. 
 
 48 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Light the lantern — we can't see at all." 
 
 " Immediately." 
 
 Then a spot of troubled light fell upon the water. Foma 
 saw that the water was surging gently, and a ripple was 
 running over it, as though it were in pain and were quiver- 
 ing with anguish. 
 
 " Look — look! " the men on the deck whispered in terror. 
 
 At that moment, in the circle of light upon the water 
 there appeared a huge, dreadful face, with grinning white 
 teeth. It floated and rocked on the water, its teeth were 
 aimed straight at Foma, and seemed to be saying to him, 
 with a smile: 
 
 " Eh, my lad, my lad, 'tis co-old — farewell! " 
 
 The boat hooks trembled, rose in the air, and then de- 
 scended into the water, and began cautiously to push into 
 something. 
 
 " Guide it — guide it — look out — it will get into the pad- 
 dle wheel." 
 
 " Give it a shove yourself." 
 
 The boat hooks slid along the bulwark, and caught hold 
 of the thing simultaneously, with a sound like the gnash- 
 ing of teeth. Foma could not close his eyes as he stared 
 at them. The clatter of feet, as they tramped along the 
 deck, overhead, gradually withdrew to the bow. And 
 then again rang out that moaning sound, like a funeral 
 dirge: 
 
 " A Vi-i-isitor! " 
 
 " Daddy! " shrieked Foma in a ringing voice. " Daddy! " 
 
 His father sprang to his feet, and ran to him. 
 
 " What is it? What are they doing out there? " screamed 
 Foma. 
 
 Ignat, with vast strides rushed out of the cabin, yelling 
 savagely. He soon returned, before Foma, tottering and 
 
 49 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 gazing around him in terror, had got from the window to 
 his father's bed. 
 
 "They have frightened you — ^well, never mind!'' said 
 Ignat, taking him by the hand. " Get into bed with me." 
 
 " What is it? " asked Foma softly. 
 
 " Nothing, my son. It was a drowned man. A man has 
 been drowned, and was floating — ^it was nothing. Don't 
 you be afraid, he hag already floated away." 
 
 "Why did they shove him?" the boy persisted in his 
 questions, pressing close to his father, and covering his eyes 
 to keep out the terror. 
 
 "Why — because it had to be done. The water would 
 drive him into a paddle-wheel — our wheel, for example — 
 and tomorrow the police would spy it out, — and there would 
 be a row, and questions, and they would detain us here. So 
 they helped him to journey farther. What difference does 
 it make to him? He's already dead — it doesn't injure him, 
 it doesn't hurt his feelings, — ^but he would have made 
 trouble for the live people. Go to sleep, my son." 
 
 " And so he is floating away? " 
 
 "Yes, he is floating away — they'll fish him out some- 
 where, and bury him." 
 
 " And won't the fishes eat him? " 
 
 " Fishes don't eat human flesh — crabs do. They are fond 
 of it." 
 
 Foma's terror melted away at the contact of his father's 
 warm body, but the dreadful face with the grinning teeth 
 still rocked on the water before his vision. 
 
 " And who was he? " 
 
 " God knows! Tell God about him: say — ' Oh Lord, 
 give rest to his soul.' " 
 
 " Oh Lord, give rest to his soul," repeated Fomd in a 
 whisper. 
 
 50 
 
Foma Gordy^efif 
 
 " There now — go to sleep, have no fears. He is far away 
 already. He is floating along — and see here; be careful 
 not to go too close to the side of the boat — you might fall 
 over — which God forbid! — into the water ^" 
 
 " And did he fall overboard? " 
 
 " Of course — perhaps he was drunk — and that was the 
 end of him! Perhaps he threw himself in. There are men 
 who — a man takes and throws himself into the water and 
 is drowned. Life is so arranged, my dear boy, that death 
 sometimes is a festival for a man; and for all it is a 
 blessing." 
 
 "Daddy. . . ." 
 
 " Go to sleep, go to sleep, my dear boy! *' 
 
 51 
 
ni 
 
 On the first day of his school life, Foma, stunned by the 
 lively and healthy uproar of teasing pranks and turbulent 
 childish games, picked out from among the children two 
 who immediately appealed to him as more interesting than 
 the rest. One sat in front of him. Foma, as he darted 
 furtive glances, perceived a broad back, a thick neck sprin- 
 kled with freckles, big ears, and a smoothly clipped nape, 
 covered with bright red hair, which stood up in a brush. 
 
 When the teacher, a man with a bald head and a pen- 
 dulous lower lip, called out: " Smolin Afrikan! " the red- 
 headed boy rose deliberately to his feet, walked up to the 
 teacher, looked him calmly in the eye, and having learned 
 what was required of him, began carefully to write large, 
 round figures with chalk on the blackboard. 
 
 "Good . . . that will do! "said the teacher. "Ezhoff 
 Nikolai. . . continue! " 
 
 One of Foma^s neighbors in the division, — a restless little 
 boy, — sprang from his seat and walked along past the 
 benches, hitting everything, and keeping his head moving 
 in all directions. On arriving at the blackboard, he seized 
 the chalk, and elevating himself on the toes of his boots, 
 he began to tap the board with the chalk, making it squeak 
 and creating a litter, and jotting down small, illegible marks. 
 " Be more quiet — '^ said the teacher, wrinkling up his yel- 
 low face with its weary eyes, as though in pain. But 
 Ezhoff said, in a brisk, ringing voice: 
 
 " Now we know that the first pedlar made a profit of 
 seventeen kopeks. . .'' 
 
 62 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " That will do! . . . Gordyeeff! Tell me, how would 
 you set to work to find out how much profit the second 
 pedlar made? " 
 
 Foma, engrossed as he was in ohserving the conduct of 
 the boys — who were so different each from the other — was 
 surprised by the unexpectedness of the question, and made 
 no reply. 
 
 "Don't you know? . . . Hm! . . Explain it to him, 
 SmoHn." 
 
 Smolin, after carefully wiping off his chalk-soiled fingers 
 with a rag, laid aside the rag, and, without even casting a 
 glance at Foma, finished the problem, and began again to 
 clean his hands, while Ezhoff, smiling and skipping as he 
 went, betook himself to his place. 
 
 "You stupid!" he whispered, seating himself beside 
 Foma, and as he did so dealing him a punch in the side 
 with his fist. — " Why can't you do it ? How much profit 
 was there altogether? Thirty kopeks . . and there were 
 two pedlars . . one received seventeen kopeks, — well 
 then, and how much did the other get? " / 
 
 " I know," replied Foma in a whisper, feeling much con- \ 
 fused, and scrutinizing the face of Smolin, who was re- 
 turning sedately to his place. The face did not please him. 
 It was round, spotted with freckles, had blue eyes, and was 
 overloaded with fat. But Ezhoff pinched his leg in a pain- 
 ful way, and inquired: 
 
 " Whose son are you — the Crazy Man's? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Indeed ... If you like, I will always prompt you? " 
 
 " I do like." 
 
 " And what will you give me for doing it? " 
 
 Foma reflected, and then asked: 
 
 " But do you know yourself? " 
 
 53 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "I? I'm the head pupil — ^you'll see. . ." 
 
 "Hey, you there! Ezhoff — ^you are communicating 
 again?" shouted the teacher, in a feebly-offended tone. 
 
 Ezhoff sprang to his feet, and said alertly: 
 
 " 'Tisn't me, Ivan Andreitch — it's Gordyeeff. . .'^ 
 
 "They were both whispering," said Smolin, imper- 
 turbably. 
 
 The teacher chided them both, dolefully contracting his 
 face, and wagging his thick lip in an absurd way; but the 
 reproof did not prevent Ezhoff from beginning to whisper 
 again immediately: 
 
 "All right, Smolin! I'll give it to you for telling 
 tales. . ." 
 
 " Why do you come down on the new fellow? " inquired 
 Smolin softly, without turning his head. 
 
 " All right, all right," hissed Ezhoff. 
 
 Foma held his peace, casting sidelong glances at his 
 vivacious neighbor, who simultaneously pleased him, and 
 inspired him with a desire to get as far away from him 
 as possible. During recess, he learned from Ezhoff that 
 Smolin was also rich, the son of a leather manufacturer, 
 and that Ezhoff himself was the son of the janitor of the 
 court of exchequer, and very poor. The latter fact was 
 plainly apparent, both from the garb of the lively lad, made 
 of gray fustian, adorned with patches on the knees and 
 elbows, from his pale, hungry face, from his whole angular, 
 bony little figure. This boy talked in a metallic alto voice, 
 illustrating his speech with grimaces and gestures, and often 
 made use of words whose meaning was known to himself 
 alone. 
 
 " You and I will be chums," he announced to Foma. 
 
 " Why did you tell on me to the teacher a while ago? " 
 Gordyeeff reminded him, with a suspicious frown. 
 
 54 
 
Foma Gordy^efF 
 
 "There! "What's that to you? You are a new fellow, 
 and rich — the teacher doesn't punish the rich boys. — But 
 I'm a poor hanger-on, he doesn't like me, because I'm im- 
 pudent to him, and have never brought him a present. If 
 I had neglected my studies, he would have turned me out 
 long ago. Do you know — I'm going to the gymnasium 
 after I'm through here . . I shall finish this second 
 class, and then I shall go away . . A student is already 
 preparing me for the second class there, also . . There I 
 shall study hard — Oh, won't I just! — How many horses 
 have you? " 
 
 " Three . . . Why are you going to study so hard? " 
 asked Foma. 
 
 " Because I am poor . . . Poor fellows have to study 
 a lot, so that they, also, may become rich — ^become doctors, 
 or officials, or officers in the army . . . I'm going to 
 be a jingler too — a sword on my hip, spurs on my feet — 
 clank, clank! And what are you going to be? " 
 
 "I — I don't know," said Foma thoughtfully, staring 
 at his comrade. 
 
 " 'Tisn't necessary for you to be anything. — Are you fond 
 of pigeons ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What a good-for-nothing you are! Oo — oo! Eh — eh!" 
 And Ezhoff mimicked Foma's deliberate speech. " How 
 many pigeons have you? " 
 
 " I haven't any." 
 
 " The idea ! He's rich, and he hasn't set up any pigeons 
 . . I have three, one pouter, and a spotted female pigeon, 
 and a tumbler. If my father were rich, I'd have a hun- 
 dred pigeons, and I'd do nothing but fly them all day long. 
 Smolin has pigeons also — fine ones! Fourteen — he gave 
 me the tumbler. Only, he's greedy, all the same! . . . 
 
 65 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 All rich people are greedy . . . and are you greedy 
 too?'' 
 
 " I . . I don't know," said Foma hesitatingly. 
 
 " You come to Smolin's, and we'll fly them, all three of 
 us together." 
 
 " All right, if I'm allowed." 
 
 " Doesn't your father love you? " 
 
 " Yes, he loves me." 
 
 " Well, then he'll let you come . . . Only, don't tell 
 that I'm going too — for they really won't let you come with 
 me. You just say — let me go to Smolin's. Smolin! " 
 
 The fat boy approached, and EzhoS greeted him, shaking 
 his head reproachfully: 
 
 " Oh you red-headed tell-tale! It doesn't pay to be 
 friends with you — you blockhead! " 
 
 "Why do you use bad language?" quietly inquired 
 Smolin, looking Foma over with staring eyes. 
 
 "I'm not using bad language, I'm telling the truth," 
 explained Ezhoff, quivering all over with animation. — 
 " See here! Even if you are a sour tempered fellow, it's all 
 right. On Sunday, after church service, I'll come to you 
 with him." 
 
 " Do," answered Saaglin, with a nod. 
 
 " We will . . . The bell wiUrxing soon, I'll run and 
 sell my canary," pulling oui^f his trousers' pocket i a paper 
 packet, in which some Hye creature was struggling^ And 
 he vanished froih. thg^ school-yard like quicksilver from 
 the hand. 
 
 u 
 
 What a fellow he is! " said Foma, impressed by Ezhoff 'a 
 liveliness, with an inquiring glance at SmoHn. 
 
 " He's always like that . . He's very clever," explained 
 the red-headed lad. 
 
 "And jolly," added Foma. 
 
 56 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "And jolly," assented Smolin. Then they fell silent, 
 looking each other over. 
 
 " Will you come to my house with him? " asked the red- 
 headed boy. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Do . . It is nice at my house." 
 
 To this Foma made no reply. Then Smolin asked him: 
 
 " Have you many comrades? " 
 
 " I have none at all." 
 
 "Neither did I have any until I went to school . . 
 only my cousins. Now you'll have two chums, all at once." 
 
 " Yes," said Foma. 
 
 "Are you glad?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " It is cheerful, when you have a great many comrades. 
 And you learn more easily — they prompt you." 
 
 " Do you study well ? " 
 
 " Yes.— I do everything well," said Smolin composedly. 
 
 The bell jingled, as though it were frightened, and were 
 scurrying off somewhere in haste. . . 
 
 As Foma sat in school, he felt more at his ease, and began 
 to compare his chums with the other boys. He speedily 
 discovered that they were the very best in the school and 
 the first to attract one's attention, as sharply as the two 
 figures 5 and 7, which were not yet erased from the class- 
 room blackboard. And Foma was pleased that his comrades 
 were better than all the other boys. 
 
 All three of them left the school-house together, but 
 Ezhoff soon turned aside into a narrow alley, while Smolin 
 accompanied Foma all the way home, and, as he bade him 
 farewell, said: 
 
 " Here, you, see — we can walk together also." 
 
 Foma had a triumphant welcome home: his father gave 
 
 57 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 the lad a heavy silver spoon, with an elaborate monogram, 
 and his aunt, a scarf of her own knitting. They were 
 waiting for dinner for him, his favorite viands had been 
 prepared, and as soon as he had changed his clothes, they 
 eeated themselves at the table and began to question him: 
 
 "Well, and how did you like the school?" said Ignat, 
 gazing affectionately at the rosy, animated face of his son. 
 
 " I didn't mind it ... It was fine! '' replied Foma. 
 
 " My darling! " sighed his aunt, with emotion. — " See 
 here, don't you give way to your comrades. If they offend 
 you in any way, go straight to the teacher, and tell him 
 about them." 
 
 " Now listen to her! " laughed Ignat. " Don't you ever 
 do that! Try to deal with every offender yourself, chastise 
 him with your own fists, not through some one else's . . 
 Are the children nice? " 
 
 "Two are," said Foma, smiling, as he recalled Ezhoff. 
 " One is so daring — he's a terror! " 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 " The janitor's son.'* 
 
 " Hm-m, daring, you say? " 
 
 " Terribly! " 
 
 " Well, God be with him! And the other? '' 
 
 " The other is red-headed . . Smohn." 
 
 "Ah! Evidently, Mitry Ivanitch's son. Hang on to 
 him, he's good company . . Mitry is a clever man; if 
 his son is like him, 'twould be a good thing. As for the 
 other . . . Now, see here, Foma: you invite them to 
 be your guests here on Sunday. I'll buy presents, and you 
 ehall stand treat to them. We'll see what they are like." 
 
 " Smolin has invited me to his house on Sunday," an- 
 nounced Foma, with an inquiring glance at his father. 
 
 " You don't say so! — Well, go! That's all right, go. Look 
 
 58 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 about and see what people are like in the world. You 
 can't live alone, without friendship . . . Now, I have 
 been friends with your god-father these twenty years, and 
 have profited greatly by his good sense. So do you try to 
 make friends with those who are better, cleverer than your- 
 self. You'll get rubbed up, in the company of a good 
 man . . . just as a copper kopek does against silver, and 
 then you will pass for a twenty-kopek piece yourself." 
 
 And, laughing at his own comparison, Ignat added, seri- 
 ously: 
 
 " I'm joking. Try not to be artificial, but genuine . . . 
 and have some mind of your own, even if it isn't much. ^ 
 "Well, and did they set you many lessons? " 
 
 " Yes! " sighed the boy, and a heavy sigh from his aunt 
 resounded like an echo. 
 
 " Well . . . study. Don't be worse at learning than 
 all the rest. I'll tell you what — ^in school — even if there 
 were twenty-five classes — they teach nothing except how 
 to read, write and cipher. You can learn divers nonsense 
 in addition, — which God forbid! I'll flog you, if . . . 
 If you smoke tobacco, I'll cut off your lips." 
 
 " Remember God, Fomushka," said his aunt. — ** See to 
 it, that you do not forget our Lord." 
 
 " That's true! Respect God and your parents. But what 
 I want to say is, that the school-books are a small matter. 
 You need them, as a carpenter needs an axe and a plane . . 
 they are implements . . but they don't teach in school 
 how the implements are to be used in one's business. Do 
 you understand? Let's put it this way: an axe is placed 
 in the hand of the carpenter, and with it he must square 
 off the plank. The hands and the axe are not enough by 
 themselves, in addition, he must know how to strike the 
 wood, and not his foot. Reading and writing are placed 
 
 59 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 in your hand, and with them you must build your life. . 
 So it appears, that books alone do not suffice for such an 
 undertaking: you must also know how to make use of them 
 . . . And that knowledge is precisely the thing which 
 will be more clever than all the books, and in the books not 
 a word is written concerning it. That is something which 
 you must learn from life itself, Foma. A book is a dead 
 thing: grasp it as you will, tear it, break it — ^it will not 
 shriek. — But life! — as soon as you walk unsteadily, or take 
 up an irregular place in it, — it will yell at you with a thou- 
 / Band voices, and will smite you, to boot, and knock you 
 off your feet." 
 
 Foma, with his elbows propped on the table, listened in 
 silence to his father, and under the influence of the power- 
 ful tones of his voice, pictured to himself, now a carpenter 
 engaged in hewing a beam, now himself: cautiously, with 
 arms outstretched before him, he seemed to be creeping 
 over unstable ground toward something huge and living, 
 and to be desirous of seizing hold of this terrible some- 
 thing. 
 
 " A man must take care of himself, for the sake of his 
 affairs, and must know the road to his business thoroughly 
 well . . A man, my dear fellow, is just like the pilot 
 on a ship . . In youth and in flood-tide, go straight 
 ahead! But you must recognize when the time has come 
 to take to forced measures. The water has receded, — then 
 look out; there is a shoal here, a snag there, in another 
 place a rock; all these things must be calculated and 
 avoided, if one is to reach the wharf safely." 
 
 " I'll reach it safely! " said the boy, gazing confidently 
 and proudly at his father. 
 
 "Will you? You speak bravely! " laughed Ignat. And 
 his aunt also laughed amiably. 
 
 60 I 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Beginning with his trip on the Volga with his father, 
 Foma became more and more daring, and talkative at home, 
 with his father, his aunt, and the Mayakins. But on the 
 street, or in any place which was new to him, or with stran- 
 gers, he always glowered and gazed about him in a suspicious 
 and distrustful manner, as though he were everywhere con- 
 scious of something which was hostile to him, concealed 
 from him, and was spying upon him. 
 
 Sometimes, at night, he suddenly awoke, and listened to 
 the silence around him, intently staring at the gloom with 
 wide-open eyes. And there, before him, his father's tales 
 were transformed into images and pictures. Imperceptibly 
 to himself, he mixed them up with his aunt's fairy-tales, 
 and created for himself a chaos of facts, wherein the vivid 
 hues of fancy were capriciously interwoven with the stern 
 colors of reality. The result was something vast, incom- 
 prehensible; the boy closed his eyes, and banished it all 
 from him, and endeavored to bring to a halt this play of 
 imagination which terrified him. But in vain did he try 
 to sleep, for the room became more and more densely 
 peopled with dark figures. Then he softly aroused his 
 aunt: 
 
 " Aunty . . . say, Aunty." 
 
 " What is it? Christ be with you! " 
 
 " I'll come to you," whispered Foma. 
 
 " Why? Go to sleep, my darling — go to sleep." 
 
 " I'm afraid," the boy confessed. 
 
 "Recite softly: 'Let God arise,' and your fear will dis- 
 appear." 
 
 Foma lay with closed eyes, and recited the prayer. The 
 nocturnal silence appeared to him in the form of a limit- 
 less expanse of dark water, which was absolutely motion- 
 less, — it had spread everywhere and congealed, there was 
 
 61 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "upon it no ripple, neither shadow of movement, nor was 
 there anything in it, although it was bottomlessly deep. It 
 was very dreadful for anyone to look down from some 
 height, in the gloom, upon this dead water . . But now 
 the sound of the night-watchman's mallet rings out, and 
 the child perceives that the surface of the water is quivering, 
 and round, brilliant little balls are rolling over it, covering it 
 with ripples . . The stroke of the bell in the belfry makes 
 the whole expanse of water surge with a mighty swell, and 
 for a long time it continues to rock from the blow. And the 
 large, bright spot vacillates also, illumines it, spreads out 
 from its centre to some place in the dark distance, then 
 grows pale and is extinguished . . Again melancholy, 
 dead calm reigns in this gloomy waste. 
 
 "Aunty," whispers Foma, imploringly. 
 
 "Well, sonny?'' 
 
 " I'm coming to you." 
 
 " Yes, come, come my own dear one." 
 
 Then he shifts into his aunt's bed, snuggles up to her, 
 and entreats: 
 
 " Tell me a story." 
 
 " At night? " protests his aunt sleepily. 
 
 "Ple-eease! " 
 
 He does not have to implore her long. Yawning, in a 
 voice that is hoarse with sleep, the old woman, with tight- 
 shut eyes, says deliberately: 
 
 .^^^ " Well then, sir, in a certain kingdom, in a certain realm, 
 tnere lived and dwelt a man and his wife, and they were 
 poor, very poor! They were such unfortunates that they 
 had not even anything to eat. So they wandered about the 
 world, and here and there people gave them a stale, dis- 
 carded crust, — wherewith their hunger was appeased for 
 the day. And lo! a child was born to them, — and it must 
 
 62 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 be baptized; but, because they were poor, and had nothing 
 wherewith to regale the god-parents and guests, no one came 
 to them to stand sponsor for the child! They did this, and 
 did that — there was no one! Then they prayed to the Lord: 
 'Oh Lord! Oh Lord! "' 
 
 This terrible tale of God's god-child is familiar to Foma; 
 many a time has he heard it, and he depicts to himself, in 
 advance, this god-child: there he is, riding on a white horse 
 to his god-father and mother, he is riding in the darkness, 
 through the desert, and he beholds therein all the intoler- 
 able torments to which sinners are condemned. And he 
 hears their subdued groans, and their entreaties: 
 
 " — — ! Hey there, thou man ! Inquire of the Lord 
 if we have still long torment to undergo ? " 
 
 Then it seems to the boy as though he, himself, is riding 
 through the night on the white horse, and the groans and 
 prayers are addressed to him. His heart contracts with some 
 longing or other, which he does not understand; the chilly 
 gloom oppresses his breast, and tears start to his eyes, which 
 he has shut tightly, and is afraid to open. 
 
 He moves about restlessly in the bed. 
 
 " Go to sleep, my dear child, Christ be with thee! — " 
 says the old woman, interrupting her tale of how these 
 people were tormented for their sins. 
 
 But after such a night as this, Foma arose in the morn- 
 ing, cheerful and alert, washed himself hurriedly, drank 
 tea in haste, and ran off to school, with a supply of patties, 
 both sweetened, and those made with milk and butter, 
 which the ever-hungry little Ezhoff, who greedily fed 
 upon the bounty of his wealthy comrade, was awaiting 
 there. 
 
 "Have you fetched anything to devour?" he greeted 
 Foma, wagging about his sharp nose. — " Hand it over, for 
 
 63 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 I left home without having eaten anything. I overslept, 
 plague take it — I studied until two o'clock this morning. — 
 Have you done your sums ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Oh you gallinipper! Well, I'll show you about them 
 presently." 
 
 Driving his small, sharp teeth into the patty, he began 
 to purr like a kitten, beating time with his left foot, and, 
 at the same time, he solved a problem, tossing brief phrases 
 at Foma: 
 
 "Do you see? In one hour, eight bucketfuls leaked out 
 . . and how many hours did the leak last — six? Eh, what 
 good things you do have to eat! — So, you must multiply 
 six by eight. Do you like patties with green onions? I'm 
 awfully fond of them! Well then, from the first faucet, in 
 six hours, fort3^-eight bucketfuls leaked out, and in all, 
 ninety were poured into the vat ... do you understand 
 the rest?" 
 
 Foma liked Ezhoff better than he did Smohn, but he 
 was on more friendly terms with Smolin. He was aston- 
 ished at the capacity and the vivaciousness of the little 
 peasant, he perceived that Ezhoff was cleverer and better 
 than himself, he envied him and yet cherished a sense of 
 injury against him on this account, and, at the same time, 
 he pitied him, with the condescending pity of the well-fed 
 for the hungry. It is possible, that precisely this pity pre- 
 vented his gij'ing the preference to the lively lad over the 
 tiresome, red-headed Smolin. Ezhoff, who was fond of 
 laughing at his well-fed comrades, often said to them: 
 
 " Eh, you little patty-boxes! '^ 
 
 His jeers enraged Foma, and one day, cut to the heart, 
 he said, scornfully and maliciously: 
 
 " You're a beggar — a pauper! " 
 
 64 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Ezhoff's yellow face became covered with spots, and he 
 slowly answered: 
 
 " All right — go ahead! I won't prompt you any more — 
 and you'll go to the foot of the class as the dunce! " 
 
 And for three days they did not speak one with the 
 other, to the mortification of the school-master, who, on 
 those days was forced to place marks of one and two against 
 the son of Ignat Matvyeevitch, so much respected by 
 all. 
 
 Ezhoff knew everything: he narrated at school, that the 
 procurator's chamber-maid had had a baby, and that on 
 this account the procurator's wife had poured hot coffee 
 on her husband; he could tell when and where the best 
 perch-fishing was to be found; he knew how to make snares 
 and cages for birds; he communicated the 'details as to why 
 and how a soldier had hanged himself in the barracks, in 
 the attic, from the parents of which pupil the teacher had 
 received a gift that day, and just what the gift was. 
 
 Smolin's sphere of knowledge and interests was confined 
 to the life of the merchant class, and the red-headed lad was 
 particularly fond of making definite statements as to who 
 were the richest members of that class, estimating and cal- 
 culating their houses, ships and horses. All these things 
 he knew incomparably well, and he discussed them with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 Toward Ezhoff he bore himself with the same conde- 
 scending pity as did Foma, but in a more friendly, equable 
 manner than the latter. Every time that Gordyeeff quar- 
 relled with Ezhoff, he strove to reconcile them, and, on one 
 occasion, as they were on their way home from school, he 
 said to Foma: 
 
 "Why are you and Ezhoff continually abusing each 
 other?" 
 
 65 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 "Why is he so conceited then?" retorted Foma angrily. 
 
 " He's conceited because you are not a good scholar, and 
 he is always helping you . . . He's clever! And as for 
 his being poor — is he to blame for that? He can learn 
 anything he has a mind to, and will be rich himself some 
 day." 
 
 "He's a regular mosquito," said Foma scornfully: "he 
 sings, and sings, and then, all of a sudden, he bites." 
 
 But in the life of these small boys, there was a certain 
 element which united them all, there were hours during 
 which they lost consciousness of the differences of character 
 and social position. On Sunday, they all three assembled 
 at Smolin's and, climbing upon the roof of the wing, where 
 a spacious dovecote had been constructed, they let out the 
 pigeons. 
 
 The handsome, well-fed birds, fluttering their snow- 
 white wings, flew from the dovecote, one after the other, 
 and alighted in a row on the ridge-pole where, lighted up 
 by the sun they cooed and strutted before the boys. 
 
 " Start them up! " entreated Ezhoff, quivering with im- 
 patience. 
 
 Smolin brandished in the air a long pole, with a tuft of 
 shredded hnden bast on the end, and whistled. 
 
 The frightened pigeons darted into the air, filling it with 
 the rustling sound of wings. Then they would begin to soar 
 smoothly upward, describing wide circles, as they rose into 
 the deep blue sky, and floated, higher and higher, their 
 plumage gleaming like silver and snow. Some of them 
 seek to reach the dome of heaven with the easy flight of the 
 falcon, spreading their wings broadly, and, to all appear- 
 ances, not moving; the others play, turn somersaults in the 
 air, fall downward like a snow-ball, and again dart aloft 
 like an arrow. Now the whole flock seems to stand motion- 
 
 6G 
 
Fom^ Gordy^eff 
 
 less in the vast expanse of the sky, and growing smaller and 
 smaller, at last vanishes into it. 
 
 With their heads thrown back, the boys silently admire 
 the birds, never taking their eyes from them, — weary eyes, 
 beaming with quiet delight which is akin to envy of these 
 winged creatures, soaring so freely from the earth into the 
 pure, placid realm, filled with the radiance of the sun. The 
 tiny group of specks, barely visible, dotted against the azure 
 of the sky, draws the imagination of the children along with 
 it, and Ezhoff expresses the feeling common to them all, 
 when he says softly, and thoughtfully: 
 
 " We ought to be able to fly like that too, fellows! ^' 
 
 And Foma, knowing that the soul of man frequently 
 assumes the form of a dove as it flies heavenward, felt 
 within his breast a surge of some desire both powerful and 
 burning. 
 
 United in their rapture, silently and attentively watch- 
 ing for the return from the depths of heaven of their birds, 
 the boys, nestling close to each other, have flown far away 
 — as far as their pigeons from the earth — from the influence 
 of life; at such moments they are simply children, they / 
 can neither envy nor get angry; estranged from every- 
 thing, they are near to each other; without words, merely 
 by the gleam in their eyes, they comprehend their senti- 
 ment, and feel as happy as the birds in the sky. 
 
 But now the pigeons have alighted upon the roof once 
 more, weary with their flight, and are driven back into the 
 dovecote. 
 
 " Say, fellows! Let's go after the apples! " suggests 
 Ezhoff, the leader in all games and expeditions. 
 
 His cry expels from the childish souls the peaceful mood 
 inspired by the pigeons, and with the cautious gait of ban- 
 dits, and with robber-like sensitiveness to every sound, they 
 
 67 
 
Foma Gordy^efif 
 
 creep through the back gate into the neighboring garden. 
 The fear of being caught is tempered down to equilibrium 
 by the hope of being able to steal with impunity. Theft is 
 toil, and dangerous toil, at that, — ^but everything earned by 
 one's own toil is so sweet! . . And the greater the amount 
 of effort required to obtain it, the sweeter it is! The small 
 boys crawl cautiously over the garden fence, and bending 
 double, creep to the apple-trees, casting keen and timorous 
 glances from side to side. Their hearts quiver and stop 
 beating at every rustle. With equal force they dread being 
 caught, and being recognized if perceived; but if they are 
 merely observed and shouted at, they will be content. At 
 a shout, they fly apart and vanish, and then, coming to- 
 gether again, their eyes blazing with rapture and audacity, 
 they laughingly describe to each other how they felt when 
 they heard the shout and the hue and cry after them, and 
 what happened to them when they ran through the garden 
 as swiftly as though the ground were burning hot under 
 their feet. 
 
 Foma put more heart into such piratical adventures than 
 into all their other enterprises and games, — and behaved 
 himself on these incursions with a bravery which amazed 
 and angered his companions. In other people's gardens he 
 conducted himself in a deliberately reckless manner: he 
 talked at the top of his voice; he broke off, with a crash, 
 branches of the apple-trees; when he plucked a wormy 
 apple, he hurled it at random, in the direction of the owner's 
 dwelling. The danger of being caught on the scene of his 
 crime, did not alarm but only excited him — ^his eyes dark- 
 ened, he gritted his teeth, and his face became haughty 
 and malign. Smolin said to him, scornfully mowing with 
 his huge mouth as he did so: 
 
 " You make a great lot of braggadocio over it.'* 
 
 68 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 " I simply am not a coward! " retorted Fomd. 
 
 " I know you are not, but only fools make a fuss like that. 
 You can do the deed just as well without any fuss." 
 
 Ezhoff condemned him from another point of view: 
 
 " If you want to shove yourself right into their hands, 
 go to the devil! They'll catch you, and take you to your 
 father — they won't do anything to you; but as for me, 
 my good fellow, they'll lash me with a strap until all my 
 poor little bones will be peeled bare." 
 
 " Coward! " reiterated Foma, straight in his face. 
 
 And one fine day, Foma was caught, by the hands of 
 Staff-Captain Tchumakoff, a small, thin little old man. 
 Creeping inaudibly up to the boy, who was engaged in 
 thrusting the apples he had plucked into the bosom of his 
 shirt, the old man dug his fingers into Foma's shoulders, 
 and shouted menacingly: 
 
 " I've got you, you robber! Aha! " 
 
 At that time, Foma was about fifteen years of age, and 
 he dexterously twisted himself free from the old man's 
 clutch. He did not run away, however, but knitting his 
 brows in a frown, and clenching his fists, he ejaculated 
 threateningly: 
 
 " Just you try to touch me! " 
 
 "I won't touch you . . I'll take you to the police! 
 "Whose boy are you? " 
 
 Foma was not prepared for this, and all his valor and 
 malice instantly abandoned him. It seemed to him that a 
 trip to the police-station was the sort of thing for which 
 his father would never forgive him. He trembled, and 
 answered in confusion: 
 
 " Gordyeeff-'s." 
 
 "I— Ignat Matv}^eevitch's?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 69 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 It was the staff-captain's turn to be confused now. He 
 drew himself up, puffed out his breast, and, for some reason 
 or other, quacked impressively. Then he lowered his 
 shoulders, and said to the boy, with an air of fatherly per- 
 suasion: 
 
 " Shame on you, sir! The heir of such a distinguished 
 and respected personage! . . . You may go . . . But 
 if you repeat your performance, then . . . hm! I shall 
 be compelled to inform your papa ... to whom, by 
 the way, I beg you to present the assurance of my esteem." 
 
 Foma watched the play of expression on the old man's 
 countenance, and understood that the latter was afraid of 
 his father. He stared at Tchumakoff with a furtive gaze, 
 like a wolf-cub; and the latter, with ridiculously important 
 mien, twisted his grand mustache, and shifted from one foot 
 to the other before the lad, who did not take his departure, 
 despite the permission which had been accorded to him. 
 
 " You may go," repeated the old man, and with his hand 
 pointed out the road home. 
 
 "And how about taking me to the police-station?" in- 
 quired Foma surlily, and then instantly was seized with 
 alarm over the possible reply. 
 
 " That was 1 was jesting," smiled the old man. " I 
 
 wanted to give you a fright." 
 
 "You're afraid yourself — afraid of my father," said 
 Foma, and wheeling round, with his back toward the old 
 man, he went off into the remote parts of the garden. 
 
 " I'm afraid? A-ah! Very good, sir! " shouted Tchuma- 
 koff after him, and from the sound of his voice Foma knew 
 that he had insulted the old man. He felt ashamed and 
 sad; until the evening he roamed about alone, and when he 
 reached home, he was greeted by a stern question from his 
 father: 
 
 70 
 
Fomi Gordyeeff 
 
 'Tomka! ^ Have you been climbing into Tchumakoff's 
 garden?" 
 
 " Yes," said the boy cahnly, looking his father straight 
 in the eye. 
 
 Ignat evidently was not expecting such an answer, and 
 remained silent for a few seconds, stroking his beard. 
 
 " You fool! Why did you do it? Haven't you plenty of 
 apples of your own? " 
 
 Foma dropped his eyes, and made no reply, as he stood 
 in front of his father. 
 
 " You see — you have put us to shame! I suppose that 
 wretched little Ezhoff put you up to this? I'll give him a 
 lesson when he comes here — or, rather, I'll put an end to 
 your friendship . ." 
 
 " I did it of myself," said Foma firmly. 
 
 "Worse and worse!" exclaimed Ignat. "Why did you 
 doit?" 
 
 " Because [talc] " 
 
 " Quack! " mimicked his father. "Well, if you do that 
 sort of thing, you must understand how to explain it to^. 
 yourself and to other people. Come here! " 
 
 Foma approached his father, who was seated in a chair, 
 and stood between his knees, and Ignat placed his hands 
 upon the boy's shoulders, and gazed into his eyes, with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " Are you ashamed? ** 
 
 " Yes," sighed Foma. 
 
 " That's right, you blockhead! You are disgracing your- 
 self and me." 
 
 Pressing his son's head to his breast^ he smoothed the 
 lad's hair, and again inquired: 
 
 "What need was there for you to steal other folks' 
 
 apples? " 
 
 ' Equivalent to " Tom." 
 
 71 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Well — I don't know," said Foma, disconcerted. — 
 " Perhaps because things are tiresome . . . You play, 
 and play . . and it's always the same thing over and over 
 . . and you get bored! But this is — dangerous. . ." 
 
 " It puts a grip on the heart? " asked his father, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Hm! Perhaps it does, and so . . . But see here, 
 Foma, — drop it! If you don't, I'll deal severely with you." 
 
 " I'll never climb in anywhere again," said the boy con- 
 fidently. 
 
 " 'Tis a good thing that you assume the responsibility 
 yourself. The Lord knows what sort of a fellow you'll 
 turn out to be, and, in the meanwhile — never mind! 'Tis 
 no small thing when a man is willing to pay for his own 
 deeds, with his own skin . . Any other boy, in your posi- 
 tion, would have thrown the blame on his comrades, but 
 you say: *I did it of my owii accord.' That's the way to 
 do, Foma. If you commit the sin, do you answer for it. 
 What— that Tchumakoff didn't— did he strike you," Ignat 
 asked his son, hesitating for his phrase. 
 
 " I'd have hit him if he had! " remarked Foma quietly. 
 
 " Hm . . ." grunted his father significantly. 
 
 "I told him that he was afraid of you — that's why he 
 complained. Otherwise, he did not wish to come to you.'^ 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 " By heavens! * Express my esteem to your father,' he 
 said . . ." 
 
 "He did?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Ah! . . the dog! Now, just see what people are like: 
 he is robbed, and he sends greetings — : *my regards to 
 you! ' Ha! ha! Let us assume that he had been robbed 
 
 73 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 of a kopek, say — and a kopek is as much to him as a ruble 
 is to me. But the point doesn't lie in the fact that it is a 
 kopek, but in the fact that it is mine, and let no one dare 
 to touch it, if I don't fling it down myself . . . Eh! 
 Well, deuce take them! Come now, tell me: where have 
 you been, what have you seen? " 
 
 The boy sat down beside his father, and gave him a de- 
 tailed account of his sensations during the day. Ignat 
 listened, attentively examining his son's animated face, and 
 the brows of the great man contracted. 
 
 " You're too highfalutin' for me, my boy! And you're 
 still a child . . eh— he!" 
 
 "And in the ravine we scared up an owl," related the 
 boy. "What fun it was! The owl flew out, and went 
 whack! against a tree. It even squealed until it was really 
 pitiful. But we scared him again, and he rose again, and 
 it was the same thing all over — he flew, and flew, and then 
 went bang into something . . so that his feathers were 
 strewn all around! He hovered and hovered over the 
 ravine, and he managed to hide himself somewhere, and 
 we didn't try to find him any more, we felt so sorry for 
 him — he was all bruised. — Is the owl completely blind by 
 day, daddy?" 
 
 "Yes," said Ignat. — "Some men thrash about in life, 
 like the owl. — They hunt and search for their proper place, 
 and struggle, and struggle, — and the only result is that the 
 feathers fly off them, and they accomplish nothing. They 
 struggle until they are exhausted, and ill, and their plumage 
 is all gone, and they flap their wings, and dive into any 
 place that they happen to find, if only to rest from their 
 labors. Eh, woe to such men — woe, my dear fellow! " 
 
 " And does it hurt them? " asked Foma softly. 
 
 " Yes, just as it did that owl." 
 
 73 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " And why are they like that? " 
 
 "Why? — It is hard to say. One man is so because his 
 reason is beclouded by his pride — he desires much, but his 
 power is small; another because of his stupidity, — and for 
 all sorts of reasons. You can't understand . . ." 
 
 " Come, and drink tea," Anfisa summoned them. 
 
 For a long time she had been standing in the doorway, 
 and, with her hands crossed on her stomach, she had been 
 fondly admiring the huge form of her brother, bent, in 
 friendly wise, over Foma, and the thoughtful pose of the 
 boy, who was nestling up against his father's shoulder. 
 / Thus, day by day, Foma's life unfolded, — a life which, 
 as a whole, was not rich in emotions, but peaceful and quiet. 
 Powerful impressions, which excited the boy's soul for an 
 hour or a day, now and then stood out very distinctly against 
 the general background of this monotonous existence, but 
 were soon effaced from it. The boy's soul was still a placid 
 lake — a lake shielded from the stormy gales of life, and 
 everything which stirred the surface of the lake, or sank 
 to its bottom, disturbed the sleeping water only for a brief 
 space, or, slipping across its smooth expanse, spread out in 
 wide circles, and vanished. 
 
 After spending five years in the district school, Foma 
 finished four classes, after a fashion, and graduated as a 
 brave, black-haired youth, with a swarthy face, thick eye- 
 brows and a dark down upon his upper lip. The expression 
 of his large, dark eyes was meditative and ingenuous, and 
 his lips were half-open, like those of a child; but when 
 he encountered an opposition to his will, or when anything 
 else irritated him — the pupils of his eyes dilated, his lips 
 shut firmly, and his whole face assumed an obstinate and 
 determined expression. His god-father, with a sceptical 
 laugh, said of him: 
 
 74 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "You'll be sweeter than honey for the women, Foma 
 . . . but, so far, there's no great amount of cleverness 
 to be seen in you." 
 
 Ignat sighed at these words. 
 
 " You ought to put your son in circulation as soon as 
 possible, crony." 
 
 " Just wait a bit." 
 
 " What's the good of waiting? Let him circulate about 
 on the Volga for two or three years, and then get him a 
 wife . . There's my Liuboff, a fine girl . ." 
 
 Liub6ff Mayakin, at that time, was studying in the fifth 
 class of some boarding-school or other. Foma often met 
 her on the street, and on such occasions, she always nodded 
 her golden-brown head in its stylish hat, condescendingly, 
 at him. Foma found her pleasing, but her rosy cheeks, 
 merry brown eyes, and scarlet lips could not efface from 
 Foma's mind the offensive impression produced by her con- 
 descending nods. She was acquainted with some of the 
 students in the gjrmnasium, and although among them was 
 Ezhoff, his old chum, Foma was not attracted to them, and 
 felt himself ill at ease in their company. It seemed to him 
 that they were all bragging before him of their learning, 
 and were laughing at his ignorance. When they assembled 
 at Liuboff's house, they all read some little books or other, 
 and when he caught them at their reading, or engaged in 
 noisy discussion, they all fell silent at the sight of him. All 
 this repelled him from them. One day, when he was sitting 
 with the Mayakins, Liiiba invited him to take a stroll with 
 her in the garden, and there, as she walked by his side, she 
 asked him, with a little grimace; 
 
 " Why are you so unsociable ? You never have a word to 
 Bay about anything." 
 
 " What am I to talk about if I don't know anything? "/ 
 Baid Foma simply. 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Learn — ^read books/' 
 
 "I don't want to." 
 
 "Look at those gymnasium boys — they know every- 
 thing, and can talk about everything. — Ezhoff, for in- 
 stance." 
 
 " I know Ezhoff — he's a chatter-box." 
 
 "You're envious of him — that's the simple fact. He's 
 very clever. When he finishes at the gymnasium, he's go- 
 ing to Moscow, to study at the University." 
 
 " Well, that's all right," said Foma, indifferently. 
 
 " But you'll be left in the lurch." 
 
 " Well, let me be." 
 
 " How fine! " exclaimed Liuba ironically. 
 
 "I shall find my place well enough without learning," 
 said Foma derisively. — " And I'll put every learned fellow 
 to shame — let the starvelings study hard — ^but there's no 
 >\ need for me to do it." 
 
 ^^ " Fie, how stupid — malicious — hateful you are! " said the 
 girl scornfully, and went away, leaving him alone in the 
 garden. He stared after her, surly, offended, knit his brows, 
 and, dropping his head, betook himself to the remotest part 
 of the garden. 
 
 He had already begun to make acquaintance with the 
 / charms of solitude, and the sweet poison of revery. Often, 
 on summer evenings, when everything on the earth is 
 dyed in the fiery, dream-inspiring hues of the sunset, a 
 troubled anguish about something, an anguish which he 
 could not understand, penetrated his breast. As he sat in 
 some dark nook of the garden, or lay upon his bed, he 
 summoned up before him the images of fabulous princesses, 
 — they presented themselves with the face of Liuba, and 
 other young ladies of his acquaintance, floated noiselessly 
 before him in the evening twilight, and gazed into his eyes 
 
 76 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 with enigmatical glances. Sometimes these visions aroused 
 in him a flood of mighty energy, and, as it were, intoxicated 
 him, — he rose to his feet, and throwing back his shoulders, 
 with fully expanded lungs he drank in the balmy air; but 
 sometimes these same visions inspired him with a feehng 
 of melancholy — he was inclined to weep, but was ashamed 
 of tears, and so controlled himself, and yet wept softly. Or, 
 all of a sudden, his heart would quiver with the desire to 
 say something grateful to God, to bow down before Him; 
 the words of prayers flashed up in his memory, and, gazing 
 heavenward, for a long time he would whisper them, one 
 after the other, and his heart was relieved, as it poured itself 
 out in the superabundance of his powers. 
 
 Patiently and cautiously, his father initiated him intov 
 the round of commercial affairs, took him with him to the 
 Exchange, told him about the contracts and enterprises he 
 had undertaken, about his fellow-merchants, described to 
 him how they " had made their way," what property they 
 now owned, what were their characters . . Foma quickly 
 mastered the business, bearing himself seriously and ^ 
 thoughtfully toward everjrthing. 
 
 " Our burdock is going to blossom into a scarlet poppy! " 
 laughed Mayakin, winking at Ignat. 
 
 And yet, even when Foma had passed his nineteenth 
 birthday, there was something childlike, ingenuous, about 
 him, which distinguished him from other young men of his 
 own age. They laughed at him, considering him stupid; 
 he held himself aloof from them, offended by their attitude 
 toward him. But this vagueness of character in Foma in- 
 spired serious misgivings in his father and Mayakin, who 
 never let him out of their sight. 
 
 "I can't understand him!" said Ignat in affliction. — 
 "He doesn't go on sprees; apparently, he doesn't run 
 
 77 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 after the women, he's respectful to me and to you, he 
 minds everything we say, — he's a handsome girl, and not 
 a young man at all! And yet, he doesn't seem to be 
 stupid ? " 
 
 " There's no particular stupidity apparent," said Maya- 
 kin. 
 
 "Just look at it! It's as though he were waiting for 
 something . . . There's a sort of curtain over his eyes 
 . . His dead mother went through life gropingly, in the 
 same fashion. Now, there's Afrikan Smolin, who's two 
 years older — and just see what he is! I mean to say, that 
 it's even difficult to understand which of them — father or 
 son — is the head of the other? He wants to go off to some 
 factory or other to learn the business ... he rails: 
 * you've brought me up very badly, papa ' . . There you 
 have it! But my boy never makes any move on his own 
 account ... Oh Lord! " 
 
 " Now see here, this is what you must do with him," 
 counselled Mayakin, " do you pitch him, head over heels 
 into some urgent business or other! Really! now, I mean 
 it! Gold is tried by fire. We shall find out what are his 
 propensities, if we leave him free to act. Send him off to 
 the Kama — alone." 
 
 *^ Do you think we can risk it? " 
 
 " Well, if he ruins the affair, you will lose something . . 
 but, on the other hand, we shall find out what he has in 
 him." 
 
 " Indeed then, I will send him off," said Ignat with de- 
 cision. 
 
 Accordingly, in the spring, Ignat despatched his son with 
 two barges of grain to the Kama river. The barges were 
 in tow of Gordyeeff's steam-tug, " The Dihgent," com- 
 manded by Foma's old acquaintance, formerly sailor Efim 
 
 78 
 
Fom^ Gordydeff 
 
 — now Efim Hitch/ a square built man of thirty, a lynx- 
 eyed, sensible, steady and extremely severe captain. 
 
 They travelled swiftly and merrily, because everyone was 
 contented. Foma was proud of the important commission 
 entrusted to him for the first time. Efim rejoiced in the 
 presence of the young master, who did not reprove him 
 for every oversight, and decorate his remarks with violent 
 curses; and the amiable mood of the two chief persons on 
 board exerted a direct and beneficial influence on the whole 
 crew. They set out from the place where they had taken 
 aboard their grain in April, and early in May the steamer 
 had already arrived at its destination, where, after anchor- 
 ing the barges close to the shore, it took up a position along- 
 side. Foma was bound to sell the grain as quickly as pos- 
 sible, and when he had received the money for it, he was 
 to go to Perm, where a load of iron which Ignat had con- 
 tracted to convey to the Fair, was awaiting him. 
 
 The barges had halted opposite a large village, which 
 eloped up to a pine forest, situated a couple of versts from 
 the shore. On the day after their arrival, early in the morn- 
 ing, a large and noisy throng of men and women made 
 their appearance, on foot and with horses; with shouts and 
 Bongs they scattered over the decks, and — in a twinkling, 
 the work was in full swing. The women descended into 
 the holds, and when they had put the rye into sacks, the 
 men, flinging the sacks on their shoulders, ran up the gang- 
 ways to the shore, and from the shore carts heavily laden 
 with the long expected grain wended their way slowly to 
 the village. 
 
 The women sang songs, the men joked and abused each 
 other merrily, the sailors, constituting themselves guardians 
 
 ' The patronymic (not surname), added as a token of respect, and 
 social standing. — Translator, 
 
 79 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 of order, shouted at the lahorers; the planks of the gang- 
 way, bending under their tread, beat heavily on the water, 
 while on shore horses neighed, carts squeaked, and so did 
 the sand beneath their wheels. 
 
 No sooner was the sun up than the air was invigoratingly 
 fresh and densely impregnated with the fragrance of the 
 pines; the calm water of the river, reflecting the clear sky, 
 gurgled pleasantly, as it beat against the bows of the vessels, 
 and the anchor-chains. The loud, cheerful noise of labor, 
 the youthful beauty of Xature in spring, gaily illuminated 
 by the rays of the sun — all this was filled with healthy, 
 kindly, coarse vigor which agreeably stimulated Foma's 
 soul, arousing in him new and troubled feelings and desires. 
 He was sitting at table under the awning of the steamer, 
 and drinking tea with Efim and the consignee of the grain, 
 an official of the County Council, a sandy-haired, short- 
 sighted gentleman in spectacles. Nervously twitching his 
 shoulders, the consignee in a cracked voice was narrating 
 how the peasants had been starving; but Foma listened 
 inattentively, as he gazed now at the work below, nov/ at 
 the other shore of the river — a lofty, yellow, sandy cliff, 
 on whose brow grew pine trees. The spot was silent and 
 solitary. 
 
 " I must go over there," said Foma to himself. And just 
 then his ear caught the uneasy, disagreeably sharp voice of 
 the consignee, as though wafted from somewhere in the 
 distance: 
 
 " You wouldn't believe it, — it finally became frightful! 
 Here is a case in point: in Osa, a peasant went to a man of 
 the better classes, and brought his daughter, a girl sixteen 
 years of age. — * What do you want ? ' — * Why,' says he, ' here 
 I've brought my daughter to you, Well-Born Sir.' — * Wliat 
 for? ' — * Well — perhaps you'll take her,' says he, — * you're 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 an unmarried man.' — 'What do you mean by that?' — 
 ' Why, I brought her,' says he, * I brought her to town, 
 intending to hire her out, as a servant — but no one will 
 take her — so do you take her for your mistress! ' Do you 
 understand? He offered his daughter, do you see! his 
 daughter — as a mistress! The devil knows what to think 
 of that! Hey? Of course the gentleman was astounded, 
 rushed at the peasant and cursed him. . But the peasant 
 argued with him very reasonably: ' You're Well-born! 
 What is she to me, in such times as these? She's entirelv 
 superfluous — for I have,' says he, * three little boys — they 
 will grow up to be laborers, they must be preserved. Give 
 me ten rubles for the girl,' says he, ' and I can manage 
 with the boys.' — What do you think of that, hey? 'Tis 
 simply frightful, I tell you . . ." 
 
 "It's not go-o-od! " sighed Efim. "But hunger is not 
 a kind relation, as the saying goes: The stomach has its 
 laws, you see." 
 
 But this story aroused in Foma a huge and titillating in- 
 terest in the girl's fate, which was incomprehensible to 
 him, and the young man hastily inquired of the consignee: 
 
 " And did the gentleman buy her? " 
 
 '^ Of course not! " exclaimed the consignee reprovingly. 
 
 " Well, and what did become of her then ? " 
 
 " They found some land people — they arranged matters." 
 
 " A-ah! " said Foma slowly, and suddenly and firmly an- 
 nounced: "I would have given that peasant a sound 
 thrashing! I'd have smashed his whole ugly phiz in for 
 him! " and he displayed to the consignee his large, firmly 
 clenched fist. 
 
 " Eh! Why? " exclaimed the consignee with painful 
 loudness, jerking the spectacles from his eyes. " You don't 
 understand the motive . . ." 
 
 81 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " I do understand it," said Foma, nodding his head ob- 
 stinately. 
 
 " But what could he do? It did occur to him . . ." 
 
 " Is it possible to sell a human being? " 
 
 " Ah! It is a piece of savagery, I admit, I know. — " 
 
 "And a girl, into the bargain! Fd have given him his 
 ten rubles! " 
 
 The consignee waved his hand despairingly, and made 
 no reply. His gesture disconcerted Foma; he rose from 
 the table and stepping to the bulwark, began to stare at 
 the deck of the barge, covered with a throng of people 
 actively engaged in work. The noise intoxicated him, and 
 that dim something which was fermenting in his spirit 
 crystallized into a mighty longing to work also, to possess 
 fabulous strength, vast shoulders and to load upon them 
 a hundred sacks of rye at one time, in order that everyone 
 might be enraged at him. 
 
 " Keep moving — step more lively! " he shouted loudly 
 down at them. Several heads were raised towards him, sev- 
 eral faces flashed across his vision, and among them, one — 
 the face of a woman with black eyes, — smiled pleasantly 
 and alluringly at him. At this smile something within his 
 breast flashed up, and coursed in a hot flood through his 
 veins. He tore himself away from the bulwark, and again 
 approached the table, conscious that his cheeks were 
 aflame. 
 
 " Listen to me," said the consignee. " Telegraph to your 
 father — ask him to deduct some grain as leakage! See how 
 dirty it is — and every pound is precious! He must under- 
 stand that! But your papa " he concluded, with a wry 
 
 grimace. 
 
 "How much should be deducted?" asked Foma, with 
 jaunty scorn. 
 
 83 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 "Would one hundred poods suit you?^ Two hun- 
 dred? . ." 
 
 *^ That — I thank you! " cried the consignee, ahashed and 
 delighted. " If you have the right . ." 
 
 " I'm the master here," said Foma firmly. " And you 
 must not speak so of my father — and make faces " 
 
 " Pardon me! I do not doubt your full power, I thank 
 you sincerely — and your papa also, in the name of all these 
 people — in the name of the nation." 
 
 Efim gazed apprehensively at his young master — and 
 puffing out his lips, smacked them, while his master, with 
 haughty countenance, listened to the swift speech of the 
 consignee, who was pressing his hand warmly. 
 
 " Two hundred poods. That's — real Russian style, young 
 man! Come, I'll announce your gift to the peasants im- 
 mediately. You shall see how grateful they will be — how 
 joyful . . ." 
 
 And he shouted below, in stentorian tones: 
 
 " My lads! The master makes you a present of two hun- 
 dred poods! " 
 
 " Three hundred," interrupted Foma. 
 
 "Three hundred poods — oh! thank you! Three hun- 
 dred poods of grain, my lads! " 
 
 But the effect produced was weak. The peasants raised 
 their heads upwards, dropped them again in silence, and 
 went on with their work. Several voices said in a wavering 
 and rather unwilling tone: 
 
 " Thanks. May the Lord requite you. We thank you 
 most humbly." 
 
 But some one shouted merrily and very scornfully: 
 
 " What does that amount to! Now, if you had given ua 
 a little glass of liquor apiece — that would have been a kind- 
 ' A pood is thirty-six pounds English weight. — Translator, 
 
 83 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ness — a real one. But the grain goes to the County Council 
 — not to us." 
 
 " Eh! they don't understand! " exclaimed the consignee, 
 disconcerted. " Here, I'll go and explain it to them.'* 
 
 And he disappeared. But Foma felt no interest in the 
 attitude of the peasants towards his gift, he saw that the 
 black eyes of the rosy-cheeked woman were fixed on him 
 in a way that was very strange and pleasant to him. They 
 thanked him, called him to her caressingly, and he saw 
 nothing but them. The woman was clad in town fashion 
 — ^in shoes and a cotton jacket, and her black locks were 
 confined by a peculiar kerchief. She was tall and willowy, 
 and as she sat on a pile of firewood, mending the grain- 
 sacks, swiftly moving her arms which were bare to the 
 elbow, she continued to smile at Foma. 
 
 "Foma Ignatitch! '' he heard Efim's reproachful voice. 
 " That was an awfully big bit of swagger! Fifty poods 
 
 would have been plenty! But your brag was . Look 
 
 out — ^lest you and I catch it in the neck for that per- 
 formance — " 
 
 " Get out! " replied Foma curtly. 
 
 " What is it to me? I shall hold my tongue — ^but as you 
 are still young, and I was told to look after you! — why 
 — I shall catch it straight in the face for neglecting 
 you.'' 
 
 " I'll tell my father — hold your tongue! " said Foma. 
 
 " I — well — God be with you — ^you're the master here! " 
 
 " All right then." 
 
 " I'm speaking for your own good, Foma Ignatitch 
 
 because, as you are young — and simple." 
 
 " Mind your own business, I tell you, Efim! " 
 
 Efim sighed and made no reply. And Fomd stared at 
 the woman and thought: 
 
 84 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 *'If they were to bring such a woman for sale — to 
 me . . . 
 
 His heart beat more rapidly. He knew from conversa- 
 tions he had heard, all about the intimate relations between 
 man and woman. He knew them under coarse and shame- 
 ful names, and these names aroused in him a disagreeable, 
 burning curiosity and shame, his imagination worked per- 
 sistently, and yet he could not present all these things to 
 himself in images which he could comprehend. And in his 
 heart he believed that these relations were as simple and 
 coarse as they had been represented to him. When he had 
 been laughingly assured that they were so, and could not 
 be otherwise, he had smiled stupidly and confusedly, but 
 nevertheless he had thought that the relations with a woman 
 were not necessary in that shameful form for all men, and 
 that there certainly must be something purer, less coarse 
 and offensive for a man. 
 
 Now, as he admired the black-eyed female laborer, Foma 
 was clearly conscious of precisely the coarser attraction to 
 her, and he felt ashamed and alarmed at something or other. 
 But Efim, as he stood beside him, said in a hortatory tone: 
 
 " There you are now staring at that woman — so I cannot 
 hold my tongue. She is a stranger to you, but if she tips 
 you the wink — you, in your youthfulness, and with your 
 character, will bring things to such a pass that we shall 
 have to make our way home afoot, along the shore — and 
 you'll be lucky if you have even your breeches left." 
 
 "What do you want?'' asked Foma, scarlet with con- 
 fusion. 
 
 " I don't want anything for myself. But I want you to 
 listen to me. I can be a complete teacher for you in matters 
 relating to women. You must act very simply with a 
 peasant woman — give her a bottle of liquor, and something 
 
 85 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 to eat, and then set out a couple of bottles of beer, — and 
 give her about twenty kopeks in cash. For that price she 
 will show you her whole love in the best possible manner/' 
 
 " You're always chattering nonsense/' said Foma quietly. 
 
 " I chatter nonsense, do I ? See here — you just entrust 
 this affair with her to me — will you? I'll bring about an 
 acquaintance with her for you at once." 
 
 " Very well," said Foma, feeling a difficulty in breathing, 
 and as though something were clutching at his throat. 
 
 " Well then, I'll fetch her this evening " 
 
 With an approving grin in Foma's face, Efim marched 
 off. 
 
 Until nightfall Foma went about in a sort of fog, paying 
 no heed to the respectful and searching glances with which 
 the peasants watched him after the consignee had taught 
 them their lesson. He felt a sort of dread, he felt guilty 
 towards someone, and he answered all who addressed him 
 in a submissively-pleasant way, as though excusing himself. 
 
 When evening came, a portion of the laborers went off, 
 and assembling on the shore around a large, brilliant bon- 
 fire, began to cook their supper. Fragments of their talk 
 floated to him on the evening stillness. The reflection of 
 their fire fell upon the river in red and yellow spots, which 
 quivered on the quiet water, and on the panes in the win- 
 dows of the steamer's cabin, where Foma sat. On the table 
 before him stood several bottles of liquor and beer, and 
 plates containing bread and rehshes. He had curtained the 
 windows, and had not lighted the lamps: the faint glow 
 of the fire, penetrating the curtains, fell upon the table, the 
 bottles and the wall, and flickered, growing now brighter, 
 now fainter. All was quiet on the steamer and on the 
 barges, except that from the shore the faint sounds of voices 
 were wafted thither, and the river plashed almost inaudibly 
 
 86 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 against the sides of the steamer. It seemed to Fomd as 
 though someone were hiding in the darkness around him, 
 listening to him, watching him. — Now someone was travers- 
 ing the gangway to the barges — walking hastily, with heavy 
 tread, — the planks of the gangway beat angrily and re- 
 soundingly against the water. — Foma hears the dull laugh- 
 ter of the captain, and his lowered voice. Efim is standing 
 at the door of the cabin, and speaking softly but impres- 
 sively, as though inculcating a lesson. All at once Foma 
 is seized with an impulse to shout: 
 
 " I don't want it! '' 
 
 And he had already arisen from the divan — ^but at that 
 moment the door of the cabin opened, the tall figure of a 
 woman appeared on the threshold, and noiselessly closing 
 the door behind her, she spoke, but not loudly: 
 
 " Good heavens, how dark it is! Is there any living soul 
 here?'' 
 
 " Yes," answered Foma softly. 
 
 " Well then, good evening." 
 
 And the woman advanced cautiously. 
 
 " Here I am ... I will light the lamp," said Foma, 
 in a broken voice, and throwing himself down upon the 
 divan, he again shrank into a corner. 
 
 " Oh, it's all right as it is — one's eyes get used to it, and 
 everything is visible in the darkness " 
 
 " Sit down," said Foma. 
 
 "IwiU." 
 
 She seated herself on the divan, a couple of paces from 
 him. Foma saw the gleam of her eyes, the smile on her full 
 lips. It seemed to him as though she were not smiling in 
 the same way as she had smiled that morning, but differ- 
 ently — somehow — pitifully, not cheerfully. This smile 
 gave him courage, he breathed more freely at the sight of 
 
 87 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 those eyes, which suddenly drooped on encountering his 
 eyes. But he did not know what he ought to talk about 
 with this woman, and for a couple of minutes they both re- 
 mained silent, with a silence that was awkward and op- 
 pressive. — She was the first to speak: 
 
 " You must find it very tiresome to be alone." 
 
 " Ye-es," replied Foma. 
 
 "Does our neighborhood please you? " the woman asked 
 in a low tone. 
 
 " Very well — there is a great deal of forest." 
 
 And again they became silent. 
 
 " The river is prettier than the Volga, I think/' ejaculated 
 Foma, with an effort. 
 
 " I have been on the Volga." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " In the town of Simbirsk." 
 
 " Simbirsk," repeated Foma, like an echo, feeling himself 
 again in a condition which prevented his saying a word. 
 But she must have understood with whom she had to deal, — • 
 and suddenly asked him, in a bold whisper: 
 
 " Well, master, what are you about? Aren't you going to 
 treat me?" 
 
 " Well! " said Foma, in confusion. " Eeally — ^what am I 
 thinking of! Please come to the table." 
 
 He bustled about in the darkness, knocked against the 
 table, picked up first one bottle, then another, and then 
 set them down again, laughing in a guilty and confused way. 
 But she came close to him, and stood beside him, gazing 
 in his face, and at his trembling hands with a smile. 
 
 " Are you ashamed? " she whispered suddenly. 
 
 He felt her breath upon his neck, and answered her in 
 the same soft way: 
 
 "Ye-es." 
 
 88 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Then she laid her hands on his shoulders, and gently 
 drew him to her bosom, saying in a reassuring whisper: 
 
 " Never mind, — don't feel ashamed — for you know it 
 can't be dispensed with — ^my beauty, my lad — I'm sorry for 
 you! " 
 
 And he felt like weeping at her whisper, his heart melted 
 in sweet languor; pressing his head to her bosom, he 
 clasped her closely in his arms, uttering unintelligible words 
 which he himself did not understand. 
 
 " Go away! " said Foma, in a dull voice, staring at the 
 wall with widely opened eyes. 
 
 Kissing his cheek, she rose obediently and left the cabin, 
 saying: 
 
 " Well, good-bye." 
 
 Foma was intolerably ashamed in her presence, but no 
 sooner had the door closed behind her than he sprang up 
 and seated himself on the divan. Then he rose, tottering, 
 to his feet, and at once was completely filled with the con- 
 sciousness of a loss — the loss of something very precious, 
 but whose presence in him he had not noticed until it was 
 gone. — And then immediately there arose in him a new, ' 
 virile sensation of pride in himself. He swallowed his 
 shame, and in its place sprang up pity for the woman, who 
 had gone off, half-dressed and alone, somewhere into the 
 gloom of the chilly May night. He hastened from the cabin 
 out upon the deck, — the night was starry but moonless, and 
 the chill and darkness seized hold upon him. On the shore 
 a golden-red heap of coals still sparkled. Foma listened — 
 an oppressive silence was spread abroad in the air, only the 
 water gurgled as it beat against the anchor-chains, and no- 
 where was any sound of footsteps audible. He longed to 
 call to the woman, but he did not know her name. Eagerly 
 
 89 
 
Fomk Gordy^eff 
 
 inhaling the fresh air, with deep-drawn breaths, he stood 
 for several minutes on the deck, and suddenly, from beyond 
 the cabin, from the bow of the steamer, a sigh was wafted 
 to him — a loud, heavy sigh, resembling a sob. He started, 
 and cautiously betook himself in that direction, compre- 
 hending that she was there. 
 
 She was sitting on the deck, close to the bulwarks, and 
 with her head resting on a pile of cordage, she was weeping. 
 Toma saw the white lumps, which were her bare shoulders, 
 heaving, and heard her heavy sobs, and felt oppressed him- 
 eelf. 
 
 Bending over her, he timidly inquired: 
 
 " What is the matter with you? " 
 
 She shook her head, and made no reply. 
 
 " Have I hurt your feelings ? " 
 
 " Go away — " said she. 
 
 "Yes — ^but, — " said Foma confused and trembling, as 
 he touched her head with his hand. '^ Don't be angry with 
 me — you know it was you yourself " 
 
 " I'm not angry," she answered in a loud whisper. 
 " Why should I be angry with you ? You are not a shameless 
 or a violent man, — you are a pure soul! Ah, my transient 
 darling! Sit down here beside me." 
 
 And taking Foma's hand, she drew him down, like a 
 child, upon her knees, pressed his head close to her breast, 
 and bending over him, pressed her burning lips long and 
 closely to his lips. 
 
 " What are you crying about ? " asked Foma, stroking her 
 cheek with one hand, while with the other he embraced the 
 woman's neck. 
 
 "About myself. Why did you send me away?" she 
 asked reproachfully. 
 
 " I was ashamed," answered Foma, with drooping head. 
 
 90 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 €< 
 
 My darling! Speak the whole truth — did I not please 
 you?^^ she asked laughingly, but her large, burning tears 
 still fell on Fomd's breast. 
 
 "What do you mean by that? I'' exclaimed the young 
 fellow, even with alarm, and hastily uttered words concern- 
 ing her beauty, how agreeable she was, how sorry he was 
 for her, how ashamed he felt before her. And she listened 
 to him, and continued to kiss his cheeks, his neck, his head, 
 and his bare breast. 
 
 He ceased speaking. Then she began sadly and softly, 
 as though talking of a dead person: 
 
 " But I imagined something else. When you said ' Go 
 away,' I rose and went. And your words were bitter, very 
 bitter to me. This is what I was thinking: they used to 
 fondle and pet me, without weariness, without rest; for a 
 caressing smile of mine men used to do everything I wished. 
 J. recalled this, and fell to weeping! I regretted my youth 
 . . . for I am already thirty years old . . . the last 
 days for a woman! E-eh, Foma Ignatitch! " she cried, rais- 
 ing her voice and hastening the rhythm of her chanting 
 speech, to which sounds plashing of the water formed a 
 beautiful accompaniment. 
 
 "Hearken to me — spare your youth! There is nothing 
 in the world better than it. There is nothing more precious! 
 With youth, as with gold, you can do whatever you wish. 
 Live so that in your old age you will have something 
 whereby to recall the years of your youth — I have recalled 
 mine — and although I wept, yet my heart burned with one 
 thing — the memory of how I used to live — and I grew 
 young again, as though I had drunk of living water! My 
 Bweet child! I am amusing myself with you, if the fancy 
 takes me, Fll amuse myself with all my might . . eh! 
 I'll burn to the very ashes, if I once get ablaze! " 
 
 91 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 And pressing the young fellow close to her, she began 
 eagerly to kiss his lips. 
 
 "Look o-o-o-out! ^' the watchman on the barge roared 
 mournfully, breaking the word off short, and beginning to 
 thump an iron plate with a small hammer. The trembling, 
 penetrating sounds cut sharply through the triumphant 
 stillness of the night. 
 
 In a few days, when the barges were unloaded, and the 
 steamer was ready to set out for Perm, Efim, to his great 
 discomfiture, saw a peasant cart drive down to the shore, 
 and in it the blackeyed Pekgaya with her trunk and several 
 bundles. 
 
 " Send a sailor to bring those things aboard," Foma com- 
 manded him, nodding towards the shore. With a reproach- 
 ful shake of the head Efim executed the command, and 
 then, in a subdued voice, he inquired: 
 
 " So — she is going with us? " 
 
 " She is going with me," remarked Foma curtly. 
 
 " Of course oh Lord! " 
 
 "What are you sighing about?" 
 
 « "^hy — Foma Ignatitch! You see, we're on our way to 
 a big town . . . aren't there plenty of her sort to be had 
 there?" 
 
 " Come now, hold your tongue! " said Foma surlily. 
 
 " I will — only, this is irregular! " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " This crazy prank will be reckoned up against all of us. 
 Our vessel is proper, clean — and all of a sudden — here's a 
 woman! And such a woman! Anyhow — the only thing 
 you can call her is a female! " Foma frowned suggestiveh^ 
 and said to the captain, uttering each word distinctly and 
 with emphasis: 
 
 " Do you, Efim, take note, and tell all the crew to do the 
 
 93 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 same — that if I hear a disrespectful word about her, 1^11 
 crack you over the pate with a log of wood! " 
 
 " Who's afraid! " Efim was incredulous, and stared 
 with curiosity in his master's face. But he immediately 
 retreated a step from Foma. Ignat's son disclosed his teeth 
 in a snarl like a wolf, the pupils of his eyes dilated and he 
 shouted: 
 
 " Just you try it! I dare you! " 
 
 Although Efim was frightened, he replied with dignity: 
 
 " You may be the master, Foma Ignatitch, but I was 
 told: * Keep watch over him, Efim,' . . and I am the 
 captain here." 
 
 "Captain?!" shrieked Fomd, trembling and turning 
 pale. " And who am I? " 
 
 " Don't yell! For such a trifle as a woman." 
 
 Red spots started out on Foma's pale face, he changed 
 from one foot to the other, thrust his hands, with a con- 
 vulsive movement, into the pockets of his pea-jacket, and 
 said, in firm, even voice: 
 
 "You! Captain! Look here — if you say another word 
 contrary to me — you may go to the devil! Begone! Go 
 ashore! I'll finish the journey with the pilot! Do you 
 understand? You're not going to hold command over me 
 weU?" 
 
 Efim was astounded. He stared at the master, and 
 worked his eyes in an absurd way, unable to find an answer. 
 
 "Do you understand, I say?" 
 
 " I un-der-stand, I un-derstand! " drawled Efim. " But 
 what's the use of making a row ? For the sake of a " 
 
 " Shut up! " 
 
 "Phew!" 
 
 Foma's wildly blazing eyes, and his face distorted with 
 wrath inspired the captain with the happy thought of get- 
 
 93 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 ting away from the master as promptly as possible, and 
 turning briskly about, he went off. 
 
 " Phe-ew! He made the cold chills run down my back! 
 Evidently, he's a chip of the old block," he muttered sar- 
 donically to himself, as he strode along the deck. He was 
 angry with Foma, and considered that he had been wrong- 
 fully insulted, but at the same time, he felt over him the 
 firm hand of a true master. He had been for so many years 
 subject to authority that he was pleased with the power 
 over him that had been revealed, and when he entered the 
 cabin of the old pilot, it was with a shade of satisfaction 
 in his voice that he narrated to the latter the scene which 
 had taken place between him and the master. 
 
 "You have seen him?" he concluded his story. "He's 
 just like a puppy of a good breed, — he makes a good dog 
 at his first hunt. But in appearance he is only so-so — a 
 rather paltry young man of muddy mind. Well, never 
 mind, let him sow his wild oats — it will do no harm, you 
 know — with his character. Yes, how he did yell at me! 
 'Twas like a trumpet, I tell you. And he instantly asserted 
 his mastership — as if he'd been used to power and strict- 
 ness ever since his bread-and-milk days." 
 
 Efim spoke truly: in the course of the last few days 
 Foma had undergone a sharp change. Passion, fiaming up 
 in him, had made him master of the body and soul of a 
 woman, he eagerly quaffed the fiery sweetness of this power, 
 and it burned out of him all the awkwardness which gave 
 to him the appearance of a surly and rather dull young fel- 
 low, and in annihilating this, it had filled the young man's 
 heart with the consciousness of his virile personality. Love 
 for a woman is always fruitful for a man, be the woman 
 what she may, even if she gives only suffering, — and in 
 suffering there is always much that is of value. Love, 
 
 94 
 
Fomk Gordy^eff 
 
 while it is a violent poison for him who is sick in soul, is 
 for the healthy man as the fire is to the iron which wishes 
 to become steel. 
 
 Foma's infatuation for a woman of thirty, who was cele- 
 brating in the arms of a youth the funeral of her youth, 
 did not distract him from business; he did not lose his 
 head either in embraces or in work, but threw himself 
 wholly into both. The woman, like good wine, excited in 
 him, with equal force, a thirst for labor and for love, and 
 she herself grew young again, rejuvenated by the kisses of 
 youth. 
 
 In Perm Fomd found awaiting him a letter from his god-, 
 father, who informed him that Ignat had taken to drink 
 with longing for his son; and that at his age it was injurious 
 to drink so. The letter wound up with the advice that he 
 should make haste with his business and return home as 
 speedily as possible. Foma was disturbed by this advice, 
 and it embittered the bright festival of his heart; but this 
 shadow was soon dissipated by business cares and Pelagdya's 
 caresses. His life flowed on with the swiftness of the river's 
 current, and every day brought to him ne^ sensations, 
 which gave birth to new thoughts. Pelagaya treated him 
 with all the passion of a mistress, with that force of feeling 
 which women of her age inject into their amours, when 
 they are quaffing the last drops from the cup of life. But 
 at times another feeling was aroused in her, a feeling no less 
 strong, and one which bound Foma to her still more ef- 
 fectually — a feeling similar to the attempt of a mother to 
 guard her beloved son from errors, to teach him the art of 
 living. Often, at night, as they sat on deck, with their 
 arms about each other, she said fondly but sadly to him: 
 
 " Heed me as you would an elder sister. I have lived — 
 I know what people are, — I have seen a great deal in my 
 
 95 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 life! Choose your friends carefully, for there are people 
 who are as infectious as a disease . . At first you will not 
 be able to discern what sort of a person the man is; he 
 seems like all other men, and all of a sudden, before you 
 notice it yourself, you will begin to imitate him in your own 
 life. All at once, his ways have stuck to you. For in- 
 stance, I lost everything through a friend ... I had a 
 husband — two children — we lived well; my husband was 
 clerk of the County Council." 
 
 She paused, stared for a long time over the side of the 
 yessel, at the water disturbed by the vessel, and then, with 
 a sigh, she began again: 
 
 " May the All-holy Birthgiver of God preserve you from 
 women of my class! Be cautious. You are soft, your heart 
 is not really tempered and hardened yet. But women are 
 fond of men like you — strong, handsome, rich; and above 
 all be on your guard against the quiet women — that sort 
 of woman clings to a man like a leech — and drinks and 
 sucks, and sucks, and all the while is so amiable, so tender. 
 She will suck the very juice out of you, but will spare her- 
 self — and will merely break your heart for nothing. Deal 
 rather with those who are bold, like me. Such women are 
 disinterested." 
 
 She really was disinterested. At Perm Foma bought her 
 various new articles of clothing, and trifles. She was de- 
 lighted with them, but after examining them she said, 
 anxiously: 
 
 " Don't squander your money so: look out or your father 
 will be angry. I love you just the same without these 
 things." 
 
 Before that she had told him that she would go with 
 him only as far as Kazan, where her married sister lived. 
 Foma did not believe that she would leave him, and when 
 
 96 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 — on the night before they reached Kaz^n — she repeated 
 her words, his brow darkened and he began to entreat her 
 not to abandon him. 
 
 " Don't mourn before the time comes," said she. " We 
 have still a whole night before us. When we part you 
 may grieve — if it pains you." 
 
 But he urged her with all the greater warmth not to 
 leave him, and at last — as was to have been expected — he 
 announced that he wished to marry her. 
 
 " There, there — now! " and she broke out laughing. 
 " x\m I to marry you when I have a husband living? You 
 are my dear little funny fellow! Did you want to get mar- 
 ried? But do men marry such as I am? Marry when you 
 have simmered down. You will have many, many, mis- 
 tresses; when you have eaten your fill of sweets then you will 
 crave for plain rye bread — that's the time to marry! I have 
 observed that a healthy man, for his own peace of mind, 
 should not marry young — his wife is not enough for him, 
 and he will go with other women. And for your own hap- 
 piness you must take a wife when you see that she will be 
 enough alone for you." 
 
 But the more she talked, the firmer and more persistent 
 did Foma become in his desire not to part with her. ^ 
 
 " Now listen to what I am about to tell you — " said the 
 woman calmly. ^^A pine-knot is burning in your hand, 
 but you have light enough without it, so do you quench it 
 at once in the water, and then there will be no stench from 
 it, and it will not burn your hands." 
 
 " I don't understand your words." 
 
 "You must: you have done me no harm, and I wish 
 no harm to you. So I shall go away." 
 
 It is difficult to say how this dispute would have ended, 
 if fate had not taken a hand in it. At Kazan Foma received 
 
 97 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 a telegram from Mayakin, who curtly ordered his godson: 
 " Come at once, on a passenger-steamer/' Foma's heart 
 contracted painfully, and a few hours later, with set teeth, 
 pale and morose, he stood on the gallery of a steamer which 
 was putting oS from the wharf, and with hands clenching 
 the rail, motionless and not even winking he was gazing 
 into the face of his beloved, which was receding from him 
 into the distance along with the wharf and the shore. 
 Pelagaya waved her handkerchief to him, and kept on 
 smihng, but he knew that she was weeping great, painful 
 tears. The whole bosom of Foma's shirt was wet with her 
 tears, and his heart was cold and heavy with them, filled as 
 it already was with sad apprehension. The woman's figure 
 grew smaller and smaller, as though melting away, and 
 Foma gazed at it, never taking his eyes from it, and felt 
 that in addition to his terror about his father, and his grief 
 for the woman, some new, powerful and caustic sensation 
 was coming into existence. He could not put a name to it, 
 but it seemed to him very much like offense at someone. 
 
 The throng of people on the wharf became merged into 
 a dense, dark, dead spot, without faces, without forms, with- 
 out motion. Foma left the rail, and began to pace the 
 deck in surly mood. 
 
 The passengers were conversing in loud tones, sat down 
 to drink tea, the waiters hurried to and fro on the gallery 
 setting the little tables; somewhere down below, on the stern, 
 a child was laughing, an accordion was whining, the cook 
 was clashing his knives noisily and the dishes were rattling 
 loudly. The huge steamer forged its way swiftly up stream, 
 cutting through the waves, making them foam, and quiver- 
 ing with the exertion. Foma gazed at the broad strip of 
 broken, churning, angry waves in the wake of the steamer, 
 and felt within him a savage desire to break, to rend some- 
 
 98 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 thing — to breast the current with his own bosom, and shat- 
 ter its pressure to atoms against his chest and shoulders. 
 
 "Fate! " said someone near him, in a hoarse and weary 
 voice. 
 
 The word was familiar to him, it had often formed his 
 aunt Anfisa's reply to Foma's questions, and that short 
 word suggested to him an idea of force resembling the 
 force of God Himself. He glanced at the speakers; one 
 of them was a gray-haired little old man, with a kindly 
 face; the other was younger, with large, weary eyes, and a 
 black, wedge-shaped beard. His large, gristly nose and 
 yellow, sunken cheeks reminded Foma of his god-father. 
 
 "Fate!" the old man repeated with conviction to his 
 companion's exclamation, and laughed: 
 
 " It is over our life as a fisherman is over the river; it 
 flings to our vanity a hook with a bait, but man instantly 
 snaps up the bait, with greedy mouth, — and then Fate 
 draws in her catch — and the man beats against the earth, 
 and his heart is broken, you see ... and that is Fate, 
 my good sir! " 
 
 Foma shut his eyes, as though a ray of sunlight had 
 flashed into them, and shaking his head he said aloud: 
 
 " That's so! Yes— that's so! " 
 
 The men who had been talking stared intently at him: 
 the old man with a fine, intelligent smile, the big-eyed man 
 in hostile wise, askance. This confused Foma, and flushing 
 scarlet he walked away, meditating about Fate, and wonder- 
 ing why it should have shown him favor by giving him 
 the woman only to wrest the gift from his hand in so simple 
 and so offensive a manner? And he comprehended that the 
 dim, caustic feeling which he bore within him, — was an 
 affront to Fate for her trifling with him. He was too much 
 spoiled by life to bear himself more simply towards the 
 
 99 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 first drop of gall in the beaker which he had just begun to 
 quaff, and the whole time of his journey he spent without 
 sleep, thinking about the old man's words and nursing his 
 sense of injury. Yet it excited in him, neither depression 
 nor grief, but only a wrathful and revengeful feeling. 
 
