Not one time, but perhaps a hundred thousand times have we turned Him over to the cross, and yet we cannot drive Him altogether out of life, because His poor brethren sing His Holy name on the streets and thus remind us of Him. And now we have arranged to lock up these beggars in separate houses that they should not walk around on the streets and should not rouse our conscience.
"Cle-ver!" whispered Foma, amazed, staring fixedly at his godfather.
"Aha!" exclaimed Mayakin, his eyes beaming with triumph.
"How is it that my father did not think of this?" asked Foma, uneasily.
"Just wait! Listen further, it is still worse. So you see, we have arranged to lock them up in all sorts of houses and that they might be kept there cheaply, we have compelled those old and feeble beggars to work and we need give no alms now, and since our streets have been cleared of the various ragged beggars, we do not see their terrible distress and poverty, and we may, therefore, think that all men on earth are well-fed, shod and clothed. That's what all these different houses are for, for the concealment of the truth, for the banishment of Christ from our life! Is this clear to you?""Yes!" said Foma, confused by the old man's clever words.
"And this is not all. The pool is not yet baled out to the bottom!"exclaimed Mayakin, swinging his hand in the air with animation.
The wrinkles of his face were in motion; his long, ravenous nose was stirring, and in his voice rang notes of irritability and emotion.
"Now, let us look at this thing from the other side. Who contributes most in favour of the poor, for the support of these houses, asylums, poor-houses? The rich people, the merchants, our body of merchants. Very well! And who commands our life and regulates it? The nobles, the functionaries and all sorts of other people, not belonging to our class. From them come the laws, the newspapers, science--everything from them. Before, they were land-owners, now their land was snatched away from them--and they started out in service. Very well! But who are the most powerful people today? The merchant is the supreme power in an empire, because he has the millions on his side! Isn't that so?""True!" assented Foma, eager to hear the sooner that which was to follow, and which was already sparkling in the eyes of his godfather.
"Just mark this," the old man went on distinctly and impressively.
"We merchants had no hand in the arrangement of life, nor do we have a voice or a hand in it today. Life was arranged by others, and it is they that multiplied all sorts of scabs in life--idlers and poor unfortunates; and since by multiplying them they obstructed life and spoilt it--it is, justly judging, now their duty to purify it. But we are purifying it, we contribute money for the poor, we look after them--we, judge it for yourself, why should we mend another's rags, since we did not tear them? Why should we repair a house, since others have lived in it and since it belongs to others? Were it not wiser for us to step aside and watch until a certain time how rottenness is multiplying and choking those that are strangers to us? They cannot conquer it, they have not the means to do it. Then they will turn to us and say: 'Pray, help us, gentlemen!' and we'll tell them: 'Let us have room for our work! Rank us among the builders of this same life!' And as soon as they do this we, too, will have to clear life at one sweep of all sorts of filth and chaff. Then the Emperor will see with his clear eyes who are really his faithful servants, and how much wisdom they have saved up while their hands were idle. Do you understand?""Of course, I do!" exclaimed Foma.
When his godfather spoke of the functionaries, Foma reminded himself of the people that were present at the dinner; he recalled the brisk secretary, and a thought flashed through his mind that this stout little man has in all probability an income of no more than a thousand roubles a year, while he, Foma, has a million. But that man lives so easily and freely, while he, Foma, does not know how to live, is indeed abashed to live. This comparison and his godfather's speech roused in him a whirl of thoughts, but he had time to grasp and express only one of them:
"Indeed, do we work for the sake of money only? What's the use of money if it can give us no power?""Aha!" said Mayakin, winking his eyes.
"Eh!" exclaimed Foma, offended. "How about my father? Have you spoken to him?""I spoke to him for twenty years."
"Well, how about him?"
"My words did not reach him. The crown of your father's head was rather thick. His soul was open to all, while his mind was hidden away far within him. Yes, he made a blunder, and I am very sorry about the money.""I am not sorry for the money."
"You should have tried to earn even a tenth part of it, then speak.""May I come in?" came Luba's voice from behind the door.
"Yes, step right in," said the father.
"Will you have lunch now?" she asked, entering.
"Let us have it."
She walked up to the sideboard and soon the dishes were rattling.
Yakov Tarasovich looked at her, moved his lips, and suddenly striking Foma's knee with his hand, he said to him:
"That's the way, my godson! Think."
Foma responded with a smile and thought: "But he's clever--cleverer than my father."
But another voice within him immediately replied:
"Cleverer, but worse."
