United States or Bahrain ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Clasping his head in his hand Yozhov straightened up his stooping frame, made an effort and started again mournfully and wildly: "How great their number is! Their sepulchre how narrow! I clothed them all in shrouds of rhyme And many sad and solemn songs O'er them I sang from time to time!" "Oh, Lord!" sighed Foma in despair. "Stop that, for Christ's sake! By God, how sad!"
A world of brains has been put into everything! You look and think; what clever fellows you are Oh people! You merit reward and respect! You've arranged life cleverly. Everything is good, everything is pleasant. Only you, our successors, you are devoid of all live feelings! Any little charlatan from among the commoners is cleverer than you! Take that Yozhov, for instance, what is he?
Just rub their foreheads with firm hand and then you will see the real sign-board, which reads: 'Narrow mindedness and weakness of soul!" Foma watched Yozhov bustling about the room, and thought mournfully: "Whom is he abusing? I can't understand; but I can see that he has been terribly wounded." "How many such people have I seen!" exclaimed Yozhov, with wrath and terror.
Having carefully wiped his fingers, which had been soiled with chalk, Smolin put the rag away, and, without looking at Foma, finished the problem and again began to wipe his hands, while Yozhov, smiling and skipping along as he walked, returned to his seat. "Eh, you!" he whispered, seating himself beside Foma, incidentally striking his side with his fist. "Why don't you know it?
"Come on!" chimed in two or three voices. A noisy dispute ensued as to what to sing. Yozhov listened to the noise, and, turning his head from one side to another, scrutinized them all. "Brethren," Yozhov suddenly cried again, "answer me. Say a few words in reply to my address of welcome."
In saying this he was not at all interested, and he said it merely out of pity for Yozhov. There was quite another feeling in him; he wished to know what sort of a man Yozhov was, and why he had become so worn out.
Yozhov imitated Foma's slow way of speaking. "How many pigeons do you have?" "I have none." "Eh, you! Rich, and yet you have no pigeons. Even I have three. If my father had been rich I would have had a hundred pigeons and chased them all day long. Smolin has pigeons, too, fine ones! Fourteen. He made me a present of one. Only, he is greedy. All the rich are greedy. And you, are you greedy, too?"
That I do not understand, and that's all there is to it." "Yes!" drawled out Yozhov. "So that's where you've gone! That, dear, is a good thing! Ah, you ought to study a little! How are you about books? Do you read any?" "No, I don't care for them. I haven't read any." "That's just why you don't care for them." "I am even afraid to read them.
The censor he styled as "superintendent of the diffusion of truth and righteousness in life," the newspaper he called "the go-between, engaged in introducing the reader to dangerous ideas," and his own work, "the sale of a soul in retail," and "an inclination to audacity against holy institutions." Foma could hardly make out when Yozhov jested and when he was in earnest.
"I know that you are not a coward, but why do you boast of it? One may do a thing as well without boasting." Yozhov blamed him from a different point of view: "If you thrust yourself into their hands willingly you can go to the devil! I am not your friend.
Word Of The Day