 Foma was met at the wharf by his god-father and in 
 answer to his impetuous, anxious questions, the old man 
 announced to his godson, his greenish eyes sparkling with 
 excitement, as he seated himself in the open carriage beside 
 his godson: 
 
 " Your father has gone out of his mind." 
 
 "Is he drinking?" 
 
 " Worse — he has lost his head completely." 
 
 " You don't say so? Oh heavens! Speak — " 
 
 "You understand: a certain little lady has got hold of 
 him." 
 
 "What of that?" exclaimed Foma, recalling his Pela- 
 gaya, and for some reason he felt a sensation of joy in his 
 heart. 
 
 " She is sticking fast to him — sucking him dry." 
 
 " Is she the quiet sort? " 
 
 "She? Quiet as a conflagration. She has enticed sev- 
 enty-five thousand rubles out of his pocket, like so much 
 down." 
 
 "0-oh! Who is she?" 
 
 " Sonka Med;f nsky, the wife of the architect." 
 
 "Heavens! Can it be that she . . Is it possible that 
 my father — can have made her his mistress? " asked Fom4 
 softly, in amazement. 
 
 His god-father started back, and with eyes protruding in 
 an absurd way, said with conviction: 
 
 " Well, my good fellow, you're cracked also! By heavens, 
 you are out of your mind! Gather your wits together! To 
 
 100 
 
Fom^ Gordyeeff 
 
 get up a mistress at the age of sixty-three — and at such a 
 price, to boot. What ails you? Well, I'll tell Ignat about 
 this." 
 
 And Mayakin broke into a quavering, hasty laugh, which 
 made his goat-like beard shake about in an ugly way. It 
 was a long time before Foma could get him to explain; con- 
 trary to his habit, the old man was uneasy, excited, hia 
 speech, always suave, was incoherent, he told his story inter- 
 mingled with oaths and spitting, and Foma had great diffi- 
 culty in making out what the trouble was. It appeared 
 that Sofya Pavlovna Medynsky, the wife of a wealthy archi- 
 tect, known to the whole town for her unwearied efforts in 
 the promotion of various philanthropic enterprises, — ^had 
 persuaded Ignat to contribute seventy-five thousand rubles 
 to build for the town a night lodging-house and a library 
 and reading-room for the lower classes. Ignat had given the 
 money, and the newspapers had already lauded him for his 
 generosity. Foma had often seen this woman in the street: 
 she was small of stature, he knew that she was considered 
 one of the greatest beauties in town, and that ugly rumors 
 were current as to her character. 
 
 "Is that all?" he exclaimed, when his god-father had 
 finished his tale. " But I thought — God knows what." 
 
 "You? You thought?" cried Mayakin with sudden 
 anger. " You didn't think anything — you milksop! " 
 
 " Why do you call names? " asked Foma in surprise. 
 
 " Tell me — is seventy-five thousand rubles a big sum of 
 money in your opinion? " 
 
 " Yes," said Foma, after thinking it over. 
 
 "Aha-a!?" 
 
 " But my father has lots of money — why do you — " 
 
 Ydkoff Tarasovitch lost control of himself completely: 
 
 101 
 
Fania Gordyeeff 
 
 he stared scornfully straight in the face of the young man, 
 and asked in a weak sort of voice: 
 
 " Is it you who is talking? " 
 
 "Yes — who else could it be?" 
 
 " You lie! 'Tis your youthful stupidity that's speaking, 
 that it is! But my aged stupidity — put to the proof a 
 million times by life — says to you: ' You're still a puppy, 
 'tis too early for you to be barking in a bass voice.' " 
 
 Foma had often been provoked, in his younger days, by 
 the over-figurative language of his god-father, — ^but now 
 he felt himself deeply insulted by the old man, and he said 
 to him, soberly but firmly: 
 
 " You will do well not to let your tongue loose at random, 
 — for I'm no longer a boy." 
 
 " Well, and what are you! " cried Mayakin jeeringly, ele- 
 vating his eyebrows and casting a sidelong glance at him. 
 
 Then Foma exploded. He looked the old man straight 
 in the eye, and said, distinctly and impressively: 
 
 " I tell you again, that I won't listen any longer to your 
 wanton curses . . . Stop it! " 
 
 " Hm-m — yes . . . exactly so! Pardon me." 
 
 Yakoff Tarasovitch here closed his eyes, bit his lips, 
 and turning away from his godson, remained silent for a 
 moment. The carriage turned into a narrow street, and 
 catching sight of the roof of his home in the distance, 
 Foma involuntarily bent his whole body forward towards 
 it. At the same moment, his god-father, smiling craftily 
 and affectionately, asked him: 
 
 "Fomka! Tell me — on whom have you been cutting 
 your teeth?" 
 
 "Have they really become sharp?" asked Foma de- 
 lighted by this appeal on the part of his god-father. 
 
 " They'll do, all right! 'Tis well, my dear fellow, 'tis 
 
 102 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 very well! Your father and I were afraid that you'd turn 
 out an effeminate fool. Well, and have you learned to drink 
 liquor? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You've been prompt about it! Do you drink much? " 
 
 "Why should I?" 
 
 " And you like it? " 
 
 " Not very much." 
 
 "Well — that's all right; it's not bad. Only, you're 
 
 pretty frank you're ready to confess all your sins to 
 
 any priest that comes along — ^just reflect on that point, my 
 dear fellow, it is not always the thing to do; there are times 
 when by holding your tongue you will please people better 
 and avoid sin. Well — yes. A man's tongue is rarely dis- 
 creet . . Well, here we are. Look out — your father 
 doesn't know that you have arrived; and I wonder if he 
 has come home yet? " 
 
 He was at home; his big, rather hoarse laughter floated 
 out upon the street through the open windows of the room. 
 The noise the carriage made as it drove up caused Ignat to 
 look out of the window, and at the sight of his son he 
 shouted joyously: 
 
 "A-ah! He's come!" 
 
 A moment later, pressing Foma to his breast with one 
 hand, he laid the palm of the other against his son's brow, 
 pushed back his head, gazed into his face with beaming eyes, 
 and said with an air of satisfaction: 
 
 " How sunburnt he is — how healthy — what a fine fellow I 
 Madam! Haven't I a fine son? " 
 
 " He's not bad," said a silvery, caressing voice. 
 
 Foma glanced past his father's shoulder and beheld: in 
 the corner of honor, with her elbows resting on the table, 
 sat a tiny woman, with luxuriant blond hair, and from her 
 
 103 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 pale face stood out clearly her dark eyes, delicate brows, and 
 full, crimson lips. Behind her chair stood a large tropical 
 plant, and its huge, mottled leaves hung in the air above 
 her little golden head. 
 
 " Good health to you, Sofya Pavlovna,*' said Mayakin 
 pleasantly, as he approached her with outstretched hand. 
 " Are you still collecting contributions from us poor 
 people?" 
 
 Foma bowed to her in silence, and did not hear her reply 
 to Mayakin, nor what his father was saying to him. The 
 lady was gazing intently at him, and smiling at him courte- 
 ously and brightly. Her childish figure, enveloped in some 
 sort of dark material, was almost indistinguishable against 
 the dark crimson covering of the arm-chair, so that her 
 wavy golden hair and pale face seemed to shine forth from 
 the dark background. As she sat there in the corner, under 
 the green leaves, she was like a flower, and like a holy 
 picture. 
 
 " See, Sofya Pavlovna, how he is looking at you — hke 
 an eagle, isn't he ? '' said Ignat. 
 
 She puckered up her eyes, a faint flush rose to her cheek, 
 and she laughed — and the sound was like that of a tiny 
 silver bell. Then she rose, saying: 
 
 " I will not intrude upon you: au revoir.'' 
 
 As she went noiselessly past Foma, he caught a breath of 
 perfumes, and he was surprised to find that her eyes were 
 dark blue, and her eyebrows almost black. 
 
 " The pike has swum away," said Mayakin softly, gazing 
 after her malignantly. 
 
 " Come, tell us about your travels. Have you squandered 
 a great deal of money? " said Ignat in his deep, humming 
 voice, as he pushed his son into the chair which Madam 
 Medynsky had just quitted. Foma cast a sidelong glance at 
 it, and seated himself in another. 
 
 104 
 
Foma Gordydieff 
 
 " She's a pretty little woman, isn't she? '' asked Maydkin 
 with a laugh, probing Foma with his crafty eyes. — " You'll 
 gape at her — and she'll devour your whole insides . . /' 
 
 For some reason or other Foma shuddered, and without 
 replying to him, began to talk to his father in a business- 
 like tone about his journey. But Ignat interrupted him: 
 
 " Wait, I'll order some brandy." 
 
 "But you're drinking continually, I hear," said Foma 
 disapprovingly. 
 
 Ignat looked at him with amazement and curiosity, and 
 asked: 
 
 " Does one speak to his father like that, hey? '^ 
 
 Foma dropped his head in confusion. 
 
 "Never mind!" said Ignat goodnaturedly, and shouted 
 for some brandy. Mayakin half-closed his eyes, looked 
 hard at the Gordyeeffs, sighed, took leave and went away, 
 after inviting them to come to his house in the evening to 
 drink tea with raspberries. 
 
 "Where's Aunty Anfisa?" asked Foma, feehng rather 
 awkward, now that he was alone with his father. 
 
 " She has gone off to the convent . . Come, now, 
 talk to me while I drink." 
 
 In a few minutes Foma had told his father all about busi- 
 ness matters, and wound up his account with a frank con- 
 fession. 
 
 " I have spent a great deal of money on myself." , 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 " Six hundred rubles." 
 
 " In a month and a half! That's a good deal. — I see that 
 you will cost me pretty dear as a clerk. How did you 
 squander it? " 
 
 " I made a present of three hundred poods of grain." 
 
 ** To whom? How?" 
 
 105 
 
FomA Gordy^eff 
 
 Foma explained. 
 
 " Hm! well — never mind — ^that's all right! " said hia 
 father approvingly. "It's a plain case — for your father's 
 honor — for the honor of the firm. And there's no loss — 
 because, — glory is a good thing — and that matter, my dear 
 fellow, is the best advertisement for trade. Well — and what 
 else?" 
 
 " Well — I — ^just spent it, one way and another." 
 
 " Speak plainly — I'm not asking about the money; — I 
 want to know about your own life," persisted Ignat, in- 
 specting his son intently and severely. 
 
 "I ate — and drank — " said Foma, surlily, without be- 
 traying himself, and bowing his head in confusion. 
 
 "You drank? Vodka?" 
 Yes — among the rest." 
 Ah! Isn't it rather early to begin that? " 
 Ask Efim if I got drunk." 
 
 " Why should I question Efim? You must tell me every- 
 thing yourself. So you drink, it appears ? I don't like it." 
 
 " I can get along without drinking." 
 
 " No you can't ! Will you have some brandy ? " 
 
 Foma looked at his father and grinned broadly. And 
 his father replied by a good-natured smile. 
 
 " Heigh-ho ! the devil ! Drink — but look out — under- 
 stand what you are about. How do you pass your time ? 
 A drunkard will wake up, a fool never — let us comprehend 
 this much, at least, for our own consolation. . . Well, 
 and did you carry on with the girls? Speak out! Do 
 you suppose I'm going to thrash you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did. There was one on the steamer. I took 
 her from Perm to Kazan." 
 
 " Well," — Ignat sighed heavily, and said, with a frown : 
 " You've defiled yourself early." 
 
 106 
 
 « 
 it 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " I'm twenty years old. And you said yourself, that in 
 your day, boys of fifteen got married," retorted his son, 
 taken aback. 
 
 " Exactly — they got married. Well, all right, let's drop 
 the subject. So you cut up with a girl; what of that? 
 Woman is like the small-pox; you can't live without hav- 
 ing her. And it doesn^t suit me to play the hypocrite, — 
 I began to make love to the women even earlier than you 
 have done. Only, be on your guard with them." 
 
 Ignat fell into thought, and remained silent for a long 
 time, as he sat motionless, with bowed head. 
 
 " See here, Foma," he began again, harshly and firmly, 
 " I shall die before long. I'm old. I feel a weight on 
 my breast; it is hard for me to breathe. I shall die. 
 Then all the business will devolve upon you. Your god-1 
 father will help you at the start; heed his advice! You 
 have made a good beginning, you have handled everything 
 in the proper manner, you have got a good grip on the 
 reins, and, although your spree has cost a lot of money, 
 'tis evident that you have not lost your common-sense. 
 God grant that it may be so in the future also. You 
 must know this: business is a live and powerful wild beast; 
 it must be managed wisely; you must keep a tight rein on 
 it or it will get the better of you. Try to stand above 
 your business — place yourself in such a position that it 
 will all be under your feet, in sight; let every little rivet 
 in it be visible to you." 
 
 Foma gazed at his father's broad chest, listened to his 
 deep voice, and thought to himself: 
 
 " Well, you'll not die in a hurry ! " 
 
 This thought was pleasing to him, and aroused in him 
 a kindly, fervent sentiment toward his father. 
 
 " Stick to your god-father — he has brains in his noddle 
 
 107 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 — enough for the whole town — only he lacks courage; if 
 it were not for that, he would rise high. Yes, as I tell 
 you, I have not long to live. In fact, it is time for me 
 to prepare for death. Fd like to give up everything and 
 make my devotions, and arrange things so that people 
 would remember me kindly.'' 
 
 " They will remember you ! " said Foma confidently. 
 
 " There ought to be something to make them." 
 
 " And how about the night lodging-house? " 
 
 Ignat glanced at his son and burst out laughing. 
 
 "So Yakoff has already told you; he found time for 
 that, the old skinflint! He abused me, I suppose?" 
 
 " Yes, he did a little," admitted Foma, smiling. 
 
 " Well, of course ! Don't I know him ? " 
 
 " He spoke about it exactly as though it were his 
 money." 
 
 Ignat threw himself back in his chair and burst into a 
 louder roar of laughter than before. 
 
 " Oh, the old raven ! he did, did he ? You're right 
 about that. In his eyes, my money and his own are one 
 and the same thing; so he's trembling. He has an ob- 
 ject, the bald-headed rogue! Come, now, teU me what 
 it is." 
 
 Foma reflected, and said: 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Eh ! You're stupid. He wants to unite the money.'* 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Well then, guess!" 
 
 Fomd looked at his father — and guessed. His face 
 clouded over, he rose from his chair, saying, decisively: 
 
 " No, I will not ; I will not marry her ! " 
 
 " Oh! what's the meaning of this? She's a healthy lass, 
 not Stupid, her father's only child." 
 
 108 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 "And how about Taras, the one who disappeared? 
 And I — will not, on any terms ! " 
 
 " The son who disappeared has — disappeared, and 
 that's the end of it ; it doesn't seem worth while to discuss 
 him. There is a will, my dear fellow, which says : * All 
 my property, real and personal, I bequeath to my daugh- 
 ter, Liuboff.' And as for her being your god-sister — 
 we'll arrange that." ^ 
 
 " That makes no difference," said Fom4, firmly; " I will 
 not marry her ! " 
 
 " Well, it's early yet to talk about that. But why isn't 
 she to your liking ? " 
 
 " I don't like that sort." 
 
 " Re — eally ! Pray tell me, sir, what sort are most to 
 your taste." 
 
 "The very simple ones. She's there with the gym- 
 nasium girls and her little books — she has become learned. 
 She will laugh at me," said Foma, with agitation. 
 
 " That's true enough. She's forward, beyond all bounds, 
 but that's of no consequence — all sorts of iron-rust can be 
 polished off if you apply elbow-grease. That's something 
 that time will mend. But your god-father is a clever old 
 fellow. His existence has been tranquil, sedentary, and 
 as he sat still in one place, he has thought about every- 
 thing . . he's worth heeding, my dear boy; he sees 
 through and through every affair in life. He's one of our 
 'ristocrats, from the days of Matushka Yekaterina — ha, 
 ha ! And, as his race has died out in Taras, he has decided 
 to put you in the place of Taras. Do you realize that ? " 
 
 "No. I — I'll choose my own place for myself," said 
 
 Foma obstinately. 
 
 ' According to the canons of the Holy Orthodox Catholic Church of 
 
 the East this ''relationship" is within the prohibited degrees. — Trans' 
 
 lator, 
 
 109 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " 'Xou're stupid, still 1 " laughed his father, in reply to 
 his words. 
 
 Their conversation was interrupted by the approach of 
 Aunt Anfisa. 
 
 " Fomushka! you have come! " she cried, somewhere 
 outside the door. Foma rose, and went to meet her, with 
 an affectionate smile. 
 
 Again his life flowed on slowly, quietly, and monot- 
 onously. There was more ^Change, and instruction from 
 his father. While preserving toward his son a tone of ami- 
 able raillery, Ignat began, on the whole, to treat him more 
 sternly. He called the young man^s attention to every 
 petty trifle, and more and more frequently reminded him 
 that he had brought him up in freedom, had never put 
 any restraint upon him, and had never thrashed him. 
 
 " Other fathers beat fellows like you with logs of wood — 
 but I have never laid a finger on you.^' 
 
 " Evidently, there was no cause for doing it,^^ retorted 
 Foma calmly, one day. 
 
 Ignat flew into a rage against his son for these words, 
 and the tone with which they were uttered. 
 
 " Talk away ! ^' he bellowed. — " YouVe got uppish, 
 under my tender handling. You have an answer ready for 
 everything. See here — though my hand has been soft, it 
 can still squeeze so that the tears will burst out of your 
 heels. You've run up rapidly, like a toad-stool; no 
 sooner have you thrust your head above ground than you 
 Btink." 
 
 " Why are you angry with me ? " Foma asked, surprised 
 and hurt, when his father was in an amiable frame of 
 mind. 
 
 " And you can't endure to have your father grumble 
 at you — you pick a quarrel on the spot.'' 
 
 110 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "But it is insulting to me. I have not become any 
 worse — and I see how other fellows of my age live/^ 
 
 " Your head won^t fall off if I do scold you now and 
 then. And I scold because I see that there's something in 
 you which you don't get from me . . what it is, I don't 
 know; but I see that it is there, and is injurious to you." 
 
 These words from his father caused Foma to ponder 
 deeply. He himself felt within himself something pecul- 
 iar, which thrust him apart from men of his own age, but 
 he, also, was unable to comprehend what it was. And 
 he maintained a suspicious watch on himself. 
 
 It pleased him to be on 'Change, in the tumult and talk 
 of solid men, who had conducted thousands of affairs ; he 
 was flattered by the respect with which the less wealthy 
 traders saluted and conversed with him, Foma Gordyeeff, 
 the son of the millionaire. , 
 
 He felt proud and happy if, now and then, he succeeded * 
 in managing some detail in his father's business, on his 
 own responsibility, and earning a smile of approval from 
 his father for his successful management. He had a 
 good deal of ambitious aspiration to seem a full-grown and 
 active business man, but he lived a lonesome life, as before 
 — previous to his trip to Perm — and did not yet feel any 
 yearning to have friends, although every day he encoun- 
 tered many sons of merchants, of his own age. ^^Iany a 
 time did they invite him to carouse, but he roughly and 
 scornfully refused the invitations, and even sneered: 
 
 " I'm afraid. Your fathers will find out about these 
 carouses, and they will thrash you, probably, and I shall 
 get it in the neck from them." 
 
 What displeased him in them was, that they caroused 
 and indulged their vices on the sly from their fathers, 
 with money stolen from their fathers' funds, or borrowed 
 
 111 
 
Foma Gordy6eff 
 
 on notes of hand for long periods, at huge interest. They, 
 on their part, did not like him, because of his reserve and 
 squeamishness, in which they detected great pride that 
 was offensive to them. He felt embarrassed at convers- 
 ing with the older men, fearing that he might appear to 
 them stupid and ignorant of business. 
 
 He often called to mind Pelagaya, and, at first, he felt 
 sad when her image flashed up in his imagination. But 
 time passed, and somewhat obliterated the brilliant hues 
 of this woman, and, imperceptibly to himself, her place in 
 his dreams was usurped by little, angel-faced Madame 
 Medynsky. Almost every Sunday she ran in to see Ignat, 
 with various requests, with one general object in view — 
 to hasten the construction of the night lodging-house. 
 In her presence Foma felt himself awkward, huge, heavy; 
 this displeased him, and he flushed a deep scarlet under 
 the affectionate gaze of Sofya Pavlovna's big eyes. He 
 noticed that every time she glanced at him her eyes grew 
 dark, and her upper lip quivered, and was raised almost 
 imperceptibly, revealing her tiny white teeth. This al- 
 ways alarmed him. His father, observing his glances at 
 Madame Medynsky, said to him: 
 
 " Don't you stare too much at that little phiz. She's 
 like birch-wood coals; outwardly they are just such mod- 
 est, smooth, dark affairs, — they seem to be perfectly cold, 
 — but if you take them in your hand, they burn." 
 
 Madame Medynsky did not evoke in the young man a 
 feeling of sensual attraction, for there was nothing about 
 her which resembled Pelagaya, and, in general, she was 
 not like all other women. He knew that disgraceful 
 things were said about her, but he believed none of them. 
 Still, he changed his attitude toward her, when he saw 
 her in a calash, sitting by the side of a gentleman in a 
 
 112 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 gray hat, and with long locks of hair hanging on his shoul- 
 ders. The man's face was like a bladder, red and swollen, 
 he had neither beard nor mustache, and his whole person 
 resembled a woman in man's garb. Fomd was told that 
 this person was her husband. It was then that obscure 
 and contradictory feelings flared up in him: he felt in- 
 clined to insult the architect, and, at the same time, he 
 experienced a sensation of envy and respect for him. 
 Madame Medynsky seemed less beautiful, and more ac- 
 cessible ; he began to pity her, and yet he said, maliciously, 
 to himself : 
 
 " She must find it very repulsive when he kisses her.'' 
 
 Yet, in spite of all this, he sometimes became conscious 
 of a certain bottomlessly profound, oppressive emptiness 
 within himself, which nothing could fill — neither the im- 
 pressions of the day just past, nor the memory of days of 
 yore; 'Change, and business affairs, and Madame Medynsky 
 — all were swallowed up in this gulf. It agitated him; 
 in its gloomy depths he suspected the existence of some 
 power that was hostile to him, though still formless, which 
 was already cautiously and persistently striving to become 
 incarnate. 
 
 And, in the meanwhile, Ignat, who had changed little 
 in outward aspect, grew more and more uneasy and quer- 
 ulous, and complained more and more frequently of indis- 
 position. 
 
 " I can't sleep — and I used to sleep like a log, and you 
 might have skinned me and I wouldn't have known it. 
 But now, I thrash and turn from side to side, and hardly 
 get to sleep by morning. And I keep waking up — my 
 heart beats unevenly, sometimes like a hunted creature, 
 so fast: ' tuk-tuk-tuk ' — and then, all of a sudden, it dies 
 away, — it seems as though it would burst the next minute 
 
 113 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 and fall down, somewhere, very deep — to my very bowels. 
 — Have mercy upon me, God, according to Thy great 
 mercy ! '' 
 
 And with a penitent sigh, he raised his stern eyes, which 
 were already dimmed and had lost their gleam of intelli- 
 gence, toward heaven. 
 
 " Death is lying in wait for me somewhere near at 
 hana," he said, morosely, but submissively. And, in fact, 
 it speedily laid low his huge, powerful body. 
 
 This came to pass in August, early one morning. Foma 
 was sleeping soundly, when he suddenly felt some one 
 shaking him by the shoulder, and heard a hoarse voice 
 close to his ear: 
 
 " Get up. :' 
 
 He opened his eyes, and saw his father sitting on the 
 chair beside his bed, repeating in a dull monotone : 
 
 " Get up, get up.'^ 
 
 The sun had just risen, and its light, which fell upon 
 Ignat's white linen shirt, had not yet lost its rosy hue. 
 
 *^It's early," said Foma, stretching himself. 
 
 " That^s all right — you can have your sleep out later.'' 
 
 Wrapping himself lazily in the coverlet, Foma inquired : 
 
 " Is anything wanted ? '' 
 
 " Do get up, my dear boy, I entreat ! '' cried Ignat, and 
 added, in an offended tone : " Of course, there's some- 
 thing wanted, if I wake you." 
 
 On scanning his father's face, Fomd perceived that it 
 was gray and haggard. 
 
 " Aren't you feeling well ? " 
 
 "IfeelaHttle— " 
 
 " Do you want the doctor ? " 
 
 " Oh, hang the doctor ! " and Ignat waved his hand. 
 '"Tm no infant; I know enough without him." 
 
 114 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 "What?'' 
 
 " Well — I know ! '' said the old man mysteriously, gaz- 
 ing round the room in a rather strange manner. Fom4 
 dressed himself, and his father, dropping his head, said 
 slowly : 
 
 " I'm afraid to breathe. . . I have an idea that if I 
 were to take a full breath now my heart would burst. 
 — To-day is Sunday! After the early Liturgy, send for 
 help.'' 
 
 " What ails you, papa ? " laughed Foma. 
 
 " Nothing — I — Wash yourself, and go into the garden 
 — Fve ordered them to serve the samovar there — and 
 we'll drink tea in the morning freshness. I long for my 
 tea, strong and hot. . Be as quick as you can." 
 
 The old man rose heavily from his chair, and, much 
 bowed down, walking uncertainly with his bare feet, he 
 left the room. Foma stared after his father, and the 
 piercing chill of terror contracted his heart. Washing 
 himself hurriedly, he hastened to the garden. 
 
 There, under an aged, wide-spreading apple-tree, sat 
 Ignat in a large oaken arm-chair. The sunlight filtered 
 through the branches of the tree, and fell in slender rib- 
 bons upon the white figure of the old man, clad in his 
 night-clothes. It was so impressively still in the garden 
 that even the rustling of a branch, accidentally swept by 
 Foma's garments, seemed to him a loud sound, and he 
 shivered. In front of his father, on the table, stood the 
 samovar, purring like a well-fed cat, and throwing a 
 stream of steam into the air. In the stillness and fresh- 
 ness of the verdure of the garden, washed on the previous 
 day by an abundant shower, this bright spot of boldly 
 gleaming, noisy copper seemed to Foma like a superfluous 
 thing, befitting neither the time nor the place — nor the 
 
 115 
 
Fomi Gordy^eff 
 
 feeling aroused in him by the sight of the sick, bent man, 
 clothed in white, sitting alone under the shelter of the 
 silent, motionless, dark-green foliage, in which the crim- 
 son apples modestly concealed themselves. 
 
 " Sit down,'' said Ignat. 
 
 " It would be best to send for the doctor,'' hesitatingly 
 advised his son, as he sat down opposite him. 
 
 " It's not necessary. My distress seems to have passed 
 off in the open air. And when I drink my tea, perhaps 
 I shall feel still more relieved," said Ignat, pouring the 
 tea into the glasses, and Foma noticed that the tea-pot 
 shook in the old man's hand, 
 
 " Drmk." 
 
 Silently drawing his glass toward him, Foma bent over 
 it, blowing the froth from its surface, and with a heavy 
 heart listening to his father's short, stertorous breathing. 
 
 All at once something clanged on the table so loudly 
 that the tea-things rattled. Foma shuddered, threw up 
 his head, and met the startled, almost unconscious, gaze 
 of his father. Ignat stared at his son, and whispered 
 hoarsely : 
 
 " An apple fell — like a shot ! crashed down as though 
 from a gun — didn't it ? " 
 
 "You'd better take some brandy in your tea," sug- 
 gested Foma. 
 
 « It's all right as it is." 
 
 Both fell silent. A flock of finches flew over the gar- 
 den, showering their irritatingiy merry twitter in the 
 air. And again solemn silence wrapped the mature 
 beauty of the garden in its embrace. The terror had not 
 yet disappeared from Ignat's eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Lord Jesus Christ! " he began in a low tone, cross- 
 ing himself vehemently. — "We-ell — ^it has come, my last 
 
 hour of life." 
 
 116 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Enough, papa! " whispered Foma. 
 
 "Enough of what? — come, let's finish our tea, and then 
 'lo you go for the priest, and my crony.'' 
 
 " I'd better go at once." 
 
 " The bells are just ringing for the Liturgy . . you 
 can't get the priest — and there's no hurry, perhaps it will 
 pass off again." 
 
 And he began to sip his tea noisily from the saucer. 
 
 " I ought to live a year or two longer — you're young, 
 and I have great fears for you. — Live honorably and solidly, 
 — do not covet other men's property, keep a firm hold on 
 your own." 
 
 It was difiicult for him to speak, he paused, and rubbed 
 his chest with his hand. 
 
 " Put no trust in people, do not expect much from them. 
 
 We all live for the purpose of taking, not of giving . . . 
 
 j^^^Oh Lord! have mercy upon a sinner! " 
 
 * From somewhere in the distance, the heavy sound of a 
 
 bell fell upon the morning silence. Ignat and his son 
 
 crossed themselves thrice. 
 
 The first clamor of brass was followed by a second, a 
 third, and soon the air was filled with the sounds of bells 
 ringing for church, which were borne thither from all 
 quarters — calling in smooth, sonorous, measured cadence. 
 
 " They have chimed for the Liturgy," said Ignat, listen- 
 ing to the brazen roar. " Do you know the bells by their 
 voices? " 
 
 " No," replied Fomd. 
 
 "Then listen. — That one — do you hear it? — the bass, 
 belongs to the church of St. Nicholas, the gift of Piotr 
 Mitritch Vyagin; and that other, the hoarse one, to the 
 church of St. Prascovia Pyatnitza . ." 
 
 The singing floods of sound shook the air, which was 
 
 117 
 
Foma Gordyeefif 
 
 filled with them, and melted away in the clear blue of the 
 sky. Foma gazed thoughtfully at his father's face, and 
 saw that the alarm was vanishing from his eyes, which were 
 growing more animated. But all at once, the old man's face 
 turned a dark red, his eyes opened widely, and started from 
 their sockets, his mouth opened in amazement, and from it 
 proceeded a strange, hissing sound. 
 
 " F— f— axh! '' 
 
 Then Ignat's head dropped on his shoulder, and his cum- 
 brous body sank slowly from the arm-chair to the ground, 
 as though the earth were drawing it imperiously to itself. 
 For a few seconds Foma did not move or utter a sound, as 
 he gazed at his father with terror and surprise; but then 
 he rushed to Ignat, raised his head from the ground, and 
 gazed into his face. That face was dark, motionless, and 
 the widely opened eyes had no expression: either of pain, 
 or terror, or joy. Foma looked about him: as before, there 
 was no one in the garden, and the resonant speech of the 
 bells still floated in the air. Foma's hands trembled, he let 
 go of his father's head, and it struck the earth with a dull 
 blow. Dark, viscid blood flowed in a slender stream from 
 the open mouth across the blue cheek. 
 
 Foma beat his breast with his hands, and kneeling down 
 before the corpse, began to shout wildly and loudly. And 
 quivering all over with fear, he continued, with crazed eyes 
 to seek some one amid the verdure of the garden. 
 
 118 
 
ly 
 
 His father's death stunned Foma and filled him with a 
 strange sensation: tranquillity poured into his soul — an 
 oppressive, motionless tranquillity, which unresistingly en- 
 gulfed all the sounds of life. Divers persons of his acquaint- 
 ance bustled around him; they appeared and disappeared, 
 said something to him, — and he answered them at random, 
 and their remarks evoked in him no images, but sank into 
 the bottomless depths of the dead silence which filled his 
 soul. He did not weep, did not grieve, and thought of noth- 
 ing; pale, and gloomy, with knitted brows, he listened con- 
 centratedly to this silence, which expelled from within him 
 all feelings, laid waste his heart, and grasped his brain 
 like a vise. His consciousness was accessible only to the 
 purely-physical sensation of heaviness in his whole body, 
 and most of all, in his breast, and it seemed to him still 
 that twilight had descended, although the sun was still 
 high in the heavens, — and that everything on earth had, in 
 some way, grown dark and sad. 
 
 Mayakin took charge of the funeral. He ran hastily and 
 alertly through the rooms, clicking the heels of his boots 
 firmly, shouted, in a masterful way, at the servants, slapped 
 his god-son on the shoulder, and comforted him: 
 
 " And why are you turned to stone, my lad? Eoar, and 
 it will relieve you. Your father was old — worn out in 
 body, — Death is prepared for us all — there's no escaping 
 it — so there's no use of turning deadly pale before one's 
 time. You can't bring him to life again with your sorrow, 
 
 119 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 and he does not need your grief, for it is said: " When the 
 soul must needs be torn from the body by dread angels, it 
 forgetteth all its kinsfolk and its acquaintance . ." so 
 whatever you do now is nothing to him, whether you laugh 
 or weep. But you, a hving man, must take heed for the 
 living. You'd better cry — that's man's way — 'tis a great 
 relief to the heart." 
 
 But these remarks had no effect whatever, either upon 
 Foma's head or upon his heart. 
 
 He recovered himself on the day of the funeral, thanks 
 to the persistency of his god-father, who kept dihgently 
 trying, in his own peculiar way, to rouse his crushed spirit. 
 
 The day of the funeral was cloudy and overcast. A 
 huge mass of people walked after Ignat Gordyeeff's coffin, 
 like a long, black ribbon, in a dense cloud of dust; in the 
 throng gleamed the gold of the priests' vestments, and the 
 dull murmur of its slow motion merged with the solemn 
 music of the Bishop's choir of singers. Foma was shoved 
 from behind and from the sides; he walked on, seeing 
 nothing except his father's gray head,^ and the mournful 
 chanting found an echo in his breast. But Ma)^akin, who 
 walked beside him, whispered importunately and unremit- 
 tingly in his ear: 
 
 " See what a crowd of people are following him — thou- 
 sands! The Governor himself has come to escort your 
 father — the Mayor of the town, — almost the entire Council, 
 — and behind you — just turn round! Sofya Ivanovna is 
 walking. The town has done honor to Ignat." 
 
 At first Foma paid no heed to his god-father's whispers, 
 but when the latter told him about Madame Medynsky, 
 he involuntarily glanced back and beheld the Governor. 
 
 ' In Russia, the coffins (in accordance with ancient custom) are car- 
 ried open, the lid being borne after them, — Translator. 
 
 120 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 A tiny little drop of some agreeable sensation trickled into 
 his soul at the sight of that great man, with the gay ribbon 
 of some Order over his shoulder, with Orders on his breast, 
 walking behind the coffin, with grief depicted on his stern 
 countenance. 
 
 " Blessed is the way which today thou treadest, soul " ^ 
 chimed in Yakoff Tarasovitch, wagging his nose, and began 
 again to whisper in the ear of his god-son: " Seventy-five 
 thousand rubles — 'tis a sum for which one has a right to 
 demand so many mourners. Have you heard that Sonka 
 has appointed the laying of the corner-stone for the fif- 
 teenth? That will be precisely the fortieth day after his 
 death." ^ 
 
 Again Foma turned round, and his eyes encountered the 
 eyes of Madame Medynsky. He sighed deeply at her 
 caressing glance, and immediately felt better, as though 
 a burning ray of light had penetrated his soul, and some- 
 thing had thawed there. And he immediately reflected that 
 it was not proper for him to turn his head from side to side. 
 
 In the church, Foma's head began to ache, and it began 
 to seem to him as though everything around him and be- 
 neath him were rocking. In the stifling air, laden with 
 dust, the breaths of the people, and the smoke of the in- 
 cense, the tiny flames of the candles quivered timidly. The 
 mild face of the Christ gazed down upon him from the great 
 holy image, and the flames of the tapers, reflected in the 
 dull gold of the crown above the Saviour's brow, were sug- 
 gestive of drops of blood. 
 
 Foma's awakened soul eagerly drank in the solemnly- 
 
 ^ One of the Funeral Chants. — Translator. 
 
 ' The ninth, twentieth and fortieth days after death are specially 
 observed as important, with requiem services, in the Russian Church. 
 — Translator, 
 
 121 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 gloomy poetry of the Liturgy, and when the touching sum- 
 mons rang out: " Come, let us bestow the last kiss," there 
 burst forth from Foma's breast such a tremendous, wailing 
 8ob, that the throng in the church surged in agitation with 
 this cry. 
 
 As he cried out, he reeled as he stood. His god-father 
 instantly grasped him under the arms, and began to push 
 him forward to the coffin, chanting in a tolerably loud 
 tone, and with a certain zeal: 
 
 " ^ Ki-i-iss him that was but lately with u-us ' . . . kiss 
 him, Foma, kiss him! . . . *for he is committed to the 
 to-omb, he is covered with a sto-one — he taketh up his 
 abo-ode in the darkness, he is buried with the dead.' '' ^ 
 
 Foma touched his lips to his father's brow, and sprang 
 back from the coffin in terror. 
 
 "Be careful! You came near knocking me down," 
 Mayakin said to him, in a low tone, and these simple, com- 
 posed words, afforded Foma a firmer support than the arm 
 of his god-father. 
 
 " Behold me lying voiceless and without breath, weep for 
 me, my brethren and my friends," entreated Ignat, by the 
 voice of the Church. But his son was no longer weeping: 
 his father's black, swollen face had bred terror in him, and 
 this terror, in some degree, sobered his spirit, intoxicated 
 with the Church's melancholy music of mourning for her 
 sinful son. Acquaintances gathered round him, impres- 
 sively and caressingly comforting him: he heard them, and 
 understood that all of them were sorry for him, and that 
 he had become dear to all of them. But his god-father 
 whispered in his ear: 
 
 " Observe how they are making up to you . . the cats 
 smell out the tallow . ." 
 
 * Part of the Funeral Chants. — Translator, 
 132 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 These words displeased Foma, but were of service to him, 
 in that they forced him to reply to them in one way or 
 another. 
 
 At the cemetery, while the " Eternal Memory! " was 
 being sung, he again burst into loud and bitter weeping. 
 His god-father immediately grasped him by the arm, and 
 led him away from the grave, saying to him, with anger: 
 
 " Oh, what a poor-spirited fellow you are, my boy! Am 
 not I sorry also ? For I knew his real worth, but you were 
 merely his son. But see, I'm not weeping. We lived to- 
 gether, on the most intimate terms, for over thirty years, — 
 and how much we said, how much we thought . . how 
 much grief we quaffed together! — You're young, why 
 should you mourn? You have the whole of your life be- 
 fore you, and you'll be rich in every sort of friendship. But 
 I am old, — and they have buried my one friend, and I am 
 become like a pauper — I can never win another friend after 
 my own heart! " 
 
 The old man's voice quivered strangely, and squeaked. 
 His face writhed, his lips expanded in a huge grimace, and 
 trembled, his wrinkles flowed together, and down them, 
 from his little eyes, small tears ran, thick and fast. He was 
 so touchingly pitiful and unlike himself, that Foma halted, 
 pressed him to his bosom with the tenderness of a strong 
 man, and cried, in agitation: 
 
 " Don't cry, little papa — my darling! Don't cry." 
 
 "It's over now!" ejaculated Mayakin weakly, and with 
 a heavy sigh, he became suddenly converted once more into 
 a firm, clever old man. 
 
 "You mustn't break down today like a weakling," he 
 said privately, as he seated himself beside his god-son in 
 the calash. — " You're the leader of an army in battle, now, 
 and you must command your soldiers bravely. And your 
 
 123 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 soldiers are — ^rubles, and you have a va-ast army of them. 
 Mind that you fight! '* 
 
 Foma, amazed at the swiftness of his transformation, lis- 
 tened to his words, and, for some reason or other, they re- 
 minded him of the thuds of the clods of earth which the 
 people had thrown into Ignat's grave, upon his cofiin. 
 
 " With whom am I to fight? " said Foma, sighing. 
 
 " ni soon teach you! Didn't your father tell you that 
 I'm a clever old man, and that you were to heed my words? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Then do it! If we combine my wisdom with your 
 young powers, we shall be able to win a fine victory. Your 
 father was a great man . . but he did not look far ahead, 
 and he did not understand how to heed me. And in his 
 life he won success not by his brain, but, rather through his 
 heart. Okh! something can be made of you. Do you move 
 over to my house, or you'll find it painful alone in your 
 house." 
 
 " My aunt is there." 
 
 " Your aunt — is an invalid; she will not live long." 
 
 " Don't speak of that," entreated Foma softly. 
 
 "Yes, I will speak of it. You need have no fear of 
 death — you're not an old woman dying on the oven. Do 
 you live without fear, and do what you were appointed to 
 do. And a man is appointed to organize life on the earth. 
 A man is capital; like a ruble, he is made up of trumpery 
 copper coins and kopeks. From the dust of the earth, as it 
 is written. — But, in proportion as he circulates in life, and 
 absorbs tallow and oil, sweat and tears, mind and soul are 
 created in him. And from that time forth he begins to 
 grow, both upward and downward . . . and the first 
 you know, he has a value — one man two kopeks, another 
 a fifteen-kopek silver piece, another a hundred rubles — and 
 
 124 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 sometimes he is above all price. He is put into 
 and must earn interest for life. Life teaches 
 value, and it will not call us out of circulation u. 
 right time comes . . no one, my boy, ever acts t». 
 own loss, if he is wise . . and life has amassed a lot o* 
 wisdom. Are you listening to me? '^ 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And how much do you understand? " 
 
 " Everything." 
 
 "You're talking nonsense, I believe?" said Mayakin 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " Only — why must one die? " asked Foma softly. 
 
 His god-father cast a compassionate glance at his face, 
 smacked his lips, and said: 
 
 " A wise man never asks that question. A wise man 
 perceives for himself, that if there is a river, it flows away 
 somewhere — and if it stood still, there would be a swamp." 
 
 " You are sneering at me at random," said Foma surlily, 
 " the ocean does not flow away anywhere." 
 
 "It receives all the rivers into itself, — and there are 
 mighty hurricanes upon it. Thus the ocean of life is fed 
 by the emotion of mankind — and death renews its waters, 
 that they may not become stagnant. If people did not die, 
 they would become more and more numerous." 
 
 "What of that? My father died . ." 
 
 " And you will die also." 
 
 " What concern of mine is it that people increase more 
 and more ? " said Foma, with a melancholy smile. 
 
 "Eh-ekhe-e!" sighed Mayakin. "And whom does it 
 
 not concern. — Your breeches would, certainly, reason in 
 
 the same manner: What concern is it of ours that there is 
 
 as much cloth on the earth as anyone wants? But you 
 
 don't heed them — you wear them out, and throw them 
 
 away." 
 
 125 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ed reproachfully at his god-father, and perceiv- 
 .ne old man was smiling, he was astonished and 
 ully inquired: 
 -s it possible, papasha, that you do not fear death? *' 
 
 ■*My child, I fear stupidity more than anything else," 
 replied Mayakin, with subdued venom. " This is what I 
 think: if a fool offers you honey — spit it out; if a wise 
 man offers you poison — drink it! I'll tell you what: the 
 perch is a weak-spirited fish, if his bristles don't stand up- 
 right/' 
 
 The old man's jeering words offended and enraged Foma. 
 He turned aside, and said: 
 
 " Can't you speak without all these subterfuges? " 
 
 "No, I can't! " exclaimed Mayakin, and his eyes flashed 
 alarmingly. " Every man expresses himself in the language 
 which he can command. Do I appear harsh? What of it? " 
 
 Foma made no reply. 
 
 " Oh bother you! See here, you must know that he 
 who loves instructs. And as for death, don't think of it 
 . . 'tis foolish, my boy, for a living man to think of death. 
 ^ Ecclesiastes ' thought better than anyone else concern- 
 ing it, — ^he thought and said that even a live dog is better 
 than a dead lion." 
 
 They reached home. The whole street in front of the 
 house was blocked with carriages, and loud conversation 
 was wafted on the air from the open windows. As soon as 
 Foma made his appearance in the hall, he was seized by 
 the arms and dragged to the table where the viands of the 
 appetizer were set out, and was urged to eat and drink 
 something. It was as noisy in the hall as though it had 
 been the bazaar; it was crowded and stifling. Foma silently 
 drank off one glass of vodka, a second, and a third. xA.ll 
 around him people were chewing and smacking their lips 
 
 126 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 and vodka was gurgling, as it was poured from the bottle, 
 and the glasses clinked. They were chatting about dried 
 sturgeon's back, and the bass voice of the soloist in the 
 Bishop's choir, and then again about dried sturgeon's back, 
 and that the mayor of the town wanted to make a speech, 
 but could not bring himself to do it, after the Bishop, for 
 fear he might not speak as well as the latter. Someone 
 narrated with emotion: 
 
 " This is what the deceased used to do: he would cut off 
 a slice of salmon, pepper it thickly, cover it with another 
 slice, and send it down after a glass of liquor." 
 
 " Le-et's follow his example," roared a heavy bass voice. 
 
 Foma, frowning, with rage in his heart, stared at the fat 
 lips and jaws which w^ere chewing the savory viands, and 
 he wanted to shriek aloud, and drive out all those people 
 whose solidity had so recently aroused his respect for them. 
 
 "Be more affable — more talkative," said Mayakin, in a 
 low voice, appearing beside him. 
 
 "Why are they gobbling here? Have they come to an 
 eating-house, I'd like to know?" said Foma loudly and 
 wrathfully. 
 
 " Husssssh ! " said Mayakin, in terror, and swiftly glanced 
 about with an amiable smile on his face. 
 
 But it was too late: his smile did not help matters. 
 Foma's words had been heard, — the uproar and chatter in 
 the hall began to decrease, some of the guests bustled 
 about in a rather hurried w^ay, others, frowning angrily, laid 
 down their knives and forks, and quitted the table with the 
 appetizer, and all gazed askance at Foma. 
 
 Angry and silent, he met their glances, without lowering 
 his eyes. 
 
 " Pray come to the table ! " shouted Mayakin, flitting 
 through the throng of people like a spark through ashes. — 
 
 127 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Please sit down! The pancakes will be served immedi- 
 ately." 
 
 Foma shrugged his shoulders, and went to the door, re- 
 marking loudly: 
 
 " I'm not going to eat any dinner." 
 
 He heard a disagreeable murmur behind him, and the 
 insinuating voice of his god-father saying to someone: 
 
 "It's his gri^f — you know that Ignat was father and 
 mother both to him." 
 
 Foma went into the garden, to the spot where his father 
 had died, and sat down there. A feeling of loneliness and 
 Borrow oppressed his breast. He unbuttoned his shirt- 
 collar, in order to ease his breathing, set his elbows on the 
 table, and clutching his head in his hands, became motion- 
 less as a statue. A fine rain was drizzling down, and the 
 leaves of the apple-tree rustled in a melancholy way under 
 the drip of the rain. He sat a long time thus alone, with- 
 out moving, watching the fine rain-drops fall from the 
 apple-tree upon the table. There was a roaring in his head, 
 produced by the vodka he had drunk, and his heart imbibed 
 anger at mankind. Undefined, impersonal feelings and 
 thoughts sprang up within him, and vanished; before him 
 flittel the bare skull of his god-father, in its wreath of 
 silver hair, and with a dark face, like the faces of ancient 
 holy pictures. This face, with its toothless mouth, and 
 viper-like smile, which evoked in Foma disgust and fear, 
 still further increased his consciousness of loneliness. Then 
 he recalled Madame Medynsky's gentle eyes, her tiny, well- 
 proportioned figure, and alongside her, for some reason or 
 other, stood the robust, tall, rosy Liuboff Mayakin, with 
 laughing eyes, and a huge braid of ruddy-gold hair. — " Do 
 not trust people — don't expect much of them," his father's 
 words rang through his memory. He sighed mournfully, 
 
 128 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 and looked about him. The leaves on the trees were flut- 
 tering under the rain, and the air was full of sad sounds. 
 The gray sky seemed to be weeping, and cold tears trembled 
 on the trees. But Foma's soul was dark and dry; a pain- 
 ful sensation of orphanhood filled it. But this feeling gave 
 birth to the question: 
 
 " How am I to live ? I'm alone now." 
 
 The rain had soaked his clothing, and he felt a shiver 
 of cold, rose, and went to the house. 
 
 Life tugged at him on all sides, giving him no oppor- 
 tunity to concentrate his attention on his meditations and 
 grief for his father, and on the fortieth day after Ignat's 
 death, he went to the ceremony of laying the corner-stone 
 of the night lodging-house, in full dress, and with an agree- 
 able sensation in his breast. On the preceding day, Madame 
 MedJ'nsky had informed him, by letter, that he had been 
 elected a member of the building committee, and an hon- 
 orary member of the society over which she presided. This 
 gratified him, and he was greatly agitated by the part which 
 he must play at the laying of the corner-stone that day. As 
 he drove, he thought over how it would all be, and how he 
 ought to behave, in order not to be abashed before the 
 people. 
 
 "Hey, hey! Pull up!" 
 
 He glanced round, — Mayakin ran quickly to him from 
 the sidewalk, clad in a frock-coat which reached to his heels, 
 and a tall cap, and with a huge umbrella under his arm. 
 
 " Come, give me a lift," said the old man, springing into 
 the carriage with the agility of a monkey. — " I confess that 
 I have been lying in wait for you, I kept on the watch; 
 * 'tis time for him to drive past,' I said to myself." 
 
 " Are you going there? " inquired Foma. 
 
 " Of course. I must see how they bury my friend's 
 
 money in the earth." 
 
 129 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Fomd cast a sidelong glance at him, and said nothing. 
 
 "What are you squinting at me for? Never fear, you'll 
 turn out a benefactor of the people also." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " asked Foma warily. 
 
 "I read in the newspaper today, that you have been 
 elected a member of the committee for that house, and also 
 to Sofya's society, as an honorary member . ." 
 
 " Yes, I have been elected/' 
 
 " That membership will gnaw into your pocket! " sighed 
 Mayakin. 
 
 " I shall not ruin myself, I suppose? " 
 
 " I don't know about that," said the old man spitefully. 
 " The more so, as this philanthropic business isn't very 
 wise . . and even, as I say, this isn't business, but mere 
 harmful nonsense." 
 
 " It is harmful to help people? " asked Foma with vexa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Oh you head of the garden — that is to say, you cabbage- 
 head! " said Mayakin with a smile. " You just come to my 
 house, and I'll open your eyes for you as to this whole 
 matter — I'll give you a lesson! Will you come? " 
 
 " Very well," assented Foma. 
 
 "Well, then . . . And, in the meanwhile, conduct 
 yourself haughtily at this laying of the corner-stone — stand 
 out in full sight of everybody. Don't let them say of you 
 that you are hiding yourself behind anyone's back." 
 
 " Why should I hide myself ? " said Foma, involuntarily. 
 
 " I'll tell you why: for no reason at all. For the money 
 was given by your father, and the esteem should descend 
 to the heir. Esteem is the same as money . . with 
 esteem a merchant finds credit everywhere — and the way 
 is everywhere open to h>m. Do you step up to the front, 
 80 that everyone may Fee you, and so that if you have con- 
 
 130 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 tributed a five-kop^k bit, they may reward you with a ruble. 
 But you^ll hide yourself — you'll perpetrate some folly or 
 other." 
 
 They arrived at the spot when all the important per- 
 sonages were already assembled, and a vast throng of peo- 
 ple already surrounded the piles of lumber, bricks, and 
 earth. The Bishop, the Governor, and the representa- 
 tives of the local aristocracy, and administration, formed, 
 together with the elegantly attired ladies, a brilliant 
 group, who were gazing at a couple of stone-masons, en- 
 gaged in preparing bricks and mortar. Mayakin and his 
 god-son directed their steps toward this group, and the 
 former whispered to Foma : 
 
 " Don't get shy. They've robbed their bellies to cover 
 their backs." 
 
 And respectfully, in a merry tone, he greeted the Gov- 
 ernor before the Bishop. 
 
 " Good-morning, your Excellency ! Your blessing, yonr 
 Right Reverence ! " 
 
 " Ah, Yakoff Tarasovitch ! " exclaimed the Governor in 
 a friendly tone, pressing Mayakin's hand with a smile and 
 shaking it as the old man kissed the Bishop's hand. 
 " How are you, you immortal old man ? " 
 
 " My humble thanks, your Excellency ! My most pro- 
 found respects to Sofya Pavlovna ! " said Mayakin hasti- 
 ly, winding like a wolf through the throng of people. In 
 a minute he had managed to salute the representatives of 
 the courts, and the procurator, and the Mayor — everyone 
 whom he considered it necessary to greet first; but there 
 were not many such. He jested and smiled, and instantly 
 attracted the attention of all to his tiny figure, but Foma 
 stood behind him, with drooping head, casting sidelong 
 glances at these people embroidered with gold and garbed 
 
 131 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 in costly materials; he envied his god-father's holdness, 
 and grew shy, and was conscious that he did so, — and so 
 grew still more shy. But now his god-father grasped him 
 by the hand, and dragged him along. 
 
 " Here, your Excellency, this is my god-son, Fomd, the 
 only son of the late Ignat.^' 
 
 " A-ah ! " said the Governor in a deep bass voice. " De- 
 lighted. I sympathize with your grief, young man ! " he 
 said, as he pressed Foma's hand, and stopped short; then 
 he added, confidently and decisively : " It is a very great 
 misfortune to lose a father." 
 
 And, after waiting a couple of seconds for Foma's reply, 
 he turned away from him, saying approvingly to Mayakin : 
 
 " I am enraptured over your speech in the council yes- 
 terday! It was fine, clever, Ydkoff Tarasovitch — in pro- 
 posing to expend money on that People's Club, they do 
 not comprehend the real needs of the population." 
 
 " And then, your Excellency, the capital is extremely 
 small — which means that the town would be obliged to 
 add to it." 
 
 "Quite true ^ Quite true!" 
 
 " Temperance is a good thing, say I ! God grant it to 
 everyone. I do not drink, myself — but why these plays, 
 reading-rooms, and all that sort of thing, if the people 
 don't know how to read ? " 
 
 The Governor bellowed approvingly. 
 
 " And so, I say, do you take this money and apply it to 
 technical education. . If we establish that on a small 
 scale, this money in hand will suffice, and, on occasion, 
 we can ask for more from St. Petersburg, — and they will 
 give it to us. Then the town will not have to contribute 
 any of its own, and it will be a more sensible piece of busi- 
 
 ness." 
 
 13d 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 " Exactly so ! And I entirely agree with you ! But how 
 the liberals did shout at you, didn^t they ? Ha, ha ! " . 
 
 " That's all they're good for, to shout." 
 
 The deep cough of the proto-deacon of the Cathedral 
 announced the beginning of the religious service. 
 
 Sofya Pavlovna stepped up to Foma, greeted him, and 
 said to him, in a soft, sad voice : 
 
 " I watched your face on the day of the funeral, and 
 my heart ached. ' Heavens,' I said to myself, ' how he 
 must be suffering ! ' " 
 
 And Foma listened to her — and it was like honey to 
 him. 
 
 " Those cries of yours ! They shook my very soul. — My 
 poor boy ! I can address you thus, because I am quite an 
 old woman." 
 
 " You ! " exclaimed Foma softly. 
 
 " Am I not ? " she asked, gazing ingenuously into his 
 face. 
 
 Fomd made no reply, but dropped his head. 
 
 " Don't you believe that I am an old woman ? " 
 
 " I do believe you — that is, I believe everything you 
 eay — only, that is not true! " said Foma, in a low, fervent 
 tone. 
 
 '' What is not true ? That you believe me ? " 
 
 "No! not that, but that — I — forgive me! I do not 
 know how to express myself! " said Foma sadly, crimsoning 
 all over with confusion. — " I'm not cultured." 
 
 "There's no need to feel troubled over that," said 
 Madame Medynsky in a protecting way. " You are young 
 yet, and culture is accessible to everyone. But there are 
 people who not only do not need it, but whom it is liable 
 to spoil. . They are men who have pure hearts, who 
 are confiding, sincere as children, — and you are one of 
 those people. You are, aren't you ? " 
 
 133 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 What reply could Foma make to such a question ? He 
 said sincerely: 
 
 " I am deeply grateful to you ! " 
 
 And perceiving that his words had called forth a merry 
 gleam in Madame Medynsky's eyes, he felt that he was 
 ridiculous and silly, and immediately waxed wroth at him- 
 self, and said, in a suppressed voice : 
 
 " Yes, I am one of those people — whatever is in my soul, 
 drops off my tongue. I do not know how to pretend — if 
 I find a thing ridiculous, I laugh openly. I'm stupid ! " 
 
 " Well, and why are you so ? '^ said the woman softly ; 
 and as she adjusted her gown, with her lowered hand she 
 accidentally stroked the hand in which he held his hat, 
 which caused Foma to glance at his wrist, and smile con- 
 fusedly but joyfully. 
 
 " Of course you will be at the dinner ? " inquired 
 Madame Medynsky. 
 
 " Yes.'' 
 
 " And to-morrow you are coming to the meeting at my 
 house ? '^ 
 
 "Without fail!'' 
 
 " And, perhaps, some day, you will just drop in, quite 
 simply, to call ? " 
 
 " I — thank you ! I will come ! " 
 
 " I must thank you for that promise." 
 
 They became silent. The soft, reverent voice of the 
 Bishop floated on the air, as he expressively recited a 
 prayer, with his hand outstretched over the place where 
 the corner-stone was to be laid. 
 
 " Let neither wind, nor water, nor any other thing be 
 able to injure it: be graciously pleased to bring it to a 
 conclusion, and free them that shall dwell therein from 
 every assault of the enemy. .'' 
 
 134 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " How rich in contents and how beautiful our prayers 
 are, are they not? " asked Madame Medynsky. 
 
 " Yes," replied Fomd briefly, not understanding her 
 words, and conscious that he was blushing again. 
 
 " They will always be the adversaries of our mercantile 
 interests," whispered Mayakin loudly and with conviction, 
 as he stood not far from Foma, beside the Mayor of the 
 town. " What is it they want ? All they want is some- 
 thing wherewith they may win the approbation of the 
 newspapers . . but they can't attain to any real sub- 
 stance. . They live for show, and not to organize life — 
 and these are their measures : the newspapers and Switzer- 
 land! There was the doctor yesterday — he sneered at 
 me the whole time with that Switzerland : ' there's popu- 
 lar education in Switzerland,' said he, * and everything 
 else there is first-class ! ' But what's that Switzerland, 
 anyway? Perhaps Switzerland is an invention, to quote 
 as an example, — and there's no education or any of the 
 other various things in it at all! And then, again, we 
 don't live for it, and it can't conduct our examinations — • 
 we must make our life on our own last. Isn't that so ? " 
 
 And the proto-deacon, throwing back his head, roared : 
 
 " To the f o-ounder of the ho-ouse, e-eter-nal me-em- 
 ory!" 
 
 Foma shuddered, but Mayakin was already by his side, 
 and grasping his arms, inquired: 
 
 ** Are you going to the dinner ? " 
 
 And Madame Medynsky's warm, velvet-soft Httle hand 
 again slipped along Foma's hand. 
 
 The dinner was genuine torture for Foma. Finding 
 himself, for the first time in his life, among such gor- 
 geous people, he perceived that they ate, and talked, and 
 did everything better than he did, and he felt that he was 
 
 135 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 separated from Madame Med^nsky, who sat directly oppo- 
 site him, not by the table but by a lofty mountain. Beside 
 him sat the secretary of the society of which Foma had 
 been elected an honorary member, — a young official of the 
 law courts, who bore the peculiar surname of Ukhtish- 
 tcheff. As though with the specific object of making his 
 surname seem even more clumsy than it already was, he 
 talked in a high, resonant tenor voice, and altogether — 
 the plump, small, chubby-faced and jolly chatterer re- 
 sembled a brand-new sleigh-bell. 
 
 " The best thing about our society is, its patroness; the 
 most sensible thing we occupy ourselves with, in it, is mak- 
 ing love to the patroness; the most difficult thing is to 
 pay the patroness a compliment which satisfies her; and 
 the wisest thing is to go into silent, hopeless raptures over 
 the patroness. So, as a matter of fact, you are an hono- 
 rary member not ' of the Society for,' and so forth, but a 
 member of the Society of Tantaluses, comprised of Sofya 
 Medynsky's flatterers." 
 
 Foma listened to his chatter, gazed at the patroness, 
 who was anxiously discussing something with the Chief of 
 Police, grunted, by way of answer to his companion, feign- 
 ing to be occupied in eating, and wished that the whole 
 thing might come to an end as speedily as possible. He 
 felt that he was a pitiful, stupid, ridiculous object to all 
 of them, and he was convinced that they were all watch- 
 ing him, and condemning him. This fettered him with 
 invisible shackles, which permitted him neither to speak 
 nor to think. At last he reached the point where the 
 line of various physiognomies extending down the table 
 opposite him, began to seem to him a long, wavy, white 
 streak, with jeering eyes punched in it, and all those eyes 
 pierced him in a tormentingly disagreeable manner. 
 
 136 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 But Mayakin sat beside the Mayor of the town, waved 
 his fork rapidly in the air, and kept saying something to 
 him, his wrinkles shifting and changing the while. The 
 Mayor, a gray-haired, red-faced man, with a short neck, 
 stared at him like a bull with stubborn attention, and 
 occasionally tapped the edge of the table with his thumb, 
 in token of assent. The animated conversation and 
 laughter drowned his god-father's emphatic remarks, and 
 Foma could not catch a word of them; the more so, as the 
 light tenor voice of the secretary rang incessantly in his 
 ears the whole time: 
 
 " Look ! the proto-deacon has risen to his feet, and is 
 charging his lungs with air. . . Pretty soon he will 
 proclaim ' Eternal Memory ^ to Ignat Matvyeevitch.^' 
 
 " Can't I go away ? " asked Foma softly. 
 
 " Why not ? Everyone will understand." 
 
 The deacon^s ringing exclamation overpowered and 
 seemed to crush the uproar in the hall ; the distinguished 
 merchants stared in rapture at the widely-opened mouth, 
 from which poured forth the heavy bass voice, and, taking 
 advantage of the opportunity, Foma rose from the table 
 and quitted the hall. 
 
 A moment later, breathing freely once more, he had 
 seated himself in his calash, and was anxiously reflecting 
 that the society of those gentlemen and ladies was no 
 place for him. To himself he called them smooth-licked; 
 their brilliancy did not please him ; he disliked their faces, 
 their smiles, their words; but the freedom and ease of 
 their movements, their power of talking about everything, 
 and, lastly, their handsome costumes, — all these things 
 aroused in him a mixture of envy and respect for them. 
 He felt injured and sad that he could not talk so easily 
 and so much as all these people did, and then he recol- 
 
 137 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 lected that Liiiba Mayakin had made fun of him more 
 than once, for that ver}^ thing. 
 
 Foma did not like Mayakin's daughter, and after he 
 learned from Ignat of his god-father's intention to marry 
 him to Liiiba, young Gordyeeff began to avoid even meet- 
 ing her. But after his father's death, he was at the Maya- 
 kins' house nearly every day, and on one occasion Liiiba 
 said to him : 
 
 "I am looking you over, and do you know what? 
 — ^You're as unlike a merchant as possible." 
 
 " And you're very unlike a merchant's wife," said 
 Foma, staring suspiciously at her. 
 
 He did not comprehend the significance of her words: 
 whether she intended them as an insult, or had simply 
 littered them without any ulterior meaning. 
 
 " Thank heaven ! " she answered him, with such a nice, 
 friendly smile. 
 
 " Why are you glad ? " he inquired. 
 
 " That we are not like our parents." 
 
 Foma gazed at her in amazement, and said nothing. 
 
 " Tell me frankly," she said, lowering her voice, " you 
 don't like my father, do you? He displeases you?" 
 
 " Not — so very much," said Fomd slowly. 
 
 " Well, I don't like him at all." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " For every sort of reason. When you grow wiser, you'll 
 understand for yourself, without being told. Your father 
 was nicer." 
 
 " Of course ! " said Fomd proudly. 
 
 After this conversation, a mutual attraction sprang up 
 almost immediately between them, and, increasing day 
 by day, it soon assumed the character of friendship, 
 though of rather a strange friendship. 
 
 138 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Liiiba was of the same age as her god-brother, but bore 
 herself toward him like an older sister to a boy. She 
 spoke condescendingly, often made fun of him, and words 
 which were unknown to Foma constantly made their ap- 
 pearance in her speech, and she pronounced them with a 
 certain special emphasis, and with evident satisfaction. 
 She was particularly fond of talking about her brother 
 Taras, whom she had never seen, but concerning whom 
 she was wont to relate a tale which made him resemble 
 Aunt Anfisa's brave and noble-minded bandits. Often, 
 when complaining of her father, she said to Foma : 
 
 " And you'll be just such another skinflint.^' 
 
 All this displeased the young man, and deeply wounded 
 his vanity. But, at times, she was direct, simple, with 
 a certain amicably caressing manner toward him; at such 
 times he opened his heart to her, and they displayed to 
 each other, at considerable length, their thoughts and 
 feelings. 
 
 Both talked a great deal, and frankly — and neither 
 understood the other: it seemed to Foma that every- 
 thing Liuba talked about was foreign to him, and unneces- 
 sary to her, and, at the same time, he saw clearly, that his 
 ignorant remarks did not interest her in the least, and 
 that she did not care to understand them. No matter 
 how much time they spent in this sort of conversation, 
 the only sensation which it afforded them was of a certain 
 awkwardness, and dissatisfaction with each other. It 
 seemed as though an invisible wall of misunderstanding 
 suddenly started up between them, and separated them. 
 They could not make up their minds to touch that wall, to 
 say to each other that they were conscious of it, and they 
 went on with their discussions, feeling, in a confused way, 
 that in each of them there existed something which might 
 bring them together and u^iie them. 
 
 139 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 On arriving at his god-father's house, Foma found Liuba 
 alone. She came out to meet him, and it was evident that 
 she was either ill or preoccupied: her eyes flashed uneasily, 
 and were surrounded by black rings. Wrapping herself, 
 with a shiver, in a small goat's-down shawl, she said with a 
 smile : 
 
 " It's a good thing that you have come! I have been 
 sitting alone . . it's tiresome, and I don't feel like going 
 anywhere. Will you have some tea ? " 
 
 " Yes. What's the matter with you? Are you ill? " 
 
 " Go into the dining-room, and I will order the samovar 
 to be prepared," she said, without answering his question. 
 
 He entered one of the tiny rooms in the house, with two 
 windows opening on the small garden. In the middle of 
 the room stood an oval table, surrounded by old-fashioned 
 chairs upholstered in leather; on one of the partition-walls 
 hung a clock, in a long case, with a glass door; in the cor- 
 ner stood a what-not, filled with plates and dishes, and 
 against the wall opposite the windows was an oaken side- 
 board, of the dimensions of a good-sized store-room. 
 
 "Have you just come from the dinner?" asked Liuba, 
 as she entered. 
 
 Foma nodded silently. 
 
 " Well, was it very gorgeous? " 
 
 " Awfully! " laughed Foma. — " I was on needles and 
 pins . . they were all like peacocks and I was like a 
 barn-owl." 
 
 Liiiba took some cups and saucers from the what-not, 
 and made no reply. 
 
 "Why are you so bored?" Foma resumed, glancing at 
 her gloomy countenance. 
 
 She turned toward him, and said with rapture and dis- 
 tress: 
 
 140 
 
Fomi GordydefF 
 
 " Ah, Foma! What a hook I have heen reading! If you 
 could only understand it! " 
 
 "Evidently, it's a good hook, if it has upset you so," 
 remarked Foma, laughing. 
 
 " I did not sleep — I read all night. You understand: 
 you read, and it seems as though doors flew open before you 
 into some other realm . . The people are different, and 
 their language, and — everything is different! It's the whole 
 of life! . . ." 
 
 "I don't like such hooks," said Foma, in displeasure. 
 " They're inventions, delusions. There's the theatre . . 
 Merchants are held up to ridicule, — and are they really such 
 fools? The idea! Take my god-father, for example . ." 
 
 " The theatre is the same as school, Foma," said Liuba 
 didactically. " The merchants used to be like that. — And 
 what delusion can there be in books? " 
 
 " The same as in the fairy-tales . . Nothing is real." 
 
 "You are mistaken! You have never read books, — so 
 how can you judge? It is precisely they that are real. 
 They teach one to live." 
 
 " Oh, come now! " and Foma dismissed the subject with a 
 wave of his hand. — " Drop it . . . you'll get no good 
 out of your books! There's your father — he doesn't read 
 books, but — isn't he a clever one! I've been watching him 
 today, and I envy him. He knows so well how to treat 
 people, — freely, intelligently, he has a word for everybody. 
 You can see, at once, that he will obtain what he wants." 
 
 "What does he obtain?" cried Liuba. "Nothing but 
 money . . And there are men who desire happiness for 
 everyone on earth — and therefore, never sparing themselves, 
 they toil and suffer and perish! Is it possible to compart 
 my father with them? " 
 
 " Don't try. Probably, one thing pleases them, another 
 
 thing pleases your father." 
 
 141 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Nothing pleases them!" 
 "How so?" 
 
 " They want to change everything." 
 " So they are making an effort for something or other? " 
 retorted Foma, thoughtfully. — " They do want some- 
 thing? " 
 
 ''^ Happiness for all men! " cried Liuba warmly. 
 " Well, I don't understand that/' said Foma, shaking his 
 head. "Who's bothering himself about my happiness? 
 And then again, what happiness can they arrange for me, if 
 I myself don't yet know what I want? Now, see here, — 
 what you ought to do is to observe those people who were 
 at the dinner." 
 
 " They're not people! " exclaimed Liuba, categorically. 
 " Well, I don't pretend to know what they are according 
 to your ideas, but one thing is instantly perceptible — that 
 they know their place. They're a clever, easy set." 
 
 "Oh, Foma!" cried Liiiba in vexation, "you don't 
 understand anything! Nothing agitates you! You're such 
 an indolent fellow! " 
 
 " There she goes! I simply haven't looked about me yet." 
 " You simply are — a goose," declared Liuba, firmly and 
 decisively. 
 
 " You haven't been inside my soul," retorted Foma 
 calmly. — " You don't know my thoughts." 
 
 "What have you to think about?" said Liuba, shrug- 
 ging her shoulders. 
 
 "What indeed! Am I alone? That's one thing. — Have 
 I got to live? That's another. It isn't possible for me to 
 live in my present fashion — don't I understand that? I 
 don't want to be a laughing-stock. Why, I don't even know 
 how to talk to people. Yes — and I don't know how to 
 think," Foma concluded his harangue, and laughed in con- 
 fusion, n 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "You must read, you must study," Liuba advised with 
 conviction, as she paced up and down the room. 
 
 " Something is stirring in my soul," went on Foma, with- 
 out looking at her, and as though talking to himself, " but 
 I cannot understand it. Here I see that my god-father can 
 talk — that's the whole business — and cleverly . . But he 
 doesn't attract me. Those other people are far more inter- 
 esting to me." 
 
 " The aristocracy, you mean? " inquired Liuba. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That's a nice place for you! " said Liuba, with a scorn- 
 ful smile. — " Oh, you stupid! They are not people, are 
 they? Have they souls? " 
 
 "What do you know about them? Why, you are not 
 even acquainted with them." 
 
 " And how about my books? Haven't I read? " 
 
 The maid brought in the samovar, and the conversation 
 came to an end. Liiiba brewed the tea in silence, Foma 
 watched her, and thought of Madame Medynsky. He 
 wanted to talk with Madame Medynsky. 
 
 " Ye-es," the young girl began again meditatively, " every 
 day, I am more and more convinced that it is difficult to 
 live . . What am I to do? Marry? Whom? Some petty 
 merchant, who will spend his life in robbing people, drink- 
 ing, playing cards? An uncultured man? I will not! I 
 want to be an individual — I am an individual, because I 
 understand how badly life is arranged. Study? As though 
 my father would allow me . . Good God! Eun away? 
 I lack the courage . . — What am I to do ? " 
 
 She clasped her hands, and bowed her head upon the 
 table. 
 
 " If you only knew how repulsive everything is . . 
 There's not a living soul about. Since my mother's death, 
 
 143 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 my father has chased everyone away. Some have gone off 
 to study. Lipa has gone: She writes: ' Read! ' Ah, I do 
 read! I do read! " she cried, with despair in her voice, and 
 after a momentary pause, she resumed, sadly: 
 
 " The books do not contain what the heart needs — and 
 there is much in them which I do not understand . . In 
 short, I am bored — it bores me to read alone, always alone! 
 I want to talk with a man, and there is no man! I loathe it. 
 I have but one life, and it's time to begin to live — but still 
 there is no man, none! What's the use of living? Lipa 
 says: * Read, you will understand . .' I want bread, and 
 she gives me a stone . . I understand what is necessary 
 — that one must defend what he loves, what he believes; 
 he must contend." 
 
 And she wound up, almost with a groan: 
 
 " But I am alone! With whom am I to contend? There 
 are no enemies — no people! Why, I live in a prison! " 
 
 Foma listened to her speech, staring intently at her 
 fingers the while, and was conscious of an immense woe in 
 her words, but he did not understand her. And when she 
 ceased speaking, crushed and sad, he could find nothing to 
 say to her, except words which were akin to blame. 
 
 " There, you say yourself that your little books are worth 
 nothing to you, and yet you order me to read! " 
 
 She glanced at his face, and anger flashed in her eyes. 
 
 " Oh, how I wish that all these torments would wake up 
 within you — the torments in which I live . . How I 
 wish that you, hke myself, could not sleep at night for 
 thinking, that everything should disgust you — and that you 
 should be disgusting to yourself! I hate you all — ^I hate 
 you! " 
 
 She was all in a flush, and she gazed so wrathfully at 
 him, and spoke so viciously, that, in his amazement, he 
 
 144 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 did not even take o5ence. Never yet had she talked to 
 him in that way. 
 
 " Whaf s the matter with you? " he asked her. 
 
 " And I hate you too! You — what are you? A dead 
 body, a frivolous man — ^how are you going to live? What 
 will you give to mankind? " she asked, in a low tone, and 
 with apparent malice. 
 
 "I shall give nothing, let them earn for themselves," 
 replied Foma, aware that, by these words, he should anger 
 her still more. 
 
 " You wretched creature! " cried the girl disdainfully. 
 
 The conviction and power of her reproaches involun- 
 tarily caused Foma to listen attentively to her fierce 
 speeches; he felt that there was some sense in them. He 
 even moved nearer to her, but she, indignant and angry, 
 turned away from him, and remained silent. 
 
 It was still light out of doors, and the reflection of the 
 sunset still lay upon the branches of the lindens in front 
 of the house, but the room was already filled with gloom, 
 and the side-board, clock and what-not, wrapped in it, 
 seemed to have enlarged their outlines. The huge pendu- 
 lum peeped out every second from the glass of the clock- 
 case, and gleaming dully, hid itself, with a faint, weary 
 sound, now on the right, now on the left. Foma stared at 
 the pendulum, and felt bored and uncomfortable. Liuba 
 rose and lighted the lamp which hung over the table. The 
 girl's face was pale and harsh. 
 
 " You have fallen foul of me," began Foma soberly, 
 *'what for? I can't understand." 
 
 " I won't talk with you," retorted Liuba angrily. 
 
 '^ As you like. But nevertheless — what have I done that 
 is wrong?" 
 
 " You must know that I'm stifling! I feel cooped up. 
 
 145 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Surely, this isn't life? Is this a way for people to live? 
 Who am I ? A parasite on my father . . he supports me 
 to do the housekeeping . . and then, I'm to marry! more 
 housekeeping. It's a quagmire, I'm drowning, I'm stifling." 
 
 " And what have I to do with it? " asked Foma. 
 
 *' You — you're no better than the others." 
 
 " And of what am I guilty towards you? " 
 
 "Guilty? You ought to wish — ^to be better . ." 
 
 " Well, and don't I wish that? ! " exclaimed Foma. 
 
 The girl was on the point of saying something to him, 
 but at that moment, a bell tinkled somewhere in the dis- 
 tance, and throwing herself back in her chair, she said, in 
 a low tone: 
 
 " It's father." 
 
 " Well, if he had waited a while longer, we shouldn't 
 have fretted," said Foma. — " I'd like to listen to you again 
 . . you're awfully queer . ." 
 
 "Ah! My children, my dark-blue doves!" exclaimed 
 Yakoff Tarasovitch, making his appearance in the doorway. 
 — "Are you drinking tea? Pour me out some, Liubava! " 
 
 Smiling sweetly and rubbing his hands, he seated himself 
 beside Foma, and playfully punching him in the ribs, he 
 inquired: 
 
 " What were you cooing about chiefly? " 
 
 " Oh — various trifles," replied Liuba. 
 
 "Who asked you?" her father said to her, screwing up 
 his face. — " You sit there and hold your tongue, over your 
 woman's business." 
 
 " I have told her about the dinner," Foma interrupted 
 his god-father's speech. 
 
 "Aha! Ju-ust so! Well, and I'll talk about the dinner 
 also. I was watching you awhile ago . . . you behaved 
 preposterously." 
 
 146 
 
Foma Gordy6eff 
 
 "How so?'' asked Foma, involuntarily contracting his 
 brows. 
 
 " Why, downright preposterously, and that's all there is 
 to it. The Governor addresses you, for example, and you 
 say not a word." 
 
 " What should I say to him? He said, that it was a great 
 misfortune to lose a father . . well, I know that. What 
 is there to say to him? " 
 
 " * Inasmuch as it was sent to me by the Lord, I do not 
 repine, your Excellency.' — That's what you ought to say, 
 or something in that style. Governors, my good fellow, are 
 very fond of submission in a man." 
 
 " Why should I stare at him like a sheep ? " laughed 
 Foma. 
 
 " You did stare at him like a sheep, — and that's wrong. 
 You don't need to look like either a sheep or a wolf, but 
 sort of perform before him like this: ' You're our dear papa, 
 and we're your beloved children . .' he'd have thawed at 
 once." 
 
 *' But why?" 
 
 " Just by way of precaution . . A Governor is always 
 good for some use, my boy! " 
 
 "What are you teaching him, papa?" said liuba in a 
 low, indignant tone. 
 
 "Well, what?" 
 
 " To play the lackey." 
 
 " You lie, you learned fool! I'm teaching him to be 
 politic, not to play the lackey, I'm teaching him the politics 
 of life . . Now, see here, — take yourself off! Depart 
 from evil and prepare us some refreshments. God be with 
 you! " 
 
 Liuba rose quickly, and throwing the towel which she 
 held in her hand over the back of a chair, left the room. 
 
 147 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Her father, screwing up his eyes, gazed after her, drummed 
 on the table with his fingers, and remarked: 
 
 " I'll teach you, Foma. I'll instruct you in the real, gen- 
 uine science and philosophy, — and if you understand it, 
 you will live without making mistakes." 
 
 Foma watched the wrinkles twitching about on the old 
 man's brow, and they seemed to him to resemble the lines 
 in Slavonic print. 
 
 " First of all, Foma, inasmuch as you are living on this 
 earth, you are bound to reflect upon everything which 
 goes on around you. Why? In order that you yourself 
 may not suffer from your lack of common sense, and that 
 you may not injure other people by your stupidity. Now: 
 every mortal affair has two faces, Foma. One, which is 
 visible to everyone — that's the false one, and the other 
 concealed, which is the real one. You must understand 
 how to discover this last, in order to comprehend the true 
 meaning of an affair. Here, for example, are the night 
 lodging-houses, the work-houses, alms-houses and all the 
 other institutions of that sort. Consider — what are they 
 for? " 
 
 "What is there to consider?" said Foma wearily. 
 "Everyone knows what they are for, — for the poor, the 
 helpless." 
 
 " Eh, my boy! Sometimes everyone knows that such and 
 Buch a man is a rascal, and a swindler, and nevertheless they 
 all call him Ivan or Piotr, and address him as * dear Little 
 father,' ^ as though he were an honest man." 
 
 " What are you driving at? " 
 
 " It all has a bearing on the matter . . So here now, 
 
 you say that these houses for beggars, for paupers, are, of 
 
 course, in fulfilment of Christ's commands. All right! But 
 
 *Equiyalont here to : *' my dear sir." — Translator. 
 
 148 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 what is a beggar? A beggar is a man who is forced, by fate, 
 to remind us of Christ, he is Christ's brother, he is the bell 
 of the Lord, and rings in life for the purpose of awakening 
 our conscience, of stirring up the satiety of man's flesh . . 
 He stands under the window and sings: * For Christ's 
 sa-ake! ' and by that chant he reminds us of Christ, of His 
 holy command to help our neighbor. But men have so 
 ordered their lives that it is utterly impossible for them 
 to act in accordance with Christ's teaching, and Jesus Christ 
 has become entirely superfluous for us. Not once but, in 
 all probability, a thousand times, we have given Him over 
 to be crucified, but still we cannot banish Him from our 
 lives, so long as His poor brethren sing His Name in the 
 streets, and remind us of Him . . And so now we have 
 hit on the idea of shutting up the beggars in such special 
 buildings, so that they may not roam about the streets and 
 stir up our consciences." 
 
 "That's cle-ever! " whispered Foma in amazement, star- 
 ing with all his eyes at his god-father. 
 
 " Aha! " exclaimed Mayakin, and his little eyes glittered 
 with triumph. 
 
 " How was it that my father did not guess the truth? " 
 asked Foma uneasily. 
 
