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Updated: May 16, 2025
Tell me how have you lived, what have you done? What are you looking at? Ah! That's my godson. Ignat Gordyeeff's son, Foma. Do you remember Ignat?" "I remember everything," said Taras. "Oh! That's good, if you are not bragging. Well, are you married?" "I am a widower." "Have you any children?" "They died. I had two." "That's a pity. I would have had grandchildren." "May I smoke?" asked Taras.
Well, that's all right!" Ignat approved. "That's to show what stuff we are made of. That's clear enough for the father's honour for the honour of the firm. And there is no loss either, because that gives a good reputation. And that, my dear, is the very best signboard for a business. Well, what else?" "And then, I somehow spent more." "Speak frankly.
Noticing him, Ignat stood up on tiptoes, and, folding his hands behind his back, walked up to him, stepping carefully and comically putting forth his lips. The little one was whimpering and sprawling in the water, naked, impotent and pitiful. "Look out there! Handle him more carefully! He hasn't got any bones yet," said Ignat to the midwife, softly.
"You do well to pity people," Ignat tells Foma, the boy, "only you must use judgment 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 upon him and go your way.
"If the deceased Ignat could read in the newspapers of the indecent life his son is leading, he would have killed Foma!" said Mayakin, striking the table with his fists. "How they have written it up! It's a disgrace!" "He deserves it," said Lubov. "I don't say it was done at random! They've barked at him, as was necessary. And who was it that got into such a fit of anger?"
He heard a hostile rumbling behind him and his godfather's wheedling voice saying to somebody: "It's for grief. Ignat was at once father and mother to him." Foma came out in the garden and sat down on the same place where his father had died. The feeling of loneliness and grief oppressed his heart.
When a more or less healthy man asked him for alms, Ignat would say, sternly: "Get away! You can work yet. Go to my dvornik and help him to remove the dung. I'll pay you for it." Whenever he had been carried away by his work he regarded people morosely and piteously, nor did he give himself rest while hunting for roubles.
He felt this at the mere sight of Ignat and the horses; but when he had put on the sheepskin brought for him, had sat down wrapped up in the sledge, and had driven off pondering on the work that lay before him in the village, and staring at the side-horse, that had been his saddle-horse, past his prime now, but a spirited beast from the Don, he began to see what had happened to him in quite a different light.
I shall never prompt you again and you'll be like a log of wood!" And they did not speak to each other for about three days, very much to the regret of the teacher, who during these days had to give the lowest markings to the son of the esteemed Ignat Matveyich.
They made fishing tackles for him, and little boats out of bark, played with him and rowed him about the anchoring place, when Ignat went to town on business. The boy often heard the men talking about his father, but he paid no attention to what they said, and never told his father what he heard about him.
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