That's why they drink and lead depraved lives with women. They have less strength because they have less work, and they have not the spirit of cheerfulness because they have no worries. Cheerfulness comes in time of rest, while nowadays no one is getting tired.""Well," said Foma, softly, "they were leading depraved lives and drinking just as much in former days as now, I suppose.""Do you know it? You should keep silence!" cried Anany, flashing his eyes sternly. "In former days man had more strength, and the sins were according to his strength. While you, of today, have less strength, and more sins, and your sins are more disgusting. Then men were like oak-trees. And God's judgment will also be in accordance with their strength. Their bodies will be weighed, and angels will measure their blood, and the angels of God will see that the weight of the sins does not exceed the weight of the body and the blood. Do you understand? God will not condemn the wolf for devouring a sheep, but if a miserable rat should be guilty of the sheep's death, God will condemn the rat!""How can a man tell how God will judge man?" asked Foma, thoughtfully. "A visible trial is necessary.""Why a visible trial?"
"That people might understand."
"Who, but the Lord, is my judge?"
Foma glanced at the old man and lowering his head, became silent.
He again recalled the fugitive convict, who was killed and burnt by Shchurov, and again he believed that it really was so. And the women--his wives and his mistresses--had surely been hastened toward their graves by this old man's caresses; he had crushed them with his bony chest, drunk the sap of their life with these thick lips of his which were scarlet yet from the clotted blood of the women, who died in the embraces of his long sinewy arms. And now, awaiting death, which was already somewhere beside him, he counts his sins, judges others, and perhaps judges himself, and says:
"Who, but the Lord, is my judge?"
"Is he afraid or not?" Foma asked himself and became pensive, stealthily scrutinising the old man.
"Yes, my lad! Think," spoke Shchurov, shaking his head, "think, how you are to live. The capital in your heart is small, and your habits are great, see that you are not reduced to bankruptcy before your own self! Ho-ho-ho!""How can you tell what and how much I have within my heart?" said Foma, gloomily, offended by his laughter.
"I can see it! I know everything, because I have lived long! Oh-ho-ho! How long I have lived! Trees have grown up and been cut down, and houses built out of them, and even the houses have grown old.
While I have seen all this and am still alive, and when, at times, I recall my life, I think, 'Is it possible that one man could accomplish so much? Is it possible that I have witnessed all this?'" The old man glanced at Foma sternly, shook his head and became silent.
It became quiet. Outside the window something was softly rustling on the roof of the house; the rattle of wheels and the muffled sounds of conversation were heard from below, from the street. The samovar on the table sang a sad tune. Shchurov was fixedly staring into his glass of tea, stroking his beard, and one could hear that something rattled in his breast, as if some burden was turning about in it.
"It's hard for you to live without your father, isn't it?" said he.
"I am getting used to it," replied Foma.
"You are rich, and when Yakov dies, you will be richer still. He'll leave everything to you.""I don't need it."
"To whom else should he leave it? He has but one daughter, and you ought to marry that daughter, and that she is your godsister and foster-sister--no matter! That can be arranged--and then you would be married. What good is there in the life you are now leading? Isuppose you are forever running about with the girls?""No."
"You don't say! Eh, eh, eh! the merchant is passing away. A certain forester told me--I don't know whether he lied or not--that in former days the dogs were wolves, and then degenerated into dogs.
It is the same with our calling; we will soon also be dogs. We will take up science, put stylish hats on our heads, we'll do everything that is necessary in order to lose our features, and there will be nothing by which to distinguish us from other people. It has become a custom to make Gymnasium students of all children. The merchants, the nobles, the commoners--all are adjusted to match the same colour. They dress them in gray and teach them all the same subjects. They grow man even as they grow a tree. Why do they do it? No one knows. Even a log could be told from another by its knot at least, while here they want to plane the people over so that all of them should look alike. The coffin is already waiting for us old people. Ye-es! It may be that about fifty years hence, no one will believe that I lived in this world. I, Anany, the son of Savva, by the surname of Shchurov. So! And that I, Anany, feared no one, save God. And that in my youth I was a peasant, that all the land Ipossessed then was two desyatins and a quarter; while toward my old age I have hoarded up eleven thousand desyatins, all forests, and perhaps two millions in cash.""There, they always speak of money!" said Foma, with dissatisfaction. "What joy does man derive from money?""Mm,"bellowed Shchurov. "You will make a poor merchant, if you do not understand the power of money.""Who does understand it?" asked Foma.
"I!" said Shchurov, with confidence. "And every clever man. Yashka understands it. Money? That is a great deal, my lad! Just spread it out before you and think, 'What does it contain?' Then will you know that all this is human strength, human mind. Thousands of people have put their life into your money and thousands more will do it. And you can throw it all into the fire and see how the money is burning, and at that moment you will consider yourself master.""But nobody does this."
"Because fools have no money. Money is invested in business.