 " Wait! Listen a little longer, it gets worse further on. — 
 So we have hit on the idea of shutting them up in divers 
 houses, and, in order that it may not cost much to main- 
 tain them there, we have set them to work, the aged and 
 the crippled . . And now it is unnecessary to bestow 
 alms, and by removing the various sorts of refuse from our 
 streets, we no longer behold their cruel anguish and pov- 
 erty, and therefore we are able to think that all the people 
 on earth are well-fed, shod, clothed . . So that's what 
 those various houses are for, — they are for concealing the 
 
 149 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 truth, for banishing Christ from our lives! Is that 
 clear?'' 
 
 " Ye-es! " said Foma, befogged by the old man's artful 
 speech. 
 
 " And that's not all, either . . we haven't bailed out 
 the puddle to the bottom yet! " exclaimed Mayakin, waving 
 his hand in the air in animated fashion. 
 
 The wrinkles on his face began their play; his long, 
 rapacious nose quivered, and his voice quavered with the 
 notes of a certain fervor and emotion. 
 
 " Now let us look at this matter from the other side. 
 Who is it that contributes most of all for the benefit of the 
 poor, to all these houses, asylums, philanthropic institu- 
 tions? The rich people, the merchants, our trading class 
 . . Very good, sir! But who commands and arranges their 
 life? The nobles, the officials, and all other sorts of people, 
 only not our people . . The laws and the newspapers 
 and the sciences come from them — everything is from them. 
 In former days they were landed proprietors, now the land 
 has been jerked out from beneath them, — they have entered 
 the government service. — All right! But who are the most 
 powerful people now-a-days? The merchant is the great- 
 est power in the Empire, because the millions are his! Isn't 
 that so?" 
 
 "Yes!" assented Foma, anxious to hear, as speedily as 
 possible, what his god-father still had to say, and what was 
 already flashing from his eyes. 
 
 " Well then, you are to understand this," continued the 
 old man slowly and impressively; " their life has not been 
 arranged by us merchants, and down to the present day, 
 we have no voice in its organization, we can't lay hand to it. 
 Others have arranged that life, and they have bred in it all 
 sorts of scabbiness, in the life of these sluggards, unfortu- 
 
 150 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 nates, paupers — and if they have bred it, they have defiled 
 it, and they — judging as God would Judge — should purify 
 it. But it is we who purify it — we contribute to the wants 
 of the needy, we take care of them. Judge for yourself, 
 pray; why should we sew patches on the rags of another 
 man, if we have not torn them? Why should we set up a 
 house, if we do not live in it, and it is not ours? Wouldn't 
 it be more sensible if we were to step aside, and stand there 
 and watch for a while, how every sort of rottenness multi- 
 plies, and strangles the man who is a stranger to us? He 
 can't manage it — he has no means. So he turns to us, 
 and says: * Pray help, gentlemen! ' And we reply to him: 
 * Please give us room to work in! Include us among the 
 organizers of that life! ' And as soon as he does include us, 
 then, with one sweep we must purify life from every un- 
 cleanness and divers excesses. Then our Sovereign the Em- 
 peror will perceive clearly with his bright eyes who are his 
 faithful servants, and how much sense they have acquired 
 while their hands were idle. — Do you understand ? " 
 
 " How can I help understanding! " exclaimed Foma. 
 
 When his god-father spoke of officials, he recalled the 
 faces which had been at the dinner, he recalled the auda- 
 cious secretary, and through his mind darted the thought, 
 that that roly-poly little man certainly did not possess more 
 than a thousand rubles a year, while he, Foma, — had a 
 million. But that man lived so easily, so freely, in a way 
 which he, Foma, did not know how to live, in a way which 
 it would put him to confusion to live. This comparison, 
 and his god-father's harangue aroused in him a perfect 
 whirlwind of thoughts, but he succeeded in catching and 
 formulating only one of them. 
 
 " Is it a fact, that you toil for nothing but money? But 
 of what use is it, if it does not give power? " 
 
 151 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Aha! " said Mayakin, with a wink. 
 
 "Ekh!" ejaculated Foma, offended. "What did my 
 father think about it? Did you discuss it with him? '' 
 
 " Yes, for twenty years.'* 
 
 " Well, and what did he say? " 
 
 " My argument did not reach him — ^the deceased had a 
 pretty thick skull . . He wore his heart on his sleeve, 
 but his mind lay deep. H-m ye-es! He, — he blundered, — 
 and it's a great, a very great pity about that money." 
 
 " I'm not sorry about the money." 
 
 " You ought to try to earn even one tenth of it, and then 
 you might talk . ." 
 
 " May I come in? " rang out litiba's voice at the door. 
 
 " Yes — hop right in," replied her father. 
 
 "Do you want your refreshments at once?" she asked, 
 as she entered. 
 
 " I'm agreeable." 
 
 She went to the sideboard and rattled the dishes. Yakoff 
 Tarasovitch watched her, twisted his lips about, and sud- 
 denly clapping Foma on the knee with his hand he said to 
 him: 
 
 " So then, god-son! Investigate . ." 
 
 Foma answered him by a smile, and thought to himself: 
 
 " He's clever — cleverer than my father was." 
 
 And immediately he answered himself, but in what 
 seemed to be another voice; 
 
 " Cleverer but worse." 
 
 152 
 
The double tie to Mayakin kept getting a stronger clutch \ 
 on Fomd as time went on: as lie listened to his god-father's \ 
 remarks with attention and eager curiosity, he was conscious / 
 that every meeting with him augmented his unpleasant^ 
 feeling toward the old man. At times, Yakoff Tarasovitch \ 
 aroused in his god-son a feeling akin to terror, at times even, 
 physical repulsion. The latter generally made its ap- 
 pearance in Foma when the old man was pleased with 
 something and laughed. The old man's wrinkles shook with 
 laughter, altering the expression of his face every second; 
 his thin, dry lips twitched, stretched and disclosed black 
 stumps of teeth, and his red beard seemed fairly afire. The 
 sound of his laughter resembled the squeak of rusty hinges, 
 and the old man himself a sportive lizard. Unable to con- 
 ceal his feelings, Foma expressed them to Mayakin fre- 
 quently and with extreme harshness, both by words and 
 gestures, but the old man did not seem to notice this, andjv 
 keeping an eye constantly on his god-son, guided his every ^ 
 step. He hardly went to his little shop at all, being com- 
 pletely engrossed in young Gordyeeff's steamer affairs, and 
 leaving Foma much leisure time. Thanks to Mayakin's 
 importance in the town and his extensive acquaintance on 
 the Volga, the business went on brilhantly, but Mayakin's 
 zealous relations to the business strengthened Foma's con- 
 viction that his god-father was firmly resolved to marry 
 him to Liuba, and this still further repelled him from the 
 old man. 
 
 153 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 He liked Liiiba, and yet she seemed suspicious and dan- 
 gerous for him. She did not marry, and his god-father 
 said nothing on that point, gave no evening parties, invited 
 none of the young men to his house, and did not allow 
 Liuba to go out anywhere. All her girl friends were al- 
 ready married . . . Foma was astonished at her speeches, 
 and listened to them as eagerly as to the harangues of her 
 father; but when she began to talk lovingly and sorrowfully 
 about Taras, it seemed to him that under that name she 
 was concealing some other man, perhaps that same Ezhoff, 
 who, from what she said, had been compelled, for some 
 reason, to leave the university and depart from Moscow. 
 There was a great deal of simplicity and kindliness about 
 her, which pleased Foma, and by her remarks she often 
 evoked his pity for her: it seemed to him that she was not 
 living but raving with her eyes wide open. 
 
 His outburst at his father's funeral-feast became noised 
 about among the merchant class, and created for him an 
 unflattering reputation. When he was on 'Change, he ob- 
 served that everyone looked at him with a sneer, disap- 
 provingly, and that they talked with him in a rather pe- 
 culiar way. Once, even, he heard behind him the low but 
 scornful exclamation: 
 
 " The paltry little stuck-up fool! The milk-sop." 
 
 He felt that it was said about him, but he did not turn 
 round, did not look to see who had hurled these words at 
 him. The rich men, who, at first, had inspired him with 
 shyness in their presence, lost in his eyes the charm of 
 their wealth and their cleverness. More than once they had 
 wrested from his grasp one profitable contract or another; 
 he perceived clearly that they would do the same in the 
 future, and they all appeared to him equally greedy for 
 money, always ready to cheat one another. When he com- 
 
 154 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 municated his observations to his god-father, the old man 
 Baid: 
 
 "And what of that? Trade is exactly like war . . a 
 game of chance. They are fighting for their pocket-books, 
 and the soul is in the pocket-book." 
 
 " I don't like it/' declared Foma. 
 
 "I don't like everything either, — there's a great deal 
 that is false. But it's utterly impossible to walk perfectly 
 straight in a matter of business, — one must be politic! So, 
 my boy, when you approach a man, hold honey in your 
 left hand, and in your right — a knife! Every man wants 
 to purchase a five-kopek piece for two kopeks." 
 
 " Well — that's not very nice," said Foma meditatively. 
 
 " It will be nicer later on. When you get the upper hand, 
 it's nice enough. Life, my dear Foma, is very simply reg- 
 ulated; Bite everybody, or lie in the mud." 
 
 The old man smiled, and the snags of teeth in his mouth 
 aroused in Foma the keen thought: 
 
 " Evidently, you have bitten a great many." 
 
 " In one word — it's war! " repeated the old man. 
 
 "Is it an actual fact?" asked Foma, gazing searchingly 
 at Mayakin. 
 
 " What do you mean by ' an actual fact? ' " 
 
 " There's nothing better? That's all there is to it? " 
 
 "What else should there be? Everyone lives for him- 
 self. Everyone wishes the best for himself . . . And 
 what is that best? To get ahead of people, to stand higher 
 than they do. Everyone is striving to attain to the highest 
 place in life — one in one way, another in another way — but 
 all, of necessity, desire that they may be visible from a dis- 
 tance, like the belfries. That's what man is destined to — 
 elevation. Even in the Book of Job this is expressed: *A 
 man is born to trouble, like the sparks, that he may fly up- 
 
 155 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ward.' Just look: the little brats in their games always 
 want to excel one another. And every game has its highest 
 point, which makes it absorbing . . Do you understand ? " 
 
 "I do understand that!" said Foma, courageously and 
 with conviction. 
 
 " You must feel it also . . By understanding alone 
 youll never jump up anywhere, and you must long, and 
 long fervently, that the mountain should be a hillock, the 
 ocean a puddle for you! Eh! When I was your age, I used 
 to treat life as a jest! But you'll catch on all right. How- 
 ever, good fruit never ripens fast." 
 
 The old man's monotonous harangues speedily effected 
 the object for which they were intended; Foma heeded 
 them, and explained to himself the aim of life. He kept 
 repeating to himself that he must be better than other men, 
 and vanity, aroused by the old man, ate deeply into his 
 heart. It ate in, but did not fill it, for Foma's relations 
 to Madame Medynsky assumed the character which they 
 were bound to assume. He was attracted to her, he was 
 always wishing to see her, but in her presence he became 
 shy, clumsy, stupid, knew it, and suffered because of it. 
 He was frequently at her house, but it was difficult to find 
 her at home alone: the scented dandies were always hover- 
 ing about her, like files over a lump of sugar. They talked 
 to her in French, they sang, they laughed, but he remained 
 silent, and stared at them, full of wrath and envy. Cross- 
 ing his legs, he seated himself in some corner of her gaily 
 furnished drawing-room, where it was dreadfully difficult 
 to walk about, without coming into contact with and over- 
 turning something, — and there he sat, and gloomily made 
 his observations. 
 
 She flitted noiselessly about before him, over the soft 
 rugs, throwing him caressing glances and smiles, her adorers 
 
 156 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 wound in and out after her, and all of them avoided, with the 
 agility of serpents, the divers little tables, the chairs, screens, 
 stands for flowers — a whole shopful of beautiful and fragile 
 articles strewn over the room with a carelessness which was 
 equally dangerous for them and for Foma. When he 
 walked, the rugs did not deaden the sound of his foot- 
 steps, and all those things caught in his frock-coat, reeled, 
 and fell. Near the piano stood a bronze sailor, with arm 
 uplifted to cast a life-preserver, and on the life-preserver 
 hung ropes of wire, which were always pulling Foma's hair. 
 All this evoked the laughter of Sofya Pavlovna and her 
 adorers, but cost Foma very dear, driving him now into a 
 fever, again into a chill. 
 
 But he was no more at his ease when he was alone with 
 her. Greeting him with a caressing smile, she would seat 
 herself with him in one of the cosy nooks of the drawing- 
 room, and she generally began the conversation by com- 
 plaining to him about everybody: 
 
 " You cannot believe how glad I am to see you! ^' 
 
 Curving herself like a cat, she would gaze into his eyes 
 with her dark glance, in which something greedy now 
 flashed up. 
 
 " Tm so fond of talking with you," she chanted, drawl- 
 ing out her words musically. — "Fm tired of all those 
 men . . . they^re so wearisome, ordinary, thread- 
 bare. But you are so fresh, and genuine. Surely, you 
 don't like them either ? " 
 
 " I can't endure them ! '' replied Foma firmly. 
 
 ** And me ? " she asked softly. 
 
 Foma turned his eyes aside and said, with a sigh : 
 
 " How many times have you asked that ? " 
 
 " You find it difficult to say ? " 
 
 " No— but why should I ? '' 
 
 157 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ** I must know/^ 
 
 " You are playing with me/' said Foma gloomily. 
 
 But she opened her eyes wide, and, in a tone of the most 
 profound amazement, inquired: 
 
 " How am I playing with you ? What does the word 
 mean ? " 
 
 And her face was so angelic that he could not do other- 
 wise than believe her. 
 
 " I love you — I love you ! Is it possible not to love 
 you ? " he said ardently, and then instantly added, sadly, 
 in a lower tone : " But, of course, you do not want that.'* 
 
 " There, you have said it! " sighed Madame Medynsky, 
 in a satisfied way, and moved away from him. 
 
 " It is always extremely agreeable to me to hear how 
 you say that — in such a youthful, whole-hearted way. , 
 Would you like to kiss my hand ? '^ 
 
 Silently he grasped her slender, white hand, and, bend- 
 ing cautiously over it, he kissed it long and fervently. 
 She tore her hand away, smiling, gracious, but not in the 
 least agitated by his ardor. Thoughtfully, and with that 
 gleam in her eyes which disconcerted Foma, she scruti- 
 nized him, as though he were something rare and very 
 curious, and said: 
 
 " How much health, strength, and freshness of soul you 
 have. . Do you know, you merchants are a tribe which 
 has not had much experience, as yet, a tribe with original 
 traditions, with vast energy of soul and body. Take your- 
 self, for example ; you are a precious stone, and if you were 
 cut . . . Oh!'' 
 
 When she said : " you have," " in your way," " after 
 the merchant fashion," it seemed to Foma that, by these 
 words, she repulsed him from her. It was both melan- 
 choly and offensive. He made no reply, but gazed at her 
 
 158 
 
Fomk Gordyeeff 
 
 tiny figure, which was always garbed in a rather peculiarly 
 beautiful manner, was always as fragrant as a flower, and 
 delicate as that of a young girl. At times there flashed 
 up within him a wild, fierce desire to seize her and kiss 
 her. But her beauty, and the fragility of her slender and 
 willowy body, aroused in him the fear of breaking or crip- 
 pling her, while her calm, caressing voice, and her clear 
 glance — which yet seemed to be on guard — chilled his im- 
 petuosity; it seemed to him that she was looking straight 
 into his soul, and understood all his thoughts. But these 
 outbursts of feeling were rare, and, in general, the young 
 man bore himself toward Madame Medynsky with adora- 
 tion, admired everything about her — her beauty, her re- 
 marks, her clothing. And, side by side with this adora- 
 tion, there always existed within him the torturingly-acute \ I 
 consciousness of his remoteness from her, of her superior- 
 ity over him. 
 
 These relations were promptly established between 
 them; in the course of two or three encounters, Madame 
 Medynsky completely captivated the young man, and be- 
 gan slowly to torture him. It must have pleased her to 
 exercise power over the healthy, robust young fellow; it 
 pleased her to arouse and quell the animal in him by her 
 voice and glance alone, and she enjoyed playing with him, 
 confident of the strength of her influence. He quitted 
 her half ill with excitement, and bore away with him 
 offence at her, and wrath at himself, and many burdensome 
 sensations which intoxicated him. But, within two days, 
 he presented himself for more torture. One day he 
 timidly asked her: 
 
 " Sofya Pavlovna! — have you ever had any children? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "I knew it!" exclaimed Foma joyfully. 
 
 159 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 She gazed at him with the eyes of a very young and 
 ingenuous girl and said : 
 
 " How did you know it ? And why do you wish to know 
 whether I have had any children ? '' 
 
 Fomd turned scarlet, bent his head, and began to say 
 to her dully, and exactly as though he were forcing the 
 words out of the ground, and every word weighed forty 
 pounds : 
 
 " You see — ^if a woman who — ^that is to say — ^has had a 
 child, her eyes are not so utterly . . J' 
 
 "Ye-es? So what?'' 
 
 " Shameless ! " blurted out Foma. 
 
 Madame Med;fnsky laughed her silvery laugh, and 
 Foma, gazing at her, laughed also. 
 
 " Forgive me ! " he said, at last. " Perhaps I have not 
 expressed myself well, properly. ." 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! you cannot say anything improper. . . 
 You are a pure, darling little boy. So my eyes are shame- 
 less?'' 
 
 " Your eyes are — those of an angel ! " declared Foma 
 triumphantly, regarding her with a beaming glance. 
 
 But she gazed at him as she had not gazed up to that 
 time — ^with the look of the woman-mother, with the plain- 
 tive glance of love, mingled with alarm for the beloved 
 object. 
 
 " Go away, my dear one. . I am weary and wish to 
 rest," she said to him, rising and not looking at him. 
 
 He submissively took his departure. 
 
 For a while after this occurrence she treated him more 
 severely and honorably, as though pitying him, but later 
 on, their relations assumed the ancient form of a cat's 
 play with a mouse. 
 
 Fomd's relations to Madame Med^nsky could not be 
 
 1G3 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 concealed from his god-father, and one day the old man, 
 with a spiteful expression of countenance, said to him: 
 
 "Foma, you'd better feel of your head pretty often, 
 lest you lose it by accident." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " inquired Foma. 
 
 " I refer to Sonka. . . You go to see her very often 
 indeed." 
 
 " What's that to you ? " said Fomd rudely. " And what 
 business have you to call her Sonka ? " 
 
 " It's nothing to me — I shall lose nothing if they skin 
 you. And as for calling her Sonka — everybody knows 
 about that. . . And that she's fond of pulling the 
 chestnuts out of the fire with other people's hands — every- 
 body knows also." 
 
 " She's clever ! " declared Foma firmly, frowning and 
 hiding his hands in his pockets. . " Highly educated." 
 
 " She is clever — that's true ! For instance, how cleverly 
 she organized that last evening entertainment: the pro- 
 ceeds were two thousand four hundred rubles — and the 
 expenses were one thousand nine hundred. And there 
 should be no expenses at all . . because everything is 
 done for her and given to her gratis. . She's highly 
 educated. . She will educate you, especially the lazy 
 dogs who hang round her. ." 
 
 " They're not lazy dogs — but clever fellows, too ! " re- 
 torted Foma angrily, contradicting himself. . " And 
 I'm learning from them. . What am I good for? Noth- 
 ing — neither to pipe nor to dance. . What was I taught ? 
 But there they talk of everything, and each person has 
 his say. Don't you prevent my making a man of myself." 
 
 " Phe-ew! Ho-ow you have learned to talk! It's just 
 like hail on the roof . . it's fierce! Well, all right — 
 make a man of yourself — only 'twould be less dangerous 
 
 161 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 to go to the public-house to accomplish it; there the men 
 are, at any rate, better than Sofya^s fellows. . And you, 
 my lad, would do well to learn to discriminate between 
 people, to know what each one is like. For example, 
 Sofya. . What does she represent? An insect for the 
 adornment of Nature — nothing else ! '' 
 
 Indignant to the bottom of his soul, Foma clenched his 
 teeth and quitted Mayakin, with his hands thrust still 
 deeper into his pockets. But it was not long before the 
 old man again brought up the subject of Madame Medyn- 
 sky. They were returning from the overflowed tract, 
 after inspecting some steamers, and as they sat in the 
 huge, comfortable sledge, they were chatting in a friendly 
 and animated way about business matters. This was in 
 the month of March : water creaked under the runners of 
 their sledge, the snow was already covered with a dirty 
 film, and the sun shone cheerfully and warmly in the clear 
 sky. 
 
 " When you get back, you'll be going to your fine lady 
 the very first thing ? '^ inquired Mayakin unexpectedly, 
 breaking off their business conversation. 
 
 "I shall," replied Foma curtly and with displeasure. 
 
 " Mm . . Tell me, do you often make gifts to her ? " 
 asked Mayakin simply, and in a rather confidential way. 
 
 " What gifts ? Why ? " asked Foma in surprise. 
 
 "You don't make her gifts? The idea. . Do you 
 mean to say that she lives with you simply for love ? " 
 
 Foma blazed up in wrath and shame, turned sharply on 
 the old man and said reproachfully: 
 
 " Eh ! You're an old man, — but it's shameful to listen 
 to you! Come now. — Would she — do such a thing? " 
 
 Mayakin smacked his lips, and drawled, in a whining 
 tone: 
 
 1C2 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 "What a blo-ockhead you are! What a foo-ol!" and, 
 suddenly waxing spiteful, he spat. " Fie on you ! Every 
 sort of animal has drunk from the jug, the dregs re- 
 main, but the fool has set up the dirty pot as a little 
 goddess for himself . . . The de-evil! Do you go to 
 her, and say, straight out: * I want to be your lover — I'm 
 young, don't charge much.' " i 
 
 " God-father! " said Foma, surlily and menacingly . . 
 " I cannot listen to this . . If it were anyone else . ." 
 
 "But who else except myself will warn you? Ah, good 
 heavens!" squealed Mayakin, clasping his hands. "Has 
 she been leading you by the nose all winter? Well, what 
 a nose! Ah, such a nose! 0, the wretched creature! " 
 
 The old man was disturbed; vexation, anger, even tears 
 were audible in his voice. Foma had never seen him like 
 that, and involuntarily remained silent, staring at him. 
 
 " She will certainly ruin you! Oh Lord! " 
 
 Mayakin's eyes winked more rapidly, his lips quivered, 
 and in coarse, cynical words he began to speak about 
 Madame Medynsky, irritably, with a wrathful squeak. 
 Foma felt that the old man was telhng the truth. He 
 found it difficult to breathe, and his mouth tasted dry and 
 bitter. 
 
 " Enough, papa, pray stop . . ." he entreated softly 
 and sadly, turning away from Mayakin. 
 
 " Eh, you'd better get married as quickly as possible! '* 
 cried the old man in alarm. 
 
 " For Christ's sake, don't say that . ." implored Fomd, 
 in a dull voice. 
 
 Mayakin glanced at his god-son, and held his peace. 
 Foma's face seemed to have grown haggard and pale, and 
 there was much heavy and bitter amazement expressed on 
 his half-opened lips, and in his mournful glance. — On the 
 
 163 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 right and the left of the road lay meadows, covered with 
 tufts of their winter garments. Books were hopping eager- 
 ly about on the black spots where the snow had melted. The 
 water seeped under the sledge-runners, the dirty snow flew 
 from under the hoofs of the horses. 
 
 " Well, and man is stupid in his youth! " exclaimed Maya- 
 kin in a low tone. Foma did not look at him. " The stump 
 of a tree stands in front of him — and he sees it as the maw 
 of a wild beast, — and frightens himself with it, o — ^ho — 
 ho!'' 
 
 " Speak straight out," said Foma surlily. 
 
 "What is there to say? The matter is plain; maidens are 
 cream, married women are milk; the married women are 
 close at hand, the maidens are far away — therefore, go to 
 Sonka if you can't get along without it, — and tell her 
 plainly, — thus and so . . . The little idiot! if she's a 
 sinner, you know, that means that she will be the more 
 easily attainable to you. What are you sulking about? 
 What are you flaring up about? " 
 
 " You don't understand," said Foma softly. 
 
 "What is it I don't understand? I understand every- 
 thing! " 
 
 " The heart — that a man has a heart," sighed the young 
 man. 
 
 Mayakin puckered up his eyes and remarked: 
 
 " That means, that he has no brain." 
 
 164 
 
yi 
 
 FoMA drove into town, a prey to melancholy and re- 
 vengeful wrath. A passionate desire boiled within him to 
 insult Madame Medynsky, to revile her. With his teeth 
 tightly set together, and his hands thrust deep in his 
 pockets, he paced up and down the empty rooms of his 
 house for several hours in succession, frowning harshly, 
 and with his chest well thrust forward. His breast was too 
 narrow for his heart, which was full of anger. He set his 
 feet down heavily and in measured tread on the floor, as 
 though he were fettering his wrath. 
 
 " The vile creature — had put on the guise of an angel! 
 — Like a living being, Pelagaya rose to his memory, and 
 he whispered maliciously and bitterly: 
 
 " She was an abandoned woman, but she was better! — 
 She made no pretence. — She laid bare soul and body at 
 once." 
 
 From time to time, hope suggested to him, in a timid 
 voice: 
 
 " Perhaps all those things about her are Hes." 
 
 But he recalled the eager conviction and power of his 
 god-father's remarks, and that thought perished. He set 
 his teeth more firmly, and thrust out his chest still more. 
 Evil thoughts were piercing at his heart like splinters, and 
 his heart was gnawed with the sharp pain of them. 
 
 Mayakin, by casting down Madame Medynsky into the 
 mud, had thereby rendered her more accessible to his god- 
 son, and Foma speedily comprehended this. Several days 
 
 165 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 passed in the business cares which spring brought with it, 
 and Foma's agitated feelings quieted down. Sadness over 
 the loss of a man didled his wrath against the woman, but 
 the thought of the woman's accessibility increased her at- 
 traction for him. And imperceptibly to himself, he sud- 
 denly understood this, and decided that he must go to 
 Sofya Pavlovna and say to her simply what he wanted of 
 her, — and that was all! He even experienced a certain joy 
 at this decision, and went boldly to Madame Med;fnsky, 
 meditating on the way only as to the best and most adroit 
 method of saying to her what was necessary. 
 
 Madame Med^nsky's servants were accustomed to his 
 visits, and to his question: "Was Madame at home? " the 
 maid said: 
 
 " Please go into the drawing-room, — she is alone there." 
 
 He quailed a little . . . but catching sight in the 
 mirror of his stately form, handsomely clad in a frock-coat, 
 and his swarthy face framed in a small downy black 
 beard, a serious face, with large, dark eyes, — he elevated his 
 shoulders, and strode through the hall with assurance. 
 
 The sounds of a stringed instrument floated to meet him 
 — such strange sounds: they seemed to be laughing with 
 a soft, sorrowful laugh, and wailing about something, and 
 touched the heart so tenderly, as though imploring atten- 
 tion, yet despairing of receiving it. — Foma was not fond of 
 listening to music, — it always made him sad. Even when 
 the " machine " at the restaurant began to play something 
 mournful, he felt a melancholy languor in his breast, and 
 occasionally begged that the " machine " might be stopped, 
 or went away as far as possible from it, feeling that he 
 could not listen with composure to those speeches without 
 words, but full of tears and wails. Now, also, he paused 
 involuntarily, on the threshold of the drawing-room. 
 
 166 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 The door was screene^ by long strings of motley-hued 
 beads, strung in such a manner that they formed a fantastic 
 pattern of some sort of plants; the strings waved gently, 
 and the pale shadows of flowers seemed to flutter through 
 the air. This transparent wall did not conceal the interior 
 of the drawing-room from Foma's eyes. Madame Medyn- 
 sky, seated on a couch in her favorite corner, was playing 
 on a mandolin. A huge Japanese umbrella, fastened to the 
 wall, formed a canopy, with the medley of its tints over the 
 tiny woman dressed in a dark gown; a tall bronze lamp, 
 under a red shade, flooded her with the light of the sunset. 
 The tender sounds of the delicate strings rang out mourn- 
 fully in the narrow room, filled with soft, fragrant gloom. 
 And now the woman drops the mandolin on her knees, 
 and continuing to draw her fingers across the strings, be- 
 gins to gaze intently at something in front of her. Foma 
 sighed. 
 
 The soft sound of the music floated around Madame 
 Medynsky, and her face kept changing and changing, as 
 though shadows were cast upon it from somewhere or other; 
 they fell and melted with the gleam in her eyes. 
 
 Foma gazed at her, and perceived that alone with herself 
 she was not as handsome as when others were present, — 
 her face was older, more serious now, — her eyes did not 
 have that expression of endearment and mildness, they 
 looked bored and fatigued. And her pose was weary, as 
 though the woman wished to rise, and could not. Foma 
 noticed that the object with which he had come to her was 
 being replaced in his heart by another feeling. He scraped 
 his foot on the floor, and coughed. 
 
 " Who's there ? " asked the woman, in trembling alarm. 
 
 " It is I," said Foma, putting aside the strings of beads 
 with his hand. 
 
 167 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Ah! But how quietly you came . . I'm glad to see 
 you . . Sit down! Why haven't you heen for such a 
 long while?" 
 
 Eeaching out one hand to him, with the other she pointed 
 to a small chair beside her, and her eyes smiled gleefully. 
 
 " I went to the winter-harbor, to inspect my steamers," 
 said Foma, with exaggerated ease of manner, pushing his 
 chair closer to the couch. 
 
 " Is there much snow in the fields still? " 
 
 "Plenty . . But it's melting fast. There is water 
 everywhere on the roads." 
 
 He looked at her and smiled. Madame Medynsky must 
 have noticed the freedom of his behavior, and something 
 new in his smile, — she adjusted her gown, and moved away 
 from him. Their eyes met — and Madame Medynsky 
 dropped her head. 
 
 " It is melting! " she said thoughtfully, stroking the ring 
 on her httle finger. 
 
 " Ye-es . . there are rivulets everywhere," remarked 
 Foma, scrutinizing his boots. 
 
 " That's good. Spring is coming." 
 
 " It will soon be here now." 
 
 " Spring is coming," repeated Madame Medynsky in a 
 low tone, and seemed to be listening to the sound of her 
 own words. 
 
 " People will begin to fall in love," said Foma, laughing, 
 and began to rub his hands, for some reason or other. 
 
 "Are you getting ready to do it?" inquired Madame 
 Medynsky drily. 
 
 " I'm all right — I was ready long ago — I'm in love for 
 life." 
 
 And Foma moved toward the woman, smiling broadly 
 and confusedly. 
 
 168 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 She darted a swift glance at him, and again began to play, 
 staring at the strings, and saying reflectively: 
 
 " Spring . . . What a good thing it is that you are 
 only just beginning to live. Your heart is full of strength 
 — and there is nothing dark in it." 
 
 " Sof ya Pavlovna ! " exclaimed Foma softly. 
 
 She stopped him with a caressing gesture. 
 
 " Wait, my dear! — Today I can tell you — something nice 
 . . You know — a man who has seen much of life has 
 minutes when, as he gazes into his own heart, he suddenly 
 finds there — something he had forgotten long before . . , 
 it has been lying somewhere, deep down, at the bottom of 
 his heart, for years — but has not lost its fragrance of youth, 
 and when his memory touches it — then a breath of spring 
 is wafted over the man, — a breath of the quickening fresh- 
 ness of the morning of his day. — This is well — though it 
 is very sad." 
 
 The strings quivered and wept under her fingers, and it 
 seemed to Foma that their sounds and the woman's soft 
 voice were titillating his heart tenderly and caressingly. 
 But, still firm in his resolve, he listened to her words, and 
 not understanding their meaning, he thought: 
 
 " Talk away! I shall not believe any of your speeches 
 now! " 
 
 This thought irritated him. And he felt sorry that he 
 could not listen to her remarks as attentively and as con- 
 fidingly as he had been wont to do. 
 
 " You are thinking about what one should do with life ? '* 
 asked the woman. 
 
 " Sometimes one thinks about it, and then again, one 
 forgets. There's no time! " said Foma, and burst out 
 laughing. — " And what's the good of thinking about it? 
 Of course — one sees how people live, — well, as a matter of 
 course, one is bound to imitate them." 
 
 169 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Ah, don't do that! Have pity on yourself. You are 
 such a — splendid fellow! There is something peculiar about 
 you — what is it? I do not know! But one can feel it. And 
 it strikes me that you will find it terribly difficult to live. — 
 I am convinced that you will not walk in the ordinary path 
 of people of your class ... no! To you a life cannot 
 be agreeable that is entirely consecrated to gain, to the 
 pursuit of the ruble — to that trade — oh, no! I know that 
 you long for something different — do you not? '* 
 
 She spoke hastily, with a tremor in her eyes. Foma 
 thought, as he gazed at her: 
 
 "What's she driving at?" 
 
 And he replied to her slowly: 
 
 " Perhaps I may want that — perhaps I do want it." 
 
 Moving nearer to him, she gazed up into his face, and 
 said, persuasively: 
 
 "Listen! Do not live like all the re^t! Arrange your 
 own life in some other way. You are strong, young, — you 
 are good! " 
 
 " And if I am good, then things ought to go well with 
 me! " cried Foma, conscious that emotion was gaining the 
 mastery over him, and that his heart was beginning to beat 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Ah, that does not happen so ! And the good always 
 have a worse time on the earth than the bad! " said Madame 
 Med^nsky sadly. 
 
 And again the trembling notes of the music leaped out 
 from beneath her fingers. Foma felt, that if he did not 
 begin on the instant to say to her what he had to say, he 
 would never say anything to her later on. 
 
 " Bless, Lord! " he ejaculated mentally, and, with low- 
 ered voice, with a strain upon his chest, he began : 
 
 " Sofya Pavlovna! Make an end of it! I must speak. 
 
 170 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 This is what I came here to say to you: Enough of this? 
 You must deal with me in a straightforward manner, 
 openly. — You allured me to yourself in the beginning, and 
 now you are fencing me off from you, in some way or other 
 . . I don't understand what you say — my wits are dull — 
 but I certainly am conscious that you wish to hide yourself 
 from me — for I see — do you understand with what object 
 I have come to you? " 
 
 His eyes began to flame, and with every word his voice 
 grew louder, more ardent. Her whole body swayed forward, 
 and she said, in alarm: 
 
 " Oh, cease . ." 
 
 "I will not— I will speak!" 
 
 " I know what you wish to say/' 
 
 " You don't know all! " said Foma menacingly, rising to 
 his feet. — " But I know all about you! " 
 
 " Yes ? So much the better for me," remarked Madame 
 Medynsky calmly. 
 
 She, also, rose from her couch, as though with the inten- 
 tion of going away, but after pausing for a couple of sec- 
 onds, she sank down again in her former place. Her face 
 was grave, her lips were tightly compressed, but she dropped 
 her eyes, and Foma could not see their expression. He 
 had imagined that when he should say to her: " I know all 
 about you! " she would be frightened, she would feel 
 ashamed, and disconcerted, she would ask his pardon for 
 having played with him. Then he would clasp her in a 
 close embrace, and forgive her. But it did not turn out 
 thus; he was disconcerted in the presence of her composure; 
 he stared at her, he sought for words wherewith to resume 
 his harangue, and found them not. 
 
 " So much the better," she repeated drily and firmly. — 
 " So you have learned all — yes ? And, of course, you have 
 
 171 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 condemned me — that was the proper thing to do. — I under- 
 stand, I am guilty in your eyes. But — no, I cannot justify 
 myself." 
 
 She ceased speaking, and, all at once, raising her hands 
 with a nervous gesture, she clasped her head, — and began to 
 arrange her hair. 
 
 Foma emitted a deep sigh. Madame Medynsky's words 
 had slain some hope within him, — a hope of whose presence 
 in his heart he only became conscious now that it was slain. 
 And shaking his head, he said, with bitter reproach: 
 
 "I used to gaze at you and think: * How beautiful she 
 is — how good — a perfect dove! * And now, you yourself 
 say that you are guilty, alas! " 
 
 The young fellow's voice broke. But the woman began 
 to laugh softly. 
 
 " What a splendid, ridiculous fellow you are! — And what 
 a pity that you cannot understand — all this! " 
 
 The young fellow looked at her, feeling himself disarmed 
 by her caressing words and mournful smile. That hard, 
 harsh feeling which he cherished in his breast against her, 
 melted within him at the warm glow of her eyes. The 
 woman now seemed to him as small and defenceless as a 
 child. She said something, in an affectionate voice, as 
 though making some entreaty, smiUng all the while, but he 
 did not heed her words. 
 
 " I came to you," he began, interrupting her, " without 
 pity . . — I said to myself — * Fll tell her! ' But I have 
 told you nothing — I don't want to. My courage is gone — 
 you breathe upon me in such a way . . . Eh, I have 
 seen you to no purpose! What are you to me? Evidently, 
 I must go away." 
 
 "Wait, my dear, do not go!" said the woman hastily, 
 stretching out her hand to him . . — " Why are you so — 
 
 172 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 surly? Do not be angry with me! What am I to you? 
 You need a woman friend, of a different sort, a simple, 
 healthy-souled creature, like yourself. She ought to be 
 merry, lively. As for me, I am already an old woman. I'm 
 always sad — I find life so empty and tiresome — so empty! 
 Do you know — when a man has become accustomed to liv- 
 ing merrily, and cannot rejoice — he is in a bad way! He 
 wishes to live gaily, he wishes to laugh — and it is not he 
 who laughs, but life which laughs at him. And people — 
 Hearken to me! I counsel you like a mother, I beg and 
 implore you — listen to nothing but your own heart! Live 
 as it dictates. People know nothing, can say nothing true 
 — do not listen to them! " 
 
 In her effort to speak as simply and intelligibly as pos- 
 sible, she grew agitated, and the words of her discourse 
 flowed one after the other, hastily, incoherently. All the 
 while, a pitiful smile played upon her lips, and her face 
 was not pretty. 
 
 "Life is very stern — it demands that all men should 
 submit themselves to its claims, and only the very strong 
 ones can oppose it with impunity. And can they? Oh, if 
 you only knew how difficult it is to live. — A man gets to 
 the point where he begins to be afraid of himself . . he 
 divides himself into judge and criminal, and condemns him- 
 self, and seeks to justify himself to himself — and he is 
 ready, day and night, to be with a man he despises, who 
 is repulsive to him, — only for the sake of not being alone 
 with himself! " 
 
 Foma raised his head, and said with incredulity and 
 amazement: 
 
 "I don't understand in the least what sort of a man I 
 am. And Liuboff, also says — ." 
 
 " What Liub6ff ? What does she say? " 
 
 173 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " My sister. — She says the same, — she's forever eomplam- 
 ing of life." 
 
 " Oh, she is young yet! And it is a great happiness that 
 she is already talking of that." 
 
 "A happi-ness! " drawled Foma sneeringly. "A nice 
 kind of happiness, truly, which makes one groan and com- 
 plain." 
 
 "Do you heed the complaints — there is always much 
 wisdom in people's complaints. Oh, there is more wisdom 
 in them than in all else. Heed them — they will teach you 
 to find your path." 
 
 Foma listened to the persuasive sounds of the woman's 
 voice, and glanced about him, with surprise in his soul. He 
 had long been familiar with everything there, but today 
 everything, somehow, looked new: a mass of trifles filled 
 the room, all the walls were covered with pictures, brackets; 
 beautiful and striking things met the eye on every hand. 
 The reddish gleam of the lamp induced melancholy. Twi- 
 light lay over everything; here and there, the gilding of a 
 frame, or white spots of porcelain shone dully forth from it. 
 Heavy stufis hung motionless over the doors. All this em- 
 barrassed, oppressed Foma, and he felt that he was begin- 
 ning to go astray. He felt sorry for the woman. But she 
 irritated him. 
 
 " You hear how I am talking to you? I would like to 
 be your mother, your sister. No one has ever evoked in me 
 such a warm, tender feeling, as to a relation, as you have. 
 But you — look at me so — in such an unfriendly way. Do 
 you believe me? Yes? No? " 
 
 He stared at her, and said, with a sigh: 
 
 " Eeally, I don't know. — I did believe . ." 
 
 " But now? " she asked quickly. 
 
 " But now — it is better that I should go away! I under- 
 
 174 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 stand nothing — but- I would like to understand. And I 
 don't understand myself. I came to you, and I knew what 
 I had to say . . But the result has been a regular snarl. 
 You brought me up on the nursing-bottle, you have set me 
 on edge . . And now you say: *I will be a mother to 
 you! ' Go now — leave me alone! " 
 
 " Understand me — I am sorry for you! " exclaimed the 
 woman softly. 
 
 Foma's irritation against her kept increasing, and, in pro- 
 portion as he continued to speak, his remarks became ab- 
 surd. — And as he talked, he incessantly shook his shoulders, 
 as though he were rending something which hampered him. 
 
 "Sorry? Why? ! I don't want that. Eh, I can't say 
 what I mean! Fm in a bad plight, dumb animal that I 
 am. But I might have told you! — You have not treated 
 me well — and I keep thinking — why did you allure a man 
 so? Am I your plaything? " 
 
 " All I wanted was to see you near me," said the woman 
 simply, in a guilty voice. 
 
 He did not hear these words. 
 
 " And when it came to the point, — you became fright- 
 ened, and barred yourself oS from me. You began to re- 
 pent — ha! Life is an evil! And why are you always com- 
 plaining about life? What life? Man is life, and there is 
 no life except man. But you have invented some sort of 
 a monster, — and you have done it to divert people's eyes, 
 to justify yourself. You make mischief, and get mixed up 
 in various fancies and nonsense, — and then moan! * Akh, 
 life! Okh, life! ' And haven't you made it for yourself? 
 And by sheltering yourself under complaints, you confuse 
 others. — ^Well, you have strayed from the road, but why 
 should I do the same? Is it spite in you that makes you 
 say; * I'm in a bad fix, so I want you to be in a bad fix, 
 
 175 
 
Fomi Gordy^eff 
 
 too, — there now: I'll sprinkle your heart with my poison- 
 ous tears! ' Is that it? Oh, you woman! God gave you 
 angelic beauty, but where is your heart? " 
 
 He trembled all over, as he stood before her, and meas- 
 ured her from head to foot with his reproachful gaze. Now 
 the words came forth freely from his breast, he talked not 
 loudly but powerfully, and he found it pleasant to talk. 
 The woman, raising her head, stared up into his face with 
 widely-opened eyes. Her lips quivered, and sharp little 
 wrinkles made their appearance at the corners of them. 
 
 " A handsome man, and he ought to live well . . But 
 they say of you, yonder . P 
 
 Foma's voice broke, and with a wave of the hand he con- 
 cluded, in a dull tone: 
 
 " Farewell! " 
 
 " Farewell! " said Madame Medj^nsky softly. 
 
 He did not give her his hand, but wheeling sharply round, 
 he walked away from her. But at the door leading into the 
 hall, he felt that he pitied her, and cast a glance at her 
 over his shoulder. She was standing there, in the corner, 
 alone, and her arms hung motionless down her sides, and 
 her head was bent. 
 
 He comprehended that he could not go like that, grew 
 confused, and said softly, but without remorse: 
 
 "Perhaps I have said something which offends you — 
 forgive me! But, you see, I love you," — and he sighed 
 heavily. But the woman broke out into soft but singular 
 laughter. 
 
 " No, you have not offended me . . Go, and God be 
 with you." 
 
 " Well then, farewell! " repeated Fomd, still more softly. 
 
 " Yes, — " replied the woman, in the same soft way. 
 
 Foma thrust aside with his hand the strings of beads; 
 
 176 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 they swung, jingled, and swept his cheeks. He shuddered 
 at that cold touch and went away, bearing in his breast a 
 confused, oppressive feeling, and the heart within him beat 
 as though a soft but strong net had been cast over it. 
 
 It was already night, the moon was shining, and the frost 
 had covered the pools with crusts of dull silvery hue. Foma 
 walked along the sidewalk, breaking these crusts, with his 
 cane, and they crunched crisply. The shadows of the 
 houses lay across the road in black squares, and those of the 
 trees, in fantastic patterns. And some of them resembled 
 slender hands, which were clutching helplessly at the earth. 
 
 "What is she doing now?" thought Foma, picturing to 
 himself the lonely woman, in the corner of the small room, 
 in the midst of the reddish gloom. 
 
 " It is better for me to forget her,'' he decided. But it 
 was impossible to forget, and she stood before him, evoking 
 in him now sharp pity, now irritation and even wrath. But 
 her image was as clear, and his thoughts of her were as bur- 
 densome, as though he bore this woman with him, in his 
 breast. — A four-wheeled drozhky drove toward him, filling 
 the nocturnal silence with the clatter of wheels on the 
 stones, and their squeaking on the ice. When it drove in 
 the strip of moonlight, the noise of its movement became 
 louder and more lively, but in the darkness it sounded 
 heavier and duller. The driver and passenger were rock- 
 ing and jolting about in it; for some reason, they were both 
 bending forward, and constituted, together with the horse, 
 one large, black mass. The street was mottled with patches 
 of light and shadow, but at a distance the gloom was as 
 intense as though a wall, rising from earth to heaven, 
 barred off the street. For some reason or other, it struck 
 Foma that these persons did not know where they were 
 driving. — Neither did he know whither he was going. His 
 
 177 \^^ 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 house occurred to his mind, with its six great rooms, in 
 which he dwelt alone. Aunt Anffsa had betaken herself 
 to a convent, and perhaps she would not return thence, but 
 would die there . . At home, there was Ivan, the deaf 
 old yard-porter, Sekletaya, an aged spinster, who was cook 
 and maid, and a shaggy black dog, with a snout as blunt as 
 that of a sheat-fish. And the dog was old also. 
 
 " So be it, I really ought to marry," thought Fomd, sigh- 
 ing. 
 
 But he felt awkward and very ridiculous at the idea of 
 how easy it was for him to marry. He might say to his 
 god-father, the very next day, that he was to woo a bride, 
 and before the month was out, a woman would be living 
 there in the house with him. And she would be close to 
 him day and night. He would say to her: " Let's go for 
 a walk!" and she would go. He would say: "Let's go 
 to bed! " and again she would go. If she took a fancy to 
 kiss him, she would do so, whether he liked it or not. But 
 if he were to say to her, " I don't want to, go away! " she 
 would feel insulted. What was he to talk to her about? 
 And what would she find to say to him? He meditated, and 
 pictured to himself the young ladies of his acquaintance, 
 the daughters of merchants. Several of them were ex- 
 tremely pretty, and he knew that any one of them would 
 gladly marry him. But not one of them did he care to see 
 beside him as his wife. Then he recalled Liiiba Mayakin. 
 She would certainly be the first to speak, to express herself 
 in some words that were strange and obscure to him. For 
 some reason or other, it seemed to him that all her words 
 were strange to him, and that she did not say what a young 
 girl of her age, appearance and birth ought to say. 
 
 Then his thoughts came to a halt over Liuboff's com- 
 plaints. He began to walk more slowly, struck with the 
 
 178 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 fact, that all the people whom he knew in the least inti- 
 mately, or with whom he conTersed at all, always talked 
 to him about life. His father, and his aunt, his god-father, 
 LiubofI, Sofya Pavlovna, — all of them were either teach- 
 ing him to understand life, or complaining about it. He 
 recalled the words concerning fate, uttered by the old man 
 on the steamer, and many other remarks regarding life, re- 
 proaches of it, and bitter complaints against it, which he 
 had heard cursorily from various people. 
 
 "What does this mean?" he said to himself, "what is 
 life, if not people? But people are always talking as 
 though it were not they, but something else besides people, 
 and as though it prevented their living. Perhaps it is the 
 devil?" 
 
 An uncanny sensation of fear seized upon the young 
 fellow; he shuddered, and cast a swift glance about him. 
 The street was empty and silent; the dark windows of the 
 houses gazed out dully on the nocturnal gloom, and along 
 the walls, along the fences, Foma's shadow followed him. 
 
 " Cabby! " he shouted loudly, hastening his steps. The 
 shadow gave a start, and crawled after him, speechless and 
 black. It seemed to Foma as though a chill breath were 
 blowing on him from behind, and that sometliing huge, 
 invisible but dreadful, were overtaking him. In his terror, 
 he almost ran to meet a drozhky which made its appear- 
 ance out of the darkness, from somewhere or other, and 
 when he took his seat in the carriage, he could not refrain 
 from looking behind him, although he wished to do so. 
 
 179 
 
VII 
 
 
 
 About a week had elapsed since his conversation with 
 Madame Med^nsky. By day and by night her image stood 
 importunately before Foma, breeding in his heart a gnaw- 
 ing sensation of anguish. He wanted to go to her, and he 
 pined for her so, that his very bones ached with the desire 
 of his heart to be once more by her side. But he main- 
 tained a surly silence, and would not yield to the desire, 
 zealously occupying himself with business affairs, and stir- 
 ring up within himself wrath against the woman. He felt, 
 that if he were to go to her, he would no longer behold her 
 the same as when he had quitted her, some change must 
 have taken place in her, after that interview with him, and 
 she would no longer greet him so caressingly as before, 
 she would not smile upon him with the clear smile which 
 had awakened in him certain special ideas and hopes. Fear- 
 ing that this would not be so, but that something else was 
 bound to be, he still restrained himself and tormented him- 
 self. 
 
 Work, and longing for the woman did not prevent his 
 thinking about life, also. He did not reason about this 
 problem, which had already aroused in his heart an uneasy 
 sensation; he did not know how to reason, but he began to 
 lend an attentive ear to everything which people said about 
 life, and to endeavor to remember these remarks. They 
 explained nothing to him, but only augmented his astonish- 
 ment and begot in him a suspicious feeling toward them. 
 They were clever, acute and wise — he saw that; in business 
 
 180 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 transactions with them, he found it necessary to be always 
 on his guard; he was already aware that, on important oc- 
 casions, not one of them would utter what he thought. And 
 attentively observing them, he became conscious that their 
 sighs and complaints against life aroused suspicion in him. 
 Silently, with a distrustful glance, he watched them all, 
 and a fine wrinkle began to intersect his brow. 
 
 One morning, on 'Change, his god-father said to him: 
 
 " Ananias has arrived. — He invites you. Do you go to 
 him one of these evenings, and see that you keep a strict 
 watch on your tongue . . Ananias will set it to swinging, 
 to make you ring about business affairs. He's a cunning 
 old devil . . A fox from hell . . he'll roll his eyes 
 up to heaven, and thrust his paw into your bosom, and 
 drag out your purse . . Be on your guard." 
 
 " Do we owe him anything? " asked Foma. 
 
 *^ Certainly! The barge isn't paid for . . and we took 
 a hundred and fifty five-fathom beams from him not long 
 ago . . . If he demands it all, cash down, don't give it to 
 him. A ruble is a sticky thing; the more it turns about in 
 your hand, the greater will be the number of kopeks which 
 will adhere to it ... A ruble is like a good pigeon, — 
 it flies into the air, and the first you know, it brings a whole 
 flock back to the dovecote." 
 
 " But how can I help giving it to him, if he demands it? " 
 
 " Let him weep and implore, — and do you roar, but don't 
 give." 
 
 " I'll go by and by," said Foma. 
 
 x^nanii Savvitch Shtchiiroif was a large dealer in lumber, 
 had a vast saw-mill, built barges, and ran rafts . . He 
 had done business with Ignat, and Foma had many a time 
 seen this old man, tall and straight as a pine-tree, with his 
 great white beard, and long arms. His big, handsome 
 
 181 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 figure, with its open countenance and clear gaze incited in 
 Foma a feeling of reverence for Shtchuroff, although he 
 had heard people say that this *' lumber-dealer " had grown 
 wealthy by other means than honest toil, and led an evil 
 life at home, in an obscure hamlet of the forest region. 
 His father, too, had described to Foma, how Shtchuroff in 
 his youth, while he was still a poor peasant, had sheltered 
 a convict in his kitchen-garden, in his bath-house, and this 
 convict had worked for him at the manufacture of counter- 
 feit money. From that day forth, Ananii had begun to 
 grow rich. One day his bath-house burned down, and in 
 its ashes there was found the corpse of a man with a cloven 
 skull. It was said in the village, that Shtchuroff himself 
 had murdered his workman, — had murdered him, and then 
 burned him up. That sort of thing had happened more 
 than once with the good-looking old man; but such tales 
 were related concerning many rich men of the town, — all 
 of them, it was asserted, had amassed their millions by rob- 
 bery, murder, and — chiefly — by the sale of counterfeit 
 money. Foma had listened to such stories from his child- 
 hood up, and never before had he reflected whether they 
 were true or not. He knew also, concerning Shtchuroff, 
 that the old man had got rid of two wives, — one of them 
 had died the very first night after the wedding in Ananii's 
 arms. Then he got his son's wife away from him, and his 
 son took to drink through grief, and almost came to ruin 
 through drunkenness, but recovered himself in time, and 
 went off to save himself in a hermitage, on the Irgiz. But 
 when his daughter-in-law mistress expired, Shtchuroff took 
 into his house a dumb girl — a pauper, — was still living with 
 her, and she had recently borne him a dead child . . . 
 As he went to see Ananii at the inn where the latter was 
 stopping, Foma involuntarily recalled all he had heard about 
 
 183 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 the old man from his father and from other people, and he 
 was conscious that Shtchiiroff had become terribly interest- 
 ing to him. 
 
 When Foma, on opening the door, paused respectfully 
 on the threshold of the tiny chamber with a single win- 
 dow, from which nothing was visible save the rusty roof 
 of the neighboring house, — he perceived that old Shtchii- 
 roff had only just waked up, and was sitting on his bed, 
 propped up on it by his hands, and was staring at the floor, 
 so much bent over that his long, white beard lay on his 
 knees. But even thus bent, he was large. 
 
 *' Who came in ? ^' Ananii asked, without raising his 
 head, in a husky, angry voice. 
 
 " I. How do you do, Ananii Savvitch ? " 
 
 The old man slowly raised his head, and screwing up his 
 large eyes, glanced at Foma. 
 
 " Ignat^s son, isn't it ? ^' 
 
 " The same." 
 
 "Well, come here, — sit down there, by the window — 
 let's see what you look like. Will you have some tea ? " 
 
 " I should be glad to." 
 
 " Corridor- waiter! " shouted the old man, inflating his 
 chest, and gathering up his beard in his fist, he began a 
 silent inspection of Foma. Foma also furtively scruti- 
 nized him. 
 
 The old man's lofty brow was all furrowed with wrin- 
 kles, and the skin upon it was swarthy. Curly locks of 
 gray hair covered his temples and his pointed ears ; calm, 
 blue eyes gave to the upper portion of his face a wise, 
 virtuous expression. But his cheeks and lips were gross, 
 red, and seemed out of keeping with his countenance. 
 The long, thin nose, with its downward curve, seemed to 
 be endeavoring to conceal itself in the white mustaches; 
 
 183 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 when the old man moved his lips, small, yellow teeth 
 gleamed from beneath them. He wore a pink cotton shirt, 
 girt about with a silken belt, and full black trousers 
 tucked into his boots. Foma eyed his lips and said to 
 himself that the old man certainly was the sort of person 
 he was reported to be. 
 
 "As a small boy you were more like your father," re- 
 marked Shtchiiroff suddenly, with a sigh. Then, after a 
 pause, he asked : " Do you remember your father ? Do 
 you pray for him ? " 
 
 "You must, you must pray! " he added, after listening 
 to Foma's brief reply. " Ignat was a great sinner — and 
 he died impenitent — struck down of a sudden — a great 
 sinner ! " 
 
 " He was no more sinful, I think, than others," replied 
 Foma with a scowl, taking offence on behalf of his father. 
 
 "Than whom, for example?" inquired Shtchuroff 
 sternly. 
 
 " There are plenty of sinners ! " 
 
 " There is but one man on earth more sinful than the 
 deceased Ignat — that accursed god-father of yours, Yash- 
 ka," said the old man, pronouncing each word with great 
 distinctness. 
 
 " Are you perfectly sure of that ? " asked Foma, with a 
 grin. 
 
 " I ? I know it ! " said Shtchuroff with conviction, nod- 
 ding his head, and his eyes darkened. "I, also, must 
 present myself before the Lord — and that not lightly. — I 
 shall carry with me a heavy burden before His holy face — 
 I myself, also, have delighted the devil — but I believe in 
 the Lord's mercy, while Yashka believes in nothing at 
 all — neither in dreams nor in the twittering of birds — 
 Yashka doesn't believe in God — that I know! And be- 
 
 184 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 cause he does not believe, he will get his punishment yet, 
 on earth!'' 
 
 " And do you know that also ? " asked Foma. 
 
 " That, also. — Don^t you imagine — for I know, also, 
 that you consider me ridiculous to listen to. — A sharp- 
 sighted fellow, in sooth! But a man who has sinned much, 
 is always wise. Sin teaches a man. Therefore Yashka 
 Mayakin is wise to a rare degree." 
 
 Foma, as he listened to the old man's hoarse and confi- 
 dent voice, thought to himself: 
 
 " Evidently, he scents death ! " 
 
 The corridor-waiter, a small man, with a pale counte- 
 nance which seemed, as it were, effaced, brought in the 
 samovar, and hastened from the room with swift, short 
 steps. The old man sorted over some small parcels on the 
 window-sill, and said, without looking at Foma: 
 
 " You're audacious. And your glance is obscure. There 
 used to be more clear-eyed folks, formerly — because in 
 earlier days, souls were clearer. Everything used to be 
 more simple — both people and sins — but now, everything 
 has become complicated, ekhe-he ! " 
 
 He brewed the tea, seated himself opposite Foma, and 
 began again: 
 
 " At your age, — your father was a water-pumper, and 
 then stopped near our village with the caravan, — at your 
 age, Ignat was as clear as glass to me. All you had to 
 do was to look at him, and you immediately saw what sort 
 of a man he was. But when I look at you — I don't see 
 what you are. What sort of a fellow are you? That's 
 what you don't know yourself, my lad — and that's why 
 you'll come to grief. All the folks now-a-days will come 
 to grief, because they don't know themselves. But life 
 is a maze of wind-fallen trees, and a man must understand 
 
 185 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 how to find his way through it. And everyone goes astray, 
 and the devil rejoices. — Are you married? " 
 
 " Not yet/' said Foma. 
 
 " That's just it — not married, hut polluted long ago, I 
 suppose. — Well, and do you work much at your business ? " 
 
 " Sometimes — Fm with my god-father for the time be- 
 ing." 
 
 " What work have you on hand now ? " said the old man, 
 shaking his head, and his eyes kept sparkling, now dark- 
 ening, now clearing again. — " You have to toil ! In former 
 days, a merchant travelled with horses on his business — 
 he drove through snow-storms, through the night ! Bob- 
 bers lay in wait for him on the road and murdered him — 
 he died a martyr, washing out his sins with his blood. . 
 Now merchants travel in railway carriages, — they send tel- 
 egrams — and now, just think what they have invented, 
 that a man can talk in his office, and he can be heard five 
 versts away — and that can't be done without the devil's 
 brain! A man sits and sins, simply because he's bored 
 with nothing to do: a machine does everything for 
 him . . and without labor, a man is ruined ! He has fit- 
 ted himself out with machines, and thinks it is all right ! 
 But machinery is the devil's trap for you! He catches 
 you with it. Toil leaves no time for sin, but with a ma- 
 chine, you're free! Through freedom man perishes, as 
 the worm, the inhabitant of the bowels of the earth, per- 
 ishes in the sunlight. Through freedom man perishes! " 
 
 And as old Ananii uttered his words distinctly and posi- 
 tively, he tapped the table four times with his finger. His 
 face beamed with spiteful triumph, his breast swelled 
 high, and the silvery hair of his beard quivered noiselessly 
 upon it. Foma shuddered as he gazed at him and listened 
 to his remarks, for in them resounded steadfast faith, and 
 
 186- 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 the strength of this faith disconcerted Foma. He had 
 already forgotten everything he knew about the old 
 man, — and he had believed it to be the truth only a short 
 time before. 
 
 " He who gives freedom to the body ruins the soul ! '^ 
 said Ananii, and gazed very strangely at Foma, as though 
 he perceived behind him someone who was pained and 
 terrified at the sound of his words, and whose pain and ter- 
 ror delighted him. — " And all of you people of the pres- 
 ent day will perish through freedom. The devil has laid 
 hold of you — he has deprived you of your toil, by forcing 
 upon you his machines and telegrams. — And freedom will 
 devour the souls of men. — Come now, tell me, why are 
 children worse than their fathers ? Because of freedom, 
 — yes ! Because they drink, and lead depraved lives with 
 women — and they have less health because they have less 
 work — and then have no cheerfulness of spirit because 
 they have no cares. Joy comes in time of repose — but 
 no one rests now-a-days." 
 
 " Well," said Foma softly, " I suppose men drank and 
 led depraved lives just as much, in former days." 
 
 " Do you know ? You'd better hold your tongue ! " 
 shouted Ananii, with a morose flash of the eye. "Men 
 had more strength in those days — and their sins were ac- 
 cording to their strength. Then people were like oaks. 
 And the judgment of the Lord upon them will be accord- 
 ing to their strength. Their bodies will be weighed, and 
 the angels will measure their blood . . and the angels 
 of God will see to it that their sin shall not exceed in 
 weight the weight of their blood and their body — do you 
 understand? The Lord will not condemn a wolf if it de- 
 vours a sheep, — but if a miserable little rat is guilty of kill- 
 ing a sheep — He will condemn the rat! " 
 
 187 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "How do folks know in what way God will judge a 
 man ? " asked Foma thoughtfully. " A visible judgment 
 is necessary/' 
 
 " Why a visible judgment ? " 
 
 '' That folks may understand.'^ 
 
 " And who, save God, is to be my judge ? '* 
 
 Foma glanced at the old man, and made no reply, but 
 dropped his head. Again he recalled to mind the fugitive 
 convict, whom Shtchuroff had murdered and burned, and 
 again he believed that this was so. And the women — his 
 wife and his mistress — whom this old man had certainly 
 hunted into their graves with his oppressive caresses, had 
 crushed with his bony breast, the sap of whose life he had 
 drunk with those thick lips which were even now scarlet, 
 as though the blood were not yet dry on them of the 
 women who had died in the embrace of his long, sinewy 
 arms. And here was he, awaiting death, which was al- 
 ready somewhere near him, reckoning up his sins, con- 
 demning people and condemning himself, of necessity — 
 and saying: " Who, save God, is to be my judge? " 
 
 "Is he afraid or not?" Foma asked himself, and fell 
 into meditation, as he furtively scrutinized the old man. 
 
 " Yes, my lad ! reflect, — " said Shtchuroff, wagging his 
 head, — " reflect, how you are to live. You have small cap- 
 ital in your heart, and big habits — aren't you going to be- 
 come bankrupt to yourself ! Ho-ho-ho ! " 
 
 " How do you know what and how much I have in my 
 heart ? " said Foma grufiiy, insulted by his laughter. 
 
 "Why, I can see! I know everything — ^because — I've 
 been alive for a long time! 0-o-ho-ho! What a long 
 time I have lived ! Trees have grown up and been hewn 
 down, and houses have been built from them — and the 
 houses have even become decrepit — and I have beheld it 
 
 188 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 all and am still alive. And sometimes, as I recall my life, 
 I say to myself : ' Is it possible that one man could have 
 done so much? Is it possible that I have undergone all 
 that ? ' '^ — The old man cast a stern glance at Foma, shook 
 his head, and relapsed into silence. 
 
 Silence reigned. Outside the window, on the roof of 
 the house, there was a faint crackling sound; the noise of 
 wheels, and the subdued voices of people in conversation, 
 was borne up from the street below. The samovar on the 
 table sang its melancholy song. Shtchiiroff stared intent- 
 ly at his glass of tea, and stroked his beard — and a husky 
 noise was audible in his chest, as though some heavy 
 weight were being shifted about there. 
 
 " Is it difficult for you to live without your father ? *' 
 his voice rang out. 
 
 " I'm getting used to it," replied Foma. 
 
 "You're rich. And when Yakoff dies, you'll be still 
 richer . . he'll bequeath all to you." 
 
 " I don't want it." 
 
 " Where else should he leave it ? He has only a daugh- 
 ter, — and you ought to take the daughter. . What if 
 she is your god-sister and foster-sister — there's no harm 
 in that! That can be arranged. And you ought to get 
 married. . . What's the use of leading a bachelor's 
 life ? I suppose you are still running after the girls ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "You don't say so! Eh-khe-khe! The merchant is 
 dying out. A forester once told me — whether he was 
 lying or not, I don't know — that in former times, all dogs 
 were wolves, and the wolves degenerated into dogs. It's the 
 same way with our class — ^we, also, shall soon all be dogs. 
 We study the sciences, and stick fashionable hats on our 
 polls, and do everything that's necessary to lose our char- 
 
 189 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 acteristic features. And there's no way of distinguishing 
 us from other folks. We've instituted the custom of 
 sending all our children to the gymnasium. And mer- 
 chants, and nobles and commoners are all forced to become 
 of the same color — they are all dressed in gray and taught 
 alike, — and they grow men as they grow trees. Why? 
 Nobody knows. Even one log of wood is known from an- 
 other by its grain, — but here people are trying to plane 
 off men so that all shall have but one face. — We old folks 
 will soon be buried — ye-es ! Perhaps no one will believe, 
 fifty years or so hence, that I lived in the world, I . . 
 Ananii, the son of Savva, by surname Shtchuroff — so 
 there! And that I, Ananii, feared no one except God. 
 And that I was a peasant in my youth, and had two and 
 a half desyatins ^ of land, and in my old age had amassed 
 eleven thousand desyatins, and all forest-land — and in 
 money, perhaps about two millions." 
 
 " That's what they always say — money ? " said Foma 
 with displeasure. — " But what joy does a man get from 
 it?" 
 
 "Mm . . " grunted Shtchuroff.— " You'll make a bad 
 merchant, if you don't understand the power of money." 
 
 " Who does understand it ? " asked Foma. 
 
 "I!" said Shtchuroff confidently. "And so does every 
 sensible man — Yashka understands money. That's a 
 great deal, my lad ! Spread it out before you and reflect — 
 what does it contain within itself ? Then you will under- 
 stand, that all this is the power of mankind, that it is the 
 brains of men. . Thousands of persons have staked 
 their lives on your money, and thousands are still doing it. 
 And you can fling all that money into the fire, and watch 
 
 » A desyatin is 2.70 acres. — Translator, 
 190 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 how it burns. And at that moment, you will regard your- 
 self as the master." 
 
 " People donH do that." 
 
 *^ Because fools donH have money. Money is invested 
 in business, — through business the masses are fed, — and 
 you are the master over all those masses. Why did God 
 create man? That man might pray to Him. He was 
 alone, and He found it tiresome to be alone — well, and 
 He also craved power. And as man was created in His 
 image and in His likeness, as it is written, man also craves 
 power. And what, except money, gives power? — So there 
 you have it. — Well, and have you brought me any money ? " 
 
 "No," replied Foma. The old man's talk had made 
 his head feel heavy and turbid, and he was glad that the 
 conversation had passed at last, to business. 
 
 " That's unjust ! " said Shtchiiroff, knitting his brows 
 sternly. " The time is up — you must pay." 
 
 " To-morrow you shall receive one half. . ." 
 
 " Why one half ? Give me all ! " 
 
 " Why, we are in great need of money just now." 
 
 " And you haven't got it ? But I must have it." 
 
 "Wait!" 
 
 " Eh, my good fellow, I won't wait ! You are not your 
 father, — your sort, the milksop sort, are unreliable folks — 
 in the course of a month, you may get the whole business 
 tangled up — and I shall suffer loss in consequence. You 
 just give me the whole tomorrow, or I'll protest the note. 
 I want it right away ! " 
 
 Foma looked at Shtchuroff and was amazed. He was 
 not at all the same old man, who had so lately been talk- 
 ing about the devil with the mien of a trance-seer. His 
 face and his eyes had been quite different then, — but now 
 his look was harsh, his lips wore a pitiless smile, and cer- 
 
 191 
 
Fom^ Gordyeeff 
 
 tain sinews in his cheeks, round ahoiit his nostrils, quivered 
 greedily. Foma perceived that if he did not pay up on 
 time the man really would not spare him, but would in- 
 stantly disgrace the firm by protesting the note. 
 
 " Evidently, your affairs are in a bad shape ? " grinned 
 Shtchiiroff. " Come, say frankly — where have you squan- 
 dered 3^our fa therms money?" 
 
 Foma felt a desire to test the old man. 
 
 " Business isn't very brisk," he said, with a frown, 
 "there are no contracts, we have received no earnest- 
 money, — well, and things are going rather hard." 
 
 " So-o ! You want assistance ? " 
 
 " If you will be so good — pray remit the payment," en- 
 treated Foma, modestly lowering his eyes. 
 
 "Mm. . So Fm to aid you out of friendship? All 
 right, I'll help you. ." 
 
 " How much time will you give me ? " inquired Foma. 
 
 " Say six months." 
 
 " I thank you humbly." 
 
 " No need. Your debt is eleven thousand six hundred. 
 Now, this is what you are to do : make me out a note for 
 fifteen thousand, pay the interest on that sum in advance, 
 — and as security, I'll take a mortgage on both your 
 barges. ." 
 
 " Send the note to me to-morrow. I'll pay you in full." 
 
 Shtchuroff rose heavily from his chair, and without 
 dropping his eyes before Foma's sarcastic gaze, he calmly 
 scratched his breast as he said: 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 " Thanks — for your kindness." 
 
 " That's nothing ! If you hadn't paid up, I'd have been 
 kind to you ! " said the old man indolently, displaying his 
 teeth in a snarl. 
 
 102 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Ye-es ! If anyone falls into your clutches. . .'' 
 
 " He'll find it warm. /' 
 
 " You'll make it hot for him, there's no denying that." 
 
 " Come now, I say, my lad, stop that ! " said ShtchiiroS 
 grimly. " Although you think yourself anything but 
 stupid — it's early in the day. . He played for nothing, 
 and now he has begun to brag of his winnings ! You just 
 win something from me, and then you may caper with 
 joy. — Good-bye. Get ready your money for to-morrow." 
 
 " Don't worry. . . Good-bye ! " 
 
 "God be with you!" 
 
 As Foma emerged from the room, he heard the old man 
 give a prolonged, loud yawn, and then begin to chant, in 
 a husky bass voice : 
 
 " Of thy me-er-cy open unto us the door, Oh blessed 
 Birth-Giver of God." 
 
 Foma bore away with him from the old man a twofold 
 feeling: Shtchuroff both pleased him and, at the same 
 time, repelled him. 
 
 He recalled the old man's remarks concerning sin, he 
 meditated on his faith in God's mercy, — and the old man 
 aroused in him a sentiment that was akin to reverence. 
 " And this one, also, talks about life — and he knows his 
 sins, but he does not weep, he does not complain. . . 
 * I have sinned — I will bear the consequences.' — Well — 
 and she ? " 
 
 He remembered Madame Med^nsky, and his heart con- 
 tracted with grief. 
 
 " But she — repents . . you can't understand, in her 
 ease, whether she does it deliberately, in order to escape 
 judgment, or whether her heart really aches. — Who shall 
 judge me, save God, he says. So there you have it! " 
 
 It seemed to Fomd that he envied Ananii, and the young 
 
 193 
 
Foma Gordy6eff 
 
 fellow hastened to remind himself of Shtchuroff's at- 
 tempts to cheat him. This evoked in him disgust for the 
 old man, he could not reconcile his feelings, and in his 
 bewilderment, he began to laugh. 
 
 " Well, I have been to see Shtchtiroff ! '^ he said, as he 
 reached Mayakin's house and seated himself at the table. 
 
 Mayakin, clad in a dirty dressing-gown, and counting- 
 board in hand, wriggled impatiently in his leather arm- 
 chair, and said briskly: 
 
 "Pour him out some tea, Liubava! Go on, Fomd. I 
 must be at the City Council by nine o'clock, so tell us 
 quickly." 
 
 Foma, laughingly, narrated how Shtchuroff had pro- 
 posed that he should re-write the note of hand. 
 
 "E-Ekh!" exclaimed Yakoff Tarasovitch regretfully, 
 shaking his head. — " You have spoiled the whole dinner, 
 my dear fellow! How can one deal straightforwardly with 
 the man? Phew! The evil one prompted me to sen-d you! 
 I ought to have gone myself. IM have wound him round 
 my finger! " 
 
 " Come now, not much! He says — ' I'm an oak ' — ." 
 
 "An oak? Well, I'm a saw . . . An oak! An oak 
 is a fine tree, but its fruits are fit only for swine. So it 
 turns out that the oak is downright stupid." 
 
 " Well, but we must pay up, all the same." 
 
 " There's no hurry about that — with clever people. But 
 you are ready to rush off at top speed to pay that money . . 
 You, a merchant! " 
 
 Yakoff Tarasovitch was decidedly displeased with his god- 
 son. He frowned, and angrily commanded his daughter, 
 who was pouring the tea in silence: 
 
 " Push the sugar this way . . don't you see that I can't 
 reach it?" 
 
 194 
 
Foma Gordyeefif 
 
 liuboff's face was pale, her eyes were troubled, and her 
 hands moved languidly, awkwardly. Foma glanced at her, 
 and said to himself: 
 
 " How meek she is when her father is present! " 
 
 " What did he talk to you about? " Mayakin asked him. 
 
 " About sins." 
 
 " Well, of course ! Every man sets a high value on his 
 own business . . and he's a — manufacturer of sins. 
 They've been weeping for him this long time past in the 
 galleys and in hell — pining for him, waiting for him — 
 they're in a hurry to see him." 
 
 " He speaks with weight, — " said Foma thoughtfully, as 
 he stirred his tea in the glass. 
 
 "Did he revile me?" inquired Mayakin, with a vicious 
 contortion of face. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And what did you do? " 
 
 "Well, I . . Ihstened." 
 
 " Mm . . what did you hear? " 
 
 " A strong man wins pardon, he says, but for a weak man 
 there is no pardon." 
 
 " Wisdom itself, you think! Why, the very fleas know 
 that! " 
 
 The scornful bearing of his god-father toward Shtchuroff 
 irritated Foma, for some reason or other, and, looking the 
 old man in the face, he said with a grin: 
 
 " And he doesn't love you." 
 
 "Nobody loves me, my dear fellow!" said Mayakin 
 proudly. " And they have no cause to love me, I'm not a 
 girl. But, on the other hand, they do respect me. And 
 only those are respected who are feared." 
 
 And the old man bestowed a boastful wink upon his god- 
 son. 
 
 195 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "He speaks with weight/' repeated Fomd. "He com- 
 plains. The genuine merchant is dying out, he says. He 
 says that all people are now taught alike, — so that all may 
 be alike, — with one face." 
 
 " He thinks that is not proper? " 
 
 " Evidently, he thinks so." 
 
 " The fo-ol! " drawled Mayakin disdainfully. 
 
 "Why? Is this good?" asked Foma, with a distrustful 
 glance at his god-father. 
 
 " What is good, we don't know, but what is sensible, that 
 we can see . . — If we see that divers people are driven 
 together in one place, and that there one opinion is im- 
 pressed on them all, we must acknowledge that that is sen- 
 sible. Because, — what is a man in the Empire? Nothing 
 more than a simple brick, but all the bricks must be of the 
 same size, ... do you understand? And people who 
 are all identical in height and weight — I can place as I 
 please." 
 
 " Who finds it pleasant to be a brick? " said Foma surlily. 
 
 " 'Tis not a question as to what is pleasant, but as to the 
 fact. If you are made of firm material, you'll not get worn 
 away. It's not everyone that can rub his own phiz . . but 
 if you beat some men with a hammer, they may turn out 
 to be gold. But if a man's pate cracks, what are you going 
 to do about it? It simply shows that it was weak." 
 
 " He also talked about labor, — ' everything is done by 
 machinery,' he said, 'and people are getting spoiled with 
 it.' " 
 
 " That old woman doesn't know what he's talking 
 about ! " said Mayakin, with a scornful wave of the hand. 
 *' It's amazing to me, what an appetite you have for all sorts 
 of nonsense! Why is it? " 
 
 "And it isn't true?" asked Fomd, with a gloomy smile. 
 
 196 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "What true thing can he know? Machinery! That old 
 blockhead had better reflect what a machine is. Iron! con- 
 sequently, you have no pity on it, once set up, it forges 
 rubles for you, without any words, without any trouble; 
 set it going, and it keeps on going. But a man — he is 
 uneasy and pitiful, — he becomes a very pitiful creature in- 
 deed, at times; he howls and grieves, and weeps and im- 
 plores — he drinks himself drunk, — and he has, akh! how 
 much that is quite superfluous to me! But a machine, like 
 a yard-stick, contains precisely what its use requires, and 
 no more. — Well, Fm going to dress . . ^tis time." He 
 rose and went away, shuffling his slippers noisily across the 
 floor. Foma gazed after him, and said in a low voice, knit- 
 ting his brows: 
 
 " The deuce himself couldn't make head or tail of it all 
 — one says one thing, the other another." 
 
 "And it's the same way with the books," said Liuboff 
 softly. 
 
 Foma glanced at her, smiling kindly. And she responded 
 with an uncertain smile. Her eyes looked weary and sad. 
 
 " You still keep on reading? " asked Fomd. 
 
 " Ye-es," replied the girl dejectedly. 
 
 "And you still feel melancholy?" 
 
 " Disgustingly. — Because Fm alone. There's nobody to 
 say a word to." 
 
 " You're in a bad fix." 
 
 To this she made no reply, but only dropped her head, 
 and began slowly to pass her fingers through the fringe of 
 the towel. 
 
 " You ought to marry," said Foma, feeling sorry for her. 
 
 " Stop that, please," replied Liuboff, wrinkling her brow 
 in an ugly way. 
 
 " Stop what ? Of course you will marry . ." 
 
 197 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Exactly! " cried the girl softly with a sigh.—" That's 
 exactly what I think — I must — that is to say, I shall have 
 to marry. But how does one get married Do you know 
 — I feel now as though a mist hung between me and other 
 people — a thick, thick mist! '' 
 
 " From the books/' interposed Foma, with conviction. 
 
 "Wait! And I am beginning not to understand what 
 is going on. Nothing pleases me. I have become averse to 
 everything. Nothing is as it should be, nothing is right . . 
 I perceive, I understand this, but say that things are not 
 right, and why they are not right — I cannot." 
 
 " It's not right, not right," muttered Foma. — " It comes 
 to you from your books, — yes it does. Although I, also, 
 feel that things are not as they should be . . . That may 
 come from the fact that we are both young still, from our 
 stupidity." 
 
 " At first it seemed to me," said Liuboff, paying no heed 
 to him, "that I understood everything in the books . . 
 But now — ." 
 
 " Give them up! " counselled Foma, scornfully. 
 
 "Ah, enough of that! Is it possible to give them up? 
 You know, how many different ideas there are in the world! 
 There are some which scorch your brain. In one book it 
 is asserted that everything which exists on earth is en- 
 dowed with reason — ." 
 
 "Everything?" queried Foma. 
 
 "Everything! And in another — the contrary is as- 
 serted!" 
 
 " My patience! Isn't that nonsense? " 
 
 "What are you talking about?" asked Mayakin, ap- 
 pearing on the doorway, dressed in a long frock-coat, with 
 some sort of medals around his neck, and on his breast. 
 
 " Oh, nothing," said Liuboif gloomily. 
 
 198 
 
Foma Gordy^efif 
 
 " About books," added Foma. 
 
 ''What books?" 
 
 " Why, she is reading — she has read, that everything on 
 earth is endowed with reason." 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 " Well — and I say^ it^s stuff and nonsense! '^ 
 
 " Hm — ye-es." Yakoff Tarasovitch reflected, plucking at 
 his beard and screwing up his eyes the while. 
 
 " What sort of a book is it? " he inquired of his daugh- 
 ter, after a pause. 
 
 "A little one — with a yellow cover," said Liuboff re- 
 luctantly. 
 
 " You just put it on my table. That was said to make 
 mischief — that everything on earth has reason! * . You 
 see . . someone has taken it into his head . . Hm — 
 ye-es^that's even expressed very skilfully . . And if it 
 weren^t for the fools, it would be perfectly true. But as 
 fools are always to be found where they don't belong, — 'tis 
 impossible to say that everything on earth is endowed with 
 reason. — But I'll take a look at that little book — perhaps it 
 has some sense in it . . Good-bye, Foma! Are you going 
 to sit on here, or to drive with me? " 
 
 " I'll sit here a while." 
 
 "Well, all right." 
 
 Liuboff and Foma were again left alone together. 
 
 *' What a man he is," said Foma, with a nod in the direc- 
 tion of his departing god-father. 
 
 " What do you mean by that? " 
 
 " He has a retort for everything, he wants to cover every- 
 thing up with his remarks." 
 
 " Ye-es, he's clever.— But what he does not understand 
 is — ^how difficult life is for me," said Liuboff sadly. 
 
 "Neither do I understand it — ^you imagine a lot of 
 things . ." 
 
 199 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 *' What do I imagine? " cried the girl in exasperation. 
 
 "Why, all that — surely, those are not your ideas — they 
 are someone else's . ." 
 
 " Someone else's — someone else's . ." 
 
 She was on the point of saying something sharp, but 
 broke off, and held her peace. Foma looked at her, and 
 setting Madame Medynsky beside her, he said mournfully 
 to himself: 
 
 " How different everything is — ^both men and women — 
 and you always feel the difference . ." 
 
 They sat opposite each other, both buried in thought, and 
 neither looked at the other. 
 
 Twilight was descending out of doors, and in the room 
 it was already quite dark. The breeze was rocking the 
 linden trees, their boughs were scratching against the walls 
 of the house, as though they were cold, and were entreat- 
 ing admittance to the rooms. 
 
 " Liuba! " said Foma softly. 
 
 She raised her head, and looked at him. 
 
 "Do you know — I have qua-quarrelled with Madame 
 Medynsky." 
 
 " What about? " asked Liuboff, with increased animation. 
 
 " Oh, because — ^it came about that she insulted me^ . . 
 insulted . ." 
 
 "Well, it's a good thing that you have quarrelled with 
 her," said the girl approvingly, " otherwise, she would have 
 turned your head . . she's a worthless creature, a co- 
 quette . . she's worse — ugh! what things I know about 
 her! " 
 
 " She's not a worthless creature at all," said Foma mo- 
 rosely. " And you don't know anything — you're just talk- 
 ing nonsense! " 
 
 " Oh, excuse me! " 
 
 200 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Now see here, Liiiba," said Foma softly and implor- 
 ingly, " don't you say anything bad about her to me — I 
 won't have it. I know everything, by heaven! She told me 
 herself! " 
 
 " He-erself ? ! '' exclaimed Liuboff in amazement. " Well 
 — she is a strange creature! What did she say? " 
 
 " * I am guilty,' " articulated Foma, with an effort, with 
 a wry smile. 
 
 " Is that all ? " There was a sound of disappointment in 
 the girl's question: Foma recognized it, and inquired, hope- 
 fully: 
 
 "Isn't that enough?" 
 
 "What's the next step?" 
 
 " That's exactly what I'm thinking about." 
 
 " Are you — very fond of her? " 
 
 Foma made no reply for a while, stared out of the win- 
 dow, then answered: 
 
 "I don't know. — I think I am — ^more now than be- 
 fore . . ." 
 
 " Before your quarrel? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "I'm astonished; how can you love such a woman?" 
 asked the girl, shrugging her shoulders. 
 
 " Such a woman? Of course I can! " exclaimed Fomd. 
 
 " I don't understand . . No, it's only because you have 
 become attached to her, that it's better you should not see 
 her." 
 
 " Not see her! " assented Foma, and, after a pause, he 
 added irresolutely: — " Perhaps there is no one better . ." 
 
 " Among our people," interposed Liuboff. 
 
 " I need her — very much! Because, you see, I'm ashamed 
 in her presence 1 " 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 201 
 
Foma Gordy^efif 
 
 " In general. I'm afraid of her — that is to say, I don't 
 want her to think ill of me — as she does of others. Some- 
 times I'm disgusted! I say to myself — shall I go on a 
 spree until all my nerves begin to jingle? Then I recall 
 her, and can't make up my mind to do it. And it's the 
 same about everything — I think of her: and what if she 
 were to hear of it? And I'm afraid to do it." 
 
 " Ye-es/' drawled the girl thoughtfully, " that means that 
 you love her. If I were in love, I'd think of the man in 
 the same way — what he would say." 
 
 " And everything about her is — peculiar," went on Fomd 
 softly, " she's so beautiful. Oh Lord, how beautiful! And 
 so tiny, like a child." 
 
 " What took place between you? " asked Liuboff. 
 
 Foma moved himself and his chair closer to her, and 
 bending over, and, for some reason, lowering his voice, be- 
 gan his story. He talked on, and in proportion as he re- 
 called the words which Madame Medjmsky had said to him, 
 the feelings evoked by those words rose again. 
 
 "I said to her — * Oh, you creature! You've been play- 
 ing with me — why?'" said Foma, angrily and reproach- 
 fully. But Liiiba, with a flush of excitement on her cheeks, 
 encouraged him with an approving nod: 
 
 "Exactly! That was good! Well, and what did she 
 say?" 
 
 " She made no reply! " said Foma sadly, twitching his 
 shoulders. — " That is, she said — various things — ^but what 
 of that? " 
 
 He waved his hand, and ceased. Liiiba toyed with her 
 braid of hair, and maintained silence also. The samovar 
 had already become extinguished. The darkness in the 
 room grew more and more intense, the outlook through the 
 windows had a sort of turbid aspect, and the black branches 
 
 202 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 of the lindens swayed to and fro, in a melancholy way, 
 there outside. 
 
 " You might light up/' resumed Foma. 
 
 " What unhappy creatures you and I both are," said 
 Liiiba, and sighed. 
 
 This displeased Foma. 
 
 " I'm not unhappy," he retorted, in a firm tone. " I sim- 
 ply haven't yet got used to living." 
 
 " The man who does not know what iiC is going to do 
 tomorrow, is unhappy! " said Liiiba sadly. " And I don't 
 know. Neither do you. And whither are we to go? But 
 go we must. For some reason or other, my heart is never at 
 rest . . it is perpetually quivering, and in it there is 
 some longing . ." 
 
 " It's the same with me," said Foma. — *' I began to think 
 — ^but what about? I can't explain to myself — and my 
 heart, too, is heavy. Ekh! — But I must go to the 
 Club." 
 
 " Don't go away," entreated Liiiba. 
 
 " I must, someone is expecting me there. I must go. 
 Good-bye!" 
 
 " Until we meet again! " She offered him her hand, and 
 gazed mournfully into his eyes. 
 
 " Are you going to bed ? " asked Foma, pressing her hand 
 vigorously. 
 
 " I shall read a little." 
 
 "You behave to your books as a drunkard does to his 
 brandy," said the young fellow with sympathy. 
 
 " What is there that's better? " 
 
 As he walked along the street, he glanced at the windows 
 of the house, and in one of them he caught a glimpse of 
 Liiiba's face. It was as indefinite as was everything which 
 the girl had said to him, as were her longings. Foma 
 
 203 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 nodded to her, and with a conscious sensation of his su- 
 periority over her, he said to himself: 
 
 " And she has lost her way too — like the other one." 
 
 At this memory, he shook his head, as though desirous of 
 frightening oS the thought of Madame Medynsky, and has- 
 tened his pace. 
 
 Night had arrived, and it was cool. A cold, invigorating 
 breeze swept, in gusts, through the street, driving the litter 
 along the sidewalks, and casting dust in the faces of passers- 
 by. It was dark, and several persons were striding hastily 
 through the gloom. Foma frowned with the dust, screwed 
 -.^p his eyes, and said to himself: 
 
 - " If a woman meets me now — it will be a sign that Sofya 
 Pavlovna will greet me cordially, as of old. I will call on 
 her tomorrow. But if it be a man — I will not go to her 
 tomorrow, . . 1^11 wait a while longer." 
 
 A dog met him, and this irritated him to such a degree, 
 that he wanted to thrash the dog with his cane. 
 
 In the buffet of the Club, jolly Ukhtishtcheff met him. 
 He was standing near the door, chatting with a fat man 
 with whiskers, but, on catching sight of Gordyeeff, he went 
 to meet him, smihng and saying: 
 
 "How are you, my modest young millionaire!" 
 
 His merry character pleased Foma, who always liked to 
 meet him. Pressing Ukhtishtcheff's hand vigorously and 
 good-naturedly, Foma asked him: 
 
 " How do you know that I am modest? " 
 
 " He asks! A man who lives like a hermit, doesn't drink, 
 doesn't gamble, doesn't love the women — ah, yes! Do you 
 know, Foma Ignatievitch? Our incomparable patroness is 
 going abroad tomorrow to be gone all summer." 
 
 " Sofya Pavlovna ? " asked Foma slowly. 
 
 " Yes, of course! The sim of my life will set — and, per- 
 haps, the sun of your life also ? " 
 
 204 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Uklitishtcheff made a comically sly grimace, and cast a 
 glance at Foma's face. 
 
 But the latter stood before him, and felt that hift-head 
 was sinking upon his breast, and he could not help it. 
 
 " Yes, the radiant Aurora . ." 
 
 " Is Madame Medynsky going away? " rang out a fat, 
 bass voice. " Splendid! I'm deligh-ted! " 
 
 " Permit me to ask why? '' exclaimed IJkhtishtcheff. 
 
 Foma smiled stupidly, and stared abstractedly at the man 
 with whiskers — who was Ukhtishtcheff's interlocutor. The 
 latter stroked his mustaches, with a dignified gesture, and 
 from beneath them poured out upon Foma ponderous, fat, 
 repulsive words. 
 
 " Why, beca-ause, you see, there'll be one co-cot-te less in 
 town." 
 
 " Fy, Martin Nikititch! '' said Ukhtishtcheff reprovingly, 
 with a frown. 
 
 " How do you know that she is a coquette? " inquired 
 Foma gruffly, stepping up to the man with whiskers. The 
 latter eyed him over with a disdainful glance, turned away, 
 and waggling his hips, drawled out: 
 
 " I didn't say — a co-quette." 
 
 "You mustn't speak like that, Martyn Nikititch, of a 
 woman who . . " began Ukhtishtcheff in a persuasive 
 tone, but Fomd interrupted him. 
 
 "Permit me! I wish to ask that gentleman what was 
 that word which he employed?" 
 
 And as he spoke thus, firmly and quietly, Foma rammed 
 his hands deep down into the pockets of his trousers, but 
 thrust forward his chest, so that his figure instantaneously 
 assumed an obviously defiant aspect. The bearded man 
 again eyed him over, and smiled derisively. 
 
 " Gentlemen! " exclaimed Ukhtishtcheff softly. 
 
 205 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 "I said-a co-cot-te," remarked the bearded man, mov- 
 ing hif lips as though he relished the word. " But if you 
 do no . understand it, I ca-an explain . /' 
 
 ^^"/es," said Foma, drawing a deep breath, and never 
 tak:ng his eyes from him, " you certainly will explain." 
 
 TJkhtishtcheff clasped his hands, and rushed headlong 
 away from them. 
 
 " A cocotte, if you care to know, — ^is a venal woman," 
 said the bearded man, in a low tone, approaching his big, 
 fat face to Foma. 
 
 Foma gave a low growl, and before the man could re- 
 treat, with his right hand he seized hold of the bearded 
 man's curly hair, sprinkled with gray. With a convulsive 
 movement of the arm, he began to shake his head, and his 
 whole huge, ponderous body, but he raised his left hand on 
 high, and said, in a dull voice, keeping time with the shak- 
 ing: 
 
 "Don't . . . revile — behind a person's . . back 
 . . . but rail . . . straight . . to his . . . face 
 . . straight — to his . . . face . ." 
 
 He experienced an ardent delight, perceiving that the 
 thick arms were waving ridiculously in the air, and that 
 the legs of the man whom he was shaking, were giving way 
 under him, and scraping along the floor. His gold watch 
 flew out of his pocket, dangling from the chain over his 
 round paunch. Intoxicated with his strength, and with the 
 humiliation of that stately man, brimming with the ardent 
 sensation of malice, quivering all over with the happiness 
 of revenge, Foma dragged him over the floor, and bellowed 
 dully, viciously, in fierce joy. During those minutes he ex- 
 perienced a vast sensation — the sensation of liberation from 
 a wearisome burden, which had already long oppressed his 
 breast with sadness and impotency. He felt himself seized 
 
 206 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 from behind, by the waist and shoulders, his arm was 
 grasped, bent, wrenched; he felt someone crushing his 
 toes, but he saw nothing, as his blood-shot eyes were intently 
 rivetted on the dark, heavy mass which was groaning and 
 writhing in his hands. At last they tore him away, pounced 
 upon him, and as athwart a reddish haze, he saw before 
 him, on the floor, at his feet, the man whom he had so 
 unmercifully thrashed. Dishevelled, in disarray, the man 
 was sprawling his legs about the floor in the effort to regain 
 his feet; two persons clad in black were supporting him 
 under the armpits, his arms were dangling in the air like 
 broken wings, and in a voice which gurgled with sobs, he 
 shrieked at Foma: 
 
 " You canH thrash — me! You can't! I have an Order 
 , . you scoundrel! Oh, you scoundrel! I have children 
 — everyone knows me! Eas-cal! Savage! — o — o! I'll 
 challenge you to a duel! " 
 
 But Ukhtishtcheff said, sonorously, straight in Foma's 
 ear: 
 
 " Come away! My dear fellow, for God's sake! " 
 
 " Wait till I give him a kick in his ugly face," entreated 
 Foma. But they dragged him off. His ears rang, his heart 
 beat hard, but he felt relieved, well. And at the entrance to 
 the Club, after drawing a deep, free breath, he said to 
 Ukhtishtcheff, with a good-natured smile: 
 
 " I gave him a good healthy licking, didn't I? " 
 
 " Listen! " cried the jolly secretary, much agitated. 
 " You must excuse me, but it was savage! Deuce take it — 
 'tis the first time I have ever seen such a thing." 
 
 "The dear man!" said Foma amiably. "Wasn't he 
 worth the trouncing? Isn't he a dastard? How can he 
 say such things behind a person's back? No, let him go 
 to her, and say it to her — straight out, to her herself . .'* 
 
 207 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Permit me — devil take you! Why, surely, it wasn't 
 for her sake alone that you gave him that drubbing? " 
 
 " What do you mean by it's not being for her sake? For 
 whom, then? " asked the astonished Foma. 
 
 " For whom? I don't know . . obviously, you had 
 your reasons! Phew, oh Lord! What a scene! I shall 
 never forget it as long as I live! " 
 
 " And who is he, anyway? " inquired Foma, and suddenly 
 burst out laughing. — " How he yelled! the fool! '' 
 
 Ukhtishtcheff stared intently in his face, and asked him: 
 
 " Tell me — is it an actual fact that you don't know whom 
 you have thrashed? And was it, really, on Sofya Pavlovna's 
 account only? " 
 
 " By God, it's so! " asseverated Foma. 
 
 " There . . . It's a miserable business! " — He paused, 
 shrugged his shoulders in amazement, and waved his hand 
 despairingly, then resumed his course along the sidewalk, 
 casting a sidelong glance at Foma. — " You'll pay for this, 
 Foma Ignatievitch." 
 
 ** Will he summon me before the justice of the peace? " 
 
 " God grant he may. He's the vice-Governor's son-in- 
 law." 
 
 " You don't say so! " said Foma slowly, and his face fell. 
 
 "Yes, sir. To speak the plain truth, he's a worthless 
 scamp, and a sharper. Taking that fact as our point of 
 departure, it must be confessed that he deserves his drub- 
 bing. But, taking into consideration that the lady, in whose 
 defence you came forward, is also . . ." 
 
 " Sir! " ^ said Foma firmly, laying his hand on XJkhtish- 
 tcheff's shoulder, " you have alwa3^s pleased me greatly, and 
 
 * Foma uses the word barin, master^ as to a superior, or man of 
 noble birth, in contradistinction to the merchant and peasant classes. — 
 TranglatoT. 
 
 208 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 now you are walking with me. I understand it, I know 
 how to prize it. Only, you must not say anything bad about 
 her to me. Whatever she may be, in your opinion, in mine 
 — she is dear to me . . to me she is the best of women. 
 So I say to you plainly, since you are walking with me, — 
 don't, touch her. I consider her good — therefore, she is 
 good." 
 
 Ukhtishtcheff recognized in Foma's voice more emotion, 
 glanced at him, and said thoughtfully: 
 
 " You're a curious man, I must confess . ." 
 
 " I'm a simple man — a savage man — I've thrashed that 
 fellow, and I feel jolly. Now let what will come of it." 
 
 "I'm afraid something bad will come of it. Do you 
 know — frankness for frankness — I like you . . although 
 — hm! it's dangerous to be with you . . When this 
 knightly mood comes over you, a man is likely to get a 
 sound drubbing from you . . ." 
 
 "Well, I've had enough of it! I think this is the first 
 time I've done such a thing — I shan't be thrashing people 
 every day," said Foma, in confusion. His companion broke 
 into a laugh. 
 
 " Oh you — monster! I'll tell you what — it's savage to 
 fight, it's abominable, — excuse me for saying so. — But I 
 will say to you, that in this particular case, you made a 
 lucky choice. You have thrashed a debauchee, a cynic, a 
 parasite — and a man who escaped unpunished after rob- 
 bing his nephews." 
 
 " Thank God for that! " ejaculated Foma with gratifica- 
 tion. " I've punished him a little." 
 
 "A little? Well, very good, we'll assume that it is a 
 little. Only, see here, my child — permit me to give you a 
 piece of advice — I'm a man of the law . . That Knyazeff 
 is a rascal, it's true. But you mustn't thrash even a rascal, 
 
 209 
 
Fomi Gordyeeff 
 
 because lie is a social being, who is under the paternal pro- 
 tection of the law. You mustn't touch him until he trans- 
 gresses the limits of the statutes concerning punishments. 
 And even then it is not your place, but the place of us 
 judges to give him his due. So, you must just have pa- 
 tience/' 
 
 " And will he soon fall into your clutches? " asked Fom^ 
 ingenuously. 
 
 " N-nobody knows. As he is anything but a stupid fel- 
 low, it is probable that he never will. And all the days of 
 his life, he will exist upon one and the same degree of 
 equality before the law as you and I do . . 0, heavens, 
 what am I saying?" sighed Ukhtishtcheff comically. 
 
 " Are you betraying secrets? " grinned Foma. 
 
 " Not exactly secrets, but — I ought not to be frivolous. 
 The d-devil! But, you see, — this affair has enlivened me. 
 — Really, Nemesis is true to herself even when she simply 
 kicks out like a horse." 
 
 Foma suddenly halted, as though he had encountered 
 some obstacle in his path. 
 
 " Nemesis is the goddess of justice," rattled on Ukhtish- 
 tcheff. " What's the matter with you? " 
 
 " You see, it began," said Foma slowly, " with your say- 
 ing that she was going away." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Sofya Pavlovna." 
 
 " Yes, she's going away. Well, sir? " 
 
 He stood opposite Foma, and gazed at him, with a smile 
 in his eyes. Gordyeeff remained silent, with drooping head, 
 and jabbed the stones of the sidewalk with his cane. 
 
 " Come along," said TJkhtishtcheff. 
 
 Foma walked on, remarking indifferently: 
 
 "Well, let her go. But I'm alone . ." 
 
 210 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Ukhtishtcheff, swishing his slender cane, began to whistle, 
 as he eyed his companion. 
 
 " How am I to live without her? " asked Foma, staring 
 at some point in front of him, and, after a pause, he an- 
 swered himself softly and irresolutely: 
 
 " That's the way I feel about it ^. . ." 
 
 *' Hearken to me ! " exclaimed Ukhtishtcheff, " I'll give 
 you some good advice; a man should be himself . . but 
 you . . You're an epic man, so to speak, and the lyrical 
 form doesn't suit you. It isn't your style." 
 
 " Try to use simpler language with me, master," said 
 Foma, after lending an attentive ear to his remarks. 
 
 " Simpler language ? Very well. What I want to say 
 is — stop thinking about that little lady. She's poisonous 
 food for you." 
 
 " There now, she said the very same thing herself," inter- 
 posed Foma morosely. 
 
 " She did ? " queried IJkhtishtcheff in turn, and became 
 pensive. — " Hm. So that's the way the land lies! Shall 
 not we go and sup ? " 
 
 " Yes," assented Foma, and suddenly thundered in ex- 
 asperation, clenching his fists and brandishing them: 
 
 " All right, let's go ! And when I get screwed up, — I'll 
 break loose, after all this — look out! " 
 
 " But why? We'll sup modestly." 
 
 "No, hold on!" said Foma anxiously, grasping him by 
 the shoulder. " What's the meaning of it ? Am I worse 
 than other men? All live for themselves — they whirl, and 
 bustle about, everyone has his own point . . But I'm 
 bored. They're all satisfied with themselves — and when 
 they complain — they lie, the rascals! I make no pretensions 
 — I'm a fool. I understand nothing, my dear fellow, — I 
 simply wish to live! I don't know how to think — I'm dis- 
 
 211 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 gusted . . . one person says this, another that. Pshaw! 
 But she — ekh! You must know, that I trusted in her, I 
 expected of her — what I expected of her, I don't know! 
 But she — ^was the best of all. And I believed, that some 
 day she would speak to me words of her own, — particular 
 words — ^her eyes, my dear fellow were very fine! Heavens! 
 I was ashamed to look into them. So, as I was saying — 
 she would speak certain words to me, — she would explain 
 everything to me. You see, I did not approach her with 
 love, exactly — I went to her with all my soul — I sought — 
 I thought, that if she was such a beauty, of course — there- 
 fore, I should become a man by her side! " 
 
 Ukhtishtcheff stared as this distressing, incoherent 
 harangue burst from the mouth of his companion; he 
 saw how the muscles of his face twitched with the effort 
 to express his thoughts, and felt for this wild hubbub of 
 words a great and serious pain. There was something pro- 
 foundly touching in the powerlessness of this robust and 
 savage young fellow, who suddenly began to walk along 
 the sidewalk with long, uneven strides. As IJkhtishtcheff 
 skipped along after him with his short legs, he felt himself 
 bound to soothe Foma by some means or other. Everything 
 which Foma had said and done that evening had aroused in 
 the jolly secretary a great curiosity with regard to Foma, 
 and, moreover, he felt flattered by the frankness of the 
 wealthy young man. This frankness confused him by its 
 gloomy power, he was disconcerted by the shock of it, and 
 although, despite his youth, he had cut and dried phrases 
 for all the circumstances of life, — he could not lay his hand 
 upon them promptly. 
 
 " I feel that things are dark and narrow," said Gordyeeff, 
 " I feel that a burden is accumulating on my shoulders — 
 but what it is, I can't understand. It impedes me, and 
 
 213 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 because of it, I can't get a real start in life. I listen to 
 people, and they all say different things . . but she — 
 might have told . .'* 
 
 "Eh, my dear sir!'* IJkhtishtcheff interrupted Foma, 
 taking him amiably by the arm. — " This won't do! You 
 have only just entered on life, and — already you are phi- 
 losophizing! No, it won't do at all! Life is given us for 
 life! That means — live, and let live. There's philosophy 
 for you! But that woman — ^bah! Isn't there anyone else 
 in the world but her ? If you like, I'll make you acquainted 
 with such a virulent specimen that the next minute not a 
 particle of your philosophy will be left in your soul! 0, a 
 re-e-ma-arkable little woman! And doesn't she understand 
 how to make use of life! She, also, is somewhat in the 
 epic line, you know. And handsome . . I may call her 
 Phryne! And what a pair you and she would make! Ah, 
 devil take it! But, really, it's a brilliant idea — I'll intro- 
 duce you! We must make one nail drive out the other." 
 
 " I'm ashamed to," said Foma, gruffly and sadly. — " As 
 long as she is alive — I can't even look at women." 
 
 " Such a healthy, blooming man — ho-ho! " shouted 
 IJkhtishtcheff, and in the tone of a tutor he began to argue 
 with Foma as to the indispensability of giving himself an 
 outlet for his feelings in a good spree shared by women. 
 
 " It'll be magnificent, and it's indispensably necessary for 
 you, — ^believe me! And as for your conscience — ^you must 
 excuse me! You define it rather indefinitely — ^it isn't your 
 conscience that hinders you, but — timidity, in my opinion. 
 You live apart from society, you are shy — and awkward. 
 You are dimly conscious of all this — and you mistake that 
 consciousness for conscience. There can be no question 
 of it in the matter in hand, — what has conscience to do with 
 it, when jollification is so natural for a man, when it is his 
 necessity and his right? " 
 
 213 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Foma walked on, moderating his pace to keep step with 
 his companion's, and staring along the road. It ran be- 
 tween two rows of buildings, resembled a huge ditch, and 
 was filled with gloom. It seemed as though there were no 
 end to it, and far away something dark, inexhaustible, 
 which stopped one's breath, were flowing slowly along it. 
 IJkhtishtcheff's persuasively amiable voice rang monoto- 
 nously in Foma's ears, and, although he did not heed the 
 words of the harangue, he was conscious that they were 
 viscous, in a way, that they stuck to him, and he involun- 
 tarily stored them up in his memory. In spite of the fact 
 that the man was walking beside him, he felt as though he 
 were alone, lost in the darkness. The darkness held him 
 in its embrace, and slowly drew him after it, and he felt 
 that he was being drawn somewhither, and had no desire 
 to hold himself back. A certain lassitude prevented his 
 thinking, he had no desire to resist the admonitions of his 
 companion, — and why should he resist them? 
 
 "It's not good for every man to argue," said tJkhtish- 
 tcheff, brandishing his cane in the air, and growing a little 
 intoxicated with his own wisdom. — " And if everyone were 
 to begin to argue — who would live? And they live only 
 once. So there's no harm in being in a hurry to live; by 
 heaven, that's a fact! But what's the use of talking — do 
 you give me permission to shake you up? Let's go im- 
 mediately to a gay house . . two sisters live there, — ah, 
 how they live! Say the word! " 
 
 "Why not? I'll go," said Foma calmly, with a yawn. 
 ''Isn't it late?" he asked, glancing at the cloud-covered 
 sky. 
 
 " It's never too late to go to their house! " cried Ukhtish- 
 tcheff merrily. 
 
 214 
 
VIII 
 
 On the third day after the scene in the Club, Fomd 
 found himself seven versts from the town, on the lumber- 
 wharf of merchant Zvantzeff, in the company of that mer- 
 chant's son, of Ukhtishtcheff, a staid gentleman of noble 
 birth with side-whiskers, a bald head, and a red nose, and of 
 four ladies. Young Zvantzeff wore eyeglasses, was thin, pale, 
 and when he was standing, the calves of his legs kept quiver- 
 ing, as though they found it repulsive to support the puny 
 body, clad in a long, checked overcoat with a hood, among 
 whose folds a little head in a jockey cap rattled round ab- 
 surdly. The gentleman with the side-whiskers called him 
 " Jean,'^ and pronounced the name as though suffering from 
 an inveterate cold in the head. Jean's lady was a tall, 
 plump woman, with a splendid bust. Her head was com- 
 pressed at the sides, her low brow receded, a long, sharp 
 nose gave to her face a bird-like look. And this plain face 
 was entirely immobile, and only the eyes — small, round, 
 cold eyes — were constantly smiling with a piercing and 
 cunning smile. IJkhtishtcheff's lady was named V^ra; she 
 was a tall, pale woman, with red hair. She had so much 
 hair, that it seemed as though the woman had put a huge 
 cap on her head, which was sinking down over her ears, her 
 cheeks and her lofty brow, from beneath which her large 
 blue eyes gazed out calmly and indolently. 
 
 The gentleman with the side-whiskers was sitting beside 
 a young, plump, blooming girl, who laughed incessantly and 
 resonantly at what he was whispering in her ear, as he bent 
 over her shoulder. 
 
 215 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Foma's lady was a graceful brunette, dressed entirely in 
 black. Swarty of complexion, with wavy hair, she held 
 her head so straight and so loftily, and gazed at everything 
 around her in so haughtily-condescending a manner, that 
 it was immediately obvious that she considered herself the 
 chief person present. 
 
 The party had disposed themselves on the last link of the 
 raft, which extended far out into the smooth, empty expanse 
 of the river. There was a flooring of planks over the raft; 
 and in the centre of the raft, stood a roughly made table, 
 and everywhere about were scattered empty bottles, pro- 
 vision-baskets confectionery-wrappers, orange-skins. On 
 one corner of the raft was strewn a pile of earth; upon this 
 burned a fire of logs, and a peasant, in a short fur-coat was 
 squatting on his heels, warming his hands over the fire, 
 and casting furtive glances in the direction of his employers, 
 who were sitting round the table. The latter had just fin- 
 ished eating their sterlet soup, and now wine and fruit 
 stood on the table before them. 
 
 Fatigued with their forty-eight-hour debauch, and with 
 the dinner they had just finished, the party were in a bored 
 state of mind. All were gazing at the river and talking, but 
 the conversation was constantly interrupted by long pauses. 
 The day was bright, and, after the fashion of spring, ro- 
 bustly-young. The coldly-clear sky spread majestically over 
 the turbid water of the gigantically-wide river at its flood, 
 calm as the heaven and immense as the sea. The far-off 
 hill-shore was caressingly enveloped in a bluish, smoke-like 
 haze, and through it, yonder, on the crest of the ridge, glit- 
 tered the crosses of the churches, like large stars. The 
 river was animated in the vicinity of the hill-shore * — 
 
 ^The "hill-shore" of the Volga is the west shore, on which lies 
 Nizhni-N6vgorod, the (probable) scene of this story. The " forest- 
 
 21G 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 steamers were moving to and fro, and their noise was wafted, 
 in ponderous sobs, to the rafts, in the meadows, where the 
 gentle current of the waves filled the air with soft, timid 
 sounds. Huge barges which were being towed, one after 
 the other, against the current, like pigs of enormous size, 
 ploughed up the smooth surface of the river. The black 
 smoke crept, in heavy puffs, from the funnels of the steam- 
 ers, and melted slowly away in the fresh air, filled with 
 brilliant sunlight . . From time to time a whistle 
 shrieked, — as though some huge beast were raging and roar- 
 ing, angered by its toil. And in the meadows, round about 
 the rafts, everything was calm and quiet. Isolated trees, 
 submerged by the spring-flood, were already covered with 
 brilliantly-green spangles of leaves. The water, which cov- 
 ered their roots, and reflected their crests, rendered them 
 spherical, — and it seemed as though, at the slightest puff of 
 the breeze, they would float away, in their fantastic beauty, 
 along the mirror-like bosom of the river. 
 
 The red-haired woman, gazing pensively into the dis- 
 tance, began to sing, softly and mournfully: 
 
 '* Adown the Volga ri-iver, 
 The light boat flo-oats a-long.'* » . 
 
 The brunette, narrowing her large, stem eyes disdain- 
 fully, said, without looking at her: 
 
 " We're bored enough without that." 
 
 " Don't touch her — let her sing! " entreated Foma, good- 
 naturedly, as he gazed into his lady's face. He was pale, 
 sparks of some sort had blazed up in his eyes, and an un- 
 certain, indolent smile hovered on his lips. 
 
 shore," or eastern shore, is flat and wooded, and not very animated 
 near Nizhni. — Translator. 
 
 817 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 
 " Let's sing in chorus! '' suggested the gentleman with 
 the side-whiskers. 
 
 " No, let those two sing! " cried tJkhtishtcheff with ani- 
 mation. — " Vera, sing that song — ^you know which? * I will 
 go at the break of day/ — how does it run? Sing, Pav- 
 linka! '' 
 
 The giggler glanced at the brunette, and inquired re- 
 spectfully: 
 
 Shall we sing, Sasha ? " 
 
 I'll sing myself," announced Foma's friend, and, turn- 
 ing to the lady with the bird-like face, she gave the com- 
 mand: 
 
 ** Vassa, sing with me! '^ 
 
 The latter immediately broke off her conversation with 
 Zvantzeff, stroked her throat with her hand, and rivetted 
 her round eyes on her sister's face. Sasha rose to her feet^ 
 rested her hand on the table, and proudly raising her head, 
 she began, in a strong, almost mascuhne voice, to declaim 
 melodiously: 
 
 ** He liveth well upon the earth, 
 Who hath no petty cares, 
 In the ardent heart of his lady-love ! " 
 
 Her sister rocked her head, and in waihng, long-drawn 
 tones, she moaned in a high contralto: 
 
 "Ehk-with-me-with-the-maid-so-fair.** 
 
 With a flash of her eyes at her sister, Sasha cried, in 
 low-pitched notes: 
 
 *' My heart is high, as a blade of gra-a-ass ! " 
 
 The two voices united, and floated over the water in 
 
 218 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 beautiful, succulent sounds, quivering with excess of power. 
 One complained of the unbearable pain in her heart, and 
 slaking her thirst with the poison of her plaint, — sobbed 
 with mournful and impotent grief, sobbed, extinguishing 
 the fire of her torments with tears. The other, lower and 
 more masculine, — rolled out powerfully on the air, filled 
 with the feeling of bloody insult, and readiness to take 
 vengeance. Clearly enunciating the words, the voice burst 
 from the breast in a thick stream, and every word reeked with 
 boiling blood, stirred to revolt by outrage, poisoned by in- 
 sult, and clamoring mightily for revenge. 
 
 " For this I will requite him " . • 
 
 sang Vdssa plaintively, closing her eyes. 
 
 " Fll fre-ee-eze him out, I'll dry-y-y him out," 
 
 promised Sasha, confidently and menacingly, tossing into 
 the air robust, powerful notes, which resembled blows. 
 And, all of a sudden, altering the tempo of the song, and 
 elevating her voice, in the same long-drawn tone as her 
 sister, she struck into sensual and exultant threats: 
 
 " Drier than the wind, the tempestuous wi-ind, 
 Drier than the grass that is mo-own down, 
 Oi, that is mo-own and is fully dri-ied. ." 
 
 Fomd, his elbows resting on the table, bent down his 
 head, and with frowning brows, gazed into the face of the 
 woman, into her black, half-closed eyes. Eivetted upon 
 some point in the distance, they sparkled so wickedly and 
 brilliantly, that from their gleam the velvety voice which 
 poured forth from the woman's breast seemed to him to be 
 
 219 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 black and sparkling also, like her eyes. He recalled her 
 caresses, and thought: 
 
 " And whence comes she, such a woman? One is even 
 afraid with her/* 
 
 IJkhtishtcheff, sitting close to his lady, with a beatific 
 expression on his face, listened to the song, and beamed all 
 over with delight. The gentleman with the side-whiskers 
 and Zvantzeff drank wine, and softly whispered together 
 about something, bending toward each other. The red- 
 haired woman pensively scrutinized the palm of TJkhtish- 
 tcheff's hand, which she held in her hands, and the merry 
 young girl became melancholy, drooped her head, and lis- 
 tened to the song without moving, as though fascinated by 
 it. The peasant quitted the fire. He stepped cautiously 
 over the planks, standing on tiptoe, his hands were clasped 
 behind his back, but his broad, bearded face was trans- 
 figured by a smile of amazement, and of some ingenuous 
 joy. 
 
 "Ekh . . now feel thou, kind young man ! " 
 
 mournfully implored Vassa, shaking her head. And her 
 sister, in exulting and powerful tones, swelling out her 
 bosom, and tossing her head still higher, concluded the 
 song: 
 
 ** What is the anguish of lo-o-ove I " 
 
 When she finished singing, she looked around, and drop- 
 ping down beside Foma, threw her strong, firm arm about 
 his neck in an embrace. 
 
 " Well, was the song nice? '' 
 
 " Splendid! " sighed Foma, smiling at her. 
 
 The song had inspired in his heart a thirst for caresses, 
 and it quivered, still filled as it was v,^ith the beautiful 
 
 220 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 sounds, but at the touch of her arm, he felt awkward and 
 ashamed before the other people. 
 
 "Bravo-o! Bravo, Alexandra Savelievna! " shouted 
 IJkhtishtcheff, and all the others clapped their hands. But 
 she paid no attention to them, and embracing Foma, she 
 said, authoritatively: 
 
 " Come now, give me something for the song." 
 
 " All right, I will," assented Foma. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Tell me what it is to be." 
 
 " ril tell you in town . . . And if you give me what 
 I want, — oh, how I will love you, Foma! " 
 
 " For the gift ? " asked Foma, with an incredulous smile. 
 " You'd better simply . ." 
 
 She glanced composedly at him, and after meditating 
 for a second, she said, with decision: 
 
 "'Tis early in the day to do it simply. I will not lie, 
 and what's the use of tying with you! I say straight out, 
 that I love for money, for gifts. Because men have nothing 
 but money. They can give nothing but money — nothing of 
 any worth. You see, I know . . One can love in that 
 w^ay, — yes. Wait, I'll keep watch of you, and perhaps I 
 shall be able to love you without pay. But, in the mean- 
 time, don't condemn me unheard ... in my way of 
 life, I need a great deal of money." 
 
 Foma listened to her, smiled and trembled at the prox- 
 imity of her robust, graceful body. Zvantzeff's sour, cracked 
 and wearisome voice smote upon his ear: 
 
 " I don't like, I can't understand, the beauties of these 
 renowned Eussian folk-songs. AVhat do they sound like, 
 hey? The howl of a wolf — something hungry and savage. 
 It's — like a sick dog — beastly altogether. There's nothing 
 cheerful about it, — there's no chic about it, — there are no 
 
 221 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 live and enlivening sounds. No, you just ought to hear 
 how the French peasant sings . .ah! Or, the Italian." 
 
 " How can you say so, Ivan Nikolaevitch," shouted 
 Ukhtishtcheff in perturbation. 
 
 " I must agree with that — Russian singing is monotonous 
 and lacking in brilliancy ... it has none of that polish 
 of culture, you know," said the man with the side-whiskers, 
 sadly, as he sipped wine out of a drinking-glass. 
 
 " On the other hand, the living heart is always in it,'^ 
 interposed the red-haired woman, as she peeled an orange. 
 
 The sun set. As it sank far away, beyond the forest, on 
 the meadow-shore, it dyed all the woods with hues of crim- 
 son, and cast upon the cold, dark water, rose-colored and 
 golden spots. Foma glanced in that direction, at this play 
 of the sun's rays, watched them stream palpitatingly over 
 the quiet, level waste of waters, and as his ear caught 
 snatches of the conversation, he pictured them to himself 
 as a swarm of dark-hued butterflies fluttering restlessly in 
 the air. Sasha, leaning her head on his shoulder, made, 
 straight into his ear, soft remarks, which caused him to 
 grow red and confused, for he felt that they were again 
 arousing within him the desire to clasp the woman in a 
 strong embrace, and shower on her kisses without number, 
 unweariedly. No one of the people there assembled to- 
 gether interested him, save her. Zvantzeff and the gentle- 
 man were downright repulsive to him. 
 
 "What are you gaping at?'' he heard Ukhtishtcheff's 
 jestingly-severe exclamation. 
 
 Ukhtishtcheff was shouting at the peasant. The latter 
 plucked his cap from his head, slapped it against his knee, 
 and replied, with a smile: 
 
 " I — came nearer to listen to the lady." 
 
 " Why, does she sing well ? " 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "What's the need of saying it! " said the peasant, gazing 
 at Sasha, with rapture-filled eyes. 
 
 " Exactly so! " cried IJkhtishtcheff. 
 
 " There's gre-eat power of voice in her breast," said the 
 peasant, shaking his head. 
 
 His words evoked the laughter of the ladies, and among 
 the men, ambiguous remarks about Sasha. 
 
 After she had listened to them with composure, and re- 
 plied to them by not one word, she asked the peasant: 
 
 " Do you sing? " 
 
 " Don't I! " and he waved his hand. 
 
 "What songs do you know?" 
 
 " Why, all sorts . . I'm fond of singing." 
 
 He grinned, in an apologetic sort of way. 
 
 " Suppose you sing with me." 
 
 " What's the use! Are we mates? " 
 
 " Come, begin! " 
 
 " But may I sit down? " 
 
 " Come hither, to the table." 
 
 " How jolly this is! " exclaimed Zvantzeff, wrinkling up 
 his visage. 
 
 "If you find it tiresome — go dro\vn yourself," said 
 Sasha, flashing her eyes at him. 
 
 " No, the water is cold," retorted Zvantzeff, shrivelling 
 up under her glance. 
 
 "As you like! " and the woman shrugged her shoulders. 
 " But it's time you did it, and there's a lot of water just 
 now, so that you wouldn't spoil it all with your rotten 
 carcass." 
 
 " Fie, how witty! " hissed the young man, turning away 
 from her, and he said with disdain: " In Russia, even the 
 cocottes are coarse." 
 
 He addressed himself to his neighbor, but the latter an- 
 
 223 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 swered him only with a drunken smile. Ukhtishtcheff, 
 also, was drunk. Gazing, with owlish eyes into the face 
 of his lady, he was muttering something, and heard noth- 
 ing. The lady with the bird-like face was pecking at the 
 confectionery, holding the box right under her nose. 
 Pavlinka had strolled off to the edge of the raft, and stood 
 there, tossing orange-peel into the water. 
 
 " I never before took part in such a stupid spree — with 
 such a stupid party," said Zvantzeff plaintively to his 
 neighbor. 
 
 But Foma watched him with a grin, and was delighted 
 that this puny, homely man was bored, and that Sasha had 
 insulted him. He gazed caressingly and approvingly at his 
 friend, — it pleased him that she talked with everyone so 
 directly, and bore herself proudly, like a real gentlewoman. 
 
 The peasant seated himself on the planks at her feet, 
 clasped his knees in his arms, raised his face toward her, 
 and listened gravely to her remarks. 
 
 " Elevate your voice when I lower mine — do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 " Yes — ^but — madam ? You might treat me to a drink, 
 to screw up my courage ? ! " 
 
 " Foma, give him a glass of liquor." 
 
 And when the peasant, after drinking, had grunted with 
 satisfaction, licked his lips and said : " Now I can sing," 
 . . she commanded, with a frown: 
 
 " Begin." 
 
 Twisting his mouth on one side and raising his eyes to 
 her face, the peasant struck up, in a high tenor voice: 
 
 " I cannot dri-ink and, ekh, I cannot e-e-eat." 
 
 Quivering all over, the woman wailed tremulously and 
 with terrifying mournfulness: 
 
 224 
 
Fomi Gordydeff 
 
 *'Wine will not my spii-irit soo-oothe ! " 
 
 The peasant smiled delightedly, wagged his head, and 
 closing his eyes, poured forth upon the air, a vibrating 
 stream of high notes: 
 
 " Oe, the time has come for me to say fa-are-we-ell." 
 
 But the woman, trembling and writhing, moaned and 
 wept: 
 
 " Oi, from my — ki-ins-fo-olk I must pa-art." 
 
 Lowering his voice, and swaying to and fro, the peasant 
 half-sang, half-declaimed, with amazingly forceful expres- 
 sion of woe: 
 
 " Ekh, and to a pla-ace that is strange I needs must go." 
 
 When the two voices, sobbing and moaning, mingled 
 together, in the silence and freshness of the evening, every- 
 thing round about seemed to grow warmer and better; 
 everything seemed to be smiling with a smile of compassion 
 on the anguish of the man whom a dark power wrenches 
 from his natal nest into some strange place, to onerous toil 
 and humiliation. They seemed to be not sounds, or a song, 
 but the burning tears of a human heart in which this plaint 
 boiled up, — and these tears bedewed the air. Mad grief 
 and pain from the ulcers of soul and body, tortured 
 in the struggle with life's harshness, profound sufferings 
 from wounds dealt to man by the iron hand of want, — 
 all this was contained in the simple, rough words, and was 
 expressed by the ineffably melancholy sounds to the far- 
 off, empty sky, which had no echo for anybody or anything. 
 
 Eetreating somewhat from the singers, Foma gazed at 
 
 225 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 them with a feeling akin to terror, but the song poured 
 into his breast in a seething flood, and the fierce power of 
 sadness which it held within it, gripped his heart to the 
 point of anguish. He felt that tears were ready to well 
 forth from his breast, there was a tickling in his throat, 
 and his face twitched. He dimly perceived Sasha's black 
 eyes — motionless and sparkling gloomily, they looked to 
 him immense and grew larger and larger. And it seemed 
 to him that it was not two persons who were singing — ^but 
 that everything around him was singing and sobbing, 
 quivering and shaking in torments of grief, straining some- 
 whither, gushing with burning tears, and every living thing 
 was clasped in one mighty embrace of despair. He himself 
 was singing with all the rest — with the people, the river, 
 and the distant shore, whence wafted heavy sighs which 
 mingled with the song. 
 
 Now the peasant rose to his knees, and gazing at Sasha, 
 waved his arms, and she bent down to him, and rocked her 
 head, keeping time with the beats of his hands. Both 
 were singing now without words, with sounds alone, and 
 Foma still could not believe that only two throats were 
 pouring forth upon the air with such power those groans 
 and sobs. When they had finished singing, he stared at 
 them quivering with excitement, his face wet with tears, 
 and smiled piteously. 
 
 "'V\rell— did it affect you?'' asked Sasha. Pale with 
 fatigue, she was breathing hard and fast. Fomd glanced 
 at the peasant. The latter was mopping his perspiring 
 brow, and gazing about him with abstracted eyes, as though 
 he did not understand what had happened. 
 
 Silence reigned. Everyone sat motionless, speechless. 
 
 " Akh, Lord! " sighed Foma, rising to his feet. — " Ekh, 
 Sasha! Peasant! Who are you?'' he almost screamed. 
 
 226 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Why, I am Stepan," said the peasant with a confused 
 smile, and rose to his feet also. " I'm Stepan, of course." 
 
 " How you sing! Ah! " exclaimed Foma in amazement, 
 shifting uneasily from foot to foot. 
 
 " E-ekh, Your Honor! " sighed the peasant, and added 
 softly, impressively: " Grief makes the ox sing like the 
 nightingale . . But why this lady sings like that — God 
 only knows . . but she sings — with all her sinews — that 
 is to say — it's enough to make one lie down and die with 
 sadness! We-ell, my lady! " 
 
 " Very well sung! " said U khtishtcheff, in a drunken 
 voice. 
 
 "Xo, it — the devil knows what it was like!" Zvantzeff 
 suddenly shouted irritably, and almost with tears, jumping 
 up from the table. — " I came off here for a spree — I want 
 to be jolly, and they sing funeral chants over my dead body! 
 It's downright indecent! I won't stand any more of it — 
 I'll go away! " 
 
 " Jean! I'm going too — I'm bored also," announced the 
 gentleman with the side-whiskers. 
 
 "Vassa!" shouted Zvantzeff to his lady. — "Dress your- 
 self! " 
 
 " Yes, it's time to go," Ukhtishtcheff's red-haired lady 
 said softly to him. " It's cold — and it will soon be dark." 
 
 " Stepan! get things together! " ordered Yassa. 
 
 All bustled about, all began to chatter about something 
 or other; Foma gazed at them with wondering eyes, and 
 continued to tremble. The people walked about the raft, 
 reeling as they went, pale, exhausted, and talked stupidly, 
 incoherently to each other. Sasha jostled them unceremoni- 
 ously as she gathered up her things. 
 
 " Stepan! Call for the horses! " 
 
 "But I — I'm going to have another drink of brandy — • 
 
 227 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 who wants to drink with me? " drawled the gentleman with 
 the side-whiskers in a beatific voice, clutching a bottle in 
 his hands. 
 
 Vassa wrapped Zvantzeff's neck in a scarf. He stood be- 
 fore her, with his lips fantastically thrust out, all scowling 
 and dissatisfied, and his calves waggled. Foma was seized 
 with disgust at the sight of them, and went off to another 
 raft. He was astonished that all these people should be- 
 have thus, as though they had not heard the song. In his 
 . breast it still lived, and stirred to life within it an uneasy 
 j longing to do something, to talk about something. But 
 • there was no one for him to talk with. 
 
 The sun had already set, and the distance was enveloped 
 in a blue mist. Foma looked in that direction, and turned 
 away. He did not wish to return to the town with these 
 people, and remain here with them he would not. But they 
 were all strolling about the raft with unsteady feet, stag- 
 gering from side to side and muttering incoherent words. 
 The women were more sober than the men; only the red- 
 haired woman was not able to rise from the bench for a 
 long time, and at last, when she did stand up, she an- 
 nounced: 
 
 " Well, I'm drunk.'' 
 
 Foma seated himself on a block of timber, and picking 
 up the axe with which the peasant had chopped up the wood 
 for the fire, began to play with it, tossing it into the air 
 and catching it. 
 
 " Akh, my God, how insipid this is! " rang out Zvantzeff's 
 whimsical exclamation. Foma felt that he hated him — 
 him, and all of them, except Sasha, who aroused in him a 
 certain dim sensation which contained both admiration for 
 her, and dread that she might do something unexpected 
 and strange. 
 
 338 
 
Fomi Gordy^eff 
 
 "You be-east!" shouted Zvantzeff shrilly, and Yomi 
 saw him deal the peasant a blow on the chest, after which 
 the peasant pulled off his cap apologetically, and stepped 
 aside. 
 
 "Foo-ol!" screamed Zvantzeff, striding after him and 
 brandishing his arm. 
 
 Foma sprang to his feet, and said threateningly: 
 
 " Hold on there! Don't touch him! " 
 
 " Wha-at? " And Zvantzeff turned toward him. 
 
 " Stepan, come here! " called Foma. 
 
 " Peasant! " screamed Zvantzeff scornfully, staring at 
 Foma. 
 
 Foma elevated his shoulders, and strode toward him. — 
 And, all at once, an idea flashed brilliantly into his head. 
 He gave vent to a mahcious laugh, and asked Stepan in an 
 undertone: 
 
 " The string of rafts is moored in three places, isn't it? " 
 
 " Exactly so.'' 
 
 " Cut the connections.'* 
 
 "And they?" 
 
 "Hold your tongue! Cut away." 
 
 "But . ." 
 
 " Cut! Quietly, so that they may not notice it." 
 
 The peasant took the axe, and leisurely approached the 
 spot where the link was stoutly fastened to another link, 
 and dealt several blows, then turned to Foma. 
 
 " I'm not responsible, your Honor," he said. 
 
 " Have no fear." 
 
 " They've started," whispered the peasant in alarm, has- 
 tily making the sign of the cross. But Foma watched, 
 laughing softly, and experienced a painful sensation, which 
 titillated his heart keenly and ardently with a strange, sweet, 
 agreeable terror. The people on the raft were still strolling 
 
 229 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 about, moving slowly, knocking against each other, helping 
 the ladies to don their wraps, laughing and chatting, while 
 the raft was turning softly, irresolutely in the water. 
 
 " If the current carries them on to the caravan,'' whis- 
 pered the peasant, " they'll get stove in on the bow — ^it will 
 smash them into splinters . ." 
 
 " Hold your tongue." 
 
 " They'll drown . ." 
 
 " You'll launch a boat, and overtake them." 
 
 "That's right! Thank you! And if not, what then? 
 They're human beings, after all. And we're responsible for 
 them . . ." The peasant, content now, and laughing 
 gaily, dashed in leaps across the rafts to the shore. But 
 Foma stood over the water, and felt a passionate desire to 
 shout something, but he restrained himself, anxious to 
 have the raft float as far off as possible, so that those 
 drunken people would not be able to jump across and join 
 him on the link which was still moored. He experienced 
 an agreeable, soothing sensation as he saw the raft rocking 
 gently on the water, and moving farther and farther from 
 him every moment. 
 
 In company with the people on the raft, and forth from 
 his breast seemed to float that dark, heavy something v/hicli 
 had filled it all this time. He calmly inhaled the cool air, 
 and with it something healthy which sobered his brain. 
 On the very edge of the departing raft stood Sasha, with 
 her back toward Foma; he gazed after her fine figure, and 
 involuntarily the memory of Madame Medynsky recurred to 
 his mind. She was not so tall . . The recollection of her 
 gave him a pang, and he shouted, in a loud, sneering tone: 
 
 " Hey there, you! Good-bye! Ha, ha, ha! " 
 
 The dark figures of the people suddenly and all together 
 moved toward him, and assembled in a cluster, in the mld- 
 
 230 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 die of the raft. But between them and Foma a strip of 
 water nearly a fathom in width already gleamed coldly. 
 The silence lasted for several seconds. 
 
 And all at once, a whole hurricane of shrill sounds was 
 wafted to Foma, — sounds full of animal terror, repulsively- 
 reproachful; and high above all and more repelling to 
 the ear than all the rest, Zvantzeff's shrill, quavering cry 
 pierced the ear: 
 
 "He-elp!" 
 
 Someone — it must have been the solid man with the side- 
 whiskers, — roared in a bass voice: 
 
 " Drowning — people drowning." 
 
 "Are you people? !" shouted Foma spitefully, irritated 
 by the shrieks, which seemed to bite him. 
 
 But the people flung themselves about the raft, in mad 
 terror; it rocked under their feet, and in consequence, 
 floated more swiftly, and the agitated water could be heard 
 splashing over it, and dashing under it. Cries rent the air, 
 the people leaped about, flourished their hands, and only 
 Sasha's graceful figure stood motionless and silent on the 
 edge of the raft. 
 
 " Give my compliments to the crawfishes! " shouted Foma. 
 — He grew more and more light-hearted and merry, in pro- 
 portion as the raft floated farther away. 
 
 " Foma Ignatievitch! " began Ukhtishtcheff, in an irreso- 
 lute but sober tone, " see here, this is a dangerous joke. I 
 shall complain . ." 
 
 " When you're drowned? Complain away! " replied 
 Foma cheerfully. 
 
 " You're a murderer . ." shouted Zvantzeff , with a sob. 
 But at that moment the sonorous plash of the water re- 
 sounded, as though it were exclaiming with fear or with 
 wonder. Then the wild, intoxicated shrieks of women rang 
 
 231 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 out, and the terror-stricken exclamations of the men, and 
 all the figures on the raft fell silent, each where it stood. 
 And Foma, as he stared at the water, felt as though he had 
 turned to stone, — but across the water something black, 
 surrounded by splashings, came floating toward him. 
 
 Instinctively rather than consciously, Foma threw him- 
 self breast down upon the beams of the raft, and stretched 
 his arms out in front of him, with his head suspended over 
 the water. Several incredibly long seconds elapsed. Cold 
 wet hands clasped his neck, and dark eyes flashed before 
 him. Then he understood that it was Sasha. 
 
 The dull terror which had suddenly overpowered him 
 vanished, and was replaced by wild, rebellious joy. He 
 seized the woman round the waist, tore her from the water, 
 pressed her to his breast, and knowing not what to say to 
 her, gazed wonderingly into her eyes. They smiled caress- 
 ingly upon him . . 
 
 " I'm cold,'' said Sasha softly, and shivered all over. 
 
 Foma laughed happily at the sound of her voice, tossed 
 her into his arms, and set out hastily, almost at a run, 
 across the raft to the shore. She was as wet and cold as 
 a fish, but her breath was burning, it scorched Foma's 
 cheek, and filled his breast with tempestuous delight. 
 
 " Did you want to drown me ? " she said, pressing close 
 to him. " 'Tis early yet — wait." 
 
 " How well you did that," muttered Foma as he ran. 
 " You daring woman! " 
 
 " Well, it wasn't a bad invention on your part — though 
 you are such a — peaceable — person in appearance." 
 
 " And the rest — they're still all howling, ha, ha! " 
 
 "Devil take them! If they drown, you and I shall go 
 to Siberia, . ." said the woman, exactly as though she was 
 desirous, by these words, to comfort and encourage him. 
 
 232 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 She began to shiver, and the tremor of her body, which 
 Foma felt, made him hasten his flight. 
 
 Yells and cries for help were wafted after them from the 
 river. There, on the tranquil water, getting farther and 
 farther from shore toward the main current of the river, 
 a small islet was floating through the gloom, and upon it 
 dark human figures were rushing back and forth. 
 
 Night closed in upon them. 
 
 S83 
 
IX 
 
 On a certain Sunday, at noon, Pakoff Tarasovitch Maya- 
 kin was drinking tea in his garden, and chatting with his 
 daughter. Having unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, and 
 wound a towel round his neck, he was sitting on a bench 
 under a canopy of green cherry-trees, flourishing his hands 
 in the air, wiping the perspiration from his face, and sprin- 
 kling the air with his brisk remarks in an incessant stream. 
 
 " The man who permits his belly to have dominion over 
 him is both a fool and a knave! Isn't there anything bet- 
 ter in the world than drinking and gobbling? On what 
 are you to pride yourself before people, if you are such a 
 hog?" 
 
 The old man's eyes glistened with vexation and spite, 
 his lips were scornfully contorted, and the wrinkles on his 
 dark visage quivered. 
 
 "If Foma were only my own son, Fd teach him a 
 lesson! " 
 
 Playing with a branch of acacia, Liuboff listened in si- 
 lence to her father's harangue, gazing attentively and search- 
 ingly at his agitated, trembling face. As she grew older, 
 she had, unconsciously to herself, altered her cold and dis- 
 trustful demeanor toward the old man. Ever more fre- 
 quently did she detect in his words the same idea that was 
 in her books, and this influenced her in favor of her father, 
 involuntarily causing the girl to prefer his lively speeches 
 to the cold letters in her books. Always overwhelmed 
 with business, always audacious and clever, he pursued his 
 
 234 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 path alone, but she perceived his loneliness, knew how heavy 
 it was, and her relations to her father became warmer. At 
 times, even, she entered into discussions with the old man; 
 he always bore himself toward her retorts, with disdain and 
 ridicule, but with every succeeding occasion, he became 
 more attentive and gentler. 
 
 " If the deceased Ignat could read in the, liewspapers 
 about his son's indecent life — he'd kill hi^s^Pomka! " said 
 Mayakin, bringing his fist down with a bang upon the 
 table. "You see how he is described? It's disgrace- 
 ful! " 
 
 " He deserves it! " said Liuboff. 
 
 " I don't say it's done at random! They have barked as 
 was proper. And who found it out ? " 
 
 " Does it make any difference to you? " asked the girl. 
 
 " I'm curious to know. That sharp fellow described 
 Foma's behavior adroitly. Evidently he himself had been 
 on the spree with him, and was a witness to all his outrageous 
 conduct." 
 
 " Oh, come now, he won't go on sprees with Foma! " 
 said Liuboff with conviction, and blushed deeply beneath 
 her father's searching glance. 
 
 " Won't he! A nice sort of acquaintance you have, 
 Liubka ! " said Mayakin, with humorous malice. " Come 
 now, who wrote that? " 
 
 " Why do you wish to know, papa? " 
 
 "Never mind, tell me!" 
 
 She did not wish to tell, but her father insisted, and his 
 voice grew more and more dry and wrathful. Then she 
 asked him anxiously: 
 
 " But you will not do anything to him? " 
 
 " I? I'll— bite his head off! The big fo-ool! What can 
 I do to him? These writers are anything but a stupid lot, 
 
 235 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 and therefore, they are a power, — a power, the devils! But 
 Fm not the Governor, — and even he can't dislocate the 
 man's arm or tie np his tongue. They're like mice, — they 
 gnaw us away little by little, — and you have to hunt them, 
 not with pointed sticks, but with rubles ... so there 
 now! Come, then, who is he? " 
 
 " Do you remember, that when I was at school, a gym- 
 nasium student, Ezhoff, used to come to our house? A 
 swarthy little fellow . ." 
 
 " Mm — I used to see him, of course! I know . . So 
 it's he?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The miserable little mouse! Even at that time it was 
 plain that he would turn out badly . . Even at that time, 
 he was a nuisance. A nasty, bold little brat. I ought to 
 have taken him in hand then — perhaps I might have made 
 a man of him." 
 
 Liuboff broke into a malicious laugh, and glancing at 
 her father, she asked hotly: 
 
 "And isn't a person who writes for the newspapers a 
 man?" 
 
 For a long time, the old man made no reply to his daugh- 
 ter, but drummed thoughtfully on the table with his fingers, 
 and stared at his own face, which was reflected in the 
 brightly polished copper of the samovar. Then, raising 
 his head, and screwing up his eyes, he said impressively, in 
 a passion: 
 
 " Those people are not men — they're ulcers! The blood 
 in Russians has become mixed, it has become mixed and 
 spoiler!^ aurl •f-poiii Ihib bad blood have sprung alFt hese dirty 
 little w riters of books and newspapers, savage ph arisees. 
 They've broken out everywhere, and they keep on breaking 
 out, more and more. What does this corruption of the 
 
 236 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 blood come from? From sluggishness of motion . . . 
 "VVlience come mosquitoes, for example ? From the swamps. 
 All sorts of filth is bred in stagnant water. And it's the 
 same with ill-ordered lives." 
 
 " You're not talking sense, papa! " said Liuboff gently. 
 
 " What's that — not talking sense? " 
 
 " W^H^^j; "iT^ thff n?fft tii''iT\t?r'rtpf] nf Tn^p — fh^y aro 
 brilliant individ ualities! ¥q x, ynn spp. thpy -^ ^n^ t^^thiTi^ — 
 a U mey aemand i n just-r^ . . truth! They are not 
 mosquitoes! " 
 
 Liuboff grew excited, as she lauded the men she so loved; 
 her face flushed crimson, and her eyes gazed at her father 
 as though she were entreating him to believe her, though 
 she was not capable of convincing him. 
 
 " E-ekh, you goose! " said the old man with a sigh, in- 
 terrupting her. " You've read too much! You've poisoned 
 yourself! Now tell me — who are they? Nobody knows! 
 There's Ezhoff — what's he? The Lord our God only knows 
 — bah! All they dema nd is truth, you say? . How modest 
 they are? ! And is trutli ike most precious thing of all? 
 Perhaps everyone is seeking it silently, how do you know? 
 Believe me — there can be no such thing as a disinterested 
 man — no one will fight for another man's property — but if 
 he does, his name is ' fool,' and he's of no use to anybody! 
 A man must know how to stand up for himself, for his own 
 nearest interests — then he'll make something of himself! 
 There you have it! 'tis true! I've been reading the same 
 newspaper for forty years, and I see — here's my face before 
 you, and before me, yonder, on the samovar, is my face 
 again, but it's different . . . Those newspap ers give a 
 sa movar-face to everybodv. and thev don't see -{h^ real one 
 . . . B ut you believe thert^ . . But I know that my 
 face in the samovar is disfigured. No one ought to speak 
 
 237 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 the actual truth; a man's gullet is too delicate for that — 
 yes, and nobody knows the real truth." 
 
 "Papa!" exclaimed LiuboS. — "But, you know, book s 
 and newspap ers defend the gen eral mtSTgfets^ and all 
 men."_ 
 
 " And in what newspaper is it \mtten that you find life 
 tiresome, and that you ought to have got married long ago ? 
 So there now, — they don't defend your interest! Plague 
 on you! And they don't defend mine, either — who knows 
 what I want? Who, save myself, understands what my 
 interests are ? " 
 
 " No, papa, that's not it, still, not it at all! I cannot 
 answer you properly, but I feel that it is not so! " said 
 Liuboff, almost in despair. 
 
 "It is so, exactly!" said the old man firmly. "Russia 
 has got all stirred up, and there's nothing steady in it; 
 everything is tottering! Everybody is living with their 
 hats cocked on one ear, they walk on one side, there's no 
 symmetry in life. Only, everybody is yelling in a different 
 voice. And what this man or that man wants, — no one 
 understands! There's a fog over everything — everybody 
 inhales the fog, and that's why people's blood has become 
 tainted . . that's why there are ulcers. Great liberty of 
 reasoning has been granted to men, but they're not allowed 
 to do anything — hence a man does not live, but rots and 
 stinks." 
 
 "What ought one to do?" asked Liuboff, placing her 
 elbows on the table, and bending toward her father. 
 
 " Everything! " shouted the old man passionately. — " Do 
 everything! Drive ahead, each one in the thing he's clever 
 at! But for that, people must be given freedom — complete 
 freedom! So long as the time has come when every green- 
 horn assumes about himself that he can do everything, and 
 
 238 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 was created for making a complete disposition of life, — 
 why, give the mad scape-grace freedom! Come on, live! 
 A-a! Then this is the comedy which will follow; when the 
 man feels that the bit has been taken off him, he'll kick 
 up higher than his ears, and will flutter about, hither and 
 thither, like a feather. He'll imagine he's a miracle-worker, 
 and he'll begin to let out his spirit . . ." 
 
 The old man paused, and with a spiteful smile, lowering 
 his voice, he continued: 
 
 " But the spirit of that same organizer is a ve-ery small 
 quantity indeed within him! He'll puff himself up for a 
 day or two, he'll spread himself out on all sides, and pretty 
 soon he'll weaken, the poor wretch! His heart is rotten 
 within him, he-he-he! The-en, he-he-he! — the real, 
 worthy people will understand him, the dear man, — the 
 worthy people who are able to be the real civilian masters 
 of life, . . who will direct life not with a cudgel, not 
 with the pen, but with a finger and with brains! What, — 
 they will say — are the gentlemen weary? What, they will 
 say, doesn't his spleen stand real heat? Ye-es, sir! " And 
 elevating his head, the old man concluded his harangue in 
 a domineering tone: 
 
 " Well, now then you Thus-and-So, — hold your tongues, 
 don't utter a squeak! If you do, we'll shake you off the 
 earth, as worms are shaken from a tree! Hus-s-sh, my 
 dears! He-he-he! That's the way it will turn out, 
 Liubavka! " 
 
 The old man was merry. His wrinkles twitched, and, 
 intoxicated with his own eloquence, he trembled all over, 
 closed his eyes, and smacked his lips, as though savoring 
 his own wisdom . . 
 
 " Well, and then those who will get the upper hand in 
 the turmoil will arrange life after their own fashion, sensi- 
 
 239 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 bly. Business won't go by fits and starts then, but as if by 
 note. I shall not live to see that time, more's the pity! " 
 
 Upon Liuboff her father's words fell, one after the other, 
 like meshes in some vast, strong net, — fell, entangling her, 
 and the girl, not knowing how to free herself from them, 
 remained silent, stunned by her father's speech. As she 
 stared at his face with an intent gaze she sought a support 
 for herself in his words, and heard in them something which 
 bore a general resemblance to what she had read in books, 
 and to what seemed to her the real truth. But her father's 
 malevolent, triumphant laughter wounded her heart, and 
 those wrinkles which crept across his face like tiny, dark- 
 hued serpents, inspired her with a sort of fear for herself 
 in his presence. She felt that he was turning her aside 
 from that which, in her dreams, had seemed to her so sim- 
 ple and brilHant. 
 
 " Papa! " she suddenly asked the old man, obeying an 
 idea and a desire which unexpectedly flashed across her, — 
 " Papa! But what, in your opinion, — what is Taras? " 
 
 Mayakin shuddered. His brows contracted wrathfully, 
 he fixed his keen little eyes intently on his daughter's coun- 
 tenance, and drily asked her: 
 
 « What sort of talk is this? " 
 
 "Is it possible that he must not be mentioned?" said 
 Liuboff softly and confusedly. 
 
 " I don't want to talk about him, and I advise you not 
 to! " . . the old man shook his finger menacingly at his 
 daughter, and with a gloomy frown, dropped his head. But, 
 in saying that he did not wish to talk about his son, it must 
 have been that 1*^ did not thoroughly understand himself, 
 for after a momentary silence, he began again, surhly and 
 angrily: 
 
 " Taraska is an ulcer also . . Life breathes upon you 
 
 240 
 
Foma GordMfff 
 
 young simpletons, but you are not able to pick out its gen- 
 uine odors, and you swallow all sorts of trash, and that's 
 where the muddiness in your pates comes from. And that's 
 why you are incapable of anything, and are unhappy be- 
 cause of your incapacity . . . Taraska . . . ye-es! 
 He's about forty years old now, — he's dead to me! A con- 
 vict — is that a son for me? A blunt-snouted pig, who 
 wouldn't talk to his father, and — tripped up.'^ 
 
 "What did he do?" asked Liuboff, listening eagerly to 
 the old man's remarks. 
 
 " Who knows ? In all probability, he can't understand 
 it himself now, — if he has become sensible. And he ought 
 to have become a pretty clever fellow — he's the son of any- 
 thing but a stupid father . . . and he has suffered not 
 a little. They coddle them, the nihilists. I'd give it to 
 them — I'd show them what business means. Into the 
 desert! Into the desert places, forward, march ! Come, now, 
 you clever fellows, arrange life here according to your char- 
 acter. Come on! And as chiefs over them, I'd put stout 
 peasants. Now then, my honorable gentlemen, you've been 
 given drink, and food and education, — let's see what you 
 have learned? A little debt, if you please . . We-ell, I 
 wouldn't spend a broken copper for them, but I'd squeeze 
 all the juice out of them, — yield it up! A man must not be 
 neglected; it's not enough to put him in prison! You've 
 transgressed the law, and are of noble birth? Never mind, 
 you just work for me. From one grain a whole ear springs, 
 and a man must not be permitted to perish without profit! 
 An economical carpenter will find a place in the work for 
 every chip, — and just so, every man ought to be used with 
 profit for the job, and entirely, down to hfs'very last sinew. 
 Every sort of trash has its place in life, and a man is never 
 trash . . Ekh! It's bad when strength exists without 
 
 241 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 sense, and it's not good when there is sense but no strength. 
 There's Fomka, now . . Look out and see who's crawling 
 along there ? " 
 
 Turning round, Liuboff perceived that Efim, the captain 
 of the " Yermak," was walking along one of the garden 
 paths, and was bowing to her, having respectfully removed 
 his cap. His face was desperately guilty, and he seemed to 
 be bruised all over. Yakoff Tarasovitch recognized him, 
 and instantly becoming uneasy, he shouted: 
 
 " Whence come you? What has happened? " 
 
 " So I have come to you! " said Efim, with a low bow, 
 coming to a halt at the table. 
 
 " Well, I see that you have come to me . . What's the 
 matter? Where's the steamer?" 
 
 " The steamer is yonder! " Efim thrust his hand out into 
 the air, and shifted heavily from one foot to the other. 
 
 "Where, you devil? Tell me coherently, what has hap- 
 pened? " roared the old man, with an angry scream. 
 
 " So — a misfortune, Yakoff . ." 
 
 " Have you been smashed up? " 
 
 " No, God saved us . ." 
 
 " Have you been burned up ? Come, speak up quickly." 
 
 Efim inhaled a large quantity of air, and said slowly: 
 
 " Barge No. 9 has gone to the bottom, — broken up. One 
 man had his spine broken, another is not to be found, so 
 he is probably drowned. Five more men were hurt, but not 
 so very badly . . . though several are pretty thoroughly 
 spoiled . . ." 
 
 " You don't say so! " drawled Mayakin, measuring the 
 captain ominously with his eyes. " We-ell now, Efimushka, 
 I'll flay you alive." 
 
 " I didn't do it! " said Efim hastily. 
 
 "You didn't?" shouted the old man, shaking all over. 
 "Who did?'' 
 
 242 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " The master himself." 
 
 " Fomka? ! And you . . what were you doing? " 
 
 " I — was lying under the hatchway." 
 
 " A-a ! You were ly-ing . ." 
 
 " I was bound." 
 
 "Wha-at!" squealed the old man, in his thin voice. 
 
 " Permit me to tell you in proper order. — He had been 
 drinking, and he shouted: ^Begone! I'll take command 
 myself! ' — I said — ^ I can't! As I'm the captain — ' — * Bind 
 him! ' said he. And when they had bound me, they put 
 me under the hatches, with the sailors. — But as he was 
 drunk, he wanted to joke. A string of boats was coming 
 toward us — six empty barges towed by the ^ Tchernigoretz.' 
 Foma Ignatievitch barred their way. They whistled, — more 
 than once, — I must tell the truth, they whistled . ." 
 
 "We-11?" 
 
 "Well, and they didn't get straightened out . . the 
 two barges in front ran into us. As they crushed in the 
 side of our ninth . . we were smashed to flinders. Both 
 of them were smashed, but we had much worse luck than 
 they did." 
 
 Mayakin rose from the table, and broke out into a quaver- 
 ing, malicious laugh. But Efim sighed, and throwing out 
 his hands, he said: 
 
 " He has a very strong character. When he's sober, he's 
 silent most of the time, and goes about thoughtfully, but 
 when he wets his springs with liquor, — he gets wound up. 
 Thus, at that moment, he was master neither of himself nor 
 of the business in hand, but a savage enemy — begging your 
 pardon! And I want to leave, Yakoif Tarasovitch! I'm 
 not used to being without a master, I can't live without a 
 master." 
 
 " Hold your tongue! " said Mayakin gruffly. — " Where is 
 Fomd?" 
 
 243 
 
Fom& Gordy^eff 
 
 " There, on the spot. Immediately after the affair, he 
 came to himself, and sent for workmen. They are going to 
 raise the barge . . probably they have already brought it 
 to land." 
 
 " Is he alone there? " asked Mayakin, dropping his head. 
 
 " Not — entirely," replied Efim in an undertone, with a 
 sidelong glance at Liuboff. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " He has a lady with him — a swarthy sort of . ." 
 
 " Just so." 
 
 " The woman doesn't seem to have quite all her wits," 
 said Efim, with a sigh. — " She's eternally singing — she 
 sings very well — it's a great scandal." 
 
 " I'm not asking you about her! " roared Mayakin 
 viciously. The wrinkles on his face knit together in a 
 painful way, and it seemed to Liuboff as though her father 
 were on the point of weeping. 
 
 " Calm yourself, dear papa! " she said caressingly. " Per- 
 haps the loss is not great." 
 
 "Not great?" cried Yakoff Tarasovitch sonorously. 
 "What do you understand about it, you fool? Is it that 
 the barge was smashed? ! Ekh, you idiot! A man was 
 injured! That's where the trouble lies! And, you see, I 
 needed him! I needed him, you stupid devils! " 
 
 The old man, wrathfully shaking his head, strode, with 
 rapid steps, along the garden-path, in the direction of the 
 house. 
 
 But at that moment, Foma was four hundred versts from 
 his god-father, in a peasant cottage in a village on the bank 
 of the Volga. He had but just waked up, and as he lay 
 on the floor of the cottage, on a bed of fresh hay, he stared 
 with gloomy eyes out of the window, at the sky, covered with 
 gray, ragged clouds. 
 
 244 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 The wind was rending them asunder, and driving them 
 off; heavy and melancholy, they floated athwart the sky in 
 a huge flock, overtook one another, merged themselves in 
 a dense mass, again broke into fragments, descending low 
 down toward the earth, in speechless rebellion, and again 
 rising aloft, and engulfing each other. 
 
 Without moving his head, still heavy with intoxication, 
 Foma gazed for a long time at them, and, at last, he began 
 to feel, as though in his breast also taciturn clouds were 
 moving, — moving, and breathing a damp chill upon his 
 heart and oppressing him. In the movement of the clouds 
 in the sky, there was something timorous — and within him- 
 self he felt the same. Without thinking, he pictured to 
 himself all that he had lived through during the last few 
 months. 
 
 It seemed to him as though he had fallen into a turbid, 
 boiUng torrent, and now dark waves, similar to those clouds 
 in the sky, had seized upon him, — had seized him and were 
 carrying him off somewhere or other, as the wind was carry- 
 ing the clouds. In the darkness and the tumult which 
 surrounded him, he confusedly perceived that certain other 
 people were being borne along with him — not the same 
 today as yesterday, — new ones each day, but all alike, and 
 equally pitiful, repulsive. Drunken, noisy, greedy, they 
 circled around him, as in a whirlwind, caroused on his 
 money, reviled him, quarrelled among themselves, shouted, 
 even wept more than once. And he beat them. He remem- 
 bered that, one day, he had struck someone in the face, 
 had torn the frock-coat off someone, and flung it into 
 the water, and that someone had kissed his hands with 
 wet cold lips, disgusting lips, like a frog's. — Had kissed 
 him, and had implored him, with tears not to kill them. 
 Certain faces flitted before his memory, sounds and words 
 
 245 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 resounded in it. A woman, in a yellow dressing-jacket, un- 
 buttoned on her breast, had sung, in a loud, sobbing voice: 
 
 ** And thus we will live while we can. . 
 
 But there — not eren the grass shall grow I " 
 
 All these people, like himself, were caught by the same 
 dark billow, and were being borne along by it, like rubbish, 
 and for some reason, had become savage like wild animals. 
 All of them, like himself, must have been afraid to look 
 ahead, to see whither this madly-powerful wave was carrying 
 them. And as they drowned their terror in wine, they were 
 torn onward with the current, floundering, shrieking, do- 
 ing something silly, playing the fool, clamoring, clamoring, 
 and they were never merry. And he, also, did the same, as 
 he whirled among them. And now it appeared to him as 
 though he had done all this out of fear of himself, in order 
 the more speedily to pass that strip of his life, or, in order 
 that he might not think what awaited him further on. 
 
 In the midst of the hurly-burly of the carouse, in the 
 throng of people engaged in the debauch, bewildered with 
 stormy passions, half crazy in the longing to forget them- 
 selves, Sasha alone had always been calm and even-tem- 
 pered. She did not get tipsy, she always talked with people 
 in a firm, imperious voice, and all her movements were con- 
 fident, as though that torrent had not taken possession of 
 her, but she was herself guiding its tempestuous course. 
 She seemed to Foma the most clever of all those who sur- 
 rounded him, and the most eager for noise and carousing; 
 she ordered them all about, and was constantly inventing 
 something new, and she talked with everyone in the same 
 manner: with cab-drivers, lackeys and sailors, in the same 
 tone, with the same words as with her friends and with 
 Foma. She was handsomer and younger than Pelagaya, 
 
 246 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 but somehow, her caresses were taciturn, cold. Foma 
 imagined that she was concealing from everyone, deep down 
 in her heart, something terrible, that she would never fall 
 in love with anyone and reveal her whole self. This re- 
 serve in the woman attracted him to her with a feeHng of 
 timorous curiosity, of vast, strained interest in her cold and 
 tranquil soul, dark as her eyes. 
 
 On one occasion Foma happened to say to her: 
 
 " But what a lot of money you and I have squandered! " 
 
 She glanced at him, and asked: 
 
 " Why should you hoard it ? " 
 
 " Why, in fact ? " thought Foma, astonished that she 
 should reason so simply. 
 
 " Who are you? " he asked her, on another occasion. 
 
 " Have you forgotten my name ? '' 
 
 " Well, the idea of such a thing ! " 
 
 " Then what is it you want to know ? " 
 
 " I was inquiring as to your origin.'' 
 
 " Ah ! Well, Fm a native of Yaroslavl Government, — 
 Fm from tJglitch, of the petty burgher class. A harpist I 
 And shall I be any the sweeter to you, now that you have 
 found out who I am ? '' 
 
 " Have I found out ? " asked Foma, laughing. 
 
 " You know enough ! And more, I will not tell to any- 
 one. Why should I? People and beasts all come from 
 one place. And what I can say about myself — to what 
 end should I say it? All these conversations are stuff 
 and nonsense. Come now, let's plan how we shall live 
 today." 
 
 On that day they made a trip on a steamer, with a band 
 of music, drank champagne, and all got frightfully in- 
 toxicated. Sasha sang a wonderfully mournful song, and 
 Foma wept like a child, being moved with her singing. 
 
 247 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Then he danced the " Eussian dance '^ with her, and, in 
 conclusion, dripping with perspiration and exhausted, he 
 flung himself overboard in his clothes, and came near 
 drowning. 
 
 Now, as he recalled all this and much more, he felt 
 ashamed of himself and displeased with Sasha. He 
 gazed at her graceful figure, listened to her even breath- 
 ing, and felt that he did not love this woman and did not 
 want her. In his befuddled brain certain gray, oppres- 
 sive thoughts came to life. It was as though everything 
 which he had experienced during that period, had been 
 twisted up within him into a heavy, damp ball, and now 
 this ball was rolling in his breast, softly unwinding, and 
 the thin, gray cords were binding him fast. 
 
 " What is this that is going on in me ? '' he said to him- 
 self. "Here I have begun to carouse — why? I don^t 
 know how to live — I don't understand myself. What 
 sort of a fellow am I ? '' 
 
 He was struck with this question, and paused over it, 
 striving to think it out — why he was not able to live 
 steadfastly and confidently, as others live. He grew 
 still more conscience-stricken and disquieted over this 
 thought, he flung himself about on the hay, and nudged 
 Sasha with his elbow, in vexation. 
 
 " Be quiet ! " she said in her sleep. 
 
 " AU right, — ^you're not very much of a lady," muttered 
 Foma. " What's the matter with you ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 She turned her back to him, and yawning luxuriously, 
 she began lazily: 
 
 " I dreamed that I was a harp-player again, I seemed 
 to be singing a solo, and opposite me stood a great big 
 dirty dog, snarling and waiting for me to finish. But I 
 
 248 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 was afraid of the dog, and I knew that it would devour 
 me as soon as I stopped singing — so I kept on singing, 
 and singing — and, all at once, it seemed as though my 
 voice gave out. Horrible! And the dog gnashed its 
 teeth. . Lord, have mercy! What does it portend ?*' 
 
 "Stop your jabber! ^^ Foma gruffly interrupted her. 
 '' See here, tell me, what do you know about me ? " 
 
 " Why, I know that you have waked up,'' she replied, 
 without turning toward him. 
 
 " I have waked up ? That's true, — I am awake," said 
 Foma reflectively, and putting his arms under his head, 
 he continued; "That's why, I asked you — what sort of 
 a man am I, in your opinion ? " 
 
 " A drunken man," replied Sasha with a yawn. 
 
 " Alexandra ! " exclaimed Foma beseechingly, " don't 
 trifle! Tell me, conscientiously, what do you think of 
 me?" 
 
 " I don't think anything ! " she answered drily. " Why 
 are you so persistent with your nonsense ? " 
 
 " Is it nonsense ? " said Foma sadly. — " Oh, you devil ! 
 It's the most fundamental thing — the thing I need the 
 most." 
 
 He sighed heavily, and relapsed into silence. After 
 lying a moment in silence also, Sasha began, in her cus- 
 tomary, indifferent voice: 
 
 " Tell him what sort of a fellow he is, and why he is 
 so? The idea! Is it proper to ask such women as we 
 about that sort of thing? And where's the good of my 
 thinking about every man? I have to think about my- 
 self, and, moreover, I haven't time, — and, perhaps, too, 
 I don't want to do it." 
 
 Foma gave a dry laugh, and said: 
 
 " I'd like to be like that . . . and not wish for 
 
 anything ! " 
 
 249 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Then the woman raised her head from the pillow, took 
 a look at Foma's face, and lay down again, saying : 
 
 " You're getting subtle. Look out — no good will come 
 to you of that. I can't say anything about you. No one 
 can say anything true about a man — who can understand 
 him? He doesn't even understand himself. Well, see 
 here now, one thing I will say about you, — ^j^ou're better 
 than the others. But what of that ? " 
 
 " And how am I better ? " asked Foma pensively. 
 
 " Why— in this way ! When a fine song is sung, you 
 weep . . if a man does a mean thing, you thrash him. 
 With women you are simple, — you don't behave indecor- 
 ously with them — you're peaceable, — well, and you can be 
 audacious, on occasion." 
 
 All this did not satisfy Foma. 
 
 " You're not telling me the right thing," he said 
 softly. 
 
 " Well, I don't know what you want. But see here : 
 they're raising the barge — what shall we do ? " 
 
 " What can we do ? " asked Foma. 
 
 " Let's go to Nizhni or to Kazan." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " We'll carouse." 
 
 "I don't want to carouse any more." 
 
 "What will you do then?" 
 
 "\\liat? Nothing." 
 
 "Ee-eally?" 
 
 And, for a long time, neither spoke, nor even looked 
 at each other. 
 
 "You have a difficult character," remarked Sasha. — 
 " A tiresome character." 
 
 " Nevertheless, I'm not going to get drunk any more I " 
 said Foma firmly, and confidently. 
 
 250 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Nonsense ! " retorted Sasha calmly. 
 
 " You'll see ! What do you think about it — ^is it well 
 to live so?" 
 
 " I shall see.'' 
 
 "No, tell me, is it well?" 
 
 "What is better?" 
 
 Foma looked askance at her, and said, with vexation: 
 
 " What disgusting words you use." 
 
 "Well, and I haven't pleased him yet!" said Sasha, 
 with a laugh. 
 
 " The mob ! " said Foma, contracting his face in pain. 
 "They're like a piece of wood. They live, also . . 
 but how? No one understands. They are crawling 
 somewhere or other — and they can't say anything to 
 themselves or to anyone else. A cockroach crawls — but 
 he knows where he wants to go and why . . . but 
 how about you? Where are you going. ." 
 
 " Stop ! " Sasha interrupted him, and composedly in- 
 quired : " What have you to do with me ? You take 
 from me what you want, but don't you try to creep into 
 my soul ! " 
 
 "Into your — so-oul!" drawled Foma scornfully. 
 "Into what soul? He-he!" 
 
 She began to walk about the room, collecting her cloth- 
 ing, which was scattered everywhere. Foma watched her, 
 and was displeased because she did not get angry with 
 him for his remark about her soul. Her visage was calm 
 and indifferent, as usual, but he longed to see her vi- 
 cious or insulted, he wanted something human from the 
 woman. 
 
 " Soul ! " he exclaimed, persisting in his attempt. 
 " Can an individual who has a soul live as you live ? In 
 the soul fire burns — it feels shame. ." 
 
 251 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 At that moment, she was sitting on the bench, putting 
 on her stockings, but at his words, she raised her head, 
 and rivetted her stern eyes upon his countenance. 
 
 " What are you looking at ? " inquired Foma. 
 
 " Why do you say that ? " she replied, not removing 
 her eyes from him. 
 
 " Because — I felt that I must." 
 
 " Look out — must you ? '^ 
 
 There was a menacing note in her voice. Foma felt 
 afraid of her, and the provocation had vanished from his 
 voice when he said: 
 
 " How can I help speaking ? " 
 
 "E-ekh, you simpleton!" sighed Sasha, and resumed 
 her dressing. 
 
 "But what am I?" 
 
 " Why, this. . You are as though born of two fathers. 
 Do you know what I have remarked about people ? " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " The man who cannot answer for himself is afraid of 
 himself, and he isnH worth a farthing ! " 
 
 " Do you mean that for me ? " asked Foma, after a 
 pause. 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 She threw over her shoulders a capacious rose-colored 
 dressing-gown, and as she stood in the middle of the 
 room, she stretched out her hand to Foma, who was lying 
 at her feet, saying in a low, suppressed voice: 
 
 " Don^t you dare to speak about my soul. You have 
 nothing to do with it! Therefore — hold your tongue! 
 I — may speak ! If I choose, I could' tell you all — ekh, 
 what could I not tell you ! Only, who will dare to listen 
 to me, if I talk at the top of my voice ? But I have some 
 words about you — they^re like hammers! I could give 
 
 252 
 
Fom4 Gordydeff 
 
 you all such a rap over your pates — that you'd go crazy. 
 But although you are all villains, you can't be cured with 
 words. You ought to be burned in the fire — just as 
 frying-pans are burned out on the first Monday in Lent." 
 
 Tossing her hands to her head, she impetuously loos- 
 ened her hair, and when it fell over her shoulders, in 
 heavy black tresses, the woman shook her head proudly, 
 and said with scorn: 
 
 " Don't take into consideration that I'm a woman of 
 gay habits! It does happen sometimes, that a man in 
 the mire lives more cleanly than he who strolls about in 
 silks. . . You ought to know what I think of you, you 
 dog, what malice I cherish against you! And because 
 of the malice, I hold my peace . . because I'm afraid 
 that if I squander it on you, my soul will be empty, I 
 shall have nothing left to live for." 
 
 Foma gazed at her, and she pleased him now. In her 
 words there was something akin to his mood. Laugh- 
 ingly, with satisfaction in his voice and on his face, he 
 said to her: 
 
 " And I feel the same — something is springing up in 
 my soul. Ekh, I, too, will express myself in my own 
 words when the time comes." 
 
 " Against whom ? " inquired Sasha carelessly. 
 
 " I — against everyone ! " cried Foma, springing to his 
 feet. — " Against falsehood. I'll ask . ." 
 
 " Ask whether the samovar is ready ? " Sasha ordered 
 him, indifferently. 
 
 Foma looked at her, and shouted angrily: 
 
 " Go to the devil ! Ask yourself." 
 
 "Well, I will. What are you snarling about?'' 
 
 And she quitted the cottage. 
 
 The wind was flying in sharp gusts across the river, 
 
 253 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 beating its bosom, and the stream, covered with troubled, 
 tempestuous waves, was rushing convulsively to meet the 
 wind with a noisy dashing, and all in a foam of wrath. 
 The willow bushes on the shore bent low to the earth, 
 quivering, and now tried to lie prone upon the ground, 
 now wrenched themselves far away from it in terror, pur- 
 sued by the blows of the wind. Through the air was 
 borne a whistling, a roaring, and a thick groaning, wrest- 
 ed from the breasts of scores of people: 
 
 " It's coming — coming — coming ! *' 
 
 This exclamation, curt as a blow, and heavy as the 
 breath of a huge breast, panting with exertion, was 
 wafted across the river, fell upon its waves as though 
 encouraging them in their stormy play with the waves, 
 and they flung themselves mightily against the shores. 
 
 By the hill-shore, at anchor, lay two empty barges, and 
 their lofty masts, rising heavenward, rocked alarmingly 
 from side to side, as though engaged in sketching out an 
 invisible pattern on the sky. Both decks of the barges 
 were encumbered with scaffoldings, constructed of thick, 
 light-brown beams; huge pulleys were hanging every- 
 where; chains and cables were suspended from them, 
 swinging through the air; the links of the chains clashed 
 faintly. — A throng of peasants in blue and red shirts 
 were dragging a large beam along the deck, and tramping 
 heavily, were grunting with the full power of their lungs : 
 
 " Heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-ho! " 
 
 Big blue and red balls of human bodies clung to the 
 scaffoldings in every direction; the wind, inflating the 
 shirts and trousers, imparted to the men weird forms, 
 making them now hump-backed, now spherical and 
 puffed-up like bladders. The men on the scaffoldings 
 and decks of the barges were binding something, hew- 
 
 264 
 
Fomi Gordydeff 
 
 ing, sawing, driving in nails, and in every direction 
 gleamed huge arms, with shirt-sleeves rolled up above 
 the elbow. The wind disseminated chips and a varied 
 lively, energetic noise upon the air: a saw gnawed at the 
 wood, chuckling with spiteful glee; beams groaned and 
 sighed drily, wounded by the axes; the planks crashed 
 painfully, as they split beneath the blows dealt them; a 
 plane squealed spitefully. The iron shriek of the chains, 
 and the groaning screech of the pidleys were merged 
 with the angry uproar of the waves, while the wind 
 howled sonorously, disseminating over the river the 
 sound of the labors, and drove the clouds across the sky. 
 
 " Mishka-a! Fire it u-up! " came a ringing shout from 
 somewhere at the top of the scaffolding. And a huge 
 peasant, on the deck, throwing back his head, replied: 
 
 " Wha-at ? '' and the wind, playing with his long, red- 
 dish beard, flung it in his face. " Gi-ive us the end . ." 
 
 Someone's resounding bass voice shouted, as though 
 through a speaking-trumpet: 
 
 " You blind devil, how did you fasten on the board ? 
 Don't you see ? Til rub your eyes open for you ! '' 
 
 " Pu-ull awa-ay, my la-ads ! " 
 
 " Heave-ho, my hea-arties! " cried out someone, im- 
 ploringly, in a high-pitched voice. 
 
 Foma, handsome and well-built, in a short cloth pea- 
 jacket and tall boots, stood with his back propped against 
 a mast, and plucking at his beard, with tremulous hand, 
 admired the daring work of the peasants. The noise 
 which hovered around him, aroused in him a genuine 
 longing to shout, to create an uproar with the peasants, 
 to hew wood, drag weights, give orders — make everyone 
 direct their attention to him, and show to everyone his 
 strength, skill, and the alert spirit in him. But he re- 
 
 255 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 strained himself and stood silent, motionless: he felt 
 ashamed and afraid of something. He was embarrassed 
 by the fact that he was the master over them all there, 
 and that if he were to set to work himself, no one would 
 believe, in all probability, that he was working simply to 
 please himself, and not for the sake of spurring them on, 
 setting them an example. And the peasants would, prob- 
 ably, jeer at him, to boot. 
 
 A young fellow with curly, auburn hair, whose shirt- 
 collar was unbuttoned, kept running past him, now with 
 a plank on his shoulder, again with an axe in his hand; 
 he skipped like a gambolling goat, scattering around him 
 his merry, ringing laughter, jests, vehement oaths, and 
 working unweariedly, aiding now one, now another, run- 
 ning swiftly and agilely across the deck encumbered with 
 chips and wood. Foma watched him intently, and envied 
 the gay young fellow, from whom emanated something 
 healthy, stimulating. 
 
 " He must be happy,'' thought Foma, and this idea 
 evoked in him a sharp, piercing desire to abuse the fel- 
 low, to abash him. All around him were possessed with 
 the ardor of urgent work, all were energetically and 
 rapidly making fast the scaffoldings, arranging pulleys, pre- 
 paring to raise the sunken barge from the bottom of the 
 river; all were alertly cheerful, and — were alive. But he 
 stood apart from them, not knowing what he could do, 
 understanding nothing, feeling himself superfluous in this 
 big undertaking. It offended him to think that he was 
 superfluous among the men, and the more he watched 
 them, the stronger did this sense of offense become. And 
 what stung him most of all was the thought, that all this 
 was being done for him, but that he had no hand in the 
 matter. 
 
 256 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 " Where is my place ? " he thought sullenly. " Where 
 is my business? Am I a monster? I have as much 
 strength as any of them. Of what use is it to me ? ^' 
 
 The chains rattled, the pulleys groaned, the blows of 
 the axes rang sonorously over the river, and the barges 
 rocked under the buffets of the waves . . but it 
 seemed to Foma as though he rocked not because the 
 deck was rolling under his feet, but because he did not 
 understand how to stand firm on anything, it was not his 
 fate to do so. 
 
 The contractor, an insignificant little peasant with a 
 pointed, grayish beard, and narrow slits of eyes in his 
 gray, wrinkled visage, stepped up to him, and said, not 
 loudly, but with a certain peculiar distinctness in his 
 words : 
 
 '^ We have prepared everything, Foma Ignatievitch, 
 everything is in good shape now. We'd better ask a 
 blessing and begin." 
 
 " Well, begin," said Foma curtly, turning away from 
 the piercing glance of the peasant's narrow eyes. 
 
 " Then glory to Thee, Lord ! " said the contractor, 
 deliberately buttoning up his vest, and assuming an air 
 of dignity. Then, slowly turning his head, he surveyed 
 the scaffoldings on the barges, separated by a strip of 
 water about five fathoms wide, and suddenly uttered a 
 ringing shout: 
 
 " To your pla-aces, my lads ! " 
 
 The peasants scattered over the barges, quickly as- 
 sembling in separate dense groups at the windlasses, 
 along the sides, and ceased talking. Several climbed up 
 with agility upon the scaffoldings, and thence looked 
 silently on, holding on to ropes. 
 
 " Look out, boys ! " rang out the contractor's sonorous, 
 
 257 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 quiet voice. "Is everything as it should be? Every- 
 thing must be ready before we begin. Now — pray to 
 God!^^ 
 
 And, flinging his cap on the deck, the contractor raised 
 his face heavenward, and began to cross himself vehe- 
 mently. And all the peasants, raising their heads toward 
 the clouds, also began to flourish their arms broadly, mak- 
 ing the sign of the cross upon their breasts. Some prayed 
 aloud, and a dull, suppressed murmur mingled with the 
 tumult of the waves. 
 
 "Bless, Lord! 0, all-holy Birth-Giver of God . . 
 Saint Nicholas . ." 
 
 Foma heard these exclamations, and they lay upon his 
 soul like a heavy weight. All heads were bared, he alone 
 had forgotten to remove his cap, and the contractor, hav- 
 ing finished his prayer, insinuatingly advised him; 
 
 " You would do well to petition the Lord . ." 
 
 " Mind your own business — don't instruct me ! " re- 
 plied Foma, with an angry glance at him. The further 
 the matter proceeded, the more afflicting and humiliating 
 did it become to him, to see that he was superfluous 
 among these men, so calmly confident of their own powers, 
 ready to raise for him several thousand poods from the 
 bed of the river. He wished that they might fail, that 
 all of them might be put to shame before him, and an 
 evil thought flashed through his mind: 
 
 " Perhaps the chains will break." 
 
 " My lads ! Listen ! " shouted the contractor. — " All 
 of you begin together. . * Bless, Lord! ' " And, all at 
 once, folding his hands in the air, he shouted in a piercing 
 tone: 
 
 " Gi-i-i-ive wa-a-ay! " 
 
 The workmen caught his shout, and all shouted, in ex- 
 citement and with a strong effort: 
 
 258 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 " Gi-i-ive wa-ay! Heave-ho! " 
 
 The pulleys whined and screeched, the chains rattled, 
 straining under the load which was suddenly suspended 
 from them, and the workmen, bracing their breasts 
 against the bars of the windlasses, roared and tramped 
 heavily across the deck. The waves plashed noisily be- 
 tween the barges, as though unwilling to yield up their 
 prey to the men. Everywhere around Foma, the cables, 
 chains, and ropes strained and quivered with the effort; 
 they crawled over the deck past his feet, like huge, gray 
 worms, rising link by link, fell thence with a creak, but 
 the deafening roar of the workmen drowned all other 
 sounds. 
 
 " He-eave a-awa-ay, heave away, heave,'' they sang me- 
 lodiously and triumphantly. But the ringing voice of 
 the contractor pierced and cut the thick flood of their 
 voices as a knife cuts bread: 
 
 " My la-a-ads ! Pull away — all together . . all to- 
 gether!" 
 
 A strange emotion took possession of Foma: he felt a 
 passionate longing to pour himself into that excited roar 
 of the workmen, broad and mighty as the river, into that 
 irritating grating, shriek and scream of iron, and stormy 
 plashing of the waves. The perspiration started out 
 upon his face with the strength of his longings, and, all 
 at once, tearing himself away from the mast, pale with 
 excitement, he rushed with huge strides to a windlass, 
 with: 
 
 " All to-ge-ether ! All to-ge-ether ! " he shouted in "a 
 fierce voice. On reaching the windlass-bar, he applied 
 his breast to it with a dash, and, unconscious of the pain, 
 he began, with a roar, to walk round the windlass, brac- 
 ing his feet powerfully against the deck. A mighty, 
 
 259 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 burning sensation flooded his breast, replacing the forces 
 which he expended in turning the hand-spike. Ineffable 
 joy raged within him, and found outward vent in an ex- 
 cited shout. It seemed to him that he alone, by his own 
 unaided power, was turning the hand-spike, which was 
 raising the weight, and that his strength kept growing 
 and growing. Bending down, and lowering his head, he 
 strode like a bull to meet the burden, which was pushing 
 him back, yet yielding to him, nevertheless. Every step 
 forward excited him more and more, every exertion ex- 
 pended was instantly replaced within him by an inrush 
 of seething, tempestuous pride. His head swam, his 
 eyes were suffused with blood, he saw nothing, and all he 
 felt was, that they were yielding to him, that he was con- 
 quering, that before long he would overthrow with his 
 strength something huge which barred his path, — would 
 overthrow it, would triumph, and then he would breathe 
 freely and easily, filled with proud delight. For the first 
 time in his life, he experienced such a mighty, inspiring 
 sensation, and he gulped it down with all the force of his 
 thirsty, hungry soul, became intoxicated with it, and 
 poured forth his joy in loud, exultant shouts, in harmony 
 with the workmen: 
 
 " Heave away all, heave away, heave ! ^' 
 
 " Ha-alt ! Make fast ! Halt, boys ! " 
 
 Foma was struck in the breast, and hurled backwards. 
 
 "I congratulate you on a successful ending, Foma 
 Ignatievitch! " said the contractor, and the wrinkles quiv- 
 ered over his face in joyous rays. " Glory to Thee, 
 Lord ! I think you must be tired ? " 
 
 The cold wind blew in Foma's face. A contented, 
 boastful uproar surged around him; the peasants ap- 
 proached him, cursing each other in a friendly way, merry, 
 
 260 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 with smiles on their sweaty faces, and surrounded him 
 in a close circle. He smiled abstractedly : the excitement 
 within him had not yet calmed down, and did not allow 
 him to comprehend what had happened, and why every- 
 one around him was joyous and contented. 
 
 " One hundred and seventy thousand poods we have 
 pulled up, like a radish from a garden-bed! " said some- 
 one. 
 
 " We ought to get a bucket of liquor from the master.^' 
 
 Foma, standing on a coil of cable, looked over the heads 
 of the workmen and saw: between the barges, side by side 
 with them, a third barge had made its appearance, black, 
 slippery, broken, wrapped about with chains. It was all 
 warped, it seemed all swelled up with some terrible dis- 
 ease, and weak, and clumsy, it hung over the water be- 
 tween its companions, leaning upon them. The broken 
 mast projected from its midst in a melancholy way; 
 across the deck, all covered with spots of rust, trickled 
 reddish streams of water, which resembled blood. Every- 
 where about the deck lay piles of iron, black, soaked frag- 
 ments of wood, ropes. 
 
 " Have you raised it ? " asked Foma, not knowing what 
 he ought to say at the sight of this hideous, heavy mass, 
 and again experiencing a sense of injury at the thought 
 that his soul had seethed so, that he had so rejoiced mere- 
 ly at raising from the water that dirty, shattered mon- 
 ster. 
 
 "Deuce take it,^' said Foma irresolutely, to the con- 
 tractor. 
 
 " It's all right! We'll unload it as soon as possible, 
 and send a gang of twenty carpenters aboard — they'll 
 soon bring it into shape! " said the contractor, in a con- 
 soling voice. 
 
 261 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 But the auburn-haired young fellow, smiling gaily and 
 broadly in Foma's face, inquired: 
 
 " Are we going to get any vodka ? '^ 
 
 " There's plenty of time ! " said the contractor gruffly 
 to him. — " Don't you see — the man is tired. /' 
 
 Then the peasants spoke up: 
 
 " Of course he's tired ! " 
 
 " 'Twas no easy job ! " 
 
 " Naturally, a man gets tired over work he isn't used to." 
 
 " It's hard to eat buckwheat groats even, if you aren't 
 used to it." 
 
 "I'm not tired," said Foma sullenly, and again the 
 respectful shouts of the peasants rang out, as they gath- 
 ered more closely around him. 
 
 " Work's pleasant, to anyone who likes it." 
 
 " It's regular play." 
 
 " It's like fondling a woman." 
 
 Only the auburn-haired young man would not yield his 
 point : 
 
 " Your Honor ! Are we to have the liquor, hey ? " he 
 said, with a smile and a sigh. 
 
 Fomd looked at the bearded faces before him, and felt 
 a desire to say something insulting to them. But his 
 head was still muddled, he could find no ideas in it, and, 
 at last, taking in the sense of their remarks, he said 
 angrily: 
 
 " All you want is to get drunk ! You don't care what 
 you do! You ought to reflect — why? To what pur- 
 pose ? Ekh, you rascals ! " 
 
 Amazement was depicted on the countenances of the 
 men about him; the bearded figures, blue and red, began to 
 sigh, to scratch their heads, to shift from foot to foot. 
 Some, after a despairing glance at Foma, turned away. 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Well — well!'' said the contractor^ drawing a deep 
 breath. " There's no harm done ! That is to say — con- 
 sidering for what and how. . The words — are sensi- 
 ble. ." 
 
 The auburn-haired young man stuck to his peculiar 
 opinion; he waved his hand, with a good-natured smile, 
 and announced: 
 
 " It isn't our place to ponder over our work ! It's our 
 business to conquer it! Our job is simple: to do the 
 work, and get the pay — and, glory to Thee, Oh Lord I We 
 can do everything ! " 
 
 " But do you know what you ought to do ? " interro- 
 gated Foma, irritated by this contradiction. 
 
 " Why, everything, this and that. ." 
 
 " But Where's the sense? " 
 
 " There's sense in everything for our class alone — 
 when you've earned enough for bread and taxes, — ^live! 
 And if there's anything over for liquor. ." 
 
 "Ekh you! " exclaimed Foma disdainfully. " So you're 
 talking also ! How much do you understand ? " 
 
 " Can you understand our business ? " said the auburn- 
 haired fellow, shaking his head. He had got tired of 
 talking to Foma; he suspected him of a disinclination to 
 give money for vodka, and was growing somewhat angry. 
 
 " Exactly so ! " said Foma didactically, pleased that the 
 young fellow had yielded to him, and not observing the 
 furtive, jeering glances. " He who does understand feels 
 that he must work forever ! " 
 
 " For God, of course ! " explained the contractor, look- 
 ing round at the peasants, and added, with a pious sigh: 
 " That's true, okh, how true that is! " 
 
 But Fom4 was inspired with the longing to say some- 
 thing straightforward and weighty, after which all the 
 
 263 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 men would bear themselves differently toward him, for 
 he was not pleased that all of them, except the auburn- 
 haired fellow, maintained silence, and stared at him in 
 a hostile way, askance, with such bored, sullen eyes. 
 
 " You must do such work,'' he said, contracting his 
 brows, " such work as — so that men may say, a thousand 
 years later: ' See, the Bogorodskoe peasants did that/ 
 . . Yes." 
 
 The auburn-haired fellow glanced at Foma in surprise, 
 and asked: 
 
 " Are we to drink the Volga dry ? " Then he snorted, 
 and wagging his head, he declared: " We can't do that — 
 we should all burst ! " 
 
 Foma was disconcerted by his remarks, and looked 
 about him: the peasants were smiling grimly, scornfully, 
 sarcastically. . And their smiles stung him like needles. 
 
 A grave-faced peasant, with a large gray beard, who, 
 up to that time had not opened his mouth, now suddenly 
 opened it, stepped up to Foma, and said deliberately: 
 
 " But even if we were to drink the Volga dry — and eat 
 up yonder mountains to boot, — even that would be for- 
 gotten, your Honor. Everything is forgotten — life is 
 long. It is not for us to do such deeds as stand out big 
 above all the others. — But we can set up this lumber 
 here." 
 
 He spoke, and sceptically spitting at his feet, he walked 
 indifferently away from Foma, and disappeared in the 
 throng, like a wedge in a tree. His speech dealt Foma 
 the finishing blow; he felt that the peasants regarded 
 him as stupid and ridiculous. And, in order to save his 
 importance as master in their eyes, in order to attract 
 the exhausted attention of the peasants once more to 
 himself, he swelled out his chest, puffed out his cheeks 
 
 264 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 in an absurd manner, and blurted out, in an impressive 
 voice : 
 
 " I make you a gift of three buckets of liquor! '^ * 
 
 Brief speeches are always the most eloquent, and are 
 always apt to produce a powerful impression. The peas- 
 ants respectfully made way for Foma, bowing low before 
 him, and with cheerful, grateful smiles, thanked him for 
 his generosity in a friendly roar of approval. 
 
 " Take me over to the shore,'^ said Foma, conscious 
 that the newly-aroused excitement within him would not 
 last long. Some worm or other was gnawing at his heart, 
 and he felt bored. " I'm disgusted with things ! " he 
 said, entering the cottage, where Sasha, in a smart pink 
 gown was bustling about the table, setting out wines and 
 light refreshments. — " Fm disgusted, Alexandra! I wish 
 you'd do something with me, can't you ? " 
 
 She looked at him attentively, and seating herself on 
 the wall-bench, shoulder to shoulder with him, she said: 
 
 " If you're disgusted, it signifies that you want some- 
 thing. What is it that you want ? " 
 
 " I don't know! " replied Foma, shaking his head 
 mournfully. 
 
 " But think — search . ." 
 
 "I don't know how to think. JTothing comes of my 
 thinking." 
 
 " Ekh, you — baby! " said Sasha softly, and with immense 
 scorn, moving away from him. " Your head is superflu- 
 ous to you." 
 
 Foma did not catch her tone, and did not notice her 
 movement. Eesting his hands on the bench, he bent 
 forward, and stared at the floor, rocking his whole body 
 to and fro: 
 
 ^Avedro, or bucket, contains 2.70 gallons. — Tramlaior. 
 
 265 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Sometimes you think, and think, — and thoughts stick 
 all round your soul, as with resin. And, all at once, 
 everything vanishes from you, as though it had dropped 
 through the earth. Then, it's as dark in your soul as 
 in a cellar, damp and utterly empty . . there's noth- 
 ing at all there! It's even terrible, — as though you 
 were not a man, but a bottomless ravine. What do I 
 want?" 
 
 Sasha cast a sidelong glance at him, and began to sing 
 pensively, in an undertone : 
 
 " Ekh, and when the wind begins to blow — the fog will 
 rise up from the sea." 
 
 "I don't want to carouse — it's repulsive! It's always 
 the same thing, over and over: the people, the amuse- 
 ments, and the wine. I grow malicious — I'd like to beat 
 everybody. People don't please me — what are they ? 
 You can't in the least understand them — why^ey go on 
 living? And when they speak the truth, whom are you 
 to listen to ? One says one thing, another another. But 
 I — can't say anything at all." 
 
 "Ekh, my life is hateful to me, dear, without thee," 
 sang Sasha, gazing at the wall in front of her. 
 
 But Foma continued to rock back and forth, and said : 
 
 " There are times when I feel m3^self culpable before 
 people — they all live, make a noise, but I am frightened, 
 and staggered. And I don't seem to feel the firm earth 
 beneath me. I wonder if my mother endowed me with 
 insensibility ? My god-father says she was like ice. And 
 she was always longing for something. So am I. — I long 
 for people. I'd like to go and say : ' Help me, my breth- 
 ren! Teach me! I cannot live! But if I am to blame, 
 forgive me ! ' I look about, there is no one to whom to 
 say it. No one wants it — they're all rabble! And even 
 
 266 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 if they were worse than I am — I^m ashamed to live as I 
 am living, — but they don't mind it! They act . . ." 
 
 Foma uttered a violent, unseemly oath, and fell silent. 
 Sasha broke off her song, and moved still further away 
 from him. The wind was howling outside the windows, 
 flinging dust against the panes. On the oven cockroaches 
 were rustling, as they climbed up a bundle of pine-knots 
 for lighting. A calf was bellowing pitifully somewhere 
 out of doors. 
 
 Sasha glanced at Foma with a sneer, and said : 
 
 " There's another unhappy wretch bellowing. You 
 ought to go to him; perhaps you could sing together. .'' 
 And laying her hand on his curly head, she playfully 
 pushed it on one side. 
 
 "You ought to reflect as to w^hat such people as you 
 are good for. Why do you squeal ? If you are disgusted 
 with carousing — occupy yourself with business." 
 
 " Lord ! '' and Foma shook his head, " it's difficult to 
 express myself so that you will understand — difficult ! " 
 — And he almost shouted with vexation : " What busi- 
 ness? I have no inclination for business! What busi- 
 ness? Only a name — business, but if you look into it 
 deeply, go to the root of it, it's nonsense ! Don't I under- 
 stand that? I understand everything, I see everything, 
 I feel everything! Only — my tongue is dumb. What 
 profit is there in business affairs? Money? I have plenty 
 of it! I can choke you to death with it, bury you over 
 your head with it. All business affairs are mere fraud. 
 I see men of business — well, and what of that? They 
 are very greedy, — and yet they busy themselves with 
 affairs for the express purpose of not seeing themselves. 
 They hide themselves, the devils. Now, release them 
 from those anxieties, — what will happen? They will be- 
 
 267 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 gin to rush about hither and thither like blind men — 
 they lose every idea, — they go crazy! I know it! But 
 you think, if a man has a business, he will be happy? 
 N"o, nonsense, — something else is required, — he hasn't 
 everything yet! The river flows, that men may sail 
 upon it, wood grows for use, dogs grow to guard the house, 
 — you can find a justification for everything on earth. 
 But men, like cockroaches, are altogether superfluous on 
 the earth. Everything is for them — and what are they 
 for? Aha? Where is their justification? Ha, ha!'' 
 
 Foma was triumphant. It seemed to him that he had 
 found something which was good for himself, and mighty 
 against people. And conscious of a great joy within him, 
 he laughed loudly. 
 
 "Doesn't your head ache?" Sasha inquired anxiously, 
 gazing into his face with a searching look. 
 
 " My soul aches ! " exclaimed Foma passionately. " And 
 it aches, because — it is upright — it will not be reconciled 
 to pettiness. Give it an answer, how to live? for what? 
 There's my god-father — he's clever! He says — make 
 your life! He's the only one who does. Well, I say to 
 him, wait ! But everyone else says, life has devoured us ! 
 Life has stifled us. And I inquire of them. And how is 
 life to be made? To that end, it must be held in the 
 hands . . it must be controlled. You can't make 
 even a pot without holding it in your hands." 
 
 " Hearken to me," said Sasha gravely, " I think you 
 ought to marry — that's all there is to it! " 
 
 " Why ? " asked Foma, twitching his shoulders. 
 
 " You need the halter." 
 
 " All right ! I'm living with you. You're all alike, I 
 think. One is no sweeter than another. I had a woman 
 before you . . of the same sort as yourself. No, she 
 
 268 
 
Foma Gordy^eft' 
 
 did it of her own free will — she took a liking to me and 
 — consented. She was good — however, she was just like 
 you, only you are handsomer. . But I took a fancy to a 
 certain lady, — a real lady, a noblewoman! They said she 
 was depraved. But I did not get her. We-ell then. 
 She was clever, well educated, — she lived in beauty. I 
 used to think, sometimes, — here I shall have a taste of 
 the real thing ! I didnH get it — but perhaps, if I had suc- 
 ceeded, everything would have taken another turn. I 
 longed for her. . I thought I couldnH tear myself 
 away. But now — I have been drunk, I have drowned her 
 with wine, . . I am forgetting her. . And that's 
 not right, either. Ekh, you man! You're a rascal, to 
 speak according to conscience.'' 
 
 Foma stopped, and fell into thought. But Sasha rose 
 from the bench, and paced to and fro in the cottage, bit- 
 ing her lips. Then she halted in front of him, and throw- 
 ing her arms up behind her head she said : 
 
 "Do you know what? I'm going away from you." 
 
 "Whither?" asked Foma, without raising his head. 
 
 "I don't know, — it doesn't matter." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 "You're always saying unnecessary things. It's tire- 
 some with you — you make one melancholy." 
 
 Foma raised his head, looked at her, and broke into a 
 mournful laugh. 
 
 " Come now ! you don't say so ! " 
 
 "You do! Now, see here: If I think it over, I 
 understand what you say, and why you say it. . For 
 I'm one of that sort myself — when my time comes, I 
 shall grow sad, also. And then I shall disappear. But 
 it's early for me yet. No, I shall go on living for a while, 
 and then, — I don't care what happens ! " 
 
 269 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "And I, also, shall disappear?" asked Foma indiffer- 
 ently, already exhausted with his harangues. 
 
 " Of course ! " replied Sasha calmly and confidently. 
 " All such people disappear. What sort of life can a per- 
 son have whose character is not brittle, and who has no 
 brains? That's our sort. ." 
 
 " No, I have no character," said Foma, stretching him- 
 self. Then he paused, and added: "And no brains." 
 
 Then both remained silent for a moment, gazing into 
 each other's eyes. 
 
 " What shall we do ? " asked Foma. 
 
 " We must dine." 
 
 " No, in general ? Afterwards ? " 
 
 " Afterwards ? I — I don't know." 
 
 " So you are going away ? " 
 
 " Yes. Let's have another spree by way of farewell. 
 Let's go to Kazan, and there we'll have a carouse with 
 smoke and fire. I'll sing your dirge." 
 
 " We can do that ! " assented Foma. " As a farewell — 
 it's proper. Ekh, you devil! Life . . mirth! But 
 listen, Sashka; they say that when you are on a spree, 
 you are greedy of money, and even a thief." 
 
 " Let them say it," said Sasha coolly. 
 
 " Don't you feel insulted ? " asked Foma, with curiosity. 
 " You see, you are not greedy — it's profitable for you to 
 be with me, . . I'm rich, but you are going to leave 
 me . . and that means you are not greedy." 
 
 "I?" Sasha reflected, and said, with a wave of her 
 hand: "Perhaps I am not greedy, — but what of that? 
 You see, I'm not thoroughly base, as yet, — not the sort 
 which walks the streets. But feel insulted — by whom? 
 Let them say what they like. If people do talk, they 
 aren't bulls bellowing. . And I know well the saintli- 
 
 270 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ness and honesty of men, ekh, how well I know theml 
 If I were chosen as judge, I wouldn't acquit anyone but 
 a dead man ! " And breaking into an evil laugh, Sasha 
 said : " Come, we\e talked enough nonsense — seat your- 
 self at the table!" 
 
 On the morning of the following day, Foma and Sasha 
 stood on the gangway of a steamer which was approach- 
 ing a wharf on the Ustye. Sashays huge black hat at- 
 tracted general attention among the spectators by its au- 
 daciously curved brim and white feathers, . and Foma 
 was embarrassed at standing by her side, and felt the curi- 
 ous glances creeping, as it were, over his face. The 
 steamer was hissing and quivering, as it butted its sides 
 against the landing, sprinkled with a crowd of people 
 gaily attired in summer garments, who were awaiting it, 
 and it seemed to Foma that he descried among the varied 
 faces and figures some acquaintance of his, who kept 
 dodging behind the backs of the people, but never took his 
 eyes from him. 
 
 "Let's go into the cabin! '^* he said uneasily, to his 
 friend. 
 
 " Don't you learn to hide your sins from people," re- 
 plied Sasha, with a laugh. '^ Do you see a friend — is that 
 it?" 
 
 " Mm . . ye-es. Someone is watching me." 
 
 " A nurse with a feeding-bottle ? Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 " There you go, neighing again ! " said Foma with a 
 fierce side-glance at her. " Do you think Fm afraid ? " 
 
 " I perceive your bravery." 
 
 " You will perceive it! I'll face everybody," said 
 Foma viciously; but, after casting another glance at the 
 crowd upon the wharf, he suddenly changed countenance, 
 and added softly; 
 
 271 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 « 
 
 It's my god-father/' 
 
 At the very edge of the landing, squeezing himself be- 
 tween two female steerage passengers, stood Yakoff Tara- 
 sovitch Mayakin, waving his cap in the air, with malicious 
 courtesy, with his face, which resembled a holy picture, 
 turned upward. His beard was trembling, his bald 
 spot glistened and his little eyes pierced Foma like 
 augers. 
 
 "A regular vulture! '^ muttered Foma, as he moved 
 his own cap, and nodded to his god-father. 
 
 His salutation must have afforded great pleasure to 
 Mayakin. — The old man seemed to writhe all over, he 
 stamped his feet, and his face lighted up with a spiteful 
 smile. 
 
 " Evidently, the little boy will get some money for 
 nuts! " said Sasha teasingly to Foma. 
 
 Her words, joined to his god-father's smile, burned in 
 Foma's breast like live coals. 
 
 " We shall see what will happen," he muttered between 
 his teeth, and suddenly grew numb in angry composure. 
 The steamer made its landing, and the people rushed in 
 a wave to the wharf. Mayakin, hemmed in by the crowd, 
 disappeared for a moment from the sight of his god-son, 
 then dived up again, smiling with a sharp, spitefully 
 triumphant grin. Foma, with lowering brows, stared 
 straight at him, and moved to meet him, walking delib- 
 erately across the gangway. People punched him in the 
 back, jostled him, crowded upon him, — and all this still 
 further excited Foma. Now he came into collision, 
 breast to breast, with the old man, and the latter greeted 
 him with a courteous bow and the question: 
 
 "Whither are you pleased to journey, Foma Ignatie- 
 vitch?" 
 
 272 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " About my own business/' replied Foma firmly, with- 
 out replying to his god-father's greeting. 
 
 " Very laudable, my dear sir ! " said Yakoff Taraso- 
 vitch, beaming all over with smiles. " What relation 
 does the lady with the white feathers bear to you ? " 
 
 " She's my mistress," said Foma in a loud voice, with- 
 out lowering his eyes before his god-father's sharp gaze. 
 
 Sasha was standing behind him staring calmly over his 
 shoulder at the little old man, whose head did not come 
 up to Foma's chin. The public, attracted by Foma's loud 
 words, stared at them, in anticipation of a scandalous 
 scene. Mayakin, also, immediately perceiving the possi- 
 bility of a scene, instantaneously and accurately gauged 
 his god-son's mood„ He contorted his wrinkles, chewed 
 his lips, and said peaceably to Foma: 
 
 " I must have a talk with you. Will you come to the 
 hotel with me? " 
 
 " Yes, . . but not for long." 
 
 " You haven't the time, you mean ? The matter is 
 plain — you're in a hurry to smash up another barge ? " 
 said the old man, unable to contain himself. 
 
 ^^ And why not smash them, if they're smashable?" 
 retorted Foma, angrily but steadily. 
 
 " Of course! . . You didn't earn them, — ^why 
 should you spare them? Well, come along. . — And 
 couldn't you drown that lady in the water for the time 
 being ? " said Mayakin softly. 
 
 " Go to the town, Sasha, and engage a room at the 
 Siberian Inn. . I'll be there before long ! " said Foma, 
 and turning to Mayakin, he announced boldly : 
 
 " I'm ready ! Come on ! " 
 
 Both of them walked in silence to the hotel. Foma, 
 perceiving that his god-father, in order not to be left be- 
 
 273 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 hind, was skipping as he went, deliberately took long 
 strides, and the fact that the old man could not keep up 
 with him, maintained and augmented in him the stormy 
 feeling of protest, which he was, by this time, barely able 
 to hold in check. 
 
 " My dear man ! " said Mayakin suavely, as he entered 
 the hall of the hotel, and directed his steps to a remote 
 comer. — " Bring a bottle of moor-berry kvas." 
 
 " And some brandy for me," ordered Foma. 
 
 " The-ere now. When you hold a bad hand you always 
 lead your lowest trump ! " Mayakin advised him, with a 
 sneer. 
 
 " You don^t know my game ! ^' said Foma, taking his 
 seat at the table. 
 
 " Ee-eally ? Have done ! Many play that way.'' 
 
 "How?'' 
 
 " Why, hke you — boldly but not cleverly." 
 
 " I play so that — either the pate is smashed to flinders 
 or the wall splits ! " said Foma hotly, and pounded the 
 table with his fist. 
 
 " Haven't you got over your fit of intoxication today 
 yet ? " inquired Mayakin, with a smile. 
 
 Foma drew up closer to the table, and, with a face dis- 
 figured by wrathful emotion, broke out : 
 
 " Papa god-father ! You're a clever man — I respect 
 you for your brains. ." 
 
 " Thanks, my dear son! " Mayakin bowed his recogni- 
 tion, rising and propping his hands on the table. 
 
 " You're very welcome. I wish to say, that I'm over 
 twenty years old. . I'm no longer a child." 
 
 "No indeed!" assented Mayakin. "You've lived a 
 good while, there's no denying it ! If a gnat had lived as 
 long, he would have grown as big as a hen." 
 
 274 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " stop your joking! " said Foma, warningly, and did 
 it so quietly that Mayakin fairly curled up, and the wrin- 
 kles on his face shook in alarm. 
 
 **' Why have you come hither ? " asked Foma. 
 
 " Ah — you've been behaving outrageously yonder, and 
 I want to see — whether you have exceeded the limits. 
 You see, Tm a sort of relation of yours — I'm the only one 
 you have. " 
 
 " You're troubling yourself for nothing. Now, see 
 here, papa. Either give me complete independence, or 
 else take my entire business into your own hands — take 
 it all! To the very last ruble! " 
 
 This proposition burst forth from Foma quite unex- 
 pectedly to himself; he had never even thought of such 
 a thing before. But now, after uttering such words to 
 his god-father, he suddenly realized, that if his god-father 
 were to take from him all his property, — he would be- 
 come a perfectly free man, he might go whithersoever he 
 chose, do whatsoever he pleased. Up to that moment 
 he had been bound up in something or other, but did 
 not recognize the meshes and was not able to tear them 
 off, but now they were falling from him of their own ac- 
 cord, very easily and simply. An alarming and joyous 
 hope flashed up in his breast, he seemed to perceive that 
 light had broken in, from some quarter, upon his troubled 
 life, and a broad, spacious road appeared to lie before 
 him. Certain images were begotten in his brain, and as, 
 with amazement, he watched them shifting and changing, 
 he murmured incoherently: 
 
 " There . . . that is the best way! Take every- 
 thing, and have done with it ! But I — shall be free to 
 go where I please! — I can't live on like this . . as 
 though weights were hanging on me. . I'm completely 
 
 275 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 pinioned. I can't go here or there — I can't do this or 
 that. I want to live in freedom . . that I may know 
 everything myself. . I will search out life for my- 
 self. . Otherwise, what am I? A prisoner. Please 
 take it all — to the devil with it all! Eelease me, I pray 
 you ! What sort of a merchant am I ? I don't like any- 
 thing. But if you would do that, I would go away from 
 people, from everything, — I would find a place for my- 
 self. . I would take up some sort of work — I would, 
 by God! Papa! Set me at liberty. . . You see, I'm 
 drinking — I'm entangled with a woman. ." 
 
 Mayakin gazed at him, attentively listened to his 
 speech, and his face was surly, immovable, as though 
 turned to stone. Pound about them hovered the dull 
 roar of the restaurant, several persons walked past them 
 and bowed to Mayakin, but he saw nothing, as he scruti- 
 nized the agitated countenance of his god-son, which wore 
 an abstracted, joyous, and, at the same time, a pitiful 
 smile. 
 
 " E-ekh, you sour blackberry ! " he said, with a sigh, 
 interrupting Foma's harangue. — " You have gone astray, 
 I see. . And you are babbling nonsense. . I'd like 
 to know, whether this is the result of brandy, or of stu- 
 pidity?" 
 
 " Papa ! " exclaimed Foma. " Surely, it can be done ! 
 You see, it has been done — men have abandoned all their 
 possessions, and have saved themselves thereby. ." 
 
 " Not in my time — nobody whom I know intimately! " 
 said Mayakin severely. " If they had . . I'd have shown 
 them! " 
 
 " There have been a great many saints, who went 
 away. ." 
 
 "Mm . . they wouldn't have gone off if I'd had 
 
 276 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 anything to say about it! . . The matter is simple — 
 do you know how to play draughts ? You go from square 
 to square until you get thrown out — and if you don't get 
 thrown out — then you become a king! And then all 
 paths are open to you. Do you understand? And why 
 do I talk seriously with you ? Pshaw ! '^ 
 
 " Papa ! Why won't you do it ? " cried Foma angrily. 
 
 " Listen to me ! If you are a chimney-sweep, crawl to 
 the roof! If you're a fireman, — stand on the watch-tower! 
 And every sort of man ought to have his own order of life. 
 Calves don't roar like bears! You are living your own life 
 — live it! And don't talk drivel, don't try to climb where 
 you have no business. Make your own life — after its ap- 
 pointed sort." — And from the old man's dark mouth poured 
 forth in a palpitating, brilliant stream, the quavering but 
 confident and daring harangue with which Foma was so 
 familiar. He did not listen to it, engrossed as he was in the 
 thought of freedom, which seemed to him so easily possible. 
 This idea sank deep into his brain, and in his breast the 
 desire grew stronger and stronger to break off his connection 
 with this turbid and wearisome life, with god-fathers, 
 steamers, barges, carouses, — with everytliing in the midst 
 of which he found it so stifling and confining to live. 
 
 The old man's speech seeme(J to be wafted to him from 
 afar: it merged itself with the rattling of the crockery, 
 with the shuffling of the servants' feet on the floor, and 
 with someone's drunken shout. At a table not far from 
 them sat four merchants, who were wrangling loudly. 
 
 " Two and a quarter — and — pray to God! " 
 
 " Luka Mitritch! The idea of such a thing! " 
 
 " Give him two and a half! " 
 
 " Correct! You must give it — it's a good steamer, it tows 
 briskly." 
 
 277 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ' " My dear fellows! I can't — ^two and a quarter! " 
 
 " And all this nonsense has bred in your pate — from your 
 youthful passion!" said Mayakin weightily, tapping the 
 table with his hand. — "Your audacity is stupidity; all 
 these speeches of yours are stuff and nonsense . . Hadn't 
 you better enter a monastery? Or, perhaps, you prefer to 
 beg on the highways? '' 
 
 Foma listened in silence. The uproar which was seeth- 
 ing around him seemed to retreat farther and farther away. 
 He imagined himself in the midst of a vast, surging throng 
 of people who, for some unknown reason, were rioting, 
 jumping on one another, with their eyes eagerly staring 
 wide open, they were howling, cursing, falling, crushing one 
 another, and all pushing onward to the same goal. He felt 
 ill at ease among them because he did not understand what 
 they wanted, he did not believe their words, and felt that 
 they themselves did not believe themselves or understand 
 anything. And if he were to tear himself away from their 
 midst to freedom, on the edge of life, and gaze at them from 
 that point, — then he would understand everything. He 
 would understand what they wanted, and would see where, 
 among them, was his place. 
 
 " For I understand," said Mayakin more gently, on seeing 
 Foma thoughtful, and assuming that he was pondering his 
 words, — " you want happiness for yourself . . . "Well, 
 my friend, it is not speedily won . . It must be sought 
 for, like mushrooms in the forest, you must bend your back 
 till it aches over them, . . and when you have found them 
 — look out that they are not toadstools." 
 
 " So you will set me free?" asked Foma suddenly rais- 
 ing his head, and Mayakin turned his eyes away from his 
 burning gaze. 
 
 "Papa! If only for a time! Give me a chance to breathe 
 
 278 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 . . give me a chance to step aside from everything! " en- 
 treated Foma. " I will watch how everything goes on . . 
 and then, perhaps . . But if I go on like this, I shall 
 drink myself to death." 
 
 "Don't talk twaddle! Why do you play the fool?'' 
 shouted Mayakin angrily. 
 
 "Very well then!" replied Foma quietly. — "All right! 
 You won't do it? Then — there will be nothing! I'll get 
 rid of everything! And we have nothing more to say to 
 each other — farewell! I'll set to work now — you shall see! 
 Rejoice — there'll be the devil to pay! " 
 
 Foma was composed, and talked confidently; it seemed 
 to him, that if he had come to this decision — ^his god-father 
 could not hinder him. But Mayakin drew himself up stiffly 
 in his chair, and said — also simply and composedly: 
 
 " Do you know how I can deal with you? " 
 
 " As you please! " said Foma, with a wave of the hand. 
 
 " Here then. If I choose, I can go to town and have it 
 arranged that you shall be declared crazy, and put in the 
 lunatic asylum." 
 
 " Is it possible? " inquired Foma, incredulously, but with 
 a touch of alarm in his voice. 
 
 " Everything is possible with us, my dear fellow." 
 
 "You don't say so! " 
 
 Foma dropped his head, and stared furtively at his god- 
 father's face, trembling as he reflected: 
 
 " He'll do it, . . he'll show no mercy." 
 
 "If you play the fool seriously, then I must also take 
 serious measures with you. I pledged my word to your 
 father to set you on your feet. And I'll do it . . if you 
 don't remain standing, I'll hoop you with iron . . Then 
 you will stand . . As if I didn't know that all these words 
 of yours are mischievous extravagances bred by liquor . , 
 
 279 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 But if you don't give that up, — ^if you continue your in- 
 decent conduct, and undertake to ruin the property your 
 father accumulated, out of insolence, — ^I'll cover you up 
 completely, from the head down — I'll put a bell-glass over 
 you. It's an awkward thing to jest with me.'' 
 
 Mayakin spoke suavely. The wrinkles on his cheeks all 
 curved upward, and his little eyes smiled sneeringly, coldly, 
 from their little, dark bags. The furrows on his brow also 
 formed a sort of strange pattern, as they rose toward his 
 bald spot. His face was inflexible and pitiless, and inspired 
 Foma's soul with cold and melancholy. 
 
 " So there is no alternative for me? " said Foma sullenly. 
 — " You are cutting off all outlets from me? " 
 
 " You have an alternative — go ahead! But I will guide 
 you — don't worry — it will be safe! You'll find yourself in 
 exactly your proper place." 
 
 This self-confidence, this unshakable boastfulness, made 
 Foma explode.. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, in 
 order to avoid striking the old man, he straightened himself 
 up on his chair, and, with clenched teeth, began, straight 
 in his god-father's face: 
 
 "Why do you brag? "What have you to brag about? 
 Your son — where is he? Your daughter — what is she? 
 Ekh, you manager of life! Come now, you're clever, you 
 know everything — tell me, why do you live? Why do you 
 accumulate money? Aren't you going to die? Well, what 
 then? You have kept me in bondage, you have taken pos- 
 session of me, subdued me . . Wait a bit — just wait, 
 perhaps I shall break loose! I'm not done with you yet! 
 E-ekh, you! — What have you done for life? By what are 
 men going to remember you? There wa& my father — he 
 built a house, but what have you done? " 
 
 Mayakin's wrinkles quivered, and all assumed a down- 
 
 280 
 
Up to the time of his quarrel with his god-father, Xoiaa 
 had caroused because he found life tiresome, out of curiosity, 
 and half -indifferently, — now he did it out of exasperation, 
 almost in despair, being filled with a sentiment of revenge, 
 and of a certain audacity toward people in general, — an 
 audacity which at times, amazed even himself. He per- 
 ceived that the people round about him were, like himself, 
 lacking in a point of support, in sense, only they did not 
 understand it, or deliberately refused to understand it, in 
 order that they might not be hindered in living blindly, 
 and surrendering themselves completely, without reflection, 
 to their dissolute mode of life. He found in them nothing 
 firm, steadfast; when sober, they appeared to him unhappy 
 and stupid, when drunk, they were repulsive and still more 
 stupid. Not one of them aroused in him respect, and pro- 
 found, hearty interest; he did not even inquire their names, 
 forgot when and where he had made their acquaintance, and 
 bearing himself always toward them with scornful curiosity, 
 always felt a desire to say and to do something offensive 
 to them. He spent days and nights with them in vari- 
 ous places of amusement, and his acquaintances always de- 
 pended directly upon the rank of each resort. In the ex- 
 pensive and fashionable restaurants, he was surrounded by 
 sharks of the better class — sharpers, couplet-writers, jug- 
 glers, actors, landed proprietors who had ruined themselves 
 with carousing. These people, at first, bore themselves 
 toward him with a patronizing air, and boasted in his 
 
 283 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 presence of their refined tastes, their knowledge of the 
 merits of wines and viands, and then tried to curry favor 
 with him, licked his boots, borrowed money of him, which 
 he flung away without keeping count of it, drawing it from 
 the bank, and even borrowing on promissory notes. In the 
 cheap eating-houses, hair-dressers, and billiard-markers 
 hovered about him like vultures, along with clerks, officials, 
 singers; and among these people he always felt better, more 
 at ease. In them he saw simple people, who were not so 
 monstrously affected and distorted, like all that " clean 
 public " of the fashionable restaurants, — ^they were less de- 
 praved, more clever, understood him more simply, occa- 
 sionally revealed strong, healthy sentiments, and they always 
 had about them something which was more human. But, 
 like the " clean public," these men, also, were greedy, and 
 plundered him shamelessly; but he saw this, and jeered 
 roughly at them. 
 
 As a matter of course, there were women. Physically 
 sound, but not sensual, Foma bought them, both the dear 
 and the cheap, the handsome and the homely, gave them 
 huge amounts of money, changed them almost every week, 
 and, in general, treated them better than he did the men. 
 He laughed at them, used disgraceful and insulting lan- 
 guage to them, but never, even when half-drunk could he 
 divest himself of a certain embarrassment before them. All 
 \ of them — the boldest, the most robust, and the most shame- 
 less — seemed to him weak and defenceless, like little chil- 
 dren. Always ready to thrash any man that came along, 
 he never laid hand upon a woman, although he sometimes 
 cursed them outrageously, when irritated. He felt him- 
 self incomparably stronger than any woman, and every 
 woman seemed to him immeasurably more unhappy than 
 he was. Those who led their depraved lives rakishly, mak- 
 
 284 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 ing a boast of their dissoluteness, evoked in Foma a feeling 
 of shame, which rendered him bashful and awkward. One 
 day, one of these women, drunken and insolent, as she sat 
 beside him at supper slapped his cheek with a melon-rind. 
 Foma was half-drunk. He turned pale with the affront, 
 rose from his chair, and, thrusting his hands into his pock- 
 ets, he said in a ferocious voice, which trembled with rage: 
 
 " You carrion! Begone . . be off with you! Any 
 other man would have broken your skull for that . . But 
 you know that I am peaceable with you, and that my hand 
 is never raised against one of your sort . . Drive her 
 away to the devil! " 
 
 A few days after their arrival in Kazan, Sasha became 
 the mistress of a certain vodka-distiller's son, who had been 
 carousing with Foma. As she was departing, with her new 
 master, for some spot on the Kama, she said to Foma: 
 
 "Farewell, dear man! Perhaps we shall meet again 
 . . we are both travelling the same road! But I advise you 
 not to give your heart free play. Carouse away, without 
 regard to anything . . but if you mix your heart up 
 with it — the porridge gets spilled and the bowl is smashed 
 on the floor . . . Good-bye! '' 
 
 And she kissed him warmly on the lips, whereat her 
 eyes grew still darker than usual. 
 
 Foma was delighted that she was going away from him: 
 he had got tired of her, and her cold indifference fright- 
 ened him. But at that moment something quivered within 
 him, he turned away from her, and said softly: 
 
 " Perhaps you will not find things to your liking . . in 
 that case, come back to me." 
 
 " Thanks," she replied, and for some reason, broke into 
 a hoarse laugh which was not usual with her. 
 
 Thus did Foma live -on, day after day, gyrating always in 
 
 285 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 one spot, and among people who were always alike, and 
 who never inspired him with any good sentiments. He 
 still regarded himself as their superior, because the idea 
 that it was possible to free himself from this life became 
 more and more firmly implanted in his head, because the 
 desire for freedom took ever firmer possession of him, be- 
 cause, ever more clearly, did he imagine himself as going 
 away to the edge of life, away from this turmoil and laby- 
 rinth. Many a time, by night, when he was all alone by 
 himself, he shut his eyes tight, and pictured to himself a 
 dark throng of people, incalculably great and even terrible 
 in its vastness. Crowded together somewhere in a deep 
 valley which was surrounded by hillocks, and filled with a 
 dusty haze, this throng, in noisy confusion, jostled each 
 other constantly on the same spot, like grain in the hopper 
 of a mill. It seemed as though an invisible mill-stone, con- 
 cealed beneath the feet of the throng, were grinding it, 
 and the people were moving beneath it in waves, now drawn 
 downward, in order to be the more quickly ground up 
 there, now surging upward, in the effort to avoid the piti- 
 less mill-stone. There were other people, also, who re- 
 sembled crabs, just caught and tossed into a huge basket, — 
 clutching hold of each other, they moved heavily round and 
 round, crawled off somewhere, and impeded each other, and 
 could do nothing to escape from captivity. 
 
 Among the throng Foma saw familiar faces: there is his 
 father, striving in some direction, mightily thrusting aside 
 and knocking down all who stand in his way; he is work- 
 ing with capacious paws — pressing his chest against every- 
 thing, and laughing in stentorian tones — then he vanishes, 
 sinking down into the depths, beneath the feet of the peo- 
 ple. Yonder, writhing like an adder, now leaping upon 
 the people's shoulders, now creeping between their feet, is 
 
 286 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 his god-father, toiling with all his lean hut supple and 
 sinewy hody . . Liuboff is weeping and struggling, as 
 she follows her father, with spasmodic but impotent move- 
 ments, now getting separated from him, again drawing near 
 to him. With soft footsteps, and a kindly smile on her 
 countenance, and holding aloof from everyone, making way 
 for everyone, his aunt Anfisa moves slowly onward . . . 
 her image vacillates in the darkness before Foma, like the 
 modest flame of a wax taper . . . and goes out, vanishes 
 in the gloom. Pelagaya is walking swiftly, and by a straight 
 path to some goal or other . . Yonder is Sofya Pavlovna 
 Medynsky standing, helpless, with hands hanging by her 
 side, as she stood on that last occasion — in her own draw- 
 ing-room . . Her eyes are large, and a great terror gleams 
 in them. There is Sasha, also. Indifferent, paying no 
 heed to the jostling, she walks on firmly straight into the 
 thickest dregs of life, singing her songs at the top of her 
 voice, gazing calmly before her with her dark eyes. Foma 
 hears the uproar, the yells, the laughter, the drunken shouts, 
 the angry quarrelling over kopeks; songs and wailing float 
 over this huge, troubled heap of living human bodies, con- 
 fined in that pit; they leap and fall, and climb, crush one an- 
 other, leap upon one another's shoulders, bustle in every 
 direction, like blind people, everywhere come into collision 
 with others like themselves, struggle and, falling, disap- 
 pear from sight. The money rustles, as it hovers, like 
 bats, over the heads of these people, and the people eagerly 
 stretch out their hands toward it, the gold and silver jin- 
 gles, bottles clash, corks pop, someone sobs, and a mourn- 
 ful female voice sings: 
 
 " Thus will we live, while we ca-an, 
 But there — not even the grass shall grow I '* 
 
 , 287 
 
 / 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 This senseless picture rivetted itself in Foma's brain, 
 and with every recurrence it rose up more and more clearly, 
 more and more huge and vivid, arousing in his breast some- 
 thing chaotic, a vast, undefined feehng, into which had 
 poured, like brooks into a river, terror, and agitation, and 
 pity, and anger and much more besides. All this seethed 
 in his breast to strained desire, — to the point of bursting, — 
 to a desire whose force made him sigh, and made the tears 
 well up in his eyes, and he wanted to cry aloud, to howl like 
 a wild beast, to frighten everyone — to put a stop to their 
 senseless turmoil, to inject into the clamor and vanity of 
 their life something new, something of his own, to speak 
 to them loud, firm words, to turn them all in one direction, 
 and not against each other. He wanted to grasp them in his 
 hands by their heads, to tear them apart, one from another, 
 to administer a sound beating to some, to fondle others, to 
 reproach all, to illuminate them with some fire or 
 other . . . 
 
 There was nothing in him — neither the necessary words, 
 nor the fire — there was nothing but the longing, compre- 
 hensible to him, but impossible of execution . . He imag- 
 ined himself high above life, outside of that deep valley 
 wherein these people were seething; he beheld himself stand- 
 ing firmly on his feet and — dumb. He might have shouted 
 to the people: 
 
 " How are you living? Are not you ashamed? " 
 
 And he might have reviled them. But if, at the sound 
 of his voice, they were to inquire: 
 
 " But how ought we to live? *' 
 
 He understood perfectly well, that after that question 
 he would be forced to fly down headlong from the heights, 
 down there, beneath the feet of the people, upon the mill- 
 stone. And they would have accompanied his ruin with 
 
 laughter. 
 
 288 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 He sometimes grew delirious under the oppression of this 
 nightmare. Words without coherence or meaning burst 
 from his lips; he even perspired with this painful turmoil 
 within him. At times, it seemed to him that he was going 
 crazy from intoxication, and that was why all this dreadful 
 and morose stuff was making its way into his brain. With 
 a great effort of will he banished these pictures and im- 
 pulses from him, but no sooner did he find himself alone, 
 and not very drunk, — than again he was filled with this 
 delirium, and again he succumbed beneath the burden of 
 it. And the longing for freedom ever grew and strength- 
 ened in him, torturing him by its force. But wrench him- 
 self free from the fetters of his wealth he could not. Mayi- 
 kin, who held from him a full power of attorney to 
 administer his business, now acted so that, almost every day, 
 Foma was compelled to feel the weight of the responsibilities 
 which rested upon him. People were constantly applying to 
 him for payments, proposing to him arrangements for trans- 
 porting freight, the employees appealed to him in person 
 and by letter about trifles with which he had not hitherto 
 concerned himself, but which they had attended to at their 
 own risk. They hunted him up in eating-houses, and asked 
 him what must be done, and how it must be done; he told 
 them, sometimes without himself understanding in the 
 least whether the thing should be done in one way or an- 
 other, he noticed their concealed contempt for him, and 
 almost always saw that they did the business not as he had 
 ordered, but in a different and better way. In all this he 
 detected the clever hand of his god-father, and he compre- 
 hended that the old man was harrying him in order to 
 incline him to his own views. But, at the same time, he 
 remarked that he was not the master in his own business, 
 but only a component part of it, and not an important part 
 
 280 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 at that. This irritated him, and still further repelled him 
 from the old man, still more powerfully excited his yearn- 
 ing to break away from business, even at the cost of his 
 own destruction. Goaded to fury, he flung money about in 
 the restaurants and dives, but this did not last long — Yakoff 
 Tarasovitch closed up his current accounts in the banks, 
 and removed all deposits. Foma soon felt that people were 
 not as willing to lend him money on his note of hand as 
 they had been at first. This stung his self-love, and thor- 
 oughly perturbed and frightened him, when he learned that 
 his god-father had set afloat in business circles the rumor 
 that he, Foma, was not in his right mind, and that, pos- 
 sibly, it might become necessary to appoint a guardian for 
 him. Foma did not know the limits of his god-father's 
 power, and could not bring himself to take counsel with 
 anyone on the subject: he was convinced that the old man 
 was a power in the business world, and could do anything 
 he pleased. At first he found it painful to feel Mayakin's 
 hand over him, but afterwards he became reconciled to this, 
 dismissed the whole matter, and resumed his dissolute, 
 drunken life, in which one thing alone consoled him — peo- 
 ple. With every day he became more firmly convinced that 
 they were senseless, and in every way worse than himself, 
 that they were not the lords of life, but its lackeys, and 
 that it was twisting them about at its pleasure, driving them 
 and ruining them at its will, while they, apathetically and 
 resignedly yielded to it, and not one of them desired freedom 
 for himself. But he did not want it, and therefore he 
 haughtily elevated himself above his boon companions, not 
 desiring to discern in them anything but evil. 
 
 One day, in a restaurant, a half-intoxicated man com- 
 plained to him about his life. He was a lean little man, 
 with dull, frightened eyes, unshaven, and with a short f rock- 
 
 290 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 coat, and a brilliant necktie. He blinked mournfully, his 
 ears waggled timorously, and his soft little voice also 
 trembled. 
 
 " I have used every means to become one of the success- 
 ful people. I have tried everything. I have toiled like an 
 ox. But life has jostled me, devoured me, given me no 
 chance . . My patience is exhausted . . Ekh! And 
 so, I have taken to drink. I feel that I am going to de- 
 struction. Well, that road is open to me! " 
 
 " Fool! " said Foma contemptuously. " Why did you 
 care to make your way, to be among the successful people? 
 You ought to have kept to the right, away from them. You 
 might have stood aside, looked to see where your place was 
 among them, and then — advanced straight to your point! '^ 
 
 "I don't understand your words!" and the man shook 
 his closely-cropped, angular head. 
 
 Foma laughed conceitedly. 
 
 " How could you be expected to understand that? " 
 
 " Do you know, what I think about it is this, that he 
 whom God appoints . ." 
 
 " Life is not arranged by God, but by people ! " broke "v* 
 out Foma, and he even surprised himself by the audacity 
 of his words. And the little man, casting a furtive gknce 
 at him, also shrank back timidly. 
 
 " God gave you understanding? " asked Foma, recover- 
 ing from his confusion. 
 
 " Certainly . . that is to say, as much as befits a small 
 man . ." said Foma's interlocutor undecidedly. 
 
 "Well — don't you dare to ask of Him a single grain 
 more! Construct your own Hfe by your own reason . ? 
 and God will judge you . . . We are all in His service, 
 and we are all of equal value in His sight . . Do you 
 understand ? " 
 
 291 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 It very often happened that Foma said something which 
 seemed audacious even to himself, and, at the same time, 
 elevated him in his own eyes. They were bold, unexpected 
 ideas and words, which suddenly made their appearance like 
 sparks — an impression carved them, as it were out of 
 Foma's brain. And he more than once observed, with re- 
 gard to himself, that he expressed what he had thought out 
 worse, more obscurely, than what flashed up, impulsively 
 from his heart. 
 
 Foma lived as though he were walking in a swamp, in 
 danger, every moment, of sticking fast in the mud and 
 slime, but his god-father, like a bindweed, meandered about 
 on one dry, firm little spot, maintaining a keen watch, from 
 afar, on his god-son's life. 
 
 After the quarrel with Foma, Yakoff Tarasovitch re- 
 turned home sullenly thoughtful. His little eyes gleamed 
 unfeelingly, and his whole person was straightened up, like 
 a tightly stretched cord. His wrinkles writhed painfully, 
 his face seemed to have grown smaller and darker of hue, 
 and when Liuboff saw him in this state, she thought he was 
 seriously ill, but was holding himself under control, exercis- 
 ing force upon himself. The taciturn old man flung him- 
 self about the room, hurling at his daughter, in reply to her 
 questions, dry, curt remarks, and, at last, shouted at her, 
 point-blank: 
 ■' " Let me alone! You see — it doesn't concern you . ." 
 
 She felt sorry for him, when she perceived the grieved 
 and mournful expression of his keen, green eyes; she con- 
 sidered it her duty to question him as to what ailed him, and 
 when he seated himself at the dinner-table, she went up to 
 him impulsively, laid her hands on his shoulders, gazed into 
 his face, and asked anxiously: 
 
 *' Papa! you are not feeling well — tell me! '' 
 
 292 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 Her caresses were extremely rare; they always softened 
 the lonely old man, and although he did not respond to them 
 for some reason or other, yet he could not fail to prize them, 
 all the same. And now, twitching his shoulders, and fling- 
 ing off her hands, he said to her: 
 
 " Go away, go to your place . . The itching curiosity 
 of Eve will be your undoing." 
 
 But Liuboff did not go away; gazing persistently into 
 his eyes, she asked, in an offended tone: 
 
 " Why do you always talk like that to me, papa . . . 
 as though I were a child, or very stupid? " 
 
 " Because you are grown up but are not very clever . . . 
 There now! There's the whole matter in a nutshell! Go 
 away, sit down, and eat . ." 
 
 She went away, and silently seated herself opposite her 
 father, with her lips pursed up from the affront. May akin 
 ate slowly, contrary to his wont, stirring his spoon around 
 in his plate of cabbage-soup for a long time, and staring 
 intently at the soup. 
 
 " If your littered-up mind could only understand your 
 father's thoughts! " he said suddenly, sighing with a sort 
 of whistling sound. 
 
 Liuboff cast her spoon aside, and asked, almost with tears 
 in her voice: 
 
 " Why do you insult me, papa? You see that — I am 
 alone! always alone! You must comprehend how dilBficult 
 life is for me — and you never utter a kind word to me. You 
 never say anything at all! But you are lonely also — and 
 things are hard for you . . I see that. You find it diffi- 
 cult to live . . but, — you yourself are to blame for that!! 
 You yourself . . ." 
 
 " Here's Balaam's ass taken to talking! " said the old man 
 with a sneer. " We-ell? What comes next? " 
 
 293 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 '' You are very proud, papa, of your brains . . .*' 
 
 *' What else?" 
 
 " That is not well . . and it gives me great pain . . 
 why do you repulse me? You know that I have no one but 
 you . . ." 
 
 Tears sprang to her eyes; her father noticed them, and 
 his face quivered. 
 
 "If you weren't a girl! " — he exclaimed. — "If you only 
 had some brains, — ^like Marfa the Burgomistress,^ for ex- 
 ample. . . . E-kh, Liuboff ! Then I'd . . . I wouldn't 
 care a fig for anybody — nor for Fomka . . . Come now, 
 don't roar! " 
 
 She wiped her eyes, and asked: 
 
 " What is it about Fomka? " 
 
 "He's rebellious . . Ha-ha! He says: 'Take all my 
 property from me, set me at liberty . .' He wants to save 
 his soul — in pot-houses. That's what he has taken into his 
 head — our Foma." 
 
 "What does it mean?" asked Liuboff hesitatingly. She 
 wanted to say that Foma's desire was good, that it was a 
 noble desire, if it were serious, but she was afraid of irritat- 
 ing her father by her remarks, and so she only looked in- 
 quiringly at him. 
 
 "What does it mean?" began Mayakin hotly, tremu- 
 lously — " It's either the result of his drinking to excess, 
 or else — which God forbid, — ^he gets it from his mother . . 
 the Old Ritualist element. . . . And if that fantastic 
 leaven be^ns to ferment in him, I shall have a lot of fighting 
 to do with him! I shall have great trouble with him. He 
 forcibly opposed me . . displayed great insolence, all of a 
 sudden . . . He's young . . there's not much crafti- 
 
 *The famous defender of NoTgorod, widow of Boretzky, Burgo- 
 master; end of the fifteenth century. — Translator, 
 
 294 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ness about him yet . . . He says: ' I'll drink up every- 
 thing. I'll squander everything . .' . . Til see you 
 drink it up! " 
 
 Mayakin raised his hand above his head, and clenching 
 his fist, gesticulated angrily with it. 
 
 " How dare you ? Who established the business, who got 
 it into shape? You? Your father . . he put forty years 
 of toil into it, but you want to destroy it? . . We are all 
 bound to go to our own places, here together, lined up like 
 a wall, there cautiously, one after the other, in goose-file 
 . . . We merchants, we trading people, have carried Eus- 
 sia on our shoulders for centuries, and are still carrying her 
 . . . Peter the Great was a Tzar of divine wisdom . . 
 he knew our value. How did he uphold us? He had Little 
 books printed, expressly to teach us business . . I have 
 a book, printed at his command, by Polidor Virgilii Urbin- 
 sky, about inventions, printed in the year 1720 . . yes! 
 One must understand it ... He did understand . . 
 and opened the way for us . . But now we stand on our 
 own feet . . . and we know our place, instinctively. 
 Open the way to us! We have laid the foundations of life 
 — we have laid ourselves in the earth instead of bricks . . . 
 now we must build the stories — grant us freedom of action! 
 That's the direction in which such as we must hold our 
 course . . That's where the problem lies . . but 
 Fomka does not understand this. He must understand — 
 and continue the work. He has his father's means. — I shall 
 die — mine will be joined to his: work, you puppy! But 
 he talks wildly. No, wait! I'll lead you to the proper 
 point! " 
 
 The old man panting with agitation, and with flashing 
 eyes, stared as angrily at his daughter as though Foma were 
 sitting in her seat. His agitation frightened Liuboff, but 
 
 295 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 she had not sufficient courage to stop her father, and she 
 gaaed in silence at his surly, gloomy visage. 
 
 " The road has heen laid out by our fathers — and you 
 must walk in it. Fifty years have I toiled — for what? That 
 after I am gone my business shall come to an end . . . 
 my children . . . My children! What children have I?" 
 
 The old man dropped his head sadly, his voice broke, 
 and dully, as though he were speaking somewhere inside 
 him, he said: 
 
 " One — is a convict . . . ruined . . the other — is 
 a drunkard, and there's but little hope of him . . . My 
 daughter ... To whom shall I hand over my labor be- 
 fore I die? I ought to have a son-in-law . . When 
 Fomka has got through fermenting, and is sharpened up, — 
 . . I'll give you to him, and with you all I have — that I 
 will! But Fomka isn't fit yet . . . And I see no other 
 in his stead . . How men have degenerated! In former 
 times, the people were of iron, but now they are of — india- 
 rubber! They all bend . . . and they have nothing, they 
 have no stability . . What does it mean? Why is it so? " 
 
 Mayakin gazed anxiously at his daughter. She remained 
 silent. 
 
 " Tell me," he asked her, " what it is you want? How, 
 in your opinion, ought one to live? What do you wish? 
 You have been educated, you have read — what do you 
 need?" 
 
 These questions showered down upon Liuboff's head quite 
 unexpectedly to her, and she became confused. She was 
 pleased that her father had asked her about the matter, 
 but she was afraid to answer him, lest she should lower her 
 prestige in his eyes. And so, collecting all her forces in a 
 way, as though she were preparing to spring across the 
 table, she said hesitatingly, and with a quiver in her voice: 
 
 296 
 
o 
 
 Fom^ Gordy^eff 
 
 " That everyone should be happy — and contented . • 
 that all men should be equal . . . and that all should 
 have an equal right to life . . to the good things of life 
 . . all men need freedom — as much as they do air . . 
 and in everything — equality! " 
 
 At the beginning of her agitated speech, her father gazed 
 into her face with an anxious curiosity in his eyes, but in 
 proportion as she hastily cast her words at him the expres- 
 sion of his eyes kept changing, and at last, he said to her 
 with calm contempt: 
 
 " I knew it: you're a gilded fool! " 
 
 She dropped her head, but immediately raised it again, 
 and exclaimed sadly: 
 
 " You say the same thing yourself: freedom . /' 
 
 "Hold your tongue, won't you!" roared the old man 
 roughly at her. — " You don't even perceive that which 
 forces itself to the outside plainly in every man . . . 
 How can all men be happy and equal, if each one wishes to 
 be above the other? Even a beggar has a pride of his own, 
 and always brags to others about something . . . Even 
 the little child wants to be first among his playmates . . 
 And no man ever gives way before another man — only fools 
 dream of such a thing . . Everyone has his own soul . . 
 and his own face . . only those who do not love their 
 souls and do not care for their faces can be planed down 
 to one size. Ekh, you fool! You've read a lot and gobbled 
 down a heap of trash . ." 
 
 Bitter reproach and biting scorn were expressed on the 
 old man's face. Pushing his chair back noisily from the 
 table, he sprang out of it, and, crossing his hands behind his 
 back, he began to run about the room with mincing steps, 
 shaking his head and muttering something to himself in a 
 vicious, hissing whisper. Liuboff, pale with emotion and 
 
 _297 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 anger, feeling herself stupid and helpless before him, lis- 
 tened to his whisper, and her heart beat anxiously. 
 
 " I am left alone . . alone . . Like Job . . 0, 
 Lord!— What shall I do?— A-lone! Ain't I clever? But 
 life has outwitted me . . What does it love? Whom 
 does it caress? It beats the good, and doesn't let the bad 
 escape . . . And no one can understand its justice." 
 
 The girl was grieved, to pain, for the old man; she was 
 seized with a terrible longing to help him; she wanted to 
 be of use to him. 
 
 As she watched him with burning eyes, she suddenly said 
 softly to him: 
 
 "Papa . . dear papa! Do not grieve . . surely, 
 Taras is still alive . . perhaps he . ." 
 
 Mayakin came to a sudden halt, as though rooted to the 
 spot, and slowly raised his head. 
 
 " The wood was bent in youth, it couldn't stand the 
 strain, and it's all the more likely to break in its old age . . 
 Well, nevertheless . . Taras is a blade of straw com- 
 pared to me, even now . . It's hardly likely that he's 
 any better than Foma . . Gordyeeff has some character 
 . . he has his father's audacity . . He can take a good 
 deal on his shoulders . . But Taraska . . you recalled 
 him in the nick of time . . so there! " 
 
 And the old man who, a moment before had been de- 
 pressed in spirit to the point of complaining, who had been 
 darting about the room, in his grief, like a mouse in a mouse- 
 trap, now walked firmly and composedly, with a careworn 
 countenance, to the table again, carefully placed his chair 
 before it, and sat down, saying: 
 
 " We must feel Taraska . . he is living in Usolye, at 
 some factory . . I heard of it from some merchants — 
 he's working in soda there, I believe . . I'll find out 
 exactly. I'll write . ." 
 
 298 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Let me write to him, papa?" entreated Liuboff softly, 
 trembling with joy, and flushing crimson. 
 
 " You ? " asked Mayakin, darting a hasty glance at her, 
 then he became silent, reflected, and said: 
 
 " You may! It is even better so . . Ask him if he 
 is married. Ask him how he is living? — Yes, and by the 
 way, 1^11 tell you when the time has come to write." 
 
 " You'd better be quick about it, papa! " said the girl. 
 
 " I'd better be quick about marrying you off . . I've 
 been casting my eyes on a red-haired fellow — the young 
 man appears not to be stupid . . He has been polished 
 up abroad, among other things." 
 
 "Is it Smolin, papa?" asked Liuboff, with anxiety and 
 curiosity. 
 
 " And if it is he — what then? " inquired Yakoff Taraso- 
 vitch in a business-like way. 
 
 "Nothing . . I don't know him," replied Liuboff 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 " We'll introduce you . . 'tis time, Liuboff, 'tis time! 
 Our hopes of Foma are poor — although I don't give him up 
 either." 
 
 " I do not reckon upon Foma. What is he to me ? " 
 
 " There's no use in your saying that. If you had had 
 more sense, perhaps he wouldn't have gone astray! . . 
 When I saw you together, I used to think: My lass is 
 winning a young fellow for h&rself ! 'Twill be a strong af- 
 fair! On the contrary, . . I didn't foresee right . . I 
 thought you would know what was to your own advantage, 
 without any orders from me. So I did, my lass! " said her 
 father, in a didactic voice. 
 
 She meditated, as she listened to his suggestive speech. 
 She was strong and healthy, and the idea of marriage had 
 entered her mind more and more frequently of late, for she 
 
 200 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 could see no other way of escape from her loneliness. The 
 longing to abandon her father and go away somewhere or 
 other, to study something, work at something, — she had 
 long since lived down, just as she had lived down, alone by 
 herself, many other longings, as acute but profound and ill- 
 defined. The various books which she had read, had left 
 behind them in her a muddy sediment, but, although this 
 had life about it, it was, nevertheless, the life of protoplasm. 
 From this sediment within the girl there had been de- 
 veloped a feeling of dissatisfaction with her life, a yearning 
 for personal independence, a desire to liberate herself from 
 her father's burdensome tutelage, — but she had not the 
 strength to put these desires into execution, nor a clear 
 conception of how they were to be realized. But nature 
 made its own suggestions, and more than once already, at 
 the sight of young mothers with their children in their 
 arms, the girl had felt within her a sad and offended 
 languor. At times, as she halted before her mirror, she 
 gazed with mournfulness at her plump, fresh face with dark 
 circles round the eyes reflected in it, and she felt sorry for 
 herself: she was conscious that life was avoiding her, for- 
 getting her somewhere on one side. Now, as she listened 
 to her father's remarks, she pictured to herself what sort of a 
 fellow this Smolin might be ? She had met him while he was 
 still a student in the gymnasium; he had then been covered 
 with freckles, snub-nosed, always neat, stately and tiresome. 
 He danced heavily and awkwardly, and talked uninterest- 
 ingly . . A long time had elapsed since then: he had 
 been abroad, had studied something there, — what was he 
 like now? From Smolin her thoughts leaped to her brother, 
 and with a sinking heart she thought: What answer would 
 he make to her letter? What was he like? The image of 
 her brother, as she pictured him to herself, shut off from 
 
 300 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 her both her father and Smolin, and she was already say- 
 ing to herself that, until she had met Taras, on no terms 
 whatever would she consent to marry, when her father sud- 
 denly shouted at her: 
 
 " Hey, Liubava! Why are you thoughtful? What about, 
 chiefly?" 
 
 " Nothing . . everything passes away so swiftly," re- 
 plied Liuboff with a smile. 
 
 " What passes swiftly? " 
 
 " Why, everything ... a week ago, it would have 
 been impossible to speak to you about Taras, but now . ." 
 
 " ^Tis necessity, my lass! Necessity is a power, it bends 
 a steel rod into a spring, — but the steel of stubbornness 
 . . . Taras — we'll have an eye on him! A man is of 
 value in proportion to his resistance to the power of life . . 
 if it doesn't wrest him, he wrests it to his own pattern, — 
 my respects to him! Permit me to shake your hand and 
 let's travel together on business! . . Ekh, I'm old . . 
 But how brisk life has become now! It increases in interest 
 with every year . . there's more and more savor to it! 
 I'd like to go on living forever, I'd like to go on acting 
 forever! " 
 
 The old man smacked his lips with gusto, rubbed his 
 hands, and his little eyes gleamed with greed. 
 
 " But there you are — thin-blooded little folks! You 
 haven't grown up yet, but you are already overgrown and 
 live on wizened, like an old radish . . But the idea that 
 life is becoming more and more beautiful all the time, is 
 inaccessible to you. I have lived sixty-seven years on this 
 earth, and am already standing on the brink of the grave, 
 but I see: in the olden time, when I was young, there were 
 fewer flowers on earth, and the flowers were less beautiful. 
 Everything is adorning itself! What buildings have come 
 
 301 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 into vogue! Divers implements, of trade . . Steamers! 
 A lot of brains has been put into it all! you look — you 
 think: * Hey there, you people, you are smart! like a lump 
 of buckwheat porridge in the mouth! They've seized hold 
 of life cleverly ' . . Everything is good, everything is 
 agreeable . . . only you, our heirs, — are destitute of 
 every live feeling! Any little charlatan from among the 
 petty burghers is smarter than you . . . There's that 
 . . Ezhoff — what's he? But he represents judgment upon 
 us . . and even upon all life . . he's gifted with bold- 
 ness. But you — pshaw! You live like beggars . . in 
 merriment you are beasts, in unhappiness — an abomination! 
 Rotten people — you ought to have fire injected into your 
 veins — you ought to have your skins flayed off you, and 
 salt sprinkled on the raw flesh — then you'd jump, I think! " 
 Yakoff Tarasovitch, small, wrinkled, and bony, with 
 black stumps of teeth in his mouth, bald and swarthy, as 
 though tanned with the heat of life and smoked in it, trem- 
 bled all over in vehement agitation, showering jarring, con- 
 temptuous remarks on his daughter — who was young, well- 
 grown, and plump. She gazed at him with guilty eyes, 
 smiling in perturbation, and in her heart her respect for the 
 lively old man, so persistent in his desires, kept growing and 
 growing. 
 
 But Foma continued to rove about and talk wildly, spend- 
 ing his days and nights in eating-houses and dives, and 
 adopting more and more deeply a contemptuously-inimical 
 demeanor toward the people who surrounded him. At 
 times, they evoked in him a melancholy yearning to dis- 
 cover among them some support for his malignant feeling, 
 to meet a man both worthy and daring, who would put him 
 to shame by his burning words of reproof. With every re- 
 
 302 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 currence, this yearning sprang up in him more and more 
 clearly, — it was a desire for help on the part of a man who 
 felt that he had gone astray and was going to destruction. 
 
 " Brethren! " he exclaimed once, as he sat at table in an 
 eating-house, half-intoxicated, and surrounded by some 
 shady and greedy people or other, who ate and drank as 
 much as though they had not had a bite in their mouths for 
 many a long day previously. — " Brethren! I'm disgusted 
 with you, — I'm tired of you! Thrash me — turn me out! 
 You are scoundrels, but you are more attached to one an- 
 other than you are to me . . . Why? Surely, I am also 
 a drunkard and a scoundrel . . but an outsider for you! 
 I see that I am an outsider. You drink at my expense, and 
 you privately don't care a fig for me — I feel it! Why? " 
 
 As a matter of course, they could not treat him otherwise: 
 not one of them, probably, in the depths of his soul, regard- 
 ed himself as lower than he, but he was rich, — that was 
 what prevented their treating him more as a comrade, and 
 he was always saying sneeringly-wrathful things, — and that 
 embarrassed them. Moreover, he was strong and quick to 
 use his fists, — they did not dare to say a word in contradic- 
 tion of him. But that was precisely what he wanted, he 
 more and more violently longed to have some one of them, 
 whom he despised, stand up against him, face to face, and 
 say something strong to him, that, like a lever, would turn 
 him away from this down-hill road, of whose danger he was 
 conscious — whose mire he saw, and was filled with impotent 
 loathing for it. 
 
 And Foma found what he needed. 
 
 One day, exasperated by lack of attention to him, he 
 shouted at his boon-companions: 
 
 " You bugs! Shut up, every one of you! Who is it that 
 provides you with drink and food? Have you forgotten? 
 
 303 
 
Foma Gordy6eff 
 
 I'll reduce you to order! I'll teach you to respect me! Jail- 
 birds! I say — hush, all of you! " 
 
 They did become silent, in fact, being frightened, no 
 doubt, at the possibility of losing his good-will, or, possibly, 
 afraid that he, that healthy and powerful wild-beast, would 
 thrash them. For a minute they sat silent, concealing their 
 anger at him, bending low over their plates, and endeavor- 
 ing to hide from him their alarm and confusion. Foma 
 surveyed them with self-satisfaction, and, gratified by their 
 slavish obedience, he said, boastfully: 
 
 "Aha! You are tamed down . . that's right! I'm 
 strict! I'm . ." 
 
 " A booby! " rang out a calm, loud exclamation. 
 
 "Wha-at?" roared Foma, springing from his chair. 
 —"Who said that?" 
 
 Then, at the end of the table, there rose up a strange, 
 shabby man, tall, in a long frock-coat, with a heap of iron- 
 gray hair on his enormous head. His hair was stiff, and 
 stood out in all directions in thick tufts, his face was sallow, 
 cleanly shaved, with a large hooked nose. He struck Foma 
 as resembling the swab with which steamer-decks are 
 washed, and this amused the half-intoxicated young fellow. 
 
 " Go-od," he said, with a grin. " What are you snarling 
 at, hey? Do you know who I am? " 
 
 The man, with the gesture of a tragic actor, stretched out 
 toward Foma his hand, with long, flexible fingers, such as 
 jugglers have, and said, in a thick, hoarse bass voice: 
 
 " You — are the rotten illness of your father, who, al- 
 though he was a thief, was a worthy man, nevertheless, in 
 comparison with you." 
 
 Fomd panted for breath with surprise and wrath, he 
 opened his eyes very widely and fiercely, and made no reply, 
 being unable to find an answer to this insolence. But the 
 
 304 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 man, standing opposite him, encouraged, went on in a hoarse 
 voice, ferociously rolling his large but faded and swollen 
 eyes: 
 
 " You demand from us respect for yourself — ^you fool! 
 How have you deserved it? AVho are you? A drunkard, 
 who has drunk up his father's fortune . . You savage! 
 You ought to be proud that I, a celebrated artist, a dis- 
 interested and faithful servitor of art, drink from the same 
 bottle with you! That bottle contains sandal- wood and 
 molasses, impregnated with snuff, but you think it is port- 
 wine. It is your commission to the rank of a savage and an 
 ass!" 
 
 " Akh, you jailbird! " roared Foma, rushing at the artist. 
 But they seized him and held him back. As he wrestled 
 in the embrace of the men who had clutched hold of him, 
 he was forced to listen without replying, while the man who 
 resembled a swab thundered, in his thick and heavy bass: 
 
 " You have flung a two-kopek piece at men, out of the 
 stolen ruble and fancy yourself a hero? You are a two- 
 fold thief: you have stolen the ruble, and now you are 
 stealing gratitude for your two kopeks! — But I won't give 
 it to you! I, who have devoted my whole life to the de-* 
 tection of vice, I stand before you and say to you boldly: 
 * You're a fool and a beggar, for you are too rich! ' That is 
 wisdom: all rich men are beggars. That is how the cele- 
 brated verse-writer Rimsky-Kannibalsky serves the truth! " 
 
 Foma was now standing quietly in the midst of the men 
 who surrounded him closely, and listened to the verse- 
 writer's thunderous harangue, which now aroused in him 
 a sensation that his sore spot was being scratched, and there- 
 by the sharp itch of pain was allayed. Those present were 
 agitated: some endeavored to stop the torrent of the verse- 
 writer's eloquence, others tried to lead Foma away some- 
 
 305 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 where. He pushed them aside in silence, and listened, more 
 and more engrossed in the keen enjoyment of humiliation 
 which he felt in the presence of these people. The pain 
 which the verse-writer's words caused him, soothed the pain 
 of his soul more and more, but the man thundered on, be- 
 coming intoxicated with the impunity of his condemnation: 
 
 "You think that you are the lord of life? You are — 
 the base slave of the ruble." 
 
 Some one present kept yawning audibly, and, probably 
 was displeased at himself for so doing, for every time he 
 yawned, he swore: 
 
 " 0, the dev-il! '^ 
 
 But compassion for Foma awoke in an unshaven man 
 with a fat face, or he grew tired of being present at thia 
 scene, and flourishing his hands, he drawled plaintively: 
 
 " Ge-en-tle-men! Sto-op it! It isn't ni-ice! For we are 
 all sinners! Decidedly, all — believe me! " 
 
 " Come, go on! " muttered Foma. " Say all! I won't 
 touch you . ." 
 
 The mirrors on the walls reflected this drunken turmoil, 
 and the people reflected in them seemed still more repulsive 
 and disgusting than they were in reality. 
 
 " I won't! " shouted the verse-writer, — " I won't cast the 
 pearls of truth and of my passion before you . ." 
 
 He broke away, and throwing back his head, walked 
 toward the door, with tragic strides. 
 
 " Nonsense! " said Foma, trying to follow him. — " Stop! 
 You have disquieted me — now you must soothe me." 
 
 They seized him, surrounded him, and shouted some- 
 thing at him, but he darted forward, overturning them all. 
 When he encountered tangible obstacles in his path, the 
 conflict with them calmed him, concentrating all his feel- 
 ings into one ardent effort — to overthrow what impeded 
 
 306 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 him. And now, after lie had thrust aside all the people, 
 and rushed out into the street, he was already less excited. 
 As he stood on the sidewalk, he cast a glance at the street, 
 and with mortification asked himself: 
 
 " How could he permit that swab to jeer at him, and 
 revile his father as a thief ? " 
 
 All around him everything was dark and still; the moon 
 was shining brightly, and a light, refreshing breeze was 
 blowing. Presenting his face to the cooling zephyr, Foma, 
 with swift strides walked against the wind, timidly glancing 
 about him, and desirous that no one from the party in the 
 eating-house should follow him: he understood that he had 
 lowered himself in the eyes of all those people. He walked 
 on reflecting to what a pass he had come: some swindler 
 had publicly reviled him with infamous words, and he, the 
 son of a celebrated merchant, had not been able, in any 
 way, to pay him off for his derision. 
 
 " That's just what I need! " thought Foma, dejectedly, 
 with malicious delight. — " That's just what is needed! 
 Don't lose your wits — understand . . And, then again, 
 I brought it on myself . . I provoked them all . . So 
 now, — take the consequences! " These thoughts rendered 
 him painfully sorry for himself. Impressed and sobered 
 by them, he strolled on aimlessly through the streets, per- 
 sistently seeking in himself something strong, something 
 firm . . But everything within him was obscure, and 
 merely oppressed his heart, assuming no definite forms. As 
 in an unpleasant dream, he reached the river, seated him- 
 self on some beams on the shore, and began to stare at the 
 dark, tranquil water, covered with tiny ripples. Calmly, 
 and almost noiselessly flowed the broad, mighty river, bear- 
 ing on its bosom enormous burdens. It was all laden with 
 black vessels, signal lights, and stars were reflected in it« 
 
 307 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 waters; light little wavelets washed caressingly and with a 
 soft murmur against the shore, directly beneath Foma's 
 feet. . . . The heavens inspired melancholy; a feeling 
 of isolation took possession of Foma. 
 
 " 0, Lord Jesus! " he thought, gazing sadly at the sky. — 
 " What a queer fellow I am . . . There's nothing in 
 me, . . God put nothing in me . . Of what use is such 
 a man as I? 0, Lord Jesus! " * 
 
 Foma felt somewhat relieved at the recollection of Christ, 
 his loneliness seemed alleviated, somehow, and sighing with 
 the full power of his breast, Foma began to talk to God 
 without words: 
 
 " 0, Lord Jesus! . , . Some other men also do not 
 understand, but they think they know everything, and so 
 it is easier for them to live . . . But there is no excuse 
 for me . . Here it is night . . but I am alone, and I 
 have nowhere to go . . I cannot say anything to any- 
 body, . . I love no one . . Only my god-father, and 
 he has no soul . . If Thou wouldst only punish him; 
 in some way! . . He thinks that there is no one on earth 
 wiser or better than himself . . and Thou sufferest this 
 . . And I also suffer it . . If only some misfortune were 
 sent to me . . if I could but fall ill . . . But I am 
 well, I am . . like iron ... I drink, I carouse — I live 
 in filth . . . but my body does not even grow rusty, 
 and only my soul aches ... Lord! To what end is 
 such a life?" 
 
 Timid thoughts of protest made their way, one after an- 
 other, into the mind of the lonely, erring man, but the 
 silence around him only became more and more dense, and 
 
 'Foma betrays that he is an "Old Ritualist" by pronouncing it: 
 " Isus," instead of "lisus," in the manner of the State Church. — 
 Translator, 
 
 308 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 the night grew darker and darker. Not far from the shore 
 lay a boat at anchor; it rocked from side to side, and some- 
 thing in it kept creaking, exactly like a groan. 
 
 " How am I to free myself from this sort of life? " medi- 
 tated Foma, gazing at the boat. — "And what occupation 
 is assigned to me? Everyone works . . ." 
 
 And, all of a sudden, he was struck with an idea which 
 was great to him: 
 
 " And hard labor is cheaper than light labor! One man 
 puts the whole of himself into his work for a ruble, and 
 another earns a thousand with his finger alone . ." 
 
 This thought aroused him pleasantly: it seemed to him " 
 that here he had discovered still another fraud in the lives, 
 of men, another deception which they concealed . . .rf 
 He recalled one of his stokers — old Ilya, who, for twenty 
 kopeks stood watch over the furnace out of his turn, and 
 worked for his comrade eight hours at a stretch, in the 
 suffocating heat. One day, having fallen ill from over-work, 
 he was lounging on the bow of the steamer, and when Foma 
 asked him why he was thus working himself to death, Ilya 
 replied roughly and sullenly: 
 
 "Because every kopek is more to me than a hundred 
 rubles are to you, that's why." 
 
 And having said this, the. old man heavily turned Ms 
 body, burning with fever, with its back to Foma. 
 
 Having paused over the stoker, his thought suddenly, 
 and without effort, embraced all those petty people who 
 toiled at hard labor. It was strange — why did they live? 
 What satisfaction was it to them to live on the earth? All 
 they did was to perform their dirty, arduous toil, eat poorly, 
 they were miserably clad, addicted to drunkenness . . One 
 was sixty years old but he still toiled side by side with 
 young men . . And they all presented themselves to 
 
 309 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Foma's imagination as a huge heap of worms, who were 
 swarming on the earth merely to eat. One after another 
 there recurred to his memory his disagreements with these 
 people, their remarks concerning life, — remarks which had 
 been sometimes sneering and mournful, at other times 
 hopelessly morose, — their wailing songs . . . And then 
 he remembered how, one day, Efim had said to the clerk 
 in the office who hired the sailors: 
 
 " The Lopukhin peasants have come to get a job, so 
 don't you give them more than ten rubles a month. Their 
 village was burned to the ground this summer, and now 
 they are in dire want — they'll work for ten rubles." 
 
 As he sat on the beams, Foma rocked his whole body to 
 and fro, and out of the gloom of the river in front of him 
 various human forms silently presented themselves — sailors, 
 stokers, clerks, waiters from the eating-houses, half-intoxi- 
 cated, painted women, habitual frequenters of the restau- 
 rants. They floated in the air like shadows, a damp and 
 brackish odor emanated from them, and their dark, dense 
 mass rolled onward as slowly, noiselessly, and tumultuously 
 as autumnal clouds across the sky. The tranquil plashing 
 of the waves poured into his soul like music sighing mourn- 
 fully. Far away, somewhere on the other bank of the river, 
 burned a bonfire; enclosed on all sides by the darkness, it 
 was, at times, almost engulfed by it, — and through the 
 gloom flickered a reddish spot, barely visible to the eye. 
 But now the fire flared up again — the darkness gave way 
 before it, and it could be seen flaming upwards. And again 
 it was extinguished . . . 
 
 " Lord, Lord! '' thought Foma painfully and bitterly, 
 as anguish wrung his heart ever more powerfully. — " And 
 here am I, also, — entirely alone, like that fire. Only, there 
 is no light from me, nothing but stifling vapor . . . 
 
 310 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 deadly fumes. I wish I could meet a sensible man . . I 
 should have some one to talk with . . It is utterly im- 
 possible for me to live alone . . I can do nothing . . . 
 I wish I could meet a man . .'' 
 
 Far away, on the river, two large, crimson lights made 
 their appearance, and above them a third. A dull roar 
 proceeded thence, and something black moved towards 
 Foma. 
 
 " A steamer going down the river," he said to himself. 
 *' There may be more than a hundred people aboard her, 
 and . . I have nothing in common with a single one of 
 them . . They all know whither they are floating . . . 
 They all have interests . . every one of them, I suppose, 
 understands what he wants . . but what do I want? And 
 who will tell me? Where is there such a man? " 
 
 The lights of the steamer were reflected in the river, and 
 quivered there, the illuminated water flowed away from it 
 with a dull murmur, and the steamer looked like a huge 
 black fish with fiery fins. 
 
 A few days passed after this distressing night, and then 
 Foma started on another spree. It came about unexpect- 
 edly, and against his own desire. He had made up his mind 
 to refrain from drinking, and had gone to dine in one of 
 the expensive restaurants of the town, in the hope that there 
 he would meet none of his familiar boon-companions, who 
 always selected for their debauches the cheaper and less re- 
 spectable places. But his calculation proved to be incor- 
 rect: he immediately ran into the joyously-friendly em- 
 brace of the vodka distiller who had taken Sasha as his 
 mistress. 
 
 This man ran up to Foma, embraced him, and burst into 
 a cheery laugh. 
 
 " Here's a meeting for you! This is the third day I have 
 
 311 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 been taking my meals here, and it's tiresome in this op- 
 pressive loneliness . . There isn't a decent man in the 
 whole town, so yesterday I struck up an acquaintance with 
 the newspaper men . . I must say, they are a jolly set 
 . . though, at first, they played the aristocrats, and kept 
 sniffing at me, but afterwards, we all got smashing drunk 
 . ., And it shall be the same to-day — I swear it, by the 
 fortune of my father! I'll introduce you to them . . 
 There's one feuilleton-writer among them, you know — the 
 one who lauded you that time — what's his name? He's an 
 amusing little fellow — devil take him! — Do you know — 
 you ought to hire one of that sort for your own use ? ! Give 
 him so much, and order him to attend on you — ' cheer me 
 up! ' That's a fine idea, isn't it? I had a verse-writer in my 
 employ — and he made things very amusing, do you know 
 . . . I used to order him ' Eimsky! make some coup- 
 lets! ' He'd begin, — and I tell you plainly, — he'd make 
 you almost split with laughing. — It's a pity, he ran away 
 somewhere . . Have you dined ? " 
 
 "Not yet. — And how is Alexandra?" — inquired Foma, 
 somewhat stunned by the loud speech of this tall, free- 
 mannered young fellow, with a red face and motley gar- 
 ments. 
 
 " We-ell, you know," — returned the latter, with a frown, 
 — " That Alexandra of yours is — a trash-woman! She's an 
 obscure sort of person . . it's dull with her, devil take 
 her! She's as cold as a frog, brr! I'm going to discharge 
 her." 
 
 " She is cold, — that's true," said Foma, and became 
 thoughtful. 
 
 " Every man must manage his own business in the best 
 possible way," said the vodka-distiller's son didactically, — 
 " and if you become a man's mistress, you must do your duty 
 
 312 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 in the very best way . . if you are a respectable woman 
 . . Well, sir, shall we have a drink of vodka?" 
 
 They had a drink. And, of course, they drank too much. 
 
 Towards evening, a large and noisy party assembled in 
 the hotel, and Foma, drunk, but sad and quiet, said to them, 
 with twisting tongue: 
 
 "This is the way I understand it: some people are 
 worms, others are sparrows . . . The sparrows are the 
 merchants . . . They peck the worms . . That's their 
 appointed task . . . They are necessary . . But I am 
 of no use — neither are all of you . . We live without 
 comparison — and without justification . . utterly at hap- 
 hazard . . And we aren't needed in the least. But for 
 what are those fellows, — and all people? We must under- 
 stand that. Comrades! We shall all break! . . by heaven 
 we shall! And why shall we break? Because of the super- 
 fluous that is always in us . . it's in our soul . . and 
 our whole life is superfluous! Comrades! I weep . . . 
 of what use am I? . . Kill me . . so that I may die 
 . . I want to die . ." 
 
 And he shed copious, drunken tears. A fuddled little 
 black-visaged man sat down beside him, and began to re- 
 mind him of something, tried to kiss him, and shouted, as 
 he pounded with his knife on the table: 
 
 "He's right! Hold your tongues! I'm wetting down 
 the word. Give the word to the elephants and mammoths 
 of the disorder of life! The raw Eussian conscience makes 
 saintly speeches! Eoar away, Gordyeeff! Eoar at every- 
 thing! . ." And again he clutched hold of Foma's shoul- 
 der, and flung himself on his breast, raising to Foma's face 
 his round, black, closely-cropped head, which waggled in- 
 cessantly on his shoulders in every direction, so that Foma 
 could not get a look at his face, waxed angry with him on 
 
 313 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 that account, and kept pushing him away, shouting in 
 
 irritation: 
 
 "Keep off! Where's your ugly phiz? Be off with you! " 
 Deafening drunken laughter encircled them, and the 
 
 vodka-distiller's son, panting with mirth, roared hoarsely 
 
 to some one: 
 
 " Come to me! A hundred rubles a month, board and 
 
 lodging! My word of honor! Come! My word of honor! 
 
 Spit on the newspaper . . I'll give you more! " 
 
 And everything swayed from side to side, with smooth, 
 wave-like movements. The people now receded from Foma, 
 now approached him, the ceiling descended, and the floor 
 rose upwards, and it seemed to Foma that the next moment 
 it would flatten him, crush him. Then he was conscious 
 that he was floating off somewhere, on an illimitably-broad 
 and tumultuous river, and staggering as he stood, he began 
 to shout aloud in terror: 
 
 " "WTiither are we floating? Where is the captain? " 
 
 The answer to him was the loud, senseless laughter of 
 the drunken men, and the sharp, repulsive cry of the black- 
 visaged man: 
 
 " Right, sir! We're all without a rudder, without sails 
 . . . Where's the captain? Wha-at? Ha-ha-ha! " 
 
 Foma recovered from this nightmare in a tiny chamber 
 with two windows, and the first thing his eyes lighted upon 
 was a dead tree. It stood under the window; its thick 
 trunk, stripped of its bark, and with a rotten heart, impeded 
 the entrance of light into the room; its gnarled, black, leaf- 
 less branches spread out mournfully and impotently in the 
 air, and waved about softly, with a piteous squeak. Eain 
 was falling, rivulets of water were pouring down the panes, 
 
 314 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 and could be heard falling from the roof to the ground 
 and sobbing there. With this plaintive sound was mingled 
 another, a shrill one, the constantly interrupted, hurried 
 Bcreech of a pen over paper, and a sort of spasmodic growl. 
 
 With difficulty turning his aching, heavy head on the 
 pillow, Foma perceived the little black-visaged man, sitting 
 at a table, swiftly scratching with his pen on paper, shak- 
 ing his round head with approbation, twisting it from side 
 to side, shrugging his shoulders, with all his tiny body, — 
 clothed only in drawers and night-shirt — moving inces- 
 santly on his chair, as though it were too hot for him to sit 
 on, yet he could not rise, for some reason or other. His 
 left hand, thin and slender, now vigorously wiped the per- 
 spiration from his brow, now made incomprehensible signs 
 in the air; his bare feet shuffled on the floor, one of the 
 sinews in his neck kept jerking, and even his ears were in 
 motion. When his face was turned towards Foma, Foma 
 saw thin Hps, which were whispering* something, a pointed 
 nose which drooped over his scanty mustache, and this tiny 
 mustache twitched upward every time the man smiled . . 
 His face was sallow, swollen, wrinkled, and his black, viva- 
 cious, brilliant little eyes seemed not to belong to it. When 
 he grew weary of gazing at him, Foma began slowly to cast 
 his eyes about the room. Upon large nails, driven into its 
 walls, hung bundles of newspapers, which made the walls 
 look as though they were covered with tumors. At some 
 period or other, white paper had been pasted on the ceiling; 
 it was puffed out like bladders, and torn, it had peeled off, 
 and hung in dirty fragments; clothing, boots, books, torn 
 bits of paper, strewed the floor . . The whole room pro- 
 duced the impression of having been scalded with boiling 
 water. 
 
 The little man flung aside his pen, bent over the table, 
 
 315 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 drummed briskly on the edge of it with his fingers, and 
 began to sing softly, in a weak little voice: 
 
 " Ta-ake the drum, and have no fearl 
 Ki-iss the vivandiere more loudly I 
 Of profoundest science that is the sense^ 
 'Tie the sense of a-all philosophy I " 
 
 Foma sighed heavily, and said: 
 
 " Can't I have a drink of seltzer water? " 
 
 "Aha!'' exclaimed the little man, and springing from 
 his chair, he found himself beside the broad divan, covered 
 with oil-cloth, whereon Foma was lying. — " Good morning, 
 chum! Seltzer water? Yes! With brandy, or plain?" 
 
 " Better with brandy," said Foma, shaking the dry, hot 
 hand which was extended to him, and gazing intently into 
 the face of the little man. 
 
 " Egorovna ! " the latter shouted through the door, and 
 turning to Foma, he inquired: " Don't you recognize me, 
 Foma Ignatievitch? " 
 
 "I remember something . . as though we had met 
 before . ." 
 
 " That meeting lasted for four years — ^but that was long 
 ago!" Ezhoff . ." ' M 
 
 "Heavens!" cried Foma with amazement, raising him- 
 self on the divan. — " Is it really you? " 
 
 " I myself, my dear fellow, can hardly believe it, at times, 
 but it's an actual fact — there's something which makes doubt 
 bound back like an india-rubber ball from iron." 
 
 Ezhoff's face became absurdly distorted, and his hands, 
 for some reason, began to fumble at his breast. 
 
 " "We-e-ell! " drawled Foma. " How old you have grown! 
 Ai-a'i-ai! How old are you? " 
 
 " Thirty." 
 
 316 
 
Foma Gordy6eff 
 
 " You look fully fifty . . lean, yellow . . Evidently, 
 it is not sweet to live ? And you drink, I see . . .'* 
 
 Foma felt sorry to see his merry, alert school-mate so 
 worn out, and Hving in this dog-hole, which seemed to be 
 swollen from burns. He stared at him, winking sadly, and 
 saw that Ezhoff^s face kept twitching constantly, while his 
 little eyes blazed with irritation. Ezhoff was uncorking a 
 bottle of seltzer-water, and thus occupied, maintained si- 
 lence, holding the bottle tight between his knees and strain- 
 ing in the effort to extract the cork. And his weakness also 
 touched Fomd. 
 
 " We-ell, life has robbed you . . Yet you were well- 
 educated . . Evidently, man gets but Httle help from 
 the sciences," — said Godyeeff thoughtfully. 
 
 " Drink! '* said Ezhoff, fairly turning pale with fatigue, 
 and handing him a glass. Then he mopped his forehead, 
 seated himself on the divan beside Foma, and began: 
 
 "Don't attack science! Science is a divine beverage 
 . . . but up to the present time, it has not got through 
 fermenting, and is unfit for use, like vodka which has not 
 been clarified from fusel oil. Science is not yet ready for 
 man's happiness, my friend . . . and all that living peo- 
 ^ pie who use it get out of it is headaches . . that's the 
 state of the case with you and me just at present . . . 
 'Why do you drink so rashly? " 
 
 " I ? . . But what am I to do ? " asked Foma, laughing. 
 
 Ezhoff stared at Foma searchingly, with his eyes puckered 
 up, and said: 
 
 " Taking your question in connection with all you bab- 
 bled last night, I assume, from my troubled soul, that you 
 also, my friend, do not find a jolly Hfe very jolly . ." 
 
 " Ekh! " sighed Foma gravely, as he rose from the divan. 
 — "What is my Hfe like? Something outrageous . . I 
 
 317 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 live alone . . I understand nothing. — And I long for 
 something. I want to spit in contempt on everything, and 
 sink down somewhere, out of sight! I'd like to run away 
 from everything . . . I'm hored! " 
 
 " This is curious! " said Ezhoff, rubbing his hands, and 
 whirling completely round. — " This is curious, if it is true 
 and deep, for it proves that the holy spirit of dissatisfaction 
 \ with life has made its way even into the bed-chambers of 
 I the merchant-class ... to the dead of soul, drowned 
 in greasy cabbage-soup, in lakes of tea, and other liquids 
 . . You must expound all that to me in proper order . . 
 Then, my dear fellow, I will write a romance." 
 
 " I have been told that you have already written some- 
 thing about me? " asked Foma, with curiosity, and again he 
 attentively scrutinized his old chum, unable to understand 
 how he, so pitiful a creature, could write anything. 
 
 " Yes, I have! Did you read it? " 
 
 " No, I did not have the chance . ." 
 
 " But what were you told? " 
 
 " That you abused me roundly." 
 
 " Hm . . Wouldn't it interest you to read it for your- 
 self ? " — persisted Ezhoff, staring point-blank at Gordyeeff. 
 
 " I'll read it! " Foma said to encourage him, feeling em- 
 barrassed in the presence of Ezhoff, and that Ezhoff was 
 offended by such treatment of his writings. — " In fact, it 
 must be interesting, if it is about me, . ." he added, with a 
 kindly smile at his comrade. 
 
 But, as he said this, he did not feel any interest whatever, 
 and spoke thus only out of compassion for Ezhoff. What 
 he felt was something entirely different: he wanted to find 
 out what sort of a man Ezhoff was, and why he had become 
 so worn-out? 
 
 This encounter had given birth in him to a tranquil and 
 
 318 
 
Fomi Gordy^efif 
 
 kindly sentiment, had evoked memories of his childhood, 
 and they now flickered through his memory, — flickered like 
 tiny, unassuming little lights, timidly shining at him from 
 the far-away past. 
 
 Ezhoff went to the table, on which already stood a boil- 
 ing samovar, and silently poured out two glasses of tea as 
 strong as tar, and said to Foma: 
 
 " Come and drink tea . . And tell me about your- 
 self/' 
 
 " I have nothing to tell . . I have seen nothing in life 
 . . My life is empty! You had better tell me about your- 
 self — for I think you know more than I do . ." 
 
 Ezhoff pondered, never ceasing to twist his whole body 
 about and to whirl his head. In meditation, only his face 
 became motionless, — all the wrinkles on it collected together 
 around his eyes, and encircled them, as it were, with rays, 
 but this made the eyes sink still deeper under the brow. 
 
 " "We-ell, my dear fellow, I have seen and I know a thing 
 or two . . /' he began, shaking his head. " And I even 
 know more than I ought to, and to know more than is 
 necessary, is as injurious to a man as not to know that 
 which it is indispensable that one should know . . . 
 Tell you how I have lived? Yes — at least, I will try. I 
 have never told anyone about myself, . . . because I 
 never have excited interest in anyone ... It wounds 
 a man's feelings greatly to live in the world without excit- 
 ing people's interest . . ! " 
 
 "I see by your face, and by everything else, that you 
 have not found life easy! " said Foma, feeling pleased that, 
 to all appearances, his comrade had not found life sweet 
 any more than himself. 
 
 Ezhoff swallowed his tea at one gulp, dashed the glass 
 down on the saucer, put his feet on the edge of a chair, and 
 
 319 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 clasping his knees with his hands, he laid his chin on them. 
 In this attitude, small and flexible as rubber, he began: 
 
 " Student Satchkoff, who was my teacher, and is now a 
 doctor of medicine, a vint ^ player, and a sneak, used to 
 say to me, when I learned my lesson well: * That's a fine 
 fellow, Kolya! You're a gifted lad . . . We plebeians, 
 poor and simple people, from life's back-yard, must study, 
 and study, in order to stand at the head of all . . . Rus- 
 sia needs clever and honest men, strive to be such an one, 
 and you will be the master of your fate, and a useful mem- 
 ber of society. On us plebeians now rest the best hopes of 
 the country, we have been called to introduce into it light, 
 the truth . . .' and so forth. I believed him, the beast. 
 And about twenty years have elapsed since that time — ^we 
 plebeians have grown up, but we have not taken out any 
 sense, and we haven't introduced any light into life. Rus- 
 sia is still suffering, as before, with her chronic ailment — a 
 superabundance of scoundrels — and we plebeians gladly fill 
 up their dense ranks. My teacher, I repeat — was a lackey, 
 an impersonal, taciturn creature, who takes his orders from 
 the mayor of the town, — ^but I am a clown in the service of 
 society. Glory pursues me, my dear fellow, here in town. — 
 I walk along the street, and I hear a cabman say to his fel- 
 low-cabby: * There goes Ezhoff ! He snarls viciously — the 
 flies are biting him I' So-o then! To this also must one 
 attain." 
 
 Ezhoff's face wrinkled up into a caustic grimace, and he 
 laughed in a noiseless way, as though with his lips only. 
 His speech was incomprehensible to Foma, and, in order 
 to say something, he remarked at random: 
 
 " You didn't attain to what you aimed at." 
 
 * Vint ia Russian whist. — Translator 
 320 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Yes, I thought I should grow up bigger. And so I 
 would! So I would, I say! " 
 
 He sprang from his chair, and ran about the room, ex- 
 claiming briskly and in a squeak: 
 
 " But, in order to keep oneself pure for life, and in 
 r* order to be a free man in life — vast powers are required!* 
 ) I had them . . I had flexibility, dexterity . . I wasted 
 (^ all that merely with the object of learning something . . . 
 which is perfectly useless to me now, I squandered the whole 
 of myself in order to treasure up something within myself 
 ... 0, the devil! I, and many others along with me, 
 robbed ourselves for the sake of amassing something towards 
 life . . . Just think of it, — wishing to make of myself ' 
 a valuable man, I rendered my personality very cheap . . 
 In order to study, and not perish with hunger, for six con- 
 secutive years I taught reading and writing to some block- 
 heads, and endured a mass of meanness from various papas 
 and mammas, who humiliated me without the slightest com- 
 punction. — As I earned enough for bread and tea only, I 
 had no time to earn enough for boots, and applied to a 
 philanthropic society with a most humble request for aid 
 . . . in my poverty ... If the benevolent people 
 ^ could only reckon up how much spirit they kill in a man 
 by supporting the life of the body! If they only knew, 
 that every ruble which they give for bread, contains ninety- j 
 nine kopeks of poison for the soul! If they could only be 
 torn in pieces by the excess of the kindness and pride which 
 they get out of their sacred activity! There is not on the 
 earth a more disgusting and repulsive man than the one 
 who bestows alms, as there is not a more unhappy man than 
 he who accepts it! " 
 
 Ezhoff staggered about the room like a drunken man, 
 seized with madness, and the paper under his feet rustled, 
 
 321 
 
Fomi Gordy^eff 
 
 tore, flew into strips. He gnashed his teeth, twisted his 
 head about, his arms dangled in the air like the broken 
 wings of a bird, and it seemed as though he were being 
 boiled in a kettle of hot water. Foma stared at him with a 
 strange, two-fold feeling: he was sorry for Ezhoff, and it 
 pleased him to see how he was tortured. 
 
 " I'm not alone . . he is in straits also," thought Foma, 
 as an accompaniment to his speech. But something in 
 Ezhoff's throat was jingling like broken glass, and squeak- 
 ing like a hinge that needs oiling. 
 
 " Poisoned by people's kindness, I came to grief through 
 jthe capacity possessed by every poor devil — the capacity for 
 'reconciling himself with httle, in the expectation of much 
 . . 0! do you know? — more people perish through lack 
 of setting a proper valuation upon themselves, than through 
 consumption, and that is why, possibly, leaders of the masses 
 serve as district police captains! " 
 
 " Devil take the police captains! " said Foma, waving his 
 hand. ^^ Go ahead about yourself . ." 
 
 "About myself? I — that's all there is!" exclaimed 
 Ezhoff, halting in the middle of the room, and beating his 
 hands against his breast . . — " All I could accomplish I 
 have accomplished . . I have attained to the rank of fun- 
 maker for the public, — and I can do no more! To know 
 J what should be done, and not to be able to do it, not to 
 Ihave the strength for your work — that is what is called 
 torture! " 
 
 " You don't say so! Wait a bit! " said Foma, growing 
 animated. — " Come, tell me, what one ought to do, in order 
 to live calmly, that is to say, so that one will be satisfied 
 with himself?" 
 
 " To that end, one must live uneasily, and avoid, like the 
 [plague, even the possibility of being satisfied with himself J " 
 
 323 
 
Foma Gordydeft 
 
 These words had a big but empty sound to Foma, and 
 the sound of them died away without having stirred up in 
 his heart any feeling whatever, without having begotten in 
 his brain a single thought. 
 
 " You must always be in love with something which you- 
 cannot attain ... A man becomes taller by stretching 
 upwards." 
 
 Having now ceased to speak of himself, Ezhoff began 
 to talk in a different tone, with more composure. His voice 
 rang out firmly and confidently, while his face became stern 
 and dignified. He stood in the middle of the room, his 
 hand raised, with finger outstretched, and talked as though 
 he were reading: 
 
 " People are base, because they strive to be full-fed . . 
 The well-fed man — is an animal, for satiety is the self-con- 
 ceit of the body. And self-conceit of the spirit also turns 
 a man into an animal . ." 
 
 Again he twitched all over, as though all his sinews and 
 muscles were suddenly subjected to a strain, and again he 
 began to run about the room in seething agitation. 
 
 " The self-satisfied man is an indurated tumor on the^, 
 bosom of society, . . he is my sworn enemy. He stuffs ; 
 himself with cheap truths, worm-eaten morsels of musty 
 wisdom, and exists, like a lumber-room, in which a miserly 
 house-wife stores up all sorts of. rubbish, which is perfectly 
 useless to her, and of no use to anyone . . If you touch 
 such a man, if you open the door into him, he will breathe 
 upon you with the stink of decay, and into the air which 
 you inhale, will pour forth a stream of some rotten trash 
 or other . . These unhappy men are called men of firm 
 )mind, men with principles and convictions . . . and no 
 one cares to notice that their convictions are merely under- 
 drawers, wherewith they cover up the wretched nakedness/ 
 
 323 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 of their souls. On the narrow brows of such people there 
 always shines the inscription which is familiar to everyone: 
 ' Calmness and confidence ' — a false inscription! Rub their 
 brows with a firm hand, and you will see the real sign-board 
 — on it is depicted: 'Narrowness and dulness of soul!'" 
 
 Foma watched Ezhoff as the latter flung himself about 
 the room, and thought sadly: 
 
 " Whom is he vituperating? I can't understand . . 
 But he has been terribly wounded — that is plainly visi- 
 ble . ." 
 
 " How many such people have I seen! " shrieked Ezhoff 
 with rage and terror. " How many such petty retail shops 
 have been multiplied through life! In them you will find 
 calico for shrouds, and tar, caramels, and borax to exter- 
 minate cockroaches, — but you will not be able to hunt out 
 anything fresh, hot, healthy! You go to them with an 
 aching soul, exhausted with loneliness, — you come thirsting 
 fto hear something vivifying . . . They offer you some 
 'warm cud or other, thoughts chewed up from books, and 
 turned thoroughly sour with age. And all these dry, stale 
 'thoughts are so paltry that they require to express them an 
 enormous quantity of sonorous, empty words. When such 
 a man speaks, it seems to me: ' Here's a nag which is well- 
 fed, but has been spoiled by injudicious watering, all hung 
 round with sleigh-bells, — it's carting a load of rubbish out 
 of the town, and — unhappy wretch! — it is satisfied with its 
 fate!'" 
 
 "They, also, are superfluous people, of course," said 
 Foma. Ezhoff halted in front of him, and with a caustic 
 smile on his lips, remarked: 
 
 "No, they are not superfluous, oh no! They exist as 
 
 ! examples ... to show what a man ought not to be. 
 
 To tell the truth, — their proper place is in the anatomical 
 
 824 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 museums, where all sorts of monsters, various unhealthy 
 deviations from the harmonious, are preserved. In life, myj 
 dear fellow, nothing is superfluous . . even I am necesJ 
 sary! Only those people in whose souls servile cowardice 
 in the face of life has taken up its abode, in whose breasts, 
 in place of a dead heart there is a huge abscess of the 
 most abominable self-adoration, — only they are superfluous 
 .... but even they are necessary, if only that I mayj 
 pour out my hatred upon them.'' 
 
 All day long, until the evening, Ezhoff boiled, belching 
 forth censure on men who were hateful to him, and his re- 
 marks, — although their drift was obscure to Foma, — in- 
 fected him with their evil flame, — infected him, and evoked 
 in Foma his pugnacious sentiment. At times there flashed 
 up within him distrust of Ezhoff, and, in one of these mo- 
 ments, he asked him point-blank: 
 
 "Well — and dare you talk like that to men, to their 
 faces?" 
 
 " On every convenient occasion. And every Sunday, in 
 the newspaper. I'll read some of it to you, if you like? " 
 
 Without awaiting Foma's answer, he tore down from the 
 wall several sheets of newspaper, and, still continuing to 
 run about the room, he began to read to him. He bellowed 
 and squealed, he laughed and showed his teeth in a grin, 
 and resembled a bad-tempered dog, who is tearing at his 
 chain in impotent rage. Although he did not grasp the 
 sense of his companion's compositions, Foma was conscious 
 of their daring audacity, virulent mockery, burning malice, 
 and he found them agreeable, just as though he had beenj 
 scourged in the hot bath with birch-besoms. 
 
 " That's clever! " he exclaimed, as he caught some de- 
 tached phrase. — " Stoutly hurled! " 
 
 Every now and then there flashed past familiar names of 
 
 325 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 merchants and of distinguished citizens whom Ezhoff had 
 stung, now boldly and keenly, now respectfully and with a 
 sting as delicate as a needle. 
 
 Foma's approbation, his eyes blazing with satisfaction, 
 and his excited visage, inspired Ezhoff still more, and he 
 kept roaring louder and louder, and bellowing, now falling 
 on the divan, again springing up and rushing at Foma. 
 
 " Come now, read about me! " shouted Foma, bursting 
 into a hearty laugh. 
 
 Ezhoff rummaged among a pile of newspapers, tore out a 
 sheet, and grasping it in both hands, took up his stand in 
 front of Foma, with his legs straddling far apart, while Foma 
 lolled back in an arm-chair with a hole in the seat, and 
 listened with a smile. 
 
 The article about Foma started out with a description 
 of the debauch on the rafts, and as the reading of it pro- 
 ceeded, Foma began to feel that certain individual words 
 stung him like gnats. His face grew more serious, he bowed 
 his head, and maintained a surly silence. But the gnats 
 came thicker and thicker . . . 
 
 " You used pretty strong language! '* he said at last, 
 much taken aback and displeased . . " You certainly will 
 not win God's favor, simply because you know how to de- 
 fame a man . . ." 
 
 "Shut up! Wait a bit!" snapped Ezhoff curtly, and 
 continued his reading. 
 
 Having established in his article the fact that the mer- 
 , chant, in the matter of indecent behavior and the creation 
 of scandals is, indubitably, the superior of the other social 
 classes, Ezhoff inquired: " Why is this so? " and replied: 
 
 " It seems to me, that this tendency towards brutal pranks 
 tarises from a lack of culture, to the extent to which it is 
 ^dependent upon excess of energy, and upon lack of em- 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ployment. There can be no doubt as to the fact, that our 
 merchant class, — with few exceptions — is the richest in 
 health, and, at the same time, is the class which performs/ 
 the least work . ." 
 
 " That's true! " exclaimed Foma, banging his fist upon 
 the table. — "That's so! I have the strength of a bull, — 
 
 • and work enough for a sparrow." 
 
 " What is the merchant to do with his energy? Not much 
 of it is expended on 'Change, and so he squanders the sur- 
 plus of his muscular capital in pot-houses on debauches, 
 because he has no conception of other, more productive and 
 valuable points. where his forces can be applied to life. He 
 is still a wild beast, and life has already become for him a 
 cage, and he finds himself hampered in it in view of his 
 fine health and his inclination for expansive flourishes. Em- 
 barrassed by culture, the first thing you know, he starts on 
 a career of debauchery. A debauch in the merchant class is 
 always the mutiny of a captive wild beast. Of course, this 
 is bad enough. But, ah! it will be still worse when thisj 
 wild beast shall have added to his strength a little brains,! 
 and shall have disciplined it! Believe me — ^when that time 
 , comes, he will never cease to create scandals, but then they ^ 
 
 • will become historical events. From such events, God, 
 deliver us! For they arise from the striving of the mer-^ 
 chant after power, their object will be the omnipotence of 
 one social class, and — the merchant will not be particular! 
 as to the means for the attainment of this object . . ." 
 
 " "Well, what have you to say — is it true? " asked Ezhoff, 
 when he had finished the paper and flung it aside. 
 
 " I don't understand the end of it, . ." replied Foma. 
 "But what you say about strength is true! How shall !( 
 employ my strength, if there is no demand for it? We 
 ought to fight brigands, or turn brigands ourselves — so that, 
 
 327 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 generally speaking, we might do something — very big in- 
 deed. And it ought not to be with our heads, but with 
 our arms, and breasts . . But — to go to the Exchange, 
 and use every means to acquire a ruble . . . And of what 
 use is the ruble? And, again, what is it, anyway? Is life 
 /always arranged in that shape? What is life like, if every- 
 tbody is grieving his heart out, and if everyone finds it 
 1 oppressive ? It ought to be according to people's taste, life 
 ought . . It hampers me — consequently, I am bound to 
 Uhrust it apart, in order that I may be more at liberty . . 
 ' That is to say, it ought to be broken up and re-arranged, 
 . . . But how? That's exactly what bothers me! . . . 
 What ought I to do, in order to live with more freedom? I 
 don't understand, — and that's the end of me! " 
 
 "We-ell no-ow!" drawled Ezhoff.— " So that's where 
 you've got to! It's a good thing, my dear fellow! Akh, I'd 
 like to give you a little lesson! What do you think about 
 books? Do you read any? " 
 
 " No, I don't like them — I have not read anything . /* 
 " You don't like them, simply because you haven't read 
 them . . ." 
 
 ** I'm actually afraid to read . . I have seen — there's 
 one woman — it's worse than tippling with her! And what 
 sense is there in books? One man imagines something and 
 prints it, and other men read it . . If you're curious, 
 that's all right . . . But, learn from books how to live— 
 ;that's impossible. For man has written them, not God, 
 /and what laws and examples can a man establish for him- 
 'self?" 
 
 " How about the Gospels? Men wrote them also." 
 " They were apostles . . Now there are none . ." 
 " I must admit that you answer pertinently! 'Tis true, 
 my dear fellow, that there are no apostles . . . Nothing 
 
 328 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 but Judases are left, and miserable little specimens at 
 that! '' 
 
 Foma felt delighted with himself, for he saw that Ezhoff 
 was listening attentively to his remarks, and seemed to be 
 weighing every word which he uttered. This being the 
 first time in his life that he had met with such treatment,. 
 Foma poured forth his ideas boldly and freely before his'j 
 companion, paying no heed to the words, and feeling thatj 
 he was being understood, because an effort was being made?' 
 to understand him. 
 
 " Well, you are a curious young fellow! " Ezhoff said to 
 him, a couple of days after their meeting . . " And, al- 
 though you speak with difficulty, one feels that you've got 
 a lot in you, — great boldness of heart! If you only had 
 a little knowledge of the formalities of life! Then you 
 would begin to talk loudly enough, I think . . yes, you 
 would! " 
 
 " Nevertheless, you cannot cleanse yourself — you cannot / 
 liberate yourself with words,'* . . remarked Foma with 
 a sigh. — " Now, you said something about people who pre- 
 tend that they know everything and can do everything . . 
 I, also, know some of that sort . . My god-father, for 
 example . . Somebody ought to set out and show them 
 up . . They're a pretty mischievous sort of people . ." 
 
 " I can't imagine, Foma, how you are going to live, if youj 
 retain within you that which you are carrying now . ."' 
 said Ezhoff thoughtfully. 
 
 " Things are difficult for me . . I have no stability 
 . . I could do anything off-hand ... I understand very 
 well, that all people find things difficult and oppressive 
 . . . and that my god-father sees that too, — I know! But 
 he makes profits by his hampered state. It suits him! he's 
 as sharp as a needle, and he'll make his way wherever he 
 
 329 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 chooses . . But Fm a big, heavy man — and so I feel 
 suffocated! That's why I live in fetters . . And there's 
 only one way for me to break loose from all — to make a 
 good, strong movement with my whole body, and then all 
 bonds will burst at once! " 
 
 " And what comes next? " asked Ezhoff. 
 
 " What comes next? " — Foma reflected, and on reflection, 
 waved his hand. — "I don't know what comes next — we 
 shall see! '^ 
 
 " We shall see! " assented Ezhoff. 
 
 This little man, who had been scalded by life, was given 
 to drink. His day began thus: After tea in the morning, 
 he glanced through the local newspapers, and extracted 
 from their reporter's comments material for his feuilleton, 
 which he immediately composed, on the corner of his table. 
 Then he ran to the newspaper office, and there cut up the 
 country newspapers, constituting from these clippings 
 " Provincial Sketches." On Friday, he had to write his 
 Sunday feuilleton. For all this, he was paid one hundred 
 and twenty-five rubles a month; he worked quickly, and 
 devoted all his spare time to " the survey and study of pious 
 institutions." In company with Foma, he roved about until 
 the dead of night among the clubs, hotels, and eating- 
 houses, everywhere collecting material for his writings, 
 which he called, " brushes for cleaning the public con- 
 science." He called the censor, " the controller of the dis- 
 semination in life of truth and justice," his paper he called, 
 "a go-between, engaged in introducing the reader to in- 
 jurious ideas," and his own work on it — " the sale of a soul 
 at retail," and " a tendency to audacity against divine insti- 
 tutions." 
 
 Foma did not understand exactly when Ezhoff was jok- 
 ing and when he was speaking seriously — ^he discussed 
 
 330 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 everything hotly and passionately, he condemned every- 
 thing harshly, and that pleased Foma. But often, after be- 
 ginning a harangue with passion, he contradicted himself 
 with equal passion, and refuted himself, or wound up with 
 some ridiculous freak. On such occasions, it seemed to 
 Foma that this man had about him nothing that he could 
 love, and would take a deep root in him, and guide him. 
 Only concerning himself did he talk in a rather peculiar 
 voice, and the more hotly he spoke of himself, the more 
 mercilessly and malignantly did he revile everybody and 
 everything. And his relation to Foma was two-fold — some- 
 times he encouraged him, and said to him, kindling and 
 trembling all over: 
 
 " Go ahead! Eefute and overthrow everything you can! 
 Push forward, with all your might! You must know, that J 
 nothing is more precious than a man! Shout at the top of 
 your voice: Freedom! Freedom!'^ 
 
 And when Foma, taking fire from the blazing sparks of 
 his speech, began to dream of how he should begin to refute 
 and overthrow people, who, for the sake of their own profit, 
 ? refuse to enlarge life, — Ezhoff often cut him short: 
 
 *^Drop it! You can do nothing! Such as you are not 
 needed . . . Your age — the age of the powerful, but 
 not clever, has gone by, my dear fellow! You are belated 
 . . There's no place for you in life . . ." 
 
 "No? You lie!'' shouted Foma, excited by contradic- 
 tion. 
 
 " Well, what can you do? " 
 
 "I?" 
 
 " Yes, you? " 
 
 " Why . . I can kill you! " said Foma wickedly, clench- 
 ing his fist. 
 
 "Eh, what a blockhead!" ejaculated Ezhoff with con- 
 
 331 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 viction and compassion, shrugging his shoulders. — " Is that 
 a business? I'm already half crippled to death. . . ." 
 
 And, suddenly blazing up with melancholy wrath, he 
 twitched all over, and said: 
 
 " My fate has wronged me! — ^Why have I humbled my- 
 self, accepting the sops of the public? Why have I toiled 
 for twelve consecutive years? In order to learn . . Why 
 did I, for twelve years in succession, without a rest, swallow 
 down in the gymnasium and the university dry and tire- 
 some nastiness. which was of no use to me, and was only 
 revolting nonsense? In order to become a feuilletonist, iu 
 order that I might play the clown, day after day, amusing 
 the public, and persuading myself that I am necessary, use- 
 ful to it? . . Where is the powder of my youth? I have 
 fired o2 the whole charge of my soul at three kopeks a shot 
 . , What faith have I won for myself? Only the belief 
 (that everything in this life is of no use even to the devil, 
 that everything ought to be broken up, pulled down . . . 
 What do I love? Myself . . and I am conscious that the 
 object of my love is not worthy of my love . . What can 
 I do?" 
 
 He almost wept, and kept scratching his breast and neck 
 with his thin, weak hands. 
 
 But sometimes a flood of courage took possession of him, 
 and he talked in a different spirit: 
 
 " I ? No, my song is not yet sung to the end! When I get 
 my chest well inflated — I'll hiss like a scourge! Wait a bit. 
 I'll abandon the newspaper, I'll take to serious work and write 
 one little book . . . I'll call it—' The Book of the De- 
 parting Soul '; there is a prayer by that title — it is read 
 over the dying. And this society, cursed with the curse of 
 inward impotency before it expires, will receive my book 
 like musk." 
 
 333 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Foma, by dint of listening to his every word, watching 
 him, and comparing his utterances, perceived that Ezhoff* 
 was the same sort of weak, erring man as himself. But 
 Ezhoff's mood still continued to infect Foma, his harangues 
 enriched Foma's tongue, and, occasionally, to his joyful sur- 
 prise, the latter observed how adroitly and forcefully he had 
 himself expressed this or that idea. 
 
 He frequently encountered at Ezhoff's certain peculiar 
 people who, so it seemed to him, knew everything, under- , 
 stood everything, and contradicted everything, in every- 
 thing detected deceit and fraud. He contemplated them 
 in silence, lent an ear to their remarks; their boldness 
 pleased him, but he was repelled by some supercilious,' 
 haughty element in their demeanor towards him. More- 
 over, it was plainly apparent to him, that all the people in 
 EzhoS's room were better and more clever than those in the 
 street, or in the hotels. They had special discussions, words, 
 gestures for use in the room, and all these gave way, out- 
 side the room, to the most commonplace and human . . 
 Sometimes, in the room, they all blazed like a huge bonfire, 
 and Ezhoff was the most glowing firebrand among them, 
 but the light of this bonfire only dimly illuminated the 
 gloom of Foma Gordyeeff^s soul. 
 
 One day Ezhoff said to him: 
 
 " Today we will go on a spree! Our compositors have 
 formed a union, and are going to take all their work from 
 the publisher on a friendly contract . . There is to be a 
 celebration of this, with a wetting down, and I'm invited 
 ... it was I who advised them to do it . . . Shall we 
 go? . . You can give them a good treat . . ." 
 
 " I'll do it," said Foma, to whom it was a matter of in- 
 difference with whom he spent the time which hung so 
 heavily on his hands. 
 
 333 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 On the evening of that day, Fomd and Ezhoff found 
 themselves sitting with smudgy faces, on the outskirts of a 
 grove, outside the town. There were twelve compositors; 
 they were neatly clad, and treated Ezhoff simply, as a com- 
 rade; and this somewhat surprised and abashed Foma, in 
 whose eyes Ezhoff was still something in the nature of a 
 master or superior over them, while all of them were — his 
 servants. They did not appear to notice Gordyeeff, although, 
 when Ezhoff introduced him to them, they all shook hands 
 with him, and said they were glad to see him . . He lay 
 down apart under a hazel-bush, and watched them all, feel- 
 ing that he was an outsider in this company, and perceiving 
 that Ezhoff seemed, with deliberate intention, to have got 
 as far away from him as possible, and was paying very little 
 attention to him. He observed something strange about 
 Ezhoff: the little feuilleton- writer appeared to conform 
 himself to the tone and speech of the compositors. In com- 
 pany with them, he bustled about the fire, uncorked bottles 
 of beer, chaffed them, laughed loudly, and endeavored, in 
 every way, to resemble them. Moreover, he was more sim- 
 ply dressed than usual. 
 
 " Ekh, comrades! '' he exclaimed dashingly . . " I'm 
 at my ease with you! You know, I'm of no great account, 
 either — nothing but the son of the janitor at the judicial 
 building, non-commissioned officer Matvyei Ezhoff! " 
 
 "What's he saying that for?" thought Foma. "What 
 difference does it make whose son he is — I suppose a man 
 'is respected for his brain, not on account of his father." 
 
 The sun set, and in the sky floated a huge, fiery bonfire, 
 dyeing the clouds with hues of gold and blood. The forest 
 breathed forth a damp odor, and tranquillity, but on its 
 edge, the dark figures of men bustled to and fro. One of 
 them, short of stature and lean of form, in a broad-brimmed 
 
 S34 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 straw hat, began to play the accordion, another, with a black 
 mustache and his cap tipped on the back of his head, sang 
 an accompaniment in an undertone. Two others were tug- 
 ging at a walking-stick, in a trial of strength. Several 
 figures busied themselves with the baskets containing beer 
 and provisions; a tall man with an iron-gray beard, flung 
 branches on the fire, which was enveloped in a heavy, whit- 
 ish smoke. The green branches, as they fell upon the fire, 
 squeaked and snapped, but the accordion teasingly rattled 
 off a merry tune, and the falsetto of the singer reinforced 
 and completed its dashing performance. 
 
 Apart from them all, on the brink of a small excavation, 
 lay three young fellows, and in front of them stood Ezhoff, 
 saying, in ringing tones: 
 
 " You bear the sacred banner of labor . . and I, like 
 yourselves, am a common soldier in the same army, we are 
 all in the service of His Majesty, the Press . . and must 
 live in firm, stable friendship . ." 
 
 " That's true, Nikolai Matvyeevitch! " some one's thick 
 voice interrupted his harangue. — " And we want to ask you 
 to work upon the publisher! Use your influence on him! 
 Illness and drunkenness cannot be treated in exactly the 
 same manner. But, according to his system, this is the way 
 it comes out: if one of the fellows gets drunk, we pay a 
 fine to the amount of his daily earnings, if he falls ill, we 
 do the same . .^ In case of illness, we ought to be allowed 
 to present a doctor's certificate . . as a guarantee, and he, 
 in justice, ought to pay the substitute one half of the sick 
 man's wages . . Otherwise, it would come pretty hard for 
 us, in case three were taken ill at once ? " 
 
 * This is the system of the famous Russian artel or guild, such as 
 these men had formed. The employer is guaranteed from loss through 
 such circumstances as those mentioned, dishonesty, and so forth. — 
 Translator. 
 
 335 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " We-ell, of course, that is reasonable," assented Ezhoff. 
 — " But, my friends, — the principle of co-operation . ." 
 
 Foma ceased to listen to his comrade's speech, his atten- 
 tion being diverted by another discussion. Two men were 
 engaged in it: one, a tall, consumptive, badly-dressed, 
 angry-looking man, the other a youngish man, with golden- 
 brown hair and beard. 
 
 " In my opinion," said the tall man sullenly, with an oc- 
 casional cough, "that's stupid! How can men like us 
 marry? There will be children — and will there be enough 
 to support them? The wife must be clothed . . and 
 what sort of a wife can a man get, moreover? " 
 
 " She's a splendid girl," said the brown-haired man softly. 
 
 " Well, she's nice now . . A betrothed girl is one 
 thing — a wife is quite another . . . But that's not the 
 main point, either . . . you can make the trial — per- 
 haps she actually will turn out nice. Only — your means 
 won't suffice . . . you'll break your own back with work, 
 and you^ll wear her out too. — Marriage is an utterly im- 
 possible thing for us . . Can we rear a family on such 
 wages? Here, you see, . . . I've been married these 
 four years, . . and my end is near. And I have seen no 
 happiness . . nothing but anxiety and toil . ." 
 
 He began to cough, coughed for a long time, with a groan, 
 and when he ceased, he said to his companion, with a sigh: 
 
 " Drop it — nothing will come of it." 
 
 The latter dropped his head mournfully, and Foma said 
 to himself: 
 
 "He talks sensibly . . it's evident, one can under- 
 stand . ." 
 
 The lack of attention shown to him somewhat offended 
 him, and, at the same time, it aroused in him a sentiment of 
 respect for these men with dark faces impregnated with lead/ 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Almost all of them were carrying on practical, serious con- 
 versations, and certain peculiar words flashed through their 
 speech. Not one of them tried to ingratiate himself with. 
 Foma, or approached him with the importunities to which 
 he had become accustomed in his tavern acquaintances, his 
 companions in revelry. This pleased him . . 
 
 " What fine fellows they are,'^ he said to himself, with an 
 inward smile . . " they have a pride of their own." 
 
 " But, Nikolai Matvyeevitch," rang out a voice, appar- 
 ently with a touch of reproach in it, — " you musn't judge 
 from books, but according to the living truth . . . People 
 toil for a bit of bread, you know, not according to any little 
 book, but through necessity, and as God puts it into the soul 
 to do, and not as is written down in your rules . ." 
 
 " Per-mit me, my friends! What does the experience of 
 our colleagues prove . . ." 
 
 Foma turned his head in the direction where Ezhoff, who 
 had removed his hat, and was flourishing it above his head, 
 was holding forth. But, at that moment, some one said to 
 him: 
 
 " Move up closer to us, Mr. Gordyeeff! " 
 
 In front of him stood a short, squat young fellow, in a 
 blouse and tall boots, looking into his face with a good- 
 natured smile. Foma liked the look of his broad, round face, 
 with its thick nose, and returning the smile, he replied: 
 
 " I'll come closer . . But isn't it time for us to get 
 nearer to the brandy? I brought about ten bottles with 
 me — on the chance . . ." 
 
 '^ Oho! — Evidently, you're a real merchant ... I will 
 immediately communicate your diplomatic note to the com- 
 pany . ." 
 
 And he himself was the first to give vent to a loud, merry 
 laugh, at his own words. And Foma laughed also, con- 
 
 337 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 scious that a breath of merriment and warmth was being 
 wafted to him, either from the fire or from the young man. 
 
 The sunset glow softly died away. It seemed as though 
 yonder, in the west, a huge, soft, purple curtain were being 
 lowered to the earth, uncovering the bottomless depths of 
 the heavens, and the cheerful gleam of the stars, which 
 twinkled in it. Far away, an invisible hand sprinkled lights 
 over the dark mass of the town, and here, in silent com- 
 posure, stood the forest, rising toward heaven like a black 
 wall . . . The moon had not yet risen, and warm dark- 
 ness lay over the fields. ~^ w 
 
 The whole party seated th ^ moclve s in a huge circle, not 
 far from the fire : Foma sat next to Ezhoff, with his back to 
 the fire, and beheld in front of him, a row of brightly il- 
 luminated, merry, simple countenances. All were stimu- 
 lated by liquor, but were not yet intoxicated; they laughed, 
 joked, tried to sing, and drank, nibbhng at cucumbers, 
 bread and sausages the while. All this had for Foma a cer- 
 tain peculiar, agreeable fiavor; he grew bolder, infected 
 with the general delightful mood, and became conscious of 
 a desire to say something nice to these men, to please them 
 all, in some way. Ezhoff, as he sat beside him, wriggled 
 about on the ground, jostled him with his shoulder, and 
 muttered something to himself, shaking his head the while. 
 
 "Brethren!" shouted the corpulent young fellow.-^ 
 " Let's strike up a student song . . now, one, two! . . 
 
 *' Swift, a-as the wa-aves. . . " 
 
 Some one droned in a bass voice: 
 
 *' 0-o-our da-a-ays. . .'* 
 
 " Comrades! '^ said Ezhoff, rising to his feet, glass in 
 hand. He staggered, and propped himself with his other 
 
 338 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 hand on Foma's head. The song which had just heen 
 begun, was broken off, and all turned their heads toward 
 him. * 
 
 " Workingmen! Permit me to say a few words to you 
 . . . words from the heart . . I am happy with you! I 
 feel at my ease among you . . That is because you are 
 men of toil, as to whose right to happiness there is no doubt 
 whatever, although it is not acknowledged. In your healthy, 
 soul-stimulating society, my honest men, the lonely man, 
 whom life is hounding, breathes so well, so freely . . ." 
 
 Ezhoff's voice trembled, jingled, and his head began to 
 shake. Foma felt something warm trickle across his hand, 
 and glanced at the contracted countenance of Ezhoff, who 
 resumed his harangue, quivering all over: 
 
 " I — am not the only one . . there are many like me, 
 persecuted by Fate, smitten down, aiHng . . We are more 
 unfortunate than you, because we are weaker in body, and 
 in soul, but we are stronger than you, because we are armed 
 with knowledge . . . which we have no chance to apply 
 . . . We are all ready and glad to come to you, and toj 
 give ourselves to you, and help you to live . . there is 
 nothing else for us to do! Without you, we have no ground' 
 under foot, without us, you have no light! Comrades! We 
 were created by Fate itself to complete each other! " 
 
 "What is he asking from them?" thought Foma, as he 
 listened in amazement to Ezhoff's speech. And, casting a 
 glance around him at the compositors, he perceived that 
 they also were gazing at the orator in an inquiring, astound- 
 ed, bored manner. 
 
 " The future is yours, my friends! " — said Ezhoff, shak- 
 ing his head unsteadily and sadly, as though out of com- 
 passion for the future, and, against his will, resigning the 
 power over it to these men. — " The future belongs to the 
 
 339 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 men of honest toil . . Yon have a great work before yon? 
 You mnst create a new culture . . everything free, vital 
 and clear! I, who am one of you in flesh and spirit, a sol- 
 dier's son, propose a toast: Let us drink to your future! 
 Hur-rah-rah! " 
 
 Ezhoff, taking a sip from his glass, dropped heavily to 
 the ground. The compositors unanimously took up his 
 broken exclamation, and a mighty, thunderous shout rolled 
 through the air, making the very leaves on the trees to 
 shake. 
 
 " Now for a song! " the corpulent young man offered a 
 second suggestion. 
 
 " Go ahead! " chimed in two or three voices. A noisy 
 dispute ensued as to what should be sung. Ezhoff listened 
 to the uproar, and, turning his head from side to side, he 
 scrutinized them all. 
 
 "Brothers!" he suddenly shouted. — "Answer me . . 
 say a few words in reply to my speech of welcome." 
 
 Again — though not all at once, all became silent, and 
 stared at him, some with curiosity, others dissimulating a 
 grin, several with dissatisfaction plainly expressed on their 
 faces. But he rose again to his feet, and said excitedly: 
 
 " Here are two of us . . . outcasts from life, — I, and 
 this man here . . . We both want . . . one and the 
 same thing . . regard for man . . the happiness of 
 feeling that we are useful persons . . . Comrades! This 
 big, stupid man also . . ." 
 
 " Don't insult your guest, Nikolai Matvyeevitch! " rang 
 out a thick, displeased voice. 
 
 " Yes, that's no good! " chimed in the corpulent young 
 man, who had invited Foma to the fire. — " Why say insult- 
 ing words? " 
 
 A third voice remarked loudly and distinctly: 
 
 340 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " We assembled together to have a good time . . to 
 rest . . ," 
 
 "Blockheads!" laughed Ezhoff feebly . . "Amiable 
 blockheads! . . Are you sorry for him? But do you 
 know who he is? He's one of the men who suck your 
 blood ..." 
 
 " Stop that, Nikolai Matvyeevitch! " the men shouted at 
 Ezhoff. And they began to talk with a humming drone, 
 pa}ing no further attention to him. Foma was so sorry for 
 his chum that he did not even take offence. He saw that 
 the men who had defended him from Ezhoff's attacks were 
 now deliberately refraining from taking any notice of the 
 feuilleton-writer, and understood that if Ezhoff were to 
 perceive this he would feel pained. And, with the object 
 of getting his companion out of the way of possible un- 
 pleasantness, he nudged him in the ribs, and said, with a 
 good-natured laugh: 
 
 ""Well, you reviler . . . shall we have a drink? Or, 
 perhaps it is time to go home ? " 
 
 " Home ? Where is the home of a man who has no place 
 among men?" asked Ezhoff, and again began to shout: — 
 " Comrades! " 
 
 His shout was drowned in the universal murmur, and 
 remained without response. Then he hung his head, and 
 said to Foma: 
 
 " Let's get away from here! " 
 
 " Come along, then . . Though I'd like to sit a little 
 longer . . It's curious . . Those devils behave them- 
 selves like well-born gentlemen . . they do, by God! " 
 
 " I can't stand any more: I feel chilled, suffocated . ." 
 
 " Well, come on! " 
 
 Foma rose to his feet, pulled off his cap, and making a 
 bow to the compositors, he said loudly and cheerily: 
 
 341 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 . " Thanks for your hospitality, gentlemen! Good-bye! '* 
 
 They immediately flocked round him, and persuasive 
 voices made themselves heard: 
 
 " Stay a little longer! Why must you go ? We might all 
 sing, hey?'' 
 
 " No, I must go . . it would be awkward for my com- 
 rade alone . . I am going to escort him. I wish you a 
 jolly carouse! " 
 
 " Ekh, you ought to stay! " exclaimed the fat young 
 man, and added in a low whisper: " he can get home 
 alone . ." 
 
 The consumptive man also said in an undertone: 
 
 "Do you stay . . . We'll escort him to town, and 
 there we'll put him in a drozhky — and done with! " 
 
 Foma would have liked to remain, and, at the same time, 
 was afraid of something. But Ezhoif rose to his feet, and 
 clutching hold of his coat-sleeve, muttered: 
 
 "Le-et's go . . devil take them! " 
 
 "Until we meet again, gentlemen! I'm going," said 
 Foma, and took his departure, accompanied by exclamations 
 of polite regret. 
 
 " Ha-ha-ha! " laughed Ezhoff, when he had got about 
 twenty paces from the fire. — "They bid us farewell with 
 grief, but they are glad I am gone . . I prevented their 
 turning themselves into beasts." 
 
 " You did, that's so . ." said Foma.—" Why do you 
 fling your harangues around? The men met together to 
 enjoy themselves, but you nag them . . It bores 
 them . ." 
 
 " Shut up! You don't understand anything about it! " 
 shouted Ezhoff sharply. — "You think I am drunk? It's 
 my body that is drunk . . but my soul is sober . . it's 
 always sober, and always has its feelings . . 0, how much 
 
 342 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 there is in the world that is hideous, obtuse and pitiful! 
 And men — stupid, unhappy men . . /' 
 
 Ezhoff halted, and seizing his head in his hands, stood 
 still for a minute, reeling on his legs. 
 
 "We-ell, ye-es! '^ said Foma slowly. — "They are very 
 unlike each other . . Now there are these men . . They 
 are polite . . . Gentlemen, in their way . . And they 
 reason correctly . . and all that sort of thing. They have' 
 €ense . . . Yet — they are only workingmen.^' 
 
 In the darkness behind them, the men struck up a power- 
 ful choral song. Discordant, at first, it kept swelling and 
 swelling, and now it poured out in a broad, cheery wave 
 of sound upon the cool night air above the deserted 
 meadow. 
 
 " 0, my God! '^ said Ezhoff softly and sadly, with a sigh. 
 ** How is a man to live ? To what shall his soul cling ? Who 
 shall slake his thirst for friendship, brotherhood, love, pure 
 and holy toil? . . ." 
 
 " These are simple, individual men," said Foma slowly 
 and meditatively, paying no heed to his companion's re- 
 marks, engrossed as he was in his own thoughts, — " if you 
 take a good look at them, there's nothing special about 
 them! It's really very . . It's curious . . . Peasants 
 . . workingmen . . if one takes them as simply as that, 
 they're just the same as horses. They carry burdens . . ." 
 
 " They bear all our life on their humped backs! " criedl 
 Ezhoff, with irritation . . — " They carry it like horses — I 
 submissively, stupidly . . And that submissiveness orf 
 theirs is our misfortune, our curse . ." 
 
 But Foma, carried away with his idea, argued: 
 
 " They bear burdens, they toil all their lives for a mere 
 trifle . . And, all of a sudden, they say something that 
 you'd never think out for yourself in a century . . Evi- 
 
 34a 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 dently, they have feelings . . . We-ell, ye-es, their com- 
 pany is interesting." 
 
 Ezh6ff staggered along for some time in silence and, all 
 at once, in a queer sort of dull, hiccupping voice, which 
 seemed to proceed from his belly, he began to recite, waving 
 his hand in the air the while: 
 
 " Life has cruelly deceived me 
 And many are the woes I've undergone , • ." 
 
 " I made those verses, my dear fellow," he said, pausing, 
 and mournfully shaking his head. — " What comes next ? 
 Fve forgotten . . Something is said about tears . . 
 about pure and sacred longings . . . they are stifled in 
 my breast by the foul reek of life . . . E-e-ekh! 
 
 " Within my breast there ne'er will wake again » 
 The swarm of dreams that in it buried lie . ." 
 
 My dear fellow, you are happier than I, for you are stupid \ 
 . . . ButI . . ." 
 
 " Stop your howling! " said Foma irritably. — " Just lis- 
 ten how they are singing." 
 
 " I won^t listen to other people's songs," said Ezhoff, with 
 a negative shake of the head . . — " I have one of my own 
 — the song of a soul exhausted with grief by life . . ." 
 
 And he began to yell, in a savage voice: 
 
 " Within my bre-east there ne'er will wa a-ake a-again 
 The swa-arm of dreams that in it bu-uried lie . . 
 There are many of them there ! " 
 
 " There was a whole flower-garden of vivid, brilliant 
 dreams, hopes . . . They died . . . withered and 
 
 ^ This composition has a certain amount of rhyme in the original, 
 but its merit does not make an attempt at a rhymed English version 
 worth the while. — Translator. 
 
 344 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 died . . . Death is in my heart . . . The corpses of 
 the dreams are rotting there . . o-o! " 
 
 Ezhoff began to weep, sobbing like a woman. Foma was 
 sorry for him, and uncomfortable with him. Giving Ez- 
 hoff^s shoulder an impatient jerk, he said: 
 
 " Stop that! Come along . . What a weak creature you 
 are, brother . . ." 
 
 Grasping his head in his hands, Ezhoff straightened up 
 his stooping form, and again broke out into wild and mourn- 
 ful song: 
 
 " There are many of them there 1 
 The vault's too narrow for them the-ere ! 
 In the shrouds of rhyme I clo-othed them . • 
 And about them many ballads 
 Sad and mournful have I su-ung ! " 
 
 " Lord! '' sighed Foma in despair. — " Stop that . . 
 For Christ's sake! You make a man melancholy, by heaven 
 you do! " 
 
 Athwart the gloom and silence, the rousing choral song 
 was wafted to them from afar. Some one was whistling in 
 time with the refrain, and the sharp whistle, which pierced 
 the car, outstripped the billow of powerful voices. Foma^ 
 glanced in that direction, and beheld the lofty black wall of 
 forest, the fiery dot of the fire as it flickered against it, and 
 the shadowy figures grouped around it. The wall of forest 
 was like a breast, and the fire was like a bloody wound in it J 
 It seemed as though the breast were quivering, trickling 
 with blood, which was flowing over it in hot streams. En- 
 circled by thick darkness on all sides, the men against the 
 background of the forest looked like little children, they, 
 also, appeared to be in a blaze, all covered as they were with 
 the flame of the fire, and they were flourishing their arms 
 and singing their song loudly, vigorously. 
 
 345 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 But Ezhoff, as lie stood beside Foma, said rebelliously: 
 "You unfeeling blockhead! Why do you repulse me? 
 You ought to listen to the song of a dying soul . . and 
 weep over it . . . for, why was it wounded, why is it 
 dying? Begone from me . . begone! You think I^m 
 drunk? I'm poisoned . . take yourself off! " 
 
 Foma, without removing his eyes from the forest and 
 the fire which were so beautiful in the darkness, retreated 
 a few steps from Ezhoff, and said quietly to him: 
 
 " Don't be foolish . . why are you cursing at random?'' 
 " I want to be alone and — finish singing my song . ." 
 He also, with nervous footsteps, retreated from Fomd, 
 and a few seconds later, he again began to shout in a wail- 
 ing voice: 
 
 " My song is done, and nevermore will I 
 Disturb their sleep of death . . . 
 Lord ! give rest unto my-y so-oul ! 
 Ill be-eyond ho-ope it li-ies . . 
 Lord . . give rest unto my-y so-oul . . ." 
 
 Foma shivered at the sounds of that gloomy howl, and 
 
 briskly followed Ezhoff; but before he could overtake him, 
 
 the little feuilleton-writer gave vent to a hysterical shriek, 
 
 ^ flung himself face-down upon the ground, and burst out 
 
 sobbing piteously and softly, as ailing children cry . . 
 
 " Nikolai! " said Foma, raising him up by his shoulders 
 . . "Stop . . . what's the meaning of this? Lord! 
 . . Nikolai! Enough of that . . aren't you ashamed! " 
 
 But Ezhoff was not ashamed; he flopped about on the 
 ground like a fish just pulled out of the water, and when 
 Foma lifted him to his feet, he pressed close to the latter's 
 breast, grasping his sides with his thin hands, weeping all 
 the while . . 
 
 346 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "uome, that'll do!'' said Foma through his tightly 
 clenched teeth. " Have done, my dear man." 
 
 And agitated by the suffering of the man who had been 
 tortured by the narrowness of life, full of anger on his ac- 
 count, he turned his head in the direction where the lights 
 of the town were gleaming, and in an outburst of malignant 
 grief, he roared, in a thick, loud voice: 
 
 " A-a-ana-thema! Curse you! Just wait . . and you 
 shall choke! Curse you! " 
 
 U7 
 
XI 
 
 " LiUBAVKA ! '* said Mayakin one day, when he came 
 home from ^Change, " prepare yourself this evening — I'm 
 going to bring your bridegroom! Arrange a nice hearty 
 little feast for us . . Set out as much of the old silver on 
 the table as you can . . . take out che fruit-dishes also 
 . . I want him to be impressed with our table! Let him 
 see that everything we have is a rarity! " 
 
 Liuboff was sitting at the window, darning her father's 
 socks, and her head was bent low over her work. 
 
 " What is the necessity for all that, papa? " she inquired, 
 displeased and offended. 
 
 " Why, for sauce ... for flavor . . And it's the 
 proper thing to do. Moreover, a lass is not a horse, you 
 can't get her off your hands without the harness . ." 
 
 Liuboff threw up her head nervously, and flinging her 
 work from her, she gazed at her father, all crimson with 
 indignation . . . and then, taking the socks into her 
 hand again, she bent her head still lower over them. The 
 old man stalked about the room, plucking at his fiery beard 
 in a preoccupied manner; his eyes were fixed on something 
 in the far distance, and it was obvious that he was com- 
 pletely engrossed in some great and complicated calculation. 
 The young girl comprehended that he would not listen to 
 her, and that he did not wish to understand how humiliat- 
 ing his words were for her. Her romantic dreams of a hus- 
 band-friend, an educated man, who would peruse with her 
 
 948 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 clever little books, and help her to analyze her confused 
 aspirations, were stifled within her by her father's irrevoc- 
 able decision to marry her to Sni61in,had been killed, had de- 
 composed and been precipitated, leaving a bitter sediment 
 in her soul. She had become accustomed to look upon her- 
 self as something better and higher than the ordinary young 
 girl of the merchant class, — the empty-headed, stupid young 
 girl, who thinks solely of finery, and almost always marries 
 in accordance with the calculations of her parents, and rarely 
 in accordance with the free choice of her own heart. And 
 now, here was she herself about to marry merely because 
 it was high time, and because her father needed a son-in- 
 law, a successor in his business. But her father, evidently, 
 thought that she, by herself, was not capable of attracting 
 the attention of a man, and was going to deck her out with 
 silver. Much perturbed, she worked nervously, pricked her 
 fingers, broke her needles, but remained silent, well aware 
 that her father's heart would be deaf to anything she could 
 say. 
 
 But the old man still continued to stride about the room, 
 now humming psalms in an undertone, now impressively 
 instructing his daughter how she ought to behave towards 
 her bridegroom. And, at the same time, he kept calculat- 
 ing something on his fingers, frowning and smiling. 
 
 " Mm . . precisely so, sir! . . . Judge me, God, 
 and plead my cause . . deliver me from the deceitful 
 and unjust man . . Ye-e-es . . Put on your mother's 
 emeralds, Liuboff." 
 
 " Do stop, papa! " exclaimed the young girl, in anguish 
 . . " Pray drop the subject . ." 
 
 " Don't you kick! Listen to your lesson . . ." 
 
 And again he plunged into his calculations, puckering up 
 his green eyes, and wiggling his fingers in front of his face. 
 
 S49 
 
Fomi Gordydeff 
 
 " It reckons up thirty-five per cent . . . mm ... 
 a sharp young fellow . . Send Thy li-i-ight and Thy 
 truth . :' 
 
 " Dear papa! " cried Liuboff sadly and timidly. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " You . . are you very much pleased with him? " 
 
 " Who? " 
 
 " SmoHn/' 
 
 " Smolin? We-ell, ye-es . . he's a ro-ogue . . he's 
 a capable young fellow . . a fi-ine merchant! Well, I'm 
 off now . . So you attend to it — equip yourself . ." 
 
 When she was left alone, Liuboff flung aside her work, 
 and leaned against the back of the chair, shutting her eyes 
 tightly. Her firmly clasped hands lay on her knees, and her 
 fingers fairly cracked with the strain. Filled with the bitter- 
 ness of wounded self-love, she felt painfully afraid of the 
 future, and prayed silently: 
 
 " my God! Lord! . . If he were only a well-bred 
 man! Make him well-bred . . sincere. God! Some 
 man or other comes and looks you over and — takes you to 
 himself for long, long years . . if you please him! How 
 infamous it is . . . how terrible . . God, my God! 
 If I could only — run away! . . I wish I had some one to 
 advise me . . what to do? Who is he? How am I to 
 know him? I can do nothing! But I have thought . . I 
 have thought so much! I have read . . Why have I 
 read? Why should I know that it is possible to live other- 
 wise — as I cannot live? But . . perhaps if it were not 
 for the books . . I should find it ... I might live 
 more easily . . . simply . . . What a torture all this 
 is! What a wretched . . . unhappy creature I am! . . 
 Alone. If Taras were only here . . ." 
 
 At the recollection of her brother, she felt still more in- 
 
 sso 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 dignant, still more sorry for herself. She had written Taras 
 a long, exultant letter, wherein she had spoken of her love 
 for him, of her hopes based on him; she had entreated her 
 brother to come as speedily as possible to see his father, 
 she had sketched out plans for their life together, assuring 
 Taras that his father — was a very clever man, and would 
 understand everything; she had told about his loneliness, 
 had indulged in raptures over his adaptability to life, and, 
 at the same time, had complained of his treatment of her- 
 self. 
 
 For two weeks she tremulously awaited a reply, and when 
 it had arrived and she had read it, — she had cried herself 
 into hysterics with joy and disappointment. The answer 
 was dry and brief; in it, Taras announced that, in the 
 course of a month, he would be on the Volga on business, 
 and would make a point of calling on his father, if the old 
 man really had no objection to his doing so. The letter was 
 cold as a block of ice; she read it over several times, in tears, 
 and crumpled it, and twisted it up, but it did not grow any 
 the warmer in consequence, but only got wet through. 
 From out of the sheet of stiff writing-paper, written in a 
 large, firm hand, there seemed to gaze forth upon her a 
 wrinkled, gaunt, angular face, scowling with suspicion, like 
 her father^s face. 
 
 On Yakoff Tarasovitch the letter of his son produced an 
 entirely different impression. On learning that Taras had 
 written, the old man gave a great start, and turned hastily 
 to his daughter, with much vivacity, and a peculiar little 
 smile: 
 
 " Come now! Give it here! Show it to me! Let's read 
 how wise men write . . . Where are my spectacles? Mm 
 . . . ' Dear Sister! ' We-ell . . ." 
 
 The old man ceased; he read his son's epistle to himself, 
 
 351 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 laid it on the table, and elevating his brows very high, he 
 walked about the room with an amazed visage. Then he 
 read the letter again; drumming thoughtfully with his 
 fingers on the table, he remarked: 
 
 " That's all right . . it's a judicious letter . . with- 
 out any superfluous words. What of it? Perhaps the man 
 has really hardened, out in the cold . . The cold is severe 
 there. Let him come . . we'll have a look at him . . 
 I'm curious . . . Ye-es . . In a Psalm of David it is 
 said concerning the mysterious dealings of his son: ' When 
 Thou didst turn back mine enemy again . . .' I've for- 
 gotten what comes next ... * The weapons of the enemy 
 have grown weak at the last . . and his memory hath 
 perished with a noise . .' Well, we'll converse with him 
 without any noise . ." 
 
 The old man tried to speak calmly and with a contemptu- 
 ous smile, but the smile did not appear on his face, the 
 wrinkles quivered with excitement, and his little eyes 
 seemed to gleam with peculiar brilliancy. 
 
 "Write to him again, Liubavka . . tell him to goi 
 ahead — to come fearlessly . ." 
 
 Liuboff wrote again to Taras, but this time the letter was 
 brief and composed, and now she was expecting an answer 
 any day, and trying to picture to herself what he must be 
 like, this mysterious brother of hers? Formerly she had 
 been wont to think of him with a sinking of the heart, with 
 that devout respect with which believers think of ascetics, 
 persons of upright life — but now she felt afraid of him, for, 
 at the cost of severe sufferings, at the cost of his youth, 
 wasted in exile, he had acquired the right to judge both life 
 and people . . . He would come, and ask her: 
 
 " Of course, you are marrying of your own free will, for 
 love?" 
 
 353 
 
Foma Gordy^efif 
 
 What should she say to him? Would he pardon her 
 pusillanimity? And why was she marrying? Was this,j 
 in reality, the only thing she eould do in order to alter her* 
 life? 
 
 One after another, melancholy thoughts arose in the 
 young girl's mind, and confused and tortured her, powerless 
 as she was to oppose them with any definite, irresistible de- 
 sire. Although seized with an anxious and nervous mood, 
 although she was on the verge of despair, nevertheless she 
 half-unconsciously but punctually fulfilled her father's com- 
 mands: she decked the table with ancient silver and rare 
 crystal, donned a silk gown, and seating herself before her 
 mirror, began to place in her ears huge emeralds — a family 
 heirloom of the Princes of Georgia, which had remained in 
 Mayakin's hands as surety for a loan, together with many 
 other precious things. 
 
 As she gazed into the mirror at her agitated face, whose 
 large and luscious lips looked handsomer than ever amid 
 the pallor of her cheeks, as she scrutinized her superb bust, 
 closely enfolded by the silk, she felt conscious that she was 
 beautiful and worthy of the attention of any man, who- 
 ever he might be. The green stones sparkling in her ears 
 affronted her, as superfluous, and, in addition, it struck 
 her that their gleam cast a slight tinge of yellow upon her 
 neck. She removed the emeralds from her ears, replacing 
 them with small rubies, and meditating all the time about 
 Smolin — what sort of a man he might be? What was his 
 character? What did he wish? Did he read books? 
 
 Then the dark circles under her eyes displeased her, and 
 she began carefully to sprinkle them with powder, without 
 ceasing to think about the misfortune of being a woman, 
 and reproaching herself with lack of will-power. When 
 the spots around her eyes were covered with a layer of paint 
 
 353 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 and powder, it struck Liuboff that this had robbed her eyes 
 of their brilliancy, and she wiped off the powder . . A 
 last glance in the mirror convinced her that she was strik- 
 ingly beautiful, — beautiful with the amiable and durable 
 beauty of the resinous pine-tree. This agreeable conviction 
 somewhat calmed her tremulous mood, and she entered the 
 dining-room with the stately mien of a wealthy bride who 
 knows her own value. 
 
 Her father and Smolin had already arrived. 
 
 Liuboff paused for a second in the door-way, prettily nar- 
 rowing her eyes, and proudly compressing her lips. Smolin 
 rose from his chair, went to meet her, and made a respect- 
 ful bow. The bow pleased her — it was low and graceful; 
 she was pleased, also, by the costly frock-coat, which fitted 
 Smolin's flexible figure beautifully . . He had not 
 changed much — he was the same red-headed, closely- 
 cropped, much-freckled person as of yore; only, his mus- 
 tache had grown out long and luxuriant, and his eyes seemed 
 to have become larger. 
 
 "What do you think of him? hey?" shouted Mayakin 
 at his daughter, pointing at her suitor. 
 
 But Smolin pressed her hand, and smiling, said, in a 
 ringing baritone voice: 
 
 " I venture to hope that you have not forgotten your old 
 play-mate?" 
 
 " All right! . . You can talk together later on — " said 
 the old man, testing his daughter with his eyes. — " You 
 may attend to your duties here, for the present, Liubava, 
 while he and I finish our little confab. Come — now, 
 Afrian Mitritch, explain yourself . ." 
 
 "Will you excuse me, Liuboff Yakovlevna?" inquired 
 Smolin suavely. 
 
 " Pray do not stand on ceremony," said Liub6ff. 
 
 354 
 
Fom^ Gordy^eff 
 
 " He's courteous and adroit! " she commented to herself, 
 and as she walked about the room, from side-board to table, 
 she began to lend an attentive ear to Smolin's remarks. 
 He talked softly, confidently, with a simplicity in which was 
 to be detected condescension towards his interlocutor. 
 
 " Well then — for about four years I diligently studied 
 the position of Eussian leather in foreign markets. It's 
 a very dismal and dreadful position! Thirty years ago, our 
 leather was regarded there as the standard, but now the 
 demand for it is constantly decreasing, and, of course, the 
 price also. But this is perfectly natural — for in the absence 
 of capital and knowledge, all these petty leather-producers 
 cannot possibly raise their product to the proper degree 
 of merit, and, at the same time, make it more cheaply . . 
 Their goods are shockingly bad and dear . . And they 
 are all guilty, in the sight of Russia, of having ruined her 
 reputation as the manufacturer of the best leather. There- 
 fore, to speak in a general way, the petty producer, who has 
 neither capital nor technical knowledge, is placed in a posi- 
 tion where it is impossible for him to improve his products 
 in conformity with the development of the technical branch, 
 — and such a producer is a misfortune for the country, a 
 parasite on her trade." 
 
 " Mm . ." bellowed the old man, keeping one eye on 
 his guest, and watching his daughter with the other. — " So, 
 I understand, — your present intention is — ^to establish such 
 a huge factory, that nothing will be left for all the others — 
 except a coffin and its cover? " 
 
 " 0, no! '' exclaimed Smolin, waving off the old man's 
 words with an easy gesture . . " Why injure the others? 
 What right have I to do that? My aim is, to raise the im- 
 portance and price of Russian leather abroad, and so, armed 
 with knowledge as to the manufacture, I shall erect a model 
 
 355 
 
Foma Gordy^eflf 
 
 factory, and put model wares on the market . . . The 
 commercial honor of the country . . ." 
 
 " Does it require much capital, did you say? " asked 
 Mayakin meditatively. 
 
 " About three hundred thousand . . ." 
 
 "Father won^t give that much as my dowry," thought 
 Liuboff. 
 
 " My factory will turn out leather goods also, in the shape 
 of trunks, shoes, harnesses, straps, and so forth." 
 
 " What per cent, do you dream of making? " asked the 
 old man. 
 
 " I am not dreaming, I am reckoning with all the ac- 
 curacy possible under conditions in Russia," — said Smolin 
 impressively. — " A manufacturer should be severely sober, 
 in his quality of a mechanician who is creating a machine. 
 The wear and tear on every screw, no matter how small, 
 must be included in the calculation, if you wish to treat a 
 serious matter seriously. I can give you to read two little 
 records which I have drawn up, founded upon my own 
 personal study of cattle-breeding and the consumption of 
 meat in Russia." 
 
 "You don't say so!" laughed Mayakin. — "You fetch 
 me your records . . Vm curious to see them! Evidently, 
 you didn't spend your time in vain in that same Western 
 Europe. But now, let's have something to eat, after the 
 Russian custom . ." 
 
 "How goes hfe with you Liuboff Yakovlevna?" asked 
 Smolin, as he armed himself with knife and fork. 
 
 " She finds life with me very tiresome," Mayakin replied 
 for his daughter. — " She's my housekeeper, — the whole 
 management lies on her, — so she never has any time to 
 amuse herself . ." 
 
 " And no place, either, you ought to add," said Liub6ff. 
 
 356 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "I am not fond of merchants' balls and evening par- 
 ties . ." 
 
 " But the theatre ? " inquired Smolin. 
 
 " I rarely go there — I have no one to go with." 
 
 " The theatre! " exclaimed the old man. — " Tell me, pray, 
 why it has become so much the fashion to represent the 
 merchant as a wild fool? It's very amusing, but it's in- 
 comprehensible, because it isn't true! How am I a fool if 
 in the City Council I'm the master, and in trade I'm the 
 master, — and that's my little theatre? . . You look at a 
 merchant on the stage, and you see — that he's not con- 
 sistent with life! Of course, if you are giving a historical 
 play, for example, ' Life for the Tzar,' with singing and 
 dancing,^ or ' Hamlet,' or ' The Sorceress,' or * Vasilisa ' 
 — truth to nature is not required, — the matter is past, and 
 does not concern us . . No matter whether it is true or 
 not, so long as it's good . . But if you're representing the 
 present day, — then don't lie! And show the man as he is! " 
 
 Smolin listened to the old man's speech with a polite 
 smile on his lips, and kept casting at Liuboff glances which 
 seemed to invite her to reply to her father. 
 
 In some confusion, she said: 
 
 '* And yet, papa, the majority of the merchant class are 
 uneducated and rough . ." 
 
 " Yes," said Smolin regretfully, with an affirmative nod 
 of the head, — " that is the melancholy truth." 
 
 " There, for example, is Foma," went on the young girl. 
 
 "0?" exclaimed Mayakin. — "Well, you young folks — 
 you must have books in your hands . ." 
 
 "And you never participate in any social affairs?" 
 
 * Glinka's famous and favorite opera, founded on an incident con- 
 nected with the election to the throne of Tzar Mikhail FeodoroTitch, 
 the first Romanoff sovereign, in the year 1612. — Translator* 
 
 357 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Smolin asked Liuboff. " You have a great deal of society 
 here . ." 
 
 " Yes/' said Liuboff with a sigh, " but I live rather apart 
 from everything . " 
 
 " Housekeeping! " put in her father. — " We have so 
 many nonsensical things about — everything has to be kept 
 account of, kept clean and in order . /' 
 
 He nodded his head with self-satisfaction at the table, set 
 out with glittering crystal and silver, and at the sideboard, 
 whose shelves were fairly breaking under the load of articles, 
 and reminded the beholder of a display in a shop window. 
 Smolin scrutinized all these things, and an ironical smile 
 flitted across his lips. Then he glanced at Liuboff's face; 
 in his glance she detected an element that was friendly, 
 sympathetic to her. A faint blush colored her cheeks, and, 
 with inward joy she said to herself: 
 
 "Thank God!" 
 
 The light of the massive bronze lamp seemed to gleam 
 more brilliantly on the facets of the crystal dishes, and the 
 room grew brighter. 
 
 " Your splendid old town pleases me! " said Smolin, look- 
 ing at the young girl with a caressing smile, — " it is so 
 beautiful, so dashing . . it has something alert about it, 
 which incites one to work . . its very picturesqueness 
 seems stimulating . . In it one wishes to live an expan- 
 sive life . . one wants to work much and seriously . . 
 And then, it is an intelligent town . . Just see what a 
 practical newspaper is published here . . By the way, 
 we wish to purchase it . ." 
 
 '' Whom do you mean by * we ' ? " asked Mayakin. 
 
 " Why, I . . Urvantzoff Shtchukin . ." 
 
 " That's laudable ! '' said the old man, smiting the table 
 with his fist. — "That' very practical! It's time to gag it 
 
 o53 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 — ^it ought to have been done long ago! In particular, 
 there's an Ezhoff there . . he's a regular coarse-toothed 
 saw . . . You just put the thumb-screws on him! Give 
 them a good turn! " 
 
 Again Smolin cast at Liuboff a smiling glance, and again 
 her heart quivered with joy. With a vivid flush on her 
 cheeks she said to her father, inwardly addressing her re- 
 marks to her bridegroom: 
 
 " So far as I understand Afrian Dmitrievitch, he is not 
 going to buy the paper with the least intention of closing 
 its mouth, as you say." 
 
 " Then what can he do with it ? " — inquired the old man, 
 shrugging his shoulders. — " There's nothing to it but empty 
 bragging and sedition ... Of course, if practical people, 
 the merchants themselves, take to writing for it . ." 
 
 " The publication of a newspaper," said Smolin didacti- 
 cally, interrupting the old man's speech, " if it be regarded 
 only from the commercial point of view, may be a very 
 profitable undertaking. But, in addition to this, a news- 
 paper has another, a more important object — ^it lies in de- 
 fending the rights of individuality, and the interests of in- 
 dustry and trade." 
 
 " That's exactly what I say, — if the merchants them- 
 selves will manage it, the newspaper, why then, . . it will 
 be useful . . ." 
 
 " Allow me, papa," said Liuboff. 
 
 She had begun to feel the need of expressing herself be- 
 fore Smolin; she wished to convince him that she under- 
 stood the significance of his words, that she was not a com- 
 mon merchant's daughter, devoted to dress and dancing. 
 Smolin pleased her. For the first time she beheld a mer- 
 chant, who had lived long abroad, who reasoned so sugges- 
 tively, who bore himself in so gentlemanly a way, who was 
 
 359 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 60 well dressed, and who conversed with her father — ^the 
 wisest man in towi5— in the patronizing tone of a grown 
 man towards a minor. 
 
 " After the wedding I will persuade him to take me 
 abroad/' she suddenly said to herself, and, disconcerted at 
 this thought, she forgot what she had wished to say to her 
 father. Blushing deeply, she remained silent for a few sec- 
 onds, completely overcome with terror lest Smolin should 
 interpret this silence in a manner unflattering to her. 
 
 " While you have been talking, you have quite forgotten 
 to offer your guest any wine," she contrived to say after 
 several disagreeable seconds of silence. 
 
 " That's your affair; you are the mistress of the house," 
 retorted her father. 
 
 " 0, pray do not trouble yourself! " exclaimed Smolin 
 with animation. — " I hardly drink at all." 
 
 ** Eeally? " queried Mayakin. 
 
 " I don't, I assure you! Sometimes I take a glass or two, 
 in case of fatigue or illness . . But wine for pleasure — 
 is incomprehensible to me. There are other pleasures more 
 worthy of a cultivated man." 
 
 "Women, you mean?" inquired the old man, with a 
 wink. 
 
 Smolin's cheeks and neck became scarlet with the color 
 which flew to his face. He glanced at Liuboff with apolo- 
 getic eyes, and said drily to her father: 
 
 " There is the theatre, there are books, and music . .'* 
 
 Liubofl fairly blossomed out at his words. 
 
 But the old man looked askance at the worthy young 
 man, laughed rather sharply, and suddenly burst forth: 
 
 " Ekh, life moves on! In former days, a puppy devoured 
 a crust eagerly, now-a-days a lap-dog finds the cream too 
 thin . . Excuse me, my amiable sirs, for the unpleasant 
 
 360 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 remark . . it is very much to the point! It's not aimed 
 at you, but is a general remark/' 
 
 Liuboff turned pale, and cast an apprehensive glance at 
 Smolin. He was sitting quietly, looking at an ancient salt- 
 cellar in the form of a porringer, decorated with enamel, 
 twisting his mustache, and, apparently had not heard the 
 old man's words. But his eyes clouded over, and his lips 
 were pressed together very firmly, so that his shaven chin 
 projected straight forward. 
 
 " So, I understand, Mr. Future Leading Merchant," re- 
 sumed Mayakin, as though nothing had happened, — " three 
 hundred thousand rubles, — and your business will begin to 
 thrive like a house afire? " 
 
 " And within a year and a half I shall put on the market 
 my first parcel of goods, which will go off like hot cakes," 
 said Smolin, simply, and with immovable confidence, and 
 looked the old man straight in the eye, with a firm, cold 
 stare. 
 
 " So it's to be: the mercantile house of Smolin and Maya- 
 kin and — no one else? . . . Yes, sir . . Only, it's 
 rather late in life for me to start a new business, isn't it, 
 hey? I must assume that a little grave has been made for 
 me long ago . . what do you think about it? " 
 
 In lieu of a reply, Smolin laughed for several seconds, 
 with a rich, but cold and indifferent laugh, and then said: 
 
 " Eh, have done . ." 
 
 The old man shuddered at his laughter, and recoiled, 
 timorously, with an almost imperceptible movement of his 
 body. All three remained silent for a moment after Smo- 
 lin's words. 
 
 " Well, ye-es . . ." said Mayakin, without raising his 
 head, which was bent very low . . " One must think of 
 that, — I must think of that . . ." Then, raising his 
 
 361 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 head, he intently surveyed his daughter and her suitor, 
 and, rising from his chair, he said, loudly and sullenly: — 
 ** I'm going away from you for a little minute into my little 
 study . . You won't feel bored without me, I fancy! " 
 
 And off he went, with bowed back and drooping head, 
 dragging his feet heavily along. 
 
 The young people, on being left alone, exchanged a few 
 empty phrases, and, in all probability, conscious that this 
 only removed them further apart, they relapsed into an 
 oppressive, awkward silence of anticipation. Liuboff, tak- 
 ing an orange, began to peel it with exaggerated care, while 
 Smolin inspected his mustache, with lowered eyes, then 
 carefully stroked it with his left hand, toyed with a knife, 
 and suddenly asked the young girl, in a lowered tone: 
 
 " A . . . pardon me for my indiscretion! You really 
 must find it very difficult to hve with your papa . . . he's 
 a man of the old school, and — excuse me — decidedly 
 harsh! " 
 
 Liuboff quivered, and cast a grateful glance at the red- 
 haired man, as she said to him: 
 
 " It is not easy, but I have got used to it . . He has 
 his good qualities . . ." 
 
 " 0, undoubtedly! But for you, young, beautiful, edu- 
 cated, for you with your views . . you see, I have heard 
 mo»e or less about you . . ." 
 
 He smiled so caressingly and sympathetically, and his 
 voice was so soft . . A spirit of warmth and cheer was 
 wafted through the room. And in the heart of the young 
 girl there flamed up more and more brightly the timid hope 
 of happiness, of release from the close captivity of isolation. 
 
 362 
 
XII 
 
 A DENSE, grayish fog hung over the river, and a steamer, 
 shrieking dully, was slowly sailing up it against the current. 
 The damp, cold clouds, of a deadly monotony of hue, en- 
 veloped the steamer on all sides, and deadened all sounds, 
 dissolving them all in their turbid humidity. The brazen 
 roar of signals droned out in a stifled, mournful way, 
 and was strangely brief, as it burst forth from the whistle: 
 the sound seemingly unable to find a place for itself in the 
 air, impregnated with dense humidity, fell downward, wet 
 and choked. And the noise of the steamer's wheels sounded 
 as fantastically-dull as though it did not proceed from close 
 at hand, but from somewhere deep down below, on the dark 
 bed of the river. From the steamer, neither the water nor 
 the hills nor the sky were visible: a leaden-gray obscurity 
 enveloped it on all sides; devoid of shading, painfully mo- 
 notonous, it lay motionless, pressed upon the steamer with 
 immeasurable weight, impeded its movements, and seemed 
 to be making ready to suck it down into its bosom, as it 
 was sucking the sounds. Despite the dull blows of the 
 paddle-blades upon the water, and the regular vibration of 
 the vessel's body, it seemed as though the steamer were 
 painfully struggling on one spot, panting with agony, hiss- 
 ing like an expiring monster in a fairy-tale, howling in the 
 death-agony, howling with pain and the fear of death. 
 
 The lights of the steamer were lifeless. Around the 
 lantern on the mast a circular, motionless spot had formed; 
 
 363 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 it hung in the fog above the vessel, devoid of radiance, and 
 illuminating nothing, except the gray mist. The red star- 
 board light resembled a huge eye, crushed out by someone's 
 cruel fist, blinded, suffused with blood. Pale specks of 
 light fell upon the fog from the windows of the steamer, 
 and merely accentuated its cold triumph, devoid of joy, 
 over the vessel crushed by the motionless mass of choking 
 dampness. 
 
 The smoke from the funnel fell downwards, and, in com- 
 pany with fragments of the fog, penetrated into all the 
 cracks of the deck, where the third-class passengers had 
 silently wrapped themselves in their rags, and were hud- 
 dling together in little knots, like sheep. From the ma- 
 chinery proceeded heavy, painful sighs, quivering bell-sig- 
 nals, the dull sounds of orders and the fragmentary words 
 of the engineer: 
 
 " Yes sir — slow! . . Yes sir . . half-speed! " 
 
 On the stern, in a corner piled high with casks of salted 
 fish, was assembled a group of people who were illuminated 
 by an electric light. These persons were staid, warmly and 
 neatly clad peasants; one of them was reclining on a bench, 
 back upward, another was sitting at his feet, still another 
 was standing, with his back propped against a cask, and 
 two were seated flat on the deck. The countenances of all, 
 thoughtful and attentive, were turned towards a round- 
 shouldered man in a rusty cassock, and a tattered fur cap. 
 This man was sitting, with bowed back, upon a box, and 
 gazing at his feet, was talking in a quiet, confident voice: 
 
 " There will come an end to the longsuffering of the 
 Lord, and His wrath will break forth upon men . 
 We are all worms in His sight, and when His wrath is 
 loosed upon us, with what wailing shall we appeal to His 
 mercy? " 
 
 364 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Under the haunting impulse of his distress, Fomd had 
 quitted his cabin and descended to the deck, and, for a 
 long time, had been standing in the shadow of some freight 
 covered with a tarpaulin, and listening to the gentle, horta- 
 tory voice of the exhorter. As he strode up and down the 
 deck, he had come upon this group, and had paused in 
 its vicinity, attracted by the figure of the pilgrim. There 
 was something familiar to him in that huge, strong body, 
 with the dark, austere visage, and large, calm eye8. The 
 curling, iron-gray hair, which escaped from beneath the 
 skull-cap, the abundant, unkempt beard, falling apart in 
 thick tufts, the long, hooked nose, the sharp-pointed ears, 
 the thick lips — all these Foma had beheld before, at some 
 time or other, but he could not recall when and where. 
 
 " We-ll, we are burdened with many arrears in the sight 
 of the Lord ! '^ said one of the peasants, sighing heavily. 
 
 " We must pray,^' whispered the peasant who was lying 
 on ^""le bench, in a barely audible voice. 
 
 ^' Can sinful impiety be scraped clean from the soul by 
 prayerful words ? " exclaimed some one on one side, loudly, 
 almost with despair in his voice. 
 
 None of the persons who formed the group about the 
 pilgrim turned towards this voice, but the heads of all sank 
 yet lower, and for a long time these men sat motionless and 
 silent. 
 
 The pilgrim surveyed all his hearers with a serious and 
 meditative glance of his blue eyes, and began again, softly: 
 
 "Ephraim the Syrian hath said: 'Make thy soul the 
 central point of thy thought, and strengthen thyself with 
 thy will unto freedom from sin . . .' " 
 
 And again he bowed his head, slowly slipping the beads 
 of his rosary through his fingers. 
 
 " That means, we must think? " said one of the peasants. 
 
 365 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 '' But what time has a man to think when he lives in the 
 world? " 
 
 '* All around us is turmoil . .'' 
 
 " We must flee to the desert," said the recumbent peasant. 
 
 " Not everyone can do that . ." 
 
 The peasants said their say, and again fell silent. A 
 whistle sounded, a little bell rang at the engine. A loud 
 shout rang out from somewhere or other: 
 
 "Hi, there! To the measuring poles . . ** 
 
 " Lord, Queen of Heaven! " came a heavy sigh. 
 
 But a dull, half-choked voice shouted: 
 
 " Ni-i-ine . . ni-i-ine . ." ^ 
 
 Tufts of mist broke away and fell on the deck, and rolled 
 across it like cold, gray smoke. 
 
 " Here, good people, hearken to the words of King David 
 ..." said the pilgrim, and swaying his head to and fro, 
 he began to recite distinctly: * Lead me, Lord, in thy 
 righteousness, because of mine enemies; make thy way plain 
 before my face! For there is no faithfulness in his mouth, 
 their inward parts are very wickedness, their throat is an 
 open sepulchre, they flatter with their tongue . . Destroy 
 thou them, God, let them perish through their imagina- 
 tions . .'" 
 
 "E-eight . . Se-even . . ." 
 
 The steamer hissed angrily, and slowed down. The roar- 
 ing hiss of the steam drowned the pilgrim's words, and 
 Foma could only see the movement of his lips. 
 
 " Get out! " rang out a loud and angry cry . . "It's 
 my place! " 
 
 " You-urs? " 
 
 * The numbers here, and further on, refer to soundings, which, on 
 the Volga steamers, are made with long poles, by men stationed on the 
 bow. — Translator. 
 
 366 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Here's yours for you! " 
 
 '^ 1^11 hit you a lick over the snout . . then you'll find 
 your own place . . Hey, what a fine gentleman! '' 
 
 " Go along with you! " 
 
 An uproar arose. The peasants who were listening to the 
 pilgrim turned their heads towards the quarter where the 
 row was in progress, and the pilgrim heaved a sigh and 
 stopped short. A loud and lively dispute flamed up near 
 the engine, as though dry branches, cast upon a bonfire, 
 had caught the flame. 
 
 " I'll give it to you, you devils. Scat, both of you! " 
 
 " Take them to the captain." 
 
 " Ha-ha-ha! Here's a fine settlement! " 
 
 " That was a healthy whack he gave him in the neck! " 
 
 " They're sailors . . they're experts at that . . ." 
 
 "Ei-eight . . . Ni-i-ine . . ." shouted the man 
 with the sounding-pole. 
 
 " Yes, sir — increased speed ! " rang out the engineer's 
 loud cry. 
 
 Swaying unsteadily on his feet with the motion of the 
 steamer, Foma stood queezed up against the tarpaulin, lend- 
 ing an attentive ear to all the sounds around him, which 
 where merged, for him, into one general, familiar picture. 
 
 Through fog and uncertainty, surrounded on all sides by 
 obscurity impenetrable to the eye, slowly and laboriously ;. 
 the life of men moves onward to some goal. But people j 
 grieve over their sins, sigh heavily, and then and there set 
 to quarrelling over a warm place, and after thrashing each 
 other for its possession, they in turn endure blows from 
 those who desire to obtain order in life. Timidly they seek j 
 a free path for their ends. 
 
 "Ni-ine . . . Ei-eight . . ." 
 
 Softly the wailing cry is wafted over the ship, and the 
 
 367 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 prayer of the pilgrim fades away amid the din of life. And 
 there is no relief from grief, there is no joy, for him who 
 begins to meditate upon his fate. 
 
 Foma wished to have a talk with the pilgrim, in whose 
 quiet words resounded genuine fear of the Lord, and all 
 sorts of fear for men before His face. The gentle, admoni- 
 tory voice of the pilgrim possessed a peculiar power, which 
 made Foma listen to its deep chest tones. 
 
 " I'd like to ask how he lives . . ." thought Foma, in- 
 tently scrutinizing the huge, bowed form. — " And where 
 have I seen him? Or does he resemble someone whom I 
 know?" 
 
 Suddenly, for some reason, it occurred to Foma with 
 peculiar vividness, that this gentle exhorter was no other 
 than the son of old Ananii Shtchiiroff . Struck by this con- 
 jecture, he stepped up to the pilgrim, and sitting down 
 beside him, he inquired easily: 
 
 " Are you from the Irgiz, father? " 
 
 The man raised his head, slowly and with difficulty turned 
 his face to Foma, inspected him, and said gently, in a com- 
 posed voice: 
 
 " I have been on the Irgiz." 
 
 " you belong there yourself? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " And where do you hail from now? " 
 
 " From the shrine of Saint Stephen . ." 
 
 The conversation dropped, — Foma lacked the boldness 
 to ask the pilgrim whether he were not Shtchuroff ? 
 
 " We shall be behind time with this fog," said someone. 
 
 " How can we help being ! " 
 
 All fell silent, and gazed at Foma. Young, handsome, 
 neatly and expensively clad, he had aroused the curiosity of 
 those about him by his sudden appearance among them, 
 
 363 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 was conscious of this curiosity, understood that they were 
 all waiting for him to speak, were desirous of finding out 
 why he had joined them, and — all this disconcerted and 
 enraged him. 
 
 "It seems to me, father, that I have seen you before/' 
 he said, at last. 
 
 The pilgrim replied, without looking at him: 
 
 "Perhaps . . ." 
 
 "I must have a talk with you," declared Foma faint- 
 heartedly, in a low tone. 
 
 "What is it? Speak . ." 
 
 " Come with me . ^ 
 
 "Whither?'' 
 
 " To my cabin." 
 
 The pilgrim glanced at Foma's face, and, after a pause, 
 consented: 
 
 " Come on." 
 
 As he walked away, Foma felt the eyes of the peasants 
 on his back, and now it pleased him to know that they took 
 an interest in him. 
 
 In his cabin, he inquired affably: 
 
 "Perhaps you would like to eat something? Say so — 
 I will order it . ." 
 
 " Christ save you . . . What do you want? " 
 
 This man, in his dirty, tattered cassock, rusty with age 
 and covered with patches, — cast a squeamish glance of scru- 
 tiny about the cabin, and when he seated himself on the 
 plush-covered divan, he turned up the skirt of his cassock, 
 as though afraid that it would get soiled by the plush. 
 
 "What shall I call you, father?" asked Foma, taking 
 note of the fastidious expression on the man's face. 
 
 " Miron." 
 
 "And not Mikhail?" 
 
 3G9 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 ''Why Mikhail? '^ inquired the pilgrim. 
 
 " Why . . in our town there was . . the son of a 
 certain merchant, Shtchuroff . . . who also went off to 
 the Irgiz . . and his name was Mikhail . ." 
 
 As Foma spoke, he kept his eyes intently fixed on father 
 Miron; but the latter was as calm as a deaf-mute. 
 
 " I never met such a man . . I don't remember hav- 
 ing met him . ." he said thoughtfully ..." Was it 
 about him that you wished to speak to me? " 
 
 "Ye-es . . :' 
 
 "I never have met Mikhail Shtchuroff . . Now ex- 
 cuse me, for Christ's sake! " and, rising from the divan, the 
 pilgrim bowed to Foma and went towards the door. 
 
 " Wait ... sit down . . let us talk! " exclaimed 
 Foma, dashing at him uneasily. The latter cast a search- 
 ing glance at him, and dropped down on the divan. 
 
 From somewhere in the distance there was borne to their 
 ears a dull sound, resembling a deep groan, and it was fol- 
 lowed by the frightened, prolonged roar of the steam- 
 whistle above the heads of Foma and his guest. From the 
 distance came a still clearer reply to it, and again it roared 
 not far from them in broken, terrifying shrieks. Foma 
 opened the window; through the fog, not far from their 
 steamer, something was moving with a ponderous noise, 
 spots of transparent lights floated past, the fog was vio- 
 lently agitated, and again sank back into dead immo- 
 bility . . 
 
 " What a terror! " exclaimed Foma, closing the window. 
 
 " What is there to be afraid of? " asked the pilgrim. 
 
 "Why — you see! It's neither day nor night . . . 
 neither dark nor light! Nothing is visible . . we are 
 sailing to some indefinite point or other, we are astray on 
 the river . . ." 
 
 370 
 
FomA Gordyeeff 
 
 "Have within you inward fire, light in your soul, and 
 you will see everything," said the pilgrim didactically and 
 austerely. 
 
 Foma was displeased with these cold words, and cast a 
 sidelong glance at the pilgrim. The latter was sitting, with 
 bowed head, as immovable as though he were absorbed in 
 prayer and meditation. The beads of his rosary rustled 
 softly through his fingers. 
 
 His attitude begot in Foma's breast a sort of free and 
 easy audacity, and he remarked: 
 
 " Say, father Miron, it's fine to live so — according to your 
 own free will . . . without affairs, without relatives . . 
 roving about as a pilgrim, as you do." 
 
 Father Miron raised his head, and began to laugh softly, 
 with a certain caressing, child-like laughter. His whole 
 countenance, of a cinnamon-brown hue from wind and sun- 
 burn, was illuminated by the light of inward joy. He was 
 another man — not the man of prayer and the preacher of 
 an upright life and the fear of God, but a kindly, simple 
 peasant, whose soft laughter called forth from Foma a good- 
 natured smile. But when he had done laughing, and had 
 taken a look at Foma, Miron merely uttered a profound 
 sigh, and said briefly: 
 
 "As if it could be bad!" 
 
 " That means, that you are satisfied with your life? " 
 
 " I do not burden the ear of the Lord with my reproaches 
 . . it's all right, I manage to live! The lowly life is the 
 truly godly one . . the only one that is free from worldly 
 ways . . ." 
 
 " Well, here am I now," Foma began, but broke off, and 
 became silent. That enviably joyous laugh still rang in his 
 ears. 
 
 " Why did you retire from the world? " he asked, after a 
 
 pause. 
 
 371 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " I was a stranger to my brethren," replied Miron calmly, 
 and surveying the cabin with an attentive, reflective gaze, 
 he said, with contemptuous compassion: 
 
 "Eh, how they have built! They adorn themselves, 
 adorn themselves outwardly, but within they are all rub- 
 bish . ." 
 
 " Ye-es . . ." drawled Foma, staring out of the win- 
 dow. — " So you like to wander about? Is it a free life? " 
 
 " Ekh, my brother! " exclaimed the pilgrim softly, moving 
 nearer to Foma, and gazing into his face both caressingly 
 and sadly: — "I divine that you are troubled in soul — are 
 you not ? " 
 
 Foma silently nodded his head, and gazed expectantly at 
 his interlocutor. 
 
 Miron's face beamed with quiet joy, he touched Foma's 
 knee with his hand, and began, in a cordial tone: 
 
 "Burn out of yourself what is worldly, for there is no 
 sweetness in it. I speak the righteous word — depart from 
 evil. Do you remember how it is said: * Blessed is the 
 man that hath not walked in the counsel of the ungodly, nor 
 stood in the way of sinners?' Seclude yourself, refresh 
 your soul with solitude, and fill yourself with the thought 
 of the Lord . . For only by the thought of Him can a 
 man save himself from defilement." 
 
 "That's not what I want!" said Foma. "There's no 
 need for me to work out my salvation as an ascetic — have I 
 sinned greatly? With other people, it's different . . . 
 What I'd like to comprehend is . . ." 
 
 " And you will comprehend it, if you separate yourself 
 from the world . . Go you forth upon the free road, 
 upon the fields, upon the steppes, upon the plains, upon 
 the mountains ... go forth, and gaze upon the world 
 with freedom^ from afar . . ." 
 
 372 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ''There!" cried Foma. "That's exactly what I think 
 . . It is better seen from one side." 
 
 But Miron, paying no heed to his words, went on talking 
 as softly as though his speech concerned some great secret, 
 known only to him, the pilgrim: 
 
 " The forests, dreaming in primeval denseness, will begin 
 to rustle all about thee, with sweet voices, touching the 
 wisdom of the Lord; God's little birds will sing to thee of 
 His holy glory, and the plume-grass of the steppes will burn 
 incense to the All-Holy Virgin Birth-Giver of God." 
 
 The voice of the pilgrim now rose and quivered with 
 fulness of feeling, now sank to a mysterious whisper. He 
 seemed to have grown younger: his eyes shone so con- 
 fidently and clearly, and his whole countenance beamed with 
 the happy smile of a man who has found a vent for his 
 sentiment of happiness, and exults as he pours it forth. 
 
 " In every tiny blade of grass beats the heart of the Lord; 
 every insect, of the earth and of the air, breathes forth 
 His Holy Spirit: everywhere God — the Lord Jesus Christ 
 liveth! What beauty there is on the earth, in the meadows, 
 in the forests! Have you been on the Kerzhenetz? The 
 tranquillity there is beyond compare, the trees, the grass — 
 are like paradise . . ." 
 
 Foma listened, and his imagination, captivated by the 
 quiet, entrancing narrative, depicted to him those broad 
 meadows and dense forests, full of beauty and silence, so 
 pacifying to the soul . . . 
 
 " You look up at the sky, as you lie under a bush, and 
 it keeps descending, descending to you, as though it wanted 
 to embrace you . . Your soul is warm and quietly- joyful, 
 you desire nothing, you envy no one . . . And so it 
 seems as though, on all the earth, there were only you and 
 God . . ." 
 
 373 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 The pilgrim continued to talk, but his voice and sing- 
 song speech reminded Foma of his old Aunt Anfisa's won- 
 derful fairy-tales. He felt as though, after a long journey 
 on a hot day, he were drinking the pure, cold water of a 
 forest brook, — water impregnated with the fragrance of the 
 grass and flowers which it had bathed . . . Ever more 
 widely opened out before him brilliant pictures: here was 
 the path which led into the primeval forest; through the 
 branches of the trees slender rays of sunlight made their 
 way, quivering in the air, and under the feet of the way- 
 farer . . . There is a savory odor of mushrooms and 
 damp, decaying foliage; the honeyed aroma of flowers, the 
 thick odor of the pine-trees perfume the air, and penetrate 
 the breast in a warm, rich stream . . . All around is 
 silence: only the birds are singing, and this silence is so 
 marvellous, that it seems as though the birds were singing 
 in your own breast . . . You stroll on, without haste, 
 and your life goes on like a dream. 
 
 But here, everything is enveloped in gray, dead fog, and 
 we struggle in it, grieving for freedom and light. Now, 
 with barely audible voices, they have started something on 
 the lower deck which is not exactly a song, nor yet exactly 
 a prayer. Again someone shouts, curses. And still the 
 way must be sought: 
 
 " Seven and a ha-alf . . . Se-ven! " 
 
 " And you have no care about anything,'^ said the pilgrim, 
 and his voice purled like a brook, — " anybody will give you 
 a morsel of bread; and what else does a free man like you 
 require? In the world, cares lay themselves, like chains, 
 upon the soul." 
 
 " You talk well! " said Foma with a sigh. 
 
 " My dear brother! " exclaimed the pilgrim softly, mov- 
 ing still closer to him. — " If your soul has waked up, if it 
 
 374 
 
Foma Gordy^efT 
 
 longs for freedom, do not lull it to sleep by force, hearken 
 to its voice ... In the world, in its allurements, there 
 is no beauty, no holiness — wherefore, why submit yourself 
 to its law? In John Chrysostom it is said: ^Man is the 
 true shekinah! ' But shekinah is a Hebrew word, and it 
 signifies, the holy of holies. Consequently . . ." 
 
 A prolonged shriek of the whistle drowned his voice. He 
 listened, rose quickly from the divan, and said: 
 
 "They are whistling for the wharf. — I must go! Well, 
 good-bye, brother! The Lord grant thee firmness and 
 strength to do according to the desire of thy soul! Farewell, 
 my dear man! " 
 
 He bowed low to Foma. There was something soft and 
 caressing, like a woman, in his parting words and bow. 
 And Foma, also, bowed low to him, bowed, and became 
 motionless, as he stood with drooping head, and his hand 
 resting on the table. 
 
 " If you are in town, come to see me," he invited the 
 pilgrim, who was hastily turning the handle of the cabin 
 door. 
 
 "I will! nicome! Farewell! Christ save you! " 
 
 When the steamer butted her side against the wharf Foma 
 went out on the gallery, and stood gazing down into the 
 fog. People were passing down the gangways from the 
 steamer, but amid these dark figures, enveloped in thick 
 mist, he did not recognize the pilgrim. All who left the 
 boat were equally indistinct, and all speedily vanished from 
 sight, as though they had melted into the gray dampness. 
 Neither the shore nor anything else stable was visible, the 
 landing rocked with the commotion produced by the 
 steamer, and on it rocked the yellow speck of a lantern; the 
 noise of footsteps and the turmoil of the people was dead- 
 ened. 
 
 375 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 The steamer pushed off, and slowly moved forward into 
 the clouds. The pilgrim, the wharf, the murmur of peo- 
 ple's voices, all vanished suddenly, like a dream, and once 
 more nothing remained save the dense obscurity and the 
 steamer rolling heavily through it. Foma stared ahead into 
 the dead sea of fog, and thought of the blue, cloudless, 
 smiling sky — where was it? 
 
 On the following day, about noon, he was seated in Ez- 
 hoff's tiny room, and listening to the news of the town from 
 the mouth of his chum. Ezhoff had climbed upon the 
 table, which was loaded down with newspapers, and dan- 
 gling his feet, was narrating: 
 
 " The election campaign has begun, the merchant class 
 are pushing your god-father to the head, the old devil! Like 
 the devil, he is immortal — although he must be over one 
 hundred and fifty years old already. He is going to marry 
 his daughter to Smolin . . you remember him, the red- 
 headed one! People say that he is a very gentlemanly sort 
 of fellow . . . but now-a-days, even clever rascals are 
 called gentlemanly fellows . . . because there are no 
 men! Now little Afrikan is putting on the airs of an en- 
 lightened person, he has already succeeded in making his 
 way into cultivated society, he contributed something to 
 some undertaking or other, and immediately became promi- 
 nent. Judging from his phiz, he's a first-class sharper, but 
 he will play his part, for he possesses a sense of proportion. 
 We-ell, now, dear little brother Afrikan is a liberal . . 
 But a liberal merchant is a mixture of a wolf and a pig with 
 a toad and a snake . ." 
 
 " Deuce take the whole lot of them! " said Foma, with 
 an indifferent wave of the hand. — " What have I to do 
 with them? How about yourself — do you still drink?'' 
 
 "Yes! Why shouldn't I?" 
 
 376 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 The half-clad and dishevelled Ezhoff resembled a bird 
 stripped of its feathers, which has just been engaged in a 
 fight, and has not succeeded in recovering from the excite- 
 ment of battle. 
 
 " I drink because I feel the need, from time to time, of 
 quenching the flame of my humiliated heart . . But 
 you, you dry stump, are you gradually decaying? ^' 
 
 " I must go to the old man,'^ said Foma, wrinkling up 
 his face. 
 
 " Kisk it! " 
 
 "I don't want to . . . He'll begin to lecture 
 me . . ." 
 
 " Then don't go! '* 
 
 " But I must." 
 
 "Then go!" 
 
 " Why are you always so flippant? " asked Foma with dis- 
 pleasure. " It seems as though he actually enjoyed . . ." 
 
 " By God, I always do enjoy things! " exclaimed Ezhoff, 
 springing from the table. — " What a fine dressing-down I 
 gave a certain gentleman in the paper yes-terday! And 
 then, I have heard a very witty anecdote: A party was 
 sitting on the seashore, philosophizing at length upon life. 
 And a Jew said to them: * Jantlemens! why-y sho many 
 different wordsh? I'll shay every dings to you at onsh: our 
 lifes is not vorth von kopek, like this stormy sea! ' " 
 
 " Eh, that's just like you! " said Foma. " Good-bye . . 
 I'm going." 
 
 " Go ahead! I'm in a top-lofty mood today, and I can't 
 groan with you . . all the more so as you don't groan, but 
 grunt . ." 
 
 Foma departed, leaving Ezhoff singing, at the top of his 
 lungs: 
 
 '* Rattle away on the dru-u-um, and hare no fear . .** 
 
 377 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 " The drum — ^you're a drum yourself," thought Foma with 
 irritation, as he hastily emerged into the street. 
 
 At Mayakin^s house he was met by Liuba. She suddenly 
 appeared before him agitated and animated for some reason, 
 saying quickly: 
 
 "Is it you? Good heavens! Ho-ow pale you are! . . 
 How thin you have grown . . You lead a nice life, that's 
 evident! " 
 
 Then her face contracted with alarm, and she cried, al- 
 most in a whisper: 
 
 "Akh, Foma! You don't know — for you see — there! 
 Do you hear? Someone is ringing the bell! Perhaps it is 
 he!" 
 
 And the young giri rushed from the room, leaving be- 
 hind her in the air the rustle of her silken gown, and the 
 astounded Foma, who had not managed even to ask her 
 where her father was. Yakoff Tarasovitch was at home. 
 Attired in his best, in a long frock-coat, with his medals on 
 his breast, he stood in the doorway with hands outspread, 
 holding fast to the jambs. His little green eyes searched 
 Foma, and feeling their gaze upon him, the latter raised 
 his head, and encountered them. 
 
 " Good morning, my fine sir! " began the old man, shak- 
 ing his head reproachfully. — " Whence has it pleased you 
 to arrive? Who has sucked all that fat off you? Or does 
 a pig seek a puddle and Foma the worst place he can 
 find?"^ 
 
 "Have you no other words for me?" asked Foma sul- 
 lenly, staring point-blank at the old man. 
 
 * Expressed in rhyme, and more succinctly in the Russian : " Svinya 
 ishtchet gdye liizha, i Foma gdye khiizhe " ; the pigs seek where there 
 is a puddle, and Foma where it is worst. — Translaior. 
 
 %J JO 
 
Fomi Gordyeeff 
 
 And all at once he perceived that his god-father was 
 trembling all over, his legs were shaking, his eyes were 
 winking incessantly, and his hands were clutching the door- 
 jambs with strained intensity. Foma moved towards him, 
 supposing that the old man was feeling ill, but Yakoff 
 Tarasovitch said, in a dull, angry voice: 
 
 " Stand aside . . go away . . ." 
 
 And his face assumed its wonted expression. 
 
 Foma stepped back, and found himself by the side of a 
 short, plump man, who, bowing to Yakoff Tarasovitch, said 
 in a hoarse voice: 
 
 ** How do you do, papa? '' 
 
 " Good mo-orning, Taras Yakovlevitch, good morning,** 
 said the old man, without removing his hands from the. 
 door-jambs, and saluted with a preoccupied smile. 
 
 Foma, in confusion, retreated to one side, seated himself 
 in an arm-chair, and petrified with curiosity, began to watch, 
 with staring eyes, the meeting between father and son. 
 
 The father, standing in the doorway, swayed his lean 
 body to and fro, clinging to the door-posts with his hands, 
 and, with head bent on one side, and eyes screwed up, gazed 
 in silence at his son. The son stood three paces away, with 
 his head, already sprinkled with gray, held high, with lower- 
 ing brows, and gazing at his father with his large, dark 
 eyes. His small, black pointed beard and small mustache 
 quivered on his thin face, with its cartilaginous nose, in- 
 herited from his father. And his hat, also, trembled in his 
 hand. Over his shoulder Foma beheld Liiiba^s pale, fright- 
 ened and joyous face — she was regarding her father with be- 
 seeching eyes, and it seemed as though she were on the very 
 verge of shrieking aloud. For a few seconds they all re- 
 mained silent and motionless, overwhelmed with the im- 
 mensity of their feelings. The silence was broken by the 
 
 379 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 quiet, strangely dull and trembling voice of Yako5 Ma- 
 yakin: 
 
 " You have aged, Taras . . /' 
 
 The son laughed silently in his father's face, and with 
 one swift glance surveyed him from head to foot. 
 
 The father, wrenching his hands from the door-posts, ad- 
 vanced towards his son — and suddenly stopped short, with a 
 frown. Then Taras Mayakin, with one huge stride, stepped 
 in front of his father, and offered him his hand. 
 
 " Oome . . let us kiss each other," suggested the old 
 man softly. 
 
 The two old men threw their arms convulsively round 
 each other, exchanged hearty kisses, and then stood off from 
 each other. The wrinkles of the older man quivered, the 
 lean face of the younger was immovable, almost harsh. The 
 kisses had effected no change in the external aspect of this 
 scene, only Liuboff gave a sob of joy, and Foma fidgetted 
 awkwardly in his chair, feeling as though his breath were 
 being stopped. 
 
 " Ekh . . . children . . . you are wounds to the 
 heart . . . and not its joy . . . — " complained Yakoff 
 Tarasovitch, in a ringing voice, and he must have put a 
 great deal into the remark, for immediately afterwards he 
 beamed, became brisk, and began to talk with a dash, ad- 
 dressing himself to his daughter: 
 
 "Well, have you turned weak with joy? Come on, pre- 
 pare something for us — tea, and so forth . . , We'll 
 entertain the prodigal son! You've probably forgotten, my 
 dear little old man, what sort of a father you have ? " 
 
 Taras Mayakin surveyed his parent with a meditative look 
 in his large eyes, and smiled; he was taciturn, clad in black, 
 which made the gray hair on his head and in his beard stand 
 out the more conspicuously. 
 
 380 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 "Come, sit down! Tell me — how you have lived; what 
 have you done? — What are you staring at? Ah! This is my 
 god-son, Ignat GordyeeS's son, Foma . . . You re- 
 member Ignat? " 
 
 " I remember everything," said Taras. 
 
 "Oh? That's good . . . if you're not bragging . • 
 Well, are you married? " 
 
 " I'm a widower." 
 
 " Have you children? " 
 
 " They are dead . . I had two . . ." 
 
 "It's a pi-ity , . I'd have liked some grand-chil- 
 dren . ." 
 
 " May I smoke? " Taras asked his father. 
 
 " Go ahead! . . . You don't say that you smoke 
 cigars? " 
 
 "Don't you like them?" 
 
 "I? Go on, I don't mind ... I only meant it was 
 rather like the gentry . . to smoke cigars . . ." 
 
 " And why should I consider myself inferior to the gen- 
 try? " said Taras, laughing. 
 
 " Do I consider myself inferior then?! " exclaimed the 
 old man. — "I merely said — that it seemed ridiculous to 
 me . . Such a staid old fellow . . . beard in foreign 
 fashion, cigar in mouth . . . Who is he? My little son 
 . . he-he-he! " — The old man slapped Taras on the shoul- 
 der, and jumped away from him, as though alarmed lest 
 he were rejoicing too soon, lest that might not be the proper 
 way to treat a man whose hair was half gray. And he gazed 
 inquisitively and suspiciously at his son's large eyes, en- 
 circled by yellowish swellings. 
 
 Taras smiled into his father's face with a courteous, cor- 
 dial smile, and said to him thoughtfully: 
 
 "That's the way I remember you . . jolly and alert 
 
 381 
 
Fom& Gordy^eff 
 
 , , . You seem not to have changed in the least during all 
 these years/' 
 
 The old man drew himself up proudly, and dealing him- 
 self a blow on the chest with his fist, said: 
 
 "I — never change! . . . Because, life has no power 
 over a man who knows his own value! Isn't that so? " 
 
 "Oho! How proud you are! " 
 
 " I must take after my son! " remarked the old man, with 
 a sly grimace. — " My good sir, I have a son who has main- 
 tained silence for seventeen years out of pride . ." 
 
 " That was because his father would not listen to him," 
 Taras reminded him. 
 
 "That's all right now! There's been enough of that 
 . . . God only knows which is to blame toward the other 
 . . . He is just. He will tell you — wait! But I shall 
 hold my peace . . . This is no time for you and me to 
 discuss that matter now . . . Now, see here, tell me 
 what you have been doing all these years. How did you 
 hit upon that soda factory? Have you become a man of 
 mark?" 
 
 " It's a long story! " said Taras with a sigh, and emitting 
 from his mouth a huge puff of smoke, he began deliberately: 
 — " When I acquired the possibility of living at liberty, I 
 entered the office of the superintendent at the Eemezoffs' 
 gold mines . . ." 
 
 "I know . . immensely wealthy people! Three broth- 
 ers — I know them all! One, is a monster, the second is a 
 fool, and the third is a miser . . Go on! " 
 
 " I served two years under him — and then I married his 
 daughter . ." narrated Ma)^akin in a hoarse voice. 
 
 " The superintendent's? That wasn't a stupid thing to 
 do . . ." 
 
 Taras reflected, and remained silent. The old man cast 
 a glance at his sad face, and understood his son. 
 
 382 
 
Fomi Gordy^eff 
 
 u 
 
 Of course, you lived happily with your wife," said he.— 
 " Well, what next? To the dead — paradise, and let the liv- 
 ing play on . . You're not so very old . . Have you been 
 a widower long?" 
 
 " Two years." 
 
 "So . . And how did you get interested in soda? " 
 
 " The factory belongs to my father-in-law . ." 
 
 " Aha! How much do you get? " 
 
 " About five thousand . ." 
 
 " Mm . . . that's not a stale morsel! We-ell, ye-es! 
 Here's a hard-labor convict for you! " 
 
 Taras cast a firm glance at his father, and drily inquired: 
 
 "By the way — where did you get the idea that I had 
 been a convict?" 
 
 The old man looked at his son with amazement, which was 
 speedily converted into joy: 
 
 "Ah . . how was it then? You were not? 0, you 
 don't say so! Then — ^how was it? Don't feel offended! 
 How could I tell? They said you had been in Siberia! 
 Well, and the galleys are there! " 
 
 " For the sake of making an end of this, once for all," 
 said Taras seriously and impressively, slapping his knee 
 with his hand, — " I will tell you now exactly the state of 
 the case. I was banished to Siberia, simply to reside there, 
 for six years, and I spent the whole period of my exile in 
 the mining region of the Lena . . I passed about nine 
 months in prison in Moscow . . and that's all there is to 
 it!" 
 
 " You don't sa-ay so! But . . . what does it mean? " 
 . . muttered Yakoff Tarasovitch, discomfited and de- 
 lighted. 
 
 "And then that absurd report was put in circula- 
 tion . . ." 
 
 383 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 *' Absurd indeed/' grieved the old man. 
 
 " And it did me a pretty bad turn on one occasion . , ." 
 
 "What? Eeally?" 
 
 " Yes ... I was about to start in business, and my 
 credit was ruined, thanks to . . ." 
 
 " Phew! " and Yakoff Mayakin spat angrily to one side. 
 — " Akh, the devil! You don't mean to say! " 
 
 All this time, Foma sat in his corner listening to the con- 
 versation of the Mayakins, persistently scrutinizing the 
 newcomer, and blinking with amazement. Calling to mind 
 Liuboff's relations to her brother, and being influenced, to 
 a certain degree, by her stories about Taras, he had ex- 
 pected to detect in his countenance something unusual, 
 something unlike the ordinary run of people. He had 
 thought that Taras would speak peculiarly, somehow, and 
 would be dressed after a fashion of his own, and, in general 
 — that he would be different from other people. But before 
 him sat a sedate, full-bodied man, severely clad, with severe 
 eyes, very like his father in face, and distinguished from 
 him only by his cigar and his small black beard. He talked 
 in a curt, business-like way, about such simple things — 
 where was there anything peculiar about him? And now 
 he began to tell his father about the profits in the manu- 
 facture of soda . . He had not been a convict — Liuboff 
 had made a mistake! And Foma found it agreeable to 
 picture to himself how he would talk her brother over with 
 Liuboff. 
 
 More than once, during her father's conversation, had she 
 made her appearance in the doorway. Her face was beam- 
 ing with happiness, and her eyes surveyed with rapture the 
 black form of Taras, clothed in such a peculiar thick coat, 
 with pockets on the sides, and large buttons. She walked 
 on tiptoe, and kept stretching out her neck in the direction 
 
 384 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 of her brother. Foma glanced inquiringly at her, but she 
 did not notice him, but kept running back and forth con- 
 stantly past the door, with plates and bottles in her hands. 
 
 It so happened that she glanced into the room precisely 
 at the moment when her brother was telling her father 
 about the convict affair. She stood rooted to the spot, hold- 
 ing a tray in her outstretched hands, and listened to every- 
 thing her brother said about the punishment inflicted on 
 him. She listened — and slowly went away, without having 
 caught Foma's surprised and derisive glance. Engrossed 
 in his reflections concerning Taras, and somewhat offended 
 because no one paid any attention to him, and because 
 Taras, since he had shaken hands with him, when they made 
 acquaintance, had never once glanced at him, — Foma ceased, 
 for a minute, to follow the conversation of the Mayakins, 
 and suddenly felt himself grasped by the shoulder. He 
 started, and sprang to his feet, almost overturning his god- 
 father, who was standing before him with an excited coun- 
 tenance: 
 
 " There — look! There's — a man for you! That's what 
 a Mayakin is like! They have boiled him in seven-fold lye, 
 they have squeezed the oil out of him, but he's alive! And 
 rich! Do you understand? Without any help whatever . . 
 alone, he has forced his own way to his own place and — 
 he is proud! That signifies that he's a Mayakin! A Maya- 
 kin signifies a man, who holds his fate in his own hands . . 
 Do you understand? Take pattern! Look at him! . . 
 There's not such another in a hundred — and you'd have to 
 search to find one such in a thousand . . Wha-at? Now 
 you must know: You can't forge a Mayakin over from a 
 man into either a devil or an angel . . P 
 
 Stunned by this tempestuous attack, Fomd became con- 
 fused, and did not know what to say to the old man in reply 
 
Fom^ Gordy^eff 
 
 to his noisy boasts. He saw that Taras was staring at his 
 father, as he quietly smoked away at his cigar, and that the 
 corners of his lips were quivering with laughter. His face 
 was patronizingly-contented, and his whole figure had 
 something of well-bred haughtiness about it. He seemed to 
 be amused by the old man's joy. 
 
 But Yakoff Tarasovitch poked Foma in the chest with 
 his finger, and said: 
 
 " I don't know him, my own son . . he hasn't opened 
 his soul to me . . Perhaps such a difference has sprung 
 up between us, that not only can the eagle not fly — but 
 even the devil cannot make his way across it . . . Per- 
 haps his blood has over-boiled so that not even the scent of 
 his father's is left in it . . but — he's a Mayakin! And 
 I discern it instantly . . I discern it, and I say: * Now 
 lettest thou Thy servant depart in peace, Lord! ' " 
 
 The old man was quivering all over with the fever of his 
 exultation, and fairly danced up and down as he stood in 
 front of Foma. 
 
 " Come, calm yourself, my dear father! " said Taras, ris- 
 ing from his chair in a leisurely manner, and approaching 
 his father. — "Why disturb the young man? Come, sit 
 down . ." 
 
 He smiled in an easy way at Foma, and taking his father 
 by the arm, led him to the table. 
 
 " I believe in blood! " said Yakoff Tarasovitch. — " In 
 blood of race — all power lies in it! My father, I remember, 
 said to me: * Yashka! You are my genuine blood! ' You 
 see — the blood of the Mayakins is thick — it is transfused 
 from father to father, and no woman ever dilutes it. But 
 we will drink some champagne! Shall we? Well, all right! 
 Tell me again . . tell me about yourself . . what it is 
 like off there in Siberia ? " 
 
 386 
 
Foma Gordyeefif 
 
 And once more, as though frightened and sobered by 
 some idea, the old man fixed searching eyes upon his son's 
 face. And a few minutes later, his son's circumstantial but 
 brief replies again aroused him to noisy rapture. Foma con- 
 tinued to listen and to watch, as he sat peaceably on in his 
 corner. 
 
 " Gold mining, of course, is a solid business," said Taras 
 calmly and with dignity, " but nevertheless, it is a risky 
 operation, and one which demands large capital . . The 
 earth says not a word about what it has inside of it . . It 
 is very profitable to deal with the natives . . Trading 
 with them, even if one is only indifferently fitted out, yields 
 an enormous percentage. That U a perfectly safe enterprise 
 . . But it is tiresome, it must be admitted. It does not 
 require much brains, . . nowhere does it develop an 
 extraordinary man, a man of large dimensions . . ." 
 
 Liuboff entered, and invited them all into the dining- 
 room. When the Mayakins betook themselves thither, 
 Foma unperceived plucked Liuboff by the sleeve, and she 
 remained alone with him, inquiring hastily: 
 
 " What do you want? " 
 
 " Nothing . ." said Foma, with a smile. — " I want to 
 ask you if you are glad? " 
 
 " Of course! " exclaimed Liuboff. 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " What do you mean by that? " 
 
 "Just that . . What about?" 
 
 " You're queer! " said Liuboff, casting a glance of amaze- 
 ment at him. " Can't you see? " 
 
 " What? " asked Foma, derisively. 
 
 " Fie! What ails you? " said Liuboff, looking uneasily at 
 him. 
 
 "Ekh — you goose!" drawled Foma aloud, with con- 
 
 387 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 temptuous pity. — " Can anything good be born of your 
 father — can anything good be born in our merchant class? 
 As well expect raspberries from a radish! — But you told me a 
 lie: Taras is this, Taras is that . . What is there about 
 him? He's just a merchant, nothing more . . And he 
 has the real merchant's paunch. He-he! " — He was grati- 
 fied to note that the young girl, disconcerted by his remarks, 
 was biting her lips, now flushing, now paling. 
 
 " You . . you, Fomd . . ." she began, with a sigh, 
 and suddenly stamping her foot, she screamed at him: 
 
 " Don't dare to talk to me! " 
 
 On the threshold of the room she turned toward him 
 her angry face, and in an undertone, with energy, she hurled 
 at him: 
 
 " Ugh, you hateful thing! " 
 
 Foma broke out laughing. He did not wish to go to the 
 table, where sat three happy people, animatedly chatting 
 with one another. He heard their merry voices, their con- 
 tented laughter, the rattle of the dishes, and comprehended 
 J that there was no place beside them for him, with that 
 Iburden on his heart. And there was no place for him any- 
 \ where. If all people only hated him — like Liuboff just 
 now, — he would be more at his ease among them, — ^he 
 \ thought. Then he would know how to behave toward them, 
 he would find something to say to them. But now — it was 
 incomprehensible : whether they were pitying him, or laugh- 
 ing at him, because he had lost his way, and could not ac- 
 commodate himself to anything. As he stood alone in the 
 middle of the room Foma, unconsciously to himself, re- 
 solved to go away from this house, where people were re- 
 joicing, and where he was superfluous. As he emerged into 
 the street, he felt offended at the Mayakins: yet they were 
 the only people in the world who stood near to him. Before 
 
 388 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 him surged up the face of his god-father, on which the 
 wrinkles were quivering with emotion; illuminated by the 
 joyous gleam of his green eyes, it seemed to beam with a 
 phosphorescent light. 
 
 " He shines in darkness and decay," he reflected, vi- 
 ciously. Then he recalled Taras's calm, serious counte- 
 nance, and beside it, the figure of Liuboff rushing impetu- 
 ously toward it. This aroused within him envy — and sorrow. 
 
 " Who will gaze at me like that? Not a soul ..." ' 
 
 He came to himself from his meditations on the quay, 
 at the wharves, aroused by the noise of toil. Various articles 
 and wares were being carried and driven in every direction; 
 people were moving about briskly, urging on their horses ir- 
 ritably, shouting at one another, filling the street with un- 
 intelligible bustle, and the deafening uproar of hurried 
 labor. They were rushing about on the narrow strip of 
 ground paved with stone, built up, on one side, with lofty 
 houses, on the other cut off by a steep ravine toward the 
 river, and their seething turmoil produced upon Foma the 
 impression that they were all assembled together to flee f romi 
 this toil in mire, narrow quarters and noise — ^had assembled 
 to flee, and were hurrying to finish off, after a fashion, what' 
 remained undone and would not release them. Huge 
 steamers were already awaiting them, standing along the 
 shore, and emitting columns of smoke from their funnels. 
 The turbid water of the river, closely covered with vessels, 
 plashed plaintively and softly against the shores, as though 
 entreating that a minute's rest and repose might be granted 
 to it. 
 
 " Your Honor! " rang out a hoarse cry just over Foma's 
 ear. — " Contribute a measure of liquor in honor of the 
 building! " 
 
 Foma glanced indifferently at the petitioner: he was a 
 
 389 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 huge, bearded fellow, bare-footed, with a tattered shirt, and 
 a bruised, swollen face. 
 
 " Go away! " muttered Foma, and turned away from him. 
 
 " Merchant! You must die — you can't take your money 
 with you — give me enough for a small glass! Or are you 
 too lazy to put your hand in your pocket? " 
 
 Foma took another look at the petitioner: the latter 
 stood before him, covered more with mud than with cloth- 
 ing, and shaking with intoxication, waited persistently, 
 staring Foma in the face with swollen, blood-shot eyes. 
 
 " Is that the way to ask? " Foma inquired of him. 
 
 " What do you want — is a man to go down on his knees 
 for the sake of a twenty-kopek piece ? " asked the tatter- 
 demalion impudently. 
 
 " Take that! " and Foma gave him some small change. 
 
 " Thanks . . fifteen kopeks . . thanks! But if 
 you'll give fifteen more — I'll crawl on all fours to that pot- 
 house yonder — would you like to have me?! " proposed the 
 man. 
 
 " Come, let me alone! " said Foma, waving him off with 
 his arm. 
 
 " If people would only give us necessaries, but from super- 
 fluity God has delivered us," — said the tatterdemalion, and 
 stepped aside. 
 
 Foma gazed after him and thought: 
 
 " Now, there's a ruined man, but how bold he is . . He 
 asks alms as though he were demanding a debt . . . 
 •Where do such people get their boldness? " 
 
 And, with a deep sigh, he answered himself: 
 
 " From freedom . . The man is not fettered in any way 
 /. . what has he to regret? what has he to fear? But what 
 ^ do I fear? What do I regret? " 
 
 These two questions seemed to smite Foma's heart, and 
 
 390 
 
Fomi Gordy^eff 
 
 called forth within him a dull amazement. He gazed at the 
 movement of the laboring men, and meditated obstinately: 
 " What did he regret ? What did he fear? " 
 
 "Evidently, I shall never be able of myself, by my own\ 
 strength, to get out anywhere . . like a fool, I shall move 
 about among people — sneered at and insulted by all . . 
 Now, if they would only repulse me . . if they would only 
 hate me . . then . . . then — ' take yourself off to the 
 ends of the earth! . . Whether you like it or not — ^be 
 off! ' '' 
 
 From one of the wharves the merry song of " The Little 
 Oaken Cudgel " had already been floating through the air for 
 a long time. The stevedores were performing some labor 
 which required brisk movements, and were adapting the song 
 and its refrain to them. 
 
 *' In the taverns the great merchants 
 Are drinking liquors thick, — " 
 
 chanted the leader, in a dashing recitative. The guild 
 chimed in unanimously: 
 
 " Hey, there little oaken cudgel, heaye — ho I " 
 Then the basses* tossed firm sounds into the air: 
 
 " Heave-ho ! " 
 And the tenors repeated after them: 
 
 *' Heave-ho ! " 
 
 Foma listened to the song, and walked toward it, along the 
 wharf. There he saw that the stevedores, 'arranged in two 
 rows, were hauling out of the steamer's hold huge casks of 
 salted fish. Dirty, clad in red shirts, with collars unbut- 
 toned, with their sleeves rdled up on their aims, which were 
 
 391 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 bare to the elbow, they stood over the hold, and, jesting mer- 
 rily, with faces animated by toil, they tugged away, all to- 
 gether, in time with their song, at the ropes. And from the 
 hold rose up the high, laughing voice of an invisible leader: 
 
 " But for these peasant throats of ours 
 There is not enough v6dka . . ." 
 
 And the guild, loudly, and in union, like one vast breast, 
 sighed forth: 
 
 " Ekh, little oaken cudgel, heave — ho! " 
 
 Foma felt pleased yet envious, at the sight of this labor, 
 as harmonious as music. The dirty faces of the stevedores 
 were illuminated with smiles, the work was easy, it was going 
 on well, and the song-leader was in an artistic mood. It oc- 
 curred to Foma that it would be a good thing to toil thus in 
 unison, with kindly comrades, to a cheerful song, to rest 
 from labor, to drink off a glass of vodka, and to eat greasy 
 cabbage soup, prepared by the fat and sprightly matron of 
 the guild. 
 
 " Look Hvely, lads, look lively there! " rang out a hoarse, 
 unpleasant voice beside him. Foma turned round. A thick- 
 set man, with a huge paunch, was tapping on the floor of the 
 wharf with a walking-stick, gazing as he did so at the steve- 
 dores, with his little eyes, then he said: 
 
 " Bawl less, and work more briskly . ." 
 
 His face and neck were bathed in perspiration; he wiped 
 it off every minute, with his left hand, and breathed as heav- 
 ily as though he were climbing a mountain. 
 
 Foma looked inimically at this man, and said to himself: 
 
 " The men are toiling, but he is sweating . . . And I 
 am even worse than he is . . I'm like a crow on the fences 
 • . . Good for nothing . ." 
 
 393 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Every impression instantly turned into a stinging thought- 
 about his unfitness for life. Everything on which his at- 
 tention rested, had in it some aSront for him, and this ele- 
 ment of affront laid itself upon his breast like a brick. At 
 one side of him, near the baggage scales, stood two sailors, 
 and one of them, a robust, red-faced young fellow, was re- 
 lating to his comrade: 
 
 " Ho-ow they filing themselves on me! And so, my dear 
 fellow, it be-gan! There were four of them — I was alone! 
 Well, but I wouldn't give in to them, because I saw that 
 they would thrash me to death! Even a ram will kick out, 
 if they fiay him alive . . Ho-ow I gave it to them! They 
 immediately took to their heels, one in this direction . . ." 
 
 " But they gave you your fill, all the same?" inquired 
 the other sailor. 
 
 " Of — cou-ourse! I caught it ... I had to swallow 
 five blows . . . But does a fellow hunt after such things? 
 They didn't kill me ... I may be thankful for that I " 
 
 " Of course, that . . ." 
 
 " To the stern, I tell you, you devils! " roared the sweaty 
 man in a savage voice, at two stevedores, who were rolling 
 a cask of fish along the deck. 
 
 " What are you yelhng for? " Foma said to him surlily, 
 for he had started at the shout. 
 
 " What business is it of yours? " asked the man, glancing 
 at Foma. 
 
 " It is my business . . . The men are toiling, while 
 your fat is melting ... so just reflect, what need is there 
 for you to yell at them?" said Fomd menacingly, moving 
 toward him. 
 
 "You're . . . not very. . . ." 
 
 The sweaty man suddenly wrenched himself from the spot, 
 as it were, and went away to the office. Foma gazed after 
 
 393 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 him, and also quitted the wharf, filled with a desire to revile 
 someone, to do something, for the sake of diverting his 
 thoughts, if only for a short time, from himself. But they 
 continued to obsess him. 
 
 *' There's that sailor — ^he let himself loose — and he's safe 
 and sound! We-ell, ye-es . . While I . . ." 
 
 In the evening he went again to the Mayakins. The old 
 man was not at home, and Liuboff was sitting in the dining- 
 room, with her brother, drinking tea. As he approached the 
 door, Foma heard the hoarse voice of Taras saying: 
 
 " What makes father bother himself about him? " 
 
 At the sight of Foma he stopped short, fixing upon his 
 countenance a serious, searching gaze. Consternation was 
 plainly depicted on Liuboff's face, and, at the same time, 
 she said to Foma, as though by way of excusing herself: 
 
 "Ah! So it's you . . ." 
 
 " They were talking about me," reflected Fomd, as he took 
 his seat at the table. 
 
 Taras removed his eyes from him, and planted himself 
 still more deeply in his arm-chair. The awkward silence 
 lasted for about a minute, and it was agreeable to Foma. 
 
 " Are you going to the dinner? " asked Liuboff at last. 
 
 "What dinner?" 
 
 "Don't you know? Kononoff is going to inaugurate a 
 new steamer. There will be a Prayer-service, and then they 
 are going to take a sail up the Volga . ." 
 
 " I haven't been invited," said Foma. 
 
 " There have been no invitations ... He simply gave 
 a general invitation on 'Change — ^ anyone who is pleased to 
 honor me — I shall be delighted to see.' " 
 
 " It doesn't please me . ." 
 
 " Yes ? Consider . . there will be a grand drinking- 
 bout," said Liuboff, with a sidelong glance at him. 
 
 394 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 *' I will drink at my own expense, if I feel like it . . /' 
 
 " I know . ." said Liuboff, with an expressive nod. 
 
 Taras played with his tea-spoon, twisting it about between 
 his fingers, and casting furtive glances at them. 
 
 " And where is my god-father? " asked Foma. 
 
 " He has gone to the bank . . There's a meeting of the 
 directors today . . The election is to take place . . ." 
 
 " They will elect him again . /' 
 
 "Of course . ." 
 
 And again the conversation dropped. Foma began to 
 watch the brother and sister. Taras, having flung aside his 
 spoon, drank his tea slowly, in great gulps, and silently 
 pushed the glass toward his sister, with a smile. She, also, 
 smiled joyously and happily, seized the glass, and began as- 
 siduously to fill it. Then her face assumed a strained ex- 
 pression, she seemed to be thoroughly on her guard, and she 
 inquired of her brother, in an undertone, and almost rev- 
 erently: 
 
 " Shall we return to the beginning of our conversation? '* 
 
 " Pray do ! " assented Taras briefly. 
 
 "You said . . . I did not understand — ^how was it? 
 I inquired: if all this is a Utopia, in your opinion, if it is 
 impossible . . dreams . . then what is a man to do, who 
 is not satisfied with life as it is? " 
 
 The young girl inclined her whole body toward her 
 brother, and her eyes, with their intense expression, rested 
 on her brother's tranquil face. He cast a weary glance at 
 her, fidgetted about in his chair, and dropping his head, he 
 said calmly and impressively: 
 
 " We must consider in what cause dissatisfaction with life 
 has its origin ? ... It seems to me, that this arises, in the 
 first place, from ignorance of how to work . . from the 
 lack of respect for labor. And, in the second place, from an 
 
 895 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 incorrect conception of one's own powers . . . The un- 
 happiness of the majority of people lies in the fact, that 
 they consider themselves capable of more than they really 
 are . . . And yet, not much is required of a man: he 
 must select for himself some business in consonance with 
 his uowers, and do it as well as possible, as attentively as pos- 
 sible . . . You must love what you are doing, and then 
 labor — even the very roughest — will be elevated to the dig- 
 nity of creation . . A chair, made with love, will always 
 be a good, beautiful and durable chair . . . And so it is 
 with everything . . . Eead Smiles . . haven't you 
 read him? It's a very practical book ... A sound book 
 . . Read Lubbock . . . Bear in mind, in general, that 
 the English are the nation most fitted for labor, which also 
 explains their wonderful success it the realm of industry and 
 trade . . . With them work is almost a cult . . The 
 ^ level of culture is always directly dependent upon the love of 
 labor . . . And the higher the culture, the more pro- 
 foundly are the requirements of the people satisfied, the less 
 obstacle is there to the further development of man's de- 
 mands . . . Happiness is the most complete possible sat- 
 isfaction of these demands . . . There you have it . . . 
 And so, you see, a man's happiness is conditional upon his 
 relations to his work . . ." 
 
 Taras Mayakin spoke as slowly and laboriously as though 
 it were unpleasant and tiresome for him to talk. But Liu- 
 boff, her brows contracted, and her whole body bending 
 toward him, listened to his remarks with eager attention in 
 her eyes, ready to accept everything and absorb it into her 
 soul. 
 
 " Well, but if everything is repulsive to a man . ." began 
 Fomd suddenly, in a thick voice, casting a glance at Taras's 
 face. 
 
 396 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " What, precisely, do you mean by * repulsive to a man '? " 
 asked Mayakin calmly, without looking at Foma. 
 
 The latter bowed his head, planted his arms on the table, 
 and thus posed, like an ox, continued to explain himself: 
 
 " Nothing suits him . . Business . . . work . . . 
 No people . . no acts ... If I perceive, let us say, 
 that everything is a fraud . . Business is not business, but 
 a sort of plug . . We plug up the emptiness of our soul 
 with it . . Some toil, others merely give orders, and swear" 
 . . . but receive more for that . . . Why is it so? hey?" 
 
 " I fail to grasp your meaning . . ." declared Taras, 
 when Foma paused, conscious that Liuboff's contemptuous 
 and angry gaze was upon him. 
 
 "You don't understand?'' inquired Foma, staring at 
 Taras with a grin . . " Well . . let's put it this way: 
 A man is sailing on the river in a boat . . The boat is, 
 probably, a good one, but beneath it, nevertheless, there is 
 always a depth . . . The boat is stout . . but if the 
 man feels conscious of this dark depth beneath him . . . 
 no boat will save him . . ." 
 
 Taras gazed calmly and indifferently at Foma. He con- 
 tinued to gaze in silence, drumming with his fingers on the 
 edge of the table. Liuboff fidgetted restlessly on her chair. 
 The pendulum of the clock beat off the seconds with a dull, 
 sighing sound. And Foma's heart beat slowly and heavily,, 
 as though conscious that no one here would respond with 
 a cordial word to its painful perplexity. 
 
 " Work — is not everything for a man . . ." he said, 
 more to himself than to these people, who did not believe 
 in the sincerity of his speech. — " It is not true, that justifi- 
 cation Hes in work . . . Some people never do any work 
 at all all their lives long — and yet they Hve better than the 
 toilers . . . why is that? But as for the toilers — they 
 
 397 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 are simply wretched — horses! People ride on them, they 
 endure it . . . and that's all. But they have their jus- 
 tification before God . . . They will be asked: 'For what 
 / did you live, hey? ' Then they will say . . * we never had 
 iany time to think about that . . we toiled all our lives 
 . . .' And what justification have I? And how will all 
 the people who give the orders justify themselves? What 
 have they lived for? But my idea is, that everybody ought, 
 without fail, to know solidly — what he is living for/' 
 
 He stopped, and throwing back his head, he exclaimed in 
 a dull voice: 
 
 "Is it possible that a man is born to toil, accumulate 
 
 money, build a house, beget children, and — die? No, life 
 
 means something in itself . . A man has been born, has 
 
 lived, has died . . why? All of us must consider why we 
 
 ( are living, by God we must. There's no sense in our life . . 
 
 there's no sense at all in it! — And then — things are not equal 
 
 . . that is immediately visible. Some are rich . . they 
 
 have money enough for a thousand men all to themselves 
 
 . . . and they live without occupation . . . others, bow 
 
 their backs in toil all their life, and they haven't a penny 
 
 / . . Yet the difference in people is email. . . The one 
 
 '/ without trousers lives and thinks, exactly like the one clad 
 
 I in silk . ." 
 
 Inspired by his thoughts, Foma would have continued to 
 expound them at length, but Taras pushed his chair away 
 from the table, rose, and said, with a sigh, in an undertone : 
 " No, thank you . . I don't want any more . ." 
 Foma broke off his speech abruptly, and shrugged his 
 shoulders, glancinsf at Liuboff with a grin. 
 
 " Where did you get hold of so much . . . philos- 
 ophy? " she asked, drily and distrustfully. 
 
 " That's not philosophy . . It's . . only . . chas- 
 
 393 
 
Foma Gordyeefif 
 
 tisement — that's what it is! " said Foma, in a low tone — 
 " Open your eyes and look at everything . . then the same 
 ideas will enter your brain . ." 
 
 " 0, by the way, Liuboff, note the fact/' said Taras, as 
 he stood with his back to the table, and inspected the clock, 
 — " that pessimism is utterly foreign to the Anglo-Saxon 
 race . . . "What is called pessimism, in Swift and Byrouj 
 is only a burning, biting protest against the imperfection of 
 life and man . . But cold, argumentative, and passive 
 pessimism you will not meet with in them . . ." 
 
 Then, as though suddenly recalling Foma's existence, he 
 turned toward him, put his hands behind his back, and 
 wriggling his thigh, he said: 
 
 " You raise very important questions . . And if they 
 seriously occupy your attention, . . . you must read 
 books ... In them you will find plenty of very valuable 
 opinions as to the meaning of life . . Do you read books? '' 
 
 " No! " replied Foma curtly. 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " I don't like them . ." 
 
 " Aha! But they might be of some assistance to you," said 
 Taras, and a smile flitted across his lips. 
 
 "Books? If people cannot help me in my thoughts— j^^ 
 much less can hooks . . ." said Foma sullenly. i 
 
 He felt bored and constrained with this indifferent man. 
 He would have liked to go away, but, at the same time, he 
 wanted to say to Liuboff something insulting about her 
 brother, and he waited to see whether Taras would not leave 
 the room. Liuboff washed up the tea-things; her face wore 
 a concentrated, thoughtful expression, and her hands moved 
 languidly. Taras walked about the room, pausing before 
 the shelves of silver, whistled, drummed with his fingers on 
 the window panes, and inspected the things, screwing up 
 
 399 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 his eyes as he did so. The pendulum flashed past the glass 
 of the case, like a broad, grinning face, and monotonously 
 ticked off the seconds . . . Foma, observing that Liuboff 
 had several times looked interrogatively at him, with dis- 
 pleasure and expectancy, understood that he was in the way, 
 and that she was impatiently awaiting his departure. 
 
 " I will pass the night with you," he said, smiling at her. — 
 " I must have a talk with my god-father. And it's tiresome 
 at my house alone." 
 
 ** Then go and tell Marfusha to prepare a bed for you in 
 the corner-room . ." advised Liuboff hastily. 
 
 " I will." 
 
 He rose and quitted the dining-room. And immediately 
 he heard Taras put a low-toned question about something 
 to his sister. 
 
 "It's about me!" he thought. All at once, this idea 
 flashed into his mind: " I'll listen, and hear what clever peo- 
 ple have to say . ." 
 
 He laughed softly, and walking on tiptoe, he passed noise- 
 lessly into the room which adjoined the dining-room. There 
 was no lamp there, and only a slender band of Hght from 
 the dining-room, passing through the unclosed door, lay 
 on the dark floor. Softly, with a sinking of the heart, 
 and a malicious smile, Foma went close to the door, and 
 halted. 
 
 " He's a heavy young fellow," said Taras. 
 
 Liuboff 's suppressed and hasty words became audible: 
 
 " He has done nothing but carouse . . . It's frightful, 
 the outrageous things he has done! It began all of a sudden 
 with him . . The first thing he did '.^as to thrash the 
 Vice-Governor's son-in-law at the Club. Papa had the great- 
 est trouble in the world to hush up the scandal, and it was 
 a lucky thing that the victim happened to be a man of very 
 
 4C0 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 bad reputation . . He's a card-sharper — and, altogether, 
 a shady individual . . But it cost father over two thou- 
 sand rubles . . And while father was taking all that 
 trouble over one scandal, Foma came near drowning a whole 
 company on the Volga." 
 
 "Ha, ha! What a monster! And yet he busies himself 
 with investigations as to the meaning of life . . ." 
 
 " On another occasion, he was travelling on a steamer with 
 a party of the same sort of people as himself, and all at once 
 he said to them: ^ Say your prayers! I'm going to fling 
 everyone of you into the water, right away! ' He's terribly 
 strong . . They began to scream . . But he said: ' I 
 want to serve my country, I want to purify the earth of 
 worthless people . . .' " 
 
 ''Well? That was witty! " 
 
 " He's a frightful man! There's no end to the wild pranks 
 he has perpetrated for years past . . What a lot of money 
 he has squandered! " 
 
 " But . . tell me — on what terms does father manage 
 his business for him? Don't you know? " 
 
 " No, I don't! He holds a full power of attorney . . . 
 Why?" 
 
 " Nothing . . . It's a solid business! Of course, it is 
 established on a purely Russian footing, . . that is to 
 say, abominably. And, nevertheless, it's a magnificent busi- 
 ness! If it were properly attended to, perhaps . . it would 
 be more profitable than gold-mines . . ." 
 
 "Foma does nothing whatever . . Everything is in 
 father's Lands . ." 
 
 "Yes? That's fine . /' 
 
 " Do you know, at times it seems to me as though — that 
 pensive mood of Foma's . . those harangues . . were 
 sincere, and that he might be a very decent sort of man 
 
 401 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 . . . But I cannot reconcile his scandalous life with his 
 speeches and arguments ... I positively cannot! " 
 
 " And it's not worth troubling yourself about . . . He's 
 a hobbledehoy and a sluggard — seeking justification for his 
 deeds . ." 
 
 " No, you see, he is sometimes . . like a child . . He 
 was particularly so in former days.'' 
 
 "Well, I have said my say: he's a hobbledehoy. Is it 
 worth while to discuss an ignoramus and a savage, who is 
 determined to be a savage and an ignoramus, and doesn't con- 
 ceal the fact? You see: he argues as the bear bent the shafts 
 in the fable . ." 
 
 " You are very harsh . ." 
 
 " Yes, I am harsh! Men require it . . All of us Rus- 
 sians are desperately indolent. Fortunately, life is so ar- 
 ranged that, willy-nilly, we gradually brace up . . . 
 Dreams are for young boys and girls, but for serious people, 
 there is serious business . . ." 
 
 " Sometimes I feel very sorry for Foma . . What will 
 become of him? " 
 
 " That does not concern me . . I think that nothing 
 in particular will become of him — neither good nor bad . . 
 He's a hair-brained young fellow, he will run through his 
 money, ruin himself — what else? Eh, let him go! Such 
 as he are rare now-a-days . . The merchant understands 
 the power of education now . . But he — that foster- 
 brother of yours — will go to destruction." 
 
 " Quite correct, master! " said Foma, opening the door, 
 and appearing on the threshold. Pale, with lowering brows 
 and writhing lips, he stared point-blank at Taras, and said 
 dully: " Correct! I shall go to perdition, and — amen! The 
 quicker the better! " 
 
 Liuboff, with terror on her face, sprang from her chair, 
 
 402 
 
Fomk Gordy^eff 
 
 and ran to Taras, who was standing calmly in the middle of 
 the room, with his hands thrust into his pockets. 
 
 "Foma! 0! Shame! You have been eavesdropping 
 . . akh, Foma! " she said, distractedly. 
 
 " Shut up! you sheep! '' said Foma to her. 
 
 " Ye-es, it is not nice to hsten at doors," said Taras slowly, 
 never removing from him his contemptuous gaze. 
 
 " I don't care if it isn't! " said Foma, waving his hand. — 
 " Am I to blame because the only way to hear the truth is 
 by eavesdropping? " 
 
 " Go away, Foma! Please do! " entreated Liuboff, press- 
 ing close to her brother. 
 
 " Perhaps you have something to say to me ? " inquired 
 Taras calmly. 
 
 " I? " exclaimed Foma. — " What can I say? Nothing! — 
 But you, — you, I think, can say everything . ." 
 
 " That means, that you and I have nothing to discuss? " 
 asked Taras again. 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " I am glad of that." 
 
 He turned sideways to Foma, and asked Liuboff; 
 
 " Do you think father will return soon? " 
 
 Foma looked at him, and cautiously quitted the house, 
 with something hke a feeling of respect for this man. He 
 did not wish to go home, to his vast, empty house, where his 
 every footstep awakened a resounding echo, and he walked 
 along the street, enveloped in the mournful gray twilight of 
 late autumn. He thought over Taras Mayakin. 
 
 " He's a hard one ... He takes after his father, only, 
 he's not so restless. It strikes me that he is a cunning rogue 
 also . . But Liiibka regards him as almost a saint . . . 
 the little fool! How he did sum me up! A regular judge 
 . . . But she was kind toward me . ,'' 
 
 403 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 But all these thoughts did not evoke in him any feelings — 
 neither one of hatred toward Taras, nor of sympathy for 
 Liuboff. He bore within him something heavy and uncom- 
 fortable, something which he could not comprehend. This 
 kept increasing in his breast, and it seemed to him that his 
 heart was swollen, and was aching, as though from an ulcer. 
 He watched this incessant and indomitable pain, observed 
 that it grew greater with every passing hour, waxed in 
 strength, and, not knowing how to put a stop to it, he waited 
 stupidly for whatever might be the end. 
 
 Then his god-father's trotter dashed past him. Foma 
 descried in the carriage the tiny form of Yakoff Mayakin, 
 but it aroused no sentiment in him. A lamplighter ran past 
 Foma, overtook him, placed his ladder against the lantern 
 and ascended it. But it suddenly gave way under his weight, 
 and clasping the lamp-post in his embrace, he swore loudly 
 and angrily. A young girl jostled Foma in the side with 
 her bundle, and said: 
 
 " Akh, excuse me . ." 
 
 He glanced at her, and made no reply. Then hoar-frost 
 began to sift down from the sky, tiny, barely visible drops of 
 moisture, clouded the light of the street-lanterns, and the 
 windows of the shops with grayish dust. This dust rendered 
 it difficult to breathe. 
 
 " Shall I go to Ezhoff, to spend the night? I might have 
 a drink with him," said Foma to himself, and went to Ez- 
 hoff's, without having either any desire to see the f euilleton- 
 writer, or to drink with him. 
 
 On the divan at Ezhoff' s sat a shaggy young fellow in a 
 blouse, and gray trousers. His face was dark, almost smutty, 
 his eyes were large, staring and wrathful, over his thick lips 
 projected a bristling mustache. He sat with his legs on the 
 divan, clasping them in his huge, ugly hands, and laying his 
 
 404 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 chin on his knees. Ezhoff was sitting sideways in an arm- 
 chair, with his legs thrown over the arm. Among the books 
 and papers on the table stood a bottle of vodka, and there 
 was an odor of some salt food in the room. 
 
 " Why do you roam about? " Ezhoff asked Foma, and nod- 
 ding toward him, he said to the man seated on the divan: 
 " Gordyeeff! '' 
 
 The man glanced at the newcomer, and said, in a harsh, 
 creaking voice : 
 
 " Krasnoshtchekoff . . ." 
 
 Foma sat down on a comer of the divan, announcing to 
 Ezhoff: 
 
 " I have come to spend the night." 
 
 " Well, what then? Go on, Vasily." 
 
 The latter cast a furtive glance at Foma, and creaked out: 
 
 " In my opinion, you make a mistake in falling foul of the 
 Btupid people . . Masaniello was a fool, but what he had 
 to do he did, in the best possible way. And that Winkelried 
 was a fool, also, is certain . . but if he had not em- 
 braced in his bosom the imperial spears, they would have 
 inflamed the Swiss. There are lots of just such fools! But 
 — they are heroes . . But the clever people are cowards 
 . . When one of them ought to deal a blow, with all his 
 might, at an obstacle, he begins to reason: What comes 
 from where? and how he may escape perishing in vain? 
 And he stands before the affair like a post, until he dies. 
 But the fool — ^he is brave! Bang — straight against the wall 
 he dashes his brow! If his skull cracks, — what of that? 
 Calves' heads are not valuable . . But if he makes a crack 
 in the wall the clever people will pick it open into a gate, 
 pass through, — and ascribe the honor to themselves . . No, 
 Nikolai Matvyeevitch, bravery is a good thing, even without 
 brains . ." 
 
 405 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Yasily, you're talking nonsense! " said Ezhoff, offering 
 him his hand. 
 
 "Why, of course! "assented Yasily . . " How is a small 
 person like me to do great things . . Nevertheless, I am 
 not blind . . And this is what I see: plenty of brains and 
 no sense. Just so long as the clever people meditate and 
 'make ready to act in the wisest way^ the fools will get the 
 Tbest of them . . Only . P 
 
 "Wait! "said Ezhoff. 
 
 " I can't! I am on duty today . . I'm behind time, as it 
 is . . I'll run in again tomorrow, — may I ? " 
 
 " Go ahead! I'll give you a dressing-down . /' 
 
 " That's your business . ." 
 
 Vasily slowly put himself to rights, rose from the divan, 
 took Ezhoff's dry, yellow little hand in his huge, black paw, 
 and pressed it. 
 
 " Good-bye! " 
 
 Then he nodded at Fomd, and proceeded sideways to the 
 door. 
 
 "You saw him?" Ezhoff asked Foma, pointing at the 
 door, behind which heavy footsteps still resounded. 
 
 " "WTiat sort of a man is he? " 
 
 " Assistant engineer, Yaska Krasnoshtchekoff, . . Now, 
 take example by him: the man began to teach himself to 
 read and write at fifteen years of age, and at eight and 
 twenty, he has read the devil knows how many fine books, 
 and taught himself two languages to perfection . . Now 
 he's going abroad . ." 
 
 " Why? " inquired Foma. 
 
 " To study . . to see how people live there . . But 
 see here, you're out of sorts — ^what's the matter? " 
 
 " He spoke sensibly about fools! " said Foma thoughtfully. 
 
 " I don't know — as I'm not a fool . ." 
 
 406 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ** It was sensible! A stupid man must needs act instantly 
 , . He flings himself forward, overturns . ." 
 
 "He is making a great fuss about trifles!" exclaimed 
 Ezhoff. — " Say, this is what you'd better tell me: is it true 
 that Mayakin's son has come home ? '' 
 
 "Yes . ." 
 
 " You don't say so! " 
 
 "What of it?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " But I can see from your face that there is something." 
 
 " We know all about that son of his . . we've heard of 
 him before . ." 
 
 " But I have seen him . ." 
 
 "Well? What's he like?" 
 
 " Well . . the deuce knows! What have I to do with 
 him? " 
 
 " Is he like his father? " 
 
 " Stouter . . plumper . . more seriousness . . he's 
 . . such a cold fellow . ." 
 
 " That means, that he will be even worse than Yashka. 
 Well, now, my dear fellow, be on your guard! Otherwise, 
 they'll gnaw you to the bone . ." 
 
 "Well, let them!" 
 
 " They'll rob you . . you'll become a beggar . . That 
 Taras plundered his father-in-law in Ekaterinburg very 
 cleverly . ." 
 
 " Let him plunder me, if he likes. I shall not say a word 
 to him about it, except, * thank you.' " 
 
 " You're still harping on the old story? " 
 
 "Yes . ." 
 
 "To free yourself?" 
 
 "Well, yes." 
 
 " Drop it! What do you want of freedom? What will youV 
 
 407 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 do with it? You see, you're not capable of doing anything, 
 you're illiterate . . you certainly won't set to chopping 
 fire-wood?! Now, if I could only free myself from the ne- 
 cessity of drinking vodka and eating bread! " 
 
 Ezhoff sprang to his feet, and placing himself in front 
 of Foma, he said, in a high voice, and as though declaiming: 
 
 " I would collect together the remnants of my tortured 
 soul, and together with my heart's blood I would spit them 
 in the faces of our edu-duca-ted people, de-dev-il take it! I 
 would say to them: You insignificant insects! you are the 
 best sap of my country! The fact o± your existence has been 
 paid for with the blood and tears of scores of generations of 
 Eussian people. 0! you nits! How dear you have cost your 
 country! What do you do for it? Have you converted the 
 tears of the past into pearls? What have you contributed to 
 life? What have you done? Have you allowed yourselves 
 to be vanquished? What are you doing? You allow people 
 to sneer at you ..." 
 
 He stamped with rage, and gritting his teeth, he stared 
 at Foma with a flaming, wicked look, and resembled an en- 
 raged beast of prey. 
 
 " I would say to them: You! You reflect too much, but 
 lyou are not very clever, and you are utterly helpless, and — 
 *you are cowards, all of you! Your hearts are stuffed full of 
 morality and good intentions, but they are as soft and warm 
 as a feather-bed, the creative spirit sleeps calmly and soundly 
 in them, and they do not beat, but only rock to and fro, like 
 a cradle. Dipping my finger in my heart's blood, I would 
 smear upon their foreheads the seal of my reproaches, and 
 they, the poor in spirit, wretched in their self-satisfaction, 
 would suffer . . 0, how they would suffer then! My 
 scourge is subtle, and my hand is firm! And I love them too 
 much to have compassion! They would suffer! But now — 
 
 408 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 they do not suffer, for they talk too much, too frequently 
 and loudly, about their sufferings! They lie! Genuine suf-^ 
 fering is silent, and genuine passion knows no bounds! — '' 
 Passions, passions! WTien will they be regenerated in the* 
 hearts of men ? We are all miserable through apathy . ." ' 
 
 Sighing, he began to cough, and coughed for a long time, 
 jumping about the room and flourishing his hands like a 
 madman. And again he took up his stand in front of Foma, 
 with pale visage, and blood-shot eyes. He breathed heavily, 
 his lips quivered, disclosing his small, sharp teeth. Di- 
 shevelled as he was, with his head covered with short hair, 
 he resembled a perch, just thrown out of the water . , It 
 was the first time Foma had seen him like this, and, as usual, 
 he caught the infection of his agitation. He hstened in si- 
 lence to the little man's boiling speech, without making any 
 effort to grasp its meaning, without caring to know against 
 whom it was directed, — gulping down only its force. Ez- 
 hoff's words spirted over him like boiling water, and warmed 
 his soul. " I will say to them, to these wretched idlers: 
 Look! Life is moving on, and leaving you behind! " 
 
 " Ekh, that's good! " exclaimed Foma with rapture, and 
 fidgetted about on the divan. — "You're a hero, Nikolai! 
 Oo-o-o! Give it to them! Throw it straight in their 
 faces! " 
 
 But Ezhoff required no encouragement, he did not even 
 seem to hear Foma's exclamation, and continued: 
 
 " I know the measure of my powers, I know that my place 
 is to shout. — Hold your peace! It is my place to cry: Si- 
 lence! They will talk wisely, they will talk calmly, sneering 
 at me, from the heights of their grandeur they will talk . . 
 I know, . . I am a small bird, 0, I am not a nightingale! 
 I'm an ill-bred clown in comparison with them, I'm only 
 a feuilleton-writer, a man to amuse the public . . . Let 
 
 409 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 them shriek and rend me asunder, let them! The blow will 
 fall upon my cheeky but my heart will continue to beat, all 
 the same! And I will say to them: Yes, I am an ignoramus! 
 iiA.nd my first advantage over you is, that I do not know a 
 single truth from books, which is dearer to me than man! 
 Man is the universe, and may he live forever, bearing the 
 whole world within him! But you, I will say, you, for the 
 sake of a word, which, perhaps, does not always contain a 
 meaning that is comprehensible to you, — often, for the sake 
 of a word, you inflict on one another sores and wounds, for 
 the sake of a word, you sprinkle one another with gall, you do 
 violence to the soul . . For this life will hold you to a 
 stern accounting, believe me: the tempest will break loose, 
 and it will sweep and wash you off the face of the earth, as 
 rain and wind sweep the dust from a tree! In the language 
 of men there is only one word, whose contents are clear and 
 dear to everyone, and when that word is pronounced, it 
 sounds thus: Freedom! " 
 
 " Smash away! " roared Foma, springing up from the 
 divan, and grasping Ezhoff by the shoulders. — With flashing 
 eyes, he stared into Ezhoff's face, bending down to him, and 
 sadly, woefully he almost groaned: — " E-ekh! Nikolka . . 
 My dear fellow, I'm deadly sorry for you! I'm more sorry 
 than I can say! " 
 
 " What's this? Who are you? " shouted Ezhoff, pushing 
 him off, amazed and driven from his position by Foma's un- 
 expected outburst and words. 
 
 " Ekh, my dear fellow! " said Foma, lowering his voice, 
 which rendered it deeper, more persuasive. — " You are a 
 living soul . . why should you go to destruction? " 
 
 "Who? I? I go to destruction? You lie! " 
 
 "My dear fellow! You won't say anything to anybody! 
 Not to anyone! AVho will listen to you? Only I . . ." 
 
 410 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Go to the devil! " shouted Ezhoff viciously, springing 
 away from him as though he had been scorched. 
 
 But Foma followed him, and said persuasively, and very 
 sadly: 
 
 " Talk away! Talk to me! 1^11 report your words where 
 they are needed ... I understand them . . And, ah, 
 how I will sear the people! Just wait! . . My chance will 
 come! . .'' 
 
 " Go away! " shrieked Ezhoff hysterically, squeezing his 
 back against the wall, under Foma^s pressure. Discomfited, 
 crushed, enraged, he defended himself against Foma's arms 
 outstretched toward him. At that moment, the door of the 
 room opened, and on the threshold appeared a woman all 
 dressed in black. Her face was angry, excited, her cheek was 
 bound up with a kerchief. She threw back her head, 
 stretched out her hand to Ezhoff, and said, in a hissing, 
 whistling voice: 
 
 " Nikolai Matvyeevitch! Excuse me . . this cannot be 
 permitted! The howls of a wild beast . . . roars . . 
 Visitors every day . . The police are coming . . No, I 
 cannot endure it any longer! You are the first I ever had 
 . . Be so good as to vacate your lodgings tomorrow . . . 
 You are not living in a desert . . there are people around 
 you . . And an educated man, at that! A writer! All 
 people require rest . . I have the toothache . . . I re- 
 quest that tomorrow you will ... I shall paste up a 
 notice of rooms to rent — I shall notify the police . . ." 
 
 She talked fast, and the majority of her words were lost 
 in the hissing and whistling; only those words were distin- 
 guishable which she shrieked out in a shrill, irritated voice. 
 The ends of her kerchief stuck up above her head like little 
 horns, and quivered with the movement of her jaws. At the 
 sight of her excited and absurd figure, Foma began grad- 
 
 411 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 ually to retreat toward the divan, but Ezhoff stood still, star- 
 ing intently at her, and listening to her remarks, as he 
 mopped his brow. 
 
 " So now yon know! " she screamed, and from outside the 
 door, she said once more: — " Tomorrow, then! What out- 
 rageous behavior . ." 
 
 " The de-devil! " whispered Ezhoff, staring stupidly at 
 the door. 
 
 " Ye-e-es ! What a woman ! That was severe ! " said Foma 
 gazing at him in ama..ement, as he seated himself on the 
 divan. 
 
 Ezhoff, hunching up his shoulders, walked to the table, 
 poured out half a tea-glass full of vodka, swallowed it, and 
 sat down at the table, with drooping head. For a minute 
 they both remained sJent. Then Foma said timidly, in a 
 low tone: 
 
 " How did this all come i.bout ... we hadn't a chance 
 to wink, and — all of a sudden, such a calling to account — 
 hey?" 
 
 " You! " exclaimed Ezhoff, in an undertone, throwing 
 back his head, and gazing at Foma with a wild, malignant 
 expression: — "Hold your tongue! You . . . the devil 
 take you . . . Lie down and go to sleep! . . You 
 monster . . You nightmare . . . phew! " 
 
 And he shook his fist at Foma. Then he poured out some 
 more vodka and tossed it off. 
 
 A few minutes later Foma, undressed, and stretched out 
 on the divan, through his half-closed eyes, was watching 
 Ezhoff, as the latter sat motionless, in a broken attitude, at 
 the table. He was staring at the floor, and his lips were 
 moving softly . . Foma was astonished — he did not 
 understand why Ezhoff had been so enraged at him. It 
 
 412 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 could not be because he had been ordered out of his lodg- 
 ings ? For it was he himself who had been shouting . . 
 
 " the devil/^ whispered Ezhoff, and gritted his teeth. 
 
 Foma raised his head cautiously from the pillow. Ezhoff, 
 with a deep and noisy sigh, was reaching out for the bottle 
 again . . . Then Foma said to him, very quietly: 
 
 "We'd better go oS to some hotel . . It's not lata 
 yet . ." 
 
 Ezhoff looked at him, and laughed oddly, as he rubbed his 
 head with his hands. Then he rose from his chair, and said 
 curtly to Foma: 
 
 "Dress yourself! ^* 
 
 And perceiving how slowly and awkwardly Foma turned 
 himself on the divan, he shouted, impatiently and angrily: 
 
 " Come, be quick! — Embodiment of awkwardness . . . 
 symbolical cart-shaft! " 
 
 " Don't curse! " said Fomd, with a pacific smile. " Is it 
 worth while to go into a passion because a woman has 
 squawked?" 
 
 Ezhoff cast a glance at him, spat aside, and uttered a harsh 
 laugh. 
 
 418 
 
XIII 
 
 " Aee all here ? '' asked Ilya Ef imovitch Kononoff, as he 
 stood on the bow of his new steamer, and, with beaming 
 eyes, surveyed the throng of gnests. — " Apparently, all! " 
 
 And raising his fat, red, happy face upwards, he shouted 
 to the captain, who was already stationed on the bridge be- 
 side the speaking-tube: 
 
 " Cast off, Petriikha! " 
 
 " Yes, sir! " 
 
 The captain bared his huge, bald head, crossed himself 
 vehemently, glanced at the sky, passed his hand over his 
 broad, black beard, grunted, and gave the command: 
 
 " Back her! " 
 
 The guests silently and attentively watched the manoeu- 
 vres of the captain, and, following his example, they also be- 
 gan to make the sign of the cross, their caps and tall hats 
 flashing through the air like a flock of black birds, as they 
 did so. 
 
 "Bless, Lord! " exclaimed Kononoff with emotion. 
 
 " Cast off astern! Go ahead! " commanded the captain. 
 
 The huge " Ilya Miirometz," with a vast sigh, discharged 
 against the edge of the wharf a thick cloud of white steam, 
 and moved up stream as smoothly as a swan. 
 
 " Ekh, we're off! " rapturously cried Commercial Coun- 
 sellor Lup Grigorieff Eyeznikoff, a tall, thin, good-looking 
 man. — " It never quivered! It's like a lady in the dance! " 
 
 "Half -speed!" 
 
 414 
 
Fomk Gordy^eff 
 
 " It's not a ship — but the Leviathan/' piously ejaculated 
 pock-marked, round-shouldered Trofim Zuboff, verger of 
 the cathedral, and the principal usurer in town. 
 
 It was a gray day; the sky, thickly veiled in autumn 
 clouds, was reflected in the water of the river, and imparted 
 to it a cold, leaden hue. Dazzling in its fresh paint, the 
 steamer floated along over the monotone ground of the river 
 like a huge, brilliant spot, and the black smoke of its breath 
 hung like a heavy cloud in the air. White all over, with pink 
 paddle-boxes and bright-red wheels, it lightly cut the cold 
 water with its sharp bow, and drove it away shoreward, but 
 the glass in the round windows of the sides and in the win- 
 dows of the cabin, gleamed brilliantly, as though smiling 
 with a self-satisfied, triumphant smile. 
 
 " Gentlemen of this honorable party! " cried Kononoff 
 removing his hat from his head, and making a low bow to 
 his guests. — " Since we have now rendered unto God the 
 thin.^s that are God's, so to speak, pray permit the musicians 
 to render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's! " 
 
 And without awaiting an answer from his guests, he placed 
 his fist to his mouth, and shouted: 
 
 "Band! Play ' Glory! '" 
 
 The military band, stationed behind the engine, thun- 
 dered out the march. 
 
 But Makar Pobroff, founder and director of the local 
 commercial bank, began to sing the words in a pleasant bass 
 voice, beating time with his fingers on his huge stomach: 
 
 *' Glory, glo-ory to our Eussian Tzar , . tra-ra-ta ! Boom ! " 
 
 " I invite you to the table, gentlemen! Do me the favor! 
 Take pot-luck . . he, he! I entreat you most humbly 
 . . ." Kononoff invited them, pushing himself through 
 the dense throng of guests. The older men among them, 
 
 415 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 bald and gray, were clad in old-fashioned frock-coats, caps 
 and boots with bottle-shaped tops. But there were not many 
 such: chimney-pot hats, shoes and fashionable cutaway 
 coats, preponderated. They were all crowded together on 
 the bow of the steamer, and in response to Kononoff's en- 
 treaties, they gradually drifted off to the stem, covered with 
 an awning, where stood tables spread with the luncheon. 
 Lup Ryeznikoff went arm in arm with Yakoff Mayakin, 
 and bending down to his ear whispered something to him, 
 while the latter listened and smiled. Foma, who had been 
 brought to the festivity by his god-father, after long ex- 
 hortations, found no partner for himself among these men 
 who were repulsive to him, and, pale and surly, held him- 
 self aloof from them. For the last two days he had been 
 drinking heavily, in the company of Ezhoff, and now his 
 head was splitting with a drunken headache. He felt awk- 
 ward in this respectable, jolly company; the rumble of 
 voices, the thunder of the music, and the noise of the 
 steamer — all irritated him. He felt an actual necessity to 
 get drunk, and one thought gave him no rest — why was his 
 god-father so caressingly amiable with him today, and why 
 had he dragged him hither into the company of these men, 
 the chief merchants in the town? Why had he argued so 
 persuasively with him, and even entreated him to attend 
 Kononoff'o Prayer-service and dinner? 
 
 " Now, don't be foolish, come along! " Fom4 recalled his 
 god-father's exhortation. — "Why are you so shy? A man 
 gets his character from nature, and in wealth you are the 
 inferior of few . . You must treat everyone alike . . . 
 come along! " 
 
 " And when are you going to talk seriously with me, 
 papa?" asked Foma, watching the play of Yakoff Taraso- 
 vitch's visage and green eyes. 
 
 416 
 
Fom& Gordyeeff 
 
 "You mean about setting you free from business? 
 He, he! We'll talk about that, we'll talk about that, my 
 friend! You're a queer fellow! Are you going to enter a 
 monastery when you have flung away your wealth? . . 
 hey?" 
 
 " I'll see . . when the time comes! '^ replied Foma. 
 
 " Just so . . . Well, and meanwhile, before you go to 
 the monastery, — come along! Make ready quickly . . 
 Eub your sign-board with something wet, for it's much 
 swollen. And sprinkle yourself with cologne water, — get 
 some from Liiiba, — so that you will not stink of the pot- 
 house . . Come on! " 
 
 Arriving at the steamer during the Prayer-service, Foma 
 took up his post at one side, and during the whole service he 
 watched the merchants. 
 
 They stood in devout silence; their faces wore an expres- 
 sion of pious concentration, they prayed vehemently and 
 zealously, sighing deeply, bowing low, casting their eyes 
 heavenward with emotion. But as Foma looked, now at 
 one, now at another, he called to mind what he knew about 
 each one. 
 
 There was Lup Eyeznikoff, — he had begun his career as 
 the keeper of a house of evil repute, and had grown rich al- 
 most immediately. It was said that he had strangled one of 
 his patrons, a rich Siberian . . Zuboff, in his youth, had 
 made a business of buying thread from the peasants. Twice 
 had he been a bankrupt . . Kononoff, twenty years ago, 
 had been tried on a charge of arson, and even now he was 
 under indictment for the seduction of minors. Along with 
 him — and this was for the second offence of that sort, — 
 Zakhar Kirllloff Eobustofl, — a short, fat merchant, with a 
 round face and merry blue eyes, — had been implicated in 
 the same affair. Among these men there was hardly a single 
 
 417 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 one, concerning whom Foma did not know something dis- 
 graceful. 
 
 And he knew that all of them were certainly envying 
 Kononoff for his success, because, year after year, he was 
 constantly increasing the number of his steamers. Many 
 of them were at sword's points with each other, and not one 
 of them would show any mercy to the rest in a well-fought 
 business matter, and all knew evil, dishonorable things about 
 each other . . . But now, gathering around the tri- 
 umphant, happy Kononoff, they were merged in a dense, 
 dark mass, and stood and breathed as one man, with con- 
 centrated silence, and surrounded by something which was 
 invisible but strong, something which repelled Foma from 
 them, and made him timid in their presence. 
 
 " Impostors! " he said, to himself, by way of encouraging 
 himself. 
 
 But they softly coughed, sighed, crossed themselves, made 
 reverences, and surrounding the ecclesiastics in a dense wall, 
 stood immovably and steadfastly, like huge, black stones. 
 
 " They are pretending! " cried Foma to himself. But 
 hunch-backed, one-eyed Pavlin Gushtchin, who was stand- 
 ing beside him, and who, not long before, had turned his 
 half-witted brother's children into the street, was whisper- 
 ing penetratingly, as he gazed at the melancholy sky with 
 his one eye : 
 
 " Lo-ord! Rebuke me not in Thine indignation, neither 
 chasten me in Thy displeasure . ." 
 
 And Foma felt that this man was calling upon God with 
 the most profound, most steadfast faith in His mercy. 
 
 " Lord God of our fathers, who didst command Noah, 
 Thy servant, to make an ark for the salvation of the world," 
 said the priest, in a deep bass voice, casting his eyes toward 
 heaven, and elevating his hands: — "Watch, also, over this 
 
 418 
 
Foma Gordyeefif 
 
 vessel, and give unto it an angel favorable, peaceful . , . 
 preserve them that shall sail upon it . . /' ^ 
 
 The merchants, in unison, with broad flourishes of their 
 arms, made the sign of the cross upon their breasts, and one 
 sentiment was depicted on all their countenances — faith in 
 the power of prayer. 
 
 All these pictures engraved themselves in Foma's memory, 
 aroused in him perplexity as to these men, who, while man- 
 aging to cherish firm faith in God's mercy, were so harsh 
 toward their fellow-men. He watched them intently, de- 
 sirous of catching them in a fraud, to convince himself of 
 their falsehood . . 
 
 He was angered by their compact firmness, by that unani- 
 mous confidence in themselves, tneir triumphant faces, their 
 loud voices, and laughter. They had now reached the table, 
 set out with the repast, and were ravenously admiring a 
 huge sturgeon, almost a fathom in length, handsomely sprin- 
 kled over with greens and large crawfish. Trofim Zuboff, 
 tying a napkin round his neck, gazed with blissful, sweetly- 
 puckered eyes, at the monster-fish, and said to his neighbor, 
 the flour-mill proprietor, lona Yushkoff : 
 
 " lona Nikiforitch! Look — a whale! Quite big enough 
 to make a case for your person, perhaps . . . hey? Ha, 
 ha! You could slip into him as easily as into your boots, 
 hey? He, he!'' 
 
 Plump little lona stretched out his short arm to the silver 
 
 pail filled with fresh caviar, smacked his hps greedily, and 
 
 cast a furtive glance at the bottles in front of him, being 
 
 afraid of upsetting them. 
 
 ' From the Church service appointed for blessing vessels. There is 
 a special service, in addition, for war-vessels. Vessels are not ''bap- 
 tized" or " christened " in Russia; as they are not endowed with im- 
 mortal souls, this would be regarded as sacrilege ; and the name of the 
 vessel is not mentioned in the service. — Translator. 
 
 419 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 Opposite Kononoff, on trestles, stood a cask holding about 
 a gallon and a half of old vodka, which he had ordered from 
 Poland; in a huge shell, hooped with silver, lay oysters, and 
 high above all the viands, rose a motley-hued pasty, made in 
 the shape of a tower. 
 
 "Gentlemen! I beg of you! Help yourselves to what you 
 like!'' shouted Kononoff. — "I have let fly everything at 
 once . . that every man may suit his own taste . . Our 
 Russian viands, native, and from afar, and foreign . . all 
 together! It's better so. Who wants what? Does anybody 
 want snails, or these crawfish — ^hey? They're from India, 
 I'm told . . ." 
 
 But Zuboff said to his neighbor Mayakin: 
 
 " The prayer * At the Building of a Vessel ' does not 
 apply to tug-boats and river-steamers, . . . that is to 
 say, it isn't that it is not suitable, but it is not enough alone 
 . . A river-steamer as it exists, is a place of permanent 
 residence for the crew, and it ought to be classed with a 
 house . . Consequently, it is necessary, in addition to the 
 prayer * At the Building of a Vessel ' to recite also the 
 prayer at the founding of a house . . But what will you 
 have to drink? " 
 
 " I'm not much of a wine-drinker; pour me out some 
 cumin vodka . ." rephed Yakoff Tarasovitch. 
 
 Foma, who was seated at the end of the table, among some 
 shy, modest men who were strangers to him, repeatedly felt 
 the old man's sharp glances upon him. 
 
 " He's afraid I'll kick up a row . ." said Foma to him- 
 eelf. 
 
 " Dear brethren ! " hoarsely cried the monstrously fat 
 steamer-owner Yashtchuroff. — " I can't get along without 
 herrings! I positivel;' must begin with herrings . . that's 
 my way . . ." 
 
 420 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Band! Give us ' The Persian March ' . ." 
 
 "Stop! * How glorious ^ is better . . /' 
 
 " Toot away * How glorious ' . /' 
 
 The throbbing of the engine, and the noise of the paddle- 
 wheels, mingling with the sounds of the music, formed in 
 the air something which resembled the wild song of the 
 winter snow-storm. The whistle of the flute, the sharp sing- 
 ing of the clarinets, the surly growhng of the basses, the 
 rattle of the small drum, and the rumble of the blows on the 
 big one, — all fell upon the dull and monotonous sound of 
 the wheels, as they beat upon the water, rang rebelliously 
 through the air, drowned the noise of the people's voices, 
 and floated above the steamer like a hurricane, causing the 
 people to shout at the top of their lungs. Sometimes, in 
 the engine, a vicious hiss of steam resounded, and there was 
 something irritable and contemptuous in this sound, which 
 unexpectedly broke through the chaos of the rumbling, roar 
 and shouts . . . 
 
 " I shall never forget, to my dying day, that you refused 
 to discount my note of hand! " shouted someone, in a vehe- 
 ment voice. 
 
 " Sto-op! Is this the place for accounts? " rang out Bob- 
 roff's bass. 
 
 " Dear brethren! We must have some speeches 1 " 
 
 " Stop that band! '' 
 
 " You come to see me at the bank, and I'll explain to you 
 why I would not discount . . /' 
 
 "Speech! Silence!" 
 
 " Sto-op the mu-usic! " 
 
 " Play, * in the Meadows ' . .'* 
 
 " ' Madame Anglou! ' " 
 
 " Not wanted! — Yakoff Tarasovitch, I beg of youl 
 
 " This is called Strasburg pate, .'' 
 
 421 
 
 » 
 
Foma Gordydeff 
 
 *' Please! Please!" 
 
 "Patty? I— it doesn't look like it . . but Til eat it, all 
 the same . ." 
 
 "Tarasiteh! Act . . ." 
 
 "My dear brethren! By heaven . . ." 
 
 " And in * La Belle Helene ' she came out almost naked, 
 the darling . " Eobustoff's shrill voice, filled with emo- 
 tion, suddenly pierced through the uproar. 
 
 "Wait! Jacob cheated Esau? Aha!" 
 
 " I can't! My tongue isn't a hammer, and I'm no longer 
 young . . ." 
 
 "Yasha! We all entreat you! . /' 
 
 "Consider!" 
 
 " We'll elect you Mayor! " 
 
 " Tarasitch! Don't put on airs! " 
 
 " Shsh! Silence! Gentlemen! Yakoff Tarasovitch will 
 say a few words! " 
 
 " Shsh! " 
 
 And just at the moment when the din was hushed, some- 
 one whispered audibly, in a loud, displeased tone: 
 
 " Ho-ow she-e will pinch me, the rogue . ." 
 
 And Bobroff inquired in his heavy bass: 
 
 "Whe-ere?" 
 
 There was a roar of laughter, which suddenly subsided, 
 for Yakoff Tarasovitch Mayakin, rising to his feet, cleared 
 his throat, and smoothing his bald spot, surveyed the com- 
 pany of merchants with a serious gaze awaiting their atten- 
 tion. 
 
 "Now, brethren, open your ears wide!" shouted Kono- 
 noff with satisfaction. 
 
 " Gentlemen of the merchant class! " began Mayakin, 
 with a smirk. — " In the speeches of educated and learned 
 folks, there is a foreign word called * culture.' So now, in 
 
 422 
 
Foma Gordydeft' 
 
 the simplicity of my soul, I am going to discourse to you on 
 that word . . ." 
 
 " So that's what he's driving at! " — ^rang out a gratified 
 cry from someone present. 
 
 " Shsh! Keep quiet! " 
 
 "Dear sirs!" said Mayakin, raising his voice. — "Peopb 
 are constantly writing in the newspapers about us of the 
 merchant class, — that we are not acquainted with this cult- 
 ure, that we do not desire it and do not understand it. And 
 they call us savage, uncultivated people . . . What is 
 culture? It offends me, old man as I am, to hear such 
 speeches, and one day I made a point of looking up the 
 word, to see what it includes in itself." 
 
 Mayakin paused, ran his eyes over his audience, and with 
 a triumphant grin, continued: 
 
 " My researches proved that this word means worship, 
 that is to say, love, lofty love for business and order in life. 
 So! — I said to myself, — so! — That means — that a cultured 
 man is he who loves business and order . . who, in gen- 
 eral, loves to arrange life, loves to live, knows the value of 
 himself and of life . . Good! " — Yakoff Tarasovitch 
 quivered; the wrinkles spread out on his face in rays from 
 his smiling eyes to his lips, and his whole bald head became 
 like some large, dark star. 
 
 The merchants stared silently and attentively at his 
 mouth, and all faces were strained with attention. The men 
 had fairly petrified in the attitudes in which Mayakin's 
 speech had found them. 
 
 " But, if that is the case, — and it is precisely thus that 
 we must interpret that word if it is so, then the people who 
 call us uncultivated and savage, calumniate us, and spew out 
 obloquy on us! For they love this word only, not its mean- 
 ing, but we love the very root of the word, we love its actual 
 inward essence, we — love business! And we, not they, have 
 
 423 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 within us the genuine cult toward life, that is to say, the 
 adoration of life! They have taken a liking to argument, 
 we to action . . . And here, gentlemen, is an example 
 of our culture, that is, of our love for business — the Volga! 
 Here she is, our own dear little mother! "With every drop 
 of her water she can confirm our honor, and refute empty 
 calumniation of us . . Only one hundred years have 
 elapsed, gentlemen, since the Emperor Peter the Great 
 launched decked barks upon this river, and now thousands 
 of steam vessels navigate it . . Who has built them? The 
 Eussian peasant, an utterly untutored man! All these huge 
 steamers and barges — whose are they? Ours! By whom 
 were they planned? By us! Everything here is ours — 
 everything here is the fruit of our brains, of our Eussian 
 gumption and great love for business! No one has aided us 
 in any way whatever! We ourselves exterminated brigand- 
 age on the Volga, we ourselves with our own rubles hired 
 the troops — exterminated brigandage and introduced on the 
 Volga thousands of steamers and various vessels on all the 
 thousands of versts of her course. Which is the best town 
 on the Volga? In which are there the most merchants? To 
 whom do the finest houses in the town belong? The mer- 
 chants! Who takes the most care of the poor? The mer- 
 chant! He collects half -kopeks and kopeks; he contributes 
 hundreds of thousands of rubles. Who builds the churches? 
 We do! Whogivesthemost money of all to the empire? The 
 merchants! . . . Gentlemen! To us alone is business 
 dear for its own sake, for the sake of our love of introducing 
 order into life, and we alone love order and life! But any- 
 one who talks about us — ^talks, and that is all! Let him talk! 
 When the wind blows, the willow rustles, when it ceases, 
 the willow becomes silent . . . And neither cart-shafts 
 nor brooms can be made out of the willow . . . 'tis a use- 
 less tree! And it is noisy because it is useless . . What 
 
 434 
 
Fomi Gordydteff 
 
 have they, our judges, accomplished, in what way have they 
 embellished life? We do not know . . But our work is 
 in plain sight! Gentlemen of the merchant class! Seeing 
 in you, as I do, the most prominent people in life, the men 
 who are most industrious and attached to their work, seeing 
 in you the men who have done everything and can do every- 
 thing, — I now, with all my heart, with respect and love for 
 you, raise my brimming beaker — to the glorious, strong in 
 spirit, laborious Eussian merchant-class! . . . Long life 
 to you! Long may you thrive for the glory of mother Eus- 
 sia! Hurrah-rah! " 
 
 Mayakin's sharp, jarring shout called forth a deafening, 
 triumphant roar, from the merchants. All those huge, 
 fleshy bodies, excited with wine, and the old man's speech, 
 began to move, and emitted from their chests such a vigor- 
 ous, massive shout, that everything in the vicinity seemed 
 to quiver and shake. 
 
 " Yakoff ! You are the trumpet of God! '^ — shouted Zu- 
 boff, holding out his champagne-glaso to Mayakin. 
 
 Overturning their chairs, knocking against the table, 
 which caused the bottles and dishes to clatter and fall, the 
 merchants rushed at Mayakin, glasses in hand, excited, joy- 
 ous, some with tears in their eyes. 
 
 " Ah! What has been said? '' inquired Kononoff, grasp- 
 ing Eobustoff by the shoulder, and shaking him. — " Under- 
 stand it! A great speech has been made! '' 
 
 " Yakoff Tarasovitch! Let me kiss you! '* 
 
 " Let's toss Mayakin! " 
 
 " Start the music, band! " 
 
 ''The fanfare! A march! . . ihe Persian March . . »* 
 
 " We don't want any music! To the devil with it! '^ 
 
 " Ekh, Yakoff Tarasovitch! The Ma-ay or! " 
 
 "I was the least among my brethren . . but I had 
 understanding . .'^ 
 
 425 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Nonsense, Trofim! " 
 
 " Yakoff! You'll die soon, ekh, more's the pity! It's im- 
 possible to express how sorry we are! " 
 
 " Gentlemen! Let's establish a fund in the name of Maya- 
 kin! I'll give a thousand! " 
 
 "Silence! Wait!" 
 
 " Gentlemen! " — Yakoff Tarasovitch began again, trem- 
 bling all over. — " And the reason why we are the principal 
 people in life and the real masters in our fatherland, is — 
 because we are peasants! " 
 
 " True! " 
 
 " That's so! We come by it legitimately! Now then, old 
 man! " 
 
 "Stop! Let him finish! " 
 
 " We are the original Eussians, and everything which pro- 
 ceeds from us, is native Russian! That signifies that it is 
 of the most genuine sort . . the most useful and obliga- 
 tory . . ." 
 
 " As clear as that two and two make four! " 
 
 " Simple." 
 
 " Wise as a serpent! " 
 
 " And gentle as . . .'^ 
 
 "A vulture! Ha, ha!" 
 
 The merchants surrounded their orator in a dense ring, 
 gazed at him with their greasy eyes, and, in their excitement, 
 were incapable of listening to him quietly. Around him 
 rose a din of voices, which, mingling with the noise of the 
 engine, and the beating of the paddle-wheels upon the water, 
 formed a whirlwind of sound, that drowned the old man's 
 voice. The merchants' excitement increased; all faces 
 beamed with triumph; hands holding glasses were out- 
 stretched to Mayakin; they slapped him on the shoulder, 
 jostled him, kissed him, gazed with emotion into his face. 
 And someone exclaimed in rapture; 
 
 426 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " The Ka-marinskaya! The Russian tune! " * 
 
 " We have done it all! " — shouted Yakoff Tarasovitch, 
 pointing at the river. — " It's all ours! We have reduced life 
 to order! " 
 
 All at once a loud shout, which rose above all the rest, 
 rang out: 
 
 "Ah! You did it? Ah, you . . ." 
 
 Then a vulgar oath resounded distinctly through the air, 
 uttered with great venom, in a dull but powerful voice. 
 Everyone heard it, and, for a second, fell silent, seeking 
 with their eyes the person who had cursed them. During 
 that second, nothing was to be heard but the deep sighs of 
 the engine, and the creaking of the rudder-chains. 
 
 " Who's that snarling? " inquired Kononoff, with a frown. 
 
 "Ekh! We can't help behaving outrageously!" ejacu- 
 lated Ryeznikoff, with a contrite sigh. 
 
 " Who's that swearing at random! " 
 
 The countenances of the merchants expressed agitation, 
 curiosity, amazement, reproach, and all grew restless, in a 
 subdued sort of way. Yakoff Tarasovitch alone remained 
 calm, and even seemed pleased at what had occurred. Ris- 
 ing on tiptoe, he looked away toward the end of 'the table, 
 straining his neck, and his little eyes gleamed as though he 
 beheld something that was gratifying to him. 
 
 "Gordyeeff . ." said lona Yashkoff softly. 
 
 And all heads were turned in that direction, in which 
 
 Yakoff Mayakin was staring. 
 
 * The most popular folk-song — or, rather, folk-melody — in Russia. 
 It is founded on the historical facts and conditions upon what were the 
 frontiers, south of Moscow, several centuries ago; and the words, 
 thus understood, have coherence and meaning. But only fragments 
 of the many verses can be used, so coarse is the general character of 
 the words. The tune, however, is very gay and irresistible. — Trans- 
 lator. 
 
 427 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 There, with, his hands resting on the table, stood Fomd. 
 "With his face distorted by bitter wrath, his teeth exposed in 
 a snarl, he was staring in silence at the merchants with burn- 
 ing, widely-opened eyes. His lower jaw was trembling, his 
 shoulders were jerking, and his fingers, clutching violently 
 at the edge of the table, scratched the table-cloth convul- 
 sively. At the sight of his face, wicked as that of a wolf, 
 and that wrathful attitude, the merchants remained silent 
 for a second. 
 
 " What are you opening your eyes at me for? " — asked 
 Foma, and again accompanied his question with a vehement 
 oath. 
 
 " He's drunk! " said Bobroff, shaking his head. 
 
 " And why was he invited? " whispered Eyeznikoff softly. 
 
 "Foma Ignatievitch! " began Kononoff with diginty. — 
 " There's no necessity for behaving indecently . . If . . 
 well . . if your head is reeling — go quietly, peaceably into 
 the cabin, my good fellow — and lie down! Lie down, my 
 dear friend and . . ." 
 
 " Shut up! " bellowed Foma, turning his eyes on Kono- 
 noff. — "Don't you dare to speak to me! Fm not drunk . . 
 I'm the soberest man here! Do you understand? " 
 
 " But wait a bit, my dear soul — who invited you here? " 
 inquired Kononojff, turning scarlet with the affront. 
 
 " I brought him! " rang out Mayakin's voice. 
 
 ^^Ah! Well, then . . of course . . . Excuse me, 
 Foma Ignatievitch . . But as you brought him Yakoff, 
 . . you must tame him down . . Otherwise, there'U be 
 trouble . . ." 
 
 Foma said nothing, and smiled. And the merchants held 
 their peace, as they gazed at him. 
 
 "Ekh, Fomka!" began Mayakin . . "Here you are 
 disgracing my old age again . . ." 
 
 428 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 "Papa-godfather! " said Foma, displaying his teeth in a 
 grin. " I haven't done anything yet, so it's rather early in 
 the day to read me a lecture . . I'm not drunk . . I have 
 drunk nothing, but I have heard everything . . . Gentle- 
 men merchants! Will you permit me to make you a speech ? 
 My god-father, whom you respect, has had his say . . and 
 now, do you listen to his godson . . ." 
 
 " Speeches, indeed? " said Eyeznikoff. — " Why have any 
 discourses? We came together to have a good time . . ." 
 
 " Come, drop it, Foma Ignatievitch . . ." 
 
 " Better take a drink . . ." 
 
 " Let's have a drink! Foma, you're the true son of your 
 glorious father! " 
 
 Foma, pushed away from the table, straightened himself 
 up, and, still smiling, listened to the flattering, admonitory 
 speeches. Among all these prominent men, he was the 
 youngest and the handsomest. His well-built figure, in its 
 closely-fitting coat, marked him out to advantage among the 
 mass of fat bodies with prominent stomachs. His swarthy 
 face with its large eyes, was more regular, more rosy than 
 the red shrivelled ugly visages of those who stood opposite 
 him, with expectancy and amazement. He inflated his chest, 
 set his teeth, and pulling apart the skirts of his frock-coat, 
 thrust his hands into his pockets. 
 
 " You can't plaster up my mouth now with flattery and 
 endearments! " — ^he said firmly and menacingly. " You may 
 listen or not, but I am going to talk . . There's no chance 
 to turn me out here . . ." 
 
 He swayed his head, and elevating his shoulders, an- 
 nounced quietly: 
 
 " But if anyone so much as puts a finger on me — ^I'll kill 
 him! I swear it, by the Lord God! . . to the best of my 
 ability, I'll kill him! " 
 
 429 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 The throng of men opposite him rocked to and fro like 
 bushes in the wind. Agitated whispers resounded. Foma's 
 face darkened, his eyes grew round . . 
 
 " Well, it has been stated that you have made this life . . 
 and that you have made it of the most genuine and truthful 
 sort . ." 
 
 Foma drew a deep breath and with inexpressible hatred 
 gazed at the faces of his hearers, which seemed strangely 
 puffed-up, all of a sudden, as though they were swollen . . 
 The merchants remained silent, pressing closer and closer 
 to one another . . . Someone in the rear ranks mut- 
 tered: 
 
 " What's he talking about? Hey? From print, or out of 
 his own head? '' 
 
 " 0, you rascals! " exclaimed Gordyeeff, swaying his head. 
 — " What have you made ? you have not made life — but a 
 prison . . You have not established order — but you have 
 forged chains on men . . . It's close, suffocating, there's 
 no place for a living soul to turn . . . Man is perishing! 
 — You are murderers . . . Do you understand, that you 
 are alive only through the long-suffering of mankind? " 
 
 "What's the meaning of this?" exclaimed Eyeznikoff, 
 clasping his hands in indignation and wrath. — " Ilya Eflm- 
 off? What's the meaning of this? I won't listen to such 
 remarks . . ." 
 
 " Gordyeeff !" shouted Bobroff . . " Look out— you're 
 talking improperly . ." 
 
 " For such speeches, oi, oi, oi! " said Bobroff reprovingly. 
 
 " Shut up! " roared Foma, and his eyes became suffused 
 with blood. " There you go grunting . . ." 
 
 " Gentlemen! " rang out the calmly- vicious voice of Maya- 
 kin, like the screech of a file on iron. — " Don't touch him! 
 . . I earnestly entreat you . . don't hinder him . . 
 
 430 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Let him snarl away . . let him amuse himself . . His 
 words won't break you . ." 
 
 " Well, no, I thank you most sincerely! " shouted Yush- 
 koff. 
 
 But Smolin stood alongside of Foma, and whispered in 
 his ear: 
 
 " Stop, my dear fellow! What ails you — ^have you gone 
 crazy? They'll do you . . ." 
 
 " Go away! " said Foma firmly, flashing angry eyes at him. 
 — " Go off yonder, to Mayakin, lick him down . . . per- 
 haps a piece will fall to your share! " 
 
 Smolin emitted a whistle through his teeth, and stepped 
 aside. And the merchants, one after the other, began to 
 stroll away about the steamer. This still further exasperated 
 Foma: he would have liked to fetter them all to the spot by 
 his words, — and he could find no such powerful words within 
 himself. 
 
 "You have made life?" he shouted. — "Who are you? 
 Swindlers, thieves . . ." 
 
 Several men turned toward Foma, as though he had called 
 them. 
 
 " Kononoff ! Are they going to try you soon about that 
 little girl? They'll sentence you to hard labor . . . good- 
 bye, Ilya! It is no use for you to build steamers . . . 
 they'll carry you to Siberia on a Government vessel . . .'' 
 
 Kononoff dropped into a chair; his face became suffused 
 with blood, and he silently shook his fist. Foma said 
 hoarsely: 
 
 " All right . . . good . . I won't forget that . . ^ 
 
 Foma perceived his distorted face, with its quivering lips, 
 and understood With what weapons he could smite these men, 
 and in the most forcible way possible. 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha! The constructors of life! Gushtchin, — 
 
 431 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 are you going to give alms to your little nephews? Do give 
 them at least one kopek a day . . . that^s not much — you 
 have stolen sixty-seven thousand rubles from them . . . 
 Bobroff! Why did you tell that lie about your mistress — 
 that she had robbed you, — and send her to prison? If you 
 had got tired of her — you might have given her to your son 
 . . . it makes no difference, for now he has set up an 
 intrigue with your other one . . . Didn't you know it? 
 Ekh, you fat hog . . ha, ha! And you, Lup, — open that 
 gay house of yours again, and strip your guests there like 
 linden-trees . . .^ The devils will strip you, later on, ha, 
 ha! . . It's a good thing to be a scoundrel, with that pious 
 face of yours! . . . Whom did you kill then, Lup? " 
 
 Foma talked on, interrupting his speech with loud, ma- 
 licious laughter, and saw that his words were taking effect 
 on these people. Previously, when he had addressed his 
 remarks to them as a whole, they had turned away from 
 him, had gone aside, assembled in groups, and stared from 
 a distance at their accuser, with contemptuous and evil eyes. 
 He beheld smiles on their faces, he was conscious of some- 
 thing scornful in their every movement, and comprehended 
 that his words, while they enraged them, did not pierce as 
 deep as he wished them to do. All this chilled his wrath, 
 and a bitter sense of the failure of his attack upon them was 
 already rising in him . . . But just as soon as he began 
 to talk about each one separately, — the bearing of his hearers 
 toward him underwent a swift, sharp change. 
 
 When Kononoff sank heavily down beside the table, as 
 though unable to bear the burden of Foma's stern words, — 
 Foma observed that across the countenances of several of the 
 
 1 The peasants' shoes, and burlaps to wrap up anything and every- 
 thing, from sheet-iron, trunks, cases, — to a pound of cherries, are 
 made of linden-bark. — Translator. 
 
 432 
 
Fomi Gordyeeff 
 
 merchants flitted caustic, malignant smiles. He heard some- 
 one say, in an approving, surprised whisper: 
 
 "The-ere . . that's fine!" 
 
 This whisper lent strength to Foma, and with assurance, 
 he began passionately to hurl reproaches, sneers, and oaths 
 at those upon whom his eyes fell. He roared joyously, on 
 seeing that his words were taking effect. They listened to 
 him in silence, attentively; several men moved nearer to him. 
 
 Exclamations of protest became audible, but they were 
 brief, not loud, and every time that Foma shouted out any- 
 one's name, — all became silent, and listened, and glanced 
 maliciously, askance, in the direction of their comrade thus 
 attacked. 
 
 Bobroff laughed in confusion, but his little eyes bored 
 into Foma like augers. But Lup Eyeznikoff, flourishing 
 his arms, sprang awkwardly to his feet, and taking a long 
 breath, said: 
 
 "Bear witness . . . What's this? No, I will not 
 pardon this! I'll go to the justice of the peace . . . 
 What's the meaning of this ? " And, all at once, he squeaked 
 in a thin voice, as he extended his arms toward Foma: 
 
 " Bind him! " 
 
 Foma broke into loud laughter. 
 
 "You can't bind the truth, you're talking nonsense! 
 Even when it is bound, it does not grow dumb . . ." 
 
 " Goo-od! " said Kononoff slowly, in a dull, broken voice. 
 
 " See here, gentlemen of the merchant class! " tinkled 
 Mayakin's voice. " I beg that you will admire him — just see 
 what a fellow he is! " 
 
 One after another the merchants moved up to Foma, and 
 on their countenances he beheld wrath, curiosity, a malicious 
 sentiment of satisfaction, fear . . . One of the modest 
 men among whom he was sitting, whispered to Foma: 
 
 433 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Give it to them! . . . May the Lord reward you! 
 . . Drive ahead at them! That will be reckoned to your 
 credit . . ." 
 
 " Robustoff ! " shouted Foma. — " What are you laughing 
 at? What are you rejoicing over? You ought to be in the 
 galleys also . . ." 
 
 " Put him ashore! " roared Robustoff suddenly, springing 
 to his feet. 
 
 And Kononoff shouted to the captain: 
 
 "Put back! To the town! To the Governor . . J' 
 
 And someone said, in a reproving voice, which was 
 trembling with agitation: 
 
 " This is a put-up job . . It was done on purpose . . . 
 He has been put up to this . . and made drunk to give 
 him courage . . J' 
 
 " Yes, this is a conspiracy! " 
 
 " Bind him! It's simple enough — bind him! " 
 
 Foma seized an empty champagne-bottle, and brandished 
 it in the air. 
 
 " Come on! No, it is evident that you will be forced to 
 listen to me . ." 
 
 Again, with jovial fury, beside himself with joy to see these 
 men writhing and flinging themselves about under the blows 
 of his speech, he began to shout out names and vulgar oaths, 
 and again the tumult of indignation was reduced to silence. 
 The men whom Foma did not know, gazed at him with 
 eager curiosity, encouragingly, some, even, with joyful sur- 
 prise. One of them, a small, gray-haired old man, with rosy 
 cheeks and eyes like a mouse, suddenly turned to the mer- 
 chants whom Foma had insulted, and chanted in a sweet 
 voice: 
 
 "These are words from the conscience! Never mind it! 
 You must bear it ... A prophetic accusation . , . 
 
 434 
 
Fomi Gordyieff 
 
 For we are sinners! You see, to tell the truth, we are 
 ve-e-ery . . ." 
 
 He was hissed, and Zuboff even gave his shoulder a knock. 
 He made a low bow, and disappeared in the crowd . . 
 
 " Zuboff ! " shouted Foma . . " How many people have 
 you turned out of house and home? Do you have visions 
 of Ivan Petroff Myakinoff, who strangled himself, because 
 of you ? Is it true, that you steal ten rubles from the church- 
 box at every Liturgy? " 
 
 Ziiboff had not expected to be attacked, and remained 
 rooted to the spot, with hand upraised. But he immediately 
 after^-ards began to whine in a shrill voice, hopping up and 
 down queerly on one spot: 
 
 " Ah! You attack me also? Me-me, also? " 
 
 And suddenly inflating his cheeks, he began vehemently 
 to shake his fist at Foma, crying in a squeaking voice: 
 
 " The f o-ol hath sa-aid in his heart . . . there is no 
 God! . . . I'll go to the Bishop! Freemason! To the 
 galleys with you! " 
 
 The uproar on the steamer increased, and Foma, at the 
 sight of these men whom he had enraged, abashed and in- 
 sulted, felt himself a gigantic hero of legends, who had slain 
 a monster. They bustled about, flourished their arms, said 
 something to one another, — some crimson with wrath, others 
 pale, all equally powerless to stop the flood of his jeers at 
 them. 
 
 " The sailors! " — shouted Eyeznikoff, plucking at Konon- 
 off's shoulder. "What are you thinking of, Ilya/* Hey? 
 Did you invite us to be ridiculed? ^' 
 
 " By a puppy . . ." whimpered Zuboff. 
 
 A throng collected around Yakoff Tanisovitch Mayakin, 
 and listened to his quiet remarks with anger, nodding their 
 heads in approval. 
 
 435 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 "Act, Yakoff!" said Eobiistoff aloud.— "We will afl be 
 witnesses ... go ahead! " 
 
 And above the general hurly-burly of voices, Foma's loud, 
 avenging voice rang out: 
 
 " You have not constructed life — you have made a cess- 
 pool! You have disseminated filth and stifling exhalations 
 by your deeds. Have you any conscience ? Do you remem- 
 ber God? A five-kopek piece — that is your God! But you 
 have expelled your conscience . . Whither have you driven 
 it? You bloodsuckers! You live on other people^s strength 
 . . you work with other people's hands! For all this you 
 shall be made to pay! . . . You shall perish — you shall 
 ibe called to account for all! For all — to the last little tear- 
 idrop . . . how much blood have people wept because 
 of your great deeds? And hell is no place for you, you 
 scoundrels, according to your deserts . . Neither in fire 
 nor in boiling mire shall you be roasted. You shall not get 
 rid of your torments for ages . . . The devils will fling 
 you into kettles, and will baste you there . . ha, ha, ha! 
 they will baste you! ha, ha, ha! Eespected merchants . . 
 constructors of life . . you devils! " 
 
 Foma burst into a loud laugh, and holding his sides, 
 swayed to and fro on his feet, with his head thrown back. 
 
 At that moment, several men swiftly exchanged signals, 
 flung themselves simultaneously upon Foma, and crushed 
 him down with their bodies. 
 
 " Cau-ught! " ejaculated someone, in a suffocating voice. 
 
 " A-ah? So that's your game? " shouted Foma hoarsely. 
 
 For half a minute the whole heap of black bodies surged 
 about on one spot, stamping heavily, and out of it proceeded 
 dull exclamations: 
 
 " Throw him down! " 
 
 "Hold his hand . . . his hand! A-ah!" 
 
 436 
 
99 
 
 ' • • • 
 
 Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 " Grab him by the beard! " 
 
 " Fetch some napkins ... tie him with napkins . .** 
 
 "You'll bite, will you?" 
 
 ^*The-ere! What? Aha-a! " 
 
 " Don't strike! Don't you dare to strike . . .'* 
 
 "Eeady!" 
 
 " That's good! " 
 
 " Let's carry him yonder — to the bulwarks 
 
 " Fling him to the winds . . he! he! 
 
 They dragged Foma bodily to the side, and having laid 
 him against the wall of the captain's cabin, they stood away 
 from him, adjusting their clothing and mopping their per- 
 spiring faces. He, exhausted by the struggle, and rendered 
 helpless by the disgrace of his conquest, lay in silence, tat- 
 tered, daubed with something, strongly bound, hand and 
 foot with napkins and towels. With round, blood-shot eyes, 
 he stared at the sky, his gaze was dull, and stupid, as that of 
 an idiot, and his chest heaved unevenly and with diffi- 
 culty . . 
 
 Now came their turn to jeer at him. Ziiboff began it. He 
 stepped up to him, gave him a dig in the ribs with his foot, 
 and in a sweet voice, he inquired, trembling all over with 
 the delectable joy of revenge: 
 
 "What now, you thunder-like prophet, hey? Well, now 
 you are experiencing the sweetness of the captivity of Baby- 
 lon, he, he, he! " 
 
 " Wait," . . said Foma, in a hoarse voice, without look- 
 ing at him. — "Wait . . until I get rested . . You 
 haven't gagged my tongue . . ." But as he said this, 
 Foma understood that he could do nothing, say nothing 
 more. And that not because they had bound him, but some- 
 thing had burned out within him, and it had grown dark 
 and empty in his soul . . ' 
 
 437 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 Ryeznikoff approached Ziiboff. Then^ one after another, 
 the others began to draw near. Bobroff, Kononoff, and 
 several other men, together with Yakoff Mayakin at their 
 head, went to the pilot-house, anxiously discussing some- 
 thing in low tones. 
 
 The steamer was sailing toward the town under full 
 steam. The bottles on the table quivered and rattled with 
 its vibration, and this trembling, plaintive sound was more 
 clearly audible than any other to Foma. A throng of men 
 stood over him, and said vicious, insulting things to him. 
 
 But Foma beheld the faces of these people as through a 
 fog, and their words did not strike home to his heart. In it, 
 from out of the depths of his soul, sprang up a vast, bitter 
 feeling; he watched it grow, and although he did not yet 
 understand it, he experienced a melancholy, humiliating sen- 
 sation . . 
 
 " Eeflect, — you charlatan! — what have you done to your- 
 self? " said Ryeznikoff. " What sort of life is now possible to 
 you? For now, not one of us will even want to spit on you! " 
 
 " What have I done ? " — Foma strove to comprehend. 
 The merchants stood around him in a dense, dark mass . . 
 
 " Co-ome nov, ," — said Yashtchuroff, " your busineso is 
 done for, Fomka . ." 
 
 " We'll give it to you," growled Zuboff softly. 
 
 " Unbind me! " said Foma. 
 
 "No! thank you most sincerely! " 
 
 *' Unbind me . . ." 
 
 " You're all right! you can lie as you are . . ." 
 
 " Call my god-father . ." 
 
 But Yakoff Tarasovitch himself came up at that moment. 
 He approached, halted over Foma, surveyed his outstretched 
 figure intently, with stern eyes, and heaved a heavy sigh. 
 
 " Well, Foma," he began. 
 
 438 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 " Order them to unbind me . ." entreated Foma, in a 
 low, submissive voice. 
 
 " Will you get turbulent again? No, you may lie as you 
 are . . /^ replied his god-father. 
 
 " I won't say another word . . I swear by God! Un- 
 bind me . . I am ashamed! For Christ's sake . . yo~i 
 see, that I am not drunk . . Well, you need not unbind 
 my hands . ." 
 
 " Do you swear that you will not be turbulent ? " — asked 
 Mayakin. 
 
 " Lord! I will not ... I will not . . ." groaned 
 Foma. 
 
 They unbound his feet, but left his hands bound. When 
 he rose, he looked at them all, and said softly, with a piteous 
 smile: 
 
 " You got your own way . . ." 
 
 " We always shall! " his god-father answered him, with a 
 harsh laugh. 
 
 Foma, bowed over, with his hands bound behind his back, 
 walked silently to the table, without raising his eyes to any- 
 one. He had grown shorter in stature, and thinner. His 
 dishevelled hair fell over his brow and temples; the torn 
 and crumpled bosom of his shirt projected from his vest, 
 and his collar covered his teeth. He twisted his head to 
 move the collar under his chin, and was not able to do it. 
 Then the little gray-haired old man stepped up to him, ad- 
 justed what required putting in order, glanced into his eyes 
 with a smile, and said: 
 
 " You must endure it . . ." 
 
 Now, in the presence of Mayakin, the men who had 
 been jeering at Foma held their peace, gazing inquiringly 
 and with curiosity at the old man, and waiting for him 
 to do something. He was calm, but his eyes gleamed 
 
 439 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 in a manner not entirely befitting the event, — contentedly, 
 brightly . . 
 
 " Give me some vodka," entreated Foma, seating himself 
 at the table, and supporting himself against its edge. His 
 bent form was pitiful and helpless. Those around him con- 
 versed in an undertone, walked with a certain caution. And 
 all stared now at him, now at Mayakin, who had taken a 
 seat opposite him. The old man did not give his godson 
 the vodka at once. First he scrutinized him intently, then 
 deliberately poured out a wine-glassful, and, at last, in si- 
 lence, raised it to Foma's lips. Foma sucked up the vodka, 
 and entreated: 
 
 "More!" 
 
 " That will do! " replied Mayakin. 
 
 And then ensued a minute of complete silence which was 
 painful to them all. They approached the table noiselessly, 
 on tiptoe, and as they drew near, they stretched out their 
 necks in order to get a good look at Foma. 
 
 " Well, Fomka, do you understand now, what you have 
 done?" — asked Mayakin. He spoke softly, but all heard 
 his question. 
 
 Foma shook his head, and remained silent. 
 
 " For you there is no pardon! " continued Mayakin firmly, 
 elevating his voice. — " Although we are all Christians, yet 
 you will receive no forgiveness from us . . Now you know 
 it ..." 
 
 Foma raised his head, and said thoughtfully: 
 
 " I forgot to speak about you, papa . . You have not 
 heard anything from me . ." 
 
 " There, sir! " screamed Mayakin bitterly, pointing at his 
 godson. — " you see ? " 
 
 A dull murmur of protest made itself heard. 
 
 " Well, it makes no difference! " — went on Foma, with a 
 
 440 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 sigh. — "It's all the same! Nothing — no good, came of 
 it . . ." 
 
 And again he bent over the table. 
 
 " What did you want ? " asked his god-father, sternly. 
 
 "What?" — Foma raised his head, looked at the mer- 
 chants, and smiled. — " I wanted to , . /' 
 
 " Drunkard! Worthless scamp! '^ 
 
 " I am not drunk! " retorted Foma surlily. — " I have 
 drunk only two small glasses in all . . I was entirely 
 sober . ." 
 
 " Consequently,'' said Bobrojff, " you were right, Yakoff 
 Tarasovitch: he's out of his mind . . ." 
 
 " I? " exclaimed Foma. 
 
 But no one paid any heed to him. Eyeznikoff, Zuboff, 
 and Bobroff bent over to Mayakin and began discussing 
 something in low tones. 
 
 " Guardian "... Foma caught this one word. 
 
 " I am in my right mind! " he said, throwing himself 
 against the back of his chair, and gazing at the merchants 
 with troubled eyes. — " I understand what I wanted. I 
 wanted to speak the truth . . I wanted to convict 
 you . . ." 
 
 Emotion again overpowered him, and he suddenly jerked 
 his hands, in the endeavor to free them. 
 
 " Eh, eh! Wait! " cried Bobroff, seizing him by the shoul- 
 der.—" Hold on to him! " 
 
 " Well, hold away! " said Foma, sadly and bitterly. — 
 " Hold away . . But what do you mean to do with me? " 
 
 " Sit still! " his god-father shouted harshly at him. 
 
 Foma made no reply. He understood, by this time, what 
 he had done, — that he had effected nothing, that his speech 
 had not moved the merchants one atom. Here they were, 
 collected around him in a dense throng, and he could see 
 
 441 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 nothing for them. They were quiet, firm, treated him like 
 a drunkard and a noisy squabbler, and were plotting some- 
 thing against him. He felt himself pitiful, insignificant, 
 crushed by this mass of men strong in spirit, clever, sedate 
 . . It seemed to him that a lon^ time had elapsed since he 
 had vituperated them, he seemed to himself now queer and 
 incapable of comprehending what he had done to these peo- 
 ple, and why he had done it. He even felt within him some- 
 thing offensive, resembling shame at himself in his own 
 sight. He had a tickling in his throat and he was conscious 
 of some foreign element in his breast — as though some sort 
 of dust or ashes had been sprinkled over his heart, and it 
 beat heavily, unevenly. Wishing to explain his behavior 
 to himself, he said slowly, and reflectively, without looking 
 at any one: 
 -^ I wanted to speak the truth . . Is this life? " 
 
 " Fool! " said Mayakin contemptuously. — " What truth 
 can you speak? What do you understand? " 
 
 " My heart ached — and I do understand! What justifica- 
 tion have you all in the sight of God? Why do you live? 
 Yes, I feel . . . I felt the truth! " 
 
 " He's repenting! " said Ryeznikoff, with a sneer. 
 
 " Let him! " replied BobrofE disdainfully. 
 
 Someone added: 
 
 " And it is pretty evident, from his remarks, that his mind 
 is clouded ..." 
 
 " It is not given to everyone to speak the truth! — " said 
 Yako5 Tarasovitch sternly and reprovingly, as he raised his 
 hand on high. " Men discern it, the truth, by the mind, not 
 by the heart ... do you understand that? If you felt 
 — that was nonsense! A cow feels, when her tail is being 
 twisted. But you — ^understand! Understand everything! 
 And understand your enemy . . Guess what he is think- 
 ing of in bis sleep, and then go ahead! '' 
 
 4Vl 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 According to his wont, Maydkin was on the point of being 
 carried away by the exposition of his practical philosophy, 
 but reahzing in season that a conquered man is not to be 
 taught by fighting, he stopped short. Foma gazed stupidly 
 at him, and swayed his head in a strange manner. 
 
 " Sheep! " said Mayakin. 
 
 " Leave me alone! " entreated Foma plaintively. " You've 
 had your way completely! Well — what more do you want? 
 You have trampled on me, you have defeated me ... so 
 you want me! Who am I? Lord! . . .^' 
 
 All lent an attentive ear to his remarks, and this attention 
 contained prejudice, malice . . 
 
 " I have lived,'^ — said Foma in a suppressed voice. — " I 
 have observed ... I have thought. My heart has be- 
 come ulcered with thinking! And now, the ulcer has burst 
 . . Now I am utterly worn out! It seems as though all my 
 blood had run out ... I have lived to see this day . . 
 still I thought that — now I will speak the truth . . Well, 
 I have spoken it . ." 
 
 He talked in a colorless monotone, and his speech re- 
 sembled the speech of delirium. 
 
 " I have spoken it . . and all I have accomplished is 
 my own destruction . . . nothing more! No trace of 
 my speech remains. Everything is safe! . . . But some- 
 thing flared up within me . . it has burned out and — 
 there is nothing left . . . What have I to hope for now ? 
 . . And everything remains just as it was before . . ." 
 
 Yakoff Tarasovitch laughed venomously. 
 
 " Did you think you could lick a mountain down with 
 your tongue? You accumulated malice at a bed-bug, and 
 started out after a bear! Is that it? Madman! . . . 
 your father ought to see you now . . . ekh!" 
 
 "And, nevertheless," — said Foma suddenly, in a loud, 
 
 443 
 
Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 confident voice, and his eyes flashed once more, — "never- 
 theless — you are entirely to blame! You have spoiled life! 
 You have kept squeezing and squeezing — ^we suffocate be- 
 cause of you . . because of you! And although my truth 
 against you is weak . . nevertheless — it is the truth! You 
 are — accursed! Damn you all! ^' 
 
 He struggled on his chair, endeavoring to free his hands, 
 and shouted, with eyes which flashed ferociously: 
 
 " Unbind my hands! " 
 
 They surrounded him more closely; the faces of the mer- 
 chants grew harsher, and Eyeznikoff said to him admonish- 
 ingly: 
 
 " Don't make a noise, don't kick up a row! We shall soon 
 reach the town . . Don't disgrace yourself . . . and 
 don't disgrace us . . Aren't we going to take you straight 
 from the wharf to the insane asylum? " 
 
 " Ye-es?! " exclaimed Foma. — " So you are going to put 
 me in the insane asylum? " 
 
 They did not answer him. He gazed at their faces, and 
 dropped his head. 
 
 " Behave yourself quietly! . . we'll unbind you! " said 
 someone. 
 
 " It's not necessary! " said Foma in a low tone . . "It 
 makes no difference . . I defy you! Nothing will hap- 
 pen . . ." 
 
 And again his words assumed the character of raving . . 
 
 " I am ruined . . I know that! Only, not by your 
 power . . but through my own weakness . . . yes! 
 You, also, are worms in the sight of God . . And — wait! 
 You shall choke . . I am ruined — through blindness . . . 
 I have seen much, and become blind . . . Like an owl 
 . . I remember — when I was a little boy, I chased an owl 
 in a ravine . . it tried to fly, and crashed into something 
 
 444 
 
Fom& Gordy^efif 
 
 . . The sun dazzled it . . It was all bruised — and it 
 perished . . . And my father said to me at the time: 
 * that's the way with man : one man dashes about, dashes 
 about, bruises himself, wears himself out, and flings himself 
 into any place he can find . . just for the sake of rest- 
 ing' . . Ei! Untie my hands! " 
 
 His face turned pale, his eyes closed, his shoulders quiv- 
 ered. Tattered and dishevelled, he swayed to and fro in his 
 chair, striking his breast against the edge of the table, and 
 began to mutter. 
 
 The merchants exchanged glances of profound signifi- 
 cance. Some, nudging one another in the ribs, nodded their 
 heads in silence at Foma. Yakoff Mayakin's countenance 
 was immovable and dark, as though hewn out of stone. 
 
 " Perhaps we had better untie him? " whispered Bobroff. 
 
 " Let's go a little closer . ." 
 
 " No, don't . . . said Mayakin in a low tone. — '^ Let's 
 leave him here, and let's send someone for a carriage . . 
 We'll take him straight to the asylum . . ." 
 
 " But where am I to find rest ? " Foma began again to 
 mutter. — "Whither shall I flee?" — And he sank down in 
 a broken, uncomfortable attitude, all bent together, and with 
 an expression of pain on his face. 
 
 Mayakin rose from his seat, and went to the pilot-house, 
 after saying quietly: 
 
 " Keep watch of him . . lest he should fling himself 
 into the water . ." 
 
 " I'm sorry for the young fellov . /' said Bobroff, as 
 he gazed after Yakoff Tarasovitch. 
 
 " Nobody is to blame for his folly," replied Eyeznikoff 
 grimly. 
 
 " Yakoff is . . ." said Ziiboff in a whisper, jerking his 
 head in the direction of Mayakin. 
 
 445 
 
Fom^ Gordyeeff 
 
 " What has Yakoff to do with it ? He lost nothing through 
 him . . ,'' 
 
 "We-ell, ye-e-es! . . now he . . . he-he!" 
 
 " Will be appointed guardian . . . he-he-he! " 
 
 Their quiet laughter and whispers mingled with the pant- 
 ing of the engine, and could not have reached Foma's ear. 
 He stared straight in front of him, with lack-lustre eyes, 
 and only his lips trembled almost imperceptibly. 
 
 " His son has made his appearance . ." whispered Bob- 
 roff. 
 
 "I know him, that son," — said Yashichuroff. — "I met 
 him in Perm." 
 
 " What sort of a man is he? " 
 
 " A business-like . . clever fellow . ." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " He manages a big business in Usolye." 
 
 " Consequently . . Yakoff doesn't need this one . . 
 Ye-es . . so that's it!" 
 
 " Look — he's weeping! " 
 
 "Is he?" 
 
 Foma was sitting, leaning against the back of the chair, 
 and with his head hanging on his breast. His eyes were 
 closed, and from beneath his eyelashes the tears were trick- 
 ling down, one b;; one. They ran down his cheeks upon 
 his mustache . . . Foma's lips quivered convulsively, and 
 the tears fell from his mustache upon his breast. He re- 
 mained silent and motionless, only his breast heaved heavily 
 and unevenly. The merchants looked at his pale face, 
 sunken with suffering, wet with tears, with the corners of 
 his lips drooping downward — and began silently to move 
 away from him. 
 
 And so Foma was left alone, with his hands bound behind 
 his back, sitting in front of the table which was covered 
 
 446 
 
I Foma Gordyeeff 
 
 with dirty dishes, and various remnants of the feast. At 
 times, he slowly opened his heavy, swollen lids, and his eyes, 
 through tears, gazed dully and mournfully at the table where 
 everything was dirty, upset, ruined . . 
 
 Three years have elapsed. 
 
 A year ago, Yakoff Tardsovitch Mayakin died. Dying in 
 full consciousness, he remained true to himself, and a few 
 hours before his death, he said to his son, daughter and 
 son-in-law: 
 
 " Well, children, — live richly! Yakoff has devoured all 
 sorts of grass, so it's time for Yakoff to quit the yard . . 
 You see — I am dying, but I am not low-spirited . . And 
 the Lord will set that down in my favor. I have bothered 
 Him, the All- Gracious One, with jests only, but never with 
 groans and complaints! Okh! . . Lord! I am glad, 
 that I have understood how to live — according to Thy mercy! 
 Good-bye, my dear children . . . Live in harmony . . . 
 and don't philosophize much . . You must know — that 
 not he is holy who hides himself from sin, and lies very 
 quiet . . You can't defend yourself against sin by 
 cowardice . . the parable of the talents speaks of that 
 . . . But he who wants to get the good of life is noti 
 afraid of sin . . . The Lord will pardon him his error 
 . . The Lord has appointed man to organize life . . . 
 but He has not given him so very much brains . . . which 
 signifies, that He will not hold a man severely to account for 
 his arrears of dues . . . For He is holy and full of 
 mercy . . ." 
 
 He died after a brief, but painful agony. 
 
 Ezhoff was exiled from the town, for something or other, 
 shortly after the affair on board the steamer. 
 
 447 
 
Foma Gordy^eff 
 
 A large, new commercial firm sprang up in the town, nndtr 
 the firm-name of " Taras Mayakin and Afrikan Smolin." 
 
 During all these three years, nothing had been heard aboii 
 Foma. It was said, that after his discharge from the hos 
 pital, Mayakin had sent him off to some place in the Ural, t- 
 his mother's relatives. 
 
 Not long ago, Foma made his appearance in the streets 
 of the town. He was shabby, dishevelled, and half-witted. 
 Almost constantly intoxicated, he appears — now gloomy, 
 with frowning brows, and head drooping on his breast, again 
 smiling with the j iteous, mournful smile of an eccentric re- 
 ligious fanatic. He is sometimes obstreperous, but this rarely 
 happens. He lives in a little wing in his foster-sister's court- 
 yard. 
 
 The merchants and citizens who know him often jeer at 
 him. As Foma is walking along the street, someone will 
 suddenly shout at him: 
 
 " Hey, you, — prophet! Come hither! " 
 
 Foma very rarely goes to the person who calls him, — he 
 avoids people, and does not like to talk with them. But if 
 he does go to them, they say to him: 
 
 " Come, now, say a few words to us about doomsday, won't 
 you?! He-he-he! Pro-phet! " 
 
 448 ^ 
 
